Anger surged forth, and Hekla readied herself to extend her claws. But Eyvind, reading something in her face, cleared his throat and wisely stepped back.
“Stand and tell us what you know,Hekla,” he said, all traces of amusement gone as he assumed the role of leader. “Bring us up to date on your findings.”
As Hakonsson retreated to a seat of honor, Hekla could finally breathe. She pushed to her feet and smoothed the leather-like scales of her lébrynja jacket down.
“We’ve observed the mist from atop Istré’s walls twice since our arrival,” Hekla began. “It begins with a low, steady sound, much like a beating heart, yet this sound remains distant, somewhere in the woods, even when the mist emerges. Thus far, the mist can travel roughly fifty paces from the edge of the forest. At that point, it seems to lose power.”
“Power?”
Hekla’s gaze met Eyvind’s, and she felt it right down to her toes. But with each word, Hekla became more grounded in herself—in her purpose. She was damned good at her job, and these were her allies.
“The mist...scatters, for lack of a better term, much like fog under bright sunlight.”
Eyvind’s thick brows drew together as he puzzled over this new detail.
“Loftur has ordered the local woodsmen to fell the trees bordering Istré,” said Hekla, sending the chieftain a begrudging look of approval. “There is now a clearing of roughly one hundred paces around Istré’s fortifications, though it must be noted that there are countless farmsteads beyond the walls still lacking protection?—”
“Is there a pattern to the attacks?”
The interruption came from the man seated beside her. With striking blue eyes set against medium brown skin, the warrior had a haughty expression she immediately disliked.
“There...appears to be a pattern,” admitted Hekla. “Though we’ve made little sense of it. The mist appears roughly twice a month, always at night, but the timing between the incidents is always shifting. Thus far, the mist has engulfed three farmsteads along the borderlands. We’ve investigated all but one.”
The hall was silent, so she forced herself to continue. “The Bloodaxe Crew has examined the steadings, measured the claw marks, and collected samples of the blood left behind, but we must see the first steading, must venture?—”
Konal cleared his throat, setting Hekla’s nerves on edge.
“Tell us about the murdered Klaernar,” said Eyvind smoothly.
It did not go unnoticed that twice now the conversation had been diverted from Loftur’s shortcomings. Hekla glanced between the three men in seats of honor, trying to understand. She’d hoped to find a sympathetic ear from Eyvind Hakonsson, but his familiarity with Loftur left her off-kilter.
“King Ivar ordered a squadron of Klaernar to Istré to aid in the investigation,” Hekla continued. “The entire squadron was found not two days after their arrival, strung to the pillars in Istré’s town square, secured by what appeared to be vines.”
“How were they killed?” Konal asked, looking to Loftur.
Hekla bit her tongue to let Istré’s chieftain answer.
“The puncture wounds were round,” answered Loftur, “and of similar size to the vines. Spiral Staves were scrawled in blood all around them.”
The hall was silent as Eyvind and his men took in this information.
When Hekla could stand it no longer, she continued, “We spoke of this oddity often during our journey north. Axe Eyes and”—she sighed—“the rest of the Bloodaxe Crew were in agreement that it was likely a different perpetrator than the mist.”
Eyvind and Konal exchanged a weighted look, and the men seated at the long table whispered amongst themselves. Her dismay was growing with each passing minute as she felt herself losing their attention. Why was it so gods-damned hard for a man to hear her words?
Hekla folded her arms over her chest. “We ought to speak of the creatures seen emerging from the woods!” she called out. As the room quietened, she continued, “The creatures we’ve seen are not as they were made. Foxes, grimwolves, wolfspiders alike. All of them carry a distinctive moldered scent, and their eyes burn like the embers of a fire.” Her gaze landed on Loftur and hardened. “I’ve suggested it might be an illness borne of the mist. Yet if that were so, I question why we’ve yet to find a single human survivor of the mist. The residents of the steadings impacted by the mist have allvanished, though the blood and claw marks suggest they’ve met a grim fate?—”
Konal grunted, and Eyvind pushed to his feet. “My thanks, Hekla,” said Hakonsson. “You may take a seat.”
His casual dismissal landed like a slap. Hekla sank onto the bench, trying to quell her rising anger.
“After conferring with Loftur and Konal,” said Eyvind Hakonsson, standing at the head of the table, “it has been decided. Today we shall ride beyond Istré’s walls. Examine the site of the second attack?—”
“We’ve examined it already,” Hekla cut in. “As we have the site of the third attack. What we need is to visit the site of the first attack. The Hagensson steading.”
Konal sent her a glare that could shatter stone, but Hekla stood her ground.
“As I’ve told you many times,” Loftur said through ground teeth, “the Hagensson steading has had a ritual cleansing. It must be left undisturbed for a full year to allow the dead to rest.”
