Page 32 of Court of Treachery

“Remember, we are on a scouting missiononly. We do not engage. We must remain undetected.” The jarl surveyed them all before his gaze returned to the trees surrounding them. “I don’t like this. It’s too obvious. It’s either a trap, or they’re so confident, they care not that we could smell them a mile off.”

As they slowly advanced, their first sign of obvious disturbance was the dwarf god statue smashed across the road.Covered in blood, mud, and faeces, the figure was shattered beyond recognition. The dwarves cursed at the desecration of their deity, and their curses only intensified as the next mile marker passed, then the next. The destruction grew worse, until the last god they encountered had been obliterated to nothing more than jagged rubble and dust. Jarl Halvar grew grimmer with every step. Harper almost pitied any goblin who crossed their path. Almost.

Around the bend, trees thinned to reveal the sprawling valley. In the distance, the city of Afnirheim rose. Like Keldheim, it was mostly within the mountain, but Afnirheim was like a city partly buried, for some sprawled upon the face of the mountain, too. Tiered levels spreading down into layers of green, crops that fed the city, were smooth against the jagged mountain from which they emerged. It was a spectacular view, even with the dirty smoke rising. The walls were dark with it. The forest smouldered, the valley scarred with black. That scent of smoke mingled with the strengthening stench of carrion.

They found the first bodies around the next bend. Harper vomited at the sight and smell of them, and she wasn’t the only one. From the position of the bodies and the way they had been stripped of anything worthwhile and piled up unceremoniously, it was obvious the dwarves had not died a kind death. They had been dead for weeks, if Harper’s knowledge of animal decay was anything to go by. She averted her eyes. Jarl Halvar murmured a prayer for them as he passed, which was echoed by his kin.

It was late afternoon, yet the sky had already begun to darken.

“We cannot stay outside the safety of Afnirheim with goblins about,” Brand murmured to Erika. She nodded in agreement. It seemed that Halvar had the same notion, for he made for Afnirheim with singular purpose, chivvying them along. It wasonly when they drew within sight of the great door that he halted and his jaw tumbled open.

The land lay empty of trees and shrubs at the base of the mountain, which was a defence feature of the city, but it was clear no more. Afnirheim’s standards were torn from the battlements and lay burnt upon the road. Blood spattered the doors, which hung ajar, and crusted between the octagonal stones. Carcasses—of dwarves and goblins alike—piled high, left where they had fallen.

The ornate carvings on the doors had been smashed in much the same way as the effigies upon the road. Overwhelming all was a great mark upon the door, daubed in blackened blood.

The Riven Circle.

The Mark of Saradon.

27

HARPER

Eyes wide, Harper stared at the destruction, her attention captured by the familiar mark. She closed her hand around the wrist with her bracelet upon it. Was it her imagination, or did the metal feel warmer to the touch than it ought to be?

Erika bounded forward with a snarl at the sight of the mark, but Brand pounced upon her and dragged her back, containing her within his strong arms. “Let me go!” she spat at him.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped back. “We don’t yet know what we deal with. Don’t endanger yourself on a fool’s crusade. It may mean nothing. How many times have we already seen his mark used in vain?”

After a futile struggle, she fell limp in his arms, but he did not release her.

With a sharp flick of his hand, Halvar signalled a retreat. Heart hammering in her chest, Harper followed as quickly as her screaming legs allowed.

Long into the night they ran, as though the goblins pursued them through the dark. Harper saw the golden magic Aedon dropped behind them, scouring their scent and presence from the road. She hoped it would be enough. She knew they had leftthe stench of carrion behind, yet it still clogged her nostrils, the image of bodies ever present. Every time she blinked—they were there. When they finally stopped, Halvar pushed them far off the road to a defensible spot. He spared no dwarf for a double watch that night, only allowing each a few scant hours of sleep, lest they be ambushed.

“What does this mean, Jarl?” asked one of the dwarves. Brand murmured to Harper, translating their language.

“It means it is worse than we feared, Torvaig. They have taken not just the road, but Afnirheim. Gods save our kin.”

“They may yet hold out. Afnirheim is one?—”

“Does itlooklike they held out?” snapped Halvar. He checked himself, blowing out a breath. “I apologise. That was out of turn. I hope it as well as any of you, but it does not look likely. Somehow, the goblin scum have overrun the place. We must return to the könig. He counts on us to report this, else he shall not know.”

Harper swayed as everything blurred before her. Brand’s strong hand grasped her upper arm to steady her.

“Th-Thank y-you,” she mumbled, her tongue tripping over the simple words. She swayed again, her legs gave out, and Brand caught her as she fell.

In her mind, Harper continued to plummet, through the frozen earth, on and on, through the void. Brand’s voice called from a distance, but she could not respond as she slipped further away. Her wrist burned, as if her bracelet had become a loop of fire, searing her skin. Then up, up, up she rose, but this time, she ascended into Keldheim.

This is not Keldheim, her mind told her.

She looked around, blinking slowly. It was like Keldheim, but this dwarven city was in ruins. Instinctively, she knew she somehow saw inside Afnirheim, as it was at that moment. She flew through deserted and destroyed halls and corridors. Through caverns with smashed aqueducts plunging their liquids into the voids below. Through seemingly endless spaces filled with the dead of both goblin and dwarven races. She came upon a great hall, where the leader of goblins, one greater and more disgusting than the rest, sat upon the scarred throne, the head of a dwarf, still crowned by a bloodied circlet, hanging by the hair from his clawed hand.

The raucous din in the hall drove a blade into her brain as the shrieks and shouts echoed around the cavernous space. Goblins cavorted, many now wearing dwarven armour, holding jewels and finely crafted weapons. Others tore hunks of meat from… Harper looked no further, focusing on keeping the contents of her stomach contained.

A crack split the air. With a flash of light, a tall figure, far taller than the goblins, appeared before the king’s dais. Harper drifted closer. An elf. Raven hair tumbled over his shoulders. As he turned to survey the horde before the throne, Harper saw a stern face, his dark eyes conveying wisdom, strength, and anger. Fine garments clothed him from head to toe. A jewelled sword hung at his waist, the pommel glowing red. He looked like he belonged in Dimitrius’s royal court.

“Pascha,” he said, and inclined his head to the goblins.

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