Chapter 11

“Trail Master, I need to speak with you and your student.”

Mato followed Ezhno into the priest’s room in their boarding house. Ezhno closed the door behind them.

“You were seen entering the public bathhouse,” the priest said. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at them.

Ezhno nodded slowly, almost a bow. “Yes, Wisdom. This is part of my duty. Trail masters keep the knowledge of the outside, so that we can advise Sotsona,” he kissed his fingertips and pressed them to his forehead, “and the priests. We are granted extra grace for the temptations we must face.”

The priest’s frown deepened. “And the demon haired?”

“I presume you mean the foreigners with red and blonde hair?”

“And the black, and the brown,” the priest said with a precise nod.

“Mato and I go to them under the guise of friendship tonight when the sun is down. We will learn where they came from, and what they intend.”

The priest frowned at the floor for several seconds, then looked back up. “That is wise. Perhaps we should send a scout or two to observe your meeting.”

Ezhno nodded. “That would be wise. If they should do anything with Mato and I, it would be best to have witnesses. Make certain to choose someone with exceptional stealth. They have sharp eyes.”

“You have done well, Trail Master.”

“Thank you, Wisdom.”

When they reached their room Mato closed the door. Then he got a candle, two clay glasses, and some water.

“What are you doing, Mato?”

“I’m learning about my sword,” Mato said.

Ezhno closed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh while he shook his head.

“Lay down on your bed, Mato. Take the grip of your sword in your hand, and hold your breath for as long as you can.”

Mato turned that over in his head. “He was teasing me again, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, yes.”

He paused in the middle of the floor, gripped his sword, then stopped breathing. At first it was easy, but then he started to worry. What if he passed out and hit his head? What if there was something wrong with him, and he didn’t get the urge to breathe? He might suffocate, and never realize.

A minute passed, then two. He wished he had a way to keep close track of time. Maybe he was counting too fast.

Ezhno got out his supplies and sat on the floor, making more of the paste for curing foot sores. Mato sat and watched him, paying close attention to the details as Ezhno ground dried leaves in his mortar and pestle, mixed turtle oil with the herbs, then added twenty-eight careful drips of the water of life from his sword.

“That’s been about ten minutes,” Ezhno said, without looking up.

Mato released his grip on the sword. He expected to need a breath almost immediately, but the sensation of having recently inhaled continued.

Ezhno finished making the foot paste and cleaned up, then got out separate ingredients and made a replacement for the spirit-damping candy Mato had eaten in the bathhouse.

He still didn’t need to breathe. It was… amazing? Terrifying? Certainly not boring.

Ezhno tilted his head, then pointed to the door and held up one finger. Mato nodded. Someone was listening outside.

“What do you think we should take this evening? We need to impress the devil hairs, convince them to talk to us.”

Mato took his first breath in at least fifteen minutes. “They are looking for gold. Can we afford to give them a gold coin? Perhaps two?”

“If we come on too strong, they will grow suspicious.”

Mato chuckled. “Erik Bloodaxe is definitely the kind of man who would believe you if you told him he was the strongest, wisest, most intelligent man you have ever met.”

“You have a point,” Ezhno said. “Perhaps two gold pieces is not enough. I will ask Wisdom Poplar for advice.”

He pushed himself up. “Wait here.”

Mato nodded and Ezhno slipped out of the room. Mato started holding his breath again, but Ezhno returned in less than five minutes.

“That was good thinking, Mato. The priests have provided three gold coins. Together with my coins, we can offer five.”

* * *

The forest was beautiful, terrifying, and alive with sounds. In Abo there were few animal sounds. Quail made soft noises, and most of the time cavi did too. The few songbirds that flitted around were silent at night.

On the salt plains the only sound was the breeze and your own breathing.

Here leaves rustled in the breeze. Branches creaked together. Birds sang, and coyotes howled. Crickets chirped, and bats flitted between them and the stars.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a mosquito. Slap it.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a small bird called a dove.”

“What’s that?”

“That is a skunk, stay far away from it. They make a very, very bad smell if you anger them.”

“What’s that?”

“A squirrel.”

“What’s that?”

“I need a break, Mato. We can play ‘What’s that’ again later.”

The northmen camp was impressive. Mato had seen horses before--sometimes traders used them to travel into Abo. What he hadn’t seen were northern horses. Massive, shaggy animals with predominantly black or brown coats, and white feet and faces. When Erik strode out of camp, even he could barely see over the horses’ backs.

Their wagons were equally impressive, at least two feet wider than the wagons he was used to seeing, with wheels taller than a man and axles as thick as his thighs.

“Your horses are amazing,” Mato breathed.

“Thank you, Mato Stone Foot,” Erik laughed. He turned to Ezhno and extended his hand. “I welcome you to our camp, Ezhno Trail Master. May you find safety and comfort among us.”

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Ezhno shook Erik’s hand. “Well met, Erik Bloodaxe. So long as I am with you, you will find my sword at your side.”

Ezhno pushed Mato in front of Erik. “Go on, say it right.”

“Well met, Erik Bloodaxe. My sword and I stand ready to defend you and yours.”

“Well said, young trail master. Welcome to our fires.”

“Mato has been training with me for two moons now,” Ezhno said. “He is a fantastic student, and has a strong heart, but there is still much he does not know.”

Erik clapped Mato on the back, and Mato staggered several steps. “That is well. We too have young men and women among us. Perhaps we can teach them something of use before the night is over.”

“May I touch the horses?” Mato asked.

“No,” Erik said. “Wait here.” He went into the small herd and picked out a slightly smaller animal.

“That was wise,” Ezhno said while they waited. “Always be cautious with strangers. It is hard to tell what may offend them, and we wish to be polite at all times.”

The horse was half a head taller than Mato at the shoulders, despite being the smallest of the bunch.

“This is Greta,” Erik said. “Stand still and give her a chance to get used to your smell. She is a little small, but you can see that she has a strong back, powerful withers, broad in the chest. This is a prize animal despite her size. But what is more important than any of those things?”

Mato glanced at his teacher.

“Temperament,” Ezhno whispered.

“Temperament,” Mato said.

Erik laughed. “I saw that, but it is correct. A calm, brave horse with good wits is more valuable than a strong, flighty animal.” He pointed to a spot on her back leg that looked discolored in the failing light. “This is a scar from a bear fight. It came into camp looking for food when we first reached these lands, and Greta killed it.”

Ezhno whistled. “That is a priceless horse.”

Erik walked around in front of her, then motioned for Mato to join him. Ezhno put an apple in his hand as he went.

“Be very calm, move slowly and gently, and show no fear,” Erik said.

“Can I give her this apple?” Mato asked.

“Hold it out, and keep your hand flat, so she doesn’t bite your fingers.”

Mato extended his hand, and Greta looked at Erik, and waited. After several seconds Erik nodded. “Good girl, Greta. You can have it.”

She extended her head toward Mato and picked the apple up with soft lips, then crunched it down.

“This is crucial training for a good traveling horse,” Erik said. “None of my animals will accept food from a stranger unless me or one of mine approves it first. This prevents accidents, if a stranger offers them something that isn’t good for them. It also prevents enemies from poisoning them easily.”

He put his arms around Greta’s neck, and she leaned into him, nuzzling against his beard.

“She loves you,” Mato said.

“Aye. And I her. It has to go both ways with a good horse. Come and join me at the fire.”

Erik returned Greta to her place with the others, and Mato noted that all of them nuzzled Erik a bit as he passed by. He in turn had a soft word and a pat for each of them.

“That is a sign of a good man,” Ezhno whispered. “We still shouldn’t trust him yet, but this is a strong hint in his favor.”

The Norlanders had three huge fires spread out in a huge, perfect triangle. The wagons formed walls between the fires, and there were bedrolls underneath the wagons. There were also three tents lined up between two of the fires.

“What are those?” Mato asked.

“Those are the women’s tents,” Erik said. “If you were from my people, I would take offense at that question.”

“I’m sorry,” Mato said.

“It’s alright, lad. We expect some misunderstandings among new guests.”

“Why is the question offensive?” Mato asked. Ezhno rubbed his face in his hands.

“Because too much interest in our women suggests you want to take them,” Erik said.

“That makes sense,” Mato said. “No more questions about the tents.”

“That would be wise,” Erik said.

They sat on a log far enough from the nearest fire to feel comfortable, and a middle aged woman with kind eyes brought them mugs of something to drink. Mato sniffed it, and smelled honey.

The coughing fit nearly threw him off of the log.

Several men around them laughed, and Ezhno steadied him.

“It’s hot mead,” Ezhno said. “Perfect for warming you on freezing nights, but you shouldn’t breathe it.” He took a long swallow, then made an appreciative sound. “This is very fine.”

“Thank you,” Erik said. “This is one of the last barrels of mead from our homeland. Soon we will need to rely on local products.”

Ezhno nodded. “It doesn’t matter how good our food and drink are, they still won’t taste like home.”

“Well said.”

“How far is your home?” Mato asked.

“We are from Corstag, in Ibeji,” Erik said. “It has taken us two years of travel to reach this place.”

“Wow,” Mato said. “Two years? That is a long journey.”

“Yes, and it will likely be years more before we are home again.”

“Come, Mato,” Ezhno said. He set his drink on the log and pulled Mato up. “We will show them the harvest dance.”

“What?” Dance and sing in front of these terrifying people? Why would they do that?

Ezhno began to sing about the gifts of the Great Spirit, dates and pomegranates, water and shade, family and home. Mato followed along, but his singing voice was not very good. He tried to make up for that by leaping high, and spinning fast. When they got to the part that was simulated combat he was grateful for Ezhno’s hard instruction. His kicks were higher than before, Ezhno’s punches whisked by his cheeks, and at no point did he stumble.

When they finished, the northmen clapped and cheered. Mato took his seat beside Erik and drained his mug. The kind-looking woman immediately replaced it with a full mug, this time of ale.

“That was well done,” Erik said. “Freya! Hilda! Come and impress our guests.”

The center tent opened, and the two beauties from the baths came out. They wore dresses of fine wool, green for the redhead, and blue for the blonde. The blonde began to sing, and in about half a verse the redhead joined. The melody was sweet and haunting, and the harmony sent shivers down Mato’s back.

“They are superb,” Ezhno said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard finer voices.”

“I am very proud of them,” Erik said. “What did you wish to tell me?”

Ezhno leaned forward and spoke just loud enough for Erik to hear. “My people have sent scouts to surround your camp and observe this meeting. I do not wish for them to hear what I have to say.”

Erik frowned. “Why would you betray your own people?”

Ezhno made a cutting motion with his hand. “It is not betrayal. If our people come into conflict, I will side with them. But I do not wish for conflict, I wish for peace.”

“Very well.” Erik motioned behind him, and the old man from the market approached and sat on Erik’s other side.

“Well met, Lief Longbeard,” Ezhno said.

“Aye,” Lief said. “Same to you.”

“My people have very strict ideas about religion,” Ezhno said. “We have twenty-eight glyphs approved by our king, Sotsona. We only ever carry spirit blades. In fact I did not know you could get a spirit bracer like Lief has.

“If the locals see that bracer, it will cause problems. If people in Abo see it, they will tell the priests, and the priests will bring the guards. As mighty as you are, I do not think you can win against all of them.”

“That is valuable information to have,” Erik said. “Many of us have more than one spirit item. What about my ax?”

“I’m not sure what to make of it,” Ezhno said. “It is a weapon, and you are from far away. Perhaps they would accept it, and perhaps not.”

“Safer to keep it hidden,” Lief said.

Erik motioned to another of his men, and when he approached Erik said, “There are several spies around the camp. Find one of them, accidentally, and then scare him away. Then take men out and beat the bushes to see if you can find the others.”

The man smirked, a hideous expression given the huge scar on the left side of his mouth. “This is a duty I will greatly enjoy.”

Ezhno pulled the five gold pieces from a pocket and extended his hand to Erik. “I have a gift for you.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “I cannot take this from you, not after you have saved us so much trouble.”

Ezhno smiled. “Please be seen to take it. We can argue about who owes what to who after the spies are gone.”

Erik laughed and pocketed the coins. “I like you, Ezhno Trail Master.”

A young man walked over to them. “Erik Bloodaxe, I would like to duel the stranger. Winner to dance with one of your daughters?”

Duel? No, no, no, no… that boy was twice Mato’s size, and he had a broadsword as long as he was tall.

Erik made an odd two-tone whistle, then gestured for them to join him. “Would either of you ladies care to dance with the winner of a duel?”

“I would love that,” the blonde said.

“I would love it more,” said the redhead.

Erik got out a coin and flipped it. “Hilda will dance with the winner. Freya with the loser.”

That was good. Mato’s heart slowed a bit. At least both contestants were expected to survive--and be healthy enough to dance afterward.

They marked out a circle inside the fires, where the light would be good. Some of the young men brought a pair of wooden swords, and three shields for each of them.