The Liar's Key (The Red Queen's War 2)

“Hmmm.” It seemed fair enough. Only fitting that a Prince of Red March should have a noble in charge of escorting him safely home. Albeit a minor noble. Duke’s nephew . . . somewhere a bell was ringing.

I shrugged off my unease and sat watching Kara watching Hennan while the rain dripped on me through the dense needles above. After a while I spotted the troll-stone that must be the reason for the place having been chosen as our rendezvous. An ancient and weathered chunk of rock, moss-covered and bedded in the ground at a slight angle. I could tell it was a troll-stone by the way it bore not the slightest resemblance to the trolls to either side of it.

•   •   •

“Horses! They’re coming.” Snorri stood, spear in hand, his axe now secured across his back with an arrangement of goat-hide thongs he’d fashioned during our stay in the cave.

Seconds later I could hear them too, branches snapping as they forced a passage through the trees. A short while later the first of them came into view.

“Hail, Gorgoth.” The man sounded uneasy. I could see three of them in total, all mounted, pressed close together by more than just the trees. All around us black shapes moved in the shadows. The horses seemed even more nervous than their riders, the scent of troll making them roll their eyes.

They came closer, all of them in wolf-skin cloaks, round shields on their arms, helms not dissimilar to the Red Vikings’, close-fitting, bound with riveted bands of bronze, eye guards and nose-piece reaching below the rim and elaborately worked.

“Good to meet again.” Gorgoth lifted one of his huge hands in welcome. “How many are you?”

“Twenty riders. My men are down on the forest road. Are you ready to go?”

“We are.” Gorgoth inclined his head.

The riders tugged on their reins but, as they turned, their leader caught sight of Snorri, pushing from the trees.

“Who are your guests . . . Gorgoth?” I heard the hesitation as he fought to give the monster some honorific, but failed.

My unease returned. The man looked to be young, of medium build. His golden mane spread across his shoulders. That struck a sour chord.

In my moment of hesitation Snorri came to the fore, grinning, showing his teeth in that way of his that mysteriously turns strangers into friends in such short order.

“I’m Snorri ver Snagason, of the clan Undoreth from the shores of the Uulisk fjord. This is my kinsman Olaf Arnsson, called Tuttugu.” He spread a hand toward Tuttugu who stepped from behind Gorgoth, picking twigs from his beard.

Kara came forward, as ignorant of protocol as the rest of them. A prince should take precedent and be introduced before commoners. I’d thought even commoners knew that!

“Kara ver Huran, of Reckja in the Land of Ice and Fire.”

That was new! I’d assumed she came from one of the Norseheim jarldoms. I’d met the occasional sailor in Trond who’d been to the Land of Ice and Fire, but very few. They called the crossing treacherous, and when a Viking says treacherous you know it means suicidal. Little wonder she seemed so at home living in caves on volcanoes.

I cleared my throat and stepped forward, wishing that I could make my introduction from horseback and at least look the fellow in the eyes, or better still look down at him.

“Prince Jalan Kendeth of Red March at your service. Grandson to the Red Queen.” I normally don’t mention Grandmother, but having seen how she took her name I thought it might add a little weight to my own.

The slightest nod of the head and the duke’s nephew reached up to remove his helm. He shook out his hair, sitting the helm upon the pommel of his saddle and turning to fix me with his blue-eyed stare. “We’ve met before, prince. My name is Hakon, Duke Alaric of Maladon is my uncle.”

Shit. I forced myself not to say it out loud. I’d met him at the Three Axes on my first day in Trond. In the space of ten minutes I’d managed to slam a door in his face, break his nose, and have him harried from the tavern as a charlatan.

“Delighted,” I said, hoping that my role in his disgrace still remained vague in his mind. I’d shown him up for a liar seeking to make himself out the hero. At the time I’d been very pleased with myself, using Baraqel’s power to heal Hakon’s injured hand and give the lie to his claim of being bitten by a dog whilst saving a baby. After all, he was showing off. Any fool can get bitten by a dog. Besides, it had looked as if he might steal Astrid and Edda away from me before my charms had had a chance to work.

Hakon narrowed his eyes at me, two furrows appearing amid his brow, but he said nothing more and turned his horse away, and off we set, following the Danes down to the road.