Prince Jalan. Aslaug stepped from the shadows of the hall. They clung to her, dark webs, not wanting to release their hold. She pulled clear as the sun kissed the horizon. No one would mistake her for human but she wore a womans form and wore it well, her flesh like bone, but dipped in ink so it soaked into every pore, revealing the grain, gathering black in any hollow. She fixed me with eyes that held no colour, only passions, set in a narrow and exquisite face. Oil-dark hair framed her, falling in unnatural coils and curls. Her beauty owed something to the praying mantis, something to the inhumanity of Greek sculpture. Mask or not though, it worked on me. Im easily led in matters of the flesh. Jalan, she said again, stepping around me. She wore tatters of darkness as a gown.
I didnt answer, or turn to follow her. Villagers were still arriving, and the cheers and laughter from inside the hall were drawing more by the minute. None of them would see Aslaug but if they saw me spinning around and talking to the empty air it wouldnt look good. Northmen are a superstitious lot, and frankly with what Id seen over the last few months they were right to be so. Superstition though does tend to have a sharp end, and I didnt want to find myself impaled on it.
Why are you out here in the wilds with all these ill-smelling peasants? Aslaug reappeared at my left shoulder, her mouth close to my ear. And why-a harder edge to her tone, eyes narrowing-is that light-sworn here? I can smell him. He was going away. . A tilt of her head. Jalan? Have you followed him? Tagged along like a dog at heel? Weve talked about this, Jalan. Youre a prince, a man of royal blood, in line for the throne of Red March!
Im going home. I whispered it, hardly a twitch in my lips.
Leaving your beauties behind? She always held a note of disapproval when it came to my womanizing. Obviously the jealous type.
I thought it time. They were getting clingy. I rubbed the side of my head, not convinced that Tuttugu had gotten all the splinters out.
For the better. In Red March we can begin to clear your path to succession. A smile lit her face, the sky crimson behind her with the suns death throes.
Well. . My own lips curled with an echo of her expression. Im not one for murder. But if a whole bunch of my cousins fell off a cliff I wouldnt lose any sleep over it. Id found it paid to play along with her. Whilst Id rejoice in any misfortune that fate might drop upon my cousins, three or four of them in particular, Ive never had an appetite for the more lethal games played at some courts with knife and poison. My own vision for my glorious path to the throne involved toadying and favouritism, lubricated with tales of heroism and reports of genius. Once selected as Grandmothers favourite and promoted unfairly into the position of heir it would just be a case of the old woman having a timely heart attack and my reign of pleasure would begin!
You know that Snorri will be plotting your destruction, Jalan? She reached an arm around me, the touch cold but somehow thrilling too, filled with all the delicious possibilities that the night hides. You know what Baraqel will be instructing. He told you the same when Snorri kept me within him.
I trust Snorri. If he had wanted me dead he could have done it many times over.
For how long, Prince Jalan? For how long will you trust him? Her lips close to mine now, head haloed with the last rays of the sunset. Dont trust the light, Prince Jalan. The stars are pretty but the space between them is infinite and black with promise. Behind me I could almost hear her shadow mix with mine, its dry spider-legs rustling one against the next. Returning with your body and the right story to Vermillion would earn Snorri gratitude in many circles for many reasons. .
Good night, Aslaug. I clenched what could be clenched and kept from shuddering. In the last moments before the dark took her she was always at her least human, as if her presence outlasted her disguise for just a heartbeat.
Watch him! And the shadows pulled her down as they merged into the singular gloom that would deepen into night.
I turned and followed the locals into their great hall. My moments with Aslaug always left me a touch less tolerant of sweaty peasants and their crude little lives. And perhaps Snorri did bear watching. He had after all been on the point of abandoning me when I most needed help. A day later and I could have been subjected to all the horrors of handfasting, or some even crueller form of Viking justice.
FOUR
Three long tables divided the mead-hall, now lined by men and women raising foaming horn and dripping tankard. Children, some no more than eight or nine, ran back and forth with pitchers from four great barrels to keep any receptacle from running dry. A great fire roared in the hearth, fish roasting on spits set before it. Hounds bickered around the margins of the room, daring a kicking to run beneath the tables should anything fall. The heat and roar and stink of the place took a moments getting used to after plunging in from the frigid spring evening. I plotted a course toward the rear of the hall, giving the dogs a wide berth. Animals are generally good judges of character-they dont like me-except for horses which, for reasons Ive never understood, give me their all. Perhaps its our shared interest in running away that forms the bond.
Snorri and Borris sat close to the fire, flanked by Olaafheims warriors. Most of the company appeared to have brought their axes out for the evenings drinking, setting them across the tabletop in such a crowd that putting down a drink became a tricky task. Snorri turned as I approached, and boomed out for a space to be made. A couple of grumbles went up at that, soon silenced with mutters of berserker. I squeezed down onto a narrow span of arse-polished bench, trying not to show my displeasure at being wedged in so tightly among hairy brigands. My tolerance for such familiarities had increased during my time at the Three Axes as owner and operator. . well, in truth I paid for Eyolf to keep bar and Helga and Gudrun to serve tables. . but still, I was there in spirit. In any event, although my tolerance had increased it still wasnt high and at least in Trond you got a better quality of bearded, axe-wielding barbarian. Faced with the present situation though, not to mention a table full of axes, I did what any man keen on leaving with the same number of limbs that he entered with would do. I grinned like an idiot and bore it.
I reached for the brimming flagon brought to me by a blond and barefoot child and decided to get drunk. It would probably keep me out of trouble, and the possibility that I might pass the whole trip to the continent in a state of inebriation did seem inviting. One worry stayed my hand however. Though it pained me to admit it, my grandmothers blood did seem to have shown in me. Snorri or Tuttugu had already mentioned my. . disability to our hosts. In the troll-wrestling heart of the north being a berserker seemed to carry a good deal of cachet, but any right-thinking man would tell you what a terrible encumbrance it is. Ive always been sensibly terrified of battle. The discovery that if I get pushed too far I turn into a raging maniac who throws himself headlong into the thickest of the fighting was hardly comforting. A wise mans biggest advantage is in knowing the ideal time to run away. That sort of survival strategy is somewhat impaired by a tendency to start frothing at the mouth and casting aside all fear. Fear is a valuable commodity, its common sense compressed into its purest form. A lack of it is not a good thing. Fortunately it took quite a lot of pushing to get my hidden berserker out into the open and to my knowledge it had only ever happened twice. Once at the Aral Pass and once in the Black Fort. If it never happened again that would be fine with me.
. . Skilfar. . A one-eyed man opposite Snorri, speaking into his ale horn. I picked out the one word, and that was plenty.
What? I knocked back the rest of my own ale, wiping the suds from my whiskers, a fine blond set Id cultivated to suit the climate. Im not going back there, Snorri, no way. I remembered the witch in her cavern, her plasteek legion all around. Shed scared the hell out of me. I still had nightmares. .
Relax. Snorri gave me that winning smile of his. We dont have to.
I did relax, slumping forward as I let go of a tension I hadnt known was there. Thank God.
Shes still in her winter seat. Beerentoppen. Its a mountain of ice and fire, not too far inland, itll be our last stop before we leave the north just a few days down the coast and strike out for Maladon across open sea.
Hell no! It had been the woman that scared me, not the tunnels and statues-well, they had too, but the point was that I wasnt going. Well head south. The Red Queen will have any answers we need.
Snorri shook his head. I have questions that wont wait, Jal. Questions that need a little northern light shed on them.
I knew what he wanted to talk about-that damned door. If he took the key to Skilfar, though, shed probably take it off him. I didnt doubt for a moment that she could. Still, it would be no skin off my nose if she stole it. A thing that powerful would be safer in the old witchs keeping anyhow. Far from where I intended to be and out of the Dead Kings reach.
All right. I cut across the one-eyed warrior again. You can go. But Im staying in the boat!
The fellow across from Snorri turned a cold blue eye my way, the other socket empty, the firelight catching the twitch of ugly little muscles in the shadowed hollow. This fit-firar speaks for you now, Snorri?
I knew the insult to be a grim one. The Vikings can think of nothing worse to call you than land man, one who doesnt know the sea. Thats the trouble with these backwater villages-everyones tetchy. Theyre all ready to jump up at a moments notice and spill your guts. Its over-compensation of course, for living in freezing huts on an inhospitable beach. At home Id damn the fellows eyes. . well eye at least. . and let one half of the palace guard hold me back while the other half beat him out of town. The trouble with a friend like Snorri is that hes the sort to take things at face value and think I really did want to defend my own honour. Knowing Snorri hed stand by clapping while the savage carved me up.