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 n.o.bles' 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 Harda.s.sa 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 volva 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 pa.s.sage 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 a.s.sured 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 Nors.e.m.e.n 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.

Snorri, who until Hakon's arrival I had counted my rival in Kara's affections, seemed strangely guarded around the woman. I wondered if he were still bound by Freja's memory, faithful to a dead wife. He slept apart from us, and often his hand strayed to pat his chest where the key hung beneath his jerkin. On the rare occasions I rose before Snorri I sometimes saw him wince, stretching his side as if the poisoned wound that Baraqel had diminished in Osheim were returning to plague him.

The nights of marching pa.s.sed slowly. East Thurtan turned into West with only an increase in dampness to mark the change. We walked, my feet grew sore, and more and more I wanted a horse to carry me.

We'd spent our first night crossing West Thurtan and had little to show for it save for muddy boots. I'd had about as much of Lord Hakon's antics for Kara's benefit as I could stomach-he was holding forth on cla.s.sic literature now as if he were some shrivelled dame let out for the day from her book tower-so I sought distraction with the only one of our monsters that could speak.

"What waits for you and your subjects in the Highlands, King Gorgoth? I don't recall hearing that the Count Renar has a reputation for hospitality . . ."

"I'm no king, Prince Jalan. It's just a word that proves useful for the moment." Gorgoth held his hand out to the fire, so close it seemed impossible the skin wasn't bubbling off his fingers. The three digits, stark against the blaze, made something alien of him. "It's King Jorg who rules in the Highlands now. He has offered us sanctuary."

"Trolls need sanctuary? I- Wait, Jorg? Surely not that Ancrath boy?"

Gorgoth inclined his head. "He took the throne from his uncle by force. I came north with him to the Heimrift."

"Oh." For a moment words escaped me. I'd imagined Gorgoth born among the trolls, though I'd given no thought to how he came to language among them, nor to his knowing the ways of men sufficient to negotiate with dukes and lords.

"And yes, trolls need sanctuary. Men are many and take strength as a challenge, difference as a crime. They say there were once dragons in the world. Now they are gone."

"Hmmm." I couldn't find it in myself to be sorry for the plight of the persecuted troll. Maybe if they were more fluffy . . . "This Jorg of yours, I've heard tales of him. Queen Sareth wanted me to put the scamp over my knee and tan his hide. I would have too-very persuasive woman, Queen Sareth." I raised my voice, just a notch, nice and subtle, so Kara wouldn't miss my talk of queens and princes. "Beautiful with it. Have you ever . . . well maybe not." I remembered Gorgoth wasn't the type to be getting invitations to court, unless perhaps it was in a cage, as the entertainment. "I would have taught the boy a lesson but I had more urgent business in the north. Necromancers and unborn to put in their place, don't you know." My adventures may have been an unrelenting misery but at least I could now pull "necromancers" out to trump my opposition in any story of daring and adversity. Gorgoth might be a monstrous king of trolls, but what would a cave-dweller like him know of necromancers!

Gorgoth rumbled, deep in his chest. "Jorg Ancrath is wild, unprincipled and dangerous. My advice would be to steer well clear of him."

"Jorg Ancrath?" Hakon, catching the name, broke off from his discussion of the finer points of some tedious verse from the Iliad. "My uncle says the same of him, Gorgoth. I think he likes him! Cousin Sindri was impressed with the man too. I'll have to take his measure myself one of these days." The Dane stepped over from the fire-all golden hair, square chin, and shadows. "And you thought to put him over your knee, Prince Jalan?" I heard Snorri snort in the background, probably remembering the truth of the matter and our hasty exit from Crath City. "That might be difficult. The man put an end to Ferrakind . . ."

"Ferrakind?"

Kara answered. "The fire-mage who ruled in the Heimrift, Jal. The volcanoes fell silent at his death." She watched me from the shadows, just the lines of her face caught in firelight. I could see her smile echoed on the faces of many of the Danes.

"Ah." d.a.m.n them all. I stood up, bl.u.s.tered about needing a stretch and stalked off, leaving them with a defiant, "Well, Queen Sareth didn't seem to think much of the boy."

As the nights stacked up one upon the next and we drew ever closer to the Gelleth border I seemed to be making slow progress on my other journey-the one toward Kara's furs-though unsettlingly I had the feeling of being the one steadily reeled in rather than having hooked my prey with the old Jalan charm and being the one to draw her to me.

To add to my vexation, whilst Kara mysteriously began to look my way and offer me the kind of smiles that warm a man right through . . . she also seemed to see right past my normal patter, laughing off my lies concerning devotion and honour. Often she would ask me about Snorri and the key: the circ.u.mstances by which we acquired it, the ill-advised nature of his quest, and my thoughts on how he might be deflected from it. As much as it irked to be talking about Snorri with a woman yet again, I enjoyed the fact that she was seeking my opinions and advice on the matter of Loki's key.

"A thing like that can't be taken by force," she said. "Not without great risk."

"Well of course not-this is Snorri we're talking about . . ."

"More than that." She moved closer, lowering her voice to a delicious husk beside my ear. Memories of Aslaug stirred somewhere low down. "This is Loki's work. The trickster. The liar. The thief. Such a one would not let his work fall to the strongest."

"Well, to be fair, we weren't exactly gentle when we took it!" I puffed out my chest and tried to look nonchalant.

"The unborn captain attacked you though, Jalan. Snorri merely took the key from his ruin. It wasn't his purpose-he didn't attack the unborn for the key."

"Well . . . no."

"Trickery or theft. Those are the only two safe options." She held my gaze.

"If you think those are safe," I said, "you don't know Snorri."

At the same time that I felt my connection with Kara strengthening, she seemed more charmed each pa.s.sing day by the annoyingly handsome Lord Hakon. Every night the b.a.s.t.a.r.d would demonstrate some new virtue, with consummate skill, and make it seem a natural revelation rather than showing off. One evening it would be his deep tenor, perfect pitch, and command of all the great songs of the north. The next it would be defeating everyone but Snorri, and some ogre of a man called Hurn, in an arm-wrestling contest that he had to be coaxed into joining. Another night he treated us to a great show of concern for a man of his who fell prey to sudden head pains-debating herb-lore with Kara as if he were an old-wife called to treat the invalid. And tonight Hakon prepared a venison stew for us which I choked down and forced myself to call "pa.s.sable" whilst only iron will prevented me demanding a third helping . . . the best d.a.m.n venison I ever ate.

For the duration of our penultimate night of escort Kara walked at the head of the column with Lord Hakon who came off his high horse to stroll beside her. The night proved warm, the going easy, nightingales serenaded us, and before long the pair of them were arm in arm, laughing and joking. I did my best to break up their little head to head of course, but there's a kind of cold shoulder that a couple can offer a fellow that's hard to get around, particularly with twenty mounted Danes staring at the back of your head.

On our final day we rose in the late afternoon, our camp a meadow beside a stream, the day warm and sunny, new blossom on the trees. Less than ten miles lay before us to the Gelleth border where Lord Hakon and his Danes would take their leave, and I was going to be heartily glad to see the back of them. Snorri and Tuttugu no doubt would happily have walked to Florence with the heathens, having spent the whole journey so far swapping battle tales. The Danes had a great love of sea stories and the old sagas. Snorri provided the former from personal experience and Kara the latter from her vast store of such trivia. I half thought some of the duke's men would volunteer to join the Undoreth and travel with the Vikings, such was the level of worship on display . . . Even Tuttugu got made out to be some kind of hero, beaching on the sh.o.r.es of the Drowned Isles one season, battling dead men on the Bitter Ice the next, making his last stand against the Harda.s.sa by the Wheel of Osheim . . .

I yawned, stretched, yawned again. The Danes lay around the ashes of the morning's fire, horses tethered to stakes a little higher up the gentle slope, the trolls mostly hidden, sprawled in the long gra.s.s closer to the water. The day had been almost hot compared to those before it-a first touch of summer, albeit a pallid northern excuse for one.

An evening "breakfast" was prepared at leisurely pace, with n.o.body seeming in a hurry to depart. Tuttugu brought me over a bowl of porridge from the communal cauldron and a fellow named Argurh led his horse across from the herd for me to look at. That was the one thing the men of Maladon conceded I might know something about-horseflesh.

"Favouring his left he is, Jalan." The man manoeuvred his grey around me, bending to tap the suspect fetlock. I suppressed the urge to say "Prince Jalan." The further south we got the more the tolerance for such failings fell away from me. In the Three Axes I'd suffered the Nors.e.m.e.n's "Jal"s just as I'd suffered the winter, a natural phenomenon that nothing could be done about. But now . . . now we were closing on Red March and the summer had found us. Things would change.

"See? There, did it again," Argurh said. The horse took a half step.

From the corner of my eye I spotted Kara on the move, the bedroll she'd been given tucked under one arm, walking off into the long gra.s.s down toward the stream, wildflowers all about her, b.u.t.terflies rising- "And he's somewhat windy in his bowels." Argurh, in my face again, wittering on about his nag and closing off my view.

"Well." With a sigh I turned my attention to the horse-better to get a look before the light failed. "Walk him around over there. Let's see him move."

Argurh led him off. It looked as though the gelding might have a thorn just above the hoof or taken some knock that had left it tender. I motioned him back. I could sense the sun lowering behind me and needed to get the horse sorted before it set. Although Aslaug had not returned, and even the knocking had ceased, I always felt a hint of her presence as the sun fell and any animals around me became skittish.

"Hold him." I kneeled down to check the foot. From under the beast's belly I spied Hakon brushing himself down. He'd tied back his hair and washed his face. Highly suspicious in my view. When a man out in the wilds bothers to wash his face he's clearly up to something. I manipulated the joint, muttering the sort of nothings that calm a horse, fingers gentle. A moment later I found the end of the spine just below the skin. A sc.r.a.pe of my nail, a quick pinch and I had the thing out. A vicious thing, over an inch long and slick with blood.

"Let it bleed," I said, pa.s.sing the thorn to Argurh. "Easy to miss. The problem's above the hoof often as not."

I stood quickly, ignoring his thanks, and moved away from the camp, crouching to shred a poppy through my fingers.

"Aslaug!" The sun hadn't touched the horizon yet but the sky lay crimson above the Gelleth hills rising to the west. "Aslaug!" I needed her then and there. "It's an emergency."

Kara hadn't just wandered off into the meadow with her bedding. Hakon wasn't just prettying himself up in case we met some Gelleth border guards, and the Danes weren't being painfully slow to get ready just out of laziness. If there's one thing I can't stand about licentious behaviour, it's when I'm not involved.

I glanced toward the west. The sun's torturous descent continued, with it now standing a fraction above the hills.

"What?" Not the word, not even a whisper of it, but faint unmistakable sound of inquiry, deep inside my ear.

"I need to stop Hakon . . ." I hesitated, not wanting to have to spell it out. The devil's supposed to know your mind, I always thought.

"Lies." So faint I might have imagined it.

"Yes, yes, you're the daughter of lies . . . what about them?"

"Lies." Aslaug's voice came on the very edge of hearing, the shadows reaching all around me. I wondered what had left her so mute and distant . . . It wasn't temper that kept her from me-she had been shut out somehow . . . "Lies." They have a saying in Trond-"lie as the light fails"-those lies were supposed to be the ones most likely to be believed.

"But what lie should I-"

"Look." The word seemed to take all her strength, fading into nothing at the end. For a moment it seemed the shadows flowed, coming together with a singular direction. A direction that led my eyes to a lone and stunted willow growing beside the stream some two hundred yards from where Kara had been headed. Though I could see no sign of her-the hussy would be lying out of sight . . .

"There's just trolls sleeping down there though." Hakon wasn't stupid and it would take more than stupid to go poking a troll.

No reply but I recalled not so long ago what Aslaug had said, crouching beside me, mouth beside my ear as the sun went through its death throes. "You would be surprised what I can weave from shadow." I wondered if she were planning to do some weaving tonight. Some trickery perhaps? She could want for no better canvas than the black hide of a troll . . . A sense of urgency stole over me. It seemed as if Aslaug had warmed to the task. It was, after all, a wicked one.

I lurched to my feet. Hakon was already on the move, pa.s.sing by the outermost of his men, pausing to swap a joke. Heart hammering, I hurried to intercept him whilst doing my best not to look as though I were hurrying. That's pretty difficult. I don't think I pulled it off. I caught him just beyond the camp.

"Yes?" Hakon gave me a distant look. He'd never accused me of malice over the affair at the Three Axes, or indeed acknowledged that the incident ever took place, but I could tell he had suspicions. Even now, with Kara waiting for him, he didn't relax enough to gloat but regarded me with caution-once unbitten, twice shy, I guess.

"Just came to congratulate you, best man won and all that, spoils to the victor. She's waiting for you over yonder." I waved a hand toward the willow. As I spoke the words I felt Aslaug repeat them, wrapping the dark luxury of her voice about each syllable. It sounded as though she stood closer to him than I did-as though she whispered the last word into his ear.

For a moment Hakon just frowned. "You have very strange ideas about what is and what isn't a game, prince. And no human should be referred to as spoils." For a moment I worried he was going to hit me, but he stalked away toward the willow without sparing me another glance.

"A good night for walking!" Snorri hefted his pack. The Danes had purchased clothing, equipment and provisions for us in the last town we pa.s.sed by. Using my money of course. "Across Gelleth and we'll be back in Rhone before you know it. Jal loves Rhone, Tutt, just loves it." Hennan looked up brightly from his bedding. "It's good there?"

"If ever a country needed stabbing, Rhone is it." I spat out a flying insect that decided to commit suicide in my mouth, possibly two, midges rising with the evening. Snorri seemed unaccountably cheerful. At least Tuttugu eyed me with a touch of sympathy.

"You're not worried for our volva's safety out there all alone with the night falling?" I poked at Snorri, wanting him to share my misery.

Snorri shot me a look under his brows. "She's hardly alone, Jal. And it's the things in the dark that should be scared of a volva, not the other way around."

Young Hennan watched us from beneath his blanket, still not having bothered to rise. He shifted his gaze as we spoke, as though he were weighing us up and deciding what path to choose.

Somewhere out in the gathering gloom a shriek pierced the evening calm.

"I rest my case!" I said, spreading my hands. Snorri was already past me, axe in fist, Tuttugu hurrying along in his wake. For my part I was less keen to follow. The night holds all manner of terrors-and besides, the scream came from the direction of the willow. Hennan made to follow but I stuck a leg out in his path. "Best not."

I have difficulty imagining the scene but all I can conclude is that Aslaug wove the shadow well. Very well indeed if she could make a reclining she-troll look like Kara's inviting silhouette. Quite in what manner Lord Hakon offended the she-troll was never made entirely clear but it seems his advances were sufficiently impertinent to occasion the troll's sticking of a sizeable willow branch into one of his orifices. Again the detail was never laid bare for us but suffice it to say that the escort ended in that meadow and Hakon was not riding when he left, but walking very carefully.

In the uproar immediately following the incident I took the opportunity to suggest to Gorgoth that he lead his people west rather than wait for the Danes' outrage to reach boiling point. Gorgoth took the advice and I went with them, thereby avoiding having to hear all the names Hakon might call me, and of course avoiding the effort of trying not to smirk while he did it.

SEVENTEEN.

Snorri and the others caught us up on the side of some desolate Gelleth hill, moon-washed and covered with low scrub. Quite how they'd followed our trail in the dark I didn't know-I'd been expecting them to catch up by day. The old bond that used to bind the northman and me still gave a sense of discomfort and a gist of direction once we had a mile or two between us, but hardly enough to navigate through the night across treacherous country.

"You did that!" Snorri's first words to me.

"I did indeed get Gorgoth and his pungent friends out of a potentially violent confrontation, yes." Snorri opened his mouth again, wide enough this time to presage a shout, but I forestalled him with a lifted hand. "No need to thank me. The Red Queen raised the princes of her house to keep a cool head in a crisis."

"I just want to know how you did it!" Tuttugu pressed past Snorri, a hint of a grin in the thicket of his beard. "Poor Hakon didn't look like he'd be sitting in the saddle any time soon."

The sight of Kara's face in the orichalc.u.m glow stopped the laugh in my throat. The funny side of the situation didn't appear to be pointing her way, and going by her murderous looks I'd be safer sleeping with the trolls.

Up at the head of the column Gorgoth issued some silent command and once more his subjects began to move. Grateful for the excuse, I turned my back on Kara and, after repositioning my pack, set off walking. I'd already pet.i.tioned Gorgoth to have a troll carry my gear, but he held some odd kind of reservation about the matter as if he thought it beneath a troll to carry the baggage of a prince of Red March. I guess that's the sort of madness that sets in when you spend your life living in a dark cave. In any event he finally excused them on the basis they were apt to eat my rations, and then the pack and my spare cloak.

I grumbled to Snorri about it but he just laughed. "Does a man good to carry his own weight in the world, Jal. It'll harden you up a bit too."

I shook my head. "Seems the concept of n.o.bility ends north of Ancrath. That one," I nodded to the front of the column, "probably wouldn't bend the knee if they made a new emperor and brought him a-visiting. Reminds me of a beggar in Vermillion, Fussy Jack they called him, or at least Barras Jon used to call him that . . . anyhow, he'd hang out on Silk Street round the back of the opera house with his tin cup, showing off the stumps of his legs and shouting out for money at the honest folk pa.s.sing by. Tossed him a coin or two myself. Probably. Barras told me he'd seen the man empty his cup on a cloth and clean each copper piece with a bit of felt, careful as all h.e.l.l not to touch a single one of them until he'd wiped the stink off them. Barras said he tossed him a silver crown once, just to get him to catch it. Ol' Fussy Jack, he let it fall, picked it up with his cloth and wiped it clean. Silver from the son of the Vyene amba.s.sador just wasn't good enough for him."

Snorri shrugged. "They say all money's dirty, one way or another. Seems this Jack might have had it right. We'll find out for ourselves soon enough, headed for Florence."

"Hmmm." I decided to cover the fact I was going no further than Vermillion with a non-committal noise.

"All the money of Empire flows into Florence, sits a while in the vaults of some or other Florentine banker, then flows out again. I've never quite fathomed the reason why, but if money is dirty then Florence must be the most filthy corner of the Broken Empire."