Tangled Threads Publishing

Category: Web Serial

  • 10.42 – Traps

    10.42 – Traps

    Troa stopped suddenly enough that Einarr nearly ran into his outstretched arm. Better that, though, than to fall into the crevasse that had brought him up short.

    “Did we choose the wrong path?” Einarr wondered.

    Troa shook his head. “Not likely. I think she had her own path past all this. Probably some sort of bridge, here.”

    “Think you can jump it?”

    “No chance. And I’d be very surprised if you could.”

    Einarr had to agree. “Okay. So she destroyed her bridge once she was past. Now we just need to find a path. There’s nothing up here, though.”

    Troa ran his hands along the walls on both sides of the tunnel before he agreed to that. “I think I see something, but you’re not going to like it.”

    Einarr followed Troa’s gaze down into the crevasse and groaned. There, about eight feet down, a trio of levers stuck out of the rock. “You’re right. I’m not. And it looks like it’s just out of reach, too… What’s that?”

    “What’s what?” Troa turned around to look where Einarr pointed.

    “I think it’s another one of Urdr’s… hints.” Einarr bent down to pull the roll of bark out from the tiny crack it was wedged in on the edge of the crevasse. “So you’ve sacrificed a friend just to catch one old woman, have you?” He read. “Best choose carefully: the wrong lever will kill your support. Or don’t: I don’t mind if you die here. …Bah.”

    Troa glanced down into the crevasse again. “So if we pull the wrong lever, we’re both dead.”

    “Seems like it. And you’re both lighter and better with traps than I am.”

    The scout swallowed. “I won’t let you down, milord.”

    “If you fail, we’re both dead, the witch lives, and the weaving remains. Be absolutely sure of your choice.”

    “I understand.” Troa looked uncomfortable, but he dropped his sword and shield and got down on his belly. He started inching over the ledge.

    “So long as you do.”

    As Troa lowered his chest over the ledge, Einarr got down on the ground as well to grab hold of his ankles. It was for the best that Troa was not much bigger than Sivid: Einarr could only just get the grip he needed. Worse, Einarr’s shoulders and fingers very quickly let him know exactly what they thought of this position. “What does it look like?”

    When Troa answered, his voice carried much less strain than Einarr felt. “I see them. There are three levers, all completely unmarked. This is going to take me a minute.”

    Please make it a short minute. “I understand.”

    “No, wait, not that one!” Runa cried as Jorir started to move one of the plates on the puzzle lock. Quickly the dwarf shoved it back into place.

    “Ye said the fourth from the bottom right, did ye not?”

    “I did. I must have miscounted. It’s the one right above that.”

    “I thought we already did that one?”

    “That was a temporary place while we moved others out of the way. It should slot into that hole you just made and finish this up.”

    “You’re sure?”

    She opened her mouth to say of course, but then thought better of it. She took a few moments to confirm her arrangement. “I’m sure.”

    “Fine.” Jorir stretched up to reach the last of the pieces and shove it into place. Then he stepped back and crossed his arms, waiting.

    With a slow grinding noise the door slid open. Beyond it was a long, straight hallway. Water trickled down the walls and pooled shallowly on the floor. Runa smelled brine.

    Jorir grunted. “We must have been going down all this time. That’s taking us below sea level.”

    Runa hummed in agreement. “No place else to go but forward, though.”

    “None. And that is why I’m sure it’s another trap.”

    Einarr’s shoulders were on fire. His fingers were cramping, and he was sure Troa’s feet must be as numb as his face was red. A steady scraping sound came from below where Troa worked by the light of his rune. “Almost ready?”

    “I found the mechanism the levers control. It’s almost the same as the one on the doors. Just hold on: I’ve nearly bypassed her little booby trap.”

    “Hah! Glad to hear it. Will that open the path?”

    “It should.” The scraping sound continued. Moments later, Einarr heard a snap, but it was not followed by cursing. Instead, a rope ladder dropped from the ceiling down into the crevasse – which was not actually bottomless, as revealed by Troa’s light rune. If the trap had sprung, Troa could have survived the fall.

    Troa stowed his knife and the thin steel picks he had been using and grabbed hold of the ladder. “You can let go now.”

    Einarr nodded. It took him a minute to convince his cramped fingers to relax, but once they did Troa performed a rather impressive flip to right himself and descend the ladder. Einarr tossed Troa’s shield on his back and slid the man’s sword through his baldric. It was awkward, but far preferable to the other options.

    At the bottom of the crevasse, they saw before them a very regular rectangular doorway. Einarr smelled brine, and the rock up ahead was distinctly damp. “She has us going underwater. I don’t like it.”

    “No. But forward is the only way.”

    With a nod of agreement, they stepped into the hallway – as straight and regular as the door behind them. Almost immediately a shutter slammed closed, blocking their retreat. Einarr felt cool air on his foot and looked down: the shutter had clipped his boot. With a grimace, he continued on.

    About halfway down the hallway, he could see that it ended in a wall, with yet another lever up near the ceiling. That was also the moment he heard the sound of many shutters opening, followed by the sound of rushing water. The hallway began to fill with seawater.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 10.41 – Logic Puzzle

    10.41 – Logic Puzzle

    Troa bristled, as Einarr knew he would. “Now look here —”

    “The longer this takes, the farther ahead she gets. You’re a scout, I’m not. So prove you’re as good a scout as Sivid is a thief and open a door.”

    Troa clamped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth, and thrust the charcoal at Einarr.

    The rune was already starting to give Einarr a headache: he set about marking the doors as quickly as he could. Then he finally allowed himself to shift his focus away from all the details he would ordinarily pass over. One more thing to do. “Hand me your knife.”

    “What in blazes do you want that for?”

    “You want light or not?” He’d gotten a little better at controlling how bright the sun rune was since last fall.

    “Ah.” Rather than draw his knife, Troa thrust out his off-hand. “Draw it there, instead. Easier to see by.”

    With a shrug, Einarr traced the ᛊ on the sleeve of his tunic. He knew it was possible to inscribe runes on a body, but that was not a line of questioning Elder Melja had encouraged.

    When the sleeve began to shine Troa lowered his arm and stood looking down the hall for a long moment. “There are three doors,” he said finally. “Two on the inside, one on the outside. Construction would be easier on the outside wall…”

    “But that seems too obvious. I agree.”

    “So then, which of the two inside doors do we want to try?”

    Einarr frowned. They hadn’t been able to find the path back to the prison room, so there was no way of knowing which was nearer to it. Still… “The Weavess is old. Probably she would want to shorten her path as much as she could. But which one is that?”

    Troa shook his head. “You’re making this too complicated, and I may be an idiot. Whichever door she used should show signs of disturbance. Take the outer door. I’ll start here. Footprints are unlikely, but there might be bits of thread or scrapes on the floor or the wall around the edges of the door.”

    The search took longer than either of them was happy with, and Troa’s efforts to open the door longer still, but finally they managed to pry open what they judged to be the most likely of the three doors. In the end, they stood before the yawning gulf of another passage, and once again Einarr’s neck prickled. Only this time, it didn’t feel like magic.

    “If its all the same to you, Troa, I think I’m going to leave that light on your arm.”

    Troa looked nearly as spooked as Einarr felt as he nodded. Silently they stepped into the new passage, searching as they moved for the cause of their nervousness.

    Eventually, Troa came to a sudden halt, holding out an arm to forestall Einarr. His eyes were glued to the floor at his feet. Or, rather, the lack of floor.

    After being thrown bodily across a pit filled with spikes dripping poison, Runa walked for quite a ways before she and Jorir ran into Urdr’s next trap. (She really was going to have to think up a suitable vengeance for that. Some other time, though.)

    Before them, the passage was barred by an elaborate puzzle lock. That’s plainly what it was, and yet when Runa had tried to manipulate the clues, they refused to budge. It wasn’t that they were stuck – no. They were large and solid pewter, possibly with stone cores. In its center, a roll of birch bark stuck out from between two of the plates. Runa puffed air up as if to blow away hair from her forehead as she unrolled the note.

    Part of her had hoped for a clue, but no. The old hag just wanted to gloat. Runa shook her head and tossed the bark away. There were runes on the plates, that much was clear… but the puzzle didn’t seem to fit together. “And me stuck with the one blacksmith on the sea who can’t read the runes.”

    “Not by choice, Lady. Can you think of any smith who would shut himself off from the Art of his craft like that?”

    She shook her head. She hadn’t actually meant to say that aloud. “My apologies, sir dwarf. I am merely irritated, and we cannot collaborate.”

    Jorir frowned, looking at the puzzle pieces he could not read. To him, they must look like nothing more than smooth pewter disks. “Weavers most often work in images, though,” he mused. “What if the runes are merely there to obscure the plain image?”

    Runa smacked a fist into her palm. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

    “You’re a Singer. How many times have you actually consulted a Weaver?”

    She hummed, her mind already manipulating the runes into possible combinations of less symbolic images. Eventually, she nodded to herself. “Alright, Jorir. I think I have a solution. It’s a little fuzzy towards the end, though, and I can’t move the pieces myself.”

    He grunted. “Fine. But tell me, what happens if your ‘fuzzy at the end’ is wrong?”

    With a sigh, she shrugged. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t worried. The Weavess only needed to slow them down, but Runa would be shocked if the old witch didn’t want them all dead anyway. “Probably nothing good. Do we have any way of finding out without trying it, though?”

    Jorir studied the lock another long moment before shaking his head. “All right. Fine. Let’s get this over with. Hopefully my shade won’t have to explain to Einarr why you were buried under a rockslide.”

    Runa rolled her eyes. She didn’t think he saw. “So cheerful. Come on, we’re wasting time. I do not intend to let that woman get away. Start near the bottom, second from the right corner. You’ll feel diamond-shaped ridges in the middle.”

    She could hear Jorir grumbling even as he reached for the indicated plate. Now she just had to hope the image in her head matched the one that had been in Urdr’s.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

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    Table of Contents

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 10.40 – Doors

    10.40 – Doors

    Runa’s scream cut off as the ledge on the opposite side slammed into her stomach. Her chest and her arms folded over the top, and she had pulled herself up to be firmly on solid ground before Jorir had crossed the distance.

    “Roll!” He shouted.

    “Huh?” She rolled from her front to her back even as she spoke.

    Jorir’s boots thudded loudly into the ground a moment later, exactly where she had been laying. “Nice reactions.”

    She took a deep breath and let out a cough. “Somehow, I don’t think Einarr would approve of that method.”

    “Perhaps not,” he agreed.

    “You will regret that, you realize.” She was still catching her breath. He couldn’t allow her too much more time for that, though.

    “Perhaps. But it was the fastest, most assured way of getting us both across – as long as you didn’t see it coming.”

    She harrumphed – an amusing sound on any woman, but most especially on one so young – and rose, dusting herself off. “You haven’t heard the end of this. Let’s move on.”

    Einarr and Troa had made it past the knives that stuck out randomly from walls and floor and were probably poisoned – they thought. Then the passageway opened out into a small room. In the center of the room was an uncomfortable-looking stone chair with manacles built into the arms. Einarr raised an eyebrow at Troa, who shrugged. They started across, and when they had nearly reached the seat the door behind them slammed shut.

    Startled, Einarr turned to look behind. Where there had been a door, now there was another of those blasted steel shutters. He shook his head: they weren’t coming back this way, anyway. There did not appear to be anything else in the room, and then writing on the back of the seat caught his attention.

    “Cursebreaker, Glutton, and Thief,” Einarr read. “Fate decrees that only two may continue. The one who remains will find that they envy Loki’s fate.”

    A strange clicking sound echoed through the room, like clockwork, followed by a faint scraping of stone on stone. Einarr looked up, and then had to duck back quickly to avoid the drop of liquid that fell from the new opening in the ceiling. Whatever it was, the smell was putrid. Likely it was related to the smell on those knives that popped up seemingly at random in the hall.

    “There are weapons on the wall.” Troa mused. “As though she expected a bloody fight in this room.”

    “There are limits to her Sight after all, I think,” Einarr answered. “There’s nothing we need to do in here.”

    Troa hummed and followed Einarr toward the door. “You’re plainly the Cursebreaker. We all know that by now. I can own that I’m probably the Thief. But who in the name of all the gods would the Glutton be?”

    Einarr just shrugged as he hurried on.

    A few moments later, Troa spoke again. “Even if there had been three of us, I don’t think that fight would have gone like she expected.”

    Einarr chortled. “Likely not, no. We may have come to blows over who was to stay behind, but because we all had good reasons it should be ourselves.”

    Troa gave an answering chuckle and then the two fell silent again.

    Some time later, Einarr broke the silence. “Is it just me, or has this been too easy?”

    “How so?”

    “The Weavess has had well nigh twenty years to plan her escape. So why haven’t we run into anything more deadly than dripping poison?”

    Troa stopped ahead of Einarr and turned to face him. “You think we’re missing something.”

    “I do.”

    Troa pursed his lips, thinking, and all the while he examined the space around them. “…I think there’s a curve in this wall.”

    “It’s felt too long to you, too, then?”

    “Far. I think she has us going around in circles.”

    “But if there was an open passageway, we’d have seen it. Just a moment.” Einarr opened his belt pouch and dug around inside. Before too long, his fingers closed on exactly what he was after: the runestone he had carved last fall, engraved with ᚨ. Along with Wisdom came Sight, after all, and he desperately needed to see right now. He closed his eyes and willed the runestone to life.

    When he opened his eyes again, it was as though the tunnel was lit with the full light of the sun. The fading glow from Sinmora almost hurt his eyes, but if Troa was going to be of any use at all he needed to be able to see, too. Even with the apparent increase of light, though, he could see details on the walls he never would have without the rune. He blinked several times, trying to get used to the sensation. “Well. That’s… bizarre. And distracting. Don’t count on me to do much other than notice things for a little, Troa.”

    “Never fear, milord. I’ll have your back, same as always.”

    Einarr was sure he would: he shrugged, a little uncomfortably, but Einarr was going to have to get used to that sooner or later. He turned about where he stood, searching for a join that might indicate a secret door in the rough stone walls.

    “Not here. Let’s keep going.”

    Troa marked the wall with a piece of charcoal he kept on hand and on they jogged, Troa keeping his eyes open for immediate threats while Einarr scanned their surroundings for any sort of a clue. By the time they returned to the mark on the wall, Einarr had spotted three likely locations, and no way to return to the room with the chair.

    The other thing he had not been able to see was any way to open the doors from inside the hallway. “There must be a mechanism somewhere,” he mused. “Even if the trigger for the doors to open was meant to be someone sitting in the chair, something would have to operate out here, as well.”

    “And now is when I wish you had Arring around instead of me. He could make short work of this stone, I’m sure.”

    “But Arring would never have spotted those blades in the hall,” Einarr answered without even thinking. “I will mark the three doors and then give you some light.”

    “What do you expect me to do?”

    “Open them. One of them, anyway. Find the catch. I plainly don’t know what to look for.” He looked straight at the scout, weighing his options. Then he decided to take a chance. “Sivid could do it. Prove to me you can.”

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 10.39 – The Pit

    10.39 – The Pit

    The passage ahead looked much as it had before: a long stretch of rough stone. In the dim light given off by his glowing sword, he could not tell for how much longer it continued straight. There was nothing to learn there – not yet.

    Instead, he turned a weighing eye on Troa. He’d managed to avoid working directly with the man for almost the whole year. It was stupid, and he knew it was stupid, but the scout had interfered in his duel.

    It was stupid, because the Althane had not fought fairly from the beginning, but that niggling annoyance that he’d tried to put away at the time still crouched in the back of his brain like some mangy cur. Einarr pursed his lips.

    “Look, Einarr, I know —”

    “The Althane was an honorless dog. We should have been better.”

    “Yes, my lord.”

    “So long as you understand that, come along.”

    Jorir looked up at Runa. They had worked well together at the Tower of Ravens last year, and then in getting off that gods-forsaken island. On the other hand, based on what he’d seen this spring, he wasn’t entirely certain she’d learned anything from that. He harrumphed. “Looks like we’re working together again.”

    “I should think you’d be used to me by now.” Runa spared him a glance, but turned back to studying the space around them even as she spoke.

    “No place to go but forward, milady. Every breath we stand here, the crone gets farther away.”

    “You’re right. Lead on: I’ll be right behind with the light.”

    They had gone no more than another ten paces when they were brought up short by a high rough wall blocking the passage.

    “A dead-end?” Runa whined. “We can’t climb that.”

    Jorir stood staring at it for a long moment, thinking. The wall was, if his estimation was correct, a good seven feet high, but her lamp illuminated a deeper darkness above. “We can, and we have to, I think. There’s a ledge, about seven feet up. I’ll wager that’s our way forward.”

    “Seven feet? And how do you propose we reach that?”

    “I make more than half that distance just by myself. If you can hold me steady on your shoulders, I can climb up there and pull you after.”

    Runa looked at him long and hard, blinking once or twice. In the flickering light from her lamp, she looked like a fish. Jorir had to work not to chuckle.

    “Fine. All I have to do is brace myself while you stand on my shoulders, right?”

    “Right.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “Crouch down. I’ll climb on your shoulders directly. Your legs’re plenty strong, right?”

    “Strong enough.”

    I hope so. He wasn’t entirely certain how he’d explain to Einarr the necessity of climbing his betrothed like a tree otherwise. Dwarves were stockier than humans in general, though, and Jorir was not only a warrior but a blacksmith. If the girl wasn’t stronger than she looked, they might have to think up another way.

    Runa crouched down low to the ground, and Jorir clambered up to sit on her shoulders before resting his hands on the wall before them.

    “By the gods, man,” she complained once his weight had settled.

    “Can you stand?”

    In answer, Runa slowly began to rise. Jorir could feel the strain in her back as she struggled to lift both of them. But, at last, she stood. The ledge was only a little out of reach from where he sat.

    “Doin’ well so far.”

    She grunted in answer. “Hurry.”

    Carefully, Jorir rose to standing on her shoulders.

    “How can someone so short be so heavy?” she complained as he sought for handholds on top of the ledge.

    “Y’ever paid attention to how much a cat weighs, compared to a chicken?”

    “I can’t… say I have.”

    Jorir finally got both arms braced on the ledge above and gave a tiny jump, just enough to pull himself up. “Muscles. Dwarves have lots of muscles. Hand me the lamp.”

    She held it up towards his outstretched hand. It would have been much easier to grab had this not been a standard bedroom lamp, but as it was he had to stretch to catch the handle. “If I’d known you were so heavy, I’d have gone up first.”

    “Oh? And then pulled me after?”

    He regretted, a little, that he could not see her face in the silence that followed. The wall had evidently only been the first part of the trap. Shaking his head, he set the lamp down near the wall of the passage and stretched out on the ground, his hands held out for Runa to grab.

    Once she had a firm grip, she pressed her boots against the rough surface of the wall and climbed that way until she could rest her torso against the upper floor. Then she saw it, too.

    They now stood on a narrow ledge, just wide enough for Jorir to lay flat across like he had been. On the other side of that ledge was a pit, the bottom of which was staked with vicious-looking pikes. She could not see an opposite edge in the poor light.

    “Now what?”

    “D’ye see that lighter patch, right there?” Jorir pointed.

    “Yes…”

    “Unless I’m mistaken, that’s another ledge.”

    “How does that help us? It’s far too far to jump.”

    Jorir harrumphed again. “Maybe for you. It’s also our only way forward, as near as I can tell.”

    Runa rolled her eyes. “Great. So what am I supposed to do, wait here? I can’t make that jump.”

    Before she had quite finished speaking, Jorir had grabbed her by the shoulders. Then he kicked her feet out from under her and began to spin. Once, twice, and on the third time he released, like throwing a discus.

    Runa sailed across the gap with a squawk of fury. Jorir shook his head, knowing he would pay for this, and leapt after.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Previous
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    Table of Contents

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 10.38 – Secret Tunnel

    10.38 – Secret Tunnel

    The four burst into Urdr’s workroom, Runa in the lead but only by a pace. The sailor’s report had been not quite accurate: the witch was gone, and there were a number of blank spaces on the wall and on her racks where tapestries had been until very recently, but she had been smart enough to leave her equipment behind. Einarr was a little surprised she had taken the tapestries along, truth be told. The only reason he could think of were the workings they must support. And, therefore, the workings I must destroy. He hoped Frigg did not decide to reclaim her distaff too soon.

    The other thing Einarr did not see was the door Runa had mentioned. Then again, if it were cleverly hidden he probably wouldn’t. Runa, however, walked confidently across the floor of the room, her hair flashing like spun gold even dirtied as it was. Let the Jarl try to keep her from me now…

    Troa had already joined Runa at the door, and together they searched for the mechanism. Einarr shook his head: he couldn’t very well afford to lose his focus watching her, so instead he made a circuit around the outside of the room, examining walls and racks and the tools of her trade.

    He had not thought the Weavess could inspire more than disgust in his bones, but her workroom looked to be as much torture chamber as weaving workshop. The rage began to build in his chest and behind his eyes as he moved to stand beside his beloved. “Death is too good for her,” he muttered for Runa’s ears alone.

    “You’ll get no argument from me,” she answered in the same tone. “Don’t forget we have to take her before your father, though.”

    “Never fear.”

    “There,” Troa announced to the sound of a click. A long crack opened in the joins of the wooden wall. “We’re in.”

    “Let’s go.”

    The door swung open into the room, revealing a dark passage that seemed to go on too far. A quick glance around the room revealed a mostly-full oil lamp on one of the tables. Runa grabbed it almost as quickly as Einarr spotted it, and then they crossed the threshold.

    Almost immediately the hairs on the back of Einarr’s neck began to prickle. He didn’t know if there was actually magic in the air, but given whose escape route this was… He drew Sinmora and held the blade ready. “Be careful, everyone. She may well have traps set up for just such an occasion. Troa?”

    “Yes, sir.” The scout moved up beside Einarr, his eyes carefully scanning every surface of the cave as they moved forward. Between the two of them, they should be able to avoid most of the surprises Urdr could have left behind.

    They hurried down the tunnel as swiftly as they dared. After a time, the smooth worked stone of the keep ended. Einarr stopped in his tracks before he crossed the line, swiftly enough that Runa and their lamp nearly collided with his back.

    “What is it?”

    “I’ve been feeling magic in this tunnel since we stepped in. It’s… different, just ahead of us. Stand back a bit: I’m going to try something.”

    Even as they all withdrew up the hall he was focusing on his sword. It had been a while since he needed to do this, although perhaps not so long as it felt like. Just like in the working earlier, he focused his will, only this time it was on Sinmora.

    The blade seemed to pulse before him like a living thing, and like a living thing it felt hungry for the magic that surrounded them. Einarr hesitated only a moment: he had seen nothing to suggest that the magic was integral to the tunnel, after all. He raised Sinmora overhead and cut the air over the threshold.

    A rushing sound like wind screaming through jagged rocks filled the room around them. Jorir brought his shield and axe up as though expecting an attack. Runa and Troa looked around frantically, trying to spot the source of the sound.

    When the noise ended, Einarr relaxed. The oppressive feeling of ambient magic ahead of them had faded.

    “Einarr – your sword!” Runa stammered. “It’s glowing!”

    Oh. Right. Of the four of them, only Jorir knew about that, and even he hadn’t seen it. “Over the course of last winter, Sinmora… awakened. It’s a long story, but we shouldn’t have to worry about magical traps any longer.”

    “I still say we need ta grill Lord Stigander over the provenance of that sword. I’ve never heard of any smith as could do that.”

    Einarr shrugged and sheathed his blade. It couldn’t hurt, he supposed, but there hadn’t yet been a good time. “Later. For now, we have a witch to catch.”

    Again they trotted down the hall, now somewhat more confident on their way than before.

    “I don’t get it,” Troa grumbled. “The Weavess has had almost twenty years to build her escape route. Surely this can’t—”

    “Look out!” Jorir bellowed, grabbing Runa by the waist of her skirt and pulling her back even as he kicked out with one booted foot to send Einarr reeling forward.

    A metal shutter shot upward, dividing the team neatly in half. Einarr swore. Runa yelped. Troa spun on his heel and gaped.

    Einarr stared at the shutter for a long moment. Unless his eyes deceived him – and in the poor light, it was possible – the upper edge of the shutter was a blade. That thin wetness sliding down their side of the barrier could have been blade oil, but Einarr suspected poison. “Are you two all right over there?”

    “Fine,” Runa answered, sounding a little breathless and a lot exasperated. “It looks like there’s another path forward over here, too. What about you?”

    “Fine, thanks to Jorir.” He cast a sidelong look at Troa, but refrained from asking how the scout had missed this one. Sinmora’s glow had just gone from interesting to necessary: he hoped it would last. “You two go on ahead down your path. We’ll keep on this way and meet you at the end.”

    “Yes, milord,” Jorir answered.

    Runa’s voice followed almost immediately: “Be careful.”

    “Of course. You, too. I’m counting on you, Jorir. Make sure you both get out of here.”

    With the dwarf’s answering grunt, Einarr turned to look down the passage he faced with only Troa at his back.

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  • 10.37 – Regathering

    10.37 – Regathering

    Beatrix nodded brusquely and thrust the bit of cloth she’d been using to dab at Runa’s face into her hands. “I expect you’re right. Lead on.”

    Runa was only a little slower getting to her feet. She took a moment to dust off her skirts. Einarr was suddenly reminded of the little girl he’d seen out trying to wrangle goats and smiled.

    “…What?”

    “Nothing. Just glad you’re all right. Are we ready?”

    The doors to the Hall stood open, and spilling out into the courtyard in front of them was a flurry of activity. Standing at the center of this, exactly where Einarr expected to find him, was Father, barking orders. Swirling around him like the inner edge of a storm’s eye were Bardr, Kormund, Hraerek, and …Kaldr?

    Einarr glanced over his shoulder at the two women, suddenly glad none of the other Singers had arrived yet. Their attention seemed caught closer to the fringes of the crowd, which he took for a good thing under the circumstances. “Father! What news?”

    Stigander looked up from the discussion he was holding with his Mate and waved the four of them over. “Einarr! Glad to see you made it. Everything went smoothly down below?”

    “As well as I could have hoped. Hrug’s going to be out of it for a while, but I can’t rely on him for everything.”

    Kaldr looked up from the message he had just finished dispatching to turn a questioning eye on Stigander. Behind Einarr, Beatrix and Runa stiffened as they could no longer ignore the man’s presence.

    “This is my son, Kaldr. Einarr is the Cursebreaker.”

    Kaldr pivoted on his heels, clapped a fist to his chest, and bowed to Einarr. Einarr blinked, unable to process what he was seeing at first.

    “Father?”

    “Your ritual allowed at least one man to slip free entirely of the Weavess’ work.”

    “I see.”

    “Are you certain it was the ritual?” Bea’s voice was tight.

    Kaldr did not rise. “I assure you, my lady, my actions at that time were taken out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.”

    Beatrix hummed, evidently skeptical.

    “I believe, actually, that you’ve met all of these people, Kaldr,” Stigander went on smoothly. “It was Einarr’s ship you took for your platform right after you stole the Singers from our decks. Runa is the daughter of Jarl Hroaldr – who is also in our safekeeping now. Someday I will want to hear just how you managed that.”

    Kaldr did not even shift his shoulders to show discomfort. “Of course, my lord.”

    “The svartdverger is Einarr’s right-hand man – and among the truest of liege men. And this,” Stigander continued. “Is Beatrix Mari… bah. Beatrix. She is no Singer, but an Imperial princess who happened to decide our cause was just.”

    For once the man looked surprised. “You have my apologies, my lady, for the error.”

    “Lord Stigander!” One of the newer Vidofnings approached, who had signed since Einarr wintered with the elves, dodging through the whirling chaos of men that surrounded the captains. For the first time in a very long time, Einarr did not know everyone who was a part of his father’s crew.

    “Yes, what is it?”

    “The Weavess’ work room – it’s empty, sir. We can’t find her anywhere.”

    Einarr could see his father swallowing a shout. Berating the messenger would do no-one any good. “Keep looking! Comb that tower top to bottom: she couldn’t have got far, not at her age.”

    “My lord,” Kaldr demurred. “She almost never left the tower. She climbed the stairs between her workroom and the dungeon several times a day.”

    Runa gasped, her fingers moving to cover her mouth.

    Einarr turned to look at her. “What is it?”

    “The secret door! Bea, you remember. She was turning the lock in the door when we came back down to steal the Victory weaving. You tried to break it down.”

    Beatrix winced. “That door. You’re right, that has to be where she went.”

    Einarr met Stigander’s gaze and saw his own thoughts writ there. “I’ll go, Father. You, too, Jorir?” When the dwarf nodded, he continued. “Great. Runa, you’ll lead the way?”

    “Naturally.”

    “In that case, we just need someone who can deal with the lock… Sivid should still be down in the harbor. Do we have anyone else who can pick a lock, or do we need Arring?”

    Stigander nodded, then raised a hand to his mouth and called over his shoulder. “Troa!”

    Runa raced back across the courtyard for the tower, followed closely by Einarr, Jorir, and Troa. Beatrix had wanted to come as well, but before Troa arrived she had been drawn into the exigencies of diplomacy with the soon-to-be-restored Thane. Perhaps that was not what she had in mind when she joined Einarr’s cause, but no matter how much she wanted to continue the assault, her place was now at the Hall with the leadership. Truth be told, Runa should have stayed as well: she would have almost as many letters to draft, come the evening.

    Troa pelted along at Einarr’s side, very carefully looking straight ahead. Einarr’s fault, that: after the duel with the Althane’s shade, Einarr had never been entirely comfortable around him. Knowing the aversion was irrational did not help. There were more important matters to hand, though, so Einarr also kept his attention focused on Runa’s back, urging her faster. That they were chasing an old woman was no comfort: the Weavess had managed to build her own private escape route. Who knew what they might find waiting for them inside? And the longer they took to get there, the more time the crone had to prepare.

    Faster, Runa. Faster.

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  • 10.36 – An End to Fighting

    10.36 – An End to Fighting

    “Very well, Kaldr Kerasson. Stand, and hear the judgement of the Thane of Breidelstein.” Stigander watched the man from the corner of his eye. When Kaldr stood and turned to face Stigander, his expression showed grim acceptance.

    Stigander reversed his grip on his sword even as he lowered it, so that it came around in a smooth sweeping motion, and thrust the hilt towards Kaldr. “You will swear to me, before my Vidofnings tried and true, that you will serve me and strive ever and always for the good of this land.”

    Kaldr blinked, evidently nonplussed.

    “I will not waste talent laid before me. We will put an end to this senseless fighting, and then I will have your oath.”

    Kaldr dropped to his knees and his shoulders sagged, as though he had been relieved of a great weight. Stigander could not quite repress a smile as he sheathed his sword and offered his hand instead.

    “Stand, Kaldr Kerasson. There is work yet to be done before all can be put to right.”

    “We had best hurry if we are to catch the Witch. She is likely in her workshop in the tower, but once she learns all is lost there’s no telling what she will do.”

    The pulse of will that exploded out from the deck of the Heidrun left even its creators stunned for a time. The wolflings who had attempted to assault their deck were blown backwards into the water. No-one who was on board was in any state to pull them out, though, even assuming they were not still hostile.

    Einarr shook his head as he came out of it. That had easily been the most intense rune-working he had ever been part of, and he had been mostly fresh when they set it off. He looked at Hrug: the mute was slumped over, half-conscious at best and breathing heavily, but still breathing. That was something. Einarr had relied on him too much since they began retaking his homeland, and the strain had been evident even before this.

    Jorir had already shaken off the effects of the magic and stood steadfast. Naudrek looked shaken but otherwise unharmed. And evidently Frigg had determined that their task was not yet done, because the Örlögnir still lay at his feet in the center of the expended runic circle. Einarr nodded to himself and then met Naudrek’s eye.

    “Keep an eye on him.” Einarr gestured with his head toward Hrug. “Jorir and I have to get the Örlögnir up to the Hold. Send Vali if you run into anything you can’t handle.”

    “Yes, sir!”

    Truth be told, Einarr would have preferred to have those two with him, but Hrug was in no condition to climb that cliff, and Naudrek would never leave his sworn brother behind. He scooped up the Örlögnir and threaded it through his baldric before turning his attention to Jorir. “Let’s go.”

    The dwarf just grunted and lifted a plank to let them down to the pier.

    As Einarr and his liege man made their way through the town of Breidelstein, Einarr was struck by how busy the place was – or, rather, should have been. Despite the evidence of a long string of lean years this was a city that had once done brisk business.

    He heard the sound of fighting from time to time as they jogged, but only in small pockets far from the main thoroughfare. But stamping out sparks was not how he ended this. The fighting would only stop when he destroyed the Weavess’ work and ended her curse for good. Einarr shook his head and jogged on, Jorir keeping pace easily.

    He did slow when he started up the cliff road, and was pleasantly surprised to find it clear of enemies. At the top, lounging in the gate house, he saw Erik and Irding – somewhat the worse for wear, but nothing like how badly injured they’d become on the Isle of the Forgotten.

    “Erik. Irding. Well-fought.”

    “Well-fought, Einarr!” Erik clapped him on the shoulder as he came within range. “We were in a spot of trouble before your spell went off, I don’t mind telling you. Whatever that was you did, it was like they lost all their will to fight.”

    Einarr smiled back at his friend. “I’m glad it helped. Where’s Father?”

    “Headed for the Hall, last I saw.”

    “Thanks.”

    He had not been to Raenshold since he was a small child, but the Hall was the centerpiece of the entire courtyard and hard to miss. He jogged off in that direction, but had not gotten far before he saw a sight he never would have imagined: Bea and Runa were tending each others wounds.

    Einarr stopped in his tracks. Why by all the gods is Runa here? All the Singers were supposed to have stayed back with the ships. She knew that, and she’d even been told why, so… She had some bruising around her mouth, and what looked like a minor gash on one arm, but Bea looked only a little worse. He needed to find Father, to hear where they stood, but how could he not check in with her? “Runa? What happened? Why aren’t you with the other Singers?”

    She gave him a rueful smile even as Bea dabbed at a cut on her face. “I wanted to help. Didn’t realize you weren’t with the assault until the magic swept by.”

    Beatrix rolled her eyes at Einarr, but whatever was going on between those two he intended to stay out of it. Besides, given their personal positions, they would be needed at the Hall in short order. “I’m glad you’re all right. …Come on: there are messages that will need to be sent, I’m sure Father will need both of you.”

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  • 10.35 – In Raen’s Hall

    10.35 – In Raen’s Hall

    From the time the three groups of their forces rejoined at the base of the cliff road almost to the tower gate, all they saw was the backs of the defenders fleeing before them. For all that Stigander did not want to slay more of his clansmen than he had to, it made him more than a little worried his half-brother had turned them all into cowards.

    With two switchbacks left before the gates the wolflings set up a defensive line. Stigander raised his shield and charged, all his allies hot on his heels. The man who had rallied the line plainly had some skill, or there would not have been one at all. It was not enough to let them hold, or even offer more than token resistance, though. The line buckled like thin kindling.

    Stigander refused to give up the momentum of his charge, and so they kept going. Running up the road was not generally recommended, even for a young man, but when they came up to the last stretch before the gate Stigander was not even winded. Ahead, about half the number of warriors as had tried to hold below now bristled from the gate house like a hedgehog.

    They were about as fearsome as a hedgehog, too. Blades clashed against shields for two exchanges before Ulfr’s men were once again overcome with – what? Stigander hoped it was doubt, induced by Einarr’s runes, but he saw fear on more faces than he was truly comfortable with. Where he would expect the defense to be growing more fierce, it instead seemed to be the opposite.

    It had been sixteen years since Stigander had set foot in his father’s hold, but in spite of everything done to the city below the courtyard looked almost exactly as he remembered it save for one, small detail: there were no people. Not that he expected to see the movements of daily life when an invasion was happening, but still there should have been someone – even if only messengers running from the crumbled battle lines to their supposed thane.

    It was not until he flung open the door to the Hall, his men flanking him in victory, that he remembered the differences in the vision the Oracle had given him. He stopped. His father’s hall, built large, felt twice as empty without the rugs and tapestries and trophies. Cold, and barren, and he suspected even if there were a fire in the hearth it would be the same. His father’s seat sat empty on its low dais.

    A man sat on the edge of the dais, his sword held upright with its point resting on the flagstones between his feet, watching the door as a man who has accepted his fate. Blood was spattered across the man’s face and tunic. His expression was calm and resolute, although his eyes were hooded. This could only be Kaldr, the Captain who had caused them so much trouble on their journey here. On the floor behind him, Stigander saw a headless corpse and an expansive puddle of blood.

    Stigander had only seen his half-brother once, and that in passing, but he had no doubt whose corpse that was. Although he had long harbored the hope that he would not have to kill Ulfr, would not become a kinslayer, he was still surprised to feel sorrow at the man’s passing. Was I truly so foolish as to believe he would not have to die? He clenched his fist, but still his arm shook.

    As Stigander took in the scene before him, Kaldr spoke. “Lord Stigander Raenson. The usurper, your half-brother, is dead. As the slayer of your kin, and a steadfast enemy of your approach, my life is forfeit should you wish to claim it.”

    Stigander tore his eyes away from the fallen body of the usurper to look more closely at the one who had slain him. “Why?”

    “The blood price must be paid…”

    “That is not what I asked!” He snapped in spite of himself. “As early as this morning, you called this man Lord, and yet you slew him. Why?”

    Kaldr’s mouth tightened and he lowered his gaze toward the floor. “Because I learned the truth and knew he must die. By the laws of the Althing, it should be the rightful Thane who dispenses justice, but to go from the rule of a usurper to that of a kinslayer… it was too much.”

    Stigander nodded slowly, chewing over the man’s words. This should not be complicated, and yet… He stepped up onto the dais and walked slowly towards the corpse sprawled on the ground. Ulfr’s body still clutched Grjóthrun in both hands, his grip proclaiming that he had never before used a sword. Stigander reached down to grasp his brother’s head by its hair and lift it up. The man’s grizzled hair stuck out in every direction where it had slipped free of the cut-off braid. Its face was contorted with rage and desperation: at least Ulfr had not died a coward. Stigander placed the head back near its former body. He turned and stepped back off the dais, not caring that his boots had picked up some of the blood.

    Facing Kaldr once more, he drew his father’s sword. He held it upright, studying the blade as he spoke. “Very well, Kaldr Kerasson. Stand, and hear the judgement of the Thane of Breidelstein.”

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  • 10.34 – The Ice Wolf

    10.34 – The Ice Wolf

    “What?” Ulfr demanded, his smug certainty suddenly evaporating into angry confusion. A vein twitched at his temple as his eyes grew wide.

    Kaldr’s blood boiled in fury, not merely at the truth of having been ensorcelled – enthralled! – but at the lack of mettle of the man who had controlled him. With the practice of long years, he forced his emotions down. This was a battle like any other. Calmness was the order of the day.

    The sounds of battle drifted in through the arrow slits. The Vidofnings drew nearer at a rapid clip, if Kaldr was any judge of matters. Thjofgrir had not held, and although he hoped his Mate had not fallen Kaldr was glad.

    “Have you forgotten, Usurper?” Kaldr breathed out his icy rage. “By your own words, if I go to seek justice, I will forget, and you will escape.”

    He chuckled bitterly. “No, perhaps you will not escape this time. Breidelstein cannot hold Stigander back now, if the men defending the hold have even a fragment of my doubt. By all reports, they have more than that. But that seems an un-fitting end for a man of your stature, does it not?

    “So you command that I go. I will not. You command that I forget. I will not. Consider it my last loyalty, as Breidelsteinn’s Ice Wolf. If justice cannot be had… then only injustice remains, does it not?”

    “You cannot!” Ulfr responded, a hint of desperation beginning to enter his voice. “You are bound in the Weaving! You should not be able to even think such things!”

    “Have you forgotten so easily, Thane, your loyal captain’s advice about relying on magic?” Kaldr advanced on the throne, marveling at the ease of it. He drew his blade with a slow, satisfying rasp. “Magic fails. I do not know what the ritual performed on Stigander’s ships did – but something has unraveled. The Witch’s threads have slipped – and I am unbound.”

    He paused. “Your crimes against Breidelsteinn and its people demand death, but I do not wish to kill an unarmed man. Draw your sword and die on your feet, if you are a man at all.”

    Ulfr bore no weapon, though the great blade, Grjóthrun, hung in the Hall as the sign of his Thaneship. The Usurper scrambled from the throne toward the hanging sword. “Does your fifteen-year oath mean nothing to you?”

    “Strange you should say that, Ulfr, considering that you were just mocking me for my loyalty.” Kaldr strode easily after the fleeing man. “But if you think about it, you’ll see that my oath demands this.”

    Ulfr grasped Grjóthrun and turned, confusion evident on his face as he raised the blade in unpracticed hands. Kaldr responded with the feral grin of a wolf who has captured his prey. “As you said – I am fated to be loyal to Breidelstein’s Thane.” And a man who makes thralls of his free subjects is no Thane.

    Ulfr opened his mouth – to protest, likely, that Kaldr had made his point for him – then stiffened as he realized the true meaning of Kaldr’s words.

    The sounds of fighting echoed more strongly through the Hall. They were at the gate, by the sound of things, but if Thjofgrir could not hold the gate would crumble. He maintained his icy smile, though it did not touch his eyes. “Stigander and his men draw near, Ulfr. One way or another, it ends.”

    Ulfr raised the blade with a shout and lunged at Kaldr, throwing himself entirely off-balance and nearly falling on his face. He had spent decades in indolence, and Kaldr was a Captain of warriors, trained as a warrior himself from his youth. Kaldr stepped aside easily and struck, his blade steady and sure. Ulfr’s body collapsed to the stone floor, his head rolling over twice before coming to rest in the rapidly expanding pool of his own blood.

    “You lived as a coward and a tyrant. For honor, you should have died as a dog, executed by the rightful Thane when he retakes his place.” He regarded the headless body of the man who had raped his home for so long. “But we cannot permit Breidelstein go from the hands of a Usurper to those of a Kinslayer.”

    This would be his last act, in all likelihood, but it would be the act of a free man. The price for killing one of the Thane’s blood – no matter how deserved – would need to be paid. But with his sacrifice, Breidelstein would be able to move forward.

    I wish I could see it.

    Kaldr did not give a second glance to the body on the floor, but moved to sit on the edge of the dais by the foot of the throne. He rested his sword point-down between his feet, his elbows on his knees, and took a deep breath as he awaited his Fate.

    When the door swung open not many minutes later, he faced the true Thane with the equanimity he had always prided himself on.

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  • 10.33 – Ulfr

    10.33 – Ulfr

    Lord Ulfr relaxed back in his seat as though the response bored him. “Your place is defending the Hold, Captain Kaldr. Or have you already forgotten how tenuous your position here is?”

    “Not at all, my lord.” Kaldr tasted bile as he realized he could feel nothing but loathing for his Thane. He dares call himself a wolf? Kaldr cleared his throat, trying to ensure his voice was steady. “My Lord, I fear the day is lost. Our men are losing their will to fight.”

    “Then remind them what my displeasure feels like!”

    “My lord, the lash can only take you so far. Sooner or later, the lashed man will take hold of the whip and turn it against his master. Already word has reached me that your warriors are beginning to question whether or not the Hold is worth defending.”

    “What are you saying?”

    “I am saying that, whether or not you are Lord Raen’s true-born son, whether or not he acknowledged you as heir, you have not been behaving as a Thane should. Tell me, Lord, what your father said when named you heir?”

    “My father is an old, senile fool. What does it matter?”

    “It matters, Lord, because I suddenly cannot remember the event. Granted I was young and inexperienced at the time, but such an event would have echoed throughout the Clan. Especially since the rebel leader had been well-liked, as I recall. I, who have counted myself among your most loyal servants, cannot think of a single reason we would have acclaimed you as Thane. —Wait, that’s not quite true. I can think of one. The Lady Witch.”

    Lord Ulfr actually rolled his eyes. Kaldr had to be mistaken, but for a moment it seemed as though there was amusement glinting over that petulant face. Amusement, where he had expected anger at the aspersion cast against the witch. “Sixteen years is a long time, Kaldr. Are you certain your sudden anger is not twisting your memory?”

    “Quite the opposite, I assure you. In the time since you have taken power and driven off the rebels who now assault our shores, you have driven Breidelstein – the prosperous city your father made – into penury. You have rewarded the boot-lickers and the stupid while driving the competent and the honorable to seek their fortunes elsewhere. You have stripped your father’s hall of all its comfort and its warmth – and for the life of me, I cannot fathom why.”

    Lord Ulfr had sat up straight while Kaldr was talking, and now sat smirking down at his subject, a wicked light gleaming in his eye. “You call yourself loyal and yet you question me now, of all times? Fine. I will answer your questions, Kaldr. I am the Thane, and all of you, my Captains, exist to obey me.”

    “You have always thought of my mother as a chain about my neck, Kaldr, but you’re wrong. Mother is my sword and my shield, and the reason I sit here on this throne before you. It was Mother’s plan that made everyone on Breidelstein acknowledge me, the eldest son, as the true heir of Raen. It was her masterpiece: the tapestry that brought all of these islands under my thumb and bound everyone to my service. You say I should fear my own lash? Hardly. Not one person living here has the wherewithal to challenge me, because we have bound their fates in a tapestry. I am well aware that Mother has let no small amount of your blood. Think of it as medicine, to rid the land of Breidelstein of its imperfections. You should be proud: your own body has been used to perfect this country under my rule.”

    Kaldr rocked back on his heels involuntarily. Did Ulfr know what he was confessing to?

    “Sixteen years ago, Mother and I sailed to these islands, determined to make my father acknowledge me. We had been poor, before, but through her Weaving Mother had managed to save up enough to buy us passage here. While we sailed, she began work on her masterpiece. By the time we arrived, all that was left to do was one single, finishing touch. We walked openly into this very hall and stood before my father and declared ourselves. The man had the audacity to claim he had no son besides Stigander! So when we returned to our room, Mother finished the piece. Oh, there was some fighting at first, and then some more after the Vidofnir came back with my baby brother, all unawares. But Breidelstein is mine, and it always will be. Fate binds it to me.”

    That’s madness. “Ulfr,” — no ‘Lord’ for him now, nor ever again — “…do you understand what you are confessing? This witchcraft, this madness, goes beyond mere treason! Even if you drive off Stigander, you’ll be pulled down by your own Captains and people — myself among them — once I share the truth.” Even weakened, he was more of a warrior than Ulfr – younger, stronger, faster. The Usurper could not stop him.

    The madman on the throne laughed as though bored. “Kaldr, Kaldr, Kaldr. My ever-loyal Ice Wolf. We have danced this dance before, you and I, so very many times. When Falkenjorg shook free after a long raid and rebelled — do you not remember your first hunt? Of returning to confront me after your victory with the words pledged by a dying man? Or your doubts after I ordered the waste of Aldvik? Truly, you are so quick to doubt that I would have had you executed long before had Mother not insisted that your talents were of use to me …and were you not so amusing.”

    “Why —”

    “— Would I tell you? It’s almost tiresome how you always ask the same questions. I tell you because, even knowing, you cannot escape. What will happen is what has always happened.” Ulfr’s eyes blazed with merriment. “You will storm out in your righteous fury, swearing to rally the Captains and the people, to overthrow me for the good of Breidelstein. I surely cannot stop you from doing so, alone. Within ten paces, you will forget why you are angry. Within twenty, our words. Within thirty, all your anger, and you will return to ask and serve my will, as you always have. After all, it is your Fate to be a loyal captain in the service of Breidelstein’s Thane. So go, Ice-Wolf, go and know the hopelessness of your defiance, and that you serve at my pleasure.”

    Kaldr stiffened, staring at the indolent figure on the throne. He could not remember, not truly, but he did not doubt the madman’s words. But here, now, at the Fall of Breidelstein, he could feel the bonds that held him unraveling. He clenched his jaw and raised his face to the Usurper, expression clear and proud. “No, Ulfr. I will not go. Let us end it, Thane.”

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