Free The Tempering of Men by Elizabeth Bear Page A

and one side black as the blood that settles in a rotting body, and I saw the starlight glitter among her teeth, and I saw the blood running black from her mouth. I knew her then, and I knew the woman in my dreams, and I knew I was being shown a choice.”
    â€œShown,” Isolfr said, not quite a question.
    â€œOh yes,” said Freyvithr. “Not offered, for that is not the gods’ way. But I was shown, and I chose. Just as you were shown, were you not?”
    It was an invitation, and Vethulf watched Isolfr respond to it, chewing his lip and looking aside. Vethulf never would have thought to do what Freyvithr had, to give something of himself in order to encourage another to give something in return. He leaned forward to interject a comment, to deflect Freyvithr’s attention from Isolfr, and remembered himself just in time. The Wolfmaegth needed the godsman’s help, and it didn’t rankle Vethulf to admit it. The Wolfmaegth had always existed on trade, not on charity. Their skills and ferocity, the wisdom of their wolves, the meat they hunted, in return for rye and barley, skyr and butter, cabbages and turnips and apples. All things the Wolfmaegth found too little time to farm.
    But perhaps they could learn. And perhaps they could learn to trade other things, because Vethulf did not see the wolfcarls learning to exist meekly on charity now.
    Isolfr hunkered down into a squat, leather trews stretching across the knees he laid his elbows on. He pushed his fingers together and let the latticework support his forehead, as if he could not bear either the weight of his head upon his shoulders or the eyes of Vethulf or Freyvithr upon him.
    â€œI prayed for mercy,” Isolfr said. “I prayed for something to save us from the trolls. It was a womanish prayer, and a woman answered it.”
    Vethulf saw his shoulders rise and fall on the breath. If Kjaran were there, he would have whined at the wolfsprechend’s distress.
    Vethulf felt the wolf notice his awareness, and soothed him. We’re all fine. I was just thinking of you. Kjaran understood the emotion, not the words, but it was enough. All the way back in the heall, he laid his jaw on his forepaws again.
    â€œI never saw her, unless she came to me as a konigenwolf with rainbow eyes. She sent me a dream of where to go. Some of my friends—wolves and men—would not let me leave them behind. And when I went where Freya sent me, the svartalf Tin—who was a friend, of sorts—had a plan to convince her people to help us. So we did it. I’m pretty sure that part is in the songs.”
    â€œYou prayed for mercy,” Freyvithr said softly. Vethulf couldn’t hear condemnation in it, but he imagined Isolfr could provide his own, and even delivered kindly the words themselves were harsh. “And were you merciful in your own turn?”
    Vethulf had winced at the first statement. With the second, he wasn’t sure what Freyvithr was driving at. Vethulf started forward anyway, because Isolfr flinched as if flystung. But Vethulf’s intervention proved unneeded.
    Because he was Isolfr Ice-heart, he lifted his head up off his hands and stood, arms at his sides, rocking forward on his toes.
    â€œWe were dying,” he said. “Call me a nithling if you will, but that prayer bought life for all the northlands. There would have been trolls in Hergilsberg next winter, fighting it out with the raiders, else.”
    â€œOh, aye,” Freyvithr said, catching Vethulf’s eye like a conspirator. “Because what you did to earn that mercy was so a nithling’s deed.”
    Vethulf burst out laughing, unable to stop himself. Isolfr’s head went back, offended as a wet cat, and then, reluctantly, he must have seen the humor, for he smiled.
    Freyvithr said, “Do you think me a nithling, wolfsprechend?”
    Isolfr went a beautiful scarlet. Daft creature, Vethulf thought fondly. Why do you persist in