Page 31 of Court of Treachery

“It’s time,” Halvar called up to them. They hastened to his side. He led them back to Korrin’s giant feasting hall, where the rest of Jarl Halvar’s command now sat at one of the farthest tables away from the king, next to the huge doors.

“Sit anywhere you like.” Halvar made his way to sit at the head of the table nearest the choicest foods, as was the privilege of his rank. They scrambled to the remaining spaces at the far end of the table, but luckily for them, their gracious dwarven hosts passed platters of food down to their end.

The companions tucked in ravenously, and for long minutes, all that could be heard was the sound of eating, for the pies, meats, and creatively cooked root vegetables lathered in gravy even surpassed the fare of the Maiden’s Beard. When they had eaten their fill, they slumped back on the benches with full stomachs and sluggish minds, only to be plied with a variety of brews that the dwarves specialised in. The drinks made friends of them all. Soon, some of the dwarves, who had eyed Brand apprehensively, howled with laughter as the Aerian recounted tales of battle, while others stared, eyes wide, at his huge blade, which was taller than half of them. He laughed as they sang drinking and battle songs in the Common Tongue, and the dwarves cajoled them all into joining in.

Heigh-ho, to battle I go,

With a full belly now

And an enemy to show

How deep my axe can plough!

Heigh-ho, I drive deep and hard,

Fast as the goat that leapt,

Eager as the singing bard,

As the fleeting elf that swept!

Heigh-ho, ‘fore our ranks they flee,

Goblin scum dare not stand

Where dwarf-kin rule undernea’

High peaks in halls so grand!

Heigh-ho, I strike fast to pierce,

Brave as the maiden Lar,

Like the great black bear so fierce,

My enemies bleed far!

And so it continued on for many verses until Harper had quite lost track. Soon, Erika and Brand roared along with their dwarven hosts, weapons clashing in a smashing percussion with every verse. Aedon seemed at ease, too, happy to exchange banter with them on the many merits of elf magic and speed to his dwarven kin, whilst the dwarves insisted, most vociferously, how mistaken he was and that elves could not hope to compete with dwarven valour and strength. It was all in good spirit, and the insults thrown in good humour.

Harper sat quietly amongst them as she digested her meal—and the task ahead—unable to join in the merriment. A cold dread crept deep within her. Soon, they would be on the road once more and away from such comforts. Out there, somewhere, Ragnar awaited them—alive or dead.

Sooner than she would have liked, yet not at all soon enough, they left Keldheim, passing through the great gates onto the octagonal-paved road, down into the valley and east. Harper’s shoulders already ached with the weight of the dwarven mail and her pack, and her feet stung from the hard road beneath them, but she ducked her head and jogged behind the rest of the dwarven scouts nonetheless.

It was a long and hard day of travel through the mountains, following the forested valleys as they meandered east. They were watched by the dwarf gods, whose stone likenesses lined the road at one-mile intervals. After a while, though, the blessing of the dwarf road became a curse. Harper was sick of the punishing pace and hard surface, all too glad to collapse by the side of the road that night as they stopped to make camp within the shelter of the woods.

Before dawn the next morning, Halvar called them to rise. They were so deep in the mountains that hoarfrost coated the entire camp, and Harper found even her cloak frozen solid. She was glad for the extra layer now, though, for her frigid breath billowed before her and the cold bit her face. Around her, the camp shook off the layer of rime that covered all in glittering white. After a warming brew and breakfast—dwarven travelling fare of folded pasties filled with gravies and meats—they were off, and Halvar set a punishing pace once more.

By the middle of the afternoon, Harper was so exhausted, and her body hurt so much, that when Brand asked her if shewas okay, she growled at him. He lifted an eyebrow at the guttural sound. “I beg your pardon?”

“I think death… would be… preferable… to this,” she snarled through ragged breaths.

He laughed, and Erika and Aedon turned to see what the fuss was about. “I’m afraid you’re used to a more leisurely pace with us, Harper. You’ll find no sympathy with our hosts!”

Harper groaned. Just as she envisioned curling up by the side of the road, Halvar threw a fist into the air, calling a halt. They stopped at once, and all hands fell to axe handles. The jarl surveyed their surroundings, slowly scanning from left to right and back again. Harper craned her neck to see over them. Not that she was not grateful, but why were they stopping? It was a valley much like any other. Evergreens filled the steeply ascending sides up to rocky heights and snow-capped peaks.

To either side of her, she felt Brand and Erika tense, waiting for the signal to draw their blades, their hands already on their weapons. As the lazy breeze blew, it carried the perfume of carrion.It was the scent of death and decay, and with a jolt, she realised what it reminded her of. Goblins. Fear shot through her at the memories of them. She drew her dagger, just as everyone else took out their own weapons to hold ready.

“Formation,” Halvar commanded in a low voice. The dwarves spread out to cover the entire road, several layers deep. Brand, Erika, Aedon, and Harper filtered into their ranks, scanning the trees warily. Were they being watched?

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