Prince of Fools. Mark Lawrence
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could lead to some kind of solution. ‘You met her. Well, you saw her in the Red Queen’s throne room.’
‘The old völva?’ Snorri asked.
‘The old what?’
‘That crone at the Red Queen’s side. She’s the witch you’re talking about?’
‘Yes. The Silent Sister everyone calls her. Most don’t see her though.’
Snorri spat into the water. The current took it away in a series of lazy swirls. ‘I know this name, the Silent Sister. The völvas of the North speak it, but not loudly.’
‘Well now you’ve seen her.’ I still wondered at that. Perhaps the fact that we could both see her had something to do with her magic failing to destroy us. ‘She set a spell that was to kill everyone at the opera I went to last night.’
‘Opera?’ he asked.
‘Better not to know. In any event, I escaped the spell, but when I forced my way through, something broke, a crack ran after me. Two cracks, inter-woven, one dark, one light. When you grabbed hold of me the crack caught up and ran through both of us. And somehow stopped.’
‘And when we separate?’
‘The dark fissure ran through you, the light through me. When we pull them apart it seems the cracks try to tear free, to rejoin.’
‘And when they join?’ Snorri asked.
I shrugged. ‘It’s bad. Worse than opera.’ However nonchalant my words might be though, and despite the heat of the day, my blood ran colder than the river.
Snorri set his jaw in that way I’d come to recognize as consideration. His hands quietly strangled the oars. ‘So your grandmother sentences me to the fight-pit and then you bring down her witch’s curse on me?’
‘I didn’t seek you out!’ The nonchalance I’d been striving for wouldn’t come from a dry mouth. ‘You stopped me dead in the street, remember?’ I regretted using the word ‘dead’ immediately.
‘You’re a man of honour,’ he said to no one in particular. I looked for the smirk and found nothing but sincerity. If he was acting then I needed lessons from the same place he’d got his. I concluded that he was reminding himself of his duties, which seemed odd in a Viking whose duties traditionally extended to remembering to pillage before raping, or the other way around. ‘You’re a man of honour.’ Louder this time, looking right at me. Where the hell he got that idea I had no notion.
‘Yes,’ I lied.
‘We should settle this like men.’ Absolutely the last words I wanted to hear.
‘Here’s the thing, Snorri.’ I eyed the various escape options open to me. I could jump overboard. Unfortunately I’d always viewed boats as a thin plank between me and drowning, and swimming as the same again but without the plank. The tree offered the next best option, but willow fronds aren’t climbing material unless you happen to be a squirrel. I selected the last option. ‘What’s that over there?’ I pointed to a spot on the riverbank behind the Norseman. He didn’t so much as turn his head. Shit. ‘Ah, my mistake.’ And that was me out of options. ‘As I was saying. The thing is. The thing. Well, honestly.’ The thing had to be something. ‘Um. I’m afraid that when I kill you the crack will run out of you just the same as it would if we got too far apart. And then – boom – a split second later I’d be too far apart. So tempting as it is to pit my princely fighting skills against those of a … what is your rank? I never found out.’
‘Hauldr. I own my land, ten acres from Uulisk shore to the ridge top.’
‘So as much as it tempts me to break with societal rules and pit the arm of a prince of Red March against a … a hauldr, I’m concerned that I wouldn’t survive your death.’ From his frown I could see that it might be a risk he was willing to take if no better alternative were on offer, so to forestall him I added, ‘But as it happens I’ve always had a hankering to visit the North myself and see firsthand just how reaving is done. And besides, my grandmother worries so about these dead ghost-men of yours. It would put her heart at ease to have the business sorted out. So I’d best come with you.’
‘I mean to travel fast.’ Snorri’s frown deepened. ‘I’ve left it too long already and the distance is great. And be warned: it will be a bloody business when I get there. Slow me down and … but you were moving pretty quick when you crashed into me.’ His brow smoothed, thunderclouds clearing, and that smile lit him up, half-wild, half-friendly, and all dangerous. ‘Besides, you’ll know more about the terrain than me. Tell me about the men of Rhone.’
And just like that we were travelling companions. I’d bound myself to his quest for rescue and vengeance in some distant land. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long. Snorri could save his family then slaughter his enemies to the last man, necromancer and corpse monster, and that would be that. I’m good at self-deception but I couldn’t manage to make the plan sound like anything other than a suicidal nightmare. Still, the icy North was a long way off – plenty of opportunity to break the spell that bound us together and run away home.
Snorri took up the oars again, paused, then, ‘Stand a moment.’
‘Really?’
He nodded. I’ve good balance on a horse and none at all on water. Even so, not wanting to fall out with the man within moments of our new understanding, I got to my feet, arms out to steady myself. He tipped the boat, a sharp deliberate move, and I pitched into the river, grasping desperately at willow twigs as a man about to drown will clutch at straws.
Above the splashing I could hear Snorri having a good old laugh to himself. He was saying something too, ‘… clean … together …’ But I could only catch the odd word since drowning is a noisy business. Eventually, when I’d given up trying to save myself by swallowing all the water and had slipped below the surface for the third and final time, he snagged my waistcoat and hauled me back in with distressing ease. I lay in the bottom flopping about like a fish and retching up enough of the river almost to swamp the boat.
‘Bastard!’ My first coherent word before I remembered quite how big and murderous he was.
‘I couldn’t have you come to the North smelling like that!’ Snorri laughed and steered back out into the current, the willow trailing its fingers over us in regret. ‘And how can a man not know how to swim? Madness!’
The river took us to the sea. A journey of two days. We slept by the banks, far enough back to escape the worst of the mosquitoes. Snorri laughed at my complaints. ‘In the northern summer the biters are so thick in the air they cast a shadow.’
‘Probably why you’re all so pale,’ I said. ‘No tan and blood loss.’
I found sleep elusive. The hard ground didn’t help, nor did the itchiness of anything I used to soften it. The whole business reminded me of the misery that had been the Scorron Campaign two summers earlier. It’s true I wasn’t there more than three weeks before returning to be feted as the hero of the Aral Pass and to nurse my bad leg, strained in combat, or at least in inadvertently sprinting away from one combat into another. In any event, I lay on the too-hard and too-scratchy ground looking at the stars, with the river whispering in the dark and the bushes alive with things that chirruped and rustled and creaked. I thought then of Lisa DeVeer and suspected that few nights would pass between now and my return to the palace when I wouldn’t find occasion to ask myself how I ended up in such straits. And in the smallest hours of the night, feeling deeply sorry for myself, I even found time to wonder again if Lisa and her sisters might have survived the opera. Perhaps Alain had convinced his father to keep them home as punishment for the company they’d been keeping.
‘Why don’t you sleep, Red March?’ Snorri spoke from the darkness.
‘We’re