‘… Klyf … Akijlah … Dröm … Gijlah … Gromvar … Grändir … Thrandal … Jelarah … Lådeggan.’

Draggan stared at the canvas of the tent behind Mjel. He avoided her gaze. It was fine. Mjel did not want to look into her brother’s eyes, either.

‘That’s … all?’ she asked, not glancing up from the parchment lying in front of her. Thirty-four names. Her hand hovered above the bottom of the sheet, fingers clasping a quill.

‘Yes, Chief.’

‘Frajla must be heartbroken,’ Mjel muttered absent-mindedly.

‘As are we all.’

She risked a glance at Draggan. The man stood straight, face devoid of emotion, eyes awkwardly fixed on a point above Mjel’s head. Mjel swallowed, audible in the still reigning in the tent.

‘We could not even give them a proper burial.’

‘No, we could not.’ There was rebuke in Draggan’s words. Mjel took it with dignity.

‘Pass this among the people. Copy it if necessary. I want every one of us to remember the fallen.’ Draggan took the parchment, hesitating.

‘Yes?’

‘Why?’ the man whispered. ‘Why are we still with them?’ His eyes finally met Mjel’s. ‘More than half our brothers and sisters lay to rest for good last night. Don’t tell me we could not have avoided this all.’

‘We know nothing about this place, Draggan. We need guidance if we are to survive this mission.’

‘We shouldn’t have stayed at that town.’

‘Do you really want to pretend those demons would have let us go our merry way?’

‘We could have outrun them. We wasted an entire day there. Not to talk about all those lives.’

‘These demons were nothing like I’ve ever seen before.’ The image of the dead woman flashed before Mjel’s eyes; cold crawled up her neck. ‘I don’t cherish the idea that we could have met them out in the wilderness.’

‘I know those demons shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Then again, there are beasts aplenty throughout the Mainland. Our mountains are crawling with creatures none of these blokes have ever seen.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You know I don’t care about what I kill.’

Mjel stared back at the man.

‘Don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what’s on your mind.’

‘I only follow orders. Usually.’

‘So…?’

‘All I’m saying is that your choices as of late have been questionable.’

The chief slowly rose from her chair.

‘And what choices of mine did you find questionable?’ The girl’s voice was threateningly quiet, but Draggan did not hear the warning in the tone—or he simply decided to disregard it.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

‘I don’t trust him.’ Her brother leant in, face reddening. ‘He’s not an Ice-fucked vinedresser and we both know it. He fought with that sword as a Gods-damned knight!’

‘He knows how to fight, so what? That came quite handy in the battle.’ Mjel did not want her band to know about the sword with the black lotus, not yet.

‘He has a snow-blown onyx which he uses as carelessly as if it was a fucking toy!’

‘Yes, you are right,’ Mjel hissed. ‘A snow-blown onyx with which he saved your fucking life!’

‘You,’ Draggan’s hands grabbed the edge of the desk, fingertips whitening, ‘have been charmed by that pretty face, haven’t you? Fantasizing about this and that, hm?’

Mjel, fists slamming at the table, also leant in towards Draggan, faces only inches apart. ‘You stop this nonsense at once before I inevitably do things I will regret.’

‘I don’t care who you fuck, I never have. But if you’re unable to do your duties—’

‘One. More. Word, Draggan, and I’ll make you dig all the latrines every fucking day.’

‘How do you want to be Warchief of all Velardhar if you can’t manage a band of fifty?’

‘Enough!’ Mjel shouted, frustrated. Draggan’s face turned dark. ‘Gods fuck me, look who’s talking! Leaning back and boozing beer with the pals until you’re shitfaced instead of consulting with the chief! Undermining her reputation in public, drinking with the night sentries! For years you’d been my safehold, what changed now?’ Mjel closed her eyes briefly, breathing in, slowly, blowing out the air through her teeth in one long take. ‘My heart bleeds for all the people we’ve lost. Can you imagine how much of a toll it takes on me to constantly recite the names who have joined the Gods because of me? Every single night? We are four thousand frozen miles away from home. I just want to get everyone back safe.’

‘If you don’t have what it takes,’ Draggan straightened, ‘then you might as well back down. This is your first actual mission. And I can see it’s bigger than you.’ He scoffed. ‘Look at Harak! Half your age, yet he stands strong. You could learn a lot from him.’

‘Half my age and he’s already scared shitless by his own shadow! Taking him with us was a grave mistake. I’ll let Sagramir know this when we return.’

‘Perhaps,’ Draggan said, his face distorted into an alloy of disgust and utter contempt, ‘if our customs for boys reaching adulthood were extended to girls, you would understand. Perhaps if our women did not reach adulthood by spreading their—’

The slap came quick. Strong. And as loud as the Frozen Hell of Twilight.

Mjel’s hand burned. She moved her fingers so that it would ease the sharp pain there. She watched as Draggan’s face turned red, now because of her palm. That will stay.

Draggan stared at the corner of the tent. He clenched his jaws, his fists, face trembling.

Then he sighed, his entire body languishing.

‘I’m sorry, Mjel.’

‘Get out,’ she gasped.

‘Mjel, I—’

‘GET OUT!’

Draggan, back straight, eyes dim, bowed her head.

‘Yes, Chief.’

He turned and left the tent as though he left for his death sentence.

Eyes burning, Mjel sunk into her chair. She grabbed the quill so she could occupy her fingers and keep them from wringing—a moment later the quill fell on the table, broken to pieces.

Moronic asshole, you degenerate …

Images flooded her; the gates of the crypt, faltering torchlight in the dark room, ghostly blue eyes …

Mjel slammed at the table, springing to her feet, hands rubbing her eyes, temples, going through her hair, grabbing the locks firmly. Come on Mjelgralah, focus, unless you want that shitface to be right about you.

Seer Larja came to see her the day when they left for the trying voyage. You are coming home bringing the ashes of your future, daughter of the North. These were her last words to Mjel.

I didn’t ask for any of this.

For the first time since she stepped onto the deck of the drakkar in the harbour of Winter’s Crown, she seriously wondered if she was truly meant to be the Warchief of Velardhar.