Firemoon (2 page)

Kolgrimur felt something, like a piercing shriek that did not pass through his ears. The environment dulled in colour, as if the sunlight did not reach the isle quite as it should.

“The circle of peace is sacred, Jonas Tinvil,” said Peter’s voice in Kolgrimur’s ears. “But it was sent to your master, not you.”

“Now hold on-” Rovin began but did not step closer.

Jonas Tinvil suddenly went rigid, his eyes bulged out and he gave a choked gurgle before falling to the ground.

“I am more powerful than you,” Peter’s voice said along with that strange shrieking, and Kolgrimur made use of the self-discipline he had nurtured for decades to neither cover his ears nor show signs of discomfort. “There is my right. It is as simple as that. It is my destiny to save the Brotherhood and bring it to order, and I will allow no further discord. Those who refuse to join me may leave this isle, but after that the law comes into effect: The powerful survive.”

The shrieking stopped and the dimness lifted. Kolgrimur’s brethren stood stunned for a few moments and looked at Peter where he stood perfectly still, until the focus moved to Jonas.

He was dead. Kolgrimur did not need to see the grief and rage in Rovin’s eyes as he knelt by his servant to know that. Peter had driven the life out of Jonas Tinvil without using any kind of connecting focus or tool. Kolgrimur knew what this meant.

Rovin stood up and turned his burning gaze on Peter, but that flame quickly went out upon meeting that abyss. He looked away, and Kolgrimur felt he saw a certain surrender.

All were silent for a while. No-one had taken the title of the Dragon in living memory, and Kolgrimur could understand why this development was a shock.

“What do you intend?” he asked to break the silence.

“We will need to establish a centre of power,” said Peter or whatever was actually speaking. “A new Vendyha. It is time for open war and open power and here, at this meeting, we have all we need.”

He pointed at Boler.

“I know what kind of connections you have established up north. We will make use of them to acquire an army.” He pointed at Kohler. “We will also need the mercenaries you keep in contact with.” Finally he pointed at Kolgrimur. “And we will need your support and knowledge of your territory.”

“I believe I see what you intend,” Anders said a moment after Kolgrimur came to his own conclusion. “It will not be easy.”

“Not easy, but doable,” Peter said. “And further victories will be easier. I will rule the Brotherhood’s new core, and with your support and influence over your own territories uniting them under a single banner will only take a few years.”

Peter gave Lars a signal. The man had been handed a large gold chalice by a coven brother as the leaders spoke, and now he approached Anders.

“Drink to fortune and to your loyalty.”

Anders hesitated briefly, but then took the chalice and sipped the wine.

Kolgrimur briefly wondered if there was any significance to the chalice being handed out by the killer.

Boler was next and sipped without protest. And so it went. The leaders accepted the wine and what it signified, and all managed to act as if their lives did not depend on it. It stirred Kolgrimur’s pride. He belonged to a strong legacy.

He sidestepped a bit without being overt about it, and so was the last one approached by Lars.

“Drink to fortune and to your loyalty,” said the tall man with the cold eyes.

The wine had a sweet scent.

“You intend a grand victory,” Kolgrimur said to Peter without accepting the chalice. “It would certainly prove that you are worthy of the title.”

The darkness of the hood turned towards Kolgrimur.

“You have power, that much is obvious,” he continued, “but the world’s strongest man is not necessarily the best general.”

“So you do not intend to work with us?”

Kolgrimur heard his men fidget a bit behind him and saw all the other coven leaders watching him. Anders shook his head at him almost imperceptibly.

“No, I will work with you,” he said. “I give my blessing for operations in my territory and you will have all the guidance you need. But I feel it premature to form bonds.”

“I already said we need unity,” Peter said, and the voice gave nothing away.

“Yes. So let us establish it,” Kolgrimur said. “Let us lay the foundations for a new Vendyha and call all offshoots of the Brotherhood to it. But I will not swear to just anyone.”

Kolgrimur thought he heard an echo of the strange squealing from before.

“I am the Dragon,” Peter said darkly.

“The Dragon himself was a great and cunning leader,” Kolgrimur said. “Prove that you are his true heir.”

“Very well,” the darkness said. “After the victory I will decide whether you get to join us or not. It will depend on your conduct in the coming weeks.”

“It will be to expectations, I can assure you,” Kolgrimur said calmly. “And I even know how we can strike a direct blow to our enemies during this mission.”

“Speaking of enemies, what are we to do about the Redcloaks?” Kohler asked. “We know there are at least two around the Inner Sea. Should we not seek them out before launching a major operation?”

The chatter that followed the question largely agreed with him.

“There is no need,” Peter said. “They will come to us. They will be drawn to the flame like moths. And this time they will burn.”

2.

The time had come to say farewell.

Katja remembered as much the moment she opened her eyes. Today they would leave the homestead that had sheltered them for a year and venture somewhere new.

She swung her feet out of the bed she had been allocated on Maron’s homestead and rose hastily. She rubbed her brown, almond-shaped eyes and put on her clothes, which were comfortable but specifically designed for not drawing attention.

Serdra had already risen. Perhaps she had wanted one final private conversation with Maron. They were old comrades after all and the man was elderly. It was doubtful they would ever meet again.

At least I got to sleep a bit longer,
Katja thought, and put on the belt with her knife and sword. Never disarm, never leave yourself vulnerable, was one of the rules Serdra had emphasised.

Next she put her raven-black hair in a bun so it wouldn’t interfere with her vision and an enemy could not grab it.

She pushed up and down on the balls of her feet and then shifted weight between the legs as she often did before physical exertion.

They had packed their luggage the evening before and been quick about it, since the Redcloak life did not allow for many possessions nor promise comfort. Another thing Serdra had emphasised was not to treasure worldly objects. She may have to flee or attack without warning and so everything that mattered had to be within reach at all times.

Aside from the dining knife that had been her parting present from home, the only possessions she cared greatly about were around her neck. Katja touched them for a moment.

Well
.

She exited the room and met Atli, Maron’s grandson and the man who would one day hold his leadership role.

“Good day,” she said.

“Good day,” he replied and they walked to the dining room together. “The time has come.”

“Yes, indeed,” Katja said. “A new place and new people.”

“Having you two here has been rather educational,” Atli said. “It has taught me several things.”

“We are rather exciting, I won’t deny it,” Katja answered with a smile.

They entered the dining room.

Serdra and Maron were among the few already at the table as Freyja readied breakfast with the help of her daughter. Katja glanced at her mentor before taking her customary seat for the last time.Serdra was a bit taller than Katja, wore similarly unremarkable clothes and also always a sword and a knife on her hips. Her hair was brown with white stripes, kept in a stiff ponytail. It was strange to see white in the hair of a person who looked about twenty years old, but people’s attention was always drawn to her eyes. The woman was one hundred and thirty three and somehow one could just tell. Katja had taken a while to get used to that deep, intense gaze, and to how her demeanour was just generally rather
off
.

“Good day,” the woman said with the same calm, slightly distant voice she almost always used. She had had plenty of time to master her emotions.

“Hello everyone,” Katja said.

The residents, mostly Maron’s descendants and their spouses, arrived at the table in short order and Freyja announced breakfast. With that began this daily morning ritual distinctive of families. People chatted, joked, discussed chores and just generally enjoyed one another’s presence. Katja still thought there was less energy on display than usual.

She supposed there was always a certain tension at changes, be they good, bad or neither.

This homestead had been something of a nest for the last year as Serdra continued Katja’s training and taught her to use the gifts of the Redcloaks, but she needed to learn more than different fighting methods. She also had to establish connections with the Shades, this secret society of mortals who had been their most valuable allies for centuries. And though the homestead, or rather Maron himself, was the heart of the Shade order around the Inner Sea, she also had to get to know the other groups. There was no telling where she may have to seek help one day. She might end up taking refuge with the grandchildren of Maron’s little grandchildren.

Katja shook her head. She herself was turning a mere eighteen and had a hard time getting her head around the immortality she had apparently been born with.

They finished eating and then there was nothing to wait for. Katja, Serdra and the Shades walked out beneath the sky and to the path that would take them to Amerstan City.

They wore leather, which could take wear and would hopefully provide some minimal protection from surprise attacks. They each carried a bag with a handful of belongings and put travelling cloaks over themselves to make the swords less visible. Carrying weapons was not illegal but still always drew a certain amount of attention. Finally Serdra pulled a hood over her head to hide that strange white and brown hair of hers.

They walked a few steps away from the group and looked back at it. Katja had been too excited lately to think much of the separation, but now felt how much she would miss these people who had been something of a family to her during a period of adjustment. A family that knew and understood what she was and appreciated it, unlike her blood kin.

She looked at Freyja, who had ably served as matron after the death of her mother-in-law; Anton and Kjartan who were the family’s main warriors and so Katja’s primary sparring partners when Serdra wasn’t beating her up and down; the children who would be the next generation of Shades and carry the tradition into the century’s second half. They would no doubt tell their descendants tales of what it was like to have two Redcloaks as guests.

She had formed a relationship of some kind with every single person. And now it was at an end.

“Honoured guests,” Maron said formally with his deep and commanding voice. “It has been my honour to shelter you. I bid farewell on behalf of my family and group and invite you back on behalf of my descendants.”

“My thanks for you hospitality,” Serdra said in a similar fashion. “May we always stand together against the threats to the world of Man.”

“With secrecy and patience,” Maron said.

“With secrecy and patience,” Serdra repeated.

“Thank you all,” Katja said and looked the people over again.

The formality was done with and everyone said farewell. Katja nodded and looked each one in the eyes. Her only actual
friend
no longer lived here and she was satisfied with bundling her farewells into one.

“Goodbye Serdra,” Maron said with a warmth Katja rarely saw from him and looked Serdra in the face. Unlike most, doing so did not bother him.

“Goodbye Maron,” the woman answered with a slightly different voice than before.

And that was it. They had known one another for more than forty years but Katja suspected they had had their proper farewells in private.

They headed along the path and Billi, one of the homestead’s little boys, played a travelling tune on his flute. The lad was rather good for his age. Perhaps she could ask him to repeat it after a few decades.

She looked back before the homestead and its residents vanished from sight. She might very well never see this place again. They were all still lined up but a certain relaxation had set in the group. Life was about to return to normal.

Katja looked away, both happy and sad. A certain chapter in her life was over.

“Well,” she said out loud and sighed slightly.

“Yes,” Serdra said.

The woman added nothing further and Katja couldn’t think of anything profound. So she began to whistle and hum the tune little Billi had played before she could forget the rhythm. She had always been a good singer and people commended her pure voice. Their only company was birdsong, distant mooing and their own footsteps. She managed to set her mind somewhat adrift in quiet singing and glide on the notes.

Out of nowhere, Serdra swung her fist at her. Katja reacted and dodged the blow. Serdra struck again and Katja blocked with her arm and then retaliated. The woman dodged and Katja struck a defensive pose with her fists held up, warmed up and ready.

Serdra relaxed and lowered her hands as a sign this test was over. Her blows used to connect every single time.

“Pretty good,” Serdra said.

“Don’t you mean
very
good?” Katja asked and smirked. She relaxed herself. This was a routine event.

“Landing a hit on me would have been
very
good,” Serdra said to take the air out of her student. “You haven’t reached that stage yet.”

“I will take you down someday, old woman,” Katja said and they continued. “I swore as much and I stand by it.”

“Well, in that event I would certainly be proud of my mentoring skills,” Serdra replied and Katja saw a hint of a smile on her lips.

Inside she was rather irritated at her mentor for interrupting the peace, but Serdra constantly impressed on her that death could come for her at any moment. Many things contributed to a long life as a Redcloak and one of those was being ever on guard.

The fire the incident had lit in her blood gradually cooled and she soon began to whistle again. Katja enjoyed it and suspected Serdra did as well.

The walk to the city was uneventful. She had traversed this route often enough to be unimpressed and Serdra kept reminding her to
observe
her surroundings rather admire them.

Fields and villages and famed locations passed by and in time they entered the gates of Amerstan’s capital, heading the harbour.

Katja did the talking, asking around for Raon Jom, and was directed to one of the taverns lining the harbour area. It was easy to find and they stepped into air thick with hops and people. They looked around until Serdra spotted the profile of a man fitting the description. He saw them a moment before they came upon him and turned in his seat.

“Good day,” Katja said to the short, weather-beaten seaman with the messy hair.

“Good day, ladies,” he said, slightly slurred and gave them a brief examination. “I believe we have some business.”

“Indeed,” Katja said and discreetly handed over a purse. It came from Maron, as did this meeting.

“We are ready to leave now,” Serdra said, and her demeanour knocked Raon slightly off-kilter now that his attention focused on her. There was a reason Katja usually spoke for them.

“Yes, well,” the man muttered and peeked into the purse in his lap. He cleared his throat. “Will I need to answer difficult questions due to having ferried you?”

“No,” Katja said, but hesitated before opening her mouth. They had paid for passage before and it hadn’t turned out well.

Still, the seaman was either too drunk or too greedy to care much about the reply, since he stood up and slammed his hat on.

“Well, I am ready myself. Let us be off.”

He went ahead of them to the harbour with a slightly wobbling gait and led them to a boat where three men were passing the time with dice.

“Cast off boys!” Raon Jom said with the force of a drinker. “Our cargo has arrived.”

They boarded, introduced themselves with false names and sat down while the men steered out of the city harbour and onto the Inner Sea itself.

Katja had never seen the city from this side and turned so she could see the walls fade away. She whistled a short part of the song before looking away and preparing for the journey.

“It is said the ocean brings all news,” Katja said to the man closest to her once they were on an even course and there was little for the sailors to do for now.

“News and seaweed, yes,” said the blond, bearded man.

“Have you heard anything about this war chatter up north? Anything more than one hears in Amerstan?”

“Eh,” the man said. “What does one know? They say old Hrolfur is on his deathbed and there is disagreement about who will take over leadership of Pine City. King Valdimar thinks he has a right to it, but the city folk want nothing to do with that northern bastard.”

Katja nodded. This all matched what she had been hearing.

“But is it really heading for a war? Does Valdimar mean to make good on it?”

“Do men of power ever miss an opportunity to flex their muscles?” the man said contemptuously.

“I am unconcerned with posturing.”

The man snorted.

“No, but rulers posture using human lives. They roll rocks and before you know it a landslide has started, beyond anyone’s control. You can bet your shoes that the first rocks are already rolling. There have been whispers of military build-up to the north all summer and you can bet your shoes that a man of power will put such a thing into effect. We will have another war soon. Bet your shoes.”

“I will bet my shoes,” Katja said somewhat dryly. The man was clearly fond of the phrase.

She looked out at the ocean and, lacking encouragement, the man did not continue his ranting.

The Shade group that had offered them shelter lived in Pine City’s domain. Granted, from what she understood a northern army would need to swerve considerably to the south plunder that area on their way to the city, but Katja had a different concern.