“Very well.”
Rotsvelgur stepped forward and picked up a great spear that was lying hidden in the iron nest that was his throne. Sæmundur noticed something that, to his mind, didn’t belong in this scrap metal heap. Hidden in the middle of the pile were a few speckled indigo eggs.
“Sæmundur, I name you a malefactor and harbinger of ruin,” said Rotsvelgur slowly in skramsl. “I accept your galdur as payment of your debt and the one you call Melsteð, with the condition that you never set foot here and never consort with Those-who-pluck-the-eyes-of-the-ram again. Our association is at an end. Your debt shall be considered paid in full. Do you accept these terms, and that you shall pay its violation ninefold?’
“I accept.”
“Then go your way, illvættur.”
He spat out that last word in Hrímlandic. Naming him as a malevolent spirit.
Sæmundur turned around and walked back out. Kölski followed in his footsteps. As he exited the hall he heard the thud of a spear hitting the ground behind him. Outside the crowing of the náskárar had stopped and the sky was cleared of soaring dark shapes. Countless dark eyes glared at him as he crossed the bridge. The waves crashed on the rocks below.
Tuttugu og níu
They went over the plan daily. Every step had to be carefully planned – there could be no room for hesitation or doubt when the time came. Garún had been intentionally vague about Sæmundur’s part in all this. All she told them was that he had a method to disable Loftkastalinn and cause an evacuation at Lögrétta, and that the less they knew, the better. She hadn’t heard anything from him. She wasn’t happy, but she had to trust that he would be able to deliver.
“All right, if Kryik’traak doesn’t show, we’ll make a run for the harbour here,” said Katrín as they went over the escape route yet again. The cave was damp and cold. They sat on rucksacks around a crate they used for a table. It was covered with roughly drawn maps. “But likely that will end with us being captured within the hour. We need the náskárar for extraction.”
“I still haven’t heard anything,” said Garún. “I’m not sure if they’ll get back to us in time. They did show up at the protests, both times, without any communication with our group. So they might keep an eye on us.”
“What do you mean?’ asked Hraki. “Do they know where we’re setting up the ambush?’
“No,” said Garún, “we’ll just have to hope we can flag them down, that they’ll help fight anyone in pursuit of us.”
“Right. Not exactly the best plan of action. But if we find ourselves surrounded by soldiers they might come to our aid.”
Styrhildur shuffled the maps around.
“Do you really think that with Loftkastalinn damaged and a captured stiftamtmaður, the people will rise up against the Commonwealth?’ she asked.
The question sounded general, but was aimed at Katrín.
“There were a lot of people at the protest,” Katrín said. “Regular humans. People died. Like I said before Diljá and Hrólfur left, Lögrétta will seize the opportunity. If they won’t, the people will rally again and demand it for themselves.”
“And we’ll force Trampe to sign a declaration of self-governance,” said Hraki.
Katrín snorted. “Right. I somehow doubt that. Trampe is infamous for his stubbornness. He won’t do a damn thing. And it won’t hold up, anyway. It’s just paper. Taking him hostage will mostly come in handy for negotiations when Kalmar wants to retaliate.”
“And what will we do then?’
Garún shrugged. “Pray. Most of the military is stationed in Loftkastalinn, but they have barracks in Viðey and Seltjarnarnes. They’ve weaponised the police. If we can overpower them, we can claim their weapons. There are walls surrounding the city on all fronts. We could endure a siege, if it comes to it. Threaten to sabotage Perlan if they won’t negotiate.”
Styrhildur shook her head. “This is so fucking insane.”
“Right.”
A short while later Kryik’traak arrived and called out to them. It was time for today’s firing drill. Without a word they took off everything except their undergarments, put on the jellyfish and swam after the marbendill.
The caves under the Elliðaár rivers were plentiful and most of them abandoned. Kryik’traak led them to an elongated cave, almost a kind of tunnel, which suited them well for practising. They practised loading and firing the muzzle-loading guns.
The weapons were Kryik’traak’s gift to them. The Crown occasionally shipped boatloads of ruined weapons down the Elliðaár, either for repairs or to sell for scrap iron or parts. It was all kinds of equipment, most of it so badly damaged that it couldn’t be salvaged. From an entire heap of garbage the marbendlar had managed to scrounge together materials for a few usable pistols.
Kryik’traak’s comrade, Aktarív’letar, taught them how to use the weapons. They would have been absolutely helpless without her aid. She knew how much gunpowder was supposed to be used for each shot, that you had to press it properly with the ramrod. She knew how the catch could be set to safety, and how they could fire quickly in case they encountered sudden combat. Garún hadn’t even realised that the ramrod was kept in the gun itself, just below the barrel like a sheathed sword. To their surprise, Styrhildur showed some familiarity with handling the weapons. When they asked her how she knew so much about muzzle-loading guns, she replied that she had once had a job at a workshop that specialised in fixing up old stuff, including the Commonwealth’s old equipment. That was all she would say on the matter, and that was good enough for them.
This firing drill was a test of resilience. One at a time they took turns
