The First Horn E-Book

Richard Schwartz

• Herausgeber: Piper ebooks
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

At a snowbound inn on the edges of the Northern Kingdom, a blizzard keeps the guests trapped for several days. Among them are miners, nobles, fearsome bandits and an old warrior called Havald, who seeks nothing but warmth while he waits for death. Then a mysterious guest appears: Leandra, a half-elf swordmage who is sent on a mission by the queen of Illian. She wants to find the mythical city of Askir, the long-forgotten capital of a once powerful empire. When Havald uncovers that a dangerous creature is hiding among the guests of the inn, he and Leandra are forced to work together and confront an ancient power ...

Leseprobe

Translation from the German by Ed Miles

© Richard Schwartz 2006

First published in German:

“Das erste Horn” by Piper Verlag GmbH, Munich 2006

© Piper Verlag GmbH, Munich 2021

Cover design: Guter Punkt, München

Cover illustration: Uwe Jarling

Inhalt

Cover & Impressum

1. Maestra

2. Prisoners of the Storm

3. The Tower

4. An Unnecessary Lesson

5. Ortenvale Wine

6. Death in the Stables

7. A Beast

8. Bad Advice

9. Zokora

10. Janos Darkhand

11. The Eye of the Storm

12. The Gift of the Fairy

13. The Cellar

14. A Grave of Ice

15. A Special Grape

16. The Story of the Coins

17. The Price of the Magic

18. A Small Spell

19. The Sergeant

20. The Elven Way

21. The Search for Martin

22. The Legion’s Gold

23. What Varosch Saw

24. Soulcleaver

25. The Commander

26. Wolfbrother

27. The Balance of Magic

28. The Lost Legion

29. The Gift of Warmth

30. The Merchant’s Son

31. The Story of the Wanderer

32. The Cold Breath of the Ice

33. Balthasar

34. Not for Love or Money

35. Entering the Dark Land

36. A Talk

37. The Muster

38. The Ice Caves

39. Stories

40. The Path

41. The Temple of Winter

42. The Power of the Wolf

43. Warmer Days

44. Kennard

Appendix

Characters

The First Horn of the Bulls

Other Characters of Interest

Places and Locations of Interest

The Gods

1. Maestra

I had stayed at the Hammerhead Inn many times, and therefore had the privilege of calling a particular table close to the counter my own. From there I had a good view of the door, and as luck would have it, I looked up at the very moment she stepped inside.

The woman certainly knew how to make an entrance: first the flash of lightning that lit the dark room through the gaps in the shutters, then the thunder that shook the earth underfoot. That she chose exactly that moment to push the door open, and that a blast of cold air simultaneously extinguished half the smoky tallow candles in the room, well, that was surely a coincidence.

The wind snatched at the door with frosty fingers, slamming it hard enough that I feared the leather strip that served as a hinge could snap. Brilliant, blinding light gleamed again through the gaps in the heavy shutters and door. Another clap of thunder followed, and the inn shuddered around us.

Only the whistling of the wind could be heard as we scrutinized the dark figure. A drinker made the sign of the trinity, another surreptitiously kissed a talisman. I heard a mercenary utter the name of a god that probably no one else in there had ever heard of.

She stood in silence for a moment and allowed our eyes rest on her. Her midnight-blue cloak, heavy and sodden from the ride through one of the worst snowstorms of the decade, hid nothing of her feminine qualities – on the contrary, the wet fabric clung to her form. The hood was drawn down over her face, and in the light of the remaining candles, it revealed a round, determined chin and full mouth with lips pressed together in a thin line. Riding through such snowstorm would not have put me in the best of moods, either.

Her skin was as white as the snow that was threatening to bury the remote inn. Her long cloak covered all but the tips of her chain-mail boots. And despite the fine flakes of snow that had settled on her cloak, I saw a pale, dark-blue sparkle – the unmistakable mark of mithril.

Also, plain for everyone to see was the grip of the bastard sword protruding through a slit in the cloak over her left shoulder. The silver dragon’s head loomed higher than her own, the dark, woven leather of the grip ended at a cross guard formed as two paws. The silver claws looked almost alive in the unsteady shadows, and the dragon’s eyes were dark, threatening rubies. A flash of St. Elmo’s fire crackled over the grip, then over her entire body, shrouding her in a weak, blue light as she raised her hand, threw back the hood, and unclasped her cloak.

Her pale face was no less impressive than her entrance scene. A classical beauty, though her eyes had a reddish gleam to them. Her hair was woven into a long, white-blond braid and in the light of the St. Elmo’s fire, it seemed to glow with an inner light. An albino – or one of the legendary elves.

The armor now revealed beneath her cloak was the kind of treasure that could make kingdoms go to war: a tunic of mithril-mail, as fine and soft as silk and only slightly heavier than leather. It flowed over her form like a river and wrapped her in a deep-blue blaze.

A gryphon shimmered in the chain links across her chest, shimmered, ebbed and appeared again in the rhythm of her breathing.

A broad sword-belt was wrapped around her hips, emphasizing her slim waist. It held another sword, a longsword, as exquisitely fashioned as the one on her back.

The gloves she now removed were dark-blue leather, soft and supple, polished, and covered with fine scales. I shook my head slowly, because I could not believe what I was seeing. I knew dragon skin when I saw it, and that leather came not only from such a beast, but from a very special part of its body. Whatever creature had given up its leather for those gloves, it no longer had any use for its balls.

We were around forty people in the barroom at the inn, and the new arrival held each of us in her spell as a snake might a rabbit. The expression on her face was responsible for this, the look in her red eyes as she gazed around at us.

“I am Domina Maestra de Girancourt. I carry Stoneheart, the blade of justice.”

So she was sword-bound, too. This was anything but unexpected, given the grip protruding over her shoulder. The dragon’s head seemed to be studying the room as much as she did.

An eminent visitor for such a paltry hut, indeed. And an explanation for how she made it this far alive. Armor like that certainly offered protection, but it was also worth a fortune. I found myself wondering how many thieves and outlaws had given in to the temptation and had felt Stoneheart’s blade.

Her voice was like her: crystal-clear and ice-cold. It reached every ear in the room and left an impression of an icy beauty and an even icier will.

The landlord, a short, stout man with the bald pate of a monk, was the first to recover from his shock. He understood that she expected to be attended to, and did so now, bowing low.

“Welcome to the Hammerhead, the best inn between Lassahndaar and Coldenbide.” True enough, my friend, I thought. Especially given that it was also the only place to stay, unless you wanted to spend the night in the old fortress at the pass. And no one wanted that. Too many ghosts.

“I’m Eberhard, the landlord. My modest home is yours. You shall have my best room. I just need to have it cleared for you.”

“Until then, I’d be grateful for some decent roast meat and a good wine,” the domina replied.

“Of course, of course.” Still bowing fawningly, he showed the woman to the table beside mine and promised that she would be served immediately. With a fluid motion, she swung Stoneheart’s sheath from her shoulder and set it on its tip beside her table. The sword stood vertically, not leaning on the table – a simple yet impressive sign that it was indeed one of the bound swords.

A serving girl hurried by and placed a warm goblet of red wine with cloves in front of the domina. Then she curtsied respectfully and fled back to the kitchen. In the meantime, the landlord turned to me. I already suspected what he was going to say.

“But sir! You have to understand . . .” he said. I waited. “The domina needs a room. You will certainly have no objection to giving up yours for a lady like her. It is the best we have, as you know –”

“No,” I replied firmly. “It is my room. I am paying for it with the king’s coins, and for three full weeks at that. I will not give up the room.”

“But you can’t just . . .” He twisted his hands. The desperation in his eyes was obvious.

“Give her the second-best room.”

His eyes wandered to the leader of the mercenaries at another table, who had been playing dice with five of his men until the domina’s arrival livened up the evening. The man smiled maliciously, his teeth as yellow as a lynx’s. Just you try, little man, the grin seemed to say.

The landlord turned beseechingly back to me.

“But sir, you can see for yourself that the mercenaries are not prepared to go. I beg you!”

It was clear to me that the domina was listening to every word. Like me, she preferred to have the counter in her back as she observed the room. It was the best position either way. Now and then, she looked at me as well. Nothing in her expression betrayed any interest in the exchange between the landlord and myself, but I knew it was there. She also did not fail to size up the mercenaries, whose greed, behind the veil of drunkenness, was unconcealed.

“Give her the next room that’s free,” I said. “She will take it and be well-disposed toward you, despite the fact that you offered her your best room when it was already taken. If you hadn’t promised it to the domina, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“But –”

“Do it.” I raised my voice only a fraction, but my gaze caught his and his eyes widened. He nodded vigorously.

Trembling, he explained to the domina that he had only a modest room to offer her, and that he had no wish to insult her, but . . .

She raised a slender hand. “That will do, good man. Just make sure that the fleas are not too eager. That will be enough for me.”

The landlord nodded, bewildered at how easily he had been let off the hook. He hurried back to the kitchen, where he planned to prepare the roast particularly carefully.

She used the time to study the others in the room and get her bearings. Now her eyes were on mine. I returned her gaze without moving.

I knew what she saw. A dark cloak made of coarse linen and leather, the hood pulled low over my forehead and my long, leather pack that leaned against the wall behind me. I still had my hands in my sleeves, and the goblet of wine in front of me seemed hardly touched. Beneath my cloak, she saw my broad shoulders. As her eyes moved down to my feet, she saw my mail boots, not unlike her own, but far less expensive and not as finely manufactured. No more of me was supposed to be visible. Besides, it was chilly in here, and I felt the cold more than I once had. Reason enough to wrap myself in my cloak.

“I am looking for Roderic of Thurgau,” she said in her cool voice. “I was told in Lassahndaar that he had the intention of finding a place to spend the winter in this godforsaken region. The description I have of him matches you. Are you the man I seek?”

I sighed inwardly. It had to be me. My appearance was unlike anyone else’s in that room.

“Thurgau is dead. It’s been almost thirty years. He fell at the battle of Avincor.”

“That’s what they say.” She got up from her chair, picked up Stoneheart absently and came to my table, where she set it again on its tip beside her. “Do you mind?” she asked, rather late, because she was already sitting. I had not moved.

“Yes.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You do not wish me to sit at your table?”

“You’ve understood me right, domina. I’m here for some peace and quiet after my long journey. I’m not in the mood for feminine chatter.”

She blinked once. Twice.

“You are uncouth.”

“I am. And you are still sitting there. Your wine is waiting at your table.”

She nodded. “The landlord will bring it in a moment.”

Eberhard, listening from the kitchen, heard her and hurried over to bring the dark pewter goblet. She gave him a smile and for a moment I thought he would drop dead on the spot in rapture, but then he caught himself and hurried back behind the counter.

“You can leave if you like,” she suggested with a smile. “But then I would have to leave with you because I would like to make a business proposal.”

“Which does not interest me,” I replied. I was about to get up when she reached up to her neckline and drew out a small bag. She emptied it into her hand and dropped a ring on the table.

It was a heavy signet ring, a man’s ring, although it looked far too small for a male finger. Someone, apparently, had had it reduced. It showed an ivory relief on ruby-red ground. A unicorn and a rose. Thurgau’s crest.

I looked at it.

“A pretty piece,” I said, my voice deliberately neutral.

“It was once the token of your honor.”

“Honor is over-estimated these days. All it brings is death, and little happiness,” I said. I slid one hand out of my cloak – without the dagger that was concealed there – and held it up in front of me. My hand was still broad and strong, but dark flecks of age marred the parchment of my skin. “When Sir Roderic gave her this ring, she was just ten years old,” I said. “That was more than thirty years ago, and she never saw him again. Then, as everyone knows, he died in the pass at Avincor. Together with the Knights of the Alliance. Not a single man survived, but they held the pass.”

“Do you still know what she looked like?”

I shrugged. “The princess? I do not engage in such illustrious circles, but I have heard that she was a fragile thing, blond and sickly. Even Sir Roderic apparently saw little more than a slim hand that reached out to accept his ring. That’s what they sing in the ballad, at least. Everyone knows the story.”

“He and his forty faithful followers. Each one swore that he would give his life to protect his land from the barbarians. They held the pass. For twelve days.” She had lowered her voice and now spoke softly, almost reverently. “Long enough for Count Filgan’s army to be in place to meet the barbarians as soon as they made it through. But they never did.”

“If the count had sent out a scout, it would have been clear to him that he could have saved at least half of that loyal company, but he did not. He sat on his ass in his pearly tent and waited.” My voice sounded bitter, but the resentment was no more than an echo, a shadow of past times. Weak, like me. “I’m old. Sir Roderic would have had that much in common with me. He would have to be sixty now, maybe older. Even if I were him, how could an old man be of any use to a domina maestra? Not only do you carry Stoneheart, but you are schooled in the ways of magic. What could Sir Roderic do for you that you would not be able to do yourself?”

I rotated my hand before my eyes.

“Sir Roderic is far older than you. What I would like from him is his advice.”

“I can advise you myself: forget him. Sir Roderic died at the pass.”

“Don’t you want to know why I need his counsel?”

I shrugged and drank a mouthful of wine from my goblet. I had paid for it, after all. I was pleasantly surprised. It was actually drinkable. “Not really. In a few years, nothing will matter anymore. Maybe in just a few months. I won’t be part of this world much longer.”

“The city of Kelar fell to Thalak’s empire last month.”

Kelar. I remembered its high walls, warehouses and stores. Her words surprised me. Two hundred and ninety years earlier, Kelar had been besieged for twenty years without falling. In the past, I would have been interested, but today . . .

“It was under siege for eight years. It was bound to happen.”

She looked at me. “You don’t have any compassion, do you?”

“What for? War is war.” The advantage of age was that one could say such things without sounding like an idiot.

“The emperor had them raze the city to the ground. Every child, every woman and every man were put to death. And Melbaas, Angil and Jatzka surrendered, fearing the same fate.”

“Melbaas surrendered?” Another surprise. An unpleasant one. The city was considered impenetrable. With the harbor at its back, it could have held out forever.

“Thalak used dark magic to defeat Kelar. He ordered his soldiers to catapult their dead comrades over the city wall, only to raise them from the dead during the night. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“Impressive. Also creative.”

She looked at me reproachfully. “After Kelar fell, the Kingdom of Jasfar capitulated and sent its prince to Thalak as a sign of goodwill.”

I sighed. Now I understood. I nodded slowly. “That leaves precious little between our kingdom and his. Our beautiful princess will have to bow her blond head before the emperor. Isn’t that the fate of crowned heads? Sometimes you have to kneel before them, and sometimes they have to kneel themselves.”

She slammed her fist on the tabletop, and I luckily prevented my goblet from falling over. It was still almost full, and this conversation was making me thirsty. I took another mouthful before she could spill the good wine once and for all.

“Sir, how dare you say something like that! She is our queen!”

I raised my finger admonishingly. “Not my land. Not my queen. I come from Letasan.”

“Sir Roderic –”

“I am not Sir Roderic,” I interrupted her again. Bad manners, oh yes, another advantage of old age. Besides, I had nothing to lose, even if she turned me into a hedgehog. Who cared?

I observed my hand, saw one of my fingers dip into the red wine and draw a triangle on the table. In fascination, I watched my hand make a small gesture and the triangle began to glow. The smell of scorched wood stung my nose. “Holy trinity, I am not Sir Roderic.”

Another small gesture and the glow faded. A perfect triangle was left behind, burned into the wood. It’s a surprise what you’ll remember if you don’t watch out.

When I looked up again, I saw comprehension in her eyes. And defeat. It was known that Sir Roderic could not light so much as a candle with magic. He was a warrior, a renowned fighter, but he had no talent for magic. My voice grew quieter, more friendly.

“What exactly did you want from him, domina maestra?” I asked.

“I need an escort through the Thunder Mountains and the steppes, then on to the Xiang Empire and all the way to Askir.”

“Askir? Does it even exist? I thought it was a legend. Besides, the journey would take months, even if everything went well.” I stared into my cup. Obviously, I had had more than I thought: it was almost empty. “A journey without destination, and a favor that no one should ask of an old man . . . in addition to the fact that getting to the Thunder Mountains would mean crossing through the pass.” I shook my head. “Even with your magical powers, a futile venture.”

We sat quietly for a while. In the background, I heard the other guests talking, quieter than before, glancing repeatedly in our direction. I did not like it. They would remember the domina. It was almost impossible to forget her. And they would remember the old man whose company she so obviously sought.

2. Prisoners of the Storm

Outside, the wind howled. The flames danced in the fireplace but even the thick walls of the inn began to grow cold. One of the serving girls was trying to seal the cracks around the windows with old ropes soaked in tallow, and more than one of the mercenaries watched her supple movements with wolfish eyes. Others eyed the slim figure at my table.

If my feeling turned out to be right, we would have to spend the next few days in there. Before she arrived, I hadn’t cared much one way or the other about what happened, but now that she was there, I started to worry. I looked at the others around me. All of us, whether we wanted to or not, would be sharing food and the roof over our heads for some time. We were all prisoners of the storm.

Most of the guests were simple travelers. Two merchants had arrived shortly before midday. Their large trade wagons stood in the courtyard, a temptation for any cutthroat who wanted to get rich quickly, the risk hardly diminished by the eight guards who accompanied the small merchant caravan: their presence only showed that the goods were of considerable value.

In the corner beside the second fireplace was a small party of travelers. I was not familiar with their splendid and clearly valuable robes, and had heard only in passing that they were nobles – a baron and his daughters – who had come from Lehemar. If that was true, they had traveled far. The group consisted of an older man and two young women, both pretty, and they were escorted by three armed soldiers who obviously earned their pay by making sure the honor of the two daughters remained intact.

The three soldiers wore the same coat of arms emblazoned on their chests, a sign that they had not just been hired for the journey, but were in the permanent employ of the family. The man spent his time looking around disapprovingly, while the daughters seemed to be too shy even to breathe without permission. Huddled deep inside their robes, they watched everything going on around them. If either one had said so much as a word, I’d missed it. I could only imagine one reason for a party like that to be traveling as they were, and that was to see one or both of the daughters marry. They were probably happy to finally escape their father’s scowl.

There was also a group of miners from the nearby copper mines, probably on their way home to spend the coming holidays with their families, and a cowherd, most of whose animals would surely freeze to death outside the inn’s walls. He had already drowned his fears in beer and lay snoring in front of one of the fires.

At a table, sitting alone, was a further person in a cloak, the hood pulled low, the face hidden from view. From a tactical standpoint, the hooded figure occupied the second-best position in the room, but neither fireplace would have warmed that corner much. They had been another late arrival, coming in just before sundown, but on what business – or anything else for that matter – I had no idea. All I knew was that the two horses this latecomer had arrived with, and which were now housed in the inn’s stables, were excellent beasts. Was there a weapon concealed beneath those robes and gambeson? I could not tell. But a longsword leaned against the wall, within easy reach.

And then there were the “mercenaries.” Perhaps too flattering a word for them, but more palatable than calling them by a more apt name, be it bandits, outlaws, thieves, killers, or just a gang. They had arrived together just after dark, but I was not sure that they really belonged together. They might have been two smaller bands who had met by chance on their way to the inn and had made peace for the duration of the storm. Or who had joined forces.

The first group of mercenaries was made up of six hard-bitten men. The furs they wore, like everything else about them, were filthy. It was clear that they rarely spent time beneath a roof. Even through all the other odors that filled the room – beer, schnapps and wet wool, smoke from the fires, roasted meat in the kitchen – I could smell them: a bitter reek of stale sweat and blood. They had spent the entire evening eyeing the other guests, scrutinizing in particular the merchants’ and traveling party’s guards, and wandering apparently aimlessly around the inn, noting the stairways, doors, entrances and exits. Or watching the slim form of the girl behind the bar.

The other three mercenaries were perhaps exactly what they seemed to be. They were not as unkempt as the group of six, all three wore leather armor reinforced with steel plates and they were armed with dagger and longsword. They looked calm and professional. While the first group grew louder and louder and demanded that everyone in the room laugh at their offensive jokes, the group of three kept their reserve and slowly but steadily emptied their cups.

The inn did not have many rooms: two single chambers, then two that each held six beds, and two larger dormitories beneath the roof. Other guests were invited to spend the night in the hay above the stables. Considering how cold it was likely to get, the hay above a stable was not a bad choice. There were far more animals than people, and the stables were filled beyond their capacity. The body heat of all those beasts would at least save them from freezing to death.

One of the single rooms was mine, and I knew that all the rooms were full. The fine traveling party had also missed out on a room, and the man had protested loudly and for so long that everyone was relieved when he finally decided to sit down and shut up. As for the domina, she would only be able to sleep either in the stable or in the common room.

If it had been up to me, it was not the kind of company I would have wanted to be snowed in with.

Apart from the landlord, the inn also employed someone in the kitchen whom I had only heard banging the pots around, a stableman who was probably struggling with all the livestock, and three serving girls who I guessed were between fifteen and twenty years old – young, slim and not at all bad looking. Even my old eyes could find pleasure in their gracefulness. The men in the room watched the serving girls as they did their rounds. Most of the men, I judged, were of no concern, but I did worry about several of the mercenaries, who had their eyes on the young women’s feminine curves and spoke openly of how they could have whatever they took a liking to.

The inn was a long way from any settlement, so it was no surprise that the landlord also employed two strong, young hired hands for the heavy work. Both carried short, leather-wrapped cudgels at their side: probably enough to teach a drunk some manners, but the youngsters would barely stand a chance against the nine mercenaries.

I turned my attention to the domina maestra again.

“You have not chosen a good time to come here,” I said.

She raised one eyebrow, as pale as the rest of her, but still striking. Her eyes had lost their red gleam . . . perhaps I had just imagined it, or it had been a reflection of the flames from one of the fireplaces. In the time I spent surveying all the people in the room, she had regained her composure. Before, she had seemed sad, angry and frustrated, but now she seemed to find something amusing. Could it be me?

“You are worried about my safety?”

I looked at her. “I know that you are a maestra. You announced it at the top of your voice when you came in. My old ears are still good enough to hear words if they are proclaimed loudly enough. But when you did that, you issued a challenge. Some people only see the outside, and might perhaps give in to temptation without thinking too much about the price. And even you need to sleep.”

“What are you suggesting?”

I sighed. “I will tell the landlord to put another bed in my room.”

“And oh-so-gallantly offer me protection for the night?” She laughed. “If you were someone else, I’d suspect dishonorable intentions.”

“If it’s dishonorable intentions you want, then go talk to the mercenaries.” She turned in her seat. The conversation among the group of six had grown quieter. They were whispering but still casting glances at the serving girls, who had now grown wary when they had to serve their table. The mercenaries – or rather bandits – reminded me of a pack of wolves considering the best way to single out one deer from the herd.

One of the mercenaries, the leader, noticed the maestra’s eyes on him. He gazed back at her impudently. A wide, hateful smile stretched across his face, revealing powerful, predatory teeth, but still a more agreeable sight than the smiles of some of his companions, whose mouths showed more than one blackened stump. Toothache did not make for an even temper.

She did not react to the man’s look, but swept the room with her eyes, evaluating each of the others as much as I had. Then she turned back to me.

“I see what you mean, but I also see a total of eleven guards.” She, like me, did not include the inn’s hired hands among its defenses.

I nodded. “There may also be one or another guest here ready to defend your life with cold steel. Let’s say maybe fifteen people capable of mounting a defense. If our friends here were to plan something, they would be outnumbered. Is that what you’re thinking?”

“More or less. I am not especially worried. I am well trained in the arts of sword fighting, and Stoneheart will stand by me.” She looked at her sword. The rubies that were the dragon’s eyes glared mockingly in my direction.

“A mage-sword can do a great deal. And yet, it is not unknown for a sword-bound fighter to die despite the sword in their hand,” I said drily. It was said that the soul of one who had previously wielded such a weapon found its final resting place in the blade and so continually added to the capabilities of the sword. “Do you like the idea of joining the others already in the sword when your time comes?” I asked.

“No, but Stoneheart accepted me, and if not for it, my soul would already be lost. Besides, I don’t believe that the soul itself is captured or bound . . . maybe only the parts that the soul no longer needs when it enters the halls of the gods: knowledge, experience and the like.

I nodded again. “Maybe it is that way. I can’t imagine that spending the rest of eternity inside a chunk of cold steel is particularly comfortable.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” she said with a smile. “Before I die, all I have to do is let the sword go.”

“That’s what they say,” I replied. “But I wonder if that is possible. It might work if you’re killed in bed, but all too often the ones who wield these swords die in their boots, sword in hand.”

“In the first place, I have no intention of dying,” she said. I saw the deeper level of meaning in her eyes as she spoke, either because she was a maestra, and the masters of magic often led an unnaturally long life, or because she was referring to her own ancestral roots. If she had elven blood in her veins – and when I looked at her, I thought it more likely than not – then she counted the years the way humans counted weeks.

Maybe both were true.

In any case, the expression on her face told me that she truly believed that she could not die. But maestra or elven blood, an ell of steel through the heart would cut any life short. A bitter lesson, and one she had yet to learn.

“Be that as it may, I accept your offer,” she said. She leaned forward a little, and I caught her scent more strongly. The wool of her cloak, the leather of her vest, the snow, her horse, and she herself. And a faint tinge of roses. Perfume. How long had it been since I had been among people who used perfume? I did not like to think about it.

My eyes rested on her face – her exquisite, shimmering skin, her surprisingly black eyelashes, the violet eyes that sparkled in a shade I had never seen before. The ridge of her nose was sharply defined, and yet delicate. I was fascinated by the way the sides of her nose trembled as she breathed; I followed the trace of the pulse in her neck, and pulled myself together. I thought I had become immune to the temptations of women, but she had gotten to me.

Earlier, when she told me her story, a terrible suspicion had come over me, and even now I looked for some clue in her features, but then shook my head.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing. A stupid thought. Tell me, how is it that you were sent on this dangerous mission?”

“No one sent me,” she said. “I offered my services voluntarily. The queen has only a few true followers, those of us whose loyalty to her and the crown is beyond question. Bound to Stoneheart, a maestra of magic, and trained in the arts of sword fighting, strategy and diplomacy, I believe I serve as a suitable messenger of her words.”

“I assume you know the queen well?” I asked, reluctantly curious. “What’s she like, the queen of Illian?”

“Sick and bed-ridden, as she has been for a very long time,” the domina said, and sighed. Her gaze drifted off into the distance. Perhaps she was seeing the old royal fortress and the queen’s chamber within. “But her spirit is admirably sharp and her will unbroken.” She placed her hands around her goblet and squeezed it so hard that her knuckles stood out sharply. “They say the people love her for her wisdom. If they carried her into battle on a stretcher, there isn’t one who would not follow her. Just to see her is to be impressed by the strength of will that blazes in her eyes like a flame.”

“So her wound never healed?” I asked.

She shook her head. “An injury of the back is difficult to set right, even with magic. I am not particularly talented in the art of healing, but it seems that there is a connection between the head, where the center of understanding that steers one’s limbs is located, and what a person feels in the hands and feet. The connection runs down along the spine.”

I knew about that. A hard strike to the back and an adversary rarely got back on his feet.

“When she fell from the battlements back then, as a princess, it was a miracle that she survived. But her back was broken, and the connection was cut as if it had been struck by a sword.”

I could almost read her thoughts. “The attack on her was no less treacherous than a traitor’s sword. Did they ever catch the one who did it?”

She looked at me sharply, then took a deep breath. My eyes involuntarily followed the rise of her breasts, and her expression turned mocking. I hurriedly looked away.

“No. The attacker was never found. There were five who could have done it, she knows that, but all five are above suspicion and too important to be simply interrogated.”

“Can’t magic also tell truth from lies?” I asked innocently.

“It can. In certain circumstances.” She sounded frustrated. “Don’t you think that has occurred to us as well? But even asking the potential assassins to submit to being questioned by myself or a priest in the temple of Boron would have been taken as an insult.”

“One would think that the four who were innocent would have agreed to such a measure, if only for the sake of catching the true culprit.”

“One would think so, yes.” She gazed off into the distance, and her face betrayed the contempt she felt. “But for some reason, they saw it differently. Maybe they were all involved. Maybe it was a conspiracy. Maybe –”

“– it was someone else. A clumsy kitchen hand or a drunk soldier. Is the queen able to remember it by now?”

She shook her head. “No. She was standing at the battlements, deep in thought, when she felt someone push her from behind. As she fell, she saw a red cloak. That discounts a kitchen hand, but hardly anybody else. Are you sure you’re not Sir Roderic?”

I nodded. “Reasonably sure.” I tapped my finger on the sign of the trinity that I had burned into the tabletop earlier. “This should be proof enough. Warriors have no talent for magic.”

“I happen to know ways to do what you just did without any magical skills, just to confuse other people.” She held my gaze for a long moment, but could discover nothing in my eyes. “As we will be sharing a room for some time, I would kindly ask your name, sir.”

I leaned back. The formality of her question cheered me up. “Just call me Havald.”

“I know that word. It means ‘the forgotten,’ doesn’t it?”

“That, and other things. ‘The forgotten’ is probably the most common meaning. Another would call me ‘cursed.’”

“And are you? Cursed?”

“Sometimes I think so,” I replied. “But to be honest, I believe that I am just as cursed as anyone whose fate is marked by adversity. Often, you feel that you are being punished for something, but it is not a curse that you carry, just life.” I leaned back and stared off into the distance. “When you reach a certain age, the things you did when you were younger often strike you as senseless, as if the life you led had no value. So ‘forgotten’ is probably closer to the mark than ‘cursed.’”

She looked somewhat surprised. “My question was not meant seriously, and yet your reply was well considered. It is not something I need to think about.”

I laughed softly. “You’re still young.”

“How do you know that? I could be older than you. My appearance says nothing about the number of years behind me.” She seemed slightly put out, and perhaps also a little curious. I caught myself beginning to enjoy her company. It had really been too long since I last smelled the scent of roses.

“It is not your appearance, domina. It is the way you are: your enthusiasm, the way you speak, and how your face betrays your thoughts.”

“I stopped being a child long ago.”

“That may be.” I could see that only too well – beneath her cloak and chain mail, I imagined she was very much a grown woman. “You are not a child, no, but you are also not old. Once you are old, you will know what I mean.”

“Am I supposed to bow to the wisdom of age now?” she asked with a mischievous smile.

I shook my head. “By no means, domina. Wisdom does not come along just because you get older. You have to go and find it. I’m afraid I looked more for the opposite. I can offer foolishness in abundance, but if it’s wisdom you want, talk to someone else.” I drank another mouthful of wine. “Now you know my name, domina. And because I was here when you walked in, I know how you introduced yourself. De Girancourt. An unusual name. Flamish, is it?”

She nodded. “You’re right. I was born in the duchy of Flamen.”

“Well, I have no intention of calling you by your full title every time I speak to you. Do you have a less ungainly name I could use? If I have to shout a warning, it is probably for the best if I am not forced to shout, ‘Domina Maestra de Girancourt, stop!’”

“If I need the warning at all. In your own words, you are old and used up, and in mine, I am young and battle-tried.” She laughed as she looked at my face. “You’re so serious, Havald. My name is Leandra. Call me Lea if you want.”

“Leandra. Lea.” A pretty name. ‘The brave,’ it meant. Being brave often has to do with the injustices of life. Or with pain. I hoped for her sake that she had not had to be brave very often.

The sounds of the storm sounded more muffled than before. Everyone here knew what that meant. I nodded to Leandra and rose to my feet. I went to the landlord to tell him to arrange for an additional bed in my room.

“I don’t have a single bed free,” he said with a fearful glance in Leandra’s direction. “I am genuinely sorry.”

I waved it off. I still had time to think about whether, at my age, I should be gallant and offer her the bed, or if her young bones would have to sleep on the floor. One thing was certain: if I had to sleep on the floor, I’d be as stiff as a doorpost tomorrow.

“I could perhaps . . .” the landlord began, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes?”

“I could perhaps have my own bed taken to your room. I lost my wife long ago, and my daughters . . .” his voice failed him when he saw the look on my face. I was not interested at all in the details of his family life.

“Good. That sounds like an acceptable solution,” I said. “Have it done soon.”

“Are you retiring already?” His fearful expression now turned to the bandits. One of them had just pulled a serving girl onto his lap and had his hands all over her while she struggled to escape. When she did get free, to the roars and laughter of the other men, she had more skin visible than she was happy to show.

In my experience, serving girls generally were not disinclined to an occasional adventure with a guest. The sounds of silver and gold were known to warm even the most prim and proper female heart. Even as filthy and unwashed as those men were, a gold coin would probably work wonders.

But maybe things were different here. There was a certain similarity between the girls and the landlord, and the look of concern in his eyes told me the rest. “Your daughters?”

“Yes,” he replied quietly. “All three.”

I followed his gaze and saw the girl straightening her clothes. Her face was scarlet and she looked close to tears.

“Are they respectable?”

“Respectable enough. Each of them has had her experience with men, but as expected they were not the kind to stay. My daughters are not immoral, and if they show a man their favor, it is not for gold or silver.

I was not as sure about that as he seemed to be, but I knew what he meant. I had secretly harbored the hope that the bandits would concentrate more on the girls and give up on any other plan they might have. Now I knew better. The girls would not make the situation any easier. On the contrary.

I went to the front door. It was solidly built and hung on a sturdy strip of leather that ran down the entire left side and had been cut neatly into the frame. In the stonework, the remains of older hinges were visible; a long time ago, it seemed, the door had been smashed in. Bands of leather on the top and other side helped stop the draft. Even now, close to the door, I felt no air currents – just the cold.

A wooden hatch had been built into the door at the level of the landlord’s eyes. I had to bend a little as I pushed it aside.

Snow. Piled up even above the wooden hatch. In the relatively short time since Leandra had entered the inn, what I feared had come to pass.

We were truly snowed in.

3. The Tower

The inn was arranged in a square, with each side consisting of one building – on the left was the main building, which was flanked by the blacksmith’s shop and the storehouse, and at the back was the largest section of all, the stables. I returned to my – or rather our – table and picked up my leather pack.

As I turned away, Leandra also rose to her feet. She gathered Stoneheart and slung it in its harness, her motions automatic, carried out so often that they required no thought at all.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“The tower.”

In a region like that, a man who builds an inn is well advised to make it defensible. That was certainly the case with this structure. The rear section of the main building was connected to a rectangular tower that loomed two floors higher than the rest. The tower would hardly stand up to a determined siege, but it could certainly provide protection against an attack by highwaymen or marauding bandits. At least, if they had not already come in through your front door. As an innkeeper, you could never be sure to whom you were opening your house and home.

“I want to see how bad our situation is,” I said.

“I’ll join you.”

I nodded and led the way. It was far from the first time I had spent the night at the Hammerhead. I had already been there for some time and planned to spend the winter there. Without the arrival of the mercenaries, it would have been a comfortable enough plan. Perhaps I might have won the favor of one of the daughters. There’s nothing that warms old bones like a young woman.

The door to the tower was not locked. I examined it thoroughly. It was a heavy door of oak, reinforced with iron bands and, as far as I knew, it was the only entrance to the tower. From the barroom, only a narrow corridor led there, making it almost impossible to use a ram to smash down the door. The door itself was tenoned into the stonework above and below, which was unusual, as was the heavy lock. It was rare to see a piece of workmanship like that in such a remote location. To me it looked old but made with great skill. The lock was not the only thing that protected anyone closed up inside the tower: the bar on the inside was made of solid steel and so heavy that it would take two men to heave it into place. Or one, if he were desperate enough.

Leandra and I exchanged a look. The stones used to construct the tower were more than adequate for their intended purpose, each twice as wide as me and fitted neatly into place. Whoever had built the tower knew what he was doing. The stones had hardly settled at all, and the gaps between them were too fine to admit even the blade of a dagger.

Beyond the heavy door, we entered the tower’s lower room. A steeply angled ladder led up to the next floor, higher overhead than usual. It was no fortress, but given the limited means available to an inn, someone had certainly been thinking.

Leandra touched my shoulder and pointed to the foot of the ladder.

The rungs were well worn, and the ladder itself quite solid. On each side were iron rings through which a rope had once led upward. Long ago, someone had clamped the ladder to a rough frame on the floor – perhaps it had simply been too wobbly. If someone took it into their head to storm this room, it was no longer possible to pull the ladder up, even though the builder had clearly intended it to be.

Behind the ladder, an open trapdoor revealed the cellar down below, piled high with sacks and barrels sealed with bungs. The inn was well stocked for the winter.

On the first floor, we found the landlord’s quarters, three small rooms – one for him, one that seemed to be his workroom, and one for his three daughters, all built against the chimney next to a spiral stairway.

We heard steps below us, exchanged a look and pressed back against the walls. Whoever was coming up the steep ladder would see me and have Leandra at their back.

It was only the landlord who came to disassemble his bed. He looked at me anxiously.

“Good man,” I said, “We are only trying to get to the top of the tower. We want to see what the weather is about.”

“These are my private rooms, sir. I do not allow . . . I do not want guests loitering up here.”

“Of course not, but we have no dishonest intentions. Tell me, do you happen to have a couple of lengths of solid rope, thirty feet long, that could carry the weight of an ox?”

He nodded uncertainly. He had not counted on a question like that. “We must have something like that out in the stables. Why?”

I ran my hand over the wooden winch mounted on the wall behind me, opposite the heavy, raised trapdoor that could be used to seal off this floor from the one below. The winch was old, the wood dark, and I saw a few spider webs around it, but I had no doubt whatsoever that it still functioned.

“It might be useful to be able to raise the ladder.” I watched his eyes follow my hand, consider the ladder and winch, and then return to me fearfully. His eyes widened as he understood what I was saying.

“You think it will come to that?”

“Maybe. Or maybe your daughters will sacrifice themselves.” Leandra let out an angry sound. I looked across at her, and her eyes were sparkling red again.

“I would not want that.” The landlord’s voice was quiet. I could understand how he felt. If I’d had daughters, I would not want to have them in the same county as that pack of thugs, let alone the same room.

“Get the rope. Release the clamps at the bottom,” I told him. “It’s only a precaution. Nothing is likely to happen tonight. You still have some time. Use it to prepare yourselves.”

His face had turned pale, but he nodded.

I turned to the stairs, planning to explore the tower further, when he took me by the sleeve.

“Sir, if things go so far, the gods forbid, will . . . sir, domina, will you help me? I know I’m just a lowly yeoman, but I love my daughters, and it is not their fault that they were born in these circumstances.”

I looked down at his hand as it slowly released my sleeve.

“Do I look like I was born a noble?”

“No, but I know you speak many languages. I know you can read and write and I saw how you eat. No yeoman I know has table manners like that.” His face flushed red. “I even asked my daughters to pay special attention when they serve you, so that they could learn how one eats at court.”

I felt Leandra’s gaze on my back. I looked into the landlord’s eyes and had to smile at his appraisal, although I did not really feel like smiling.

“Good, but what makes you think that our status would influence us one way or the other when it comes to helping you?”

He looked at the floor. “It was just a question, sir, from a fearful father’s heart.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” I asked him. He looked up at me and nodded, his eyes now hopeful. “I think you should check all of the supplies you have access to in here. Maybe you don’t have everything you need, or you might have some important goods stored somewhere else. Make sure that the ladder can be pulled up. Prepare weapons – crossbows especially, if you have them. Sleep here, close the door down below when you go to bed, and make sure no one is waiting for you in the tower when you come up.”

“And my girls?”

I hesitated for a moment. What was I supposed to tell him? It seemed to me that they would be in the least danger if they submitted to the men’s advances. I feared that the men would take what they wanted anyway, but by force. I saw the landlord’s frightened eyes on mine and decided to give him an answer that seemed to me, at least, to be as tactful as possible.

“Talk to them. Make it clear to them what they can expect. If anything happens, they should try to escape back here if they can. Do not think about fighting. And if one is seized first, she should do her best to buy time for her sisters. Maybe it will be some consolation to her that the same won’t happen to them.”

The landlord looked up at me. “You are a cold man, sir.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what is going to happen. At least like this, you might save two of the three. Think it over.”

He shook his head. “I would not be a father who could hold his head up before the gods if I was able to decide that.”

I laid one hand on his shoulder. “You don’t decide it. I did not say that you should throw one of your daughters to that pack of wolves. I said, you should save the others. There’s a difference.”

“Yes. I see it, but it makes no difference to the outcome. I thank you for your advice, and pray that I never need it.” He gestured toward the spiral staircase. “Go and see whatever you want to see. I will be in your debt when I can once again call my home my own.” But I could see that he would much rather have banished us from his rooms.

I lifted my hand from his shoulder. He did not back away. Here is a man, I thought, who has just made up his mind.

4. An Unnecessary Lesson

I climbed the steep stairs. The room above would have served as the parlor for the landlord and his family. Here, too, far above the ground, were the tower’s first windows, now closed and the gaps around the heavy shutters sealed with tallow-soaked linen.

It was a large room dominated by a fireplace so tall I would have been able to stand inside it. One wall was hidden behind stacked wood.

On a pedestal beside one of the windows lay a heavy tome with a golden triangle, the sign of the trinity, on the cover. A believer, our landlord. I turned back the cover.

On the left-hand page, I saw his ancestral line, completed in a fine hand. His name was Eberhard, and is daughters were Sieglinde, Maria and Lisbeth. It did not please me, somehow, to know their names.

Sieglinde must have been the blonde with the pretty smile. She always curtsied when I rewarded her service with a copper. She was two years older than her next sister, Maria, who was brunette, helpful, and hard-working. She did not smile as much as Sieglinde, and was generally quieter, but her eyes were attentive and her laugh would ring out sometimes, bright and fresh. Lisbeth was the youngest, just fourteen, and very shy and reserved.

On the opposite page I saw the triangle. Justice, love, wisdom: the three points.

“You are heartless and cold, Havald,” I heard Leandra say. She had come up to me and was also looking at the book of the gods. “For my part, I will not sit by if someone decides to harm one of the girls,” she said, her voice determined.

I closed the book and turned around to her. “See that loom? I guess Sieglinde is the weaver. Just like the thread she spins or the cloth she weaves, all of our lives are woven into the cloth of fate. Nothing happens that is not destined to. The best we can do is to make it as hard as possible for fate to catch up with us.”

“And? I don’t know anyone who would not like to be master of their own fate.”

“I’m sure.” My voice sounded bitter, even to me. “What was I supposed to say to him, to our good landlord? That he should have been more careful? That he should have hired more guards? Or at least more experienced ones? That he should have sent the girls away to a safe place? I know the answers already. He cannot afford professional guards, his daughters are a great help to him here at the inn, he loves them and is happy to have them around, and so far, nothing has happened. The inn is well visited, and frequently has guests who provide protection just with their presence. He is a free man, the land belongs to him, and he pays a tenth of what he earns to the count. And the count is an honorable man, they say. If something happens here, he will send a troop of soldiers after the criminals. If the soldiers catch them, they will hang. All of this is protection enough, but not when sheep are snowed in with wolves. Then the wolves start to get bad ideas.”

She looked up at me with determined eyes. “We could prevent it. Together with the merchants’ guards and the three with that high-born party, we are thirteen. Thirteen against nine, perhaps only six. I think we are dealing with two separate groups. We could overpower them, lock them in a cellar until the storm has passed, and the danger will have been averted.”