Honor among thieves

Chapter Eighty-Eight

The whispers became murmurs. The murmurs became disgusted looks in the midst of the camp. Morget said nothing, but made certain every man of the horde knew he was willing to listen.

And still, no word came from inside the walls of Ness.

A warrior came to him from one of the lesser clans, a weakling of a man who should have been weeded out long ago. His name was Horfnung, and he was known far and wide for being a thrall to his wife. Still, he had the courage to speak to Morget, man-to-man. Morget led him inside his tent and together they sat on stools and shared the warmth of his charcoal stove. “The snow lies on the ground today, and does not melt,” Horfnung said.

“I saw it,” Morget told him. He wanted to smack the man with the backside of his hand for wasting his time, but instead he nodded sagely, as if this were some grand observation.

“This morning I went to make water, and by the time I was done, my piss had frozen on the ground,” Horfnung went on.

If the man did not get to his point soon, he would gut him.

“Every day we throw rocks over this wall, like bad neighbors throwing garbage over a fence,” the little man said. “Inside the city, they sleep in warm beds, and enjoy their women. I want a bed.” Horfnung smiled, as men do who are about to make a joke they think hilarious. “I want to enjoy their women.”

“Morg, my father-ah, and chieftain of us all,” Morget said, very slowly, “has decreed the city must not be harmed. So we can enjoy it more when it is ours.”

“Every day he tells us this. And nothing changes. Meanwhile, an army camps not thirty miles away. An army we could walk over with bare feet. Morg, your father, leaves them in peace.”

“Such is his decision. Some, in the past,” Morget said, “have called him Morg the Wise.”

“Some now call him Morg the Merciful,” Horfnung said, spitting out the insult.

Morget nodded sagely again. “Who do you speak for?” he asked.

“Only myself,” Horfnung admitted.

“Ah. Very good. I am glad to offer you the hospitality of my tent,” he said, and stood up. Horfnung was smart enough, at least, to rise as well, and take his leave.

At the flap of the tent, however, Horfnung stopped a moment. “There are many others who would say the same things.”

“Let them come to me and speak, for there is no harm in it. Now-get out of my tent. You’re letting in the cold,” Morget said, and took a step toward the flap.

Horfnung all but ran away.

“Spittle of a man,” Morget cursed when he was gone.

Balint raised her head from where she lay on a pile of furs in the corner. “That almost sounded like a real insult,” she said. “You must be learning from me.”

Morget snarled. “I would wipe my arse with his kind if-”

“If you didn’t need their support,” the dwarf said. “Aye, barbarian, you can’t do this thing alone. If you’re still committed to doing it at all. You need to make up your mind, you know. A man sitting on a fence too long gets a post up his backside.”

But Morget had already decided. Horfnung had spoken true when he’d said many others thought the same as he. Morget had heard similar veiled threats from a hundred men already, and knew there would be no question when he made his move. Morg’s plan for taking the city wasn’t working fast enough. The barbarians were not famous for their patience. “I’ll go and make the challenge now, if you like, little one.” He reached for his axe.

“Don’t you dare. If you get cut down, they’ll make me one of their thralls. I’ll have to carry rocks and sharpen weapons for the rest of my life,” Balint said. “I could probably fuck my way out of thralldom in a month, of course, but it would be a very smelly, very sore month. No-you need to do this the classical way. In the middle of the night when no one’s looking.”

Morget scowled. He would have preferred to kill his father in broad daylight. But he supposed she had a point. Morg cheated-he was famous for it. Perhaps it was time to see how he felt when someone broke the rules on him.