Part 8 (2/2)

”Is something beginning?”

”Something has begun. We've been into it for a long time. Too many impossible things have happened already.”

Bragi rose, kicked the corpse, growled, ”Get this out of my house.” Then he dropped to a knee beside Haaken. He slid an arm around his brother's shoulders, crushed him to his chest. ”Haaken, Haaken, it was an evil day when we came south.”

Tears still rolled down into the wild dark tangle of Haaken's beard.

He sniffed. ”We should've stood and died.” He sniffed again, wrapped both arms around Bragi. ”Bragi, let me get the kids and we just go home. Now, and the h.e.l.l with everything. Forget it all. Just you and me and Reskird and the kids, and leave these d.a.m.ned southrons to their own mercies.”

”Haaken....”

”Bragi, it's bad. It's cruel. Please. Let's just go. They can have everything I've got. Just take me home. I can't take it anymore.”

”Haaken....” He rose.

”Don't go in. Bragi, please.””Haaken, I have to.” There were tears in his own eyes. He knew part of it now.

Elana. She was a loss more dire than his father. Mad Ragnar had chosen his death.

Elana.... She was a victim of his profession.

Blackfang wouldn't move. And now the younger children, Ainjar and Helga, clung to his legs, bawling, asking for Mama, and what was wrong with Inger and Soren?

Ragnarson asked a question with his eyes. Haaken nodded.

”My babies? No. Not them too?”

Haaken nodded again.

The tears faded. Ragnarson turned slowly, surveying the faces in the hall. Every eye turned from the flame raging in his. Hatred was too mild a word.

Blood would flow. Souls would spill shrieking into the outer darkness. And he wouldn't be gentle. He would be cruel.

”Move aside, Haaken.”

”Bragi....”

”Move.”

Haaken moved. ”You lead, Bragi,” he said. ”I'll follow anywhere.”

Ragnarson briefly rested a hand on his shoulder. ”We're probably dead men, Haaken.

But somebody will carry the torches to light our path into h.e.l.l.” For an instant he was startled by his own words. Their father had said the same thing just before his death.

”Valther! Find out who did this.”

”Bragi....”

”Do it.” He shoved into the bedroom.

Valther started to follow him. Mist seized his arm.

She had the Power. Once she had been a Princess of the Dread Empire. She knew what lay behind that door.

Ragnarson had his emotions under control again. He kept hand on sword hilt to remind himself. This was a battlefield. These had fallen in a war....

”Oh.”

Haaken tried to pull him out.

”No. Valther. Come here.”

The man with his pants half on was Valther's brother Turran.

Their eyes met over the corpse, and much went unsaid- words which couldn't be spoken lest blood be their price.

”Take care of him.” Ragnarson moved round the bed to his wife. First he dropped to one knee, then he sat. He held her hand and remembered. Twenty years. Sixteen of them married. Hard times and good, fighting and loving.

That was a long time. Nearly half his life. There were a lot of memories.

Behind him, Valther shed tears on his brother's chest.An hour pa.s.sed before Bragi looked up.

Rolf Preshka, Captain of the Palace Guards, sat on the edge of the bed. His grief mirrored Ragnarson's.

Bragi had never known for sure, but he had suspected. Rolf had joined him when Elana had. They had been partners before.... But there hadn't been a moment's dishonor since. He knew Preshka that well.

There was that, beneath the grief, which said that Rolf, too, meant to extract payment in blood and pain.

But Preshka was in no shape for it. He had lost a lung in the war. He refused to die, but he was never healthy either. That was why he held the unstrenuous Palace command.

Later still, Nepanthe came. She cried some. Then she and Mist calmed the children and moved them to Valther's house.

”You are my hand that reaches beyond the grave,” Bragi told Ragnar before he left, and went on to explain what he knew and felt. Things Ragnar should know in case the next band of a.s.sa.s.sins succeeded.

The boy had to grow up fast.

Throughout the night Michael Trebilc.o.c.k observed in silence. Trebilc.o.c.k remained an enigma. He was a sponge, soaking up others' pain and joy and never revealing any emotion himself.

Once, though, he came and rested a comforting hand on Bragi's shoulder. For Trebilc.o.c.k that was a lot.

Before sunrise all Bragi's old comrades had come, except Reskird, whose regiment was on exercise around Lake Turntine.

Shortly before dawn, thunder rolled over the mountains. Lightning walked the cloudless night.

It was an omen.

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