Free Honor Among Thieves by David Chandler Page B

But only a little.”
    “So it’s true, what my scouts have told me,” Ulfram said, his voice hollow. “When Cloudblade fell, it cleared a new pass through the mountains.”
    “One near as flat as the plains of my birth,” Mörgain agreed.
    “And you’ll cross that pass to invade Skrae. For conquest.”
    “As is our right. We are stronger than you. We’ve always been stronger than you,” Mörgain said, “and the strong should rule the weak. For centuries now you’ve hidden behind those mountains, just as you hide behind the walls of your cities. It seems even mountains can fall. Where will you hide now, little king?”
    Ulfram bristled but was enough of a statesman not to rise to an obvious taunt. Mörgain might be bigger than him, but he didn’t have to fight her himself. “This is an act of aggression. A bald-faced move of conquest.”
    Mörgain shrugged. “I am to let you know we were provoked.” She reached inside her wolf-fur cloak and took out something round and coated in tar. She turned it around and Croy saw it had a face on one side. A human head, hacked off and preserved in gruesome fashion.
    It was enough to churn his guts. Even worse, he recognized the face. It belonged to a holy man who had once lived in an old fort just west of the Whitewall. Herward was his name, and he was one of the gentlest souls Croy had ever met.
    “This one crossed the new pass a week ago. He came to where we were camped for the autumn and spread lies amongst my people. The Great Chieftain of the clans considers this an act of invasion on the part of Skrae.”
    “Herward? An invader?” Croy cried out in disbelief. “He was a devotee of the Lady! Perhaps he was not entirely sane.” In fact the hermit had been driven mad by visions and black mead. Still— “He was no threat to you.”
    “He spread lies,” Mörgain said again. “He spoke of a god called the Lady. He demanded we give her our worship. In the East we have only one deity—Death, mother of us all. We will not be converted to your decadent religion.”
    The king went and took the head from her. He looked down into the distorted features. “This is base rationalization and you know it, Mörgain. One crazed preacher is not an invasion force.”
    “I have come for two reasons only,” Mörgain said, “and they are both now achieved. I came to give you warning, for among my people only base cowards attack without warning. We are coming. You have been warned.”
    “And the other reason?” Ulfram asked.
    “To prove I have more courage in my heart than any man.”
    The king nodded sadly. “I imagine you must. Because you would make an excellent hostage. I could seize you right now and force your clansmen to return to their steppes in exchange for your safety.”
    Mörgain laughed.
    Croy knew that laugh. He’d heard a deeper, slightly louder version before. Mörget had laughed like that. It was the laugh of one who found violent death to be the ultimate jest.
    “Any man who touches me will die. Perhaps some man will kill me, or even take me alive,” she said. “But he will still die. I will be avenged, even if it takes fifty thousand warriors. If it takes every clan of the East, their bodies piled up outside these walls to make siege towers. If it takes the last drop of blood in the last vein of my people, the man who touches me will die. Now. Dare you take me hostage?”
    Croy turned to watch the king’s face. There was no fear there. He refused to be intimidated—or at least he refused to let Mörgain see that her threats had worked. Croy felt a certain pride at that. This was the man he served.
    “Not when I have a better use for you. Go from here in peace,” Ulfram said, “and take word to your Great Chieftain. I’ll meet with him under the flag of parley, in a place and time of his choosing. Go. I will not stay you. Frankly I don’t want you in my home another second.”

Chapter Fourteen
    A fter Mörgain left, no one spoke for some