Chapter 1
CALDER
Present
Nightwall Keep, Skalor
Jarl Calder Avardsson grits his teeth as the blizzard strengthens. The storm restrained itself long enough for his team to slip into the imposing, albeit warm, castle at the heart of the godsforsaken country.
As the massive wooden front doors slam shut behind them, he and his two companions shake out the snow onto the stone floor of Nightwall Keep.
Over the last thirty-five of his forty winters, the warrior chief has taken every imaginable step to avoid setting foot in this castle, the seat of the country of Skalor.
“You’d think the gods didn’t want us to make this Assembly.
” Gunni Olafsson, his Second-in-Command, throws off his hood and slides his hands over his long blonde braid.
Despite following Calder to Skalor twenty winters ago, he has maintained the standard Salt Province Warrior look of a single, rugged braid down the center of his head.
Something the Jarl was never allowed to embrace, despite having lived in Treland for fifteen of his formidable winters.
“If the gods did not desire our presence, we would not be here,” Calder grunts as he shakes off the ice forming on his fur cloak.
“I’m fairly certain the gods stopped attending to you before I was born, Calder.
” Edmund shakes his shaggy onyx locks, which cling to his face.
He whips out a pipe from a pocket of his long, dark Gothi robes and lights the bowl before deeply inhaling the sweet smoke while he glances at the vast entryway filled with crimson drapes and large potted roses.
“As a Gothi, should you not lift our spirits in the ways of the gods, Far Edmund?” Calder watches the young man, whose actions never cease to amaze him. To think the supposedly spiritual, chaste man smoked like a chimney and had a wandering eye for soft flesh.
The young Gothi blows a smoke ring against a large painting of the last Skalor king, Edric Zyma.
The only memory of the man’s life is a thin silver plate bearing his name and the number of winters between his birth and death.
His eyes seem to glisten with the knowledge that his wife, Queen Lavinia, murdered him to take the throne for herself.
“Oh, right,” Edmund closes his eyes and begins chanting nonsensically before tilting his head as if listening to someone.
Calder knows better. The would-be religious guide is not quite what he seems. However, he will allow the young man the opportunity to explain himself when the time arises.
“They think you’re a shit stain on the world, Jarl Calder.”
Gunni snorts, but Calder says nothing. He shoves Edmund into Gunni, knocking them both onto their asses. “Stop fucking around. We go this way.”
They shoulder their packs and press further inside until high-beamed ceilings and enormous stained glass windows cast eerie, colorful paintings across the stone floor.
Quite reminiscent of Steinlund's architectural style. Then again, Skalor’s only cultural norms extended to pushing through one’s miserable existence.
Once upon a long, cold winter, Calder used to find the vivid colors mesmerizing. Now, he knows better than to keep his head down when in the presence of the Queen of Skalor.
Several heavily armed Queen’s guards are stationed at the entrance points to other wings of the castle.
Before he can shout for direction, a young woman saunters through the dazzling stained glass shades.
Nothing is noticeable about her appearance except her pristine gown accentuating her bold curves, marking her as one of Lavinia’s handmaidens.
Before she speaks, he already senses her objective.
“Welcome, Jarl Calder and company.” Her smile twitches, and he notices she keeps her distance from him, the feared Iss Drengr. “If you follow me, I will take you to your chambers.”
He rolls his shoulders, offering her only a terse nod.
Looking back at Edmund, he catches his youngest companion devouring her with his eyes, even licking his lips and stuffing away his pipe.
He grabs him by the scruff of his neck and jerks him back with a squeal as his Second and the woman continue.
He leans beside the Gothi’s ear and whispers low in his throat, “Do not glimpse her way or exchange pleasantries.”
“What-” Edmund protests, but Calder tightens his hold.
“Her Sacred Stone ability is to read your emotions.” Like most of the women serving Lavinia. “She will report to the Queen everything from how you take your tea to your deepest fear. Understood, Far Edmund?”
Edmund nods, rubbing the back of his neck once he releases his grip. “You can drop the honorific. We aren’t in a temple. And you all conduct yourselves differently in Skalor.” The young man adjusts his robes as he glances around at the darkened stone of the castle.
They follow the woman up a spiral staircase. She takes the steps two at a time as if she has a prior engagement to attend.
Knowing his reputation precedes him is enough reassurance. Calder incites more horror in Lavinia’s handmaidens than the monsters lurking in the Skalor countryside ever could.
The exterior wall features slits for windows, showcasing the gale-like winds that assault the Keep with flurries.
“Having second thoughts about serving Jarl Calder, Gothi?” Gunni calls over his shoulder.
Edmund pauses beside a window that showcases the mountain range of the Core, shielding Nightwall Keep from the Bay of Souls.
Seemingly isolated, the Core would never resemble the frigid, desolate landscape in Calder’s hold of Kaldrgataness set back against the Vill Mountains dividing Skalor from Astria.
Edmund does not answer, although there is a firmness to his jaw that takes the older warrior back to the War for Treland when he fought beside the boy’s father.
There is no going back for the young Gothi. Whatever had brought him to Pradacia and Skalor now shackles him to the Jarl of Kaldrgataness. Most unfortunately, Gothi who worship Edmund’s goddess, Gullveig, are not permitted to break their vows of allegiance.
So, his only path lies with Jarl Calder Avardsson.
Calder ignores his two companions' continued banter until they arrive at a short hallway with thick cherry doors lining each side and a thin, crimson carpet running under their feet.
“Jarl Calder, this is your room,” the young woman instructs, her arm outstretched. Already, she distances herself by slipping against the opposite wall. Panic flickers in her eyes when he leans back, crossing his arms.
He trusts her as much as she trusts him.
She steps sideways, keeping him in her peripheral vision as she shows the other two their chambers.
Edmund receives a sensual back rub while she nearly licks Gunni’s ear to point out the view from his room.
Neither accepts her proposals, so she is forced to retreat past Calder, almost running to the staircase.
He steps inside his bedchamber with a grumble deep in his throat, barely acknowledging the four-poster bed and matching bedroom set crafted for kings.
Fifteen winters ago, he learned the terrible cost of falling for one of the Queen’s temptresses. Now, he approaches the middle of his life with two gravestones that mock his past, a frozen village to remind him of his present, and a wasteland of a Hold he must salvage or lose his future.
He collapses on the bed with a groan. At least they will be safe from the Queen for the present. If only the tension in his back were not a near-blinding pain.
The faster they can survive the Assembly, the faster they can distance themselves from the Queen of Skalor.
“Alright.” Edmund appears in his doorway, his hands raised in defeat. “You have proved to be an infallible killjoy on this journey, Jarl Calder. Am I at least permitted to eat in this drafty castle with only two thinly sliced logs in my hearth for warmth?”
“Do they not teach you pious living in your temples, Gothi?” Calder answers from the bed, wincing from his back pain.
Edmund slides his hands to his hips. “In all fairness, I have been a Gothi for two winters, Iss Drengr.”
Many winters ago, Calder would have flinched at someone invoking his derogatory moniker, gifted by the good people of Skalor after he single-handedly froze an entire village chasing down a god of unparalleled evil.
Ever since, it’s become a superb scare tactic, keeping vagabonds and overreaching Jarls from attacking his Hold for fear of his ability.
He maintains prominence throughout the winters through an uncountable number of nightmare-fueled deeds.
“Remind me to donate more coins to our local temple, then. Gothi training has clearly gone soft.”
Edmund leans further into the room as he inspects a small golden statue of the god Ingvar. “You know, Jarl, life can be enjoyable. Not sure if anyone has shared that bit of wisdom with you.” His sarcasm is such a refreshing change from the typical ass-kissers in his court.
“How long did that bullshit help you sleep in the strict Pradacian temple before you broke and fucked anything that stood still long enough?” Gunni appears behind him.
Edmund smirks.
“Come on, lad.” Gunni slaps his back, guiding him toward the kitchen, leaving Calder in peace.
He dozes off to the howling wind against the outer walls. Somewhere in his dreams of the South Sea and mead, a nauseating scent of lilies awakens him. Without opening his eyes, he takes a deep breath, steadying his response.
“Your Highness, what an unpleasant surprise.”
“I am hurt.” Her feet clack across the floor. “That you did not immediately come to see me, Calder.”
He opens his eyes and slowly turns his head to find Queen Lavinia of Skalor. Her dark brown hair, striped with white, flows long over her shoulders. The high neck of her collar is practically a staple of her appearance. That and her icy blue eyes mirror his own with cold indifference.
“I figured you would find me soon enough.” You cold-hearted bitch. “What do you need now that cannot wait until the Assembly tomorrow?”