Runemarks

His curse was stifled by the gag; his entire will now struggled against that of the Word. But his will was failing; his blood soaked into the hardpack floor. He remembered the Examiner saying to him, Your time is done, and was suddenly conscious-amid his rage and sorrow-of a feeling of deep and undeniable relief.

9

Something was definitely going on inside the roundhouse. Maddy could feel it-see it-as Bjarkan teased out the signs from the cool night air. She could see two signatures-Skadi and Loki-approaching from the opposite side of the square. They had not yet seen her, and silently Maddy made for the roundhouse’s only door, keeping to the broad crescent of moonshadow that skirted the building.

At her side her hand began to curl into the familiar shape of Hagall, the Destroyer.

Less than a dozen feet away the Examiner was preparing to unleash the Word.

The Word itself is entirely soundless.

Nat had learned that already, on Red Horse Hill. The Word is cast, not spoken, although in most cases it is preceded by all manner of verses and canticles designed to give it greater power.

His eye flicked back to the Book in the Examiner’s hands. The Book of Words, unlocked in his presence for the first time. The list of names on the butchered page filled nine verses, and their effect on the prisoner had been dramatic. Now he slumped, glaring, on the roundhouse floor, his single eye blazing defiantly, the ruinmark on his face glowing with unnatural light.

The Examiner too looked exhausted; his hands fumbled blindly at the open Book.

“Let me hold it,” said Nat, reaching to take it.

The Examiner did not protest; he surrendered the Book into the parson’s hands without even seeming to hear his words.

“Now answer me.” The Examiner’s voice was hoarse with exertion. His eyes fixed the prisoner; his bloody hands shook. “Tell me this, and tell me true. Where are the Seer-folk? Where are they hiding? What are their numbers? Their weapons? Their plans?”

Odin snarled beneath the gag.

“I said, where are they?”

Odin writhed and shook his head.

Nat Parson wondered how the Examiner expected to get a confession of any sort from a man who was so securely prevented from speech. “Perhaps if I removed the gag, Examiner-”

“Be quiet, fool, and stand aside!”

At this, Nat jumped as if stung. “Examiner, I must protest…”

But the Examiner was not listening. Eyes narrowed like a man who can almost-but not quite-grasp the thing he seeks, he leaned forward, and the Word rang soundlessly into the air.

All over the village, hackles raised, cupboard doors swung open, sleepers turned over from one uncomfortable dream into another.

“Where are the Seer-folk?” he hissed again, making a strange little sign with his finger and thumb.

And now the parson was sure he could see a kind of colored light that surrounded prisoner and Examiner like an oily smoke. It peacocked around them in lazy coils, and with his hands the Examiner fretted and teased the illuminated air like a seamstress combing silks.

But there was more, the parson thought. There were words in the colors. He could almost hear them: words fluttering like moths in a jar. Not a word came from the prisoner on the floor, and yet somehow the Examiner was making him speak.

And now Nat realized with mounting excitement that what he had taken for colors and lights were actually thoughts-thoughts drawn directly from the Outlander’s mind.

Of course, Nat knew perfectly well that he should not have been watching this at all. The mysteries of the Order were jealously guarded, which was why the Book of Words was closed. By rights he knew his duty: to stand back, eyes lowered, well out of range, and let the Examiner perform his Interrogation.

But Nat was ambitious. The thought of the Word-so close he could practically touch it-eclipsed both caution and sense of duty. Instead he stepped closer, made the same strange sign he had seen the Examiner make-and in a second the truesight enveloped him, spinning him for a moment into a maelstrom of lights and signatures.

Could this possibly be…a dream?

If so, it was the first one Nat Parson had ever experienced.

“O beautiful!” he breathed, and moving closer, unable to help himself, for a second he held the prisoner’s eye and something-some intimacy-passed between them.

The Examiner felt it like a rush of air. But the parson was in his way, damn the fool, and in the half second it took to push him aside, the precious information was lost.

The Examiner gave a howl of anger and frustration.

Nat Parson stared at the prisoner, his eyes wide with new knowledge.

And at that moment the roundhouse door slammed open on its hinges and a bolt of deadly blue light shot into the room.

I’m going to die, the parson thought as he cowered on the floor. He was vaguely conscious of Audun and Jed doing the same; at his side the Examiner lay, already stiffening, hands outstretched as if to ward off annihilation.

There was no doubt in Nat’s mind that the man was dead-the bolt had ripped him almost in two. The Good Book lay on the floor beside him, its pages scattered and scorched by the blast.

But even this had not killed his curiosity. As the other two hid their eyes, he looked up, made a circle with his finger and thumb, and saw his attackers: a woman, quite naked and almost too beautiful to look at in her caul of cold fire, and a young man in a state of similar undress, with a crooked smile that made the parson shiver.

“Get him,” said Skadi.

“Hang on,” said Loki. “I’m freezing to death.” Briefly he surveyed Audun, Nat, and Jed, still lying shivering on the roundhouse floor. “That tunic should do,” he said to Audun. “Oh, and the boots.” And at that he rapidly relieved him of both, leaving the guard in his underthings. “Not exactly a perfect fit,” said Loki, “but in the circumstances-”

“I said, get him,” snapped Skadi with mounting impatience.

Loki shrugged and stepped over to the prisoner. “Stand up, brother of mine,” he said, forking a runesign so that the chains dropped off. “Here comes the cavalry.”

Odin stood up. He looked terrible, thought Loki. Good news at any other time-but today he had been rather counting on the General’s protection.

Skadi moved forward and raised her glam. The runewhip hissed; its tip forked like a serpent’s tongue. “And now,” she said, “give me the Whisperer.”

10

Loki considered shifting to his fiery Aspect, then rejected the thought as a waste of glam. Skadi was standing over him, Isa at the ready, and fast as he was, he feared she was faster.

“Of course I’ll keep my end of the bargain,” he said, not taking his eye away from the runewhip that crackled and hissed like bottled lightning. “Eventually.”

Skadi’s expression, habitually cold, grew icy. “I warned you,” she said in a low voice.

“And I told you straight. I promised you the Whisperer. You’ll get it, don’t fret”-he glanced at Odin-“when we’re all out of this safely.”

Now, One-Eye was weak, but he had lost none of his mental agility. He knew Loki well enough to understand the game he was playing and to play along-for the time being. He could be lying-he probably was-but whether or not he had the Whisperer, now was not the time to dispute it.

“That wasn’t the deal,” said Skadi, coming closer.

“Try to think,” said Odin calmly. “Would either of us have brought it here, like some valueless bauble? Or would we, rather, hide it in a safe place, a place where no one would ever find it?”

Skadi nodded. “I see.” Then she turned and raised her glam. “Well, Dogstar, I think that concludes our business,” she said, and brought the runewhip down with a head-splitting crack. It missed Loki-just-and gouged a four-foot-long section out of the wall where he had been standing.

Nat, Jed, and Audun, who had all three been lying low in the hope of being overlooked, tried to press themselves further into the roundhouse floor.

Loki shot Odin a look of appeal. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I just saved your life.”

“You think that matters?” Skadi said. “You think that pays for what you’ve done?”

“Well, not exactly,” Loki said. “But you may still need me one of these days…”

“I’ll take that risk.”

She raised her glam. Barbed Isa fretted the air.

But now it was Odin who stepped forward. He looked old, his face drawn, his shirt drenched with fresh blood, but his colors blazed with sudden fury.

Skadi found him in her way and stared at him in astonishment. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “You’re giving him your protection now?”