A Mankind Witch by Dave Freer Page A

other thralls, still talking in excited little knots, came around the corner.

    They stood there gawping. "But . . . you've run away," said Thjalfi.

    Cair shook his head at them. "Run away? I have not. Who would have mucked out for me if I was not here? I couldn't sleep for the pain from lashes. So I came to work early. I've done a great amount of work while you've all lain on your pallets." He pointed at the manure. "See."

    The thralls did. He got the feeling that a good few of them wanted to come and touch the manure in the cart just to make sure that it, and he, were real. "But . . . they're out there hunting you," protested one of the thralls who worked in Vortenbras's section.

    Cair shrugged. "I can't help that." He noticed that one of the hindmost thralls had sneaked off, doubtless to tell someone. "Come on. Let's get the job done, before it gets too warm and flies drive us all mad."

    Thus it was that when the stable master came running around the corner, Cair was once again just a thrall, loading muck. "You," the stable master called him out. "What are you doing here?"

    Cair looked puzzled. "Shoveling horse manure, master," he said humbly. His clothes and hands bore ample testimony to this. He was willing to bet his bouquet did, too. Most unlike caraway, it would be. "Ask the others. I had done nearly a cartload by myself. It's what I was told to do. Do you want me to do something else?"

    The steward plainly found this a bit too much for his small mind. "But you were missing. You've run away."

    Cair contrived to look shocked. "Oh no, master. I'm a good slave. I just started work early. My back was sore and I could not sleep, master."

    "He does things like that, Svein," said Signy, who had come on the scene, quietly. "I think he's mad. But he's done his horses, and by the looks of it done a lot of the work I told you to get them to do."

    The stable master swallowed as if his mouth was suddenly too dry. "But the dogs followed him. He has run away."

    "He didn't run very far, by the looks of it," said Signy, coolly. "I wish the rest of them would run to the dung heap as eagerly."

    "But . . . but . . . I set the king's men to hunt him . . ."

    Signy raised her eyebrows, tilted her head. "Well, whatever they're hunting, it's not him. You'd better saddle up, so that you can go after them and tell them they've been sent on a fool's errand. If you wait until they've wasted half a day on it they'll be furious."

    "They're going to be furious anyway," muttered the man. But he left in haste.

    Cair settled into the work. Never had shifting horse dung—even with a sore back, seemed so sweet. And he collected quite a bit of saltpeter in the process. It quite made up for being underslept and very hungry.

    Later, the news trickled down. One of Vortenbras's guards had had an unfortunate accident that morning. His cinch had broken midjump, and he had tumbled headfirst into the broken logs and briars. The man had been brought back to the hall on a hurdle, with a cracked head and a broken arm. And his horse had kicked one of the others. That rider had also taken a bad fall.

    Cair looked sorrowful. "I did warn him," he said. He'd take things very carefully for a while. But the seeds of rumor were planted. And well watered.

     

CHAPTER 5

Kingshall, Telemark

    Jarl Svein, Hjorda's emissary, was back from Stavanger. Rumor had it that Hjorda's coffers were very full right now. A fleet from Vinland to Flanders had been intercepted, apparently. Doubtless reprisals would follow—but for now Hjorda had gold to burn. Or at least to spend on a bride-price. And, if they'd paid it over to Telemark, the vengeful fleet wouldn't recover it.

    Signy made her small, stiff bow to the sleek-looking man. He bowed extravagantly. And well he might. If King Hjorda had his way, she'd be his queen.

    For a day, at most—but then he wouldn't know that. If she managed to do it right, that was. There were times when she doubted