CHAPTER NINE

Crowhurst, the Far North

C rowhurst was a stunning castle, particularly given its position in the frozen northern wastes. Fashioned out of a pale turquoise rock, its battlements and edges coated in a dazzling white, it stood out from the snow-covered tundra like a jewel.

Lister had created it twenty years ago, using powerful magic that had left him tired for many months afterward, but even so, even given its stunning beauty, Lister knew it was but a pale imitation of the memory he had used to fashion it.

It was not Elcho Falling, as desperately as it tried.

For months now Skraelings had been gathering at its base. They drifted in from even farther north in small groups, their gray, wraithlike forms buffeted by the winds that cut across the tundra day and night, their huge silver eyes mournful, their tooth-ridden mouths hanging agape in longing and hunger.

They gathered at Crowhurst because it formed a convenient beacon for them—even the Skraelings thought it very pretty—and because the man inside was kind to them, and spoke soft words to them, and (far more important) fed them. He was also allied with the Lealfast, with whom the Skraelings had a love-hate relationship.

The Skraelings listened to what Lister had to say, and in return for the food and the kind words, they occasionally helped out in the castle (as much as Skraelings were capable of “helping out” anyone, but they did their best), but they owed him no particular loyalty.

Lister was not their master.

The Lealfast, as much as they tried to lord it over the Skraelings, were not their masters.

Their true lord lay far south, and every day his siren song grew stronger and stronger in their minds.

One day the Skraelings would go to him.

One day, when they were strong, they would swarm.

High in Crowhurst, Lister stood at a window looking down at the Skraelings. He was never too sure whether to be sorry for the creatures, or to be completely repulsed. For the moment he supposed he should be tolerant of them, for they tolerated him and gave him a stage on which to act.

“They’re growing restless,” said Inardle, standing at his side. She had a hand resting intimately on his lower back, caressing him through the soft fabric of his clothing.

“They will swarm this winter,” said Eleanon, from where he stood farther back in the room.

Another of the Lealfast, a man called Bingaleal, who was older, more experienced, and somewhat harder in nature than the other two, moved up to Lister’s shoulder. “They scare me to death,” he said, earning himself a surprised look from Lister.

“They scare you to death?” Lister said. “But I would have thought you to be their friend.”

He received no reply from Bingaleal save a slightly cynical twist of the man’s mouth, and so Lister turned to Eleanon.

“Your brothers and sisters, your cousins and neighbors, your friends and comrades?” Lister asked the man, although he meant the question for all the Lealfast in the room. “Are you ready to swarm?”

“We are ready, Lister,” said Eleanon. “All of us. We will do anything to ensure that Elcho Falling rises again.”

Lister looked at Bingaleal, who held seniority over Eleanon and Inardle.

“Anything for the Lord of Elcho Falling,” Bingaleal said in a quiet tone, and Lister nodded, satisfied.

“Then I, and he, are blessed indeed by the Lealfast,” said Lister, giving Inardle a kiss on her forehead and smiling at Eleanon. “Now, to business, eh? Ba’al’uz. I have heard or felt nothing from him, and I worry.”

“Is he not in Coroleas?” said Inardle.

“The last I heard, yes,” said Lister. “But now? I don’t know. Until he makes himself known to us, we just won’t know where he is.”

“He must still be in Coroleas,” said Inardle.

“I hope so,” Lister muttered.