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"She was running from the Princes men," Teri said. "I believe she was selling our battle plans to the
Duke."
"And the Duke, like the traitor he is," Brunea paused to spit, "was happy to name her a spy. So she was
to die anyway. Not so soon a'course," Brunea said regretfully. "Ples had your armor on, the gretch, so I
filched it back for you." She slapped a meaty hand against a flattish package tied behind her. "It's got a
hole in it, but I'm thinkin' maybe your wizardling can fix that." She stuck her tongue in her cheek, then said
off-handedly, "So long as he doesn't put that enchantment back on."
Teri and Feric glanced at each other, then looked at Brunea, their faces carefully bland.
"Well," Teri said, "I'm just glad to be paid."
"Yes," Feric agreed. "Money, always useful."
"There's work up north," Brunea said. "Mind if I travel with you?"
"You're welcome to join us," Teri said. "But we're looking for a wizard willing to teach Feric."
"What wizard is going to take on an apprentice his age?" Brunea demanded scornfully.
"We'll know when we find one," Terion told her and rode placidly on.
A Big Hand for the Little Lady
Esther M. Friesner
«^»
It was just another night in Hrothgar's hall, high Heorot, and the bloodstains on the plank floors hardly
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showed at all. Men sat at the long boards, drinking and swapping lies. Mead, beer, and wine flowed
freely, most of it down the gullets of those warriors who'd stayed in noble Hrothgar's service long enough
to have seen too many of their comrades die at the hands if theywerehands of the fen-dwelling fiend
the scops named Grendel. (How the scops ever got close enough to the hellspawned monster to learn his
name without being themselves devoured remained a mystery.)
While the doughty Danish warriors sopped up enough liquor to float a longship, serving wenches passed
between the feasting boards, refilling cups and drinking horns while at the same time slapping down or
encouraging the attentions of the men, as they pleased. Among this lot there was one young woman who
stood out from the rest, though not even the most nimble-tongued harper could ever say that she stood
above them.
"Well, woodja looka that, Hengest," said one of Hrothgar's men, staring across the hall through
booze-bleared eyes. "They got kids serving in here now?"
His seatmate gave him a comradely thwack in the head. "Thass no kid, Wulfstan, you beetle-brain.
Thass m' sister, Maethild."
"Uh." Wulfstan squinted at the doll-like woman threading her way through the maze of tables. The other
wenches towered over her, as did some of Hrothgar's boarhounds. It wasn't that she was a dwarf,
although Hengest could have told Wulfstan that the girl had borne more than a few crude gibes from
would-be wits who wanted to know where she kept her hammer or asked to see her treasure hoard. (In
the latter cases, Maethild generally contrived to lay hold of a something heavy and hammer home a few
free lessons in manners.) She was as sweetly formed a woman as the Lady Frey had ever blessed: hair of
gold, eyes like a windswept summer sea, trim waist, and thighs that could crush a full keg of autumn ale
between them. She was simply& short. She balanced a heavy jug of beer on her shoulder as effortlessly
as if it were made of cloud instead of clay, sometimes using it to beat aside too-familiar hands.
"You washed 'er wrong," Wulfstan said at last. "She shrunk."
Hengest bellowed with laughter and thumped Wulfstan on the back. "I like you, Woofspam," he slurred.
"I don' got a lotta friends here yet 'cos I jus' come south to get into Hrothgar's service. See, I'm hopin' I'll
be the one to killa monster that's been makin' all you Ring-Danes slink outa this fine hall ev'ry night so's
he won' eatcha. Ol' Hrothgar, he'll pile a ton o' treasure on the man does that, and that man's gonna be
me. But Ilikeyou. I like you alot. Tell ya what: If you don' get eat up an' I killa monster, you marry
Maethild. Deal?"
Wulfstan gave the diminutive maiden another long stare. "Well, shelookscheap to feed. 'Kay. Deal." The
two men shook on it, and both of them fell off the bench backwards in the process. Hengest was the first
back on his feet. He bawled out his sister's name.
One of the serving women reached down to tap Maethild on the shoulder. "You're wanted."
"I know." Maethild gave her brother a look of disgust which the other wench misinterpreted.
"Look, if you don't want him bothering you, drop that jug where it matters. I've been watching you; you
don't have any trouble handling these trolls."
"That's no troll; that's my brother."
"He is?" The wench looked from tiny Maethild to titanic Hengest, mystified. "Are yousure?"
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"Different fathers," Maethild replied. "Mine was a swordsman, his was a scop."
"A swordsman?Yourfather was the swordsman?" The wench was even more baffled by this sliver of
family history.
"A short swordsman," Maethild replied tersely, and stomped across the hall, thumped the jug down on
the board, gave her brother a killing look and snapped, "What?"
"Now, Maethild, be nice," Hengest soothed. "We don' wan' 'nother thing like wha' happen' in Healfdan's
hall."
"Huh?" Wulfstan blinked. "Wuzza hoppen Healfdan's hall, hey?"
"Nuthin'." Hengest was suddenly embarrassed.
"I'll tell you what happened in Healfdan's hall," Maethild replied pertly. "Healfdan was my brother's
former lord, a windbellied braggart. His way of telling a woman to hold her tongue was to give her a
couple of healthy slaps. He heard me speaking my mind to my brother and he didn't care for my tone of
voice, so he tried teaching me my place." She showed her teeth. "Once. They call him Healfdan of the
Seven Fingers now."
Wulfstan's lower jaw dropped. Hengest writhed with the shame of having so unsuitable a sister. " 'S why
we come here," he mumbled into his beard. "After what she did to Healfdan, we hadda run. I couldn't
fight all of his men myself."
"Who asked you to?" Maethild demanded. "If you'd only have given me a sword "
Hengest slammed his knuckles onto the table and rose from his place in a rage. "No woman ofmyblood
is gonna use a sword, an'spesh'lynot one that's dangerous 'nuff 'thout one!" he hollered, and then slumped
across the board, dead to the world.
"Beautiful," Maethild sneered over her brother's snores. She shot Wulfstan a hard look. "Well? Are you
just going to sit there gaping like alutefiskor are you going to leave the big lumpbrain here for Grendel to
eat tonight?"
"Uh& " Wulfstan rubbed his temples as if his hangover had arrived ahead of schedule. "I guess I could
haul 'im outa here. Leas' I c'n do for fam'ly." He was young and brawny, like Hengest, whom he soon
had draped over his shoulders like a lamb's carcase. He started for the great door of Heorot, but a small
hand clamped itself to the back of his belt and held him firmly.
"'Family'?" Maethild inquired. Her smile was too sweet. A sober man wouldn't have believed it for an
instant.
"Uh-huh. I'm gonna many you after your brother kills the monster." Drunk as he was, Wulfstan caught
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