The press of people was enough to cover his entrance and he weaved through the crowd and outer tables, going almost unnoticed until he reached the high table. Frostbeard’s expression was unreadable as he looked in his direction. His face was blank and his eyes a mystery, until a broad smile spread across his face and he waved Klöss into a chair beside him.
“I was afraid you’d got lost,” Frostbeard said, as he waved a serving girl over.
“I tried to,” Klöss admitted. “Tristan found me and educated me a bit.” There was little point in trying to hide things from the man. A hint of steel was showing behind the grin. Insulting him with lies would only make it worse.
Aiden's face relaxed, highlighting just how false his first smile had been. “He’s a good man. Remind me to thank him later.” He waved a hand vaguely at the hall. “Like it or not, Klöss, you’re a part of this, I'm afraid. And, as ridiculous as this is, it's every bit as important as the patrols and battles.”
Klöss took the offered goblet of wine and sipped at it as he nodded. He looked curiously at the chair on the other side of Aiden, noting it was empty.
“Larren will be back in a few minutes, I expect,” Frostbeard explained, catching his look. “He’s under serious pressure from the keepers and the merchants to get some goods flowing. Apparently, even the First of Merchants is involved.”
“The First? That seems a bit blatant.”
“We have a lot tied up in this, Klöss, but if we fail we just end up dead. For them, it's their influence that's at stake. They have far more at risk.” He didn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice.
“But surely…” Klöss began, but the man waved him to silence as the sealord emerged from the throng in the hall and sank back into the chair.
“You decided to join us, then?” he threw at Klöss, as he reached for his own cup.
“I apologise, Sealord. I was delayed,” Klöss replied, as politely as he could manage.
The man snorted into his cup and eyed him over the rim. “Call me Larren. The title grates after a time.”
“Larren, it is,” Klöss nodded, leaning forward on one arm to see past his uncle.
“I take it Aiden here has let you in on the story about the keepers?” He glanced at Aiden, who was starting to protest. “He never could keep his mouth shut about things like that.”
Klöss laughed and drank deeply, beginning to relax.
“So tell me then, Klöss, in your opinion, how safe are our new villages and farms going to be?”
Klöss thought for a second. “Truthfully? It’s hard to say, Sealo… Larren. I don’t think we’ve really faced any of their regular armies yet. The men they’ve had defending their own villages have been militia at best.”
“What about the force that attacked your troops in the night raid you mentioned?”
Klöss thought quickly. “They were definitely not militia, but then I don’t think they were regular troops either. If they hadn’t struck us, I’d have thought they didn’t have much of a standing army to speak of at all. We’ve certainly not faced any serious attempts to regain land that I know of. They’ve sent a couple of tentative sorties, but largely they seem to be falling back and consolidating.”
The sealord sat back and digested that as he looked about the hall. Musicians had set up in a far corner and the faint sounds of them fine-tuning their instruments added to the growing noise. He leaned back in his chair as servers began setting platters in front of them. “We’ll talk more about this later, Klöss. I must admit, not knowing the strength of their forces is grating at me. I’ve allowed you free reign so far, Aiden,” he said, looking at Frostbeard, “but very soon, I’m going to need some hard results I can show the keepers and the damned bean counters.”
“The agreement is holding then?”
“For now, Aiden, for now. I need some goods flowing though, if we’re going to keep the merchants and the keepers playing nicely with us,” Larren murmured, as he cut into the venison before him.
“Crops only grow so quickly, Larren,” Frostbeard said.
The sealord nodded. “The chamber is a fickle beast, Aiden. The thane may have given his orders, but the chamber will twist and turn as it will.”
“Surely they wouldn’t go against the thane?” Klöss asked, shocked.
Larren laughed. “You’re a young man, Klöss. You’ve had quite the career so far, but the chamber is something you clearly know nothing about.” He smiled at Klöss’s glower and continued. “No, the chamber won’t openly defy the thane. He retains that much power, at least. It can still work around him in a thousand little ways, however. The success of this venture depends on the goodwill of the chamber and every faction there has its own agenda.”
“I don’t understand,” Klöss confessed.
“The chamber might be bound to publicly support the thane, Klöss,” Frostbeard cut in, “but if they decided to, they could end us in a matter of weeks. Slow supply of weapons, a delay in the shipments of supplies. These things could kill us just as effectively as battles and raids.
Klöss drank his wine. It gave him an excuse to keep his mouth shut for a second. “What can we do then?”
“Act quickly and decisively,” Larren replied. “Find their forces and either eliminate them or drive them back. Get goods flowing and get the settlers into the new farms and villages.”
“As simple as that, huh?” Aiden muttered.
Larren’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, he did ask.”
***
Sket took a nip from the flask as he slid the peep-hatch on the gate shut. He hunched his shoulders, huddling further down into his cloak. It was starting to get colder at night already. The seasons in this place seemed skewed. It was too hot in the summer and the autumn seemed to have come too soon.
“And the rain!” he grumbled to himself, as the first drops fell. “All it does is bloody rain.”
He hurried back into the guard shack beside the gate and the questionable warmth of the little wood stove. The stove wasn't much more than a small iron box, with a pipe leading through the wall to let the smoke out, but it did manage to produce at least some heat.
Rubbing his hands together over the ash-covered stove, he picked up the kettle and sloshed it experimentally before setting it on to boil. Sket squinted out through the gap in the tarpaulin that served as a door, and gazed at the stars shining brightly through the soft rain.
“Same stars, same moon.” He watched as a cloud scudded across its silvery surface. “What in the hells am I doing here?”
The kettle was making a rumbling, hissing noise behind him as the bubbles rattled the misshapen container. He’d had to beg for it in the first place and he wasn’t about to complain, but the thing shook worse than an oarsman’s knees on his first reaving when it boiled.
He pulled it off the heat. It wasn’t fully boiling yet, but the sound irritated him and he’d rather have a drink that wasn’t quite hot enough than deal with the noise. He dumped a pinch or two of the ground leaves into his cup before pouring the water on. It wasn’t as good as keft, but who could afford that stuff here?
“Tea,” he snorted. “Stupid name for a drink anyway.” It was hot though and that’s all that really mattered. A distant wail caught his attention and he turned an eye to the tarpaulin as he blew on the tea. It had sounded a bit like a horn or perhaps even a flute. He stepped out into the road and looked towards the keep, rising up above the rooftops.
“They get their banquet and fine wines while Sket gets the bloody wet and this poxy, boiled leaf water. Still, it’s better than soggy sheep.” He’d been among the first of the keepers to respond when the call went out. They hadn’t promised a glamorous life or even riches and glory. The promise of a new land and the chance to make something different of himself had been enough at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure.
A flash of green caught his eye and he looked up, tracking the odd light as it swooped down towards the gate. It was hard to make o
ut at first - just a blur of sparks and shining metal. His eyes first squinted against the raindrops, then grew wide as the spectacle became clear and the first of the horses touched down on the road leading to the gates.
The ground immediately outside the city was a maze of trenches, liberally seasoned with sharpened stakes, but the horses passed over them as if they weren’t there. Their hooves touched the dirt and even threw up sods, but the trenches had no impact on their passage. It was as if gravity was a rule that could be ignored as easily as the drifting rain. They ran over the trenches without bothering to leap, the air supporting them as easily as the muddy ground had.
Sket dropped the tea as he backed away from the peep-hatch, his jaw slack as he saw the figures charging at the gate. At the last moment, he thought to check the massive crossbar was in place and snatched up the horn.
The horn blast died on his lips as the gates flew inwards. The blow didn’t simply split the crossbar, it shattered it. Splinters and jagged chunks of wood shot into the city as the wooden beam, as thick as a large man's thigh, disintegrated before the blow. Sket cried out as the flying wreckage tore at his flesh and threw him backwards. He fell back to the ground, splashing in the mud as he fought to find his feet.
The creature entered the city slowly, ignoring the horns that called out from the sentries on the walls. Its hoofed feet moved slowly and proudly, claiming the ground they moved to rest upon. Sket felt the rush of warmth spread from his crotch and down his legs as the glowing eyes came to regard him. It bowed its horned head slightly, paying homage to its prey, and then waved its great hand forwards and unleashed hell.
The fae charged past the antlered being in a rush, silver swords held high as the moonlight shone on their winged helms. Sket stood awestruck, his face carrying the same expression of delighted wonder even after the blade had removed his head. As the fae tied it to its saddle by the hair, Sket smiled on, his dead eyes shining as he waited for company.
The host charged through the streets, a carnival of beauty, blood and terror as they hunted down those in their path. The alarm was raised swiftly but the Bjornmen were no more effective than a child pushing back at the waves. Twice, the fae rose back into the air, laughing amidst the screams of the fallen and the unceasing song of the flutes, only to turn in an elegant arc and swoop down upon the men running into the shadows and spaces between the buildings.
Klöss followed as the guards surged up the stairs and out onto the roof of the keep. Archers were already in position between the merlons, firing a steady stream of arrows into the attackers as they flowed through the streets.
“This is what you call secure?” he dimly heard the sealord demand.
He followed the voice to find its owner waving down at the streets. Frostbeard had no response as he stared, aghast, down into the chaos. His eyes found Klöss and he growled a single word that carried all of the frustration he felt as his dreams fell apart around him. “Go.”
Chapter Five
Devin spooned the carrots out onto the plate and poured a small puddle of thin gravy next to the chicken. The meal was a far cry from Hannah’s standards of cooking, but it was the best he could manage by himself. He carried the plate over to the table and set it in front of her, before fetching his own and taking his place opposite.
He had been up since first light and it felt like he hadn’t stopped moving since his feet hit the cold floorboards beside his bed. It was nice to be able to just sit for a few minutes. He ate quickly, hunger adding a flavour to the roast chicken that he had somehow managed to leave out when he was cooking it.
It was always the same when he cooked. He could follow Hannah’s recipes to the letter, but his food was never as good as hers. Perhaps the missing ingredient was the way she actually enjoyed cooking. She took a simple pleasure in the act of preparing food in a way he never had. To him, it was simply a means to an end. Meat went into the oven, a meal came out.
He speared a chunk of carrot and brought it to his lips before glancing across the table. It was a mistake and his mood sank as he saw her.
Hannah's food lay untouched on the plate before her, as she stared into space with a vacant expression. She held a fork above her plate as if she was unsure how to use it. Her hair hung loosely beside her face and draped down almost to the surface of the table.
Devin put his fork down. “You’ve got to eat something, Ma.”
If she heard the words, she showed no sign of it. He sighed, more inwardly than out, and moved to her side, taking the fork from her unresisting fingers.
“How about a nice bit of chicken, eh?” He forced brightness into his voice and lifted the meat to her lips, taking the fork away again as she took the mouthful and chewed slowly. Her lips were slack and her mouth open as she ate. A small rivulet of the too-thin gravy ran down her chin and spotted onto the white tablecloth he’d laid out earlier. He dabbed at it quickly with a folded napkin and swallowed hard.
“Now, let’s try some potatoes, shall we?” He fed her the rest of the food as if she were a small child. The meal passed in silence. He could manage to feed her but to keep his voice bright, or even level, at the same time would be one step too far. The occasional drip of gravy spattered down onto the once pristine tablecloth, mixing with the tears that fell unnoticed from his face.
The knock that came at the door sounded improbably loud in the stillness of the kitchen and he lurched backwards in shock. He stood at the door and rubbed at his face with his sleeve before lifting the latch.
“Hello, stranger!” Erinn said brightly, her face filled with a happy smile. “You’ve locked yourself away here for days now. No one has seen hide nor hair of you, so I thought I’d come and check…” She stopped herself mid-sentence as she took in his drawn face, the stained and dirty clothing, and the bags under his eyes. Her gaze moved beyond him into the kitchen, and flickered from Hannah at the table to the pots and pans littering the counters. “Oh, Devin,” she sighed. “Why didn’t you ask anyone for help?”
She pushed past him into the kitchen without waiting for an answer and set down the wicker basket she was carrying on one end of the table.
“How long has she been like this?” she asked.
“Since we got back, really,” he said, in a dead voice. “She has times when she seems almost okay, but most of the time she acts like this. Like she’s numb to everything around her.” It felt good to say it out loud. The thoughts had been inside his head for days now, whispering to each other and feeding his worry.
“What about you? When was the last time you slept properly?” Erinn’s voice had a maternal tone to it, not soft and caring, but more that of a mother scolding a child.
His silence was answer enough and she pointed a finger towards the stairs. “Go. I’ll look after Hannah for a while. I don’t want to see you until you’ve had a good eight hours.”
“But what if she needs…” He cut off as her face darkened and she stabbed one finger towards the stairs again.
“Go!”
Devin fled.
***
It was the sunlight that woke him. A gap in the curtains let the light shine through and a narrow band burned across one eye. He groaned and rolled over, and it took long minutes before the facts managed to fully register. Sunlight meant daytime. He’d slept through the whole evening and into the next day. He lurched out of bed and reached for the clothes he’d dropped onto the chair in the corner, only to find they were gone.
Five minutes later and dressed in clean clothes for the first time in a week, he made his way down into the kitchen. The room was empty and silent, but the counters were clear and the pots that hung from their hooks in ceiling gleamed. The distant murmur of conversation drew him back through the house and out of the seldom-used front door.
A covered deck ran the length of the front of the cottage. It had been covered in leaves when he’d been ordered to his bed yesterday, but now it was freshly swept. Erinn sat in the well-worn rocker, chatting with Obair. They t
urned at his approach.
“I thought you were going to sleep all day,” Erinn said with a smile.
“I think I could have,” Devin admitted. “The sun woke me.” He grimaced at the light and pinched at the flesh between his eyes.
“Headache?” Obair asked.
Devin grunted.
“You’re probably just dried out. Get some water into yourself. That always works for me.”
“Sit down,” Erinn said, as she rose to her feet. “I’ll fix you some food. Hannah’s still sleeping and I know how much noise you’d make.”
“You know, she seems to have turned into my mother very quickly,” Devin muttered, as he sank down into the rocker.
Obair chuckled and puffed on his pipe, looking out over the fields towards the distant trees. Devin followed his gaze and then glanced at the sun for confirmation.
“Funny how fast life can change, isn’t it?” Obair said, past the stem of the pipe. “You look to the sun to see how long you have until they come now.”
Devin felt his eyes upon him and nodded silently, his gaze moving to the wooden walls of the cottage and the scores of iron nails now protruding from the wood.
“That wouldn’t stop them if they really wanted in,” Obair said. “It’s more of a deterrent than anything else, making you less attractive than an alternative.”
“I know, Obair. You told us all of this, remember? What do we do long-term, though?As a people, I mean? Are we just supposed to accept that this is the way the world is now?”
Erinn emerged from the kitchen with a steaming bowl of porridge and a mug of hot tea. She handed them both to Devin and met Obair’s sad eyes, defiance flashing in her own as she spoke. “We fight back.”
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