Counterweight (26 page)

Each column was hung with weapons. Above each was a name,
carved in runes, with a dark smear beneath. Thorstein led him past the first
fifteen sets of columns, stopping reverently at one near the middle.

“Our ancestors,” he said softly. “A century and a half ago,
when we tunneled space to raid the fringe of the old Empire, we brought some of
their ashes and a grave-weapon from each. That way, if we never see our home
world again, our traditions can remain intact.”

He nodded at a name above an empty set of iron pins on the
column. “Ivar Quickfury, my great grandfather,” he told Rick, reaching up to
touch the dark smear. “And this is his ash. I took his blade for my own
wedding.”

He looked at Rick, face solemn. “Choose a blade. Tonight,
you’ll give it to Freya and she’ll keep it until your firstborn is ready to
have it.”

“But your ancestors…”

“Accepted you when I did.” Thorstein motioned him forward.
“And one day, unless you wish to start your own shrine, your blade will rest
here, beneath your ashes, until some young groom chooses it.”

Rick walked around the column, inspecting the weapons, until
he came to an axe. It had a single blade, drooping at the bottom, and it was
imprinted with charm phrases. He reached out to feel the incised runes.

“That goes back at least as far as Gunnar Wallsbane,”
Thorstein told him. “He carried that blade two hundred thousand years ago, back
when blades were the height of military technology.” He reached out to put a
finger on the edge, nodding his approval at the thin line of blood that
appeared on his skin.

“Titanium,” Thorstein explained, “and the gold coloring is
from the titanium nitride outer shell.” He stepped back to get out of Rick’s
light. “Gunnar was a great one for breaking enemy shieldwalls. He’d hook the
beard
on the blade’s lower edge over an enemy shield and heave it out of the line.
Worked as a pair with his sister. When his axe pulled back, her spear went
forward.”

Rick picked it up, surprised at its lightness.

“If I didn’t know you were already spoken for,” Thorstein
teased, “I’d swear you’d just fallen in love!”

“So what do we do now?”

“Well, we’ll send that to one of my household staff for a
good cleaning and they’ll make a sheath for it while
we
get over to the
bath house.”

“I had a shower this morning.”

“Perhaps, but you didn’t wash away your old life, did you?”
Thorstein started for the stairway. “It’s tradition and I’ll bet the rest of
the
Brisbanes
are there already, waiting for you to show up.”

They went up to the main entrance where Thorstein gave the axe
to one of the pages, giving him clear instructions on whom to take it to. “I
don’t have the luxury of a room in the main hall,” he needled Rick as they
walked out into a busy street. “So I’d rather not head all the way home, just
to have to come right back here for the bath.” He indicated the structure next
to the Ancestress’ hall.

It was almost as large as the hall but with lighter pillars,
allowing more glazing. They walked into a long room with hooks along the walls
where they hung their clothing. A buzz of shouts and laughter came from the
curving hallway at the far end of the room.

“Sounds like the others are here already,” Thorstein wrapped
a drying cloth around his waist and led Rick into the main chamber. It was
roughly twenty meters square, bisected by a row of meter-wide columns.

Thorstein led him down the middle to a table where two young
women were picking up bundles of small branches. They were similarly clad in
kilts made from drying cloths and, when they turned, Rick was surprised to realize
the one on the left was Freya.

He wasn’t sure what to do at this unexpected meeting. The
wedding itself was some terrifying creature that he’d face when the time came
but how was he supposed to act, here in the bath house, when running into his
semi-clad fiancé?

“Hello, Freya.” He nodded, fearing he was being too formal
and also fearing she’d think the nod was an attempt to look lower than her
face. Was that why she wasn’t looking him in the eye?

“Ohhh, he’s a fiery one, cousin!” the other woman said in a
deliberately loud whisper. She giggled. “And so gallant, as if he hasn’t
already seen far more of you on your ship.”

“You know that doesn’t count, Inge,” Thorstein retorted
cheerfully. “Nobody cares about sex when they’re bending space in a scout ship.
You frigate-monkeys just wouldn’t understand.”

“Well, true or not,” she shot back, “it’s bad luck for the
groom to make a fool of himself on the eve of his wedding.” She ushered her
cousin away through the pillars. “You’re welcome,” she called over her shoulder,
“Rick of 3428.”

Thorstein handed him a bundle of branches and led him in the
opposite direction. They found their crewmates, along with more than a few men
who’d been in the hall earlier, seated around a semi-circular row of wooden
benches. They cheered at Rick’s arrival.

“Just bumped into Freya at the willow table,” Thorstein
announced to general mirth. Apparently, the awkward moment was a standard of
Midgaard betrothals and Freya’s cousin must have had a hand in timing the
encounter.

“How’d it go?” Erik demanded, swatting his own back with a
handful of branches, face red from the steam.

Thorstein jerked his thumb at Rick. “This one spent the
whole time trying not to look at her chest and she spent the whole time staring
at
his
!”

“Norns!” the hauld who’d been at Shelby’s hall exclaimed.
“Can you blame the lass?” He gestured at Rick “What’re they feeding you on that
world?”

“Whatever
he
brings down with his monstrous bow,”
Erik said, punctuating his statement with a belch. “He drew Emerie’s bow.”

“That meat trader?” The hauld laughed. “He had his shop when
I was bending space with the LRG but that had to be fifty years ago.”

“This’d be his son,” Thorstein explained.

“So you got to join the hunt.” The hauld turned back to
Rick. “Took you to some dense patch of forest to hunt bifleet, didn’t he?”

Rick nodded, recalling how the Midgaard loved stories of
prowess. “Got two of them,” he replied. “Took the first with a bow but the
second broke out and charged me so I had to take him with a knife.”

He settled into the tale, fitting it into the narrative
structure favored by the Midgaard stranded on the
Canal.
The group was
spellbound, hanging on every word, and, when he finished, he knew they’d
enjoyed it.

Rick had never bragged in his life and, yet, it didn’t seem
like bragging. It was a courtesy to these people to entertain them with a good
story. It was so unlike anything he’d known on 3428.

They swapped stories, interspersed with serious advice on
marriage from the older men and not so serious advice from the younger, for
well over an hour. Finally, a young lad came in and whispered to Thorstein.

“Alright, lads,” he called. “The ladies have left. It’s time
to hit the ice water.” He led a procession through the columns and out into a
courtyard where a small pool had a delicate tracery of ice on its glassy
surface.

It didn’t look very large to Rick. “So we go one at a time?”

“Or just the one,” Thorstein said, giving him a shove.

The cold was like an electric shock. Rick didn’t close his
mouth in time and a mouthful of water seared its way down his throat like
liquid metal. He splashed his way to the surface, every fiber in his body
focused on reaching the edge. He pulled himself out and lay on the
comparatively warm flagstones, coughing convulsively. He brought his lungs
under control and glared up at his foster brother.

“Don’t give me that look,” the engineer chided him
good-naturedly. “We all end up in there on our wedding night. If your heart
survives that, it stands a good chance of surviving Freya Augustdottir!”

It was almost a relief, Rick reflected, when they finally
shoved him into place in front of the scruffy-looking priest who’s hair looked
like it had been trimmed with somebody’s teeth. Freya stood next to him, in
front of her cousin who held an axe very similar to the one in Thorstein’s
hands.

The priest took a branch, dipped it in a bowl of mead and
sprinkled everyone in the moonlit courtyard, finishing with the young couple.
Rick took the axe from his foster brother and turned back to place it in his
bride’s hands.

She nodded approvingly at the weapon before turning to
exchange it for the one her cousin was holding. She turned back and gave him
the weapon.

Still not uttering a word, they exchanged rings and turned back
to the priest who was muttering quietly to himself.

He finished whatever he’d been saying to the darkness and
drew himself up to his full height. “You are joined,” he said solemnly.

And then he wandered off.

Before Rick could ask what came next, he was hoisted up by
his crewmates and carried back inside Shelby’s hall. He looked back to see
Freya being similarly carried, giving as good as she got in the exchange of
ribald jokes.

They wound their perilous way up a narrow staircase and the
couple were deposited inside a large bedchamber. The revellers flowed back out
and shut the door, leaving them alone.

“So,” Rick began before realizing how foolish he would sound
if he were to ask
what happens next?
He shook his head slightly, smiling
to reassure her he wasn’t a complete fool.

She took pity on him all the same. “So,” she began, her
voice stirring his blood, “when we go down to join the feast, we’ll announce
our intent to lead a small force to establish a claim over 3428. As we’re not
haulds, we can only take eight volunteer ships along with our own.”

“Why only eight?”

“Eight plus our own makes nine,” she explained. “The tenth
must be captured if we wish to elevate our status. A hauld must earn the
distinction – it can’t simply be given – and you must lead ten ships to achieve
that status. Just because we’re adding a valuable planet to the Ancestress’
sphere of influence, doesn’t mean she’s going to ignore custom and make us
haulds.”

She looked out the window to where the Mark III Hussars
hovered at their berths. “My cousins all thought I was mad to join the LRG when
I could be off raiding the fringe worlds with them but I’d never have been
trusted with this mission without the experience I’ve gained.”

“You
saw
the need for it, didn’t you?” Rick asked.

Her expression seemed less pained by this mention of her
abilities. “I did.” She smiled at him.  “You don’t look at me like others
do.” She crossed the room to stand before him. “Because I have seidr powers,
most people are a little uneasy, even fearful, but you act as though it’s
perfectly normal. You actually see
me
instead of the sorcery.”

On impulse, Rick reached out to touch her face. “Oh, I think
there might be
some
sorcery in what I see,” he whispered.

She chuckled, her hand reaching up to cover his, to keep it
there.

Every nerve ending in his skin tingled. He darted a quick
glance at the door. “Did you say they were waiting for us to join the feast?”
There was no mistaking the reluctance in his voice.

“Hmmm…” She stepped closer, reaching up to touch his collar.

He felt his clothing go slack.

“They’ll just drink until we come down,” she murmured. “We
have…
state business
to look to first.

She put her lips close to his ear and he shuddered at the
warm breath as she whispered.

“Don’t rush on their account!”

Anticipating

Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic

G
raadt
ignored the twitching magister on the floor in front of him. Instead, he held
the gaze of the magister he deemed most likely to take action now that their
boldest comrade was incapacitated.

He was signaling his intent to make the young lawman his
next victim if he failed to show good sense and back down. Common sense was a
rare commodity among this world’s magisters and he was sure he saw the signs of
an attack in the young Dactari’s eyes.

Graadt pulled his hand from the pouch at his side, flinging
another stun-ball at the magister’s midsection.

As the second Dactari went down, sense made a late
appearance for the remaining two. The buzz of the crowd finally seemed to
register and their expressions changed from anger to fear.

The four lawmen had thought to either capture or kill Graadt
and, seeing as he was alone, they felt bold enough to try their luck. 
They had still been hesitant to take action and Graadt had been quick to use
that advantage.

If he hadn’t learned to seize every advantage, he never
would have made it off Oudtstone’s forested moon alive as a youth. He’d quickly
dropped the leader with a stunner and, when that didn’t seem sufficient, he
dropped the next bravest, putting them on their heels in the middle of an
unfriendly crowd.

The two conscious magisters hesitated still, afraid to
attack Graadt and unwilling to leave their comrades to the mob.

Graadt was jostled by the sudden rush of angry citizens as
they closed in on the remaining lawmen. He knew it was inevitable. All an angry
crowd like this needed was a spark, a reminder that their hated oppressors were
vulnerable, and they swarmed the magisters without taking a single casualty.

He felt the pressure of the mob lessening as he backed away
and he turned to push his way out. Individuality shrank to nothing in a
situation like this. Respect for rules, the sense of right and wrong was
suspended in the herd-mentality of an angry mob and he knew it wouldn’t take
much for him to become the next target.

He passed out of the throng to find Nid and Kaans
approaching with the food they’d gone to purchase.