mantle of red velvet covered his broad shoulders, parting slightly at the front to reveal an iron cuirass underneath. Jagar’s thick head of hair and impressive beard were peppered with hints of grey, but he remained a robust man, still at his physical peak.
The King inspected the Eastermen with a considered expression, his eyes eventually settling on Kayne and lingering on his wounded knee. ‘Remain as you are, boy. Who leads here?’
‘I do, my king. Orgrim, named Foehammer by my peers among the Wardens.’ The warrior who had spared Kayne’s life at the Icemelt bowed and brought his left fist up towards his chest.
‘You are a Warden?’
‘Yes, my king.’
‘Tell me, Foehammer. How do we fare in the Borderland?’
‘The East Reaching is besieged by giants and wild creatures down from the Spine. They are a menace but nothing we can’t deal with. The demons are a different matter. We’ve lost twenty Wardens this last year alone.’
‘Their sacrifice will not be forgotten.’ The King nodded gravely at Kayne. ‘This one is too young to be a Warden. What is your purpose in bringing him here?’
‘The boy is Brodar Kayne, formerly of Skarn’s band. We caught him near the Icemelt.’
The King rubbed at his impressive beard. ‘The punishment for brigandry is death by the noose,’ he said slowly. ‘Yet the trail of blood left by Skarn and his gang has spread to the Lake Reaching. The survivors say their actions could easily be the work of demons. Women, children... babes... they make no distinction. There is only one punishment befitting such crimes.’ The King raised a hand and gestured to the men behind him. ‘Bring the prisoner.’
There was a brief disturbance near the entrance to the massive lodge as a wagon was hauled forward. Kayne watched it dully, not at first comprehending what he was seeing.
A wicker frame was secured to the wagon platform. The cage was barely bigger than the man pinned inside it; there was just enough room for him to twist his head slightly and stare out at the jeering crowd. Weeping sores covered the prisoner’s face and chest. His strength was clearly spent, but there was no space in which to collapse; the wicker frame forced him upright, cutting deeply into his exposed flesh. The sour stench of shit and piss wafted from the cage as the wagon was pulled closer.
Kayne gasped as he finally realized who was inside the cage. Poking out from a gap between two bars was an oversized ear the colour of meat left too long in the sun. ‘Red Ear,’ he croaked.
‘You know this boy?’ asked the King. ‘He was captured near Watcher’s Keep.’
‘Red Ear didn’t harm no one,’ protested Kayne. ‘We only joined Skarn the autumn just past. We didn’t know he was a murderer.’
The King frowned. ‘Yet you were a brigand nonetheless. What crime did you commit to be cast out from your village?’
‘I weren’t cast out,’ Kayne replied hotly. He was growing angry now – at the injustice of what had been done to Red Ear, at the mocking faces in the crowd. ‘My village was attacked by demons. Everyone died. My pa and my aunt and my younger brother. Everyone except me. And I ain’t never killed a man save the one my pa made me.’
The King raised an eyebrow. ‘What was the name of this village?’
Kayne felt tears threatening his eyes. He blinked them away angrily. ‘Riverdale.’
The King glanced at Orgrim, who nodded slowly. ‘Riverdale was overrun three years past, my king. There were no survivors.’
‘This young man appears to suggest otherwise.’ The King stroked his beard again, staring into the distance as if wrestling with a difficult problem. ‘It’s the noose for you, boy,’ he said eventually. ‘Justice demands you suffer the cage, but I cannot discount your youth or the possibility you may be telling the truth.’
Orgrim cleared his throat loudly. ‘My king, forgive me, but I would beg pardon for young Kayne. He shows some promise. The Wardens
The King inspected the Eastermen with a considered expression, his eyes eventually settling on Kayne and lingering on his wounded knee. ‘Remain as you are, boy. Who leads here?’
‘I do, my king. Orgrim, named Foehammer by my peers among the Wardens.’ The warrior who had spared Kayne’s life at the Icemelt bowed and brought his left fist up towards his chest.
‘You are a Warden?’
‘Yes, my king.’
‘Tell me, Foehammer. How do we fare in the Borderland?’
‘The East Reaching is besieged by giants and wild creatures down from the Spine. They are a menace but nothing we can’t deal with. The demons are a different matter. We’ve lost twenty Wardens this last year alone.’
‘Their sacrifice will not be forgotten.’ The King nodded gravely at Kayne. ‘This one is too young to be a Warden. What is your purpose in bringing him here?’
‘The boy is Brodar Kayne, formerly of Skarn’s band. We caught him near the Icemelt.’
The King rubbed at his impressive beard. ‘The punishment for brigandry is death by the noose,’ he said slowly. ‘Yet the trail of blood left by Skarn and his gang has spread to the Lake Reaching. The survivors say their actions could easily be the work of demons. Women, children... babes... they make no distinction. There is only one punishment befitting such crimes.’ The King raised a hand and gestured to the men behind him. ‘Bring the prisoner.’
There was a brief disturbance near the entrance to the massive lodge as a wagon was hauled forward. Kayne watched it dully, not at first comprehending what he was seeing.
A wicker frame was secured to the wagon platform. The cage was barely bigger than the man pinned inside it; there was just enough room for him to twist his head slightly and stare out at the jeering crowd. Weeping sores covered the prisoner’s face and chest. His strength was clearly spent, but there was no space in which to collapse; the wicker frame forced him upright, cutting deeply into his exposed flesh. The sour stench of shit and piss wafted from the cage as the wagon was pulled closer.
Kayne gasped as he finally realized who was inside the cage. Poking out from a gap between two bars was an oversized ear the colour of meat left too long in the sun. ‘Red Ear,’ he croaked.
‘You know this boy?’ asked the King. ‘He was captured near Watcher’s Keep.’
‘Red Ear didn’t harm no one,’ protested Kayne. ‘We only joined Skarn the autumn just past. We didn’t know he was a murderer.’
The King frowned. ‘Yet you were a brigand nonetheless. What crime did you commit to be cast out from your village?’
‘I weren’t cast out,’ Kayne replied hotly. He was growing angry now – at the injustice of what had been done to Red Ear, at the mocking faces in the crowd. ‘My village was attacked by demons. Everyone died. My pa and my aunt and my younger brother. Everyone except me. And I ain’t never killed a man save the one my pa made me.’
The King raised an eyebrow. ‘What was the name of this village?’
Kayne felt tears threatening his eyes. He blinked them away angrily. ‘Riverdale.’
The King glanced at Orgrim, who nodded slowly. ‘Riverdale was overrun three years past, my king. There were no survivors.’
‘This young man appears to suggest otherwise.’ The King stroked his beard again, staring into the distance as if wrestling with a difficult problem. ‘It’s the noose for you, boy,’ he said eventually. ‘Justice demands you suffer the cage, but I cannot discount your youth or the possibility you may be telling the truth.’
Orgrim cleared his throat loudly. ‘My king, forgive me, but I would beg pardon for young Kayne. He shows some promise. The Wardens
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