Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 22: Paths and Prophecies

A cold wind lashed against the tent as Loken lunged for Fenris, pinning him down with a surprisingly firm grip. His breath came out in a throaty rasp as he murmured the remaining words.

"The Jarl is trying to trick you. Even now he hides men in a small valley south east of the city. He wants to encircle you, trapping you between the city and the tower." Loken paused to turn away, wiping tears from his eyes. "You will die if this ambush is not stopped in time."

Any warmth Fenris felt was immediately dashed away as a cold stab of fear sank into his chest. He lay there speechless, not quite wanting to believe Loken, but knowing deep down he was speaking the truth.

"Fark me," Fenris sighed. "It's not every day you get your own death revealed to you in such a chilling manner. Your bedside manner could really do with some work."

"I'm still getting used to this myself." Loken moved to lay beside Fenris, throwing an arm around him and pressing a wet cheek to his back. "You must tell the Right Hand immediately about this. Only he can change the course of your fate. I have seen it."

"Now? As in right now?"

"Immediately!"

"It's the middle of the night!"

"I said now!" And with another surprising show of strength Loken booted Fenris from the bed, rolling him into his black glass breastplate. He gasped as sharp corners and cold edges poked him in the backside, and he pulled himself up to standing, rubbing at the sore spots as he muttered a curse or two.

"I'd die for my warm bed again, honestly," Fenris muttered as he pulled his shirt and boots on, fastening his sword belt in a loose knot.

"I'll keep it warm for you." Loken waved a hand at him. "Now go, before it's too late."

The chill night air slapped Fenris hard across the face as he left his tent. Heavy winds scythed across the land, icy tendrils biting deep.

Took an age to find one of the night patrolmen. Took an even bigger age to finally find the Right Hand, a venture that sadly involved Corvere as he was torn away from his nightly rituals. Ever since the man's ascension to Chosen his need for sleep had dwindled, setting him prowling about the camp most hours of the night, looking for something to do.

"You'd better have a good reason for this, Fenris," Corvere spat, the hair on his head pushed up to one side. "The King himself granted me this night to finally enjoy sleep again and now you've squandered it!"

"I can assure you it is," Fenris repeated for the fifth time to Corvere as they were both led to the Right Hand's accommodations. It was easily spotted, standing in stark contrast to the other Forsworn tent. Where the others were pitch black, this one had been dyed a bloody red, like an open wound in dead flesh.

One of the night patrolmen peeled back the tent flap, ushering the two of them to enter. The air was uncomfortably warm inside, rich with heat and unknown spices that nipped at the nose. A fire burned in a brazier at the center, cold blue light throwing ugly, dancing shadows against the wall. Beside it stood the Right Hand of the Chosen, staring deeply into the flames.

The man was deceptively tall, light and shadow hiding his true scale, and yet his presence was a dominating aura Fenris could not ignore. It pressed against him like a stone, his breath laboring against the strain, as if he were sinking into a dark, deep pool.

He glanced down at the weapon sheathed at his side in a desperate need to tear his gaze away, and his eyes went even wider as he realized what it was.

"You've a keen eye for a Forsworn." The Right Hand's voice boomed in the black glass helmet he wore at all times, his face completely hidden in the strangely carved patterns. He patted at the hilt, its pommel a stone of the deepest black. With a single motion he drew the sword, the blade a sheet of midnight stolen from the night sky itself. Not a single speck of illumination touched it, its honed edge more a termination of where the light ended and where the darkness began. "A gift from the High King himself."