Page 39 of Edge of the Wild

Beside him, his wife’s lips pressed to a thin line.

Oliver felt himself frowning. His initial impression of Náli had been that of a spoiled, cocky youth who needed taken down a peg or two. But reaction to him amongst the lords and ladies of Aeretoll seemed to paint a more sinister picture.

“The Fault Lands,” Erik explained, are a stretch of ice tundra around a fire mountain. The cold, and the heat, and the pressure all combined produce the kingdom’s largest, purest diamonds.” He tilted his hand, flashing his own.

“Clearly. But. Why do I get the impression that Lord Náli is…” He started to saydisliked, but that wasn’t right. The shiftiness in the lord and lady’s gazes; the remembered uncertainty at the edges of the crowd during the Yuletide Feast sparring matches; the fact that Náli had been one of the lords present at Ormr’s execution, when he was so young compared to the others. Oliver changed tacks: “Why is he called the Corpse Lord?”

There was shifting in seats; quick glances traded.

“What?”

In a careful voice, Birger said, “The Corpse Lords of the Fault Lands have always possessed certain – sensitivities.”

Oliver turned to him, brows lifted in an invitation to explain. He felt a little like he was getting the run-around, here; that, or else Náli’s sensitives had been deemedtoo sensitivefor discussing openly.

Before he could ask for a better explanation, a sound reached them all. It seemed to shiver down through the silver and stone of the walls; Oliver felt it inside his chest.

The sharp blast of a horn, from somewhere overhead.

Abighorn.

A hush fell over the hall.

The horn sounded again, two quick blasts.

Sound erupted all around them: chairs and benches scraping back, people exclaiming, getting to their feet.

Kjaran stood, hands braced on the table, turning toward the young, mailed, steel-capped guard who came trotting across the hall toward their table, spear resting on his shoulder. “What is it?”

“Riders, my lord,” the guard puffed, pulling a clanking, anxious halt. “To the east, headed south. They were hailed, and scattered. Captain Torson thinks they’re still out there.”

The horn sounded again, three blasts this time.

“And to the west as well, it appears,” Kjaran said, stepping around his chair. “Show me.”

“Darling, the snow’s picking up,” Lady Helga said. “Be careful.”

He nodded, and glanced toward Erik – who had stood as well, already bristling with a palpable energy.

“Your Majesty, there’s no need to trouble yourself,” Kjaran said. “My men will handle this.”

Erik, when Oliver glanced up at him, wore a frown that could only be described as kingly. He wanted to go, Oliver could tell; to put himself in harm’s way and seek out answers himself, the brave, stubborn idiot.

“Haldin!” Askr roared somewhere down the length of the main table. “Where’s my axe?”

“I’ll go, Uncle,” Leif said. “With Haldin and his father, and the others. I’ll report back.”

Erik sent his nephew a frustrated look.

“We could go above, Erik,” Birger suggested, “with Lord Kjaran, and see what’s to be seen from there.”

Finally, Erik nodded – much to Oliver’s relief. “Fine. Leif,be careful.”

“Of course.”

He caught his nephew by the arm, before he could leave the table, and Oliver heard him say, in an undertone. “Make sure Náli goes. One way or another, I want information.”

Leif’s expression tightened. “Yes, sir.”

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