Sorrow's Peak (Serpent of Time Book 2)

by Jennifer Melzer

  “Overseer,” he lowered his head respectfully. “Logren said you wished to see me?”

  Turning his gaze downward, Hodon stared into the lower corner of the room for a long time, only the heavy sound of his vexed breath filling the air. The uneasiness in Vilnjar’s gut doubled, a pang stabbing at him from within. Over his shoulder he could hear Logren’s breathing, the heat of every exhale warming the back of Vilnjar’s neck he was so close.

  “Have you word already from Drekne?” he prodded the silence for answers, not wishing to endure another moment of the growing tension, but Hodon still did not reply.

  His mind turned toward worse outcomes. Perhaps Logren saying the letter never arrived meant he simply didn’t know, and the real reason they brought him was because his brother was dead. Gone just seven days, part of him wanted to doubt there was time enough for his mad and reckless sibling to have gotten himself killed, but what if he hadn’t?

  No, it couldn’t be Finn. He would feel such a loss long before word ever arrived… Wouldn’t he?

  At last Hodon drew in a heavy breath, and upon sighing he said, “As I’m sure Logren’s already told you, the word we sent to Drekne did not arrive.”

  “He did mention as much, yes.”

  “The riders I sent barely crossed through the mountain pass when they were intercepted by a ragged pack of survivors. Were it not for our mage among them, they might have torn our people apart in their savagery, but she was able to stay them and force them back into their human skins.”

  His sour stomach lurched with panic. “Wolves from Drekne?”

  Hodon replied. “Nine of them, severely wounded. They claimed to have barely escaped with their lives, and remembering what their seer said before she passed from this world they made for Rimian in hopes of finding the Light of Madra.”

  “Escaped? Escaped from what?”

  “Soldiers marched into Drekne under cover of darkness five nights past, sent by King Aelfric to reclaim his daughter.” That last word was spoken with such distaste even Viln’s tongue grew sour with it. “When Lorelei was not found there, they set fire to the village. People still in their beds,” he said bitterly, “women, children, those who would never have been able to stand and fight for themselves, and when they were sure none survived they moved on south toward Breken.”

  “We did not even pass through Breken. We skirted around it. Perhaps their search ended there.”

  “We can only hope.”

  “The nine survivors… are they all that remain? Where are they? I would see them.”

  “They are lodged in the mountain pass,” Logren said. “The severity of their injuries prevents them from making haste, but we will send horses to retrieve them.”

  “Nine,” he swallowed the word until it was little more than a whisper. “Men or women?”

  “Three men, four women, two children.”

  Children. That brought him the slightest glimmer of hope. “My sister?” he asked, not daring to look at either of the men in front of him for fear their eyes would betray his fears. “Was my sister, Ruwena, among the survivors?”

  “We will know who the survivors are when they arrive,” Hodon promised, though he did not meet Vilnjar’s eyes when he did, “but I would not hold onto hope your sister is among them.”

  “You do not know my sister,” he smirked, allowing the barest hint of pride to give him the hope Hodon would deny him. Much like he would know Finn were dead, he would feel the same if Ruwena were lost to him. She was closest to his soul, such a part of him he would mourn her passing before words of it ever reached his ears. He didn’t know how he knew; he just did.

  “They say the soldiers were moving south.”

  “And they didn’t think to stop and warn the people of Breken of their coming?” Logren scoffed, the distaste in question lingering in the air for a long time before Hodon broke the silence again.

  “People do strange things in a panic,” he pointed out. “You remember what it was like the night Aelfric’s men burned Vrinkarn to the ground.”

  “All too well,” Logren bitterly replied.

  “Every man for himself,” Hodon muttered. “No thought for the neighbors you spent damn near half your life or longer living side by side with.”

  “But surely…” Vilnjar stopped himself before the words could escape him. He’d been just a boy the night Vrinkarn burned, clutching his mother’s sweaty hand and running as fast as his feet would carry him as he tried to keep up with a heavily pregnant Eornlaith and little Rue, face smudged dark with ash, save for the clear spaces washed away by the shedding of her frightened tears. “We must…”

  “There is not much we can do,” Hodon cut him off. “My greatest fear is your council, in bargaining for immunity, uttered word of Lorelei’s whereabouts to Aelfric’s men, and they make their way further south, into Rimian.”

  Everyone started talking at once, and it was a small miracle any sense could be made when all was said and done from the tangle of words coming from all three men in that moment of panic.

  “They will never find Dunvarak.” Logren’s confidence was more convincing than the truth, and for the briefest of moments Vilnjar believed him. “The barrier…”

  “And Rhiorna never told them of this place. She only said they must look to the south…”

  “The barrier will keep us safe from prying armies only so long as they have no magic-users in their numbers,” Hodon pointed out.

  “Aelfric abhors magic,” Vilnjar interjected. “Lorelei confirmed as much herself.”

  “Aelfric may abhor magic, but we know next to nothing of this Trystay of Hofft, who’s more than likely allied his forces with Aelfric’s to search for Lorelei.”

  “But Rhiorna never told the Council of the Nine about this place,” he reiterated. “Not even we expected what we found here, or rather what found us,” he protested. “She only said there were others in the south.”

  “We cannot even begin to guess what Aelfric and Trystay’s seers have murmured in their ears,” Logren sighed.

  “And your seer, she never spoke of this,” he said, his voice hardening with contempt. “She never warned or prepared you for the storm that would follow that girl wherever she goes.”

  “She could not give us precise details, no, but...”

  “No, but she could bid you build an entire city around prophecies of the warmongering fool’s daughter meant to reunite our scattered people and lead us to salvation. Ruin is more like it.”

  The severity of his words wrought a bitter look from Logren, but Hodon steadied Logren’s anger with a swift hand upon his shoulder. The other man scowled at him, and for the briefest of moments he feared the friendship they’d been rebuilding was already shattered by words spoken out of anger. But he was tired of biting his tongue to appease these people, most especially Logren, who would follow in his father’s footsteps if granted proper opportunity, and get every last U’lfer on the planet killed regardless the strength of his blood.

  “I wish my brother never brought her into our hall,” he hissed, turning his back to them both and staring into the blazing fire of the hearth before him.

  He regretted the words as soon as he’d spoken them, immediately conflicted by his own emotions. On the one hand, she was just a girl, little more than a child and she had given his brother purpose—something he’d never shown interest in before he met her. On the other, the cost of her presence in their lives had already run higher than it was worth. Drekne, in ruins. His entire city, lost to the raging fires of the same army that captured and executed his father. And Ruwena. Gods only knew what became of her, and though he couldn’t feel the loss of her the way he was sure he would, it didn’t stop him from mourning her as though he’d just been told with absolute certainty she was dead.

  “You speak harsh words out of grief,” Hodon said, the degree of understanding in his tone more than Vilnjar deserved. “And I know you are not one to take stock in seer’s visions, but all that comes to
pass is as the gods would see it done. If you let me finish, I was about to say we foolishly assumed such a fight from the north would come much later than this, after Lorelei returned with the Horns of Llorveth. It was that very reason I asked for your aid in trying to appeal with reason to your people in the first place.”

  That time he did bite his tongue to keep from raging. He obviously thought to ask for aid too late. Drekne, held together by little more than a thread of hope as it was, was in ruins, the last handful of U’lfer in the world lost.

  “How long until they return with the survivors?” he asked.

  “They only just departed with the horses less than an hour ago to meet with them in the mountain pass where they await our assistance. It will be days before they reach the city, and only if the weather holds.”

  “I would head out to meet them, and hope to find my sister among them.”

  “I will ride out with you,” Logren said.

  Vilnjar started to protest, but the bitterness he felt was immediately quashed when he looked up and saw genuine sadness in the other man’s eyes. How long had he lived without his own sister, waiting for the right moment to ride out and meet her? The same sister Vilnjar just called the daughter of a warmongering fool…

  Pinching his lips together in unspoken regret for the things he’d said in anger, he nodded. “Then let us go.”

  They packed provisions quickly, explaining to Viina all they could while she lent a hand to help them in any way she could. She wrapped loaves of bread, salted fish and dried pork for the journey, and when they slipped back into the hallway so Logren could look for an ax he swore he couldn’t leave without, Vilnjar knew it was to say goodbye.

  Roggi was napping, the house a strange and silent place, and under the current of that quiet he could hear the murmuring tones of their farewell. He ached with the realization he would not get to apologize to Frigga, or explain why he did not come to tell her stories the following morning. When Logren finally emerged, Viina lingered in the obscurity of the hallway, but Vilnjar did not need to see beyond the shadows to know there were tears in her eyes.

  Heading toward the stables near the gate, he was surprised to hear someone in the street calling his name. He nearly ignored it, save for the familiarity that prompted him to turn over his shoulder. He saw Frigga, running toward him, calling out his name as she ran. Exchanging a wordless look with Logren, the other man nodded silent understanding and jogged ahead to the stables to give them a moment.

  “I will pack the horses and wait for you outside the stables.”

  “Thank you,” he nodded, and started toward Frigga.

  It seemed to take forever to close the gap between them, and when they finally approached each other he saw the strange look in her eye. A look that made him feel hollow and empty, ashamed and filled with regret for things he hadn’t even realized he’d done and couldn’t put words to if he’d tried.

  “You are leaving the city,” she reproached. “Had you not even thought to say goodbye?”

  “Frigga, I…”

  “Something has happened?” Reaching out, she curled her hand around his wrist and stared across the space between them. “Something bad has happened. What is it, Vilnjar? The Light of Madra? Your brother, Finn?”

  “Hodon received word this morning. Drekne is lost.” He couldn’t look into her eyes when he said those words, for fear she’d see the horror and weakness trembling through him and think him a lesser man than she probably already did. “Aelfric’s men swept in under cover of darkness and burned my village to the ground. They will likely head further south to Breken and do the same, if they have not done so already. Hodon’s couriers came across a band of survivors near the mountain pass. Logren and I ride out to meet with them. I would see if my sister is among them.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she declared, throwing her shoulders back in earnest.

  “Frigga,” he started, shaking his head, “I don’t think your father would…”

  “Damn what my father would do,” she stiffened, her voice rising loud enough to garner shocked stares from passersby. “I can fight if you meet with trouble on the road. Probably better than Logren,” she glanced with a sneer toward the stables, then returned her dark blue eyes to his face in challenge. “There is nothing you can say to stop me, Vilnjar the Strong. I am coming with you.”

  “You are an impossible and demanding woman,” he sighed frustration, but when he finally looked up at her, she was smiling. “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then at least tell your father you are coming. He already wants to crush my skull with his bare hands. I can hardly imagine what he will do to me when he finds I’ve whisked you off to untold dangers.”

  “You could turn into a wolf and show him your teeth,” she tested, her grin rising higher and deepening the dimple in her right cheek. “I think that would shut him up rather quickly.”

  He almost laughed. Shaking his head, he gazed past her shoulder. He couldn’t see the forge from where they stood, but he had a feeling her father was standing in the middle of the street staring after her and willing her to come home. She was right, he could show his strength that way, but it was not his way.

  “There is not time for me to frighten your father with my teeth,” he winked. “But you should at least tell him you are going. Logren and I will wait for you at the stables, and if you do not come, we will have to go without you.”

  “Wait for me. I will come,” she assured him, backing away two steps before turning to run to her house. He watched her as she disappeared, weaving through the milling bodies lingering on the streets and trying to make sense of what was going on. When he finally turned back around and sauntered toward the stables, he muttered under his breath that she would be the death of him, though it would be a slow and painful and beautiful death.

  “Frigga comes?” Logren called out as he approached.

  “Against my wishes,” he grumbled. “The girl does as she pleases.”

  “She is no girl,” he laughed. “And all women do as they please, old friend, as you will come to understand the more time you spend with her.”

  “How do you tell them no?”

  Logren’s laughter echoed through the street. “That is not a word a woman knows the meaning of. Have you had so few women in your life you never learned this?”

  There was no time for women, not beyond the occasional answer to the call of one’s touch, and never long enough to let his heart grow achingly fond enough to keep one around for more than the occasional visit.

  “Frigga is a strong warrior,” Logren shrugged. “If we meet with trouble, her sword will be most welcomed.”

  “And her father’s sword will likely meet my neck when we return. Hodon said not to anger Broehn Black-Hammer…”

  “Fret not, Vilnjar, your woman will protect you from her father’s wrath.” He snorted an appreciative laugh, tiny wrinkles edging around the corners of his eyes that reminded him for a flashing moment of the man who’d sired him.

  His woman; yes, she was his. Even if it hadn’t been declared outright, she was already his. Or more accurately, he belonged to her. She laid claim to him, not the other way around.

  Frigga was a woman his sister would no doubt appreciate and relate to. A woman whose presentation was perhaps even worthy of Ruwena’s forgiveness. He was glad she was going with him; maybe she would even protect him from Rue’s wrath when she came at him for leaving her behind. The thought made him chuckle, as Logren shouldered into him and handed the reins over before ducking back in to retrieve a horse for her.

  When Frigga rejoined them, the three mounted quickly and galloped into a trot toward the closed gates. The soldiers standing watch lifted the door, and they darted beyond the safe, comfortable walls of Dunvarak and into the blizzarding snow. Visibility ahead was near impossible, but turning over his shoulder, Vilnjar saw her father standing in the middle of the street with his arms cros
sed over his chest. He was scowling and fretting, his broad brow a series of distraught wrinkles.

  If she brought her father that much anguish, he could only imagine the pain loving her would bring his soul. A pain he would suffer gladly, he decided, glancing at her just as she turned to grin at him.

  And for the first time he understood his brother’s actions of late. As the heavy flakes began to nest and settle, melting into the warmth of his cloak, painful thoughts of Rue shifted and he thought of Finn.

  Now he had two worries bearing down on his soul, and the only comfort from their weight was the woman riding beside him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Finn was miserable. Not that he’d admit it to anyone, but he knew it and that was enough. Every time he thought about the awful road they barely left behind them, he heard his brother’s voice inside his mind. “How are you liking your exiling now, little brother?”

  Sometimes he nearly answered out loud, but he always caught himself just in time, curbing the words before they could escape his lips.

  Not well, Viln. Not well at all.

  The only benefit he could see, aside from all the time he got to spend arguing with the princess, was he could hunt on a whim. If the mood struck, he could transform in the middle of the night and stand howling at the moons. Not that he could actually see the moons through the constantly overcast sky over head, but he could feel them and he could howl if he wanted to. No one was going to deny him; not anymore.

  So he hunted. Whenever his emotions started to feel like they were overtaking him, he pulled back from their party, slipped off into the mist-shrouded tundra and embraced the beast beneath his skin. The wolf relished in its freedom, feeling alive and sated and content enough when it was given opportunity to hunt that it stopped pressuring the man to do something he’d later regret. The beast was still rather adamant about the claiming of its mate. Sometimes Finn thought the beast wanted Lorelei more than the man, and that made him feel guilty.