另类小说人亚洲小说

Chapter 68

Payday

It was morning of the next day when Jacob Oen, wanting his own slave woman, showed up with the promised pay in hard coin, and wergild in the same. He even had a neck-chain to lock on Kismet, though I could not tell you which smith forged it.

Again, I cannot swear to these words, although most of those who spoke to me of these events agreed upon the particulars.

Kismet tells me he was cruel, tugging on that chain even when she kept up, as though the movement of her short legs would speed the casual stroll he was taking on his own.

“What gods do you follow, that they permit this kind of behavior?”

.....

“Permit? Foolish slave, the sons of Woden DEMAND this behavior. They do not make us bend our knees or bow our heads. They respect strength, and the trials they demand of us are those of-”

Blackfur, tired of hiding, chose that moment to test his strength, and found it lacking. It is a point of strength that those paying wergild do so without guards or escorts. Even in armor, even with weapons, a Child of Fenris is not the manner of being for a champion to fight alone.

[Goal achieved! Slay Jacob Oen, worth 5 quest points. Quest incomplete, complete quest to receive rewards.]

By the time spearmen arrived from the nearby hunt, there were only tracks, a mangled, heartless body, and a child’s slave collar, the key still in the lock. And those tracks indicated the impossible.

Kismet rode Blackfur almost directly toward the Jarl’s longhouse.

Blackfur sat at the edge of the snow.

“Come on, it’s just snow.”

And Blackfur was off, down toward the abandoned farm, being illegally worked by tenant farmers of the neighboring farm. But they were negligent of the barn in which livestock would have been kept, and it made a suitable place for Fenris cubs to stretch their legs and sleep the day away, waiting for the safety of night to join their mother on the hunt.

And such did the paths diverge, the one young woman to protect her children, the other set to free her friend.

One of them had fur descended from the titan Fenris, and was snug and warm. The other...

“Assholes took my shoes, assholes took my shoes...” Kismet repeated to herself, walking barefoot through the snow. Weaponless through the snow.

Screw this! She was descended of merchants! She should HAVE shoes, a closet full of shoes. She flexed her toes, long since numb. She could see the longhouse, pigsty burned away, women at work washing the blackened side.

At least she wasn’t THEM. If she could get inside the front door, claim guest-right, then everything would be fine. “Assholes took my shoes, assholes took my shoes...”

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“Child, your shivering is making ME cold.” Said the spear-thane to greet her.

He didn’t LOOK the slightest bit cold.

“My name is Kismet. I come to visit my friend, Madonna, recently wed to some nameless git who serves Jacob Oen.”

“Ha! That nameless git would be Tormond Roarson, who stands before you.”

“Why Madonna? Surely there were easier... what are you doing?”

“I am capturing an escaped slave.”

“Eee!” She ran.

You can train your movement speed like any other skill, but its base is in Might, a statistic that Tormund just had more of than Kismet.

Her hands bound behind her, she spat, “The last man to treat me like this isn’t among the living.”

“Indeed! I received just recently a System notification that my Life Service Oath had been fulfilled. I was mulling the implications over, when the very slave of my lord just walked almost literally into my hands. The star of my fortune rises, to own both women of the legendary monster Rhishisikk.”

“You really have no clue what you’re doing, do you?” she asked.

“Your warriors are dead, or have abandoned you. The next time your fire mage gets uppity, she will leave the mortal coil. You ... I will probably sell you when I tire of your screams. How many scars you have at that time is up to you.”

Kismet made a tsk sound. “Just checking.”

“If you keep talking back, you could be my gift to the Jarl. Or I could skin you, make a gift of your hide to the Lady Ingrid Findseth. I rather like the sound of Thane Roarson, don’t you?”

“Jarl Roarson sounds better. But if you WANT to think small...”

“Speak quickly, we’re almost to the long hall. No privacy once we get there.”

“Jarl’s only got his two relatives and three of his five thanes. That’s six warriors.”

“Six champions. Easily the equal of thirty normal warriors.”

“Pity nobody has sixty warriors they can trust.”

“Ha! A thane might be able to convince that many. But no, every able warrior not sworn to another is on the hunt. As a people, nothing can stand against Norvik. Three hundred soldiers are all hunting the beast. They will find it, and they will kill it. You think anyone less than the Jarl himself is pulling one man in five from THAT?”

“A pity you don’t have a dozen or so, then. I’d think if you just accidentally hunted one or more of those thanes while they were in the wild, just hunting the Fenris...”

“Do NOT mistake me for my deceased master. I am no fool, to throw away my Thanehood for delusions of becoming better. At least – not this year.”

“Oh, so your Thanehood is guaranteed? How does one figure that?”

“I may not be the fiercest fighter, but look at my accomplishments. Look at the women I hold chained in my service. I truly lack only Gamilla of the Great Spear, and I’ve got a full set for my harem.”

“You really don’t want to attempt that.”

“Oh, I think I really do.” He pulled her toward him, stroked her soft fur. “I have a curiosity... Wait.”

“You CREEP, leave my leg alone!” She struck him with a head-butt, dizzying herself.

“No, I think that we shall see the Jarl directly.”

“What? Why?”

A slight blonde woman blocked their path. “Yes, why does a huscarl need to speak directly to my husband?”

“Lady Ingrid, I pulled this hair from the leggings of a recaptured slave.”

“What is this, wolf hair? Bear? Some hybrid beast made possible by the Taint of Chaos?”

“Unless I am a novice among hunters, my lady, these are the hairs of the very Cousin of Fenris we seek. Found on her pants and the front of her shirt.”

“I don’t understand how...”

“As though she were riding it, my lady. This one, the Blacksoul Madonna, my wife, and their lord, the magical beast... I believe they have allied with the titan-born Fenris in an unholy pack against mankind.”

“So dramatic.” She scratched her chin. “You may propose this nonsense to my husband, but know that I will counsel him toward a wiser, more moderate path.”

“As the gods will, we must all be strong, my lady.”

“Yes. We must.” She locked a hand around Kismet’s upper arm. “So I must insist that as a slave, I, the high woman of this hall have dominion over her. You may not take her to my husband, nor to any other place without my leave, or that of the Thane in charge of you. Please have him come to me whenever he desires her.”

“Lady Ingrid... my system tells me that my Thane has died.”

“Well, whenever there’s actual evidence of that, bring it before my husband. He will want to speak with all the huscarls of Thane Oen at once. I’m certain you understand.”

“Men may lie, and say that their Systems lie in their place. I am not a speaker of truth, and will wait until the facts come to light, proving my words justified. But if it can be proven that this thing had a hand in Thane Oen’s death...”

“Never laid a paw on him.” Kismet said.

“I will be asking that she be put to death.” Huscarl Roarson said.

“When that time comes, that time will come. Until then, or until Thane Oen makes a miraculous recovery, this slave is mine, to dominate as I see fit.”

She turned a radiant smile toward Kismet. “Have you eaten breakfast? You’ll need your strength for all the work I have planned for you.”

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