Page 3
THREE
PRESENT DAY
H ekla stared at Eyvind Hakonsson’s outstretched hand, blood roaring in her ears.
How could she not have realized—that ridiculous red cloak, the elaborate, fussy braids, the splendor of his lodgings—it all seemed so obvious now.
Gods, she was careless to have thrown out all her rules—to think that she might have a moment’s freedom without consequences.
But a new thought had panic rising inside her. What if he revealed how they knew one another? Hekla’s reputation would be irreparably damaged. No warrior at that table would respect her after discovering she’d taken their leader to bed.
Gunnar’s elbow landed sharply in Hekla’s ribs, spurring her into motion. She slid her left hand into his and shook it vigorously.
“You’re early,” she muttered.
Eyvind Hakonsson blinked then chuckled softly. The sound spurred memories of riverbank silt and slick skin—of frantic hands and feverish mouths.
“You’re Hekla,” he said, yanking her back to the present. It was more than a statement. It was, unmistakably, a discovery .
A man beside Eyvind cleared his throat, and they both turned toward him.
“Meet Konal, my advisor,” said Eyvind, gesturing to the man.
Hekla forced her attention to Konal. He was dressed in House Hakon finery, his face lined with age, his beard streaked with gray. But Konal’s eyes had a cunning look to them, and as he studied her, Hekla had the distinct impression he’d measured her worth and found her lacking.
As Konal and Eyvind’s attention turned to Gunnar and Sigrún, Hekla tried to corral her nausea. Eyvind hadn’t revealed their acquaintance with one another, and if her fortune held, he would not. Get a hold of yourself , she thought. You must not show weakness before these warriors.
Eyvind gestured for the warriors to take their seats, and Hekla found hers beside Gunnar. She reached for a jug of róa, but a hand landed on her shoulder. She whirled to face him.
The Fox.
In the light of day, his face was still beautiful. I’ve seen you naked , his amused expression seemed to convey. Was he waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it to the whole of his retinue? Make her the butt of some joke?
At the very thought of it, Hekla felt vulnerable and small—a feeling she’d not had since she’d been married. Hadn’t she vowed to never feel that way again? How could she have discarded her rules, her defenses?
Anger surged forth, and Hekla readied herself to extend her claws. But Eyvind, reading something in her face, cleared his throat and wisely stepped back.
“Stand and tell us what you know, Hekla ,” he said, all traces of amusement gone as he assumed the role of leader. “Bring us up to date on your findings.”
As Hakonsson retreated to a seat of honor, Hekla could finally breathe. She pushed to her feet and smoothed the leather-like scales of her lébrynja jacket down .
“We’ve observed the mist from atop Istré’s walls twice since our arrival,” Hekla began.
“It begins with a low, steady sound, much like a beating heart, yet this sound remains distant, somewhere in the woods, even when the mist emerges. Thus far, the mist can travel roughly fifty paces from the edge of the forest. At that point, it seems to lose power.”
“Power?”
Hekla’s gaze met Eyvind’s, and she felt it right down to her toes. But with each word, Hekla became more grounded in herself—in her purpose. She was damned good at her job, and these were her allies.
“The mist...scatters, for lack of a better term, much like fog under bright sunlight.”
Eyvind’s thick brows drew together as he puzzled over this new detail.
“Loftur has ordered the local woodsmen to fell the trees bordering Istré,” said Hekla, sending the chieftain a begrudging look of approval.
“There is now a clearing of roughly one hundred paces around Istré’s fortifications, though it must be noted that there are countless farmsteads beyond the walls still lacking protection?—”
“Is there a pattern to the attacks?”
The interruption came from the man seated beside her. With striking blue eyes set against medium brown skin, the warrior had a haughty expression she immediately disliked.
“There...appears to be a pattern,” admitted Hekla.
“Though we’ve made little sense of it. The mist appears roughly twice a month, always at night, but the timing between the incidents is always shifting.
Thus far, the mist has engulfed three farmsteads along the borderlands. We’ve investigated all but one.”
The hall was silent, so she forced herself to continue. “The Bloodaxe Crew has examined the steadings, measured the claw marks, and collected samples of the blood left behind, but we must see the first steading, must venture?—”
Konal cleared his throat, setting Hekla’s nerves on edge.
“Tell us about the murdered Klaernar,” said Eyvind smoothly .
It did not go unnoticed that twice now the conversation had been diverted from Loftur’s shortcomings. Hekla glanced between the three men in seats of honor, trying to understand. She’d hoped to find a sympathetic ear from Eyvind Hakonsson, but his familiarity with Loftur left her off-kilter.
“King Ivar ordered a squadron of Klaernar to Istré to aid in the investigation,” Hekla continued. “The entire squadron was found not two days after their arrival, strung to the pillars in Istré’s town square, secured by what appeared to be vines.”
“How were they killed?” Konal asked, looking to Loftur.
Hekla bit her tongue to let Istré’s chieftain answer.
“The puncture wounds were round,” answered Loftur, “and of similar size to the vines. Spiral Staves were scrawled in blood all around them.”
The hall was silent as Eyvind and his men took in this information.
When Hekla could stand it no longer, she continued, “We spoke of this oddity often during our journey north. Axe Eyes and”—she sighed—“the rest of the Bloodaxe Crew were in agreement that it was likely a different perpetrator than the mist.”
Eyvind and Konal exchanged a weighted look, and the men seated at the long table whispered amongst themselves. Her dismay was growing with each passing minute as she felt herself losing their attention. Why was it so gods-damned hard for a man to hear her words?
Hekla folded her arms over her chest. “We ought to speak of the creatures seen emerging from the woods!” she called out.
As the room quietened, she continued, “The creatures we’ve seen are not as they were made.
Foxes, grimwolves, wolfspiders alike. All of them carry a distinctive moldered scent, and their eyes burn like the embers of a fire.
” Her gaze landed on Loftur and hardened.
“I’ve suggested it might be an illness borne of the mist. Yet if that were so, I question why we’ve yet to find a single human survivor of the mist. The residents of the steadings impacted by the mist have all vanished, though the blood and claw marks suggest they’ve met a grim fate?—”
Konal grunted, and Eyvind pushed to his feet. “My thanks, Hekla,” said Hakonsson. “You may take a seat.”
His casual dismissal landed like a slap. Hekla sank onto the bench, trying to quell her rising anger.
“After conferring with Loftur and Konal,” said Eyvind Hakonsson, standing at the head of the table, “it has been decided. Today we shall ride beyond Istré’s walls. Examine the site of the second attack?—”
“We’ve examined it already,” Hekla cut in. “As we have the site of the third attack. What we need is to visit the site of the first attack. The Hagensson steading.”
Konal sent her a glare that could shatter stone, but Hekla stood her ground.
“As I’ve told you many times,” Loftur said through ground teeth, “the Hagensson steading has had a ritual cleansing. It must be left undisturbed for a full year to allow the dead to rest.”
Loftur had explained to her that they’d originally thought the culprits behind the Hagenssons’ disappearance to be rogue outlaws, and as such, a ritual cleansing had been performed.
Once they understood the true scope of the problem and had sent word to King Ivar, Loftur had been instructed to leave the steadings for the king’s investigators.
But Hekla couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling there was something at that first steading Loftur didn’t want her to see.
“As I was saying,” Eyvind said, a note of irritation in his voice as his gaze flitted to Hekla for the barest of moments, “today we shall examine the site of the second attack. The Braksson steading.”
“Perhaps while we’re there,” Hekla said, fighting to control her breaths, “at the very least, we can examine the inner border of the Western Woods.”
Konal folded his arms across his barrel chest, and Hekla felt her hands flex. Gods, she’d known this man all of two minutes, and already she wanted to throttle him .
“Today,” said Eyvind, in a disgustingly diplomatic voice, “we shall examine the farmlands . Nothing more.” His warning gaze fell on Hekla. “We shall not enter the woods.”
She eyed House Hakon’s heir-in-waiting, trying to understand. Why did these men brush aside her every suggestion? Why did they not trust in her words and the work she’d invested into this job? She felt as though she were going mad. Were her suggestions truly so brash?
“We must go deeper,” she tried. “Already, we’ve examined the farmlands and are no closer to understanding this mist. The time for caution has passed. Bolder action must be taken.”
“As I’ve said before,” said Loftur the Slow Witted, “that is not an option.”
Eyvind lifted a placating hand. “Loftur has explained his dilemma to me, and I believe a compromise can be found?—”
Her patience snapped. “What is this dilemma, All Wise ?” Hekla’s tone made it clear she found the man’s name entirely unsuitable. “Your need to consume as much ale as you can while your people die?”
A sound of displeasure escaped Loftur. Beside him, an incredulous laugh burst from Eyvind, but he schooled himself as Hekla turned her glare upon him. She tried to find a single redeeming quality about the bootlicker before her. Where was the man she’d opened up to the night before?
As though reading her assessment, Eyvind’s jaw flexed, a crack showing in his demeanor. “I do not know how Axe Eyes ran things,” he said in a hard voice, “but I prefer to gather all information I can before rushing into danger.”
Hekla battled the urge to scream in frustration, but it only grew stronger at the look exchanged between Loftur and Eyvind.
“What Loftur is about to share,” said Eyvind, “is in strict confidence. If I hear it has left this room, I swear to you now, I will track down the perpetrators and cut the tongues from their mouths.”
Loftur stood and hefted his belt up. “We in Istré have a long and complicated relationship with the Western Woods,” he began. “Wardens, they once called us. Guardians of the woods. We honored the gods and the lesser spirits. But seventeen years ago, that all changed.”
Loftur’s gaze grew distant, and the unspoken words rang loud in the room: seventeen years ago, when the Urkans had invaded and outlawed worship of íseldur’s old gods. Hekla’s gaze narrowed on Loftur as she wondered what nonsense this blockhead was about to spew.
“For seventeen years, we’ve forsaken our gods,” continued Loftur.
“Have abandoned our rituals and the old ways. Our link to this land has been weakened. And slowly, our gods, too, have abandoned us. The winters have grown long. The woods have grown wild. Unnatural creatures abound. And now, the mist.”
Loftur stroked his long beard. “Sunnvald came to me in a dream.”
Here we go, thought Hekla, battling the urge to roll her eyes.
“The Sun God told me that the mist is a sign of unbalance—that to restore balance we must restore our broken faith. And so, it is Sunnvald’s decree that we rekindle our week-long Winter Nights celebrations, which culminates with a grand feast on the night of the double black moon.
When Sunnvald is restored to His full strength, He will banish the mist and heal both our people and our lands. ”
Hekla glanced around the room, waiting for laughter or mockery, but she was greeted with silence. She exchanged an incredulous look with Sigrún.
Surely, they do not believe this nonsense? Hekla signed.
Sigrún shook her head, dumbfounded.
But Eyvind Hakonsson smiled broadly at Loftur.
“I see no fault in these plans, Loftur,” he said jovially.
His gaze quickly found Hekla’s, and it was clear his next words were meant for her.
“It is important that we respect Loftur’s wishes while we are in Istré.
He’s an old friend of my father’s and comes from a long line of chieftains. ”
Hekla snapped her mouth shut before every thought in her skull could spill out.
She stared at Eyvind, trying not to show her dismay.
It was beginning to make sense. Eyvind’s father was a friend to Loftur.
He hadn’t come to help the citizens of Istré at Rey’s bequest. He’d come with orders from his father to assist Loftur.
Eyvind looked out over his men. “Today marks the start of a new partnership. The Bloodaxe Crew joins forces with House Hakon.” He looked to Loftur, nodding. “Together, we shall vanquish the mist and restore peace to Istré.”
It took all of Hekla’s energy not to storm from the hall. The man had ignored every word she’d spoken and had made promises that would be impossible to keep.
Your nose is wrinkling , signed Sigrún, and Hekla tried to relax her face.
“Let us take the daymeal together,” continued Eyvind, gesturing to the long table.
Hekla bit down on a retort as Gunnar nudged her. “What happened to making a good first impression?”
She scowled at the table. First impression indeed.
Their new leader was nothing but a hound on his father’s leash.
He’d just silenced her before a hall full of warriors.
He was no ally of hers. She ought to march out of this mead hall.
Send a missive to Axe Eyes at once. But as Halldora swirled up with a fresh kettle of róa, Hekla was reminded that the citizens of Istré were innocent in this. Someone had to protect them.
She drew a deep breath and gathered the information she had. Hekla did not know Axe Eyes’s current location and storming from the hall would only leave Istré in the hands of incompetents.
No. If she wanted to help the people of Istré, Hekla would have to play the games of these men and let them think they were winning.