Free Madbond by Nancy Springer Page B

“Come with me,” she begged, “and save my husband from death. Only you can help him.” He was a brave man, and kindhearted, so he went. She led him down the dark shore, and there in a sea cave he found a fine, comely black-haired man moaning with the pain of a great wound in his side. “Touch it,” the weird woman said, and the tribesman did. Instantly the black-haired man was well and whole, and in another breathspan he and the woman were both seals, and away they lunged into the sea and away they swam. So the tribesman went home, feeling well enough off to be alive. But in the morning his spear was waiting for him on his doorstep.
    Even more than we of the Red Hart cherished the deer, these folk of the Seal Kindred reverenced the seal, I sensed. We killed only as many deer as we needed, and wasted nothing. But Korridun’s people ate mainly fish and took each year only a few seals, then fasted and purified themselves as if they had done something shameful. And it was forbidden to kill a nursing cow seal or a pup, even in greatest need.
    One of the minstrels brought out of his tunic a small clay flute, the sort that hangs by a thong around the neck, and there was a coracle song. And then—
    Then a stocky man, a Seal, a man no longer young, made his way out from the crowd, stood near the king, and, as far as I could tell, requested the use of the harp. And it was given over to him. His voice was not fine, but it was deep and strong and it carried to every part of the room.
    This is the song that he sang:
    The Shaming of the King
    â€œDeep in a night of the dark of the moon,
    The young king kept his vigil,
    And in winter’s sky the thunder boomed,
    The very omen of evil.
    And off to the west the lightning flamed,
    And out of the east the rider came.
    Sing shame! Shame! Put to shame
    Was young Korridun the King.”
    Startled, I shot a look at Kor. His face had not changed much—there was a hardness about it, but he had not moved. Then I felt the eyes of Istas on me again. Malice on her face, along with a peculiar pain.
    â€œAnd in burst the rider to raid the place
    Where the young king kept his vigil,
    And in his hand a monstrous blade,
    The very token of evil.
    And pale as the lightning his long braids
    streamed
    â€”as for his guardsmen the young king
    streamed.…
    Sing shame! Shame—”
    â€œStop it!” I shouted, striding forward into the midst of the chamber.
    The uproar that followed would have been sufficient to put a halt to the mocking music. But no one fled, for the presence of their king held them, and when Korridun rose to his feet, all uproar fell to sudden silence.
    â€œPay no heed, Dannoc,” Kor said to me across half the hearth hall, speaking to me as quietly and easily as if we were sitting together on a rock or log. “It has been a long time since Olpash has wished me well.”
    â€œBut did I do that? Did I attack you?”
    â€œYou did more than that,” the stocky man growled, still standing. “There are more verses to my song.”
    â€œSilence, Olpash,” Kor commanded him, “or your life will pay for your noise.”
    The man staggered half a step backward, pale. Evidently Kor was not much in the custom of making such threats. Plainly, also, Olpash could tell that the threat was meant. Korridun the king spoke with grim force. What he would not do to succor himself, it seemed, he would do for me.
    On his neck a dark wound showed.
    â€œDid I attack you?” I demanded. “That first night?”
    â€œWhy, yes. You broke my knife with your first blow.” On his face I saw a warm, quiet smile, and his eyes also were warm, looking at me. “What of it?”
    â€œBut—I have humiliated you in the eyes of your people—” It seemed monstrously unfair that such happenstance as an enormous knife made of something strange and sharp should have caused him dishonor. “Kor—I would