Firemoon (21 page)

Jormundur looked away and seemed to be angry with something or someone, but again the leader in him prevailed. He turned to a few of his men and ordered for all the bodies to be gathered in a neat row along the wall.

Katja disliked this, but such was necessity. And decapitation was a lesser desecration than the possession she had witnessed last spring.

She watched them as they were carried down from the wall: northerners and locals, sons, fathers, and a few daughters and mothers who had fallen in this clash. Every single one could potentially become a weapon in the hands of the Dragon. She did not relax until the axes began their task, and considered what a favour to the world it would be to kill the wretch responsible for this.

The heads came off, one by one, to people’s great displeasure, and the cobblestones were soon stained red.

And that’s the second round.

13.

Conflicting feelings clashed as things calmed down. There was a certain relief at victory, joy at still being alive and to have repelled the attack. But the demons had been a great shock, and the treatment of the corpses no doubt played a part in how wound-up many were.

Jormundur asked her to wait for him as he spoke to his lieutenants and Katja didn’t see how she could sneak away with so much attention being paid to her, so she figured she’d better stay near the most powerful man in the city.

Not that many had actually seen her employ the Sentinel Flame during the battle, but the story spread quickly and hundreds of eyes watched her. Thankfully, those closest to her were focused on their captain and the common soldiers had no business interrupting that conversation. Occasionally someone in the circle around Jormundur managed to squeeze in a question about what was going on and glanced at Katja, but he would only state that valuable aid had come along.

Katja kept her face as deep inside the hood as she could, made no eye-contact and kept dead silent. Since she could accomplish no more for now, she could at least encourage the mystique around herself.

A tiny chuckle leapt out of her throat, but she changed it into a cough.

Finally,
finally
, Jormundur finished and walked up to her.

“Follow me.”

She walked by his side among lieutenants, advisers and bodyguards, straight through the inner gate and from there to the castle.

The guards still hadn’t heard exactly what had happened by the wall, and them paying her no particular heed was a certain relief as they entered the heart of the city’s defences.

The group grew smaller on their way up to the second floor as people went to their beds or some task, and as they entered an empty dining room only four bodyguards and two lieutenants remained.

The bodyguards split up and took up position by two doorways, and the rest of them sat down by the smallest and fanciest table, right by a fireplace someone had kept burning through the night. A servant with bags under his eyes came almost at a run, with mugs and a pitcher of wine.

“A toast, to victory!” Jormundur said.

The other two cheered and raised their mugs. Katja stayed silent but toasted and took two large gulps. This was probably the best wine in the city.

The men, to whom she had not been introduced yet, sipped the wine but clearly had a greater interest in her. Jormundur drank almost as fast as she did, before leaning back and sighing with satisfaction and clearly no small amount of relief.

The servant returned with several others, and they served cold beef along with bread and freshly melted butter. Katja was hungry after the worrying, the directionless roaming the day’s latter half had been spent on, and of course the fighting. She attacked the food and even the two curious men couldn’t deny themselves a decent meal.

“Anna, this is Finnur and Armon,” the captain said with a piece of meat in his mouth.

They looked at her and she nodded at them before continuing with the meal.

Once little remained on his plate, Jormundur cleared his throat and turned to her.

“People have long tried to ingrain in me formal and elegant ways to state such things, but the simple truth suffices for me: this city owes you doubly, and if we achieve final victory I will see that you get rewarded properly.”

Katja smiled, but made an effort to contain it.

“Well, until then you can express your gratitude by keeping rumours about me to a minimum,” she replied. “Especially about my appearance. My longevity is dependent on being able to go unnoticed.”

Finnur, a white-haired man with a long face and a flat nose, leaned forward in his chair.

“I do not wish to seem ungrateful, but just who are you?” He hesitated and held up his hand to emphasise words he was having difficulty in finding. “
What
are you?” he then asked cautiously.

Katja looked at the trio. Jormundur knew the most about the situation, and that was quite enough.

“I am... just a traveller, who came to offer aid. Once this is all over I will be on my way.”

She took a sip.

“But you have some kind of power,” Armon said slowly and awkwardly. The man was short, dark and sported an extremely neatly trimmed beard. He had the general bearing of a man interacting with an animal he wasn’t sure was tame. “Like in stories and... and adventures.”

“A certain power, yes,” Katja said and took to focusing on her mug. The servant appeared to fill up, and left the bottle behind. “But I cannot win a war by myself. As I said, I am just here to help.”

“And your name is Anna, you say?” Armon asked.

“Let’s go with that. Do you need another one?”

Jormundur chuckled and his subordinates didn’t seem to quite know what to say. They were probably used to more formal conversations.

Armon was the first to get his bearings and addressed this little meeting.

“We prevailed tonight, but our forces were primarily fighting the ghost battalion. Our strength was being tested. Next we will meet with a more determined assault.”

“And more sorcery,” Katja pointed out, to their displeasure.

“Yes,” Jormundur said, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you are probably the only person in the city who knows how to combat such forces.”

“Probably.”

“So I shall provide you with armour. No few pieces are available after tonight’s battle and we cannot afford losing you.” He leaned back and addressed all three of them. “I have ordered a certain reorganization of our forces. I had polearms spread out to counter the flying beasts. If we face such foes again, some soldiers will have the specific task of watching out for them.” He turned back to Katja. “Didn’t you say slashing weapons were needed to destroy demons?”

“Ideally, yes.”

“In the morning I will create two special squads of brave and strong men with swords and axes. Men who proved their mettle tonight. I will let you order one of them around in the next battle.”

Katja tried not to let her eyes bulge or her jaw drop. Doing so might shake their faith in her. But she had definitely not been expecting this.

“I am not a leader,” she said after a brief moment.

“But you understand monsters,” the captain said. “You... know where they are, do you not?”

She nodded.

“Then you will simply have to lead the squad to the right place and let them help you. It is as simple as that. But all of us really only need to hold out. The northerners cannot starve a port city, and so they can only win with costly assaults. They are probably not provisioned for a lengthy siege, so we will have to bleed them until they have no choice but to return home.”

“True,” Finnur said.

Katja held her tongue. Held back her belief that Peter Savaren would not retreat from the city unless he had thrown all his might against it. Wasn’t he more likely to risk conquering ruins rather than nothing?

The reinforcements Serdra had gone to fetch were probably their only hope.

“Was there anything else?” Jormundur asked.

No-one said anything.

“Can I keep this?” Katja asked, and pointed at the wine bottle.

Jormundur grinned.

“Certainly. I suppose you’ve earned it.”

He stood up.

“And we have all earned some rest. I shall have you shown to sleeping quarters.”

“I would prefer to be by myself,” she replied standing up. “As I said, I would rather my face doesn’t become known.”

“She can have a room in the old tower,” Finnur said. “It is little used, though admittedly rather cold.”

“That’s not a problem for me.”

Jormundur showed her the way and little Omar appeared as they left the hall. He had evidently been designated as her general assistant, and would sleep outside her room.

It felt strange. She had become familiar with the respect the Shades had for her people, but she had never had a servant. But then, seeing demons was presumably strange to him.

The old tower turned out to be a squat building that was probably one of the oldest parts of the castle. The floor meant for her was a bit higher than the rest, and they walked a semicircle upstairs. A small servant’s cot stood opposite a door, next to a small fireplace.

Jormundur told her that two guards would be assigned by the bottom of the stairs, yawned, and said good night.

“Or morning, rather,” he added and walked down with slow, heavy steps.

“Good night, young man,” Katja said to Omar as he curled up beneath a thick blanket, and felt her own fatigue now that rest was so close.

“Good night, lady,” the boy said shyly.

His eyes, visible in the light of the fireplace, were rigid and fearful. Katja doubted he would get much sleep.

The room wasn’t grand, but it was large and that alone made it rather impressive as a single person’s sleeping area.

Katja prepared for bed, checked for a chamber pot beneath the bed, lit a candle, took off her outer clothes and then lay down with the weapons under the blanket with her.

This had certainly been an eventful day.

She dreamt of sorcery.

--------------------

A clink of glass yanked her into the waking world. She was up on her feet with the sword at the ready before she remembered having placed the empty wine bottle on the door handle.

The door was thrown open now that stealth was no longer an option, and Katja caught a glint of metal in the hand of the person that ran at her.

The candle still burned and Katja saw a girl probably younger than herself. She wore a nightgown and had messy hair and a wild look in her eyes.

Katja dodged an unskilled thrust and hit her in the arm with the flat of her sword. The blow knocked the girl aside and she made a sound much like a strangled, desperate whimper.

“What is going on?” she hissed breathlessly.

She made another wild, clumsy attack and Katja had little difficulty in grabbing her arm and throwing her down on the floor. She landed roughly, and Katja dropped the sword and fell down on top of her.

The girl wasn’t strong but the madness that was upon her made her grip on the knife surprisingly fierce. Still, the wrist had to yield as Katja twisted it and the weapon hit the floor.

She went limp and began flat-out weeping. Katja saw no anger or hate in her. Just utter confusion and wild terror.

“What is happening what is happening what is happening?” she muttered desperately as Katja held her down.

She thought of the sorcery she had sensed in her dreams and now felt there was something off about the knife.

She looked at the weapon. The blade was as long as Katja’s forearm and clearly meant for stabbing rather than cutting. This was not the working knife of a servant girl.

A spell?

“Who gave you the knife?” she asked.

Katja heard rapid footsteps and the rattling of armour come up the stairs. She glanced at the doorway and saw that the cot was empty.

She grasped the girl’s chin and forced her to meet her gaze.

“Who gave you the knife?” she repeated slowly.

Two guards burst into the room with Omar behind them.

“What goes on here?!” one of them asked sharply.

“Who?” Katja insisted, ignoring them.

“Renea,” the girl whimpered.

The guards stood still, somewhat calmer upon seeing that no-one was in immediate peril. Although one of them looked rather embarrassed.

“She is a servant,” he said defensively. “They are always moving about. She said something about helping you.”

“Who is Renea?” Katja asked, facing them.

“She is another servant,” Omar said hesitantly from the hallway. It seemed he had brought the guards.

“Is she new?” Katja asked, and flipped the girl onto her stomach. She did not resist.

“Yes, she began this spring,” said the other guard. “What is all this?”

Katja finished tying the servant girl’s hands with a piece of string that was a part of the dress and picked up the knife.

“This girl has been bespelled. Watch over her. She is a victim in all of this.”

“Wait-”

Katja strode out of the room and looked at Omar.

“Do you know your way around the castle?”

“Yes, my parents-”

“Take me to Renea, quickly!”

The boy went off with the speed and energy of his age group.

Katja had been told of such spells. They were often put on an object that was then given to a person, enabling the sorcerer to control the victim’s actions.

No wonder the servant girl was upset.

Katja had little trouble in keeping up with the boy and they ran down the stairs, down along a corridor and from there to the servant quarters in this part of the castle.

“There,” Omar said, and pointed at one particular door.