Mask of Swords by Jonathan Moeller

as his father would have done.

Chapter 4: The Last of the Jutai
     
    Sigaldra, holdmistress of Greatheart Keep, usually awoke alone.
    Usually. 
    So she was not completely surprised when she opened her eyes to see her younger sister staring down at her. Liane’s eyes were pale and wide and focused on something that was not there, something that no one else could see. 
    “Today,” said Liane, her voice little more than a whisper, “today is going to be an important day.” 
    A wave of near-uncontrollable irritation rolled through Sigaldra.
    She closed her eyes again and made herself calm down. Liane looked so much like their mother. Their mother, who had died in the first wave of Malrag attacks. Their father had died defending the walls of their last town from the Malrags, and their brothers soon after. Then the Tervingi had come and Ragnachar had forced the remnants of the Jutai to join him, and Sigaldra had tried to hold the Jutai together during the long march west and the terrible war against the runedead. Liane was the only family that Sigaldra had left.
    Liane, half-mad, scatter-brained Liane. Liane who talked to things that were not there, who saw things others could not see, who had visions.
    Visions, as it happened, that came true. 
    So if Liane said today was going to be an important day…
    “Why?” said Sigaldra, sitting up. “What do you see? Why is today important?” 
    “Because,” said Liane. “It is going to be important.”
    Sigaldra felt the irritation come back. “It is much too early for this.”
    “No, it isn’t,” said Liane.
    Sigaldra looked out the window. The sun was already up. She had slept later than she had hoped. Despite that, she felt just as tired as he had yesterday. Sleep never seemed to bring her rest these days. But she was holdmistress of the hold of Greatheart Keep, the last hold of the Jutai nation, and she could not lie idle.
    “Well, as long as you are here,” said Sigaldra, pushing aside the blanket and standing, the stone floor cold beneath her bare feet, “you might as well help me get dressed.” 
    “That isn’t what you really want to do,” said Liane. 
    “No, what I want to do is slap away that smart mouth of yours,” said Sigaldra, though she never had lifted her hand against her sister. “Now help me get dressed. The watchmen might have seen more valgasts in the night.” 
    “That is why today will be important,” said Liane. 
    Sigaldra gave her sister a sharp look. “Why? Did the valgasts attack in the night?” She had hoped, at least, the valgasts had not followed them to the Grim Marches. Sigaldra had hoped some of the horrors that haunted the middle lands would not reappear in the Grim Marches. 
    But why shouldn’t they? All her other hopes had been dashed. Why not this one as well? 
    “Spiders,” said Liane. 
    “Don’t kill the spiders,” said Sigaldra, walking to her wardrobe. “They’ll help keep the flies away come summer.” She slipped out of her nightgown, the air chill against her bare skin. “Or is that why today is important?” 
    “I don’t know,” said Liane.
    Sigaldra sighed. “If you have been cursed with the Sight, at least it could be more useful.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Liane. She bowed her head, her blond hair hanging around her face like a hood, and for a moment looked crushed as only a fifteen year old girl could. Had Sigaldra ever been that young? It had only been seven years ago. 
    It felt like centuries. 
    “No, don’t be,” said Sigaldra. “Come, help me dress. I must speak with Vorgaric the blacksmith and then Talchar. A walk around the hold will do you good. Perhaps we’ll find out why today is important.” 
    Liane offered a shy smile, and then went to help Sigaldra dress. 
    She chose brown leggings, a sturdy set of leather boots, and a faded brown dress. Over that went a quilted arming jacket and a coat of chain mail that had once belonged to her brother. Her blond hair went into a