A Wizard In Midgard Read online

  He bent to empty the bucket and scrub it with grass and sand. "Coming to get your plate and mug," he said, and she retreated again, but more slowly, and not as far. He brought back bowl, plate, and mug, stowed the gear in his pack, and scooped dirt on the campfire.

  "Thank you," she said, as though it were dragged out of her.

  "A pleasure to help a fellow wanderer," Gar said, "and it's been another pleasure to meet you. You're welcome to walk with me if you want. If you don't, I wish you a safe journey." He turned to start hiking again.

  Alea watched him walk away, uncertain of her feelings, then started to follow, but fifty feet behind. After all, he seemed to be a genuinely gentle man.

  If he was, though, he was the only one she'd ever metother than her father, of course. She decided to reserve judgement, but her curiosity was aroused. She told herself that she was only interested in seeing if he really did prove to be gentle in the long run, then forced herself to admit that he was the only one she had met who wasn't already taken, and he was taller than she was, too. If there was any safety for her in this wilderness at all, he was it-until he started expecting some sort of payment for his protection'. But he had shown no interest in her as a woman, only as a person.

  That didn't mean that he wouldn't, of course. She reminded herself that there was no real safety for her at all, anywhere. Still, something within told her that she could trust this man. She wondered why.

  As she followed Gar down the road, Alea gathered berries and roots whenever she found them, so that she would have at least some food to offer in return for his. After perhaps half a mile, Gar glanced back and saw how haggard she was, how unsteady her gait. He halted, and she stumbled on for a few steps before she realized he had stopped. She yanked herself to stillness, suddenly completely awake and ready to run again.

  "You've been traveling at night, haven't you?" Gar asked. "I-I have, yes."

  "And you're worn to the bone." Gar turned off the road and used his staff to thrash a way through the underbrush. "Come, sit down while I pitch camp."

  Alea blinked, stupefied that a man would change his plans because of her. Then she managed to remember some realities and said, "The brush-they'll see where it's flattened. . . ."

  "They who?" Gar turned back. "That rabble who were bothering you? I'll be very surprised if they stop running before nightfall."

  "If not them, there will be others!"

  "Is it that bad, then?" Gar studied her, frowning. "Yes, I suppose it must be. If the giants have patrols in this no-one'sland, why shouldn't the.'.. what did you call your people?"

  "Not mine any more!" It came out much more harshly than Alea had intended, but she wasn't about to back away from it.

  Gar lifted his eyebrows in surprise, then nodded slowlyit would be very bad for him to undermine that realization. It must have been hard enough for her to admit, after all. "What shall I call them, then?"

  "Midgarders," she said though stiff lips.

  "Midgarders it is. There's that great a chance that another of their patrols will come by?"

  "Every chance!"

  "Then I'll straighten the brush so that only a sharp eye will notice it's been knocked aside. Walk carefully."

  Alea watched him for a second, wondering about the readiness of his agreement, then picked her way over the underbrush, trying not to tread any more down. Gar moved ahead as she came, until she was past the underbrush and into the relatively clear land under the shadow of the leaves. "I need a large tree, lad."

  "Really?" Gar looked about. "Larger than these?"

  "No, that one will do." Alea went over to an apple tree that must have been at least fifty years old. She was too tired to wonder what traveler had tossed aside an apple core in her grandfather's day. She almost asked Gar for a boost up but caught herself in time, and scolded herself for being so quick to trust. She wondered why as she climbed.

  She settled herself on a limb and glanced down to see Gar, thirty feet from the tree, staring up at her with anxious eyes. "Don't worry." She untied the rope from around her waist, cast it about the trunk and caught it, then tied it in front of her. "I won't fall."

  "That can't be very comfortable," Gar said doubtfully. "It's not," she assured him, "but I'll manage to sleep. I've done it for three days now."

  "No wonder you're almost dead on your feet. Why not sleep on a bed of pine boughs on the ground?"

  Instantly, her whole body waked to fight or flee. Was he trying to lure her down? "There are packs of wild dogs in this wilderness, lad, or so rumor says. Haven't you seen them?"

  "Not yet," Gar said slowly-but what she said made sense. The continent, having been terraformed and Terran colonized, had no native predators, only breeds of Terran domestic animals. People who had tired of their pets, or found they couldn't afford to feed them, had probably taken them out into the country and abandoned them. Eventually they would have found one another and formed packs. Farmers would have killed most of them as menaces to the livestock and even people, but some would have escaped to this buffer zone between kingdoms.

  "There are wild pigs, too," she told him, "herds of a dozen or more each, and the boars have grown tusks."

  Reverting to the wild indeed! Gar wondered how the pigs had escaped, but he knew they were smart animals when they cared to stir themselves. "I can see the advantage of your tree."

  "Not comfortable, but safe," Alea told him.

  Gar reflected that she would be safe from predators indeed, would even have some measure of safety from the twolegged kind-bandits were less likely to notice her when she was up in a tree, and the height of her perch would give her an advantage if they started climbing after her.

  "Hadn't you better climb up, yourself?" Alea asked.

  "No, I think the fire will keep them away," Gar said. "If I see them lurking, there will be time to climb." He didn't mention that he could make sure pigs and dogs both stayed away by inserting fearful thoughts into their brains. "Are there wild cattle, too?"

  "Yes, but they'll usually leave you alone if you leave them alone. What if your fire goes out?"

  "It won't, if I tend it." Gar turned away. "First, though, I'll cover our trail."

  Alea let her eyes close, head nodding heavily. Then a sudden thought brought her wide awake again. "What will you do while I sleep?" she called.

  Gar turned back and smiled up at her. "Why, I'll keep watch, of course. When I can't keep my eyes open, I'll wake you for your turn as sentry."

  Alea braced herself. "How shall you wake me?"

  Gar looked about, then guessed, "Little green apples?" Alea thought that over, then said, "That will do. Not my face, all right?"

  "I'll aim for your leg," Gar assured her.

  That bothered her, oddly, but she could find no reason to complain. "Well enough, then. Good night. Good morning, I mean."

  "Good night this morning." Gar grinned and started to turn away.

  "Lad?"

  He turned back. "Aye?"

  Again reluctantly: "Thank you. For standing watch, I mean."

  "I'm glad to do it," Gar said. "Journeying is lonely work otherwise." He turned and went before she could answer. What would she have said anyway, especially since his words waked alarm in her again? She told herself that was foolish and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the trunk. There wasn't room enough, so she loosened the rope, slid forward, then tied it again. Now she leaned back. Exhausted as she was, her mind buzzed with questions, and sleep seemed slow in coming. Alea found herself wondering what horrors could have made a man lose interest in sex-or had he simply been raised to respect women? Or even more simply, was he just a good man by nature?

  She told herself sternly not to think that for a second. There was no such thing as a good man, and that way lay the nightmare.

  As a last thought, she tucked her skirts under her legs, then leaned her head back again and let weariness claim her. It came in a flood, and she was asleep.

  Gar covered their trail
with expert touches and settled down to meditate, reflecting that one of the predators she feared was certainly him. He wondered what traumas had made her so wary of other people-especially men. Since she'd been a slave, the answer seemed clear, but he had a notion it went deeper than the last week or two. For a moment, he was tempted to probe her sleeping mind, to sift through her memories, but he banished the idea as quickly as it had come. His parents had taught him the ethics of mindreading, and as he had grown, he had weighed their teachings and decided they were true. He wouldn't allow himself to read a friend's mind without a very good reason. He wouldn't even read an enemy's mind, unless it was necessary to save his own life, or someone else's. If the enemy were ruthless, the situation usually became severe enough to warrant the intrusion sooner or later, but even so, Gar felt he had to wait until the danger was clear and present. No, he wouldn't read Alea's mind-but he would listen carefully to what she said, put clues together, and see if he could piece out what had happened to her, so that he would know how to behave in order to help her.

  Assuming, of course, that she chose to keep traveling with him.

  Alea woke, feeling stiff and groggy, then saw the gloom about her. Her eyes flew wide open with panic. She throttled it, looked down-and saw him, sitting by a small, smokeless fire with his little kettle steaming.

  She relaxed-he was there, but still keeping his distance. Then anger began, and she nursed it, treasuring the feeling, believing it gave her some strength. She untied herself, wrapped the rope about her waist and tucked it, then climbed down.

  Gar looked up at the sound as she jumped to the earth. "Did you sleep well, then?"

  "Too well!" She strode toward him, staff swinging. "You said you'd wake me for my turn as sentry!"

  "I didn't grow sleepy. Probably will around midnight, but I'll manage to keep going until dawn." He took the kettle from the fire and poured boiling water into the two mugs. "That will have to brew a few minutes."

  Alea halted, glowering at him, wondering how you scolded someone for being generous. It was a new problem for her; no one had gone out of the way for her since she'd turned fifteen-no one except her parents, at least, and she certainly couldn't have scolded them. She let the issue go with bad grace, sitting on a boulder, legs tucked so that she could rise quickly, and took the mug when he offered it.

  Gar saw that she was almost within arm's reach, and didn't seem to have noticed. Of course-if she had, she'd have moved farther away, and rather quickly, too. His heart sang with the elation of accomplishment.

  "Where are you going?" Alea asked abruptly. "Other than away from Midgard, I mean."

  "I've met the giants," Gar said slowly, "at least, a giant patrol, and that's as much as I'm going to see of them without visiting one of their villages. I'm not sure that would be wise just yet."

  "Visit the giants!" Alea put down her mug, staring at him. "Are you mad?"

  Gar cocked his head to the side. "Why would that be mad?"

  "Because they'd kill you as soon as look at you!"

  "They didn't," Gar told her. "The few I met on the road yesterday seemed quite peaceable. Ready to fight if I offered it, but ready to talk, too. They told me, rather sadly, that they couldn't take me in, though--I'm too short!" He chuckled. "I haven't been told that since I was ten."

  With wonder, Alea said, "Why-they were gentle with me, too, the patrol. And you're right, they almost seemed sorry they couldn't take me-that 1 was too short too, and not likely to grow because I was too old." Her face tightened. "I've been told the last often enough, but never the first." Then she turned thoughtful again. "Why should I still think them monsters?"

  Gar was amazed. For a medieval woman to question why she thought as she did, was almost unheard of. Alea must have been a very rare woman indeed. He suggested, "Did other people tell you the giants were harsh and cruel?"

  "Oh, from my cradle!" she answered. "Everyone in the village, every traveler who came by, always spoke of the villainy of the dwarves and the cruelty of the giants. The bards' news was always of the latest battle, and how treacherous and deceitful the giants and dwarves were in their fighting!"

  Gar thought of suggesting that the giants and dwarves might tell their children the same things about Midgard's soldiers, but thought better of it. Besides, the giants he had met had been wary of him, but hadn't seemed to think him a lower form of life. Instead, he said, "The lessons we learn earliest stay with us our whole lives. No wonder you think the giants are monsters even after you've met them, and they proved to be gentle. The real question should be: will you ever be able to believe the truth?"

  "I've never met a man who gave a thought to what small children learned," Alea said, frowning. "That's women's work."

  "Not where I come from." Gar gave her a bleak smile. Inside, though, he was shaken. What kind of culture made men ignore their own toddlers? "Some man must have been concerned about it some time, or who would have started the lies about the giants?"

  "I suppose they are lies, aren't they?" Alea looked away, shaken. "Though maybe not; we've only seen a few giants."

  6

  "That's true, and we shouldn't judge the whole nation by one band."

  "You're right about some man starting the rumors, though." Alea turned back to him, frowning. "I can't see a woman making up horror stories like that."

  "I've known women who would do it." Now it was Gar's gaze that drifted. "Ones who wanted to heap shame on a neighbor whose son or daughter had grown too tall, perhaps, or one who wanted to make up for feeling tiny when she looked at a very tall neighbor woman."

  "Yes," Alea spat, her face suddenly twisted with anger. "There are women who would do that."

  "Still, I think it more likely that the fathers were trying to raise sons who would be better giant killers because they didn't see the big ones as people, really." Gar's gaze drifted back to her. "And wanted to raise their daughters to become wives who would urge their husbands on to mayhem out of sheer terror."

  Alea frowned, thoughtful again. "You don't suppose husbands and wives agreed on the same horror stories for different reasons, do you?"

  Again, Gar was amazed at her ability to see beyond the confines of the culture in which she had been raised. "I think it's very likely. In fact, I don't think the ordinary grandmother could make a story sound true if she didn't believe it."

  "But if our ancestors told us lies about the giants," Alea asked, "what of the tales of the dwarves?"

  "Interesting question." Gar grinned. "Why don't we visit the dwarves and find out?"

  Alea stared. "Visit the dwarves? Are you mad?"

  Gar sighed, and summoned his reserves of patience-but before he could begin to explain, Alea gave a laugh. "Silly of me, isn't it? When I've just worked out that the real giants may be nothing to fear, I'm still terrified of the dwarves!" The laugh transformed her face, bringing out all the beauty hidden by her bitterness, fear, and exhaustion. Gar caught his breath, but as suddenly as it had come, that beauty was gone in the hardness of the look of a woman trying to confront the truth-which amazed Gar still more, for she came from a culture in which superstition was accepted as fact.

  "A visit to the dwarves is another matter completely, though," Alea told him, "for they live in Nibelheim, far to the west, and all of Midgard lies between us and them."

  "I'm not eager to cross Midgard," Gar admitted. "Somehow, I doubt that we'd make it through."

  Alea shuddered. "Thank you, no! I'm not about to walk back into slavery!"

  Gar closed his eyes, visualizing the photographic map Herkimer had displayed for him, and the line where the darkness of pine forest gave way to tundra. "Who lives in the north, Alea? How far does Midgard go?"

  "Well, there's a land to the north of it, if that's what you mean," Alea said, surprised. "I don't know how many days' journey it would take to go there, but it doesn't matter, nobody would want to."

  "Really?" Gar asked, interested. "Why not?"

  "Well, because it's a wastel
and," Alea explained, "all pine forest and high moors, too cold and dry to grow a decent crop. Besides, they say there are no rivers, and the brooks are few and far between."

  "Someone must have been there, then," Gar pointed out, "or there would be no stories telling what it's like."

  "Oh, travelers have gone there, yes," Alea said. "Some have even come back-slave-hunters and the like. They say there are giants there, but not many."

  "Slave-hunters?" Gar looked interested. "So some slaves do manage to escape and stay free?"

  Alea shuddered. "Yes, but they're as bad as the hunters. Folk speak of whole bands of runaways, all murderers and thieves-bloodthirsty men who will do anything rather than be caught."

  "I know how they feel," Gar said, smiling.

  For a moment, Alea was angry with him, indignant that he could seem amused at the notion of such criminals. Then, though, she remembered what she had just learned about the tales with which she'd been raised, and laughed. "It does sound too horrible to be true, doesn't it?"

  "It does indeed," Gar said. "Just the kind of thing you'd tell slaves, to make them afraid to try to escape."

  Alea sobered. "It might be true, though, and such men might not be too gentle with women."

  "Might." Gar held up a finger. "Might not, too. I suspect the rumors have become far worse than the reality."

  "Oh?" Alea bridled at his self-assurance. "What do you think is the truth, then?"

  "Probably a handful of scrawny, ragged people on the verge of starvation," Gar said, "if what you say about the land being so poor is true. But if there really are a few giants there, then I suspect there are some dwarves-in fact, it just might be a country where all three nations live side by side. I wonder if they fight, or help one another?"

  For a moment, Alea was scandalized by the thought of giants, people, and dwarves working together, shocked at the vision it raised-of all three dwelling in a single village in peace. Then she managed to accept the notion, or at least its possibility-if giants could be gentle, why not escaped slaves? She realized that having discovered the lie in one set of things she'd been taught, made her question all the rest. "It's possible," she said, "but what difference does it make?"