Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

The noblemen couldn't have looked more terrified if she'd poleaxed them. Sarrow gaped at her as if she were the enemy. “Highness,” he said. “I don't know if-”

“This is outrageous!” Therbold shouted.

She waited without expression while they complained and equivocated, not deigning to answer until both had fallen silent, Therbold red-faced and sputtering, Sarrow pale and petulant.

“My lords, this is not a request, but a command. Our combined forces will go north to meet these invaders before they infiltrate farther into our country. I expect full compliance from you both.”

She left unsaid the threat of what would happen if they refused. “Captain Drathan, please see to the collection of men and materials. And send for a messenger.” She nodded to the nobles. “My lords.”

As she left the chamber heading to her quarters, Josey felt the knot in her middle loosen. Just a hair, but it was a welcome relief. She only prayed she was making the right decision.

She was so lost in her thoughts she almost bumped into Iola. The girl curtsied and turned to accompany her upstairs. “Majesty, Doctor Krav is here.”

“In the castle?”

“Yes, ma'am. And he's insisting you must see him for an examination at once.” Iola smiled. “The way he dotes on you reminds me of my grandfather.”

“Yes, well…” Josey thought of all the things she had to do, and tried to imagine when she would find the time to see the doctor.

Once they were back in her quarters, which were little more than a bedroom and a small maid's chamber, Josey found parchment and ink and sat at the small, worn desk. While Iola packed and chattered about the latest in camp gossip, Josey focused on what she wanted to say. When she pressed pen to parchment, her hand was steady.

Hubert,

Forgive me, but I must make this short. We are invaded by an unknown army from the north. Durenstile has been sacked. It is my intention to-

The pen hovered until a drop of ink dripped onto the page and sank into the fibers. Was she sure about this? She bent over the letter.

It is my intention to meet these invaders with what forces I can muster. Gather what reinforcements you can in case our efforts fail and you must defend the capital alone.

Until we speak again .

Your empress and friend, Josephine

Josey folded it up, heated a dollop of wax, and pressed her seal into the stamp. It was done. She had decided her course of action. Standing up, she went to the room's only window, the glass pane warped and pocked with bubbles, and looked out onto the lands of Kistol, lands that would soon be threatened by invasion. Unless she stopped it.

With a sigh, she sat back down at the desk and began composing another letter, the first of many, to her vassal lords and ladies of the northern provinces.

Caim shot upright from a deep sleep, his heart pounding in his chest. Aemon and Dray slumbered beside him, neither stirring. He took deep breaths until his heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm. Fresh snow covered the ground, making everything look new and virginal until he spotted a Northman pissing against a hillside. A few others were moving around the campsite, so he guessed it was morning even though the sky was the same dark shade of gray it had been the evening before. Tendrils of mist twisted across the ground, lending the camp an otherworldly atmosphere.

It had gotten colder overnight. Their fire was out, and Malig sat beside the dead ashes. Tiny clouds of steam emerged from under his hood in time with his deep, laborious snoring. Caim sidled up and jabbed him in the shoulder. Malig pitched backward, almost tipping over.

“Dammit, Caim!” he shouted, righting himself. “You damn near scared me out of my skin.”

“But you weren't scared enough to stay awake.” Caim rooted around the fire's stone-cold cinders. “Why don't you go steal us some wood?”

Grumbling, Malig shambled away through the camp. Caim started digging in his pouch for flint and tinder when Kit appeared across from him. Her eyes were red like she'd been crying. “What have you gotten yourself into, Caim?”

He glanced around. “A storm of shit. Feel free to rub my nose in it.”

“Caim!”

“I'm sorry. I didn't sleep much. There's something strange about these northerners.”

She wiped her nose with the back of a hand. “That's the first smart thing I've heard you say in days.”

“So where have you-?”

Caim stood up as a huge figure emerged from the mist. Wulfgrim strode up holding two steaming mugs. He drank from one as he offered the other to Caim.

Kit flitted around to hover behind Caim as he accepted the cup. It smelled a little like tea, but much sharper. He thought he detected alcohol as well. He took a sip, and found it wasn't bad.

“We're moving,” Wulfgrim said.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” Kit whispered in Caim's ear. “He wants something, and he doesn't look like the type to take no for an answer.”

Caim just nodded and nursed his drink. Dray and Aemon sat up. Dray stretched and yawned, but Aemon just watched the Northman with narrowed eyes crusted with sleep.

“You are heading north?” the Northman asked. “We will ride with you. I want to learn more of your homeland. Maybe, if the gods are good, I will see it someday, yes?”

Caim handed back the cup, but didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say unless he wanted to risk angering their host. And by the frank look in Wulfgrim's gaze, the Northman knew it, too. Maybe he was searching for an excuse to take offense.

“I'll get my men ready,” Caim said.

Kit was gone. Off to find them a way out of this, he hoped. Aemon rolled up his blanket and picked up his spear. “I had a feeling they weren't going to let us go.”

Dray scooped up a handful of snow and ate it. “Seven hells, I'm just glad I didn't wake up with a cut throat. What do they want with us?”

“I don't know,” Caim replied. “So everyone keep your mouth shut. Make sure Malig understands that, too. We want these Northmen out of our hair as soon as possible. Don't mention our plans.”

“That'll be easy,” Dray said. “Seeing as we don't know them ourselves.”

A Northman brought their horses. While the others got themselves together, he checked the animals. They appeared to be weathering the cold climate with few problems. Their hooves were a little discolored, but there were no cracks in the spongy frogs of their feet. Rubbing his horse's nose, Caim watched the camp break down. For all their savage manner, the Northmen moved with quiet efficiency. In addition to their riding animals, the tribe had a small herd of packhorses. Within a quarter of a candlemark, they were ready to ride. Malig made it back, without the wood, just in time to grab a stick of jerked meat out of his saddlebags and mount up.

Dray yawned. “What if we just made a run for it?”

Caim glanced around, but there were no Northmen close enough to overhear. Aemon cursed aloud. “For fuck sakes, Dray. Just shut up, will you?”

Dray scowled like he was going to reply, but Wulfgrim rode over with two of his men, both as big as he was. He raised his voice, shouting in the northern tongue, and the camp moved out in two columns; the women and striplings headed west with the pack animals while the warriors rode north. The large northern horses looked ungainly, but they rumbled to a swift trot without apparent effort. Caim wondered how long their southern horses could keep up the pace, and what would happen if their crew started to fall behind.

Wulfgrim rode near Caim all morning, asking him questions about the lands south of the Drakstag Mountains, which the Northmen called the Svartvedir, or Blackstorms. The chief seemed particularly interested in the great cities like Taralon and Othir. “I hear the homes of your southern kings are made of gold and ivory,” Wulfgrim said with a laugh. “Is that true? I think I should like to see an ivory house.”