Siri Pettersen - The Might

To all those writing their first novels.

And to you. The one who has suffered loss. The one with so many scars that you feel ill when others say youre lucky. The one who has been broken into far too many pieces to believe youll ever be whole again. The one who thinks youll never rise again. This is your book.

Rime bounded up the slope, confident that no one could see him in the dark. He reached the crest of the hill, pressed himself up against a crag, and looked out across the countryside. Where he should have seen a deserted landscape, there was instead a vast camp, with tents arranged in tidy rows. In patterns that were only found where discipline was the order of the day. Where someone was in charge.

An army.

It was too dark to see how far it stretched. A couple of thousand men, maybe, judging by the torches. He could see tracks in the snowa black web connecting the tents. Men gathered around a fire below him. They moved with a spring in their step and laughed boisterously. Rime recognized the atmosphere. First or second night, if he were to guess. It wouldnt be long before theyd be hunched over in silence. Those who hadnt frozen to death or fallen ill.

The banners hung limply, but he knew they bore the sign of the Seer. Mannfallas army, gathered outside the city. Why? What were they waiting for? What orders had they been given, and by whom?

She was right.

Damayanti had told him hed find them here. Shed also told him it had to do with him. And with Ravnhov. But with Urd gone, she was no long privy to Council matters. The dancers guesses were no better than his own.

It could be an exercise, of course. Troop movements. Or unrest in the wake of the war

Tenuous explanations like those did little to settle the unease gnawing at his insides. A feeling that nothing was the way it should be.

Maybe it was the raven rings. Was it at all possible to move between worlds without the ground slipping out from under you? Some instability was to be expected.

But this was more than just a feeling. It was a certainty that stopped him from going straight home. Hed barely been gone twenty days, and in that time, someone had dragged the soldiers out of bed again. The watch on the city walls had been reinforced, and several of the guardsmen had been swapped out for men he didnt recognize.

Something was wrong.

He had to talk to Jarladin.

Rime ran back down toward the city. Packed snow creaked under his feet. He neared the city wall and proceeded with more caution, crouching down behind a cluster of junipers. Four guardsmen patrolled above the gate. Otherwise, long stretches of the stone wall, a gray-speckled serpent in the darkness, remained unguarded. He found his way back to where hed climbed over. A part of the wall where he couldnt be seen from the gates.

Rime removed his gloves and shook the snow off them before stuffing them in the pocket of his bag. Then he bound the Might and started to climb. The rough stones gave him just enough purchase to reach the top of the wall. He pulled himself over the edge, crossed to the other side, and lowered himself onto the roof of a building. A tile came loose and skittered down toward the gutter. He threw himself after it, catching it just before it went over.

With the roof tile safely in hand, he sat and listened. A door slammed in the distance. There was a rustling in the alley below. A rat with its teeth sunk into a dead pigeon, trying to drag it across frozen leaves.

Rime wedged the tile back into place and continued across the rooftops toward the wall that separated Eisvaldr from the rest of Mannfalla. The buildings were close enough together that he could make it all the way there before he had to return to street level.

The wall itself wasnt much of an obstacle. People had always passed freely between Mannfalla and Eisvaldr. Even so, the watch had been increased here as well. Guardsmen flanked all the archways. A sign clearer than any road marking. Fear had taken over.

Rime slipped into an alley behind an inn. Singing reached him through an open window. Half-drunken verses, but even the notes were cleaner on this side of the city. He took off his bag and strapped his swords to the middle of it, so they wouldnt stick up over his shoulders like an open declaration of war. He pulled his hood all the way down and crossed the square. The guardsmen gave him a cursory glance but let him enter Eisvaldr unchallenged.

His city. The Councils city. The Seers city.

The Seer he had killed.

The memories flooded back. Naiell, hissing in the corner like a cat. The resistance Rimes sword had met when it sliced through his body. The spatters of blood across Hirkas bare feet. The look in her eyes. Brimming with grief. With betrayal.

I am what I am.

Rime glanced up at the stone circle, where it stood feigning innocence, like the tip of an iceberg. The stones reached all the way down to a cave below Mannfalla. A cave hed just come from, unbeknownst to anyone.

Here on the surface, the stones were just pale monoliths against the dark sky, at the top of the steps where the Rite Hall had once stood. Where he himself had stood. In the middle of the circle, surrounded by everyone in the city. With Svarteld bleeding out on the ground in front of him. And for what?

Rime lowered his head and kept walking. Hed wasted enough time on loss and regret. More than he cared to think about. Now it was time to find out what had happened while hed been gone.

Jarladins house was at the top of the hill, one of many in a well-kept row of homes belonging to Council families. Rime slipped past some bare fruit trees, keeping to the paths to avoid leaving tracks in the snow. He had to remain unseen, at least until he knew for certain what was happening. He scaled the stone wall at the back of the house. It was late, but he could see light flickering in a window on the second floor.

It was a magnificent house in the Andrakar style, complete with columns and carvings in dark wood. Climbing it would be childs play.

Rime pulled himself up onto a pitched roof and crept along a ledge to the window. He pressed his hand against the glass, melting the frost so he could see inside.

Jarladin was alone in the room, seated on an upholstered stool, staring into the fireplace as though waiting for the flames to die out for the evening. He was turning an empty glass in his hands. His broad shoulders were hunched. Rime was painfully aware that he was part of what was weighing on the councillor. Hed disappeared. Without warning or explanation.

He fought off the urge to climb down again. To stay disappeared. A black shadow in the winters night. When had he ever belonged inside in the warmth?

Do what has to be done.

Rime glanced back to make sure he was alone. Then he tapped the window three times. Jarladin gave a start. Dropped the glass on the floor, though it didnt break. He stared at the window. Then approached, squinting, with his shoulders hunched up by his ears. Then came the recognition. Wide-eyed disbelief. He started to fumble with the hasps.

Rime shifted over so he was on the right side. Jarladin opened the window and grabbed Rime as if he were about to fall. Pulled him inside. Drew him close. Locked him in a bear hug. Drowning him in warmth.

The councillor pushed him back again, holding him at arms length as he looked him up and down. He cradled Rimes head in his hand. Grabbed him by the hair, as if he was going to pull it. His eyes were shining. Rime braced himself, fully aware that the warmth would be short-lived. The change was already visible on Jarladins face. Rueful joy gave way to confusion.