Read Online Earth Magic by Alexei Panshin, Cory Panshin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alexei Panshin, Cory Panshin
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with her fists in frustration.
Finally she managed to say in pain and anger, “I had no choice! Your butcher father has dragged me here to marry you against my will. If I could I would kill him, and you too.”
Haldane shrugged. “Sheep are made to be shorn.”
“A sheep?” the girl asked. She reached into the folds of her skirt and brought forth a knife. It was no plaything. It was narrower in the blade than Haldane would have liked, but yet it looked to be a mean stinger in the hands of one who could use it. If this girl was one.
“You have brought me here,” she said. “You may marry me. But mind yourself. If you ever lay a hand on me, I shall kill you.”
On the instant Haldane was off the great chest on which he sat and across the room. He lifted his left hand and struck the small Princess of Chastain a smart slap on the cheek. The dog in the tirewoman’s arms yapped sharply. The girl slowly touched her reddening cheek as though to confirm the blow.
“There,” Haldane said. “Now I’ve laid a hand on you.”
When Haldane returned to the hall, it was to find Morca’s audience concluded and the room emptying of men. He saw Oliver in his red robe, his spectacles on his nose, crossing the room slowly to accost Morca at the foot of his stair. Oliver looked to be suffering the hobbles for his successful display of magical craft before Lothor at dinner. Haldane had not expected to see him abroad today.
Morca raised a palm to Oliver. It held him at bay. “Put out your pipe if you please to talk to me. I will not be smoked to death.”
Smoking was a strange and filthy habit Oliver had brought with him out of the West. He said it was a necessary part of his magic. The yellow weed he smoked smelled worse than a singed chicken. It was another reason that men were wary of him. When Haldane had studied magic so briefly, the prospect of having to smoke had dismayed him. He had not studied so long that his dismay was tested.
Oliver put his palm over the bowl. “I was in my cell studying my book for you and your benefit, instead of sleeping as I would, when I heard that yet another baron has craved leave to depart. How much reason to study my book will you give me?”
“It was only Aella of Long Barrow.”
“Don’t say ‘only Aella.’ If you followed my advice you would let no one leave until the betrothal is made and Lothor returned to Chastain. There are too many who will not like this marriage.”
“Aella will return for the betrothal. And today Soren Seed-Sower has joined me. He likes this marriage fine. And his brothers will follow him shortly into my hands, or so he swears.” Morca waved Oliver away. “Put your fears to rest, return to your cell and have your sleep. Nap until dinner.”
“I do not speak of lackweights like Aella and Soren. Larger men than they care what you do. In times like these, with witches and kings all about us, outlaws in the forest and enemies a-plenty, it is folly to keep an open gate. ‘The man who walks barefoot does not plant thorns.’ ”
“Have you been talking to Svein to be learning his tired saws?” Morca asked. He called up the stair. “Svein, have you and Oliver been hunched together?”
“No, Morca,” said Svein from the dark at the top of the stair. “But for once, your foreign man is right. Soren is a Farthing. His great-grandfather was your uncle’s enemy. It is folly to let a man like that come and go.”
“Enough of this,” Morca said. “I will have my way. Hey, Haldane, you are hurt. You are wounded. Did she bite you?”
Haldane touched the bloody cut above his wrist, “She stung me only, but I have pulled her fang.”
He reached behind him and brought out her knife. He flipped it in his hand and caught it by its well-worn black leather haft.
Morca roared at that. “I told you she had spirit. Your first war wound. When you have her in your marriage bed you can trade her stroke for stroke and wound for wound.”
But Haldane’s
Finally she managed to say in pain and anger, “I had no choice! Your butcher father has dragged me here to marry you against my will. If I could I would kill him, and you too.”
Haldane shrugged. “Sheep are made to be shorn.”
“A sheep?” the girl asked. She reached into the folds of her skirt and brought forth a knife. It was no plaything. It was narrower in the blade than Haldane would have liked, but yet it looked to be a mean stinger in the hands of one who could use it. If this girl was one.
“You have brought me here,” she said. “You may marry me. But mind yourself. If you ever lay a hand on me, I shall kill you.”
On the instant Haldane was off the great chest on which he sat and across the room. He lifted his left hand and struck the small Princess of Chastain a smart slap on the cheek. The dog in the tirewoman’s arms yapped sharply. The girl slowly touched her reddening cheek as though to confirm the blow.
“There,” Haldane said. “Now I’ve laid a hand on you.”
When Haldane returned to the hall, it was to find Morca’s audience concluded and the room emptying of men. He saw Oliver in his red robe, his spectacles on his nose, crossing the room slowly to accost Morca at the foot of his stair. Oliver looked to be suffering the hobbles for his successful display of magical craft before Lothor at dinner. Haldane had not expected to see him abroad today.
Morca raised a palm to Oliver. It held him at bay. “Put out your pipe if you please to talk to me. I will not be smoked to death.”
Smoking was a strange and filthy habit Oliver had brought with him out of the West. He said it was a necessary part of his magic. The yellow weed he smoked smelled worse than a singed chicken. It was another reason that men were wary of him. When Haldane had studied magic so briefly, the prospect of having to smoke had dismayed him. He had not studied so long that his dismay was tested.
Oliver put his palm over the bowl. “I was in my cell studying my book for you and your benefit, instead of sleeping as I would, when I heard that yet another baron has craved leave to depart. How much reason to study my book will you give me?”
“It was only Aella of Long Barrow.”
“Don’t say ‘only Aella.’ If you followed my advice you would let no one leave until the betrothal is made and Lothor returned to Chastain. There are too many who will not like this marriage.”
“Aella will return for the betrothal. And today Soren Seed-Sower has joined me. He likes this marriage fine. And his brothers will follow him shortly into my hands, or so he swears.” Morca waved Oliver away. “Put your fears to rest, return to your cell and have your sleep. Nap until dinner.”
“I do not speak of lackweights like Aella and Soren. Larger men than they care what you do. In times like these, with witches and kings all about us, outlaws in the forest and enemies a-plenty, it is folly to keep an open gate. ‘The man who walks barefoot does not plant thorns.’ ”
“Have you been talking to Svein to be learning his tired saws?” Morca asked. He called up the stair. “Svein, have you and Oliver been hunched together?”
“No, Morca,” said Svein from the dark at the top of the stair. “But for once, your foreign man is right. Soren is a Farthing. His great-grandfather was your uncle’s enemy. It is folly to let a man like that come and go.”
“Enough of this,” Morca said. “I will have my way. Hey, Haldane, you are hurt. You are wounded. Did she bite you?”
Haldane touched the bloody cut above his wrist, “She stung me only, but I have pulled her fang.”
He reached behind him and brought out her knife. He flipped it in his hand and caught it by its well-worn black leather haft.
Morca roared at that. “I told you she had spirit. Your first war wound. When you have her in your marriage bed you can trade her stroke for stroke and wound for wound.”
But Haldane’s
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