All three were shouting and gesticulating. While Thorolf's attention was distracted, the prisoner rolled suddenly to his feet and fled. Thorolf ran after him; but the man, though in stocking feet, ran like a deer. Thorolf gave up and returned, panting.
"See—see what happens when you engage in foolish disputes?" he gasped.
"Ye were disputing as loudly as any," growled Berthar. "To loose a villain who's harmed one of my animals—"
Yvette broke into a peal of laughter. "Confess, my good friends, we were all a pack of zanies! I still think I was right; but now the rascal hath settled the matter for us. 'Twere a scene from one of Helmanax's comedies. Let's be on our ways."
Thorolf and Berthar grinned shamefacedly. Thorolf asked: "We are bound for the village of the Sharmatt trolls; whither for you?"
Berthar thought. "If I may, I'll go with you. I know Chief Wok, and meseems it were safer with him then wending alone. I might meet those three seeking revenge."
"Fair enough. Take the rogue's sword."
Thorolf led the way back to the fork. Walking with Yvette, Berthar said: "Countess, today ye seem like a different person, compared to how ye were at the park. Then ye were as silent as a tomb."
"Oh, I can explain," said Yvette, launching into a voluble account of her captivity and rescue.
The delay meant an extra night of camping out before reaching the village. Thorolf and Berthar pooled their remaining food. When Yvette had stepped away for privacy, Berthar said:
"Your little Countess is amazing, Thorolf. Tell me, are ye and she—ah—well, betrothed or something of the sort?"
Thorolf frowned. "Nay, neither betrothed nor 'something of the sort.' To her Rhaetians are lower-class persons and hence ineligible. Why?"
"I did but wonder. 'Tis plain the pair of you know each other passing well; yet from the way ye squabble one would think you an old married couple."
"So far, Yvette's company has entailed many pains of the wedded state without the pleasures."
Staring into their little fire, Berthar said: "Since my whilom wife absconded, I've been alone. Your Countess mightily attracts me. Ye'll not mind?"
"N-no," said Thorolf. "But I warn you, she'll give your suit a rough reception."
When Yvette returned, she said: "Where wilt sleep, Doctor Berthar? The sergeant and I can barely fit into that little tent."
"I brought a sleeping sack," said Berthar, pulling it out of his pack. "It will suffice me."
"Thorolf!" said Yvette in her commanding voice. "Let you take the good Doctor's sack, whilst he and I occupy the tent!"
Startled, Thorolf said: "Well—ah—wherefore? "
"You're so thick of thew, there's in sooth room for but you in the tent. I must needs lie pressed against you, in dread that the great mass of muscle roll over and crush the life from me. I dream that I am but an insect upon whom your boot is descending. Berthar, being of sparer figure, would better fit." She wrinkled her nose. "Besides, I have reason to suspect you've not bathed lately."
"She makes sense," murmured Berthar, "but I would not dislodge you without your consent."
"Oh, fiddle-faddle!" cried Yvette. "I've stated my wishes!"
Thorolf felt the stirring of jealousy and of annoyance at being so rudely displaced. On the other hand, he did not wish to antagonize Berthar, who might some day help his reentry into Academe. It was partly to conciliate Berthar that he had attacked the three Carinthians singlehanded. Besides, he admitted to himself that he must stink from his unwashedness.
"Oh, very well," he grumbled. "Do not mind Yvette's manner, Berthar. Betimes she confuses herself with Frea, the mother goddess of her Dualist Faith, and thinks all us mortals her subjects."
"Insolent jackanapes!" she said. Ignoring the comment, Thorolf crawled into the sleeping sack and watched unhappily as his companions fitted themselves into the tent.
Next morning, Thorolf was up and had the little fire going before Berthar and Yvette emerged from the tent, yawning and stretching mightily and grinning as if viewing Helmanax's hilarious masterpiece, Mistress in Name Only. The play had been banned in Zurshnitt as subversive of morality; but a group of players gave secret performances in a barn beyond the city limits.
Thorolf looked dourly at his companions. They had slept fully clad; but that was no insuperable obstacle ...
"Sleep well?" he snapped.
"Magnificent well!" said Yvette. " 'Twas as sound as in mine own palace. You were a dear to permit it!" She leaned over and kissed Thorolf's cheek. Sometimes, he thought, she acted almost human.
Through the day, the Countess and the park superintendent chattered, joked, and laughed in high good humor. Drawing inferences, Thorolf became ever more dour and silent.
A group of trolls stopped them, demanding tribute. Thorolf talked their way past this border guard, and the trio reached Wok's village in midafternoon.
The Chief came puffing up, crying: "Ah, good my Thorolf! And the learned Doctor Berthar! What seek ye this time? Worms or gnats?"
"A species of salamander—" began Berthar, but Wok ignored his reply, saying:
"Is this your other mate, Thorolf?"
"She is Countess Yvette of Grintz, from Carinthia. Countess, I present the mighty Chief Wok—"
"What this?" said Bza loudly in Trollish, pushing brusquely into the group. "No say can have other mate!"
"What's she grunting about?" asked Yvette.
"Well—ah—this is Bza, of whom I told you—"
"Want other mate, ask me first!" shouted Bza. "Me boss; her servant!"
Thorolf said: "She claims mastery over you, as senior wife—"
"I never heard of aught so ridiculous!" cried Yvette. "Tell this apish she-pig where to stick her wishes!"
"Bza!" said Thorolf in a soothing manner. "Listen! She no mate; just friend. Nobody boss—"
"Me know lowland word!" screamed Bza. "Me kill!"
Bza hurled herself at Yvette; the two came together in a shrieking whirl of golden hair. Bza was trying to tear out a double handful of Yvette's tresses, while the Countess fiercely punched and kicked her antagonist.
Thorolf cried: "Stop them, Wok!" He caught Bza from behind and whacked her knuckles with the hilt of the dagger he had taken from the Carinthian until she released Yvette's hair. Wok had seized Yvette around the waist and whirled her away from Bza. Thorolf turned Bza around and gave her a shove that sent her staggering away.
"Enough from you twain!" he shouted, sheathing his dagger. "No fight, Bza! Or me beat!"
"Limp lowlander, no can futter!" yelled Bza.
Before Thorolf could find further words, he felt his dagger snatched from its sheath. Next, Yvette was running at Bza, the dagger raised for a downward stab.
Thorolf hurled himself after the Countess, catching her just before she reached her victim. With the flying tackle he brought Yvette to earth. She rolled over, shrieking:
"Loon! Whoreson rudesby! Lickspittle! Roynish pa-jock! I'll teach thee to lay vile hands upon my princely person!"
She tried to stab Thorolf, who caught her wrist and twisted until she released the knife. Since the tirade continued, he slapped her, hard.
"Idiot!" he growled. "Want them to cut you up and boil you for dinner? That's what they do to bothersome lowlanders."
Yvette dissolved in tears. Thorolf added: "And next time you try to stab someone, hold the knife point up." He looked up to see a scowling Khop, Bza's lover, looming over him.
"Hurt Bza, fight me!" rumbled the troll.
"Thorolf!" said Berthar's voice. "I cannot have you treating a high-born lady thus!"
Thorolf rose. "If you're fain to keep those two termagants from killing each other," he snarled, "I wish you joy of the task. I am more concerned with my belly. Chief Wok, who has a bite to spare a hungry fellow tribesman?"