Firemoon (22 page)

Katja grasped the door handle, but it was locked from the inside. Serdra had taught her how to apply her weight to a kick, and she now put that knowledge to use. The door was not designed to withstand assaults, and her second kick opened it.

It was a small cot, in which a single candle burned. A woman of about thirty years was on her feet with a stool in her hands, and swung it at Katja as she rushed in. Katja dodged the attack, captured her arm and twisted it before slamming the woman up against a wall. She pressed the knife up against her throat and so ended any further resistance.

“Were you playing with sorcery?” Katja asked harshly into her ear. “Letting someone else face the consequences?”

The woman just groaned angrily as Katja pushed the arm a bit further up her back.

“Is this her?” Katja asked Omar, who as before stood outside.

“Y-yes,” he said hesitantly.

“Do you have anything to say?” Katja asked Renea. She heard footsteps out in the hall. “Are there others? Are there others?!”

She pressed the knife closer.

“Hail to the Dragon in the shape of man,” the woman said, and put her free hand up to her face. Katja thought she meant to push at the wall or grab the knife, and so was unprepared when she slipped something into her own mouth.

She yanked Renea away from the wall and pushed her onto the bed, but it was too late. She threw herself on the Brotherhood woman meaning to force her mouth open, but she was already foaming and flapping like a fish on a riverbank.

Katja stood up and let her take her last, ugly gasps as she found a cloth and tied it around her head.

What followed was quite predictable. People from nearby rooms and guards gathered in the hallway in some state of distress. Katja did her best to calm them down and explain the situation briefly, before Finnur was fetched to explain it again.

That an enemy agent had dwelt in the castle caused no small amount of concern, so Finnur made a priority of questioning people that had associated with Renea, and finding out whether she had any kin in the city.

The girl who been the victim of the spell was brought down in near-hysteria and Katja stressed that she bore no responsibility for the incident. She got a full mug of strong drink along with sympathy and soft words from a few other servants, as she sat in a cot and tried to calm herself down. Katja stroked her back and assured her that the spell would have no further effects.

When she finally managed to tear herself away from the mess, Omar came along. The kid had experienced quite a lot in a short time, but clearly took his duties seriously. Katja patted him on the shoulder.

“You are doing well, boy.”

He nodded but his eyes were rather wide.

There were four guards now, and right outside her room this time. Finnur had seen to that.

Yes, I suppose I am important.

She greeted them and walked straight in to get away from their looks. Katja placed the broken bottle back on the door handle and threw herself onto the bed. Perhaps she could finish sleeping.

The eye of the storm
, she thought with dark humour.

She was almost relieved. After all the worry and wondering about whether the Brotherhood would try to get to her somehow, it had happened. And she had survived. Perhaps there were others in the city. But perhaps not. And having killed one gave her a certain feeling of safety.

Try harder, you bastards.

Soothing the energy resulting from the incident was difficult, but fatigue eventually won out.

14.

To Katja’s considerable surprise, she slept almost until noon.

The four guards had been relieved, so again she got stared at by men who were seeing her for the first time as she exited the room. Omar had woken up before she did and waited, probably with some impatience for something to do, and she asked him to bring her lunch. She asked the guards for news but they had little to say. Nothing had happened by the wall.

One of them said rather awkwardly that they had been aware of considerable curiosity about her, and the stories that were circulating, but they had followed orders and kept everyone away.

Katja waited in her room and did morning exercises as she waited for her food. Omar soon came with warm meat, a mug of wine and carrots. She offered him to eat with her, in light of how well he had been doing, but he had already eaten and shyly asked whether she needed anything else. He clearly wanted to leave, so she let him.

Fine
.

After lunch she tried to peer into the future, and nothing seemed to have changed: Peter Savaren meant to make another night-time assault, and things would be quiet until then. The sorcerous aura to the west buzzed ceaselessly, but whether it stemmed from Peter himself or something he was constantly doing she did not know.

Fairly satisfied that she would not be needed right away, she put on the scarf and hooded cloak and exited. She told the guards she was leaving and they went in search of new orders. Then she asked Omar to walk her a bit around the castle, but by little-used routes if possible.

He did as told, but at noon in a populated castle they couldn’t help but pass the occasional guard or servant.

This was all very strange to her. Almost unreal. Secrecy had been such a key issue ever since Serdra entered her life, and now she was breaking that rule to an extent. It was rather thrilling, like doing something forbidden when she was a child. And it had already put her life in danger.

The same could not happen to Linda and Brjann. The fewer people who saw her face, the less the chance of someone connecting her to the two Shades. So she kept on staring directly ahead, regularly retying the scarf and speaking to no-one.

They stopped outside the chancellor’s room. Katja snuck in, entered a trance and saw a familiar sight in the past. Hrolfur had been murdered with a death curse. Once she had shaken off the disgust, they went back to Renea’s room and Katja soon confirmed that the servant had been behind the murder. So it was entirely possible that the Brotherhood was all out of agents within the wall.

She couldn’t help but wonder why the woman hadn’t killed Jormundur as well. Perhaps simple bad luck had somehow prevented her from directing a spell at him. Perhaps her instructions had been to keep a low profile after the chancellor’s death, and to be ready in case Redcloaks got involved in this conflict.

Who knew?

After that she had nothing else to do and let herself be led to the captain.

He was just finishing lunch in his quarters as his bodyguards let her in. Jormundur had a guest she did not know, and as the captain told him to leave with no fanfare she probably didn’t need to change that.

“Good day,” he said once they were alone. He pointed at a wine carafe but she shook her head.

“Good day yourself.”

“Things never seem to be quiet around you,” he said, and leaned back in his chair with half a grin.

“Quiet is overrated,” Katja said, grinning herself.

“Did you get any rest?” he asked and picked a small piece of meat off his plate.

“Yes, actually. Yourself?”

“As... much as can be expected. I cannot afford to relax.”

Now that Katja had examined him for a few moments he did look quite worn.

“Actually, I think you can,” she said, and sat down on the other side of the table. “I peered into the future. Peter means to order another night-time assault.”

Jormundur stared at the bit of meat with a distant look in his eyes. Perhaps he was still trying to come to terms with this new reality he had on his hands.

“And is this... sight of yours entirely dependable?”

“Not perfectly,” she admitted. “But I find it very unlikely that anything will happen before sundown, and then probably not until midnight.”

“Well. But you will forgive me for keeping my men at the ready.”

“Certainly.”

“This is for you,” he said, and pointed at a small table where various armour pieces lay.

Katja walked to the table and examined them. The main course was a mail hauberk and the side dish was a helmet that hid the face somewhat. The snacks were proper leg guards, arm guards and thick leather gloves.

Katja wasn’t terribly fond of armour. Serdra had taught her to fight while armoured, but still always insisted that it was best to avoid blows altogether. Demons tended to tear through armour with little difficulty, after all. Katja was wary of weighing herself down with metal, but couldn’t deny that armour had saved her several times during the culmination of the spring’s events.

The hauberk itself was undamaged, though Katja spotted a few drops of blood. The previous owner had probably died from a blow to the head. The helmet had a few minor dents, but she took them as proof of its effectiveness.

“Thank you,” she said, and tried on the helmet. It was a bit big for her, but not enough to be a problem.

“As we discussed yesterday, I spent the morning putting together two special squads, each one numbering twenty. One is called the Eagles and the others the Wolves. You will lead the Eagles. They have been arriving at the castle since daybreak and should all be here by now.”

He shoved down the final bits of food.

“Let’s go and meet them,” he said with his mouth full, and stood up.

He led her down and out, and his bodyguards kept a slight distance. Their walk ended in training grounds by the castle, where a group of men waited.

They were armoured, armed and all older than her. She looked at each face as they stopped chatting and lined up at the sight of the approaching captain. She soon concluded that Jormundur had indeed gathered the hardest men within the city wall. Katja thought she saw a certain defiance in some faces as they observed her. She stared back resolutely. She was nervous over having to play a leader, even if only on a small scale, but showing it was out of the question. How many demons had
they
slain?

“Well!” Jormundur said as they stopped in front of the gathered warriors. “Here she is. The demon killer.”

She looked the group over again without saying a word, hoping that the mystique she had wrapped herself up in would help.

“Yes, here I am,” she eventually said.

“And just who are you?” one in the middle asked. He was swarthy and stout, with a large sword in his belt.

Several men looked at this fellow as if they had been waiting for just that question. Jormundur looked at him, and Katja felt she detected disapproval. Perhaps that matter had been discussed, or rather
not
discussed in a very clear fashion.

“Call me Anna,” she replied. “And you only need to know what I can do. Did any of you see me by the wall last night?”

“I did,” said a man with brown, curly hair and a nose someone had disliked terribly. “I saw how you dealt with those monsters.”

“So did I,” said a man on the other end.

“I took part in hacking up the last one,” said a thin, one-eyed man.

“You used magic,” the curly one continued. Katja didn’t know whether that was accusation in his voice, but it
was
something negative. Perhaps it was just fear of the unknown.

“Not quite magic,” Katja said. “I have a gift for destroying monsters. I have already employed them in this city’s defence and I will continue to do so until the task is done. And now I will do so with your help.”

“You don’t need to win them over, I have already given them orders,” Jormundur said with relatively innocuous imperiousness. Some of the men half-smiled.

“Yes yes,” Katja said. “But to further clarify, I can among other things sense the presence of demons, so when our enemies summon more monsters tonight I will be able to direct you right to them so we can give them a proper welcome.”

One of the men looked about to say something, but hesitated. He was fairly tall, and put her in mind of a strip of hard leather.

“But how... how does one battle demons?” he asked. “The rest of us cannot work magic. Are you,” He hesitated again, and clearly felt rather foolish. “Are you going to teach us?”

“What is your name?” Katja asked.

“Borgo of Stifla.”

“Well, Borg of Stifla. No, I cannot pass my gifts to others. But as for fighting demons, they normally do not fly. Demons are strong, ferocious and harming them with steel alone is difficult. But it can be done. I do not expect our friends on the plain to summon lesser beasts, so you can expect to have to hack them apart. And do not count on your armour. A demon will usually tear right through, or at least severely injure the wearer with impact alone. I rely on agility to stay alive, but that may not be an option in the crush on the wall. I suppose it is best for you to stand tightly together and let any advancing demon meet with many weapons. Do not try to duel one. It will not end well.”

She stopped and observed the men as they took this in. To her relief, most seemed to be heeding her words.

“We will receive them as hosts should,” said the swarthy, fist-shaped man. “With passion, full attention and extended gifts.”

He laughed and several others joined him.

“Indeed, anything else would shame our city,” Jormundur said, and grinned. Then the leader surfaced again and he grew serious. “But as you know, you and the Wolves will have the task of countering these dark forces with whom the northerners have allied, so that your comrades in arms will be able to repel the humans. This is an important role, and best you all be thoroughly rested. You will stay in the castle until summoned, when our enemies are spotted. Drink in moderation and have your weapons ready at all times.”

He turned to Katja.

“Well, Anna. Demon killer. Is there anything else you feel needs to be said?” he asked.

What could she say? Should she tell them that there were spells swords and armour could not counter? What would that knowledge to do their fighting spirit? Would Jormundur need to know that there really was no way to protect him from a death curse if another agent lurked in the castle?

“No,” she said. “Just steel your minds and be prepared for anything.”

--------------------

Darkness began to fall, as merciless and inevitable as death itself, and the next battle loomed overhead like an executioner’s axe.

Katja had mostly stayed in her room and focused on gathering her strength and trying to sense changes in the future.

She put on the armour and wrapped a belt around it, then put on the leg guards and summoned Omar to help her with the arm guards. Then finally there was the helmet, and she lowered it slowly onto her head.

The helmet limited her hearing and field of vision, and she was generally less aware of her body. It was strange to feel a certain vulnerability inside all of these defences. But none of this affected her sixth sense and she would just have to rely on it a bit more than usual.

“Do I look fat in this?” she asked, and struck the girliest pose she could.

Omar hesitated a moment before laughing. It unwound him a bit. Only for a few moments, but it still felt like a good deed.

“No lady,” he said. “You look... dangerous.”

I suppose I do
, Katja thought, and looked down at her body through the visor.
Ready for war, and all can see as much.

She finished strapping on her weapons, wrapped the cloak around herself and was then escorted down to the ground floor, where the Eagles awaited her.

“So, to the wall it is, Anna,” the swarthy fist said. Lukas, was his name.

“Yes,” Katja said and took the lead, since that was her role. The helmet made it easier to ignore all the glances her way.

Those by the wall were already beating drums when they stepped out into the darkness. The beat was slow and steady to put steel in people’s spines, without getting everyone worked up before the enemy was even seen.

They walked to Jormundur, who stood and observed things from his usual spot. He nodded at them and told them to be at the ready until they were needed. That is, until Katja sensed something. The Wolves stood nearby and waited for direct orders from the captain.

Katja wasn’t the only woman in armour, but there was nothing as unstoppable as whispers between people and it wasn’t long before she was aware of being stared at.

“You’re popular,” said the one-eyed man.

“Yeah,” she settled for as a reply.

People began singing in tune with the drums. The songs were simple and all directly or indirectly about courage. Katja didn’t know the lyrics, and was fonder of songs where she could really apply her voice. So she kept quiet and focused her attention on the drums. The rhythm focused the mind and made it a bit easier to ignore all the distractions and make use of her sensitivity.