Mark Lawrence - The Liar's key

“Where-”

“Florence. The banking clans are his patrons. Or he is theirs. That relationship is harder to unravel than any knot Gordion ever tied. Perhaps the clans sprang from his loins back along the centuries when he quickened. Like many children though they are eager to inherit-of late the banks of Florence have been flexing their muscles, testing the old man’s strength. . and his patience.” Skilfar’s gaze flitted to Kara, then back to Snorri. “Kelem knows every coin in this Broken Empire of ours and holds the beating heart of its commerce in his claw. A different type of power to imperial might or the Hundred’s thrones, but power none the less.” In her palm lay a golden coin, a double florin, minted by the southern banks. “A different power but in its way more mighty than armies, more insidious than dancing in the dreams of crowned heads. A double-edged sword perhaps, but Kelem has lived for centuries and has yet to cut himself.”

“I thought him a story. A children’s tale.”

“They call him the Gate-keeper too. He finds and opens doors. It’s clear enough why he’s called you to him. Clear enough why you need to be rid of this key and soon.”

“Gate-keeper?” Snorri said. “Do they call him a door-mage as well?” He felt his hands tighten into fists and saw for a moment a demon wearing Einmyria’s form, leaping at him, released by the mage in Eridruin’s Cave.

“Once upon a time he called himself that, back in the long ago.”

“And he is rock-sworn, you say?”

Skilfar tilted her head to study Snorri from a new angle. “To live so long a man must swear to many masters, but gold is of the earth and it was always his first love.”

“I’ve met him. . or a shadow of him. He barred the way to Hel against me, said I would bring the key to him.” Snorri paused, remembering the demon and how his heart had leapt when he thought it his little girl. He forced his hands to unclench. “And I will.”

“That’s madness. After the Dead King there is no one worse to give the key to.”

“He knows where death’s door is though. Can you show it to me? Is there another choice? A better choice? One Kelem cannot deny me?” Snorri tucked the key away and closed his jacket. “Get a codfish on the line and you have dinner. Get a whale on the line and you might be the dinner.” He set a hand against the blade of his axe. “Let him reel me in, and we shall see.”

“At least it saves me trying to ease his hook out of you without killing you,” Skilfar said, her lips pursed. “Kara will go with you.”

“What?” Kara looked up at that, head turning sharp enough to fan out her hair.

“No. I-” Snorri couldn’t think of an objection other than it felt wrong. The sharp challenge in the woman’s regard had sparked an instant attraction in him. She reminded him of Freja. And that felt like betrayal. A foolish notion but an honest one, deep as bones.

“But-” Kara shook her head. “A warrior? What’s to be learned watching him swing his axe?”

“You’ll go with him, Kara.” Skilfar became stern. “A warrior? Today he is a warrior. Tomorrow, who knows? A man casts a million shadows, and yet you trap him within such a singular opinion. You travelled here seeking wisdom, girl, but all that I have here on these scrolls is information. The wise come into their majority out in the world, amid the muck and pain of living. It’s not all the dropping of runes and the wrapping of old platitudes in gravitas. Get out there. Go south. Burn in the sun. Sweat. Bleed. Learn. Come to me older, tempered, hardened.” She tapped a finger to the scroll case on her lap. “These words have waited here an age already-they will wait on you a little longer. Read them with eyes that have seen the wideness of the world and they will mean more to you. There is a singular benefit in Snorri’s choosing of Kelem to show him the door. A thousand-mile benefit. On such a journey a man might grow, and change, and find himself a new opinion. Perhaps you can help him.”

• • •

Snorri stretched beside me. “And that was that.” He stood, the boat shifting beneath his weight, and glanced at Kara. “Skilfar shooed us out and her little dog followed to see that we left. Kara followed on minutes later. She said there were men hunting us on the mountain and that we’d find you near the crater on the west face.”

I looked between them, Snorri, Tuttugu, Kara-the madman, the faithful hound, the baby witch. Three of them against the Dead King, and if he didn’t take them then Kelem waited at the end of their journey. And the prize if they won was to open death’s door and let hell out. .

“Florence, eh? The best path to Florence leads through Red March. You can drop me off there.”

Perhaps Kara had a magic about her that permeated her boat, or maybe I had found my sea legs at long last-either way, the voyage south from the Beerentoppen proved less horrendous than the many days with Snorri in the Sea-Troll . Kara had named her boat Errensa , after the valkyrie that swim beneath the waves to gather the war dead for Ragnarok. She knew the winds and kept her sails full, driving us south faster than a man can run.

“She’s a fine-looking woman,” I told Snorri when he came to join me, huddled in the prow. The boat wasn’t large but the wind gave us privacy, overwriting our conversation and snatching the words away.

“That she is. She’s got a strength about her. Didn’t think she’d be your type, Jal. And haven’t you been mooning over this Lisa of yours ever since we left Trond?”

“Well, yes, I mean Lisa’s a lovely girl. . I’m sure I’ll climb her balcony once or twice when I get back but. .” But a man has to think about the here and now, and right there and right then, Kara had all my attention.

• • •

Life aboard a small sailboat is not to be recommended, however attractive the company, and even when you don’t have to spend most of each day emptying yourself over the side. The food proved cold, monotonous, and in short supply. The nights continued to try to reinstate winter. My fever continued to keep me weak and shivering. And any hopes I had of exercising my charms on Kara died early on. For one thing it’s hard to play the enigmatic prince of romance when the object of your affections gets to watch you shit into the sea twice a day. For another, the very first time my hand wandered her way Kara took a long knife from out beneath the many pleats of her skirt and explained with unnecessary volume how she would use it to pin that hand to my groin should it wander again. Snorri and Tuttugu just watched me and rolled their eyes as if it were my fault! I cursed the lot of them for miserable peasants and retreated to nibble on our diminishing store of dry oatcakes-revolting things.

At sunset Aslaug came, rising through the boards of the hull as if the inky depths had kept her safe while day scoured the world. Tuttugu glanced my way, shuddered and busied himself with a net that needed repairs. Snorri stared hard at the spot from which Aslaug rose, his gaze unreadable. Did he miss her company? He hadn’t the look of a man who saw her clearly though, his eyes sliding past her as she moved toward me. I hope her words slid past his ears just as well.

“Jalan Kendeth. Still huddled among northmen? Yours is the palace of Red March, not some creaking tub.”

“You have a faster means of getting there?” I asked, my mood still soured.

Aslaug made no reply but turned slowly as if hunting a scent, until she faced the stern where Kara stood beside the tiller. The völva saw Aslaug in the moment the avatar’s gaze fell upon her. I could tell it in an instant. Kara made no attempt to conceal that recognition, or her anger. Without taking her gaze from the spirit she tied off the tiller and stepped forward. She compensated for the swell, advancing as if the boat were set in rock.