The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “I only know what the report says, my lord,” Lek said with a wince.

  Klöss ground his teeth. “I’m not a…” he began, but stopped. Tristan and Gavin’s words coming back to him. The power was there, waiting to be taken.

  He waved the papers at Lek. “You’ve read these?” It wasn’t really a question. “What condition were they left in?”

  Lek frowned at that. “I’m not sure I—”

  “The villages, man!” Kloss burst out. Was the man an idiot? “What condition were they left in after the attacks? Were they razed? What happened to the villagers?”

  Lek grimaced for a moment before he spoke. “The villages were left almost entirely intact, my lord. The villagers though…” Lek glanced out the window at nothing before looking back. “They were slaughtered to a man. Not just killed either. There were things done to them that—”

  Klöss held a hand up to stop him. “It was the same at Skelf.” He looked to the far wall beside the desk. “Show me where he sent the fleet.”

  Lek moved to the map and traced a finger down along the known coastline and off the bottom of the chart.

  Klöss grunted as he gnawed at one knuckle. “He sent…how many ships?”

  “We have two small fleets out patrolling the waters close to Rimeheld, and the normal escorts for the supply route through the Vorstelv. The balance of the ships, however, have been taken south.”

  “That’s upwards of three hundred ships!” Klöss stepped away from the map, sinking into the heavy chair behind Frostbeard’s desk. This was too much. Was the man insane? He met Lek’s eyes. “Why?”

  Lek blinked in surprise at the question. “These attacks, Klöss. He couldn’t just let them stand.”

  “He thinks this was the Anlish?” Klöss laughed, an ugly, bitter sound. “Bloody fool! How fast does he think those horses of theirs can carry them? No, don’t bother. What was the fleet supposed to do?”

  Lek sank down behind the desk and looked at him. The years were suddenly clear on his face, the lines etched deeper by the stress. “You need to understand, Klöss. He was furious when he returned. He expected you to be here, taking care of things, not investigating Skelf yourself. Then, when these reports came in, he snapped. He’s right though, in my opinion. We need to play to our strengths. If these Anlish can move past our lines this quickly, if they can attack like this, then we need to strike. We’re not meant for fighting in muddy fields. We are, and have always been, the wolves that come from the sea. He sent the ships south to burn. To find every fishing village and coastal city that they can and raze them to the ground.”

  Klöss moved to a cabinet against the wall and rummaged around inside until he stood with a bottle. The neck clinked against the metal goblet as he poured the amber liquid and tossed it back with a grimace. “That’s just the thing, Lek. The attacks weren’t from the Anlish. Frostbeard knew this. Larren damned well should have known this. The things that destroyed Skelf, that killed my scouts almost to a man, they’re nothing to do with the Anlish. The sealord has just sent ships south to destroy the cities of the very people we need to be talking to!”

  Lek stood silent for a long moment, absorbing that before speaking again. “He’s going to want to see you.”

  “He’s here?” Klöss said in surprise. “I’d have thought he’d be with the fleet.”

  “No, he stayed behind. Said he wanted to take a closer look at things until you returned, or until… Well, you know?”

  Klöss filled the glass again. “Well I suppose I’d better go and find him. It’s not going to get any better if finds out that I’m here.” He looked at the glass, almost surprised to find it full again, and set it down on the desk, leaving without another word.

  The sealord had been given rooms in the keep. They were nothing opulent. Nothing in the keep was. The building had been constructed for defence, the finer touches would come later. He had been given another room to use as an office, however, and as Klöss rounded the corner and saw the guard at the door he knew his guess as to where the man would be was right. There is little point in guarding an empty room, after all.

  The guard nodded at him. He didn’t quite meet his eyes, Klöss noticed. The man’s gaze slid from his face like slipping on ice. Probably not a good sign. He knocked and took a deep breath before entering. The room was small, almost too small for the desk that filled one end of it. The Sealord sat, writing in a neat but tiny script in the glow from a single candle that sat on the desk despite the light from the window behind him.

  “Klöss,” the Sealord said. His voice was dry, emotionless. Nothing more than an acknowledgement of his presence. “You’re back, I see.”

  “Larren.” Klöss nodded politely.

  The Sealord pursed his lips in thought, looking up at a spot on the ceiling. “I think, on this occasion, ‘sealord’ is probably best, don’t you?”

  This was not going to go well. “As you wish, Sealord.”

  “Yes, I rather think that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? As I wish.” The Sealord stood and stepped out from his desk, picking a speck of lint from his velvet robes. They were midnight blue, almost black, and served to make his hair seem all the whiter, the grey almost invisible.

  “I’m disappointed, Klöss,” Larren told him, glancing at the floor as if unsure of his path. He looked up at him and the threat of his fury was clear in his gaze. He was just barely holding it in check. It was a weight held by a fraying rope.

  “When I decided to return,” he grated, “to offer support whilst you came to grips with things here I did not expect to find you’d gone off for a little jaunt in the country.”

  “The attack needed to be investigated, my lord,” Klöss said.

  “Yes,” Larren agreed. “Yes, it did, but not by the would-be Lord of bloody Rimeheld. Any band of scouts could have gone to that village. Your job is too important.”

  “I understand that, my lord,” Kloss managed. “I serve only at the thane’s pleasure.”

  “No.” Larren let his voice drop, and it floated above a dangerous whisper. “I serve the thane. You serve me.”

  Klöss gripped the back of the chair set in front of the desk. “This expedition began as a private venture.”

  Larren gave him a scathing look. “Don’t be so stupid, boy! This began when Aiden came to me with the idea. Do you think I am fool enough to risk my own influence in the Chamber? I sponsored this from the shadows when you were still learning which end of the sword is the sharp one.”

  He moved closer until Klöss could feel the air from his breath with each word he spat out. “You risked too much with your little stunt. Four villages were razed whilst you were playing soldier in the woods. That has a cost. In supplies, in man-hours, in blood!”

  “I know, and I left Lek—”

  “Lek?” Larren turned his face to spit on the rug. “If I’d wanted fucking Lek running things I’d have fucking left him in command! He barely knows what a damned sword is for anymore. If it had been left up to him he’d have sent a strongly worded letter to the Anlish in response.”

  “Instead of which you sent my fleet,” Klöss said, meeting the man’s gaze. “South, to where we have no charts, no knowledge of what we might be facing. You stripped the walls and left us with men less skilled than boys I’ve sailed with to defend this city.”

  Larren laughed and perched on the corner of the desk, shaking his head. “You have some more growing up to do, boy. You think that because you sat in a camp watching men build boats that the fleet belongs to you? Or even that it belonged to Aiden?” He lifted his head and his true anger was revealed, burning hot and bright in his face. “If it touches the water it is mine. From a galley reaver, to a fucking cork tossed into the harbour. I am sealord, the sword of the thane. If it floats or carries a blade, then it answers to me!”

  “And what if I told you the attacks on these villages had nothing to do with the Anlish?” Klöss asked in a spiteful hiss.

  That stopped Larren cold
and he cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowed in thought before he stepped back away from him, turning to pick up a paper on the corner of the desk. “Go on…”

  “There is a third player in all this,” Klöss explained through his temper. “Frostbeard knew it, the men know it.”

  “These tales of trels in the woods?” Larren scoffed.

  Klöss clenched his teeth until they matched his grip on the chair. “I saw them myself. I fought them. I only made it back with Tristan and one other. As far as I know the rest of the men were cut down as they ran. You’ve seen these things yourself, the attack on the night of the banquet.”

  “I saw a city attacked because it wasn’t secure,” Larren said. “I saw no trels. I don’t recall seeing any laka’s hiding sweets inside anyone’s shoes either.”

  “I—” Klöss began.

  Larren cut him off. “I believe I have heard enough, Shipmaster. I am sure there’s some minor paperwork you can be doing. Lek will direct you to it, I’m sure. I have more pressing matters to deal with than your children’s tales. In time, if you prove trustworthy, I believe there are haulers that need shipmasters. If I need your presence before then I’ll be sure to send for you.”

  Klöss bit back half a dozen responses and made his way to the door, the words burning in his throat.

  ***

  The place was as grimy as Gavin remembered it. It had only been a matter of months since he’d first stepped foot in the Golden Goose but it felt far longer. He stepped inside and went quickly to the bar. The place was deserted for the moment and the innkeeper peered up as the door opened. A look that came close to recognition flickered over his face, then was gone.

  “What can I get you?” the grubby man asked.

  Gavin looked carefully around the small taproom. The windows were dirty enough that a man would need to press his face to the glass to see through. The place was as perfect as he’d thought it would be.

  “Drink?” the barman pressed.

  “No.” Gavin dropped a heavy purse of coin on the bar, noting the look on the man’s face as it struck. It takes a particular kind of man to gauge the contents of a purse by the sound of it landing. Gavin knew all about that kind of man.

  “I need you to close, Rolant,” he said casually.

  Rolant cocked an eyebrow on a face that was otherwise devoid of expression. “Do I know you?”

  “I just have a good memory for names. You don’t need to remember me,” Gavin told him.

  Fair enough.” Rolant shrugged. “Close?”

  “Close,” Gavin confirmed with a nod of his head. “I need the use of this room for a few hours.

  “I don’t rent rooms,” Rolant said flatly. “This isn’t that kind of inn.”

  Gavin glanced around and snorted. “This is barely any kind of inn!”

  “I don’t ha—”

  “Look,” Gavin said, leaning forward on the bar. “You’re not busy. You’re not going to miss out on business. Just take the money and piss off for a few hours while I talk to some people.”

  The man glanced at the purse and back to Gavin’s eyes. “I don’t want any trouble in here.”

  “Talking is all,” Gavin said through a smile. “There won’t be any trouble, I just want some privacy.”

  Rolant met his eyes, grimy cogs whirring behind conniving little eyes. When his hand reached for the purse, Gavin knew he had him. He smiled again as the man peered into the purse and noted the silver amongst the copper.

  “Two hours and you’ll pay for any damage,” Rolant stated

  Gavin stifled the laugh and nodded. “Of course, but I’ll want four hours.”

  The man grunted sourly, and then snatched up the purse.

  Gavin waited while the man fussed around the taproom. Then waited some more while he vanished into the back before returning in a cloak that had seen better days.

  Once he’d finally gone Gavin made a quick search of the building, making sure there were no back entrances left open. Satisfied, he moved the tables around until one sat deep in the shadows of the corner, at an awkward angle to anyone trying to peer through the windows.

  A quick look behind the bar produced three mugs. He sniffed into one and briefly considered giving it a quick wipe. Then he looked at the cloth laying on the bar, and thought better of it.

  The ale was as bad as he’d remembered. Rolant was accommodating but, as innkeepers went, he had a long way to go. Gavin sipped at the ale, waiting for his tongue to adjust to the bitterness or just to give up and dissolve.

  It was dusk by the time the door creaked open and two men in hooded cloaks entered. They stepped in quickly, closing the door fast behind them.

  “And that was your idea of inconspicuous was it?” Gavin asked. “Look at the two of you. Hooded cloaks? Arriving together? You may as well have rung a bell as you walked.” He waved a hand in disgust and went behind the bar.

  Klöss scowled as he shrugged his way out of the cloak, tossing it over the back of a chair. “See any mead back there?”

  “No, but the ale’s not bad,” Gavin’s muffled voice replied. He stood and carried the drinks to the table, setting the tankards down with the edges of a smile on his lips.

  “What is this about, Klöss?” Tristan asked as he reached for his drink, sipping at the ale and raising an eyebrow at Gavin’s intent expression.

  “I needed somewhere to talk privately.” He shrugged and looked around at the empty taproom. “So I asked Gavin to sort it.”

  Tristan frowned. “What is so private that it needs,” he paused to peer into his ale, “this?”

  “The sealord is making his move,” Klöss said. “He’s removed me from command and plans on sending me out on a hauler just as soon as he can.”

  Tristan gave a long, low whistle. “That seems harsh punishment. What is the reason?”

  “Skelf,” Klöss spat.

  Tristan’s face fell but Klöss stopped him quickly. “I know what you’re going to say, that my going was your idea. I don’t blame you. This really has nothing to do with Skelf. I think it’s more about my not being willing to be his puppet.”

  “What are you going to do?” Gavin asked.

  “There were four other villages attacked while we were at Skelf,” Klöss went on. “All were left in a similar state. Larren refuses to listen to me about the trels. He won’t even entertain the notion of there being a third player in this game. If we don’t work to counter them we stand to lose everything.”

  “You didn’t answer the question,” Gavin said, lifting his tankard to drink deeply.

  Klöss looked at the faces across the table. “I’m tired.” He sighed. “I’ve only been in his shoes a month and already I’m tired of the politics, of the games. I don’t know how Frostbeard did it. Most of all I’m tired of fighting blind.”

  He sipped the ale and gasped at the taste, wincing and giving Gavin a black look. “I’ve been so busy that I’ve never really taken the time to stop and think. Things have changed for me now. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.” He drank again, grimacing only slightly this time. “Ylsriss was supposed to have been living here with me by now. We said we’d wait until Rimeheld was secure and the baby was old enough to pass through the Vorstelv, but she should have been here.”

  He leant forward, hunching over the drink and stared at the table as he spoke. “Everything has shifted on me. These damned trels have changed everything. We’d beaten the Anlish back. They were probably going to come at us in force at some point but we’d be too entrenched by the time that ever happened. We own the seas, our farms have started producing.” He shook his head. “These creatures have changed everything. We can’t fight them effectively and we have no idea how they can move around so damned fast.”

  He looked up at Gavin, “You told me it was one of these trels that you saw take Ylsriss in Hesk?”

  Gavin nodded.

  “Tell me again what it was you saw?” Klöss asked in a low voice.

  “Jus
t as we saw in the reaping,” Gavin said slowly, picking his words as he thought back. “They were the same creatures, though when I first saw them they were dressed like priests, all in black. You remember the park in Hesk? The kissing stones there?” He waited for the nod before he carried on. “They killed Tessa. So fast it was effortless for them. As easy as breathing. One of them must have followed me from there when I ran. I had nowhere else to go, no one else to go to. Ylsriss was like a big sister to me when I lived with the Wretched. Lord of Blood, Klöss, I must have led it right to her!”

  The muscles worked in his face as Klöss clenched his teeth together tight to match the grip he had on his drink. “What did it look like?”

  “Tall,” Gavin said, his voice was a whisper stolen from confession. “Pale, but the skin had a kind of greenish cast to it too. It was the eyes that got me though, burning like a winter's sunset.”

  He drained his drink and went behind the bar. “She could have let it go. She could have taken the coward’s way. She didn’t though, she fought it. She fought for your son.”

  Klöss’s hands were trembling around his cup, and the ale threatened to spill out, but his voice was level, cold. “You’ve told me all of this before. I just needed to hear it again.” He looked over at Tristan. “I don’t think I’m going to play the sealord’s game. It’s time I did something for me. I want to know what the Anlish know about these creatures.”

  Tristan looked at him, taking that in. “They seemed as shocked as our men during the reaping,” he said. “It is hard to know if they have any knowledge we lack.”

  Klöss nodded slowly. “I know, and that’s why someone has to talk to them.”

  Tristan sucked air in through his teeth and sat back in the chair. “Without sanction? This will be taken as treason, you know this.”

  “I know.” Klöss shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about it all night,” he admitted. “Always before this there was a reason not to. Another attack to plan. Men depending on me. Even my uncle, needing my help. Now… Well, now I have nothing, do I?”

  “This does not sound like you have thought things through,” Tristan muttered.