Mark Lawrence - The Liar's key

She folded her arms-a guilty motion, hiding the hand, and kept silent under my stare until at last: “I tried to lift it from him two nights ago as he slept.”

“You. . were going to steal the key?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” She scowled. “I was trying to save Snorri’s life. Which is what you and Tuttugu should be doing, and would be if you were any kind of friends to him. Why do you think Skilfar pointed him at Kelem? It seemed a long enough journey for me to stop him-either by talking him out of it, or if needed, by stealing the key.” She got up and came to sit on the step beside me, composing herself and offering a sweet smile that looked good but most unlike her. “You could ask him for the key again and-”

“You! You were trying to steal the key off him in the cave that morning! He swapped it onto a chain because of you, not me! He’s been wise to you all along!” I realized I was pointing at her and lowered my hand.

“Taking the key would save his life!” She looked at me, exasperated. “Changing his mind would too.”

“It can’t be done, Kara. You should know that by now. You would know it if you’d seen him heading north. He can’t be stopped. He’s a grown man. It’s his life and if he wants-”

“It’s not just his life he’s throwing away, Jal.” Soft-voiced again. She set her hand to my arm. It gave me thrills, I’ll admit it. She had something about her, perhaps just built up after all those months of anticipation, but more than that I think. “Snorri could do untold damage. If Loki’s key falls into the Dead King’s hands. .”

“It will be a bloody mess.” Suddenly the moment had passed, the mood soured, the darkness around us full of undead threat instead of romantic possibility. “But I still can’t do anything about it.” And besides, I’d be safe in the palace in the heart of Vermillion, in the heart of Red March, and if the Dead King’s evil could reach me there then we were all fucked. But I felt safer putting my trust in Grandmother’s walls and her armies than in my ability to part Snorri from that key. I shook Kara off and stood abruptly, bidding her good night. I was so close to home I could taste it, practically reach out and set my fingers to it and I wasn’t messing things up now, not for anything, not even the promise in Kara’s touch. No man likes to be a last resort in any event, and on top of that, despite the wide eyes, the promise, the hint of desperation, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow the woman was playing me.

That was a long night. My room hot, airless, and refusing to let me sleep.

Another day, more endless stretches of the Appan Way, another inn. And then one glorious summer morning, after trailing through mile upon mile of cultivated fields golden with wheat and green with squash, we crested a ridge and there on the horizon beneath a faint haze stood Vermillion, walls glowing with the early light. I’ll admit to a manly tear in my eye at the sight of it.

We made an early lunch at one of the many farmhouses close to the Appan Way that open their doors to passing travellers. We sat outside around a table in the shade of a huge cork tree. Chickens pecked their way about the dusty yard, watched by an old yellow dog too lazy to twitch when the flies landed on him. The farmer’s wife brought out fresh bread, butter, black olives, Milano cheese, and wine in a large earthenware amphora.

I had a cup or three of that good red before I gathered up the resolve to try one last time to talk Snorri out of his plan. Not for Kara, well, perhaps a little in the hope of Kara’s good opinion, but mostly just to save the big ox from his own stupidity.

“Snorri. .” I said it with enough seriousness that he put down his clay cup and gave me his attention. “I, uh.” Kara looked up at me from her bread and olives, encouraging me with the slightest of nods.

Even with a loosened tongue I found it hard to say. “This taking Loki’s key to death’s door business. .” Tuttugu shot me a warning look, gesturing down with the flat of his hand. “How about not doing it instead.” Tuttugu rolled his eyes. I scowled at him. Dammit, I was trying to help the man! “Give this up. It’s madness. You know it. I know it. Dead is dead. Except when it’s not. And we’ve seen how ugly that is. Even if the Dead King’s creatures don’t catch you on the road and take the key. Even if you reach Kelem and he doesn’t just kill you and take the key. . Even then. . you can’t win.”

Snorri stared at me, unspeaking, unreadable, unnerving. I drank deeply from my cup and, finding I’d reached the bottom, tried again.

“You’re not the first man to lose his wife. .”

Snorri didn’t explode to his feet as I thought he might with me touching his rawest nerve, in fact for the best part of a minute he said nothing, just looked out at the road and the people passing by.

“The years ahead scare me.” Snorri didn’t turn to face me. He spoke his words into distance. “I’m not scared of the pain, though in truth the ache inside is more than I can bear. Much more.

“She lit me up. My wife, Freja. Like I was one of those windows I’ve seen in the house of the White Christ. Dull and without meaning by night and then the light comes and they’re aglow with colour and story. Have you known that, Prince of the Red March? Not a woman you would die for, but a woman you’d live for?

“What terrifies me, Jal, is that time will blunt the wound. That in six months or six years I will wake one morning and realize I can’t see Freja’s face any more. Discover that my arms no longer remember little Emy’s weight, my hands her softness. I’ll forget my boys, Jal.” And his voice broke and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to take back my words. “I’ll forget them. I’ll mix one memory with another. I’ll forget how they sounded, the times we spent on the fjord fishing, the times they chased me when they were little. All those days, all those moments, gone. Without me to remember them. . what are they, Jal? My brave Karl, my Egil, what were they?” I saw the shudder in his shoulders, the hitch as he drew breath.

“I don’t say it’s right, or brave, but I’ll carry my father’s axe into Hel and I’ll search for them until I’m done.”

None of us spoke for an age after that. I drank steadily instead, seeking the courage that lies in the bottom of the barrel, though the wine seemed sour now.

• • •

Finally, with the shadows lengthening and all our plates long since empty, I told them.

“I’m stopping at Vermillion.” Another swig, running it over my teeth. “It’s been a pleasure, Snorri, but my journey ends here.” I didn’t even think I would have to do anything about the Sister’s curse. It had worn so thin that I’d not heard as much as a whisper from Aslaug since waking from the last of Kara’s dreams. Sunsets passed almost unnoticed now, with just a prickling of skin and a heightening of senses as the moment came and went. “I’m done.”

Kara shot me a shocked look at that but Snorri just pursed his lips and nodded. A man like Snorri could understand the hold that home and family have on a person. In truth though, I disliked pretty much every surviving member of my family, and the fear of being murdered by agents of the Dead King ranked at the top of the list of reasons I wasn’t continuing with Snorri’s mad quest. The plain fact of it was, however, that even reason number 6 “travelling is an awful bore” would have been sufficient on its own. My family might not have much hold on me, but the prestige of their name, the comfort of their palace, and the hedonistic pleasures to be found in their city all keep a vice-like grip on my heart.