KALASGARDE
Rey stared bleary-eyed into his bowl of porridge. Already, his back complained from sleeping on the hard bench, but now Vig was here, talking far too loudly.
“I heard Silla’s voice coming from the stables,” said Vig from across the table as Rey shoveled porridge into his mouth. “Is she…speaking to your horse?”
“Probably.”
“It sounded quite grave. A true heart-to-heart.”
Rey let out a long breath. “Why are you here, Vig?”
“Falcon arrived with a letter for you,” said Vig, pulling a scroll from the folds of his cloak and handing it to Rey. “Important business from Kopa, I presume.”
Rey’s eyes fell upon the dragon sigil stamped into the wax—Jarl Hakon’s mark. Rey’s pulse drummed as he tore the seal and read the letter.
Soot fingers,
Ten men, be there in six days. Try not to die.
Yours,
Fire Breath
Rey felt a rare smile tugging at his lips. Eyvind hadn’t changed a lick. Shaking his head, he turned the scroll over, frowning. No word of Metta, the girl Silla had begged him to save from the Klaernar’s custody in Kopa. He hoped it had merely slipped Eyvind’s mind and it didn’t bode poorly for the woman. Rey rolled the letter back up and tucked it into his cloak.
Vig watched him hawkishly. “What’re you playing at, Galtung?”
“Cleaning up an unfinished mess.” Rey filled his mouth with more porridge. He was not in the mood to deal with Vig’s shite.
“How unlike you to finish things.”
Rey swallowed and closed his eyes.Marra, grant me the patience to deal with this eelhead.With a long exhale, he fixed his bestaxe eyeson Vig. “I’m planning for the job I can no longer complete in Istré, so people do not continue to be murdered.”
It was more than he should say—more than hemeantto say—but Vig’s blink of surprise was worth it. Did he truly think Rey rushed about this kingdomplayingat warrior as they’d done as children?
“What is killing the people of Istré?” asked Vig.
“I do not know,” Rey answered honestly, which was what troubled him the most. He could send men to be sure, but without being there himself to sift through the evidence, and with the delay in correspondence, his unease grew stronger. The last thing he wanted was to send his broken and battered Bloodaxe Crew into danger unprepared—again.
“Troubling times indeed,” muttered Vig.
“What do you mean by that?”
Vig watched Rey, and for once, the contempt was missing from his face. “It might be nothing, but…”
“But?”
“Váli’s disappearance has me thinking.”
“A rare thing,” muttered Rey, but he frowned in unease. Still, Váli had not been found. Rey had retraced his search for the boy in his mind’s eye—planned to ask Runný to stay with Silla so he could search for him in daylight.
Vig shot him a sharp glare. “A few weeks past, we had a flock of sheep go missing.” Stroking his dark beard, Vig’s expression matched the worry gathering in Rey’s gut. “We found only scattered tufts of wool in the pasture.”
“Claw marks? Mist?” demanded Rey, before he could think better of it. Magnus had said the troubles in Istré had begun with missing livestock…
“No and no,” replied Vig, as Rey let out a long breath. Thank the gods above. “But it had a strange…smell.”
“Smell,” repeated Rey. “What kind of smell?”
