The Skald's Black Verse by Jordan Loyal Short

Author:Jordan Loyal Short [Short, Jordan Loyal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07K826497
Goodreads: 54836233
Published: 2018-11-06T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

“When the apple falls, the tree will shake. When the pigs cry out, a slaughter make. When a man’s in your way, cut the knave. And when the world grows old, dig her a grave.

-Jonas Wulfrick, The Dire Hour

The clearing above the outlaw encampment afforded a spectacular view, but as the night drew on, many wandered the woods in search of solitude. Alarm receded to foreboding, a rich broth of wonder and dread in which they stewed, each looking up, struggling to come to terms with the enormity of their peril.

Some of the men whimpered. Some wept. One gathered his family and fled into the forest. But Anders was content to let the outlaws steep in their fear. Gareth seemed as dumbstruck as the rest. Soon, Anders would offer them a hope to which they might cleave.

He emerged into another glen, his eyes drawn up to the shattered moon, wreathed in a corona of crimson dust. When at last he dragged his eyes back to the forest, Anders discovered he was not alone. Gareth’s boy. Lost in thought. He stared up at the deadly sky, his mouth open, shifting his weight back and forth to spare his bad leg.

Perhaps it was time to begin his work. Anders approached, hands clasped behind his back. Though he closed to within a few feet, Nels still startled when he spoke. “Terrifying, isn’t it?”

Nels turned away for a moment, dabbing at his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Only a fool would pretend it wasn’t.”

Anders nodded as if this was wisdom. “Nothing like this has ever happened.” The skald looked up at the grim augury above. “Our horror should be absolute.” He let his words sink in, but Nels seemed hardly to notice them. “Unless,” Anders said, “there is a dire sort of hope here.”

“What sort of horse shit is that?” Nels pointed at Quaya. “Look!”

Anders nodded. “Do you believe in the old stories?”

Nels studied the old man by the light of the dying moon. “What sort of game are you playing? My father warned me you were a cunning old snake.”

Anders shrugged. “Your father has always been cautious. Some would say timid. Your mother propped up his courage. Without her, he seems… lost. Little doubt he will counsel that caution now. Hide under the blanket until it’s all over.” Nels did not defend his father, Anders noted. Good. “Perhaps we’re all doomed to perish. In that case, what do we risk by fighting? The pigs will never be as vulnerable as they are now.”

Nels stiffened. “My father rules here.” He slid the dagger from his belt. “Not you.”

Anders spit. “I don’t care who rules this wretched band. Besides, what of your mother? That’s where your strength comes from. Her people came from Grisben. Have you ever seen the bones of that city? I have.” Anders looked up at the carnage. “Did your mother ever tell you stories about it?” Nels didn’t reply. “I suppose I can’t blame her if she didn’t. It was a… a bad time to be alive.

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