A Mankind Witch by Dave Freer Read Free Book Online Page B

malevolent-looking black zig-zags patterning down the dorsal side making even the dead thing look dangerous. One of the other thralls had killed it this morning out in the fields, where they'd been set to moving stones to ready the land for the plow. One of the others had brought it to him. They all brought him the oddest "gifts"—from misshapen roots to odd mushrooms. Sometimes even he was at a loss as to what to do with them. The snake hide he'd thought he would make into a bracelet. Perhaps he might milk out the venom—that might prove useful, too, he'd thought. Well, this was a better use—there was venom enough here. He pushed forward and groveled at the queen's feet, contriving to stand on the snake's head in the process. "Please, Mistress Queen," he quavered in his very worst Norse. "Is snake. Not princess. I kill. Crush head." He pointed—creating shrieks and retreat. "I bump Princess Signy. My wrong, Queen. Not she."

    The queen stared at the snake. Then at Signy, and then at Cair. Then at the snake again. Cair had a sinking feeling that she at least wasn't fooled about how alive it had been a few moments back. But she was the only one in the room who hadn't been taken in, judging by the sounds of alarm.

    "What a brave thrall," said one of the women, looking in horror at the snake.

    The queen schooled her face into the semblance of a smile. "Get up and take it away, thrall. What are you doing in here, anyway?"

    "I carry bowl," said Cair, humbly.

    Signy spoke up for him. "He doesn't speak very good Norse, Queen Mama. And I don't think he did bump me. He's a good hard worker. He just doesn't understand well."

    Cair created a distraction by picking the snake up, and flicking it with his thumb so that the tail waggled about. Rigor had set in but he doubted that many of his audience would notice. The women shrieked obligingly. "I take and throw. Sorry I bump she," he said, making his way through a miraculously clear space to the door.

    He escaped with the adder, and went off to throw it away, much amused. The queen might be suspicious, but what could she do?

    He found out later. One of the burly guards came down to the stable with a whip. And grabbed Cair by the arm. He pointed with the whip at four of the other thralls. "You. Take his other arm. And, you two, his legs. If I get kicked, you'll get beaten, too. Pull that tunic up."

    The guard laid into him with the whip. A slave can be punished at whim. Cair should have remembered that.

    "Stop. Why are you beating my thrall?" Signy demanded.

    "Queen Albruna told me to, Signy," he didn't even address her as "princess"—rank disrespect. And he laid on another stroke.

    "He's my thrall. I'll say if he must be beaten."

    He swung the whip down. "I take my orders from Vortenbras or the queen. Not you. He's to get twenty strokes. Go to the queen if you like." The guard seemed to find that very funny.

    Signy stared at him in helpless fury. And he raised the whip again. She grabbed a bucket yoke from against the wall, and swung it at him.

    He attempted to dodge, but that had two unexpected consequences. The first was that he pulled in against Cair—who bit, hard, into the flesh just above his knee. And thus the return swing of the yoke caught him on the side of the head, instead of his whip arm.

    It was a good solid oak yoke, intended to allow a man to carry two buckets of water. It hit the man with an audible crack, too. Signy was small, but not weak. The guard let go of Cair. The thralls already had.

    Cair pulled down his tunic, and weighed the options. If this Norse bear of a man attacked Signy . . . well . . . he needed some weapon. But his tongue was always his best form of sword. "It would be hard for the king not to have the head of any man who put a hand on his sister—even in front of thralls," he said, clearly.

    The man growled, feeling the side of his head. And Cair realized that he was not quite alone in his fight. The dogs that had