Torran is understandably upset by my decision. At the same time, he understands honor and loyalty, therefore he never officially voices his regrets. My lover helps me plan my trip to Sweden and we spend the last three days being thoroughly unproductive. Our farewells are short and tinged with regrets at the station.

“Until next time, my star. We will meet again. We will always meet again.”

“We will. And it is now your turn to come and visit!”

Torran makes a face at that and I bump him on the shoulder. If I have to compare the current state of Marquette and Errendstadt, well, I can hardly blame him for his obvious lack of enthusiasm.

One last kiss, and we board. Sheridan looks dejected. I believe that he has enjoyed the local hospitality to its utmost, since his bed was almost never slept in. We spend some time together in the train restaurant, talking about our respective experiences.

“She even taught me some Magyar!” he claims.

Yes, I am sure that he is familiar with her tongue by now.

I allow Sheridan to enthusiastically massacre the language, not even reacting at one of the waiters’ painful wince. Poor Vassal. He is showing interest in other languages, he who had not even made efforts to understand Spanish. I must show my support.

My Vassal soon goes to bed and I take out the first book on my list. I used to read a lot, back when I was a human. Under Loth’s tutelage, my studies had focused on technical manuals and essays. Besides Jimena’s raunchy novels, I had neglected this delicious pastime. I intend to remedy the situation, especially since the trip back by boat will take quite some time. I immediately dig into Dumas. His Count of Monte Cristo is a riveting story of long-planned revenge and I find myself sympathizing with the main character, who has the grudge of a vampire and still the squishy, weak heart of a mortal. Adorable.

There are other books as well, such as the Three Musketeers from the same author. I also obtained some bizarre work by an author called Mary Shelley, which I reserve for later. Isaac mentioned that it was intriguing, and I am eager to see what all the fuss is about. Hugo, Dickens, and Bronte have joined the ranks of my to-read list.

I completed my collection with the Iliad and a few fairy tales, as well as a few more… audacious titles. I should be set for a week or two of idleness, and will complete my collection before boarding the ship back to America.

The next two days are rather boring. Except for nightly stops that do not give me enough time to visit anything, there are few distractions. The conductor of this train is a polite but distant Roland obsessed with propriety and timeliness. We are joined by a Hastings for a few hours, but he does not leave his own room. I can finally breathe when we reach Danzig.

Under the watchful gaze of an Erenwald master, Sheridan and I walk the streets of the city. The architecture here is ancient and beautiful, with ornamented facades and strange additions of towers that give each building a personality. We walk the “Long Street” to our enjoyment. Our host also humors us by explaining what we see. They even have a torture house! I should get something similar in Marquette.

Our visit is short, yet pleasant. I do not know if I am accompanied out of politeness or caution. The master herself displays no signs of hostility, only polite distance. The intricacies of European power politics escape me. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explore them, not if Torran is not around to justify it. Oh, I already miss him. I wish I could open a magical portal between his land and mine. Perhaps, one day, I will.

A few hours of exploration later, we board a Rosenthal ship to Sweden. A steam ship! I have not boarded one of those since I last descended to New-Orleans a few years ago. This one is considerably larger. The large dame leaves great puffs of smoke in her wake like a cigar aficionado.

Sheridan’s mood dampens as the temperature drops and he experiences dried, salted fish.

“You don’t know how good you have it, not having to eat.”

A pointed glare and a remark later, and my insensitive Vassal mumbles in apology. He is right, of course. I just want him to remember to be careful with his words. We are in neutral territory, at best. Who knows how easily the Dvergur could take offense? I would not want to damage Loth’s prospects as a new king due to a simple faux-pas.

A day later, we arrive in view of the Stockholm archipelago.

I expected much from Loth’s home country, and the first approach does not disappoint. Stockholm is not a single landmass, but a series of islands dotting the space between a lake and the Baltic Sea. The few buildings I see from the top of my steam ship are pale and austere, reflecting a classic approach to architecture. The rest, however… The closer we are and the more I spot signs of poverty in the surrounding homes. I smell death and filth in the air, as well as the general air of despair I had perceived from Alexandria. The city is in decline.

I dismiss it. Decline is a temporary human concern. Loth’s people will have different circumstances. I must not judge too hastily.

I left the Rosenthal to arrange the details of the transport, and so I am mildly surprised when we do not stop at the largest pier. Instead, the ship heads inland for another hour, passing through complex systems of sluice gates, before stopping on the shore of Lake Mälaren. The pier there is old and made of stone, well-lit, with a small warehouse at the back. A dense forest of pine trees masks the rest of the view. The land is deep green and cold despite the approaching summer. Compared to the Mediterranean, the weather is positively frigid. I am wearing an armored dress of midnight blue with a nice little cloak for the occasion. I need to impress if he brought people with him.

A trio of figures await us. I recognize Loth, of course, tall and majestic in a fashionable dark suit. A tall woman stands by his side, just as nervous as he is. She is dark blonde with brown eyes and a powerful build, made obvious by an elegant emerald dress. Gold shines at her ears and neck. I find her beautiful, if a bit cold.

The last man is vigilant, and he is the only one not to stare forward to try and pierce the cover of darkness. His eyes drift with the passive attention of the vigilant sentinel. I recognize him from the scar covering the right part of his handsome, clean-shaven face. He was the man I fought at the top of the inn where Loth was ambushed by his now ex-wife Leikny. I had to drop a barrel of rainwater on my head because he had set me on fire. A cat had peed in it. I forgot his name. I focus on the Rosenthal essence, and I remember the name Skjoll. Handy.

Anyway, it matters not.

It’s Loth!

Aw, it is so good to see him again. I could fly! In fact, I believe I shall do just this. I turn to Sheridan.

“I shall see you on the shore.”

And then, I jump.

Power easily carries me over the water and to the edge of the pier, where I land silently.

“Loooooth!” I say with delight, as I grab the knife the bodyguard had reflexively sent mid-flight and jump again, this time into my friend’s waiting arms.

“Loth! Teehee! It is really you!”

Loth’s roar of delight shakes his massive chest. It rumbles under my grip, warm and solid. He returns my hug.

I look up to see that he has mirrored my ecstatic smile.

“Ye have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. You, here. And so strong! How you have grown.”

I drop from his chest and take a few steps back. I toss the knife back to a mildly annoyed guard and curtsy. Loth taught me rudimentary Dvergur ages ago, so that I could work his runes. My command of the language is terrible, but I managed to dig through my notes and remember enough to at least offer polite greetings.

“Lady, and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to meet you. I am Ariane of the Nirari, vampire master,” I greet in their own tongue.

Loth claps excitedly and his female companion offers me a wan smile. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Loth knew that I was a master, of course. I suppose that my aura must have surprised him.

“Ah, Ariane. Allow me to introduce you to Kari, my fiancée.”

“Ooh! Congratulations to both of you. I am delighted to hear that! When is the celebration? Is it soon?”

A Dvergur marriage!

“Well, about that. That’s why I asked ye to come, yes? By Tyr, what a mess. Anyway, you remember Skjoll?” he continues, pointing at the slightly miffed bodyguard.

“Oh, yes, I remember you. You set fire to my dress and I thrashed you, did I not? Such a pleasure to see you again all alive and kicking.”

Hehe.

“Yes. You were a worthy opponent,” the taciturn man replies with obvious respect, to my surprise.

“It was kind of you to come to us so quickly,” Kari continues in a smooth alto. She is still a little wary of me. I cannot know for sure if it is due to my nature, or my past. Only a dimwit would believe that a healthy man would shack up with a beautiful vampire for ten years without some shagging taking place.

“Anything for my friend,” I answer while trying to look harmless. “So, can you tell me what this is all about? You seem… anxious.”

“I suppose we can do it now. We have to wait for the ship to unload anyway,” Loth answers. He gestures, and the four of us pull to the side, at the edge of the warehouse.

“Remember the night I confronted Leikny?” Loth ask in a conspiratorial voice.

“Hmm, yes? Mostly?”

“Remember what I told Leinky at the end?”

“Consider yourself divorced!” I declaim in a low voice, my face a mask of affronted pride. Kari smiles at my antics, and so does Loth, though he also looks embarrassed.

“That too aye. The main thing was, she asked me why I favored you over her. I answered her and she, ah, relayed my word to the court.”

“I do not see the problem?” I retort, now slightly annoyed that they tiptoe around the problem.

“Weeeell. According to Dvergur tradition, I claimed you as my wife. Kind of.”

I wait for him to laugh and tell me that it was a joke.

I wait a bit more.

Kari raises a brow.

Whelp.

“I am sorry, could you confirm that? We’re… married?”

“Not married, but fiances. Or at least, we are considered such under Dvergur law until you can state that this is not the case.”

“By the Watcher, Loth, does that make me a Dvergur princess? Royal concubine? Do I get a crown? A circlet, at least?” I start teasingly, but Loth only turns red as a boiled lobster.

I raise my hands to indicate that I am dropping the joke.

“My apologies, I had not realized that the matter was so serious. Do you need my testimony that we are not, in fact, bound by the promise of matrimony?”

“Indeed.”

“Then you shall have it. My lover would be rather cross if I eloped without his knowledge. I am afraid that he might challenge you to duel!”

“Hah! Been a long time since I got into a good scrap meself.”

“Perhaps not against him though. Oh, I so wish he could have come so that you two could meet, but he had other engagements.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Loth crosses his muscular arms over his imposing chest.

“Looking down upon me already?”

“With all due respect, my friend, I have seen both of you fight. I would bet on the angry Dvor lord. Forgive me.”

“It’s favoritism, is what it is.”

I place a hand on his arm as a gesture of conciliation.

“Oh, I so wish I could have introduced him. You two would have been the best of friends, I am sure.”

Kari clears her throat to attract our attention.

“Perhaps we should pursue this discussion in the carriage? It would be safer.”

Safer? I frown, but do not comment. If safety is a concern then explanations can wait.

A few workers emerge from the warehouse to help the ship dock while we walk away. I hear a sound of impact, and see that Sheridan also jumped from the ship. He joins us as we walk away.

“Marshall Sheridan, retired ranger and my Vassal,” I introduce.

Loth shakes his hand with enthusiasm.

“A lawman, eh? Nice to meet ye, lad. We’ll catch a drink inside later, I have so much to tell ye about yer dear mistress.”

“Hey! No collusion!”

But wait, in the face of slander, one has to go on the offensive. Balance of terror!

“Kari…” I sweetly start, as I turn to the now very attentive bride-to-be.

“There is no need for that,” Loth interrupts hurriedly.

We pass by the warehouse and come into view of a dense forest of deep green pines, as well as ‘the carriage’. Truly, the term does not do justice to that crossbreed of a royal coach and a bank vault. To the mundane eye, it looks large and expensive, the private means of transportation of a prince with far more money than sense. I, however, can discern the multiple latticed layers of hardened material, as well as an excessive amount of protective enchantments. I could not force that monster open in one night. That thing could bounce back a cannonball without moving an inch! It should shine in the dark.

“Are we expecting an attack?” I ask in jest.

The grim expression of my hosts gives me all the answers I need.

“That bad?” I ask with surprise, and my good mood falls. I turn my attention to my surroundings and open my senses. Just in time to hear the distinct ‘click’ of a cocked gun.

“Down!” I scream.

I push Sheridan and Loth to the ground, while Skjoll jumps on Kari. The sound of a discharged firearm echoes through the empty night, and I hear the sound of a bullet scoring a hit.

Loth. Sheridan. No armors. I panic. I sniff the air and taste no blood. They are under attack, my friends and my precious Vassal! And they were caught OFF GUARD. NOT READY. CRUSH THE THREAT. KILL. KILL!

“ROAAAAAAAAAAR.”

"Vad fan var det?!” comes a voice from the side, hidden behind a dense thicket of ferns.

Stupid PREY. Wind in my hair. I appear by their side. Two humans in hunter garb, with powerful rifles. They stand. More gunshots from the front. Need me, need me. No time.

I worked so far to use the Rose smartly that I forgot its brute force potential. The mighty weapon appears in my hand. I swing from back to front, blade fully extended. I put all my strength and fury and instinctual response in the blow.

‘HSSSS!”

The mighty strike devastates everything in its path. The forest is cleared in a cone before me while splinters and gore are sent tumbling to the ground in a shower of debris.

I taste essence.

I stare in awe at the Rose for an instant. There, on the blade, blood disappears. The amount of strength I receive is negligible, barely a tenth of what devouring would grant me, but it is still significant.

The Rose drinks blood. Literally. It appears that I gained an extra fang, and now is the time to put it to good use.

I steal a glance at my allies. They are crouching behind the unbreakable barrier of the carriage, except for Skjoll who snuck low and approaches the enemy firing line from the side. They are humans in the same dark clothes as the ones I dismembered, as far as I can tell. They look local.

I examine this as I rush forward and past Skjoll, then to the side of the line. Screams in their strange language echo across the herd, “å helvete”, “å jävlar”. I can guess the general meaning.

The scent of blood and powder wakes me up in a way only the sweet liquid can. Yes, I am back in the world of intrigue and slaughter.

In a way, I have missed it.

I sprint forth, killing everything in my path, then stop as the assaillants drop their weapons and run. NO MORE DANGER. Does Loth want prisoners?

“You cocksuckers!” the man himself bellows. I turn to see my friend wearing a battle mask and a strange cylinder. It thumps loudly, and a small explosion rocks the underbush. Two men fall to the ground holding bleeding wounds. No prisoners then.

I run after the few survivors and devour the first one. Then, as I grab the next, I feel something in the distance.

I am now inside of the forest. Pine needles cover the ground and there are no more ferns. The visibility is improved and I can see a small rocky elevation in the distance. I felt something coming from there. The barest hint of magic. Interesting!

I stalk closer, runners forgotten. I think there are only two terrified survivors anyway, and they do not interest me as much as this. A small thicket tops the large stone. I see nothing.

I close my eyes and smell the air. Pine sap, soil, humidity, the distant tang of blood and the caustic bite of spent powder, but there is something underneath. Fresh sweat. Coming from the front.

“I can smell you…” I hum with amusement. A muffled curse comes from the empty space before.

“And now I can hear you as well,” I note with a smile. I focus the Herald essence in my claw and… the Rose turns blue.

My claws are crystallized essence. The blade is crystallized essence. Of course, it can carry the magic-breaking effect as well.

“Perfect.”

I jump to the side of the elevation and stab the air, being careful not to get too close. I guess that concealment magic is at work, but if it were up to me, I would have added an unpleasant effect if someone tried to force entry.

My eyes widen in surprise when the charm falls to reveal a Dvergur in the process of standing up. This one has dark brown hair and a bushy beard like Loth, though he looks younger. He holds in his hands a rifle of complex make, the barrel engraved with many runes. It is now swerving towards my head.

The man shoots as I duck. He would have caught me between the eyes. Pretty good reflexes for a mortal creature.

“I see you, little rat.”

I punch him in the chest. What I took for a leather armor turns out to have reinforced metal underneath. Enchanted as well. There are so many spells weaved in his gear that I have trouble tasting which is which.

His torso may have been protected, his head is not. He falls backward and cracks it against a pine trunk, bark flaking under the strain. I pick up the gun, then I catch him by the foot and drag him down the rock and towards my allies. Time to show them what I caught!

I hear the click of a cocked pistol. I turn and grab the firearm aimed at my neck. The Dvergur has dark eyes and they are very close now. He smells of scrumptious terror, and shows signs of shame as well. Tempting, tempting. But no, there will be time later.

My little rat presses the trigger with all the strength he has, in vain. My index is on the hammer.

“Oh, feisty! It appears that you do not need this hand anymore.”

The snap of broken bones. I did not break too much. That can lead to internal bleeding that the mortals may not survive. I do not know how hardy this specific morsel is.

I resume my walk, with my captive now too busy moaning in pain to offer much resistance. I find them still hiding behind the carriage, whose horses did not move at all during the altercation. Humans mutter on the other side of the warehouse.

I approach the coach from the side, Dvergur in tow.

“Look what I found!” I exclaim with pride. Loth turns from his argument with Skjoll, and he becomes furious at the sight of what I brought back.

“Should have known, damn Isvalir.”

Sheridan looks a bit lost, arms crossed in a typical gesture of annoyance. Kari’s skin is pale and she smells of vomit.

“Do you want to question him, then can I eat him after we are done?”

“Where was he?”

“Hidden above the other attackers, with this,” I tell him, while handing the gun to Skjoll.

“Probably to catch one of us in case the assault fails and we come looking for proof. With that caliber, he would have gone through heavy armor.”

“Would you really have gone to check?” I ask, surprised by his recklessness.

“No… I would have sent Skjoll.”

“As you should,” the bodyguard replies, eyes fixed on my docile prisoner.

“Is… every battle like that?” Kari finally asks. She is staring behind me. A quick glance shows that the lights of the warehouse shine on what remains of the first pair of foes I got my hands on. Their remains are… graphic.

“That’s more of a vampire thing, darling,” Loth replies with a comforting hand on her shoulder, “glad she is on our side, ey?”

“It would certainly be better than the alternative,” she says. There follows a series of curses in Dvergur and Swedish that I do not quite catch. Skjoll takes the prisoner from me to bind him while I go check on Sheridan.

“Are you quite alright? I could swear I heard the bullet hitting.”

“Check your shoulder,” the ranger replies with a grin. Indeed, I find a silver lump stuck against my heart protector’s harness. For once, I was lucky. It would have been quite painful.

I still grumble and remove the offending thing. The bullet burnt my dress at the point of impact! One more dress lost in the line of duty. When will this ever end? They are not exactly cheap either…

“To answer your question, I admit to being terrified. I thought I had lost the fear of death after our Mediterranean adventure. I was wrong.”

“Good. The moment you lose it entirely, you will place both of us in danger. The armors I provide will not defend you from falling off a cliff, or being poisoned in your sleep. Caution will serve you well.”

“You do not seem afraid of death, however. Not with the way you run at danger.”

“I respect the possibility of death. It boils down to the same principle: do not act in a manner that could pointlessly make you lose your life. You did well by taking cover since you were unarmed and undefended, and I did well engaging an inferior foe to cover you.”

My brave Vassal frowns at the reminder of this unexpected piece of entertainment.

“Yeah, what’s the matter with that! I thought we were on friendly territory!”

“I suppose we will find out shortly.”

“You find out. I’m going to get my guns.”

I admit to being curious. The trio of Dvergur now stands before the prisoner, who glares at the ground with shame. They talk in their native tongue so that I can only glean fragments of speech. Forbidden and objection are spoken several times. Eventually, Kari throws her hands in the air in frustration.

“Have you reached a decision? We should not dally,” I tell them.

“Skjoll and I believe that the information we could gain from a thorough interrogation justifies the pain of leaving one of our race to your tender care.”

“I can leave him unbroken. Mostly.”

“Operatives such as him are trained to resist mind techniques.”

“No training will ever be enough to stop us,” I declare with confidence.

The two exchange a glance.

“Besides, I have not tasted Dvergur essence since—”

Kari perks up, and Loth shows the first hints of distress.

“—you saved my life, back in the blood cult base,” I casually finish.

Loth smiles and Kari settles down. Do not worry, you old dog, I have your back. I must not let Kari think that we are anything more than friends and comrades-in-arms. The slaughter I just committed should also make me appear as more monster than woman.

“I still think that we should conduct our inquiry in private.”

“Aye. I don’t think that anyone else is gonny show up. Kari dear, ye should go back to the carriage and I’ll let ye know what we find oot. Skjoll?”

“I will make sure that the perimeter is secure, then supervise the loading of Lady Nirari’s luggage.”

We all agree, and I drag our prisoner with me to an empty storage room selected by Loth. He closes the door behind us, and I drop my charge on the ground.

“Right. Time to tell ya what this is all about, I suppose.”

“That would be nice.”

“Aye. By the way, impressive display. I had forgotten how it felt to have you by my side. Nice sword too.”

I smile, because I can tell that guilt overcame him as he suddenly realized that I was attacked upon landing on his land following his invitation, and then proceeded to single-handedly save the day. Or night, in this particular example.

“Enough, my friend, we will have time to talk later. For now, we should get into the… meat… of the matter.”

“Right. So, I am king of the Skoragg clan. My ex-wife is from the smaller Isvalir clan, and they enjoyed playing a bigger role in our politics. I just took a series of measures to get them to fuck off, starting with the divorce, and they’re being prissy twats about it. Problem is, they still got loyalists so they can find oot where I go to do that sort of shit.”

“Language.”

“Augh, not this again!”

“Ahem. My apologies. Is he from the Isvalir clan?”

“Him? Yes, but he was banished if I remember correctly. Vanr the Cruel, his name is. Right prick. I’d bet my right bollock that they offered him a pardon if he could off me but no way to prove it in court. They will say that we rewrote his memory with vampire magic.”

“Hmm.”

“I just want ta know about other traps, and anything he can tell me about his clan’s plans. Oh, and can you spare his life?”

“Can I still drink his blood?”

“Aye!”

“I foresee no difficulty then. I will work on making him more...pliable… and you prepare your questions. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Now, Vanr,” I tell the panicking man on the ground, “I trust that you will offer more of a challenge than you previously did. You do not want to fail twice in the same night, do you?” I ask menacingly.

“That was good lass, but I don’t think he understands English.”

In Vanr’s brown orbs, I only see anxiety and incomprehension.

Dammit.

Well, nevermind. It would be nice to practice my manipulation skill if I had the patience or spoke the language. Instead, I bite his throat.

Dear Vanr is succulent. He tastes of fear and regrets, with a deeper magic made twisted by appetites he took no efforts to control. The power rushes through me, making me stronger once again. I stop too soon for my taste and stare him in the eyes.

A barrier protects him, a mental discipline of sorts. It does not matter. I am already inside after biting him. His fall is simply a matter of patience. Patience, and relentless efforts.

Slowly, carefully, I erode the wall he erected around his core. My mind seeps in the cracks. It peels off protective layers one by one, and dissects metaphorical locks before tearing them apart. Vanr’s face grows slack as the last of his willpower crumbles to dust.

“All yours.”

“Mind working fer the crown full time? I can pay ye well.”

“I am sorry, old friend. I already have my own kingdom.”

“Heh. Had to try.”

Loth grabs the husk I left and asks questions in fast, angry Dvergur. Vanr’s answers are slow and mechanical. He offers no resistance at all. I pick at the hole in my dress out of boredom.

“I am done,” Loth finally says, “ye want to finish yer meal?”

I consider the offer. I gave the would-be assassin as an offering to my friend, so that he could partake. In a way. Draining him now would feel strange. Besides, I am sated.

“Let’s give him to your bride. Sparing his worthless life will please her peace-inclined mind.”

“Oh, right. And maybe I can get him publicly executed later. Do you mind if I anesthetize him?”

Hmm... what?

“Be my guest?”

Loth grabs Vanr by the collar again and throws the most devastating, jaw-shattering hook I have ever seen. The other man twists on the side and crashes against stacked crates.

“I think he is asleep, now,” I remark drily.

“Damn, that felt good. Let’s return to the others.”

I grumble and grab Vanr from the ground. Loth has returned to his old habit of having me carry heavy things! Chivalry is dead.

We come out to see that the luggage has already been secured, and we are ready to go.

“Where do you want him?” I ask.

Kari lifts a finger and speaks in a slow and purposeful tone. Like a politician.

“Despite the anger we feel, we must respect the rules of war as stated by—”

“Just toss him on the roof, I’ll grab the chains,” Skjoll interrupts. The pair exchanges a murderous glare as I follow the bodyguard’s recommendation. I understand rules. I also understand brevity.

The carriage’s insides amaze me by offering the most comfortable seats ever to grace my posterior outside of a salon. They cradle my butt in their velvety embrace, soothing and welcoming. I find myself repositioning just to make sure that they are real.

“Nervous?” Sheridan asks, as he comes in.

“No, just…”

“Wow, these are some comfortable couches.”

“I know! Incredible.”

The red upholstery. The enchanted oil lamp and their soft red glow. Thick curtains. A silent Thirst. All conspires to push me into a state of relaxation, briefly interrupted when we are joined by Loth and Kari. The four of us fit comfortably inside despite the Dvergur’s heavy frames.

“Like it?” Loth asks with a smile.

“Yes, an amazing arrangement.”

“The inner part is shielded against sunlight as well, a necessity during our travels.”

“Wait,” I ask, suddenly worried, “is our destination far?”

“Indeed, for we are going to the Scandes, the long mountain range that runs the entirety of the Scandinavian peninsula. And since it is summer now, night will only last for a bit over six hours.”

“You cannot be serious…” I say with horror.

Alas, he was.

The trip to the Skoragg mountain home lasts for four days, four bloody days during which I remain mostly cooped up. At least Sheridan gets to visit the local woods. Only my books and Loth’s company saves me from insanity.

“Leikny tried to remarry with my brother, but he cast her oot. He was fed up with her bull… her nonsense too. Anyway, I showed up and got reinstated in less than three months by the old guard. The Isvalir really went too far recently, what with all the factories they tried ta take away from us. We recovered a lot of stuff already. Firebombed a few others. Cousin Okri was sitting on enough explosives ta blow up a mountain just for the occasion.”

“Did you manage to catch up with everyone and survive the subsequent hangover?”

“Aye. By spreading it over four years. My liver will never be the same.”

“Is there an end game with that clan? How are they still trying to mess with you?”

“Lots of oaths taken, have to disentangle by proving misconduct to the council. It’s just a gaggle of old farts who oversee the application of laws. No real power, but everyone listens to them all the same. We are winning now and when we’re done, I’ll make sure the Isvalir have just enough money left for a one-way trip to Canada.”

What did the Canadians do to deserve that?

“Anyway, after your testimony, we’ll visit the land. I got some amusing things ta show you as an apology.”

“I will look forward to it, and do not forget to provide snacks.”

On the fifth night, I wake up to a comfortable bed covered in bear skin, and a vaulted ceiling of grey stone. A fire burns in a nearby hearth. Tapestries on the walls depict scenes of hunts.

Skoragg, home of Loth’s clan.