that
the path had not been used for some time. Thelayers of snow and ice had melted and frozen many, many times and as they broke through with every step, the multitude of
icy crusts sliced through their leggings until their legs were coated with a chill layer of their own blood.
There was no sheltering bulk of the mountain on either side, only waist-high balustrades which left them totally at the mercy
of the freezing winds which battered them from all directions. All sign of levity was gone now as they put their heads down
against the wind and forced their way forward. The pitch of the path was extremely steep and, had it not been for the knee-deep
drifts which plucked at their legs and seemed most reluctant to let them go, they might have taken several nasty falls.
At long last, the path took a sharp turn, doubling back against itself, and now the wind was at their backs, propelling them
forward. It seemed forever before they stumbled against yet another balustrade and the three of them crawled over the wide
stone ledge with legs that had lost all feeling and could barely support them. Here was the welcoming bulk of the mountain,
and the cruel wind fell away to a whisper.
Both Saxo and Brandtson seemed to know where they were going, to have some destination in mind, for which Braldt was grateful:
The sooner they got in out of the cold, the better. They slowed their pace and Saxo ran his fingers over the face of the mountain,
searching for something. They crawled along, looking for whatever it was, until Saxo let out a joyful cry and the two men
began tugging against something that seemed determined not to move.
It was a door, unused and immobile, fused by the ice and the cold until it was nearly a part of the mountain. Braldt joined
in, using the tip of his blade to hack away at the ice, aching in every joint and growing ever more desperate with cold and
fatigue. At last, groaning and creaking in icy protest, the door gave way to their blows and opened before them toreveal a velvety darkness and warmth that embraced them like a lover’s embrace.
Ragnar Ollesson hurried down the outer trail, wrapping himself warmly in his heavy cloak. He chided himself for being a fool
as the bitter wind struck him. It would have been wiser to have taken the inner path, protected from the vagaries of the weather,
but he had wanted to be alone, to think about the words he had heard that night. It would be too easy to be swayed by the
enthusiasm of his companions. Here, alone, he would be able to think.
Ragnar Ollesson had given Otir Vaeng his pledge of allegiance many years before and although he had often had cause to regret
his unswerving loyalty, one had to admit that Otir Vaeng had brought them through some difficult times. They had survived
and that was all that really counted. Or was it? There had been times when he had nearly spoken out, cast his vote against
Otir Vaeng in the Council of Thanes, but always, in the end, he had voted with the king. And what had happened to those who
had opposed him? All were dead, or as good as dead. It always seemed a coincidence, but few would argue that those who defied
the king either died or found themselves stationed on remote outposts far from the seat of power.
With the notable exception of Brandt Brandtson. He and his circle of associates had been taking a stand against the king recently
and they were still alive. But Brandtson was old and powerful, securely entrenched in the council with his own circle of power;
it would be hard to dislodge him and should he die or disappear, none would think it an accident. Otir Vaeng had not achieved
the throne by being stupid; he knew that Brandtson was beyond approach and would not attempt to attack him openly.
Ragnar’s thoughts circled this evening’s business uneasily, remembering the flames as they were mirrored on theseeress’s naked flesh. In his mind he knew that she was only a woman like
the path had not been used for some time. Thelayers of snow and ice had melted and frozen many, many times and as they broke through with every step, the multitude of
icy crusts sliced through their leggings until their legs were coated with a chill layer of their own blood.
There was no sheltering bulk of the mountain on either side, only waist-high balustrades which left them totally at the mercy
of the freezing winds which battered them from all directions. All sign of levity was gone now as they put their heads down
against the wind and forced their way forward. The pitch of the path was extremely steep and, had it not been for the knee-deep
drifts which plucked at their legs and seemed most reluctant to let them go, they might have taken several nasty falls.
At long last, the path took a sharp turn, doubling back against itself, and now the wind was at their backs, propelling them
forward. It seemed forever before they stumbled against yet another balustrade and the three of them crawled over the wide
stone ledge with legs that had lost all feeling and could barely support them. Here was the welcoming bulk of the mountain,
and the cruel wind fell away to a whisper.
Both Saxo and Brandtson seemed to know where they were going, to have some destination in mind, for which Braldt was grateful:
The sooner they got in out of the cold, the better. They slowed their pace and Saxo ran his fingers over the face of the mountain,
searching for something. They crawled along, looking for whatever it was, until Saxo let out a joyful cry and the two men
began tugging against something that seemed determined not to move.
It was a door, unused and immobile, fused by the ice and the cold until it was nearly a part of the mountain. Braldt joined
in, using the tip of his blade to hack away at the ice, aching in every joint and growing ever more desperate with cold and
fatigue. At last, groaning and creaking in icy protest, the door gave way to their blows and opened before them toreveal a velvety darkness and warmth that embraced them like a lover’s embrace.
Ragnar Ollesson hurried down the outer trail, wrapping himself warmly in his heavy cloak. He chided himself for being a fool
as the bitter wind struck him. It would have been wiser to have taken the inner path, protected from the vagaries of the weather,
but he had wanted to be alone, to think about the words he had heard that night. It would be too easy to be swayed by the
enthusiasm of his companions. Here, alone, he would be able to think.
Ragnar Ollesson had given Otir Vaeng his pledge of allegiance many years before and although he had often had cause to regret
his unswerving loyalty, one had to admit that Otir Vaeng had brought them through some difficult times. They had survived
and that was all that really counted. Or was it? There had been times when he had nearly spoken out, cast his vote against
Otir Vaeng in the Council of Thanes, but always, in the end, he had voted with the king. And what had happened to those who
had opposed him? All were dead, or as good as dead. It always seemed a coincidence, but few would argue that those who defied
the king either died or found themselves stationed on remote outposts far from the seat of power.
With the notable exception of Brandt Brandtson. He and his circle of associates had been taking a stand against the king recently
and they were still alive. But Brandtson was old and powerful, securely entrenched in the council with his own circle of power;
it would be hard to dislodge him and should he die or disappear, none would think it an accident. Otir Vaeng had not achieved
the throne by being stupid; he knew that Brandtson was beyond approach and would not attempt to attack him openly.
Ragnar’s thoughts circled this evening’s business uneasily, remembering the flames as they were mirrored on theseeress’s naked flesh. In his mind he knew that she was only a woman like
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