The tavern was a comfortable, simple building with thick stone walls and wooden beams hanging way too low for my liking. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, filling the common roomwith warmth and the scent of pine resin. What surprised me was how clean it was, with no bones on the floor or rotten straw in the corners. Behind the counter, a short, round man was wiping tankards whilst singing a folk tune, ignoring the flood of men pouring into his establishment.
‘You have the king under your roof, hurry up and bring mulled mead. Don’t you think he deserves better than your indifference?’ Wrona shouted at the innkeeper.
I slid a gold coin across the countertop, trying my best to keep a straight face. ‘That’s for your trouble. There’ll be more if you let my cooks use your kitchen to feed my troops. We brought our own supplies, but our stoves take time to unpack,’ I said, and without waiting for his answer, led Wrona to the nearest free table.
Tankards of mead appeared as if by magic, and I could finally shake off my cloak, already sweating beneath its protection in the tavern’s warmth.
‘So, madam, the wraiths. What can you tell me?’ I asked.
Wrona took a sip and sighed with delight. ‘There’s not much to tell you, boy. No one here has ever encountered them before. The only warning we had came from the Mother, and when Mlot’s dwarves turned up to steal everything not nailed down, we thought that was the end of it. Well, some thought it ended. Those fools wish they’d listened to old Wrona now. Those wraiths…’ Wrona shuddered.
The story left me frowning, but as intrigued as I was, I focused on the Dwarven army.
‘The Dwarven King’s soldiers, where did they go?’ I asked, and she shrugged, nursing her tankard.
‘Who knows? There was wrongness to them. An emptiness in their eyes and corruption in their bodies.’ She shivered. ‘I told the village not to fight them, to wear tattered clothes and give them scraps, and they listened. We shared our supplies,pretending we were poor, and before we knew it, they were gone. The other village – they didn’t listen to my warnings. Now there’s nothing left but death and ashes.’
‘And the wraiths?’ I would ask the mages about the wrongness Wrona mentioned. For now, I had to gather as much information as possible, especially since she seemed so knowledgeable and eager to talk without restraint or fear of my status.
‘The wraiths came with the first snow,’ Wrona said. ‘Shadowy figures in the fog that froze whatever they touched. Walls and fire kept them at bay, or so we thought. Then nothing. For weeks, nothing happened, but I knew there was more to come.’
She took a long drink before quietly staring at the fire, gathering her thoughts. ‘You see, when the neighbouring village got attacked, a few men decided to search for survivors and salvage what they could. When they returned, they were… different. Quiet and… morose.’
‘You didn’t question the change?’ After the welcome we received, I assumed the villagers would be more careful.
‘We thought they were affected by what they’d found. Death like that? War is ugly, boy. It changes you. Only after they came inside did I realise they were gone.’ She shuddered, shaking her head. ‘There was no life in their eyes. They walked, even talked, but there was no life inside them, just corpses with ice in their veins.’
‘So why did you let them in?’
She shook her head. ‘We didn’t. The wives didn’t listen when I told the men to burn them. One rushed forward and embraced her husband. Gods! I will never forget that moment. The ice took her so quickly. The moment she touched him, she was dead.’
‘You knew they were dead? How?’ I asked, wondering how we could use this ability.
‘I’m a maiden of Makosh. The good Mother gave me the sight. That’s all, boy. I’m not the answer to your troubles.’ She smiled, gesturing for the innkeeper to bring her more mead. ‘Now you know why the men wouldn’t let you in. The elder was being cautious. We learned our lesson the hard way.’
I nodded, drinking my mead. It wasn’t too sweet, the hint of cinnamon offsetting the honey and lightly burning my tongue. Wrona’s story meant I had another problem to solve. Fighting a dwarven army in winter was hard enough; dealing with beings of fog that could freeze someone in their embrace and possess their corpse was another level of complicated.
A gnarled hand clasped my arm. ‘Did she find you? The one touched by the elderkin’s blood?’
My head snapped up. ‘Who?’
Wrona’s eyes turned glassy and distant ‘The woman whose mark you’re wearing. The goddess speaks of her in my dreams.’
She turned to walk away, but I clasped her arm in a firm grip. ‘Why is your goddess involving herself in my life?’
Ever since my sister-in-law became a vessel for Arachne, the goddess of fate, I’d become acutely aware that the beings beyond the Veil still played with their mortal toys. The last thing I wanted was for Roksana to be involved in their petty games, even knowing my fiery little Viper would take it in her stride and change the rules to win.
‘Why? Because the Lady Makosh exists in your woman’s touch. She speaks to me through the whispers of maturing crops, the taste of fresh apples and the scent of blooming flowers. She told me about the one bonded to the daughter of life. The one who’ll save us all with her power.’
I didn’t like the prophetic tone in her voice; I liked even less the coincidental meeting with a priestess of Makosh in a backwater village. I needed answers, but as Wrona pulled away, I let her go.
The Lady of Earth and Crops chose the fertile fields and wooded copses as her place of worship. That was where she shared her light. That was where her followers lived and worked. I would not bring a blight to my kingdom by forcing her chosen to answer my questions.
It also explained why the elder listened to Wrona and opened the gates. No farmer would dare argue with the Lady’s priestess, who could wilt their grain with the quirk of an eyebrow.
‘Thank you, my lady,’ I said, bowing slightly and stepping back from the table. ‘I shall speak with my mages. Let’s see if they have any solutions for how to deal with the wraiths and protect your village.’
The power present in Wrona’s gaze during our discussion faded, and she once again resembled an ordinary elder whose bent back showed years of hard work and harsh winters.
