The Tempering of Men (36 page)

“Yes,” said the wolfsprechend of Thorsbaer. “Which is all the more reason that the jarls should honor us for it.”

“And tithe,” put in the wolfjarl of Kerlaugstrond.

“And if they
all
tithe,” said the wolfsprechend of Arakensberg, “then no jarl can complain that another jarl buys our service away from him.” Wolfsprechend and wolfjarl exchanged a dour look; Skjaldwulf wondered which of Arakensberg's neighbors they had run afoul of.

“And it gives us a reason to continue the patrols,” said the wolfjarl of Othinnsaesc, a light in his eye that suggested he had been having trouble with wolfcarls underfoot.

“And,”
Isolfr said, “it means that wolfless men will become accustomed to wolves, and will continue to be so. Which raises another point: if we are to do this, we must make at least one wolfheall in the south, where I understand”—with a dry look at Skjaldwulf—“the bandits are particularly troublesome. Franangford has a konigenwolf pup, and we would gladly stand her to a new heall.”

A mutter ran round the room; Grimolfr and Ulfbjorn both looked as proud as if they'd birthed Signy themselves. Isolfr coughed, looking a little embarrassed, and said, “I would ask only that we name the heall not for the keep it will stand near, but for Freya, as she seems still to protect us.”

Another murmur, this one even more approving. Skjaldwulf said, “I will put the question to the new jarl of Siglufjordhur, for I think he may be willing to grant us land.”

*   *   *

Later that night, Skjaldwulf came into the section of the wide-flung camp around Arakensberg that was Franangford's. He passed two small campfires, one surrounded by sleeping wolfcarls and wolves, the other providing warmth and light for a lazy half-drunken dice game between Frithulf and Otter. Otter was winning. They saluted him with their cups as he went by, and he waved back. At the main tent, pitched for wolfsprechend and wolfjarls, he found Isolfr and Ulfbjorn talking while Vigdis and Viradechtis, united in a temporary truce, angled for bits of the smoked ham and cheese laid out on the table, boards over trestles, the men had set up beside the stone-ringed campfire.

“It is not finished,” Skjaldwulf said, “but it is begun. As I expected, Fargrimr was not at all averse to the idea.”

Ulfbjorn saluted him with his mead-horn.

“So,” Isolfr said, “what happens next?”

Skjaldwulf sighed and stretched his spine, listening to the series of small pops as it settled back into alignment. “Everybody dies, and the people who don't get married.”

Isolfr smiled crookedly. “Like any other story, then.”

Skjaldwulf smiled back. “We all think we are greater than the story, but we aren't, really, and that is no bad thing.”

“No,” said Isolfr. He looked across the table. “Ulfbjorn and I are talking about konigenwolves, but I think you will find that Vethulf is still awake in our tent. His stamina is improving.”

Skjaldwulf stood a moment, arrested by the thought that his wolfsprechend was matchmaking for him—and the delicate pink rising along Isolfr's ears suggested that he was not wrong. But Isolfr met his gaze and said, “You don't want to listen to us, Skjaldwulf. Truly.”

Viradechtis snorted in unkind agreement, and Isolfr said to her, “Who keeps the ham, madam?”

“Good night, then,” Skjaldwulf said and ducked into the tent, where Vethulf was indeed awake, lying propped among the furs like a viking prince, with Kjaran and Mar, one to each side.

Skjaldwulf sat down and began to undo his boots. “Isolfr says you are improving.”

Vethulf made a grumbling noise uncannily like a wolf's.

“Was it a lie, then?”

“No, damn you. I am better. But I do not like being nursemaided.”

“I know that,” Skjaldwulf said, grinning at him over one shoulder before bending again to his boots.

“So if you were thinking of starting—”

“I wasn't, I assure you.”

“Good,” said Vethulf.

Freed of his boots, Skjaldwulf lay back across the bedding. Kjaran got up and came to sniff his face and throat. He heard Vethulf sit up, grumbling at Mar to shift his furry black ass, and grinned at the tent pole.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Vethulf said.

Skjaldwulf rolled up and saw that Mar had indeed shifted his furry black ass and was now draped across Vethulf's lap.

Brother,
Skjaldwulf said.

Mar rolled his eyes at him, then, with a very pointed thought about the smoked ham, got off Vethulf. Kjaran joined him at the tent flap, and Skjaldwulf got up and tied it closed behind them. He heard Ulfbjorn and Isolfr laugh, but he didn't mind. He stripped his clothes off as he came back to the bedding, and Vethulf said, “I thought southerners were all fat and lazy. Haven't they been feeding you?”

“I could have stayed out there and eaten smoked ham and listened to Isolfr and Ulfbjorn talk about konigenwolves,” Skjaldwulf pointed out.

“You could have,” Vethulf agreed, and then Skjaldwulf rolled into the bedding and straddled him.

Vethulf was wearing nothing but his shirt—two trellwolves were more than enough to keep a man warm at this time of year—and Skjaldwulf was pleased to feel evidence that the grumbling was just for show. He leaned down, got a careful grip on Vethulf's braids, and kissed him, hard and slow and with all the pent-up loneliness and fear of his long trip south.

Vethulf made a tiny bitten-off noise and kissed him back, just as hard, and Skjaldwulf gratefully lost himself in the pressure of mouth on mouth, in Vethulf's strong hands gripping his biceps. Skjaldwulf shifted himself to lie closer along Vethulf's body, and Vethulf seized the chance to roll them over.

“Easy,” Skjaldwulf said. “Your shoulder—”

“Is fine,” Vethulf said. “Need I prove it to you?”

Skjaldwulf could not help laughing. “Yes,” he said. “I think you should.”

And Vethulf did. Vigorously and for some time. And Skjaldwulf happily, happily let him do it, let Vethulf be the one in charge. It could not always be so—and Vethulf would not want it to be so; they were wolfjarls together. But for now, Skjaldwulf could let go and simply feel Vethulf's strength and fierceness and the sweetness that he hid behind his porcupine armor.

Afterwards, they lay together quietly for some time until a soft scrape at the tent flap and a nudge in the pack-sense told them that Mar and Kjaran wanted to come back in. Vethulf got up and loosed the flap; the two wolves sauntered in and annexed the bedding, Kjaran flopping down where Vethulf had been and Mar moving Skjaldwulf around to suit himself.

Vethulf came back and stood glaring down at Skjaldwulf and the wolves. Skjaldwulf was aware of a tremendous spreading feeling of rightness, as if he had finally come back to the place he was meant to be—even if at the moment he was too many leagues from his own heall. Here, with these wolves and Vethulf, and Isolfr just outside with Viradechtis. This was the right place.

Vethulf, still glowering, sat down and kissed him. Skjaldwulf kissed him back.

“I missed you,” Vethulf said. He sounded aggrieved.

 

TOR BOOKS BY SARAH MONETTE AND ELIZABETH BEAR

A Companion to Wolves

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously.

THE TEMPERING OF MEN

Copyright © 2011 by Sarah Monette and Elizabeth Bear

All rights reserved.

A Tor
®
eBook

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Monette, Sarah.

The tempering of men / Sarah Monette and Elizabeth Bear.—1st ed.

        p.   cm.

“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”

Sequel to: A companion to wolves.

ISBN 978-0-7653-2470-2

  1.  Wolves—Fiction.   I.  Bear, Elizabeth.   II.  Title.

PS3613.O5246T46 2011

813'.6—dc22

2011013459

First Edition: August 2011

eISBN 978-1-4299-7913-9

First Tor eBook Edition: August 2011