FORBIDDEN TALENTS

by Frankie Robertson

  The Elves sitting to either side of the Praefect shifted and glanced at him, as though they weren’t pleased with what she’d said. She glanced at her rescuers. Valender had a faint smile playing on his lips, while next to him Treskin covered his mouth.

  The Praefect’s face remained impassive. “Indeed. You must want to know that the knowledge you give us will never be used to harm mortals. Be assured that it will never be so. From the day they brought you mortals here, the Vanir have forbidden the Fey to harm you.”

  A surge of anguish and anger threatened to choke her. “Did they, now? And yet Gert is dead. Killed by Edelstena. One of the Fey. She certainly harmed a mortal.”

  Several of the Elves frowned and Treskin shot her a sharp look.

  “That is one of our concerns,” Lord Kaeron said. “The Dark Elves have never accepted the will of the Vanir in this, but until now they have honored their oaths. We know they plan a great Working to reorder the worlds. But our creatures have a limited ability to move among them. We need to know more if we are to restore order—and save the life of every mortal in Alfheim.”

  Every mortal in Alfheim. No pressure. Saeun felt grim amusement as one of Lady Celia’s expressions came to mind.

  “Will you use your magic to help us?”

  The Light Elves had saved her life and offered her nothing but kindness, where Edelstena had given deadly proof of her animosity. It was still possible the old tales were true. Her mind, her judgment, could even now be clouded by some Fey magic. But then the old tales also said that the use of her own magic was evil, a remnant of Odin’s dark sorcery.

  “I’ll help you.”

  “Excellent!” He reached behind him and set a large wooden box with bone handles before her. “Here are a variety of tools. Tell me if you need others.”

  Saeun opened the box. On top was a willow wand, a crystal pendulum, five jars filled with colored cornmeal, and a pipe. Saeun shook her head and lifted out the tray. Beneath lay a net bag of runestones, a wide stone bowl, and a stoppered glass bottle filled with quicksilver.

  They’d thought of everything, and it was all new, untouched. She wouldn’t have to worry about any lingering resonance from a previous augury or user. Saeun gently lifted the polished stone bowl, swallowing hard. It was a beautiful translucent green. But she missed her mother’s old chipped bowl.

  “What do you need to begin?”

  He wanted her to do it now? Here? Saeun looked at the expectant faces of the Elves. Either this was a test or their need was very urgent. Or both.

  “I’ll need an item to focus the scrying on. A place or person.”

  At a nod from the Praefect, Treskin poured the contents of a leather pouch into her hand. It was Edelstena’s silver medallion, turned to iron by her Talent.

  “Will that do?”

  She nodded. “I need something else, as well.” She didn’t like to think about this part, but it couldn’t be ignored. “The scrying could take my mind. If it does, someone must try to call me back. Otherwise …I’ll wander lost between the worlds until my body dies.”

  The Praefect frowned. “This task is more dangerous than I realized. And yet still I must ask it. Valender has a healer’s hands, and Treskin is quite good at finding things that are lost. If you wander, they will bring you back to us.”

  *

  Celia jerked awake. The fire had burned down to tiny flames that gave scant light. Where? What? She blinked and tried to clear her head of the dream. Beside her, Utta and Tiva’ti sat up and rolled to their knees, reaching for their knives. The men were already on their feet, shouting. Metal screeched on metal. Shadowed attackers poured from the back of the cave.

  The memory of previous battles washed through her. The shouts, the screams of pain.

  “Elves!” Utta’s exclamation could barely be heard.

  Training took over. Celia scrambled to her feet, pulling Dahleven’s dagger from its sheath. The approach the enemy used was narrow, allowing only three defenders to stand abreast between wall and crevasse. The men had arrayed themselves two deep between the women and their attackers, but one man was already down.

  “Load the animals! We might have to get out of here in a hurry,” Celia told the other women. She sheathed her dagger and frantically started folding and rolling blankets. Utta and Tiva’ti together strapped a pack frame onto the first reindeer.

  A shape reared up, coming from behind the men, from the chasm to their right.

  “No!” Celia rose from a crouch and threw a blanket over the attacker’s head, then swept a kick at his knees.

  With a yelp he went down, but he quickly rolled back to his feet. The men in the second tier, Fender, Brol, and Tocshe, turned to face the new danger. Another shape climbed from the chasm with an ease that almost defied gravity.

  Celia drew her dagger again. From the corner of her eye she saw that Utta and Tiva’ti had frozen in the act of loading the frame on the second animal. “Keep packing!” she yelled.

  She almost didn’t see the blow in time. Blocking at the last moment, the impact numbed her arm. Instinct and some residue of Fender’s training allowed her to turn her attacker’s blade aside. Her foe was impossibly quick. She found herself dancing sideways and backwards to avoid the knife that dove and flew at her, glinting in the faint light like a crazed firefly.

  A shadow darted past her feet. Celia startled and almost fell, flailing to catch her balance. She was wide open to attack, but her opponent yelped and leapt backward.

  “Fie on you!” Baruq yelled, brandishing his bloodied blade. “Oathbreaker!”

  The Elf regained his balance quickly. Celia brought up her dagger to meet his overhand blow, but at the last minute he shifted, sweeping it under her guard with his long reach.

  Again Baruq was there, slicing his razor-sharp, claw-shaped blade through the back of the Elf’s leg. Slanted eyes widened in pain and the Elf screamed. He fell, clutching his leg, and then Baruq was on him. The screaming stopped.

  “My lady!” Fender was suddenly at her side. “Are you injured?”

  The sounds of fighting had ceased. Someone moaned in the sudden quiet. It was too much like the last time, when so many had died. Not again! The howling wind at the entrance to the cave seemed distant.

  Fender gave her a gentle shake. “Are you cut, Celia?”

  “No. I’m fine. Thanks to Baruq.”

  Fender looked down at the slashed throat of the Elf, then knelt before the pinnsvin. “Thank you sir. I am in your debt.”

  Baruq made an elegant bow. “My pleasure.”

  It took Celia three tries to sheath her dagger, her hands were shaking so. Then she turned to check on Utta and Tiva’ti. Fender was already there, looking into Tiva’ti’s wide, dark eyes, encouraging her to sit on one of the packs.

  Ragni’s attention was all for Utta. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was steady. “The men?”

  Celia watched Ragni give Utta an approving nod, though his expression was grim. She’d never seen him like this before. But then, he’d never been betrothed before, either.

  “Two are down,” Ragni said. “Brol is dead and Tocshe is beyond Che’veyo’s ability to heal.”

  Two dead! Celia sat down abruptly, trying not to feel the old horror.

  “We can’t stay here,” Fender said. “Those Loki spawn could send another wave at us. And next time they’ll send more of them. I would.”

  Rovdir appeared and stood close by Utta, his arm bandaged. “Where in Niflheim did they come from? We checked the back. There’s no opening!”

  “You forget. The underground is the Dark Ones’ home. It answers to them,” Baruq said.

  Rovdir turned an angry scowl on him. “Then why did you bring us here? You set us up!”

  “Say that again, you mangy giant, and I’ll cut your throat as I did that Dark One’s! Would you rather have frozen out there in the storm?”

  “Enough!” Ragni said. “Build up the fire. We decamp at first
light.” Fender opened and shut his mouth with a snap. Ragni put his hand on Fender’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “I know. But I think going into that storm at night is a greater risk than staying here for a few more hours.”

  “Yes, my lord. But we all stand watch. No one sleeps.”

  “Do you think any of us could?”

  *

  Dahleven narrowed his eyes at Magnus. The other Jarl had joined him before breakfast, and now they sat tucking away the last of their meal in the family dining hall. For the moment they were alone.

  “I do not accuse you, Dahleven. No doubt you’ve heard these rumors for yourself. But I wanted you to be prepared. If you don’t find Eirik’s murderer soon, people will begin to speak these ugly whispers openly.”

  Dahleven spread a dark smear of purple jam on a wedge of golden bread. For just a moment he wondered why his father had even bothered to try to substitute the rule of law over lordly whim. Apparently, all people wanted was a scapegoat and a quick execution. No matter that there was no clear proof of who killed Eirik. And if no culprit was quickly found, why then, it must be because Eirik’s liege lord ordered his death. Baldur’s Balls! Perhaps I should let them think so. It might make some of the fools watch their steps with me a bit more closely.

  He took a bite and chewed, barely tasting his food. “Thank you, Magnus. Unfortunately, the investigation has provided few clues so far. My healer informs me that Halla should be well enough for questioning this afternoon, however.”

  “Halla?”

  “The servant who was poisoned along with Eirik.”

  “Very good. Let’s hope that sheds some light on this.” Magnus paused and stroked his beard. Clearly he had something more on his mind.

  Dahleven forced himself to wait.

  He had a thousand things clamoring for his attention, not the least of which was his worry over Celia. Why had their dream been cut off? Was she all right? Lord and Lady, he hated feeling so helpless! But there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing. That didn’t stop him from dwelling on it while he waited for the older man to speak.

  “Neven and I have been friends a long time, Dahleven. And now we’re family. You know, don’t you, that you can call upon me?” Magnus put up a hand. “I’m not trying to undermine your authority. Baldur knows I don’t need another Jarldom to govern. That’s not what this is about. I know that stepping into a father’s boots is never easy, but you’ve taken up the reins under circumstances more difficult than most. This is a tricky time for you. You can’t be seen to lean on anyone. I understand that. All I want to say is, know who your friends are, and make use of them.”

  An unexpected lump rose in his throat and Dahleven swallowed it before he spoke. “There’s no need for you to convince me of your intentions, Magnus. Your friendship to my father has been as sure as snow, and I’m grateful you extend it to me. Be assured I will call upon you if there’s need.” He rose and offered Magnus his hand. Magnus’s grip was strong and steady.

  They had just left the dining hall when an armsman arrived with a message. “The servant Halla is dead, my lords.”

  Dahleven shared a look with Magnus. The woman had been recovering, but now no Truth Sayer would be able to verify Halla’s tale. This required attention. “Would you care to join me, Lord Magnus?”

  “Indeed I would, Lord Dahleven.”

  They found the Healer Helbreden leaning over Halla’s body at the bottom of a long ladder in one of the bolt holes. Quartzholm had at least two dozen escape routes that led down into the tunnels. A guard held a lamp aloft. The smell of death mingled with that of lantern oil, dust, and stagnant air.

  “She’s dead, my lord.”

  “I can see that. What killed her?”

  “Obviously, she was trying to escape before she was questioned,” Father Vali said as he approached. He was Wirmund’s acting second while Ragni was away.

  “Or perhaps someone killed her before she could reveal who guided her hand,” Magnus suggested.

  “Get a Tracker Talent down here,” Dahleven said. He turned back to Helbreden. “So what does your Talent for diagnoses tell you? What killed her?”

  “A blow to the head.”

  Dahleven looked at Halla’s crumpled body. “It wasn’t a broken neck?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. Her neck is surely broken, my lord, and that hastened her death, but she would have died anyway from this. See here?” He turned Halla’s head, revealing a bloody depression. The neck crunched and grated as the Healer pushed it into an even more unnatural position. “This is what killed her.”

  “So, she hit her head on the way down?”

  Helbreden frowned. “I can’t say, my lord. She could have been struck beforehand.”

  Dahleven turned to one of the guards. “After the Trackers finish, have the shaft and ladder examined for blood.” To another he said, “Examine her quarters, and find whoever was guarding her. I want to know how she got this far.” Then he turned back to the Healer. “How long has she been dead? When was the last time someone saw her?”

  “I saw her last eve,” Father Vali said. “I saw no sign that she planned an escape. Though now that I consider it, she did seem rather quiet.”

  “Of course she was quiet,” Helbreden said. “She had not yet fully recovered from the poison.”

  “You saw her?” Dahleven asked.

  Vali drew himself up, to the extent that his short stature allowed. “I’m assisting Father Wirmund with his investigation.”

  Dahleven clamped down on his irritation. Wirmund had insisted on helping. But of course the Overprest wouldn’t actually do the work himself. “How many priests has Father Wirmund assigned to this task?” How many meddling fools will I have to worry about mucking up what little evidence there is? And potentially stumbling onto the fact that he was Fey-marked.

  “Father Wirmund thought it best that only I pursue this. If you require more assistance, I can petition the Overprest on your behalf.”

  “No. Thank you, Father Vali. You alone are more than I would ask for. Father Wirmund shouldn’t pull any more away from their duties for my sake.”

  *

  Ragni braced against the wind that flung snow and ice crystals against the left side of his face and body, taking one slow step after another. They’d left the cave at break of day, after burying Brol and Tocshe in a deep drift. They’d come back for their fallen comrades when they could, and if the animals found them first, it would still be better than leaving them in the cave for the Dark Elves to find. The Nuvinlanders had sung Brol on to a warrior’s reward in Valhalla while they waited for dawn to come. Tocshe had taken his last breath before first light, and Che’veyo had shaken his rattle and spoken ritual words over him before they’d left.

  Utta walked beside him, and he reached out to steady her against a buffeting gust. They couldn’t have stayed in the cave, but the entire group was suffering from the cold. He couldn’t feel their actual pain, thank Baldur. His own was quite enough. But their various levels of fear, worry, and grim determination pressed on him whenever he opened his Talent.

  At least the path, if it could be called a path, was scoured of snow, thanks to the wind. For a time this morning, trees had cut the force of the gale, but the mountain had fallen away on that side, allowing the wind to cut at them with its full fury. Adding to their misery, they’d been climbing for the last candlemark or so. His thighs complained with every step.

  “Hoi!” Fender called from just behind Ragni, where he walked beside Celia. “We need a rest.”

  Ragni looked back. Radiating relief and embarrassment, Celia was already sinking down on a rock against the mountain wall that rose on their right. Fender stood in front of her, trying to shield her from the worst of the wind.

  Ragni and Utta walked back to Celia. “What’s wrong?” his betrothed asked in a low tone.

  Celia shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought I was pretty fit. Maybe the altitude is getting to me.” Her breaths were shallow and quic
k.

  “What’s the delay?” Rovdir asked. Then he saw Celia. “Beg your pardon, my lady, but this isn’t a good place to tarry.”

  “I’m sorry. Just give me a minute.”

  Tiva’ti and Che’veyo joined the group.

  “Are you unwell, Lady Celia?” the Shaman asked.

  “No. No, I’m fine. I’m feeling the effects of the thin air, that’s all.”

  Ragni felt the doubt rolling off Che’veyo, but the Tewa didn’t say anything.

  Baruq appeared at Celia’s feet. “Are we having a nice little chat? You didn’t quite manage to pick the worst spot for it, though. There’s a narrower spot in the trail about fifty yards further on. Wouldn’t you rather stop there?”

  Ragni glared at Baruq. It would be so easy to nudge the little manikin off the side of the mountain. Unfortunately, he was the only one who had any idea of where they were going.

  Celia pushed to her feet. “Let’s get off the side of this mountain.”

  “Excellent. The sooner we get to a sheltered spot, the sooner I can get my bearings.”

  Get his bearings? “Are you lost?” Ragni asked.

  Baruq turned his nose up, which he had to do anyway to give Ragni a withering stare. “No, I am not lost. I’m just not completely sure of where we are. A moment’s reflection in a quiet spot will correct that.”

  Ragni made a sweeping gesture forward. “Then by all means. Lead on.”

  It got worse before it got better. The trail did indeed narrow, as Baruq had said. They had to unload the packs from the reindeer, distributing the gear among them. By mutual unspoken assent, they gave Celia only enough to satisfy her pride. They roped themselves together in groups of three and four, and traveled single file for a long space. Loose rocks kept slipping from under their feet, while screaming winds threatened to push them off into the crevasse on their left.

  Finally, their way widened again and began to descend. They repacked the animals. The wind dropped to a merely annoying level. The powder beneath their feet grew deeper and they put their snow shoes back on. Before long they turned into a close cut valley where an ice-rimmed stream flowed down the middle and firs grew close on either side. The wind sang through the tops of the trees, but didn’t reach them at the ground. The nearly quiet air felt almost warm compared to what they’d suffered on the mountain.