Page 75 of Edge of the Wild

Instead of a regular handshake, he had his forearm clasped in a sure grip. “Ahni Askrson.” He released Oliver’s hand, and adjusted his grip on his walking stick. “Lord Askr’s older son,” he said, turning away, glancing out over the wall.

“Ah. That explains it, then.”

He caught the shine of pale eyes as they slid over in the dark.

“Why your brother Haldin was a party to Prince Rune’s drunken archery contest at Aeres. Younger siblings are always haring off to cause mischief first, and asking themselves if it was wise later.”

Ahni studied him a moment, then glanced away again, corner of his mouth flicking faintly upward. “Aye. Haldin’s a great idiot.” He frowned. “But being an idiot’s less of a handicap than being lame.”

“I’m sorry–”

“No, no. It’s…” His voice became wistful. “I should be out there. With them. But I’m here.” He thumped the end of his stick off the wall. “And that’s, well…I suppose the gods know what they’re doing.” A beat passed, and then Ahni said, “You can ask, you know.”

“I didn’t want to presume. I have a rude enough reputation as it is.”

Ahni laughed. “Father was right about you, I see.”

“Hm. Depends on what he said.” When Ahni gathered breath for a reply, Oliver said, “But I’m not going to ask. It’s not my business.”

It was silent a beat, save the audible gulp of Ahni swallowing. In a stiff, proper tone, he said, “Thank you, your lordship.”

“I wonder if that will ever stop sounding strange,” Oliver wondered aloud. “Your lordship. I can’t seem to get used to it.”

“Well, technically, you haven’t had the title long.”

Oliver snorted, and heard Ahni laugh beside him. “How very like your father,” he said, and Ahni’s laughter only doubled.

Wind gusted up and over the parapet, funneling through the crenelations. Oliver flicked up the ridiculous, wolf’s head hood of his mantle and drew the edges of his cloak in tighter.

“Perhaps you would like to wait inside, your lordship,” Ahni suggested.

“Oh, please, it’s just Oliver. And no, I’ll fret myself to death if I’m inside. At least up here I can–”

The sound reached him on the next wind gust. A high, whistling cry that could have been the wind through the gaps in the mortar, or the distant call of a fox.

It wasn’t, though. Oliver knew it wasn’t. Just as he knew exactly what it meant when the edges of his vision flared blue.

“Oh.” He gripped the edge of the wall in front of him. “They’re here.”

“What?” Ahni leaned forward beside him, craning his neck out over the edge. “Who’s here? I don’t see anything.”

Oliver’s chest squeezed tight, and the blue pulsed, and he felt that weight, like a caress at the back of his awareness. It was a greeting, a recognition – a cry for help, too. “Give it a moment,” he said.

“Wait,” Ahni said. “What’s – I see something.”

~*~

They must have been waiting for three hours at this point. A man could march or ride or work all day in the grip of a Northern winter, and, if he had the North in his blood, and was properly dressed, he barely felt the cold.

Sitting still was another matter.

Their watch post was, in fact, an actual post: a small, round stone platform with a wooden, slate-tiled roof, set back in the trees, camouflaged them, and offered a view of three of the most-navigable game trails that snaked down like white ribbons from the upper hills. The gaps in the canopy offered enough moonlight that anyone traveling on foot through this part of the forest would have been impossible to miss.

Unless he was using magic, Erik’s brain supplied, unhelpfully.

Beside him, Leif didn’t shiver, but he shifted often, tugging at his cloak, working his hands open and closed inside his gloves.

Another gust of wind rattled the ice in the branches overhead – and brought with it a sound that no wind gust had ever made. The high, piercing cry came from far overhead; it was no hawk shriek.

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