Amon stepped into Odrin’s chambers and found himself facing the Old Bear.
The Old Bear was an apt nickname for the Chieftain, particularly today. Odrin remained one of the tallest men Amon had ever seen in a land full of both giant humans and literal giants, but each year he also seemed to grow wider. His belly nearly touched the table in front of him, where his half-eaten breakfast of dried fruit, cheese, and black bread sat. A bristly, uncombed grey beard added to the illusion that he was half-beast, as did the growl in his voice.
“What do you want? I don’t have time for thralls today.”
The edge in Odrin’s voice made Amon want to curl up a ball, to lie down in the mud like he had when Kessen beat him. Today was evidently not a good day for the Chieftain. His pain was flaring, it seemed, and that meant he’d be snapping at those around him for the smallest infraction all day.
Amon opened his mouth, but no words came out. All the words he’d rehearsed fled from his mind.
“Well?” The annoyance in Odrin’s voice grew even stronger.
“My father,” Amon said finally. “He used to say that you were his greatest friend. He told me he trusted you with everything.”
Odrin’s face turned red, annoyance transforming into a fury in an instant. He pushed himself up, rising slowly. If he still had his health, he probably would have leapt across the room to strangle Amon. Instead, he pointed a sausage-like finger at him.
“You need to watch your mouth, boy.” His voice was low, almost a hiss. “Don’t ever speak of your father again. Not in front of me, not in front of anyone.” He sat back down with a thud. “You didn’t get his brains, that’s for sure.”
Amon tried to find something to say amid his own confusion. He hadn’t anticipated a reaction like this at all. His father had warned him about Odrin’s infamous temper. He’d even witnessed a few brutal dress downs himself while spying on the Chieftain’s meetings, but it didn’t make sense now. Odrin was supposed to be some kind of ally. He was the only reason Amon drew breath, even though they’d rarely spoken or interacted.
Maybe coming here had been a terrible, terrible mistake
“You swore a blood oath to him,” Amon finally managed.
The redness started draining from Odrin’s face. That man’s fury was quick to rise, but it disappeared just as easily, settling back down to his usual levels of perpetual annoyance. “Yes, I did, and you’re risking everything I’ve done for you and him by acknowledging your father out loud. You should think well before you speak, Amon.”
“So you know my name. I wasn’t sure if you even remembered who I was. That’s the only reason I invoked him.”
“Of course I do. If I haven’t spoken to you or acknowledged you, it was for your own safety, which you now risk by being here. I’ve had to delegate the task of looking after you to Amara, but I’ve never forgotten you or your father. You can believe that. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of what happened, but that doesn’t change the risk of us talking.”
The tension wired through Amon’s body eased slightly. At least the man acknowledged him and the blood oath. He hadn’t been sure he would even do that much. Still, he didn’t quite understand Odrin’s paranoia. He’d thought they were safe here in Odrin’s private chambers, if nowhere else.
Who could overhear them? Roda? Did anyone else know about his secret loft?
“With all respect, Chieftain, I know there was some risk in me coming here, but I thought it was necessary. I didn’t want to put you in danger.”
“Well, you have. It would have been better for you tell Amara and she could tell me.”
Amon agreed, but Amara abandoned him at the first opportunity. He didn’t like that thought. It was an ugly thing, but he couldn’t stop it either. “My life is danger and the only way it will be made safe again is if you take me with you to Cassada.”
There it was, stated as plainly as he could.
Odrin had been raising a mug of mead to his lips, but it paused mid-way. “Are you insane, boy?”
“You’ll need a scribe. I know you were probably planning to take Vestro, but my letters and math are just as good as his. My Illian is better, too.”
“Vestro has… other skills as well. He’s no mere scribe.”
Amon wasn’t sure what he meant by that but plunged on anyway. “I know you’re planning to leave Slaine behind to rule over the Chiefdom while you go to war. Kessen will be his second. If that happens, I’ll probably be tortured and killed, along with others, I’m sure. Kessen has already threatened me.”
The red started creeping back into Odrin’s face. “That weasel had the gall to threaten you? I told him if he touched another thrall without my say so, I’d flog him in the square.”
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“He told me my life would be miserable if I didn’t spy on the other thralls for him. He meant it, too. We’ve all heard stories about what he’s done. Mutilated bodies. Torture.”
“And that’s where your bruises came from, I assume.”
Amon nodded. “If you swore an oath to my father to watch over my life, you have to take me with you. I won’t be safe here.”
Odrin lifted the mug again. It was laced with herbs that would dull his pain, though they never seemed to work by all the evidence. “You’ll be safe here, boy. I will find a way to guarantee that. You can be sure.”
He looked like he was contemplating how best to murder Kessen with an axe.
Shit. He needed Odrin to see the only way to keep him safe was to keep him close at hand. He’d thought he was making his argument well so far. He hadn’t even needed to bring up the fact that Aile’s mages were likely hunting him even as they spoke. But he needed a counter to whatever plan Odrin was formulating.
“How can you guarantee that?”
Odrin frowned at him, pointed his finger again. “I’m your Chieftain, Amon. Remember that. Don’t question me. I’ve had men flogged for less. I’ve kept you alive this long, haven’t I?”
He nodded.
“Good. This meeting is over. I’ll find a way for us to speak again before I leave. You’ll be safe here, and in the meantime I have a war party or organize.”
Amon’s heart started thudding with a fresh burst of adrenaline. It was a dangerous game, standing up to the Old Bear, but he couldn’t give up that easily. “No.”
Odrin stared at Amon like no one had ever said that word to him in a long time.
“I won’t be safe,” Amon said, before Odrin could begin eviscerating him. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but there’s no way I survive a whole season under Slaine and Kessen. Thrall lives are play things to them. Mine especially. They hate half-breeds.”
“Hate, maybe, but they wouldn’t dare touch a scribe, not when you’re the only one left. You’re too indispensable for communications with the other Chiefdoms and managing Beckhead Town. Amara has certain ways of protecting you as well. I’ll speak with her today. That is the best I can do for you, Amon. I swore to your father that I would look after you as best I could, and I am doing exactly that. I don’t owe you a trip to Cassada. It’s too risky and I won’t have any more of this insolence. Your father would have smacked you across the head if he ever heard you speak to a Chieftain like that.”
This wasn’t going to work. Amon could see that now. He hadn’t wanted to give the Chieftain the whole story, but there was no choice now. Odrin was even more stubborn than he’d realized.
Maybe Odrin would kill him after hearing the full truth, but he wouldn’t last long under Odrin’s current plan anyway.
“I haven’t told you everything,” Amon said.
Odrin waved him toward the door, as he turned his attention back to breakfast.
“Aile’s mages are hunting me as we speak.”
Odrin raised his head and if Amon wasn’t mistaken, the man went a shade paler. “Explain yourself.”
"Amara is gone. Lucia, too. They fled this morning. Last night one his mages found me. Whoever it was saw who I really am. She knows who my father was and they know Amara and Lucia as well. I don’t know how many mages Aile has, but Amara said they’re probably already on their way.”
Odrin went paler still, and this time there was no mistaking it. It was a strange thing to see fear in the eyes of a man like that. He’d fought in battle, faced all manner of horror, death, and pain, but there was no mistaking that it was fear that darted behind his eyes now.
Amon couldn’t be sure if the fear was good or bad for him yet, but he told him everything that had happened and handed him Amara’s letter.
When he was done speaking, a long silence elapsed. Odrin looked down at the letter, combing his bristly beard with massive fingers.
“You didn’t mean to tell me any of that, did you?” he said eventually.
“Honestly, I thought you would kill me if I told you everything. I hoped you might take me just on the basis of what you swore to my father. I know with the mages hunting me, I’m a risk.”
“That you are,” Odrin said, but all the anger and annoyance seemed to have drained from him. He seemed suddenly a husk of who he’d been only a few minutes earlier, the weight of years catching up to him all at once. He looked older, defeated somehow, as he stared off into a plane Amon couldn’t see. Then he turned his gaze back to Amon now, some of the life and fire returning. “Do you know how your father saved my life?”
Amon had never heard the details in full, though he’d asked Amara dozens of times. His father had rarely spoken of his adventures when he lived. “Only that he dragged you off a battlefield.”
“That’s not even the half of it, boy. Not even half. I was a great fool as a young man. I brought a lot of risk to others. Your father, too, so I suppose I can’t hold that entirely against you. Recklessness is the nature of youth, but if I’m going to take you’ll need to heed caution. That we’ll have to remedy.”
Confusion fuzzed Amon’s mind. “You’ll take me, then?”
Odrin nodded. “Aye, I will. I’m a man of my word and believe it or not, your father went to lengths just as great to save my life. Somehow we’ll need to get the herbs to suppress your magic, but I will worry about that. For now, return to your work. Roda will come find you later. You’re coming to Cassada, Amon, but first we need to get you out of Beckhead before the mages come.”
Amon was shocked, but the relief was so sweet and powerful he nearly started crying. He’d spent most of the night bracing for and imaging all the various ways coming to Odrin would end in disaster. “Thank you,” was all he could manage.
A sort of twisted smile spread across Odrin’s face. “Don’t thank me yet. Cassada may not be the paradise you remember from boyhood. And you’ve never sailed the Scarlet Seas. You might not thank me when you do.”
###
When Amon left, Kessen sat in the loft, contemplating all he’d heard.
A curious feeling began to buzz in his chest as the import of it dawned on him. He assumed it was joy, based on how he’d heard others describe it.
It didn’t all make full sense, but it was clear that Odrin was a traitor. He’d been hiding a mage among them for years.
He didn’t know why, or who exactly Amon’s mysterious father was, but they would discover that in time. He was sure.
Maybe Slaine allow him to put the knife to Odrin and Amon himself. They would squeal for him, and that thought only increased the buzzing in him, spreading it around throughout his whole body.
This would be Odrin’s end. The old bastard would be killed for this.
Slaine would take over as Chieftain, and it would be because of Kessen. He would rise with the new Chieftain, to a higher position than anyone with his background had any right to expect.
At this hour, he guessed he would find Slaine down at the docks.
He grinned so hard it hurt.