“His death led to infighting.” I rub at my eyes. “They were hoarding resources for their troops.”
He nods.
“But we saw no armies—”
“Yet our young people of prime fighting age are missing.”
“You think the huscarls are preparing to rise up against you?”
Aage shrugs. “They’ve tried before and failed. I am far more worried how my people will survive this winter. The crops have been yielding less and less each year, though we cannot find a cause for it. I send what aid our stronger territories can afford, only to learn it never reaches those in most need. There are too many coincidences for me to overlook.”
“And what shall we do if you fall?” Keiran’s rumbled question dares to ask what I haven’t been brave enough to voice.
“Continue on, I suppose,” Aage says, with a thoughtful look toward Keiran. “Though I doubt those who overthrow me would be comfortable allowing Lugh’s office to exist in a period of newfound peace. The Horned King leads the storm’s edge of war.”
“Are there Sluagh using my presence as an example of your failure?” I ask, horrified my friend may suffer if I retain my title.
“I don’t give a damn what they think. Your reports and stories have allowed me to help them for centuries. They can mark whatever signs they want; in the end, they still must defeat me, and none have managed that yet.”
All the fire in his eyes vanishes. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, kinder, and I know he’s trying to make up for any unintentional injury. “You and the Hunt will travel with me and my retainers as honored guests. When we reach Krigsmöte, you will testify of what you’ve witnessed. After the fate of the schemers has been decided, we’ll discuss other issues.” Triumph roars through my veins, and I know Keiran’s fighting to stay composed behind me. Aage’s giving me the opening I need to ask him for his help. Publicly testify against the plotting huscarls to secure peace in the Wylds, and he’ll consider our proposal about the war. It’s no guarantee of support—Aage will do what is best for his people—but it’s a step closer to succeeding in my impossible quest.
“We’ll prepare for the journey,” I promise him. “I won’t let you down.”
“You never have,” Aage murmurs and his praise soothes the sting of his earlier comment. “I’d suggest you enjoy the amenities of Eyjar while you can, seidhr. Tomorrow, we ride.”
Chapter Fourteen
Keiran
Krigsmöte, the ancient fortress that serves as the Sluagh’s place of assembly, sprawls out across a large, raised plateau that stretches up above the surrounding forest. The field where we stand to meet the new arrivals is open, with wooden stakes marking the spots for the practice and tournament rings. Behind us, the main section of the fortress looms. Numerous wings with their own entrances all connect into a central hall. Outbuildings offer space for stables, supplies, and additional quarters, if needed, and there’s even a natural hot spring. We’ve spent days helping Aage and his retainers prepare it for visitors. I doubt the Mainland huscarls will appreciate our work though.
Aage steps forward to greet them civilly. He doesn’t receive anything but the barest, most begrudging, acknowledgment back from all except Resnik, who crows his delight and grips Aage in a tight hug after making his initial bow. Resnik is short, strong, and sentimental. He waxes poetic to Aage about his family—a new grandchild on the way, it seems—and his land and his plans to improve on next year’s harvest and—
Then he spots us. Well, he spots Lugh, who watches the Mainlanders from behind the safety of his glamoured helm.
“By the gods,” Resnik announces, “the Horned King is among us.”
Aage seizes the opportunity to escape and greet the rest of the new arrivals, forcing Lugh to quickly turn his attention to Resnik. “I am.” Some of the nearest huscarls exchange dark looks. Lugh must notice because he continues, “The thegn requested my presence and I would obey his wishes.”
“I had not realized you would respond to the thegn’s beck and call,” Kazlauskas, one of the younger huscarls, says with an oily smile. “Surely you have no time to spare for us when you are so busy with your little adventures. Or were you already on your way to Thegn Aage? After all, if the gods send you visions, you must have known you would join us here.”
“Forgive him, seidhr,” Resnik says, glaring at the younger huscarl until he withers under the scrutiny. “He does not mean to invite the gods’ wrath. His lands are in turmoil and he speaks cruel words out of fear he’ll be displaced.”
Kazlauskas doesn’t dare challenge Resnik, or his assumptions, but I note his deep, furious flush. The nearest huscarls step away from him, as though close proximity may leave them facing Resnik’s vicious insults as well. Once the old man is content Kazlauskas won’t make further disparaging remarks, he asks Lugh, “Now, seidhr, if you please to come with me, I would ask advice of you and my thegn.”
Lugh gives me a look that silently begs for assistance, but I have no intention of freeing him from Resnik’s attentions. I smile at him and watch with amusement as Lugh tries to make small talk while being escorted reverently toward Aage.
It would have been wiser to go with him. The moment he’s gone, one of the older Sluagh who greeted Aage with a sneer approaches me.
“Poet,” he calls. He says it as though we’re old friends, as though I welcome his company. He’s wrong on both counts.
I say nothing. Regrettably, it doesn’t deter him.
“I must wonder why the Horned King and his Wild Hunt are here for our assembly. Are you our entertainment? Though I suppose your stories would have to be entertaining then.” He chuckles, though none of the Sluagh behind him join in.
I want to break his nose with my axe. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest to fight the urge to reach for my weapons or the belt. I will not embarrass Lugh here, not when this assembly could determine his future.
The annoying fae takes my silence for some form of consent because he stops laughing to himself and commands, “Tell us a story, poet.”