Jotnar Snare Read online

  Jotnar Snare

  Sellswords & Spellweavers, Book 4

  By Rachel Ford

  Liss

  Chapter One

  “And that,” Fatty declared with an emphatic thump of his tankard, “is why you never try to cheat a dwarf.” Ale sloshed out of the mug, but no one seemed put off by the mess. Instead, we thumped our own drinks against the bar in a supporting chorus.

  Carl scowled at the lot of us – Fatty and his three cousins, and my sweetheart, Idun Wintermoon and myself, Lissette Forlatt. Carl was the innkeeper in whose inn we sat, and on whose bar we’d just spilled our drinks. In general, he wouldn’t have minded that. He wasn’t particular about cleanliness, and if the mess got to be too bad, well, a quick pass with his filthy bar rag would fix the worst of it. And patrons who spilled their drinks were simply patrons who needed to buy second rounds. Or third rounds, in our case. So none of that bothered him.

  No, Carl’s ire stemmed from the big, black eye he sported, and Fatty’s dismissive comments about it a moment earlier. Göte – Fatty Göte to his friendly acquaintances, and Fatty to his friends – was River Pass’s deputy.

  And Carl? Well, aside from being the publican of the only bar and inn in the village, Carl was a lowdown, no good, miserable cheat. I’d had my own share of run-ins with the man, and so had anyone who stayed in River Pass. So even though I didn’t know the other party to the dispute, a dwarf called Uri, I felt fully inclined to take his side.

  “I didn’t cheat him,” the innkeeper growled.

  “You never do, do you?” Fatty said, his tone light and jovial. He clearly had no intention of taking this seriously, which set the tone for the rest of us.

  I laughed, and one of Fatty’s cousins – Stefnir, if memory served – said, “You’re an unlucky man, Carl: you never meet a man who doesn’t accuse you of watering down his ale or picking his pocket.”

  “Or making your bread with sawdust as well as flour,” Torbjørn said. He was the eldest of the four relatives, and the most distinguished, sporting a thick mane of silver-brown hair, and a handsome scar that ran from his forehead to his jawline. If his story could be believed – and I wasn’t entirely sure it could be – he’d earned the scar, and lost his left eye, wrestling a great bear in the northern forests. I’d heard half a dozen different stories from other people, but the consensus seemed to point to it being some manner of drunken brawl. A woman’s good opinion may or may not have been involved.

  The last cousin snorted. She was a pretty woman who, of the quartet, most closely resembled Fatty for her stocky frame. As a child, she’d been named Runa, but as an adult she’d earned the name Crow – because no one set a feast for the crows in battle the way she could. Like myself, Crow earned her way as a blade-for-hire. But unlike myself, she’d made a fortune off it. Everyone knew and respected her name in these parts. Which is probably why Carl only scowled when she said, “Let’s call it like it is: you’re a thief, and you got what you had coming to you. The surprise is that it’s taken this long, and that no one’s torched this place in the middle of the night.”

  We responded with a round of thumping tankards and, “here, here.”

  “Mark my words, that dwarf is trouble. He had a flinty look to him. You laugh all you want now: you won’t be laughing when he puts a blade in someone. Then you’ll wish you listened to me, Fatty Göte.”

  “It’s Göte to you,” Fatty said. “Or better yet, Deputy Göte.”

  “And you can bet the Jarl’ll be hearing about it – how you let him assault upstanding citizens of the Pass, and just laughed about it.”

  “You show me an upstanding citizen who has been assaulted, and I’ll bring him in.”

  We all laughed at that – all but Idun. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding, Carl.”

  “Aye. Like those extra ales you billed me for last time I was here,” Torbjørn said.

  Carl’s expression softened, if only a little. Idun, with her sweet demeanor and pretty face, had that effect on people. I suspected it had something to do with her elven blood, and whatever magic lay in that. That, and I was pretty sure Carl had something of a thing for her. The creep. “Then you would surely be wrong, Miss Idun. He had murder in his eyes. You know what dwarves are like when it comes to gold. He said I miscounted –” A hearty round of vindicated guffaws broke in, but he ignored us all. “But I didn’t. He would have killed me, if Baldirr hadn’t stepped in.”

  “Then it’s Baldirr Fatty should be arresting,” Crow said.

  Runa’s cousins laughed, but Idun stayed on task. “Still…I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you.” Carl started to argue, but she added, “And it’s nothing a little magic couldn’t fix right up.”

  He stopped mid-protest, conceding after a moment, “Well, I suppose. If it’s you administering the magic, anyway.” He flashed an overly eager, mostly toothless grin. “I wouldn’t mind that, not one bit.”

  Idun hesitated. Then, she put a hand on my shoulder. “Well, actually, I’ve been training Liss to channel healing magic.”

  This was, sadly, true. Idun had taken it into her head that anyone who wielded a blade for a living should learn something of the healing arts, and, because she was my girlfriend, I’d indulged her. The things we do for love. It had yet to save my life the way she’d predicted it might. But in the moment, as he watched her with such unwelcomed interest, it at least spared Carl a second thrashing.

  His smile vanished at about the same moment mine appeared. “Oh, I’m happy to help,” I said.

  He said, “You know, it’s not so bad, Idun. You’re very sweet to offer, but –”

  “No, like you said yourself: he nearly killed you. We can’t be too careful.”

  He held my gaze, scowling, but offered no further protests. Unlike Idun, I was no university mage. I didn’t have the steady control of magical energy that she did, or the discipline, or the interest for that matter. She could mend torn flesh and heal broken bones, and sooth and calm you all at the same time. I figured if I knew enough to heal your injuries, even if did hurt a little in the process, well, that was good enough.

  In Carl’s case, probably too good. So I didn’t waste much time trying to smooth the rough edges out of the energy I channeled his way. I could feel its icy bite as it rushed through my fingers, like a thousand separate pin pricks. The innkeeper winced and cursed at my ministrations. But his bruises vanished, and the little cut above his eyebrow stitched itself back together.

  “There we go: all better,” I said as I finished. “Anything else I can do for you, Carl? I really think I’m getting the hang of this magic business.”

  Carl had never been in better health in his life. Or so he told us, anyway. Then he absconded to the far end of the bar and remained so for the rest of our time there. We laughed a little at his expense, and then Fatty sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to find this Uri and have a word with him.”

  Crow nodded. “Aye. Tell him to finish the job next time.”

  “I wonder what a dwarf’s business is here anyway?” Torbjørn said, his brow creased in thought.

  Idun shrugged. “It’s a free road.”

  Stefnir snorted. “A dwarf’s favorite word, that.”

  Idun frowned at him, and Crow said, “Mine too. Like, ‘your drink is free, Crow, because Stefnir’s paying.’”

  Torbjørn lifted his glass in a mock salute. “I’ll raise a glass to that.”

  “There’s no dwarven smiths in these parts,” Fatty said. “Not in a dozen years. Not so far north of the capital.”

  “And where’d he be headed, anyway?” Here, Torbjørn glanced at Idun and I. “That graybeard of yours isn’t dealing with dwarves now too, is he? He’s already got elves in and out of these parts.”

  “Shifty
bastards, those elves. Worse than mages.”

  “And they’re bad enough.”

  These last comments were directed with grins Idun’s way, and she declared lightly, “I may have elven blood, but I’m still more human than any of you lot.”

  Fatty chortled. “True at that. True at that. They’re bloody animals, they whole group of them.”

  “As if you’re not the worst of us.”

  “But,” she went on, bringing the conversation back to the point, “I’ve heard nothing of any dwarven folk being employed at the university. Not that the head wizard runs his plans by me, mind. But I’ve heard nothing in passing.” Head Wizard Aage – the greybeard Torbjørn mentioned – headed up the Northern University of Arcane Art. He was also Idun’s personal mentor, and a colleague of my own, now that I’d taken long-term employ for the jarl. He led the Magical and Supernatural Investigations Taskforce – MASIT – and I represented Jarl Knut’s interests. We worked jointly on cases in the jarldom involving magic.

  “Dwarves and elves in Eerie,” Stefnir said, shaking his head. “Who’d have thought it.”

  The jarldom had been so named for the Eerie River that ran through the area, and I laughed at him. “There were dwarves and elves in these parts long before there was an Eerie.”

  “Ancient history.”

  “Everyone’s welcome in Eerie,” Fatty said. “King’s law, and the jarl’s. And mine too.”

  “My gods, the power’s gone to his head. He’ll be thinking he’s the bleeding king hisself pretty soon.”

  The night ran long, and in much the same vein. Stefnir, of the three cousins, seemed to handle his drink worst. He had plenty of opinions, and no hesitation in sharing them. By his own account, he trusted no one but humans. But when it came down to it, it seemed he trusted precious few of them too. The jarl was a fool, and the king a puppet. Nor did he spare dear Cousin Fatty his over-frank and ungenerous evaluations. “You’re a good man, Fatty, and I’ll never say otherwise. But the truth is, your head’s so far up your own arse, you’d need a compass and a guide to find your way back out again.”

  He didn’t care for sellswords, either. “Meaning no offense to Crow or you, Miss Forlatt.” Orphans and the forlatts – the so-called forsaken – like myself didn’t fare any better. “I always say, if their own parents didn’t want them, then why should the rest of us? It chafes my hindquarters to see my coin going to those orphanages, I tell you.” Idun squeezed my hand at this, but I flashed a grin to reassure her it didn’t matter to me. I’d long ago come to terms with being the unwanted child dumped on an orphanage step. A drunk’s opinions made no difference to me.

  Which was good, since he had plenty of them. And not just about the unlucky and unwanted. Magic made his skin crawl. He made sure Idun knew this, and emphasized the point a few times in case she’d missed it. So did Torbjørn’s scar. “Not that I mind, you know. Now I’m the handsome one.”

  The festivities concluded when Fatty decided his opinionated cousin needed to get to his room and sleep it off. Stefnir wouldn’t budge, so we all pitched in and hauled him off. He got about halfway down the hall when the motion proved too much for his stomach, and he hurled.

  Which, of course, put a firm end to any further partying. Carl scowled and called, “You better be planning to clean that.”

  Fatty waved him away. “We will, we will.”

  We dragged the now half-conscious Stefnir back to his room, and left him mumbling to himself in a pile of hay. Then, Fatty and Torbjørn tackled the vomit, and Crow and I – who had been worst hit – set to scrubbing ourselves clean.

  “If he wasn’t blood,” she muttered.

  That was a problem I didn’t have, and though it had often been a source of regret growing up, moments like these showed me the other side to the entire family experience. So I just nodded.

  “You staying here?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t like staying under Carl’s roof. I never had, but his attentions to Idun had only reinforced the feeling. I wasn’t worried about her safety. She could charbroil him or turn him into a pillar of salt in the blink of an eye; and even after a few rounds, my sword arm was strong, and my aim good. But he was still a creep. “We’re staying with Thorgsed and Ulla.”

  Crow nodded. “They live just outside of town, yes?”

  “At the edge of it, yes.”

  “They’re good people, from what I hear. I do not know them myself.”

  “They are. We worked with them on a case before, Idun and me. It – well, it almost cost them their lives.”

  “I heard about that. Some people didn’t like that they associated with the university, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “This was with that taskforce Fatty has mentioned before? What’s it called?”

  “MASIT. The Magical and Supernatural Investigations Taskforce.”

  “A lengthy name.”

  “Yes. And the acronym is short but doesn’t tell you anything. So I don’t know which one is worse.”

  “I understand you have battled wizards?”

  I laughed. “Yes, though never willingly.”

  “You are not a mage yourself.”

  She said it as a statement of fact, rather than a question. But I nodded all the same. “I was a sellsword, actually.”

  “I heard that.”

  “Though, obviously not – well, suffice it to say, my reputation doesn’t precede me. Which is probably how I ended up tied to steady employment, working for the jarl.”

  She smiled, and dimples formed in her cheeks. “Sometimes, reputation can be as much a curse as anything else. And there’s no shame in having a place to call home.”

  Chapter Two

  The construction of Thorgsed and Ulla’s home had only recently concluded. The original had been reduced to rubble by midnight arsons months earlier. The university lent their own work crew to the efforts, and with the extra laborers they’d erected a fine hall for the family. Situated on a hill overlooking the town, the new longhouse seemed very fine by comparison to the rest of River Pass. The town had never been poor, but it wasn’t wealthy, either. Its buildings were modest in size, and largely aged. But it was perfect for Thorgsed and Ulla and their growing family.

  Idun and I had eaten dinner with them earlier in the evening, before our rendezvous with Fatty and his cousins. Now the family lay asleep, and we let ourselves in with the key they’d left us. Then we crept quietly to our room.

  Ulla had got a fire blazing for us – a welcome change from the brisk autumn air we’d just left. Especially since my tunic was still wet from its makeshift cleaning – wet, and, despite my best efforts, smelling vaguely of vomit.

  I set the offending garment as far from us as I could before climbing into bed. I pivoted so that Idun couldn’t see me pulling the necklace out of my pocket. She watched me absently, her brow furrowed in thought; and I felt pretty sure she hadn’t noticed the motion.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, settling under the blanket beside her.

  She glanced up to meet my gaze. “Nothing. Just, I was thinking. That dwarf, Uri? He’s the third dwarf I’ve heard of passing this way in as many months.”

  I considered. That did seem high. Stefnir’s attitude toward dwarven folk was not the anomaly it should have been in these parts. Maybe because not many people in the area had actually ever met a dwarf; or maybe they’d never had the chance to meet a dwarf because they made the area inhospitable to them. Either way, dwarven folk rarely came this way, and when they did, it was usually in company.

  Bandits or ne’er-do-wells might harass a lone dwarf on the road. But only a fool would tangle with a troop of armed dwarfs.

  “I don’t know. Maybe someone’s setting up a shop somewhere. Or maybe they’ve found some kind of metal or gems to mine.”

  “I think we should mention it to Jarl Knut.”

  I sidled into bed beside her, drawing the furs over us. “Why? It’s a free country, isn’t it?”


  “Of course. But if someone’s calling in dwarven smiths – well, he should know, shouldn’t he?”

  I considered that. Dwarven smiths meant dwarven magic: magic of war, and magic of defense. “We don’t know they’re smiths.”

  “Carl said Uri was.”

  “Yeah, but Carl also said he didn’t try to cheat him. For all we know, Carl saw a dwarf, and made an assumption.”

  She nodded. “Still…it wouldn’t hurt to ask around, would it? See if someone’s brought them here?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I’ll mention it to Aage, too. If there’s magic involved, well, maybe he knows something I don’t.”

  “You’re sure it’s not a university project? Another of his secrets? You know how the greybeard loves his secrets.”

  She half grimaced, and half smiled. “Do I ever. But no, I don’t think it is Aage’s doing. I heard about the first two dwarves from him. Two of the acolytes spotted a dwarf at the base of the mountains a few weeks ago, but he disappeared when they hailed him. And a month before that, Aage met a dwarf matron on the road. Very prim and proper, I guess. He was quite impressed.”

  I clasped my hand to my mouth to stifle a yawn. “Sorry.”

  She grinned. “Past your bedtime, my love?”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “Or too much ale, or something.”

  “Well, we should get you to bed then.”

  “Good plan. But first…” I pulled out the necklace. “I wanted to give you this.”

  She stared at it – at the silver chain, and the ocean stone that hung from it, shimmering like waves in the sun. Then she glanced up at me. “Liss, that’s beautiful. But – why?”

  I smiled at her. “Because I love you. And it reminded me of you. It looks very…” I shrugged. “Magical.”

  She laughed. “Magical?”

  “Yes. It shimmers. You know, like magic.” Odin knew, I was no kind of poet. Leave it to me to sabotage a romantic moment just by opening my mouth. “Anyway, I thought you might like it.”