The Liar's Key
“Handsome fellow,” said Kara as she stepped after Gorgoth.
Snorri and I swapped a glance at that. Mine said, “See, this is why I had to mess with him in the first place.”
• • •
We didn’t see much of Maladon beyond what lay illuminated by torchlight during our journey or the isolated moorland where we made camp by day. I counted it no great loss. I’d seen all I wanted to of the Danelands on our flight north the previous year. A dour land full of dour people, all wishing they were proper Vikings. The Thurtans weren’t any better. Worse if possible. My Nobles’ Guide to the Broken Empire entry for East Thurtan would be “Similar to Maladon but flatter.” And for West Thurtan, “See entry for East Thurtan. Boggy.”
Aslaug did not return though I waited for her appearance each sunset. Twice I heard a faint knocking as if far off someone were pounding on a heavy door, but it seemed that somehow our flight from Osheim had finally broken the bond the Silent Sister had forged between us. Perhaps Aslaug and Baraqel emerging like that to battle the Hardassa had torn them from me and Snorri, both of us emptied, or free, depending how you viewed it.
In truth I missed her. She’d been the only one of them to see my true worth. On our second night out from the forests of Maladon I lay huddled beneath my cloak, plagued by a thin rain, and imagined what Aslaug would say if she found me there.
“Prince Jalan, sleeping on the ground among these men of the north. Don’t they realize that a man of your worth should be hosted in the finest halls this land has to offer?”
• • •
As much as I missed Aslaug it was good that Baraqel had been banished from Snorri. “Watch him, Jalan,” Aslaug had said. “Watch the light-sworn. Baraqel knows that key will open more doors than just the one Snorri seeks. Kelem’s mines hold many doors. Behind one such door Baraqel and a host just like him, just as righteous and quick to judge, wait their chance. Come dawn he’ll be whispering again in Snorri’s ear, slowly turning him, until he sets Loki’s key in that lock and Baraqel’s kind come pouring out—not offering advice any more, but issuing sentence and execution.”
I eyed the largest of the sleeping lumps. Aslaug had made it all sound very convincing but Snorri was a difficult man to steer along any path other than his own—I knew that from personal experience. Still—it pleased me that Baraqel was gone.
Somewhere the sun set and the distant knocking faded to nothing. I looked over at Kara and found Hennan looking back at me, snuggled up against the völva in her bedroll. He watched me with his unreadable stare and after a while I shrugged and went off to water a tree.
• • •
Night by night we crossed first Maladon and then the Thurtans. Duke Alaric’s close alliance with the Thurtan lords meant he considered himself responsible for the safe passage of Gorgoth and his brethren through those lands—a matter of honour and one that Lord Hakon repeated to Gorgoth on more than one occasion.
“If so much as a goat or sheep goes missing from a herdsman’s flock it would be as if Duke Alaric himself had stolen it,” Hakon said.
Gorgoth had simply inclined his great head and assured him that there would be order. “Trolls were bred for war, Lord Hakon, not theft.”
Hennan came into his own on the march, uncomplaining about the miles, still with enough energy to run around camp come dawn, badgering the Norsemen for stories. He spent time with Gorgoth too. At first the monster’s interest sparked my suspicions but it seemed he just liked the boy, telling him tales of his own, of the mysteries and wonders to be found in the dark places beneath mountains.
• • •
As the march continued I concentrated my resources on seducing Kara. Even though she made not the slightest effort to make herself alluring, still she managed to torment me. Even though she was as grubby and unkempt as the rest of us, lean, hard-muscled, shrewd eyed, I still found myself wanting her.
Despite the obvious negatives—being scary clever, knowing far too many things, seeing through me on almost every occasion, and being more than happy to skewer straying hands—I found her excellent company. This proved to be a new and rather confusing experience for me. Having Kara entertain twenty Danes with bawdy tales around the fire felt rather as if on a boar hunt in the Kings Wood outside Vermillion our quarry stopped running, sat down, and, pulling out a pipe, proceeded to discuss the merits of veal over venison with us, opining about the best wine to serve with swan.