“If you believe that then it was foolish to come here, Snorri ver Snagason.”

“In Eridruin’s Cave you tormented me with a demon in the shape of my daughter.” Snorri lifted his axe.

“Not me, Norseman. Maybe some ghost of my past, feeling my will that you should come here to my home. But the past is a different country, I’m no longer responsible for what happens there. Age absolves a man’s crimes.”

Kara interjected, perhaps worried Snorri might attack and steal her chance with the spear. “But you sent no more assassins, no more shades. Did you think to bargain instead?”

“It is true—I do like to bargain.” Some rusty sound that may have been a laugh escaped the voice grille. “And it would seem you need something from me, Snagason. I could help you with this problem you have . . .” A larger spider moved Kelem’s hand along his side, a gesture mirroring the line of the wound eating Snorri up.

“I seek a door. Nothing beyond that.” And Snorri straightened, his mouth set in a tight line of pain, the crystals cladding his side cracking, plates of salt falling clear.

Kelem scanned each of us, his sunken eyes lingering on me, then on Hennan, the legs of the spider that first raised his head now visible among the pale straggles of his hair. “I don’t believe you have the key, Snagason. Though it is a mystery why a man would give up such a treasure if he did not have to.” His gaze settled on Kara, lingering on the black and silver spear in her hand then moving to her face. “Give me Loki’s gift, little völva.”

Kara moved fast. Faster than when I punched her and she knocked me flat. Two short steps and she released Gungnir with a crack of her arm. The spear hammered into Kelem’s chest, pinning him to his throne, a throw Snorri would have been proud of.

None of us moved. Nobody spoke. A spider tilted Kelem’s head to look down at the spear. Another raised his arm to rest his forearm across the haft. “You took the wrong door, völva. They call me ‘master of the ways.’ Did you not wonder if I might not notice you passing through such portals as stand close to the Wheel of Osheim? I gave you this.” A salt-crusted finger tapped Gungnir’s dark wood. “I gave it to you to make you brave—”

“Sageous helped you.” I clamped my mouth shut on the words, not meaning to draw attention to myself.

Kelem looked my way, head tilted in acknowledgment. “My skills detected you. I guided the dream-witch to sew this into your visions. He was well paid. A hireling, no more than that. You’ve no idea how hard it was to lead your slow and plodding minds to this plan, to guide you to the tools, to place them in your hands . . .” He returned his gaze to Kara. “And now that you have attacked me Loki will not mind if I simply kill you and take the key from your body. Even so, out of respect for your grandmother, I give you this last opportunity to hand it to me of your own free will.”

“I don’t have it.” Kara let her arms hang at her side, as limp as her hair, defeated.

A noise like nails on slate rasped from Kelem’s voice grille, perhaps as close to fury as he could come, this desiccated imitation of a man. His head turned sharply back to Snorri. “How . . . how is it that the one with the greatest power does not also bear the greatest weapon? You gave Odin’s own spear to a witch when she didn’t even own the key. Are you mad?”

“It isn’t Odin’s spear,” Snorri said. “And when I face what lies beyond death’s door I will be carrying my own axe, the axe my fathers bore, not somebody else’s spear.”

“Say your piece, Snagason. You’ve come far enough to say it.” Kelem’s mechanical voice held a twang of amusement.

Snorri looked my way, eyes dark, no sign of blue in the curious glow of the crystals. “You should speak with Prince Jalan Kendeth, heir to the throne of Red March. My friend. The key is his.”

Kelem made a noise of disgust and jerked a dismissive arm at us. “The key you bear leaves a mark in the world. The longer it is still the deeper that mark. The more it is used the deeper that mark. Once you started your journey I had no good idea where to seek it. But now you stand before me . . . I see it is true. The princeling has the prize.” His eyes, glittering deep in their dry sockets, settled on me. “I will buy the key from you. Shall we . . . haggle?”

Kelem had wanted the key-bearer to attack him. He’d dropped the spear into our laps to make us bold enough to do it. If his plan had worked he could have killed us and avoided Loki’s curse just as Snorri had avoided it when the Unborn Captain had attacked him. Now his plan had failed the mage needed to have me give him the key willingly, or else steal or trick it from me. I doubted he was any good at picking pockets, but he did have deep ones of his own . . . I wondered quite how deep he would dig to own it.

Tags: Mark Lawrence The Red Queen's War Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net