“I gave you my blood for the life of your friend.”
“In the context for which I asked, it shouldn’t have been given under such conditions,” Lorth returned. “You’d have let those bastards have my balls for their supper had I not revealed what the Old One showed me. You only called them off because you knew I would answer to her. Now you complain how badly this has gone because of something I didn’t tell you?”
Eaglin laughed. The Dark Warrior ignored him.
Wulfgar grabbed his whisky. “You could just as easily have had to give your blood to Rhinne, for as many times she’s brushed with death. Has the Mistress been protecting her all along?”
“That’s a good question,” Lorth said. “They sent assassins. The one I killed could easily have taken her had I not intervened.” He turned to Eusiron, who had withdrawn into the shadows several shades darker than he emerged. “By the Destroyer’s hand, I saved her life on the road. So did you.”
“Ragnvald sought the location of the book,” the entity said with frosty equanimity. “He put assassins on her to terrorize her into talking. They were under orders not to kill her.”
“The priest on this ship tried,” Lorth said. “Laegir said he put a knife into her back.”
“He knew she would heal it. He also knew he wouldn’t survive attacking her. This was a one-way trip designed to serve Carmaenos. We can assume he now knows what Rhinne is capable of and what elicits it.”
Wulfgar said, “Why were they given orders not to kill her? Do they want her alive?”
“No,” Eusiron said. “Her death would expose them to me.”
For several moments, no one said anything. Eaglin cleared a cough from his throat. “Ah. My suspicions confirmed.”
A chill crept over Lorth’s flesh as he came to the same realization. “You are her Source.” It startled him that he hadn’t seen this before. It did explain Eusiron’s involvement, including having asked Laegir to leave Adder and Rhinne alone—though Lorth dared not speculate for what reason the war god would protect a lovers’ tryst.
“When Rhinne died as Eifin,” Eusiron continued, “Carmaenos cloaked that timeline to hide what he did to her and I didn’t see it. But he cannot do that again, not in the same way. If they kill her, I will see everything she knows. Carmaenos will not take the chance that I will put together what he is doing. Instead, he is making sure Rhinne is shamed and frightened enough to hide her heart from us. Which she has.”
Wulfgar said, “We were told that the Riven God could change the timeline again, and in a bad way.”
“He cannot change it to hide anything around Rhinne,” Eusiron said. “That book bridges dimensions and will appear in every timeline she does. Nor can he kill or change her nature; she owns her powers in every life she lives as this aspect. This is why he is so bent on finding the book. However, if he finds out that we have it, it will mean war.”
“We are already at war,” Wulfgar pointed out.
Eusiron stepped forward, his eyes darkening. “You do not know war as I know war. Carmaenos can make of this world a wasteland fit only for the pleasure of murderers and the scavengers that follow them. He can bring armies here from anywhere. Create entire races of warriors from the dawn of the world, warriors you couldn’t imagine. He will raze forests to the ground, poison the waters, render women fit only to breed and creatures to consume. He will destroy anything that does not serve his purpose of dominating that which he cannot control.”
The ship knifed through the water as the men envisioned the war god’s mind. It was Wulfgar who finally said, “And how can we avoid this?”
“By staying true to what we cannot see,” the Dark Warrior replied, turning his face to the wind.
*
Rhinne lay in the captain’s cabin of the Winterscythe, her body hollow with hunger. She had finished the last of the wine the night before. It left her feeling queasy.
Captain Crow had come earlier with food and water, his voice less surly than usual as he left it by the door. Like a wild animal suspicious of a trap, Rhinne remained on the bed, not of a mind to explore.
She closed her eyes as a swell of watery colors washed over her, forming into images. Towering iron cliffs, gulls, men gathering in the darkness, heads bowed. Her breathing quickened as the vision gripped her. A sword cut the air rank with mold and the refuse of the devoted. They had lost their roots, their humanity, their love of sea and sky. They were easily controlled.
The tide rose and swirled into the river, crashing against the rocks. Pale bones hung in the roots of a tree fallen to the water’s grip.
Rhinne pressed her hands to her ears as the images tore a rift between her eyes.
Black sails strained in the wind. From the center of a six-pointed interlocking star, the Eye gazed like a warrior, turning northeast.
The vision subsided. Since Rhinne’s encounter with the loerfalos two days ago, the visions had come upon her like waves of nausea, stripping her mind from reason. She saw the Masters of Eyrie in a longboat before they had arrived. She saw Crow with her brother and Lorth. Glimpses of warriors, grief and fear. Woven into these scenes were unmistakable visions of Tromb: the tall forest of Graylif, torchlit passages splattered with blood, the icy east road, the streets of Lifngrove, burning. Bodies hurled into a salty pit. Knives and incantations.
The face of her mother, dead.
Confused and not knowing what was real, Rhinne had fallen to her knees and begged the Mistress to make the visions stop. A pointless request; however, deep in the night, Rhinne had dreamed of her father drinking something from a simmering pot. As the liquid soothed his aching bones and returned the strength to his flesh, Rhinne perceived that her visions were in his mind, not hers.
She had awaked from this dream shivering, sick and conscious of the pattern carved into her lower back. The visions felt similar to those which had flowed from the warlock’s spell, only more vague, silent and impressionistic. She didn’t hear words, only intentions. And this time, the loerfalos was involved.
Through the serpent, Rhinne saw the mind of the king.
Originally, she had barred the door and refused to talk to anyone in order to satisfy her wrath and deal with the shock of the loerfalos in her nerves. These men didn’t understand or care how she felt; they didn’t know her history with priests, fiends and gods, let alone the Mistress. They just wanted her to talk to the serpent so they could sleep at night. So they came, one after the other, to reason with her. They had even sent Fletch, though what made them think she gave a rat’s ass for his goodwill remained a mystery.
The Mistress wouldn’t be appeased that easily. Rhinne cared as little for their mortal pleas as the serpent had. Adder had abandoned her, Laegir feared her, Crow now had proof that red-haired women shouldn’t be allowed on ships and the Dark Warrior could jump into a maelstrom for all she cared of his concerns.
Now Lorth, Eaglin and Wulfgar had come to soften her. Crow wouldn’t have heaved to, otherwise, especially now that they were racing the moon to port. Eaglin had described to her the big picture: the devastation of coasts, fishing, people and ships—including this one. But the Aenmos’ son didn’t see the picture Rhinne did. He of all wizards should have known she wouldn’t be able to change the Mistress’ heart on this.
Lorth, being wiser in the manner of Rhinne’s moods and cognizant of the consequences of disregard, had simply told her that when she needed to talk to someone who understood, he would be on hand. But he didn’t understand.
Wulfgar’s voice had driven her into the blankets in tears. He didn’t care about ships or the hollows of the Destroyer’s heart; he just wanted to see her again. But Rhinne was not yet ready to hear his account of how Tromb had become the dark place she saw in her visions, or to confess why she hadn’t taken him into her confidence before things had deteriorated into the events that had sent her from the isle—let alone that their mother was dead.
She jumped as another knock hit the door. It sounded more like a th
ud, as if someone had put his head against it. “Rhinne,” Adder rasped, barely loud enough to hear.
She lifted her head, fighting tears. Adder hadn’t threatened her conscience with tales of watery annihilation or brotherly concern. His presence posed a threat far more devastating.
“Rhinne,” he repeated. “I know what happened.” A long pause. “By the Destroyer, I will avenge you.”
Silence.
Rhinne jumped up and stumbled to the door, slamming her fist on it once before lifting the bar and dropping it to the floor. She flung open the portal, tripping on the plate of food Crow had left there as she entered the corridor. “Adder,” she croaked. Don’t.
The warrior stood there, his expression flooded with astonishment. Then he approached and closed his arms around her with the strength of suns. “By Maern,” he whispered. He withdrew slightly, his gaze moving over her. He brushed a tear from her cheek. “Tell me what you need. Anything. Food, wine—a bath? Your raven friend is here. Shall I bring him to you?”
“I don’t want to see anyone,” she said, leaning against his chest.
“Not even Nightshade?” He looked down at her again, his blue-gray eyes warm. “Fletch is feeling right bad for taking aim at him, you know.”
“It’s a she,” Rhinne said, wiping her face.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll return shortly.”
Rhinne returned to the cabin, relieved and trembling with fear as she realized what she now faced. She picked up the plate from the floor, salvaging some of the food still on it. She took up the pitcher and drank until she was breathless. Then she went inside and closed the door behind her, her mind racing with what she had to explain to Adder.
Ragnvald had the ability to see his enemies’ activities from afar, like fragments in a dream. He already knew that Wulfgar and the Keepers of the Eye sought war with him. If Rhinne’s lover set foot on Tromb heated with a desire for vengeance, the oborom would single him out like a prize.
The Rising Tide
Cold rain swept in sheets across the choppy sea as the Winterscythe lurked on the waters southeast of the Widow Tears. Wulfgar gazed from beneath the dripping hood of his cloak, his body tingling with the cold, the strength of his sword and the scent of the sea. His homeland hovered in the gloom, silent and unmoving as a grave.
He had directed the crew to keep the ship out of sight and approach on the blind side of the peninsula that formed the harbors of Vik and Lifnmir. Eaglin had returned to the Eastfetch two days ago to sail around to the northern coast near the Howling Estuary. By splitting their forces and positioning the Guard near the Widow’s Tears where Carmaenos believed the book was hidden, they would provide distractions in the event Ragnvald saw the Raptors. According to Rhinne, he hadn’t. But that could change.
Eaglin had sent a message to the Master of Wychmouth, Guardian of the Gray Isles, to sail into the port of Whitebeam on the easternmost point of Tromb to deal with any oborom that might be stationed there. For some reason Wulfgar was not privy to, Lorth and Eaglin had disagreed over this plan. But it stood.
The sun had set, and the light faded quickly. Warriors and crew, working silently so their voices wouldn’t echo over the water, had unlashed the longboats on the main deck and were lowering them down. Others brought up supplies and stacked them against the bulwarks.
The Raven of Ostarin stood beside Wulfgar, studying the distance and gods knew what else. When Rhinne had finally emerged from the captain’s cabin a week past, thinner, skittish as a wild animal and smelling of Adder, she had gone to Lorth first and described her visions to him. After conferring with Eaglin on the startling fact that Ragnvald had the ability to see through a treecloak, Lorth had climbed to the fo’c’s’le and called upon the Old One, his strange words flowing into the twilight.
He hadn’t been able to hide them from Ragnvald’s mind. As the wizard descended to the deck with this news, everyone there turned a lighter shade. Rhinne’s expression, though drawn, indicated she was not surprised. Wulfgar, on the other hand, had a new fear. He had come to believe the Raven of Ostarin invincible in such matters.
Wulfgar had suggested that Ealiron’s treecloak was no longer necessary and that dropping it would restore the Keepers’ full range of powers. The wizards’ expressions took on that craggy inaccessibility that reminded him they were wizards. Carmaenos couldn’t see, they explained, but was using Ragnvald to do so. As such, the spell was limited, albeit troublesome.
Wulfgar withdrew from the wizards’ councils after that, choosing instead to spend time with Rhinne. The wizards had enough on their minds with her descriptions of the king’s visions. Impelled by his sister’s accounts of her experiences in Tromb and her grief for their mother and the others who had given their lives in the wake of Wulfgar’s escape, he had decided to put her back into training, despite her reluctance to go among Laegir’s warriors again. This was Adder’s idea. Leaving it to him, Wulfgar had begun briefing Laegir and the Eusiron Guard on the situation in Tromblast, as far as he knew it.
“What do you think?” Lorth said in a quiet voice Wulfgar had come to recognize as something deeper than calm or thoughtfulness.
“Too quiet.” He drew a breath. “When I left Tromb, my brother Bjorn planned to start smuggling our people from the isle. I don’t know if he succeeded. There might not be anyone left here but warlocks and those Ragnvald spared to support his army: farmers, builders, craftsmen and the like. The priests rounded them up and threatened to put them to the sword of if they didn’t serve. To save their lives, many of them did.”
“You mentioned that Ragnvald recruited his army from all over the isles. How did he control such a force after pressing them into service?”
“By not doing it in plain sight. He promised good wages for their service to him. Those who later tried to leave were killed or had their families threatened, depending on their value. Some were more resistant than others, and switched sides. But most were willing enough. As you’ve said, many in these isles practice magic beneath the Eye. My brother Dore gathered a large following. Fortunately, there aren’t many seasoned warriors among them. The oborom prefer magic over the blade.”
“I suspect Ragnvald wasn’t seeking men at arms beyond preventing you from stopping him. He wants energy. The more minds are focused on something, the more power they have to influence it. Through Ragnvald, Carmaenos acquired followers to cloak his identity under distortion and magic while using them to find Eifin’s book. It is invisible to his mind.”
“Can he still possibly believe his identity is hidden from Ealiron?”
“If you hadn’t brought us that book, it would be. There are countless gods and tales of gods in the world. We don’t take note of every disturbance with a title such as ‘Riven God’ attached to it. That could have been anything. We are looking at another level.”
“How do we know Carmaenos is even here? He could have focused here that night and then left again, as gods do.”
“True. But Ealiron believes Carmaenos will stay close, especially now that we’re here, even under a premise that has nothing to do with him. To his mind, if the book is found and, say, Eusiron gets wind of it, Carmaenos would be hunted to the ends of creation. He would plunge us into war first.”
“Eusiron would let this world burn before letting Carmaenos hold it hostage like that.”
Lorth glanced at him. “Eusiron wards this world for love of it. He would let Carmaenos go before seeing it destroyed.”
“Where is Eusiron, anyway? I haven’t seen him in days.”
Lorth shrugged. “No telling.”
Wulfgar turned as Crow ordered someone to lower a ladder. Laegir approached and put his hands on the rail. “Are you sure about this?” he asked Lorth, looking up at the dark sky. “I have no idea where the moon is.”
A rope ladder flew over the side and snaked down towards a longboat full of supplies, floating below.
“Rhinne knows,” Lorth replied. �
��She said we must be on land before the high tide begins to recede. So we have to do this in the dark. That could help us, as these shores are treacherous and no one will suspect we’d try to land now. Wulfgar knows the island, and I can find our way through the rocks and deal with magic, if need be. We’ll secure a place for the men to come ashore and signal you.”
“We’ll have no wizards to guide us in the dark,” Laegir said.
“By the time you come the tide will be high enough to clear you of the rocks,” Wulfgar said. “Follow our light in. The shore on this side drops off sharply and is heavily wooded, but you can bring a boat in; I’ve done it many times. We’ll be there to help.”
“We’re cutting this close,” Laegir said. He gestured to the masts, heavy with bound sails. “Will the Mistress destroy this ship after we leave?”
“We don’t know,” Lorth said. “She might.”
“So we could end up trapped on the isle.”
“We could.” He clapped the captain on the shoulder. “But that won’t be the worst of our problems if this goes awry.” Grasping his sword strap, the wizard swung his leg over the rail and moved lithely down the ropes.
“Och!” Laegir grumbled. “Mad as a fucking bat.” Stomping off, he gave orders to the warriors who had begun to gather along the bulwark.
Wulfgar leaned over the rail.
“Wulfie!” Rhinne called out softly behind him. He turned as his sister approached, her cloak whirling on the damp air. He opened his arms and caught her.
“Are you ready?” he breathed in her hair.
“Aye. Have you seen Adder?”
“At this hour he’s usually in your bed.” Adder spent a lot of time in Rhinne’s bed. Lorth had advised Wulfgar to put reins on his protectiveness and let it be. Hard advice, given his responsibilities and a grim knowledge of the enemy. But for love of his lonely sister, he abided the wizard’s wishes. Adder did bring out her strength and light; he made her laugh, something Wulfgar hadn’t seen in some time.
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