The Liar's Key
Raised in a culture of war and death I would have pegged a Viking warrior to be the most able of any man to put such tragedy behind him and walk on. But Snorri had never been the man I’d thought would lie behind the beard and the axe. Somehow he was both less than the fantasy and more at the same time.
I turned and walked back toward him. Anything I had to say seemed shallow beside the depth of his grief. Words are awkward tools at best, too blunt for delicate tasks.
I almost set a hand to his shoulder, then let it fall. In the end I settled for, “Come on then.”
Snorri turned, looked at me—as if from a thousand miles away—then twitched his lips, hinting at a smile. He nodded and we both went back together.
• • •
“Sail!” Tuttugu had returned to the ridge above the dell whilst I went to retrieve Snorri. Now he pointed out toward the ocean as we returned.
“Maybe we won’t have to walk after all,” I said as we reached Kara.
She shook her head at my ignorance. “You can’t just wave down a ship.”
“Why’s he jumping up and down then?”
“I don’t know.” Snorri said the words in a voice that suggested a slow-dawning suspicion. He left us and jogged up the slope toward the ridge. Kara followed on at a more relaxed pace and I dogged her heels.
Both men were crouched by the time we reached them and Snorri waved us down too. “Edris,” he hissed.
I edged alongside Tuttugu on my elbows, adding more mud to my costume.
“Shit.” I squinted at the flash of sail miles and more off the coast. “How the hell can you tell?”
I felt Tuttugu shrug beside me. “I just know. It’s the cut of the sails . . . just the way of it . . . Hardassa for sure.”
“How is it even possible?” I asked, becoming aware of Kara moving up beside me, her braid runes tapping as the wind played them out.
“The unborn knew where to dig for Loki’s key,” she said.
“It was under the Bitter Ice! Anyone who listened to the stories knew—oh.” The Bitter Ice stretched for scores of miles of ice cliffs and then reached back an unknown distance into the white hell of the north. How did they know where to dig?
“Something draws them to it,” she said.
“There’s unborn on that ship?” Suddenly I wanted to be home very badly.
Kara shrugged. “Maybe. Or some other servant of the Dead King who can sense the key.”
I shuffled back from the ridge. “We’d better move fast then.” At least running away was something I understood.
THIRTEEN
“We’ve got to move fast, but in which direction?” Snorri asked.
“We need to be away from the coast.” Tuttugu hugged his belly with nervous arms, perhaps imagining a Hardassa driving his spear into it. “Take away their advantage. Otherwise they’ll pace us at sea and come in for us by night. And if they’re forced to beach they’ll have to leave men to guard the longboat.”
“We’ll aim south-west.” Kara pointed to a low hill on the horizon. “We should reach the Maladon border in three or four days. If we’re lucky we’ll be close to Copen.”
“Copen?” Tuttugu asked. I offered him silent thanks for not making me be the one to display my ignorance yet again.
“A small city on the Elsa River. The duke winters there. A good place to rest and gather our resources,” Kara said. By which she no doubt meant “for Jalan to buy us food and horses.” At this rate I’d arrive at Vermillion as poor as I thought I was when I left it.
• • •
We set off at a good pace, knowing the Hardassa men would be better provisioned, better equipped . . . probably just plain better in all regards given that our second best warrior was likely a woman with a knife.
The sun came out to mock us, and Kara led the way, winding a path across slopes thick with heather and dense clumps of viciously spiked gorse.
“We’re getting closer to the Wheel aren’t we?” I asked an hour later, footsore already.
“Yes, we’ll just cut through the outer edge of its . . . domain.”
“You can feel it too?” Snorri fell back to walk beside me, his stride free as if his wound no longer pained him.
I nodded. Even with four hours until sunset I could sense Aslaug prowling, impatient. Each patch of shadow seethed with possibilities despite the brightness all about. Her voice lay beneath all other sounds, urgent but indistinct, rising with the wind, scratching behind Snorri’s question. “It’s like the world is . . . thinner here.” Even with an arm’s length between Snorri and me that old energy crackled across the shoulder facing him, buzzing in my teeth, a brittle sensation, as if I might shatter if I fell. With the old feeling came new suspicions, all of Aslaug’s warnings creeping into my mind. Baraqel’s hold on the northman would be strengthening with each yard closer to the Wheel. How long could I trust Snorri for? How long before he became the avenger Baraqel intended him to be, smiting down anyone tainted with the dark . . .