1633880583 (F)

by Chris Willrich

  We watched Flint tug on the sword, to no avail.

  The dead warriors advanced.

  “Beware!” I cried out.

  Snow Pine looked around, and her eyes widened as she recognized that the ten nearby shapes were not kelp, but flesh. She pushed Flint aside and pulled forth the sword.

  “Her?” Northwing said. “Never heard she had royal blood.”

  Perhaps being the mother of the Runethane made her such by default.

  “It was not your place to act, slave,” Steelfox said.

  “And will you act?” I asked. “Mistress? You seem displeased at Jewelwolf’s work.” She did not reply.

  The dead warriors advanced, and Snow Pine waved the unfamiliar sword, taking its measure. Flint grasped her shoulder, pointing upward. She nodded and shed a belt weighted with rocks, pulling on her rope; he did likewise.

  They were hauled upward, but three of the Karvaks removed helmets and sword-belts and armor, rising toward the light. They swam with unnatural speed and grappled the swimmers, weighing them down, slashing with knives. The water darkened.

  I could not let my companions—yes, my friends—be slain before my eyes. I strode forward. “Cut me loose, if you will not act!”

  As I spoke, Snow Pine’s new weapon slashed, and a peculiar thing occurred. The reflective blade glowed with purple light, and images of the three Karvak warriors appeared within it, furious and proud. The bodies, with their green troll-splinters in their eyes, slowly rose toward the surface.

  Snow Pine and Flint swam after them, trailing blood.

  “Northwing,” Steelfox said. “I must have that sword. Can you retrieve it?”

  “Maybe,” said Northwing, and she raised her arms and shut her eyes.

  A tendril of air extended from our bubble and lashed through the water. It engulfed the sword in Snow Pine’s hand and sucked it away from her. I was obliged to leap away as the blade descended and buried itself in the coral. (Did it seem as though the coral darkened for a cubit all around? Perhaps it did.)

  Steelfox tugged at it. It came free, but immediately its reflectiveness ended, and the blade became pure black.

  “I see,” Steelfox mused. “It does not want me.”

  “I suspect it’s chosen,” I said, hoping my old companions were safe aboard their boat.

  “No matter,” Steelfox said. “We’ve deprived them of this weapon, and that is enough. Let’s head back, Northwing.”

  Northwing sighed and commenced walking—but soon she halted. The arban of dead warriors blocked their path.

  “Stand aside,” Steelfox commanded, “or walk with us. I am taking this weapon to the Karvak camp.”

  The warriors did nothing.

  “Well,” I said.

  “This is Jewelwolf’s work,” Northwing said. “They must have instructions to claim the sword and nothing else.”

  “They should obey my commands,” Steelfox said, “not Jewelwolf’s alone. For in life they served the nation, not my sister.”

  “Be that as it may,” Northwing said, “I can’t maintain our air forever.”

  Rolf laughed.

  “So what is it to you, Steelfox?” I said. “A weapon you cannot use. Surely it does not matter if Jewelwolf takes it.”

  “It matters, traitor,” snapped Steelfox. “She’s given too much authority to these trolls. She’s used vile sorcery to animate the bodies of loyal men. She’s usurped authority that belongs only to the khan. My father killed kinsmen for less.”

  I dared say, “Old friend, your father is not here. You are. What will you do?”

  “Silence, slave.” Steelfox shut her eyes. “Qurca. Show me what I need to know.”

  Minutes passed. Sweat beaded on all our faces, especially Northwing’s.

  “Lady,” I began.

  “Hush!” Northwing said. “Give her the time she needs.”

  Soon, Steelfox said, “I know what I need to know. Sister! I have overheard your words, and I know you watch me through your dead servants! They must let us pass! As the sword is of no military value, it will go from my hands to the master of loot, there to be allocated, as is proper, when all the treasures of Svanstad are taken.” She laughed. “You cannot kill my spy, for he’s already flown out of bowshot. I cannot hear your rantings now, sister, but you can hear me. Now you must ask yourself, will you do what is right? Or will you have me for an enemy?”

  The dead soldiers moved aside.

  “March,” Steelfox told us.

  At last we staggered onto the fjord’s narrow shore. Northwing collapsed. I, too, wanted to rest, but a longship bore down upon us.

  Steelfox showed us the sword of Baelscaer. It displayed glints of reflection.

  “It is choosing you,” Nine Smilodons said.

  Steelfox shook her head. “It knows its chosen wielder is near. Snow Pine is on that longship. We need to go. Rolf! I can’t trust you. You stay and greet the Kantenings. But cut Haytham’s bonds, Nine Smilodons. You and the inventor must carry Northwing.”

  And so it was. We hurried from that place and ascended the least maddening of the rocky slopes, finding beyond it three horses. I rode behind Northwing to the Karvak camp.

  “Thank you,” Northwing told me.

  I shrugged. “Whatever else happens, you are my friend.”

  “And I yours. What strange places the spirits have guided us! I need to return something to you. A document that you and Katta and I have all contributed to.”

  “Indeed! I must see this wonder.”

  “And continue it, I hope.”

  “We both will. There should be a record of these strange times.”

  We rode unmolested to the camp of the Karvaks, through the sea of their living warriors and past the pile of dead ones, some of their eyes faintly glowing, which rose beside the newly constructed trebuchets. Steelfox warily led us first to a tent piled with treasure. True to her word she left Schismglass there. As we came to Steelfox’s own great ger, I wondered when Jewelwolf’s reprisal would appear, and decided it would be a fine thing to continue our document. God willing, I thought, I shall do so.

  (As continued by Northwing, Shaman of the True People, though written in the hand of Katta, called the Mad)

  Of the Siege of Svanstad

  Well. Easy come, easy go. I’ve lost Haytham once again. And so, here, despite my current condition, it falls to me to continue. One day the mix of narrators and scripts will drive a scholar mad. This pleases me.

  I know, I know, you’ve heard about my lost hand, but now you wish to know how I sustained these other impressive injuries. Patience. You get beaten up as badly as I’ve been, you earn the right to a long telling.

  So. Jewelwolf didn’t retaliate against Steelfox until later that day. Having recovered some strength, I spied upon Svanstad through the eyes of crows, rats, chickens, and cats. In the narrow cobblestone streets, I saw fear everywhere. Now and again the catapults rained the dead upon the city, broken bodies with glowing eyes, corpses that raised themselves up, sometimes shambling or crawling owing to lost limbs. Once I saw a head rolling about in manic glee, biting at passersby till someone stuffed a torch into its mouth. The abler ones caused more trouble. They moved with purpose, setting fire to buildings, slaughtering families while they slept, making coordinated attacks on watchtowers. Sometimes the goals were military, but more often the objective was terror. The animals I inhabited could smell the stench of it, a city sweating with fear.

  From time to time my beasts scuttled or winged past others that seemed more than usually aware of the war, for I was not the only shaman in the vicinity. Merely the best. If I was spying on the Kantenings, others were too. Steelfox needed the best information I could give her.

  A raven watched a man named Huginn lead a group of Oxilanders from the walls, for their turn at watch was done. They entered a tavern and joined a nondescript Kantening man with a forgettable face. Now a mouse listened to their talk.

  “This city is doomed,” the forgettable man
said. “It is only a matter of time before it drowns in blood.”

  “Aye, Grundi,” Huginn replied. “We know it better than any. The Karvaks are too strong.”

  “Remember how they came to trade with us?” said a young Oxilander, the same Rolf we’d encountered earlier. “That Steelfox. She isn’t so bad . . .”

  “Not so bad?” hissed another youth, who’d gone bald early. “They throw captives against the walls, trying to make living ramps. We must kill our Soderland cousins or be overwhelmed.”

  “Courage, Kollr,” said Huginn. “It seems to me we brought this on ourselves, when Loftsson’s wife Torfa attacked me for talking peace. Well, Swan’s peace to both of them.” Here he made the sign of his goddess. “That act must have enraged the Karvaks. And Oxilanders have now warred against them. We can’t assume our land will be spared.”

  “Perhaps,” said Grundi, “if Oxilanders made a suitable gesture . . .”

  “You mean surrender?” Kollr mocked.

  Huginn stroked his chin. “I think I know a suitable gift. Ah, if we could only meet with them again . . .”

  Grundi made to speak, but Rolf cut him off. “I know! The walking dead, with the troll-splinters in their eyes. The Karvak princess Jewelwolf can hear and see through them.”

  “You may be right,” Grundi said thoughtfully.

  “That’s it, then. Listen closely,” Huginn said, “we are Oxilanders, men of ice and fire, and we’ll not perish here . . .” His instincts must have been good, for he spoke too quietly now for me to overhear.

  But meanwhile a cat in the palace had loped near the chamber where A-Girl-Is-A-Joy tended to Snow Pine and Liron Flint, who bore many wounds from their encounter in the fjord. “It was in my hands,” the cat overheard Snow Pine say. “I felt its power, rivaling the staff of Wondrous Lady Monkey herself. And I lost it.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Flint said. “You must believe me.”

  “Of course I believe you. Fault! Who cares about fault? I failed! I can’t afford to fail in anything, anymore.”

  “It’s because of me, Mother,” said Joy. “You both think you have to defend this land because it chose me. It chose me, and everyone else is fighting and dying, but not me, because I don’t know how to use the power.”

  Another spoke, and I shifted the cat to discern who. It was an old Kantening woman, and I realized I’d seen her before, when she’d fired arrows at Steelfox, Nine Smilodons, and me. “Girl, that is not your—”

  “Fault, Nan?” Joy said, with a laugh bordering on the hysterical. “Mother is right. Blame doesn’t matter anymore. It can all be my fault. I still have to act. Act first, speak later, Walking Stick would say.” She strode from the room.

  “Where are you going?” came the voice of another Kantening, the changeling Inga.

  “To fight the walking dead. Because the only way the power’s worked for me is when I’ve been in danger.”

  “All right,” Inga said, “then I’m coming with you.”

  “No!” Snow Pine said. “I forbid it, Joy.”

  “Mother, it’s my life . . .” Joy said. Yet her anger ended in a gasp.

  “The Runemark!” Snow Pine said. “It’s glowing. Was it your anger?”

  “Partly, Mother. But I can also sense something. Innocence is coming here. To Svanstad. He commands the power of the Great Chain, and the Runemark responds. He’s coming by balloon . . . I can see it in my mind. I have to reach him. If he’s still the boy I knew, we can talk about this. About everything.”

  “What about the Runemark?” Nan said, doubt in her voice. “You haven’t mastered the power.”

  “No. But I still have to do this.”

  “All right,” Inga said, “walking dead, power-mad boy, either way I’m coming along.”

  “We need a balloon too,” Joy said. “If there’s a fight, I need to meet him away from the city. Nan, will you help us maneuver it?”

  “I don’t know that anyone can employ Haytham’s new balloon,” Nan said, “without Haytham. But Walking Stick once managed to use the captured Karvak balloon. And was he not teacher to both you and Innocence Gaunt? He will want to join you, I think.”

  “What are you doing, then?” Inga said.

  “If I am right, I can use the collected troll-shards from the walking dead. I will use them to make a great rune to protect the city. I must try. If we do not meet again . . . it was an honor, Runethane. All of you.”

  All this needed reporting. But now my attention was drawn away to where a rat observed Princess Corinna leaning against a bookshelf in a library of the Fortress, Walking Stick beside her.

  “Your city is doomed,” Walking Stick said. “Your southern army, and your allies from Swanisle, will not suffice to break the siege. But there is a way to escape.”

  “I will not flee on a balloon. I will not abandon my people.”

  “You do not have to abandon your people. There is a way. But I will not speak of it here.” He showed her the magical scroll of Qiangguo. “I fear spies.”

  “Are we not alone?”

  “I wish I was certain. Come. From the point of view of the outside, we will only be gone a short time . . .”

  They vanished, and the scroll fell upon the table.

  Let it never be said I ignore opportunities. I had the rat leap upon the table and clamp jaws upon the scroll, so as to drag it into a hiding spot.

  As it did so, however, its vision swirled, and soon I beheld a place like and yet unlike my homeland, for though covered in trees and mist, it was filled with spindly mountains, and there was no sign of the ocean. Below lay a peak with a crumbled monastery, and looking up at me was a strange gentleman of Qiangguo with a rumpled cloak and a hat made of bark.

  “Ah,” said the man, and somehow the rat and I heard him perfectly, “you must be the shaman Northwing. I am pleased to meet you. I’m sorry to learn you and Walking Stick are at odds. I confess I dislike the man, but when it comes to the enemies of Qiangguo we are on the same side.”

  I thought he was missing some essential points, and I tried to explain, but it came out as a squeak.

  “Yes,” he said, as I seemed to drift among the clouds, “I realize the Karvak nation is not currently attacking Qiangguo, but we both know what the future holds. I offer you two choices. The rat will stay within this scroll either way. You can choose to break contact now, or I will hold your consciousness here, so you will be useless to the Karvaks.”

  I broke contact. In so doing I lost my connection to the other animals in Svanstad as well.

  “Wise . . .” I heard the voice trailing away.

  I found myself back in Steelfox’s ger, where my body sat cross-legged near the central cauldron. I heard a commotion outside.

  Of Jewelwolf’s Retaliation

  “Are you all right?” Steelfox said. She actually sounded concerned. That was almost more disorienting than the loss of contact.

  “I’m fine,” I managed to say. “I’ve been in the heads of a dozen animals. I’d like to see these Karvak shamans try that. Listen, there’s much to—”

  Nine Smilodons rushed into the tent. “Jewelwolf comes,” he said.

  “Let her in.”

  It was just as well that I was not in some animal’s mind just now. The Grand Khan’s khatun must be greeted with all due respect.

  Respect didn’t seem to be on Jewelwolf’s mind. When entering her sister’s tent, even the khatun of all the people of the felt walls should wait patiently by the flap. Instead she left two bodyguards there and strode forward, two swords ostentatious at her belt. Sweeping the ger’s interior with a disdainful glance, she pointed at Haytham. “What is this swine doing alive?”

  “This swine,” said Steelfox, “is the reason we were able to mount this expedition at all.”

  “He betrayed you.”

  “He was not then part of the great Karvak nation. Now he is—in the role of a slave.”

  Haytham bowed, though I didn’t miss his scowl.

&
nbsp; “Hm. Mercy. Your pattern of weakness is causing many to whisper, sister.”

  “Who is whispering? I have a sword to answer them.”

  “But not this sword,” Jewelwolf said, patting one of the two she wore.

  “So,” Steelfox said. “You fail yet another test.”

  “What are you babbling about now?”

  “You take loot on a whim, like a savage. You usurp authority that is not yours. You waste life and energy on cruelty. You sacrilegiously corrupt the bodies of the dead.”

  “Some saw your balloons as sacrilegious to the face of Father Sky. Every innovation in war seems cruel at first, but the worst cruelty is prolonging battle.”

  Jewelwolf unsheathed her two swords, and they were both disturbing yet unlike, the black sword Schismglass and the gray saber Crypttongue. “These weapons are said to be rivals, both takers of souls. Yet this is merely a challenge for a strong mind to overcome. As our father overcame the divisions between the nomad tribes . . .”

  “Sister,” Steelfox said. “I say truly, I fear what you are doing. Father never wanted us to dabble in wicked magic.”

  “You are narrow-minded. It’s the courageous heart that seizes victory. Follow my lead or return home. I will not tolerate your interference again.”

  Another of Jewelwolf’s guards appeared. “Great one. A balloon comes. Its flags claim it has Innocence Gaunt on board.”

  Jewelwolf sheathed the swords. “The whelp was supposed to remain at the Great Chain!”

  Steelfox strode out to see, and I rose, painfully, to follow.

  Jewelwolf had another idea. Hesitating at the tent flap, she said. “No, not you, shaman. It is you who empowers my sister to defy me, who turns her against me. I shall assign her a new shaman, a Karvak shaman. And you . . . you will serve me eternally.”

  I scowled at her. “You don’t have the authority to do that.”

  “Here is my authority,” she said, unsheathing Crypttongue and stabbing me through the gut.

  Of My Bloodcurdling Scream

  It went something like this.

  Of My Unexpected Salvation

  If you don’t feel up to transcribing it, it’s not my problem. See how you sound if someone stabs you through the middle. Yes, that’s an impressive neck wound you have there, but did Yngvarr Thrall-Taker have a soul-stealing blade? Aha, I thought not. Jewelwolf had two.