Hirka grabbed the turf below her. This was worse than she had thought, and it had come out of nowhere.
Are we at war?
She could clearly hear that the news made an impression on the unseen gathering. A woman’s voice rose above the others. “Mannfalla is always moving, Eirik.”
Fists and tankards were banged against the table. A new voice asked everyone to calm down and suggested a brief round of introductions. Hirka pressed against the chimney to hear who was present.
The woman who had made this suggestion introduced herself first. “I am Veila Insbrott, jarl of Trygge. Trygge in Brekka.” Hirka knew the place well. Brekka was the largest island in Ym. Elveroa welcomed many ships from there. She’d never been there, but she knew that its towns did well on passing trade.
A new voice, a man. “I am Aug Barreson, jarl of Kleiv.” He spoke with a sharp Kleivish accent.
“Leik Ramtanger, from Fross.” A low voice.
“Rand Vargson from Ulvheim. One-Eye to my friends.” This voice was younger, but rougher than the others. What if he was a relative? After all, he came from Ulvheim, like her. But then, he could only be related to Father.
I’m not related to anyone.
“Rand Vargson? Is everything all right with your father?” another voice asked.
More questions followed, so Rand quickly clarified, “I am the son of Varg Kallskaret, jarl of Norrvarje—chieftain, when we’re not talking to Mannfalla. My father got into a fight with a mountain bear, and his leg is broken in three places. My mother and six men had to sit on him before he’d agree to send me in his place.” The others laughed. “And I’m here with a simple message. Ulvheim stands with Ravnhov!” The laughter petered out. Hirka heard him sit down.
“Easy to promise,” an amused voice said. “If Mannfalla comes, you can just sic your father on them!” The room broke out in laughter again. Hirka thought she heard a tremor in his voice when he continued. “I am Grinn Tvefjell. Jarl of Arfabu in Norrvarje. As you can see, I am but a small man with little strength to spare.”
“You can say that again,” Veila from Brekka replied. More laughter.
“Well, I suppose it’s my turn now,” said a new voice. He drew out his words as though they were frightfully important. “Meredir Beig. Jarl of Urmunai.”
Meredir. The one Eirik said whiles away his days with wine.
Eirik took the floor again. “Three more were invited. Grynar in Ormanadas failed to respond. Audun Brinnvág from Skodd died in a fall.” Hirka’s ears pricked up. She’d heard about that! From Sylja. The day Ilume had announced the Rite. What was it she’d said? That somebody had seen shadows on the roof?
The jarl of Arfabu interrupted. “A fall? I knew Audun. He was unwavering. Both on his feet and in his support of Ravnhov. Is there anyone who doubts what killed him?” Nobody countered his speculation. Not even Eirik, who continued.
“We’ve also received a letter from Brinnlanda. From Ende.”
This clearly came as a surprise.
“Nobody’s had dealings with Ende in ages!” Leik from Fross said.
“Isa from Ende writes this,” Eirik responded, unmoved. He cleared his throat and started to read: “‘The ravens say nábyrn are back. The stone way is singing. The Might divides south and north, and the alliances are dead. In this new age, Brinnlanda stands with Ravnhov.’”
A new voice broke in. “And is anybody able to interpret this ditty?”
There was a commotion and somebody shouted that it was a forgery. Hirka sighed. This was going to be a long day.
The sun was high in the sky and Hirka was hungry. She’d heard a lot, but judging by the discussions, they were far from finished. She had learned that Mannfalla had moved its forces, but some of the nobles conceded that such a move could be considered reasonable in light of the rumors about the blind. She had also learned that most of them believed the blind to be pure fabrication, and a pretext for conquest.
Nobody could quite agree on anything.
Grinn, the nervous joker from Arfabu, claimed that everyone else had it easier than him. Arfabu lay right between the mountains on the border between Midtyms and Norrvarje, so he had regular contact with Mannfalla. It was clear to Hirka that he had no desire to enrage the Council, but at the same time he was bound to Ravnhov and the rest of the people of the north.
Rand from Ulvheim went on about Mannfalla’s hegemony, and about how cowardice and greed prevented the others from acting. He was ashamed of the day his forefathers had bent the knee and become part of the alliance with Mannfalla. Someone pointed out that such utterances would have him sentenced to death, to which he responded: “We’ve been sentenced to death for generations.”
Disagreements between the most powerful men and women of the northlands aside, one thing was certain: Hirka had done them a great disservice.
They hadn’t even mentioned her. The discussion between Eirik and Ramoja seemed like a distant dream. Beneath this roof, men and women sat discussing things she wasn’t meant to know. Frightening things. But things that had nothing to do with her.
Hirka heard a faint rustle behind the chimney. Kuro? She hadn’t thought the raven would be able to find her here. It would be typical of him to want to keep her company right when she was trying to hide. What was ravenspeak for “go away”? She carefully bent forward—and froze.
She wasn’t alone. At the end of the roof, right in front of her, crouched a figure with his back to her.
Hirka felt her body turn to ice. What kind of creature was this? A ghost? A man? Black from head to toe. Hirka could see neither skin nor hair. Even his tail was black.
He was holding something that looked like a knife, but it, too, was completely black. It was as though night itself had suddenly decided to climb up on the roof. Hirka pressed against the chimney. How had he gotten up here? Without a sound?
Hirka realized that he hadn’t spotted her yet. Like a cat, he prowled toward the ridge of the roof. A silent and impossible dance. This had to be a nightmare. She had to wake up soon.
She heard the door open and people coming out. Somewhere beneath the icy fear, her instincts kicked in. She realized what was about to happen. Eirik and a couple of the others appeared on the path. The black figure raised his arm. Hirka didn’t think. Panic ripped through her. She got up. The black figure threw his arm forward. The knife sliced through the air. Hirka screamed for all she was worth.
“EIRIK!”
The black figure spun around. It had eyes. Eirik turned on the path below. The knife sank into his chest. Pandemonium ensued. People running. Pointing at the roof. Hirka stared into the eyes of the black figure. An eternity passed. She heard shouts around her. But all she could see were the eyes.
I’m going to die.
She must have blinked, because all of a sudden, the creature was no longer there. She caught a glimpse of a black shadow out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see the figure leap off the roof and over the ledge.
The shouts from below had converged into a single terrified word.
“KOLKAGGA!”
Hirka stumbled and fell forward. Her body rolled down the turf roof. She managed to grab a hold of something that broke loose just as quickly. Then she had nothing beneath her. She fell. Her body hit the ground with a frightful thud. Pain. Her chest. Broken ribs?
Someone grabbed her.
Kolkagga!
She struck out wildly, but she was held down. Pain lanced through her frame. She tried to scream. No sound came out.
“Breathe, woman!” boomed the voice of Rand Vargson. She obeyed. After a couple of breaths she tried to talk. No sound came out at first. She stared up at the son of the chieftain from Ulvheim. He had a scar above one eye, long stubble, and short, wild hair.
“You look just like I imagined,” Hirka said. His features blurred. Then she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.
ILUME’S FURY
Urd’s throat burned. Sweat streamed down his chest from under his
collar. It was summoning him again. Soon it would be unbearable. He needed to get away from here. Now.
But Ilume was relentless. The old bat had barely made it inside the city walls before calling the families together. And they’d come! On command, like dutiful ravens. The Council sat around the table, willingly subjecting itself to her fury over the decisions that had been made in her absence. They sat with their eyes downcast, immobile and deflated. It was ridiculous.
Ilume’s right to vent her fury was clearly sacred. No one questioned it. Her words carried incomprehensible weight in others’ eyes. What in Slokna’s name had she done to earn such respect? Not a damned thing, that’s what!
Urd felt an involuntary stab of admiration before realizing it was his recent accomplishments she was railing against. He had managed to get the others on his side, but clearly they weren’t going to lend him their voices now. Even though what he had managed to achieve was far more impressive than this performance.
Ilume leaned over the table on the Ravenbearer’s right. Outside, the sun was sinking beneath the horizon, throwing long red shadows across her arms.
“An assassination?! We’ve wanted to take Eirik out since he was a child. And his father before him. But we’ve never sunk that low. And now we send Kolkagga after him. Kolkagga?! A blatant declaration of war!”
Ilume sank down into her chair again and continued as if exhausted by her own tirade. “If your aim was to keep the peace, you’ve failed.”
Urd seized his opportunity. “Your? This Council is one. Or are you not with us anymore?”
Ilume glared daggers at him. A good look on her. Piercing pupils ringed by gray. “I was on this Council the day you defiled the world with your birth, Urd Vanfarinn.” There were several muffled gasps. Urd tried to reply, but his throat tightened. Ilume was able to continue uninterrupted. “The leaders from the north were gathered in Ravnhov. You have just given them a reason to rally around Eirik.”
“Eirik’s dead,” Garm tried, but Ilume cut him off.
“If Eirik were dead, we’d know. Have you forgotten everything that’s been said in this room in the last thirty years? Have you forgotten why we’ve let him live? Because he’s more dangerous dead! You’ve made him into a martyr.”
The pain in Urd’s throat started to build. His muscles spasmed. Uncontrollably. He was out of time. He would have to find a way to bring the meeting to an end while also countering Ilume’s attack on him.
“You clearly have no idea how they think. This will divide them. They’ll blame each other. But perhaps you have another reason to be angry. Did you live near Ravnhov for long, Ilume?”
No one tried to conceal their gasps this time. Jarladin looked like he was about to get up. Urd moved in for the kill. “You’ve spent years in Elveroa with nothing to show for it. Without getting any closer to Ravnhov or managing to build a Seer’s hall there. Where does your loyalty lie, Ilume? Are you afraid we’ll succeed where you failed?”
“Urd!” Eir brought her fists down on the table. Her bangle hit the gold strip, the resultant clang reverberating around the edge. “This Council is one. We speak to each other as if we were one. Watch your language! This meeting is adjourned. We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”
Urd got up with his hand on his throat. The collar was warm. Breathing was painful. He walked as quickly as he dared across the bridge and toward the rooms reserved for his use in Eisvaldr. He stormed in and tore at the cupboard door. Locked. Of course it was locked. His hands shook. He fumbled in his coin purse for the key. Where had he put it? The pain was unbearable.
He emptied the purse onto the table, grabbed the key, and managed to insert it into the lock. His hands wouldn’t cooperate. There! Damayanti’s bottle was in a box on the middle shelf. The silver was tarnished black. He’d thought he had more time and decided against taking it with him. A mistake he’d never make again. He reached for the bottle.
“In a hurry, Urd?”
He snatched his hand back as if he’d burned it. Ilume’s voice was as icy as a mountain stream. It wasn’t really a question or a civility. She was outlined in the doorway. The door. He’d forgotten to close the door behind him. He’d been in too much of a rush. Damn it all to Slokna! He would have to be more cautious. If he was found practicing blindcraft in the Council’s own halls, it would mean certain death for him.
“If you mean am I in a hurry to safeguard Mannfalla’s sovereignty, then yes, I’m in a hurry.”
He closed the cupboard again even though it pained him to lose sight of the bottle. He needed to get rid of her. Immediately. He clenched his fists to stop them from flying to his throat—or hers. “So if you’ll excuse me—” he said drily.
But Ilume came into the room so they were standing face-to-face. The walls seemed to close in, as if the pillars were being drawn toward them. The rug became an island, and it wasn’t big enough for both of them. She was shorter than him but still somehow managed to look down on him. He couldn’t work out how. Blindcraft?
No. Not Ilume. Unfortunately. That would have made things so much easier.
“I know who you are, Urd.”
Urd’s lips pulled back into a sneer. “Such clairvoyance.”
“I know who you are. Your father knew too. It was never his wish for you to succeed him.”
Urd knew what she was trying to do, but he wouldn’t let her. The seat was his and it would stay his. Until he got Eir’s seat. Until he bore the Raven.
“My father’s dying wish was to have honey cakes and an empty pisspot in the evenings.” He smiled when her eyes widened. Had she thought he was beholden to his father’s wishes? That Vanfarinn had enough power over him to control his life from eternity? She should have seen him in his final moments. Paralyzed by shock, a prisoner in his own bed. Unable to defend himself. He’d sounded off his entire life, but he met his death in silence.
“We all have wishes, Ilume. For example, I wish you’d leave me in peace, yet here you are.”
“Here I am. And I know, Urd. You think you can bend them to your will, but you’re a whelp. You think you can paint pretty pictures for them with honorable intentions, but no idiot will follow you when push comes to shove. You’re alone, Urd. Alone between generations. Dead father. Damaged son. If you don’t set your personal motives aside and start thinking about what’s best for the eleven kingdoms, Insringin might have to learn more about its newest member.”
Urd twitched. She was threatening him! Bitch. She dared threaten him? She had nothing. She knew nothing. She couldn’t know.
He snarled. “Who are you to talk about generations, Ilume An-Elderin? What family do you have left? Weak binders, bakers, and historians! Women who throw themselves from walls. The only person who could have succeeded you has chosen Kolkagga. And he’s the son of a traitor.”
Urd laughed even though the pain ripped through his throat and down into his stomach. He tasted blood. “And who would be left if something were to happen to An-Elderin’s great hope? They rarely live long, the black shadows.”
Her eyes screamed that he wouldn’t dare. But she also looked uncertain, much to Urd’s glee. She had every reason to be uncertain, as his father should have been, had he had any sense at all. He could see she was thinking. Weighing his words.
“You’d be signing your own death warrant,” Ilume said. She turned and left the room. Her robe danced around her. Urd stood where he was for a few seconds. He could feel her eyes boring into him as if she were still there. But he couldn’t wait anymore. He closed the door, locked it, and tore the cupboard door open again. He raised the bottle to his lips and tipped a couple drops of raven blood down his throat.
The pain disappeared straightaway. But the respite was only temporary. Then came the spasms. Merciless. Worse than ever. The old wound opened, and it felt as if his throat were being shredded. It erupted against the collar. Urd fumbled at the small catch and managed to push it to one side. The collar flew open and clattered to the floor.
He fell
to his knees on the rug, grabbing a cushion so no one would hear him. He pressed it to his face and screamed, blood gushing everywhere.
SLEEPLESS NIGHT
Rime allowed the night to envelop him. He was a shadow, no more. His sword was a contour that he stretched out in front of him in the darkness. Occasionally the moon peeked out to cast a pale light that glanced off the edge of the blade. Rime spun around and, using both hands, plunged the sword into an invisible enemy behind him.
Banahogg.
His body followed the sword’s momentum in a curve over his head before he swung it down in front of him.
Beinlemja.
An owl alighted from the branch above him, wisely deciding to find another place to rest. Rime spun around again, letting the sword cleave the darkness around him before he defended himself against a counterattack by falling to one knee with his arms held out and back.
Ravnsveltar.
He knew he should be sleeping. Days started early for Kolkagga but sweat was tonic to his body. With each movement, his thoughts were normally driven further away. But not tonight. Tonight they had taken root. Something was happening. That certainty sat in his stomach, gnawing at his insides. Mannfalla hosted people from around the world during the Rite, and the rumors were spreading like wildfire.
Raudregn.
Rime knew that the Council was unsettled. He had heard snatches of conversations and quarrels in the corridors and seen signs of disquiet in Ilume’s steely face. People from the north whispered about the blind.
Ormskira.
The Council had sent forces north, to strike the rumors dead once and for all, as they put it. But what fool would believe it was still a rumor when thousands of men were marching north? None.
Vargnott.
Kolkagga had been sent on more missions than normal. It had cost one of them their life. Maybe two, because Launhug was still missing, having not returned from a mission that none of the others knew anything about. But that wasn’t their job. Kolkagga were nothing more than a weapon. They were told all they needed to know to serve the Seer. They were given a job, a target, and a place. Then they set out, in silence. Other people took care of the details. Rime had always known that was how it had to be, but it didn’t make it any easier.
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