“I didn’t just see. I could touch, taste, smell and hear. It was like I was there.”
“Where?”
“In the mountains, near Flókalundur. The night of the battle of Blood River,” I replied. “I was alone, marching through the snow toward a camp of soldiers. It was night but the moon was full and bright. It was freezing cold, but my rage was keeping me warm.”
“That’s impossible,” Alasdair hissed. “How could he—”
“I know, Alasdair,” Gunnach said, waving him off. “Arric, where did you learn about Blood River?”
“Man, didn’t you hear me?” I asked, rising to my feet. “I didn’t learn about anything. I was there. I have no idea what the hell is going on here and yet you guys are the ones askingmequestions.”
“He understands the old tongue as well,” Alasdair said to Gunnach. “His blood calls out to me.”
“I feel it as well,” Kade said.
“Is he one of us?” Alasdair asked, my irritation rising as they spoke in some sort of gibberish code about me.
“I suspect he’s another one of Haddi’s lost lambs, returned home,” Gunnach replied.
“He’s a bit more of a goat, I’d say.”
“Heis standing right fucking here and he would like to know what the fuck is going on,” I growled.
“Arric, please forgive me,” Gunnach said. “Take a seat,” he said pointing to an antique chair in the corner. “Alasdair, please give us the room.”
“But sir—”
“Thank you, Alasdair,” Gunnach said, and his bodyguard left with a huff. Gunnach returned his attention back to me. “Please forgive Alasdair. He’s quite passionate about his job but sometimes lacks sensitivity while performing it.”
“I don’t sweat him,” I replied, sitting in the chair.
“You should. He’s quite powerful,” Gunnach replied.
“He’s stronger than he looks, I’ll give him that.”
Without looking, Gunnach pulled a large leather-bound book from the shelf next to him. He took the seat opposite me, and again without setting eyes on the book, turned to a specific page.
“Here we are,” he said, turning the book to face me.
The book was hand-printed and looked to be incredibly old. I couldn’t make out the language it was written in but understood the pictures perfectly well.
“It this what you saw?” Gunnach asked, pointing to a painting depicting precisely what I’d seen.
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. What is that book?”
“It was written by Tor Olufsen. One of our great oracles and historians. It’s a book about the early days of our people.”
“It looks old,” I said.
“It is,” he replied with a slight smile. “It was written in the thirteenth century. Long before my time.”
I chuckled. “I may look like a gym rat, but I know how a calendar works.”
“This section is all about the Battle of Blood River and how Ketill Feilan single-handedly defeated one hundred enemy soldiers who’d been sent to massacre our people.”
“That’s his armor and sword,” I said.
“Yes, it is.”
