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I CRAWL ALONG THE WEST wall of Griffinhold
, sticking to the shadows godtrees cast in the brazier light. The night guardsmen on the ice-slick cobbles below are easy to avoid with my spider gloves and thermal dampening suit. More difficult were the enhanced radar drones and motion sensors Sefi had installed per my advice. Why’d I have to be so damn thorough? They nearly ruined my drop from the Alltribe flier I hitched a ride on from the coastal city of Nike. Luckily, I followed a murder of crows in.
I reach the pulseShield that encloses my target’s window in one of the six western towers of Griffinhold, and disrupt the field with diamond refractors, creating a slip narrow enough for me to shimmy through. The room is dark, tall, and more choked with incense than a fifty-credit Lunese brothel. Lovely. It also looks as if a hurricane had come through it. Priceless urns and bits of shattered wood are strewn about the carpet. Oldboy had a tantrum after his fall from grace. Good. The big lads outside will be used to noise.
I slip toward the large four-post bed where a giant shadow snores. I nearly choke from the alcohol on his breath. Feeling a bit sinister, I take the wine bottle from his bedside and crawl onto the ceiling to take a swig and upend the bottle. Dreadfully expensive wine pours down over the shaman’s face. He wakes to see a black shadow on the ceiling above him.
He screams and falls off the bed.
Laughing my ass off, I release my gloves and land in his place on the bed. From the floor, Ozgard peers up at me. “Grarnir?”
“Stop shouting, you idiot.” I prop myself on an elbow. “Those big bastards outside the door will hear if you talk particulars.” I run a hand up my leg. “Would hate to think I’m the first whore who’s landed in your bed.”
“Grarnir,” he whispers, and pulls himself upright-ish. “I thought you were Ascomanni.” His wounded eye is covered in a patch, his mangled hand in splints. Looks like a giant baby, an effect enhanced by the dewy tears in his remaining eye. “I knew you would return. I knew—”
“Shut up.” I sniff him. “You drunken lout. Knew you’d be soused.”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why have you returned?”
“Well, oldboy. I’m here to sort out a particularly sinister case of milk worm. That’s right.” I pop the datadrop into my hand and let it roll. “We got ourselves a parasite.”
His eye widens in horror as the drop plays its little bit of incriminating evidence. “That scheming little maggot. The two-faced malefactor—”
“He outplayed you, medicine man. No need for bluster.”
“We must tell the Queen.”
“Naw. I was thinking we sit on it. Let Volsung eat her heart, or whatever else that albino golem has in store, then make off with a load of helium and become emperors of the asteroids.” He stares at me in horror. “Fuckin’ hell. It’s a joke. We’re gonna blood eagle that big puke. But we gotta do it right and good, you hear?” I lean forward and tap his nose. “Problem is, Queen listened to Old Eph, and’s got her sanctum as tight as Publius cu Caraval’s sphincter. I almost got pinned twice trying to slip in there. But you, dear charlatan, can get it to her.”
He shakes his head. “The Queen is possessed of an evil spirit. She went into a fury when you took children. Trusts no one but Xenophon, suspects a coup to take her throne. She even thinks Volsung Fá is not real.”
“Damn.”
“I am still forbidden from her sight, as are all but those Xenophon permits. Her Valkyrie have closed their ears to me.”
“Figured you’d have wormed your way back in. Shit.”
“Indeed. Shit.” Big shaman looks all dour. Scheming leech or not, he’s wounded by Sefi’s dismissal. He’s drunk, sure; but functioning alcoholics are a gift from the gods. They’re never quite out of the game.
“So, we got a problem then.” I wag the datadrop. “This here is a nail in the coffin for that little puke. How do we get it to her? Who can play messenger?”
“A jarl,” he says. “She is set to speak before them tomorrow morning. They slumber in Eagle Rest.”
“Thought security was a little weird. Braves I didn’t recognize. What’s her speech for?”
“An ambassador from the Republic is on his way. Xenophon has arranged a peace summit.”
“Uh-huh.” I raise an eyebrow. “Having just been with the Republic, I very much doubt that. They don’t buy this Fá story. Think Sefi’s lost her bleedin’ mind. No jarls. Xenophon’s got the playing field stacked.”
“The skuggi,” he says in sudden epiphany. I knew he’d get there. “They bear Freihild’s death as grievously as Valdir. They can be trusted.” He sighs. “But they cannot gain audience. Her Valkyrie are loyal, and will never turn against her word. I could not put skuggi against Valkyrie. Only evil grows of that.”
“Agreed. I was thinking they could help us liberate an old bloodstained friend.”
“Unshorn…” he murmurs in obvious fear.
“Now you’re catchin’ on, oldboy.”
* * *
