“Did it wear armor, as they say the giants who fight for the White Foxes do?” Morgan asked.

“Not this one,” Porto said. “Sludig, the duke’s man, told me that most giants in the far north are wild, that only a few are kept always in the Norn Queen’s service because the great brutes are dangerous even to their masters. This one went naked like any beast. That was one reason that what I saw in its eyes, that fearful, manlike cleverness, still disturbs my memory. But I thought little of any of this at the time. It was too big, too sudden. This was our death standing before us, tall as a tree and growling like an angry bear, none of us doubted that.”

“How did you kill it?” Morgan had indeed heard Porto’s stories of fighting giants and Norns many times, but had seldom paid much attention. He had never believed all that Astrian said, that they were only the tales an old drunkard concocted to make himself seem a hero, but he had never entirely believed the most lurid of Porto’s recollections either. Now he was beginning to wonder, because everything Porto was saying had the feeling of real terror remembered.

“How? Luck,” the knight said. “And God’s grace. One of my comrades pierced its neck with a spear, another stabbed the creature in its leg near the cod, where the great vein of blood throbs. I struck it myself, but only in the back of the leg because I could reach nothing else. Still, that blow lamed it. We fought it a good while longer, but at last its blood was all out and it fell. My captain took its head.”

“So you yourself did not kill a giant, precisely,” said Astrian, all air and philosophy. “In truth, you hamstrung the monster. Were you lying down when that happened, perhaps pretending to be dead? Or was it so much higher than you that, as with the prince’s little friend No-Neck the troll, you had to leap and leap to deal that deathly blow?”

But for once, Porto did not seem to mind the mockery, or even much notice it. “I make no claims to being a great hero like Tallistro. I fought because there was no other choice, except to die. But I do not apologize to you or anyone, Nabban-man. Few have faced those howling, hairy things and survived, fewer still have been in on the death of one.”

The very matter-of-fact way he said it convinced Morgan. The prince sat back, examining Porto as though he had never really seen him before. He was still tall and must have been a formidable size in his youth. And Morgan knew that he had indeed been where he claimed, because when they were in Elvritshalla, the king’s friend Jarl Sludig had told him at a gathering that he had caught sight of Porto in Morgan’s company; Sludig did not remember the knight’s name, but had recognized his long-boned face and frame from the days of the siege against the Norns. Morgan had even considered bringing Porto to meet the jarl, but the time in Elvritshalla had been hectic, with the Kopstade to explore and the sudden attentions of the trolls, and he had forgotten. Soon thereafter, they left Elvritshalla and Sludig behind. Morgan could not help feeling a twinge of regret now over his failure to bring the two men together.

“That truly is an astonishing tale, Sir Porto,” he said, “and I believe you. You have memories, brave memories, that most men would envy.”

“Thank you, Highness,” said the old man, and made a slightly creaky imitation of a bow. “But to speak honestly, I wish I were in truth the liar that Astrian and Olveris find such joy in describing. My memories of those days give me no pleasure and still bring me ugly dreams.”

The other two knights seemed to have run dry of insults. They all fell silent. The wind scrabbled at the tent cloth, and for that moment each man seemed to be thinking the same thing—of what might lurk outside in the darkness beyond those flimsy walls.

22 Death Songs

Makho deeply distrusted the mortal, but clearly he did not trust Nezeru much more. When the hand chieftain sent her out to scout the territory ahead, a role for which she had undergone careful training in the Order-house of Sacrifice, he sent Kemme with her.

Does he fear I will run away? Just thinking of it made her furious. Does he think I hold my oath to our queen so lightly that I would desert my people simply because he whipped me—because I am in disgrace? The weals on her back had mostly healed. They still ached fiercely in the cold, but that was as nothing compared to the pain of being thought untrustworthy. The fact that it was true—that she had already failed her hand-brothers twice—only made the pain worse.

“Why come so far south?” she asked Kemme as he followed her down a long, rocky slope, past drifts of snow and patches of yellow winter grass. “Not just deep into Rimmersgard, but almost to the edge of Erkynland?”

“Close your mouth, Blackbird. Do you know more than Makho?” He pushed his way through the long grasses, leaving a sinuous track like a snake. “The hare does not tell the fox where to hunt.”

She knew she should be quiet, but his dismissiveness made her skin prickle. “The mortal Jarnulf said we should cross the great road miles farther north, closer to the mortal city of Kaldskryke.”

“He did, did he? And how do we know what ambush he might be leading us to if we do not scout all this country?” Kemme’s face was full of unhidden anger. “Who are you? I was nobody—a Sacrifice from an indifferent family, stuck in a backwater league of our order under a lazy, self-serving commander. But my lord Makho remembered me—he asked for me to join him. Now I am a Queen’s Talon. Do you think I care what you or some mortal have to say? Enough of your pointless questions, Blackbird.” In fact, this was the first time Nezeru had spoken in a very long time, but he made it seem as if she had been prattling ceaselessly.

The sky was lightening now, but they were still a good distance from their camp, which added to Nezeru’s unhappiness. She did not like these bare, open lands away from the forested hilltops, and she especially did not like moving so close to the mortal road. It was largely deserted this time of the year, with storms still coming down from the mountains and across the Frostmarch, but that was no proof against being seen by enemies. The only fast way to travel east to Urmsheim was to pass between the Dimmerskog Forest and great Drorshullven Lake. Jarnulf had suggested they cross the mortal road just past Kaldskryke, skirting the southern edge of the forest before heading east into the wilderness, but Makho had dismissed the idea, apparently leery of some trap. So now we are here, exposed, practically in daylight, almost begging to be seen, Nezeru thought. Was secrecy no longer a part of their task? Why had they not simply crossed the road nearer to the forest instead of risking the much more populated lands near Vestvennby?

She could think of no answer that made sense, and that troubled her.

•   •   •

After a long time on open ground Nezeru and Kemme started to climb up into the hills that bordered the road. She was reluctantly impressed by how swiftly and quietly he traveled. She knew he had fought at Asu’a during the failed War of Return, and had also defended the Nakkiga Gate against invading mortals. She did not underestimate his strength or his bravery. But his loyalty to Makho made it impossible for him to hear any question about strategy except as an attack on their chieftain.