holding her lips for a moment on his collar bone. He ran his hands along her spine, noting the suppleness in her ageing skin. You can mix gain and pleasure so long as you're doing things right. He was now pushed against the window frame, the glass chilling his back. Her hand continued to work on him, perhaps a little too eagerly.
Oh please, not a fourth time…
To the bed again, sliding his hands along her legs, his tongue licking feverishly from her ankles to her thigh, until she couldn't stop groaning. The soft light from the window – the heavenly display – enhanced every curve of her body, smoothed every line of ageing. At an agonizingly slow pace, Randur's mouth advanced across her body. She groaned ecstatically, her fingertips gripping the bed sheets.
A thumping at the door.
Randur stared into her startled eyes.
Bugger. He whispered, 'Who is it?'
'How should I know?'
Thumping again. A voice shouted, 'Lady Yvetta, this is Anton!'
Yvetta whispered, 'My husband's brother.'
Shit, Randur thought, immediately checking for an obvious escape route. The window, the exit of so many a lover in the night, seemed an appropriate choice.
'I know you're in there, Yvetta,' the voice continued. 'I was brought news that you entered your chamber in the company of some young man. I can't allow our family name to be disgraced in this way.'
'Nonsense,' she shrilled. 'I'm utterly alone.'
Randur leapt off the bed, threw on his shirt and breeches.
Yvetta hurried over to the door to intercede.
While she wasn't looking, he flipped a couple of bracelets from the dresser into his pocket.
'There's no one here, Anton. Really,' she protested.
'Let me in to see for myself,' the voice said.
'Give me a moment,' she said. 'I must make myself decent.'
Randur, meanwhile, had alternative concerns: 'Where's my other fucking boot? Oh.' He grabbed it, fled to the window, opened it silently, then stepped out on the balcony. Before he closed the window again, he blew her a final kiss, and whispered, 'When you next read some sweet stanza, think of me, as I will of you, my love.' She returned his gaze with a look of anxious foreboding.
It was a freezing cold night. Colours still drifted across the sky, but there was no time to appreciate the view. With one of his boots still in his hand, he emptied its contents and pocketed the jewellery.
As the sound of raised voices came from within Lady Fol's room, Randur quickly shoved his boot on, leapt to the next balcony with his dancer's agility, then climbed up to the roof. There must, he reflected, be easier ways to acquire some money. Careful not to slip to his death on the icy stonework, he edged along until he came upon an emergency spiral staircase. He descended it quickly, then jumped out onto the street.
'Evening,' he greeted a couple walking by, waving while he began to button his shirt. 'Lovely night, isn't it?'
*
Commander Brynd Lathraea stared up at a sky fragmented into colour, vivid streaks of red and green drifting across the darkness like sheets of rain. They had been back on the island of Jokull for a day, and they had stationed further up the coast. Another hour or two for them to get to Villjamur, but after Daluk Point he was painfully aware of how badly their plans might be kept secret. They had then camped for the next night a fair distance up the coast.
'Shit me,' Apium said, clambering off his bedroll, and nearly stepping on the dying fire as he scrambled to Brynd's side. 'Bollocks.' He brushed sparks off his cloak.
Brynd stood with hands on his hips, craning his neck to see through the overhanging trees. The other two Night Guardsmen approached them, but said nothing, just stared entranced at the massive light show above.
'What, in Bohr's name, is that?' Apium muttered eventually. 'D'you reckon it's something to do with the Freeze?'
'Cultist work that, captain, without a doubt.'
Nelum agreed. 'Indeed, this is nothing natural.'
'I said earlier something strange was happening all across the Archipelago,' Brynd muttered. 'I don't like it at all.'
'Always the cheery sort, aren't you?' Apium said.
Brynd glanced across to Rika's carriage. By now one hundred soldiers from the Dragoons were stationed protectively in a perimeter all around their camp, while pairings of troops patrolled further out. He was deliberately monitoring an hour's journey in every direction, so if there happened to be any more draugr, they would be taken out quickly. Brynd wasn't taking any further chances, either with his remaining men or his precious charge.
Two hours after the heavenly display had finally faded, a female private from the Dragoons guided her horse quietly through the forest towards them.
'Commander,' she saluted him, then dismounted.
The other three Night Guards leapt to attention, then gathered around their leader.
'Yes?' Brynd eyed the solid young woman.
'Commander, your presence is requested urgently.'
'Apium, Nelum: stay here. Your life before the Empress's.'
'Sir,' the two men said in unison. They drew their swords and took up position by the carriage.
'Lupus,' Brynd turned to the third, 'come with me and bring your arrows.'
'Of course, commander,' Lupus replied.
The two jumped on their horses, followed the Dragoon into the darkness of the betula forest.
'Private, what's the issue?' Brynd enquired as he ducked to avoid branches, his sabre in hand.
'Those draugr creatures you warned about earlier. We've spotted some.'
'How many are there?'
'Approximately fifteen, it seems, commander – at the edge of the forest, on the Baering Moors.'
Brynd was above all determined not to let these creatures harm the new Empress. And furthermore he wanted to find out where they came from, what their motives were or who had sent them. He'd never heard of such a thing in the Empire, so why now, why on Jokull?
Through the trees, hooves thudding against the forest floor, twigs snapping as they brushed past.
They finally came across a group of Third Dragoons, the Wolf Brigade of around forty men, their helmets glinting in the light of the moon. Their official standard – a white wolf rampant, against a green background – leaned against a tree in the forest clearing. Brynd was reassured at the number of soldiers assembled.
Their sergeant stepped forward, a blonde woman wearing the familiar black and green uniform of the Dragoons. She sheathed her sword, placed her wolf's-head shield to one side. He saw her face was tracked with abrasions from the tribal campaigns she had led successfully a while back.
'Commander Lathraea,' she said. 'I'm Sergeant Woodyr. Has Private Fendur explained the situation?'
'She has,' Brynd confirmed.
Lupus jumped down, tethered both his own horse and Brynd's to a tree.
The three of them then proceeded over to the edge of the forest. Quietly, she pointed. 'Look.'
Brynd's eyes narrowed.
Across the moorland, about a hundred and fifty paces away, stood a group of draugr, the moonlight from the moon Astrid casting bold, eerie shadows across the earth around them. Wind blew constant ripples through the short grass, but the draugr didn't move, only their fluttering garments. It was an ethereal picture.
'They've been standing there, as if unwilling to move, for some time,' Woodyr explained. 'At least half an hour now since we first discovered them.'
Brynd's eyes grew accustomed to the scene, seeing the figures were dressed in rags, merely strips of cloth hanging off their flesh, both men and women. 'Have they done anything at all yet?'
'No, commander,' the sergeant confirmed.
'Has anyone approached them?'
'Not after your earlier warnings. We waited for you to arrive to assess the situation.'
'I'm glad to hear it.' Brynd turned to Lupus, said abruptly, 'Shoot one.'
