That Ruler wasn’t alone. He was an outrider from a small troop of men. Seeing so many foes bearing down on them, they found no disgrace in fleeing. Their warrior’s code was stern, but not always senselessly so.

Riding deer were admirable beasts in many ways. They showed great endurance. Their antlers, even if blunter-tined than those of the deer near Hamnet’s castle, made useful weapons. All that said, they remained slower than horses. The mounted Bizogots and Raumsdalians soon gained on them.

The Rulers had found out about horses since coming down through the Gap into the world Hamnet knew—the world he’d long believed to be all the world there was. They kept looking back over their shoulders to gauge how much trouble they were in.

Before long, they started reaching for arrows. Their formidable bows outranged the ones Raumsdalians and Bizogots carried. That wasn’t the worry uppermost in Hamnet’s thoughts, though. “Have they got a wizard with them?” he called to Marcovefa.

“What?” she shouted back.

“Have—they—got—a—wizard—with—them?”

“Oh,” Marcovefa said, and then, “I don’t think so.”

Hamnet had to be content—or rather, discontented—with that. He strung his own bow and nocked an arrow. The Rulers began to shoot first. Even loosing arrows backward, they could hit from a distance their foes found impossible to match. A Bizogot swore when a shaft pierced the palm of his hand.

But, because horses were faster than riding deer, the Bizogots and Raumsdalians soon started shooting back with some hope of success. A wounded deer bounded away from the rest of the troop, its rider unable to control it. Another deer crashed to the ground. With luck, the Ruler it carried wouldn’t come through that unscathed. And an invader, hit in the neck as he turned back to shoot, slid off his mount and lay motionless.

Marcovefa began to sing in the saddle. Not so very long before, she wouldn’t have tried that. She was a better, more confident rider than she had been. And no wonder—till she came down from the top of the Glacier, she’d never imagined animals like horses and riding deer, let alone mounted ones.

The shaman pointed in the Rulers’ direction. She might not have known anything about riding deer till she came down onto the Bizogot steppe, but her magic now was plenty to send them mad. They started bucking and bounding over the dreary landscape, regardless of what the men on them wanted. The Rulers couldn’t get away, and they couldn’t fight back—the worst of both worlds.

But they wouldn’t give up. Several of the men who’d been bucked off their deer drew swords and stood back-to-back, ready to make the best fight they could. A couple of warriors who’d managed to hang on to their bows went on shooting at the Bizogots and Raumsdalians as if nothing were wrong.

“They’re tough buggers,” Ulric Skakki said, not without admiration, as he shot an enemy bowman from behind. He was not a sporting fighter, but he was a very effective one. “Almost makes you wish they were on our side.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Hamnet Thyssen growled. “It only makes me wish they were all back on the far side of the Gap where they belong.”

“Don’t hold your breath. Even if we somehow beat them down here, don’t hold your breath,” Ulric said. “They’re part of the mix now, I’m afraid. And the Gap won’t be what it is now for very much longer, either.”

“Huh?” Hamnet didn’t get an answer right away. He urged his horse up into a gallop so he could cut down an embattled warrior of the Rulers. But Ulric’s odd comment stayed in his mind. He asked the adventurer about it again after the fighting ended.

“What? D’you think I’m wrong?” Ulric said.

“How can I tell? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hamnet replied.

“No, eh? You’re dense today, aren’t you?” As usual, Ulric had charm.

“I must be,” Hamnet said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t waste time on you.”

That won him a grin. “You say the sweetest things,” Ulric Skakki told him. “Well, think about it a little. The Glacier is melting. That’s why we’ve got the Gap at all. What happens when the Glacier melts some more? The Gap won’t be this little thing where you can pee from one side to the other.” He exaggerated, but not enormously. “Pretty soon, it’ll be ten miles wide. Before too long, it’ll be a hundred miles wide. And when it is, we might as well call it the Highway instead of the Gap, because we won’t have a God-cursed chance of keeping anything from the other side out.”

“Oh,” Hamnet said. He plunged his sword into the soft loam to get more blood off the blade. That made much too much sense. He’d had the same thought himself, but he hadn’t followed it to see where it might lead. “Maybe the Golden Shrine is under the Glacier somewhere, and it’ll come out once the ice melts some more.”

“Maybe you’re an idiot, but I hadn’t thought so till now,” Ulric said cheerfully. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for the Golden Shrine to show up. There. That’s the best advice you ever got, unless somebody was smart enough to tell you to keep away from Gudrid before it was too late.”

“Leave Gudrid out of this.” As always, anger filled Count Hamnet’s voice when he talked about his former wife.

This time, Ulric gave the anger nothing to light on. “All right,” he said. He didn’t even add that, if this ragtag army with the strange sorceress beat the Rulers, it would prop up not only Gudrid but also Sigvat II. Why mention it, when Hamnet could figure it out for himself? Hamnet not only could, he dutifully did. Ulric sent him a benign smile, watching him do it. The adventurer could be dangerous all kinds of ways.

Trasamund walked by, carrying the head of a dead Ruler by the curly beard. None of the invaders had surrendered. They had the courage of their convictions—and much good it had done them. Trasamund seemed happy enough. He wasn’t dangerous in so many ways as Ulric Skakki was, which didn’t mean he wasn’t a dangerous man.

“Well, we whipped this bunch of them, anyway,” he said, pausing for a moment.

“So we did,” Ulric agreed. “Now—how many more bunches do we have to whip before we’re done?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Trasamund asked suspiciously.

“Somebody should, don’t you think?” Ulric asked.

“Don’t bait him,” Hamnet Thyssen said.

“Who, me?” The adventurer was the picture of innocence. That had to mean he was most likely to be guilty. Hamnet didn’t know how he knew that, but know it he did.

IX

THE BIZOGOTS AND Raumsdalians rode through the fertile farmland that had been the bed of Hevring Lake till its ice dam melted through and spilled its waters over the scabrous badlands farther west. Hamnet Thyssen sighed. “I don’t know if I want to see sacked Nidaros or not,” he said.

“Sigvat’s the one who ought to see it,” Ulric Skakki said. “We ought to rub his nose in it, so he gets some idea of how many mistakes he made and how big they were.”

Count Hamnet laughed at him. “Sigvat’s more likely to get pregnant than to get an idea.”

“That hurts too much to be funny,” Ulric said, but he laughed anyhow.

“Things don’t look so bad here,” Trasamund remarked.

A few houses and barns had been burned. Hamnet supposed those were places where the locals showed fight against the Rulers. He didn’t see much in the way of livestock. Either Raumsdalians had escaped with their horses and cattle and sheep or the invaders had stolen or slaughtered them. But grain still ripened in the fields. Hardly any fruit trees had been cut down. Trasamund might not be the best judge of what the Raumsdalian countryside was supposed to look like, but he didn’t sound like a crazy man, either.