Skefil sucked in a long, ragged breath, more tremors rippling through his whole body. “He is taking more Tainted children to the Grimholt,” he finally moaned.
Orka’s breath caught in her chest.
Was Breca in Darl, then? Is he one of the children with Drekr?
“Was my son, Breca, with him?”
“I don’t know,” Skefil said.
“Be careful how you answer. What is left of your life will be decided here, by your next words.” She lifted the axe.
“I swear, I do not know. I never saw any of the bairns, only their backs as Drekr rode away. I am just eyes and ears in Darl. I watch, I listen. I tell Drekr what I learn. Drekr does not tell me anything.”
Orka let out a long, deep breath as she studied him, thinking. There was terror and pain in his eyes, his defiance crushed. She believed him.
“Your son will change the world: that is what Drekr said to me. What did he mean?”
Skefil shrugged, “I only know Drekr and his crew have been swiping Tainted bairns and sending them north. That’s all I know, nothing else, I swear.”
Orka nodded.
“All right.” She glanced at Mord, who was standing over them, watching against anyone passing along the canal. “Jarl Sigrún is in Darl, you know this?”
“Aye,” Skefil said.
“Tell me what you know.”
“She is searching for outlaws from her village. Someone who slew Queen Helka’s úlfhéenar and put a scar in Sigrún’s face… Ah,” Skefil nodded, the flicker of a knowing smile. “It was you.”
“And us,” Mord grunted. “She is searching for us, too.”
Skefil gave Mord a disdainful look. “I am no úlfhéenar and yet look at your arm.”
“Where is Jarl Sigrún lodging?” Orka pressed.
Skefil shook his head and let out a wheezing laugh, drool hanging from his lip. “You wish for death. Or are moon-touched. Jarl Sigrún is a guest of Queen Helka. She is staying in the Eagle-Hall.” He nodded his head, gesturing to the winged fortress that loomed on the crest of the hill that Darl was built upon.
Orka blew out a breath.
“One last question, and then you are free,” Orka said. “What was Hakon Helkasson doing in a tavern with Drekr?”
Skefil shrugged. “He is involved with the Tainted bairns, but how, I do not know.”
“And Queen Helka does not know?”
“That would be my guess,” Skefil said, “from the cloaks and hoods and shadows.”
“Mine, too,” Orka murmured. She looked at Skefil. “You have been helpful. My thanks.” And then she lifted the axe and slammed it down into Skefil’s head. A crunching crack into his skull, a gasp and spasm, his tied feet drumming and then Orka was ripping the axe free, fragments of bone and brain spraying. Skefil sagged into the mud.
A hiss came from Lif and Mord.
“You said he was going to be free,” Lif breathed.
“Aye, free of this life,” Orka grated.
“Why did you kill him, when he answered everything?” Mord pressed.
“Because a cleaved head no longer plots,” Orka growled.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ELVAR
Elvar stood beside a gloss-black boulder, staring as the sun rose in the east, banishing the darkness and bringing colour to life in the world of ash and shadow. She wiped sweat from her brows, not quite believing what she could see, even though she was stood here, looking at it with her own eyes.
“So that is the vaesen pit,” Grend said beside her.
They were stood on what felt like a cliff edge, the ground covered in thin soil and yellowed grass, here and there patches of gloss-black rock shining through. And before them a chasm opened, wide and deep, and within it a river of fire flowed, black-crusted, glowing orange, flares of white heat here and there. Hot thermals rose out of the pit, covering Elvar in a sheen of sweat. For days now, the temperature had been rising. Initially after leaving Lake Horndal and walking north it had become colder each day, and by the third day they had been travelling through snow-covered lands. Grend had woken to ice in his beard. But later that day the snow on the ground had begun to thin, even though they were trudging through a blizzard. Cold winds still blew, and snow still fell, but the ground had become warmer. Elvar had felt it through her boots. The snow and ice on the ground had just begun to melt away. And then, late yesterday, Elvar had seen patches of grass and black rock through the melting snow. Soon after, Elvar had stripped off her sealskin cloak and wolf pelt and strapped them to one of the pack ponies that already carried her helm and spear, though she still wore her mail coat and weapons belt, her shield slung across her back. Snow still fell around her, but it hissed and evaporated in the air, the ground pulsing with heat like a fresh-baked loaf just taken from the oven.