“Hey!” Vidar barked, closing his hand to hide the rune despite the pain.

  She sighed and walked up to stand in front of him. Her face looked soft, with only a few wrinkles around the eyes, but the gray streaks in her otherwise light brown hair made her look older.

  “Vidar,” she said. “I’d hoped to examine you a little more before you woke.”

  “I bet.”

  She regarded him in silence and he glared back for a long while, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. “You’re with the rune scribes’ guild. Who are you? How do you know me?”

  “Perceptive young man. Not unlike the student of ours you’ve been harassing.”

  “Alvarn?” Vidar asked before being able to stop himself.

  She only smiled in reply, a knowing smile. “My name is Viktoria and I am the guild mistress of the guild’s chapter in Halmstadt. We were called upon when news of your arrest reached the steward.”

  “Why?”

  Her warm and inviting demeanor irritated Vidar, because he just knew she was wearing that expression as a mask. Viktoria was enjoying this situation far too much.

  “The guild is always involved in cases of illegal rune crafting. It has been a good long while since someone dared practice the art without our writ of approval.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Viktoria scoffed. “Don’t think your activities around our chapter house haven’t been noted. Your corrupting presence made one of our finest students betray our trust. It’s always a pity to lose someone with such a bright future ahead of them.”

  “You better not touch Alvarn!” Vidar shouted, the sudden swell of anger getting the upper hand against his attempt at keeping his wits about him.

  She tsked and stepped back at his outburst, but showed no sign of having been rattled.

  “The skin around your wound is too swollen to see the sowilo rune burn mark, but I’ll be glad to examine the hand once you recover. In the meantime, you will give me your account of how you came to the knowledge of rune craft and what you have used that knowledge for.”

  Vidar sneered. “I don’t know anything about runes.”

  “Alvarn’s future might hang in the balance. Only your truth may still tilt the scales in the boy’s favor.”

  “Go eat a dragon’s turd.”

  “No need to be difficult, Vidar. Perhaps we ought to visit your home and have a conversation with your father. I’m sure he’s worried about the whereabouts of his son.”

  “Just tell me what you want. Spit it out,” Vidar said, his patience running thin with Viktoria’s incessant chatter. She seemed to think herself clever, but she clearly didn’t know who she was dealing with.

  “To the crux of the matter, then, Vidar,” Viktoria began, her tone turning sharp. “We have suspicions that you’ve stumbled upon secrets not meant for you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a rune that protects you like a shield,” she said.

  Vidar’s eyes widened. She knew. They knew. He had been so careful.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vidar lied, but the look on her face told him he’d already confirmed what she wanted to know.

  “This is both a grave mistake on your part, taking what is not yours, but it is also cause for celebration. Many runes are thought to be lost, and now you’ve found one. One that would be most useful. So, I am here to propose a way to end this without bloodshed.”

  “I told you—” Vidar began, but she held up a hand to silence him.

  “Instruct the guild in the use of this new rune, Vidar, and we will relinquish our claim. Your life, after all, is ours to decide the fate of, based on the charges brought upon you.”

  “I haven’t heard a single piece of evidence,” Vidar countered, suspicious of what Viktoria was playing at. If the guild already knew about these runes, they wouldn’t need to propose such a deal. They wanted information. The knowledge. They wanted it badly enough to bargain for it.

  Vidar considered this and then said, “I have a counterproposal.”

  Viktoria raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into an amused smile. “Oh? This should be interesting.”

  “If I do have this rune, as you claim, I think it would be worth more to you than just my pardon.”

  “Is that so?” Viktoria asked, her tone cool. “And what do you suggest as fair compensation for your discovery? And remember, your life is ours to claim if we wish.”

  “You let Alvarn stay as a student, and you don’t do anything to him. He had no part in this.”

  “If it is as you claim—”

  Vidar continued, cutting her off. “Also, I’ll need a writ from the guild allowing me to craft runes and sell them.”

  Viktoria’s stoic expression barely wavered. “That’s quite the ask.”

  “I’m not finished,” Vidar said. “I’ll also need ten—no, twenty percent of any coin made with the runes for which I provide the symbol.”

  For a moment, Viktoria held her composure before she burst out laughing, slapping her knee.

  “What’s so funny?” Vidar demanded, confused.

  After a moment, she straightened up and wiped tears from her eyes. “Boy,” she said.

  “I’m no boy,” Vidar interrupted, his tone sharp.

  “Boy,” she repeated, louder this time. “Even if I had the authority to grant such a ridiculous request, which I don’t, I would never. What sort of guild allows a nonmember trading privileges? It’s never been done, certainly not in the rune scribes’ guild.”

  She paused, then continued, “Your desire to protect your friend is admirable, if misguided. But the demand for coin shows you for who you truly are, Vidar. Nothing more than a money-grubbing rat who’s stumbled upon greatness.”

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  Her insult hung heavy in the air, but Vidar broke the silence first. “Do we have a deal?”

  Before Viktoria could answer, a noise came from outside the door, and it swung open.

  “We do not have a deal, Vidar,” she said, her voice regaining its icy composure. “It seems we must converse again at a later date. For now, our time is up.”

  A man entered the cell, and Vidar recognized him immediately.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Jarl asked. “The guild has no right of entry here. I thought better of you, Viktoria. There is a procedure to these things.” Jarl towered over both Vidar and Viktoria with an aura of barely controlled anger.

  Viktoria turned to him, her voice suddenly pleasant. “No harm, Marshal. The guild is merely curious about the little rat you’ve caught, as I’m sure you know. The Crown’s claim to this boy is tenuous at best. Best not to make the mistake of ruling on his case without our express permission.”

  Jarl gestured to the door. “The day I ask the guild for permission is the day I hand in my sword. You may leave, guild mistress.”

  “Vidar,” Jarl began.

  “I’ve been beaten several times already,” Vidar interrupted. “Why are you treating me like this? I’ve broken no law.”

  Jarl sighed. “We know all about your involvement in what happened. Vidar… you are a murderer.”

  Vidar’s reaction was too visceral to hide. Tears ran down his face as he hung his head, unable to keep eye contact with the man before him.

  Jarl continued, his voice short and clipped. “The report is very clear about what happened. You infiltrated the jail to rescue your friend. Then, you attempted to break the lock with some sort of explosive. You failed and were found knocked out. The guards then placed you in your own cell. When you were set to be transferred, you attacked the guard who attempted to apprehend you. In the following altercation, the guard, Henry, died.”

  Jarl paused for a moment, his tone softening slightly. “He was, by all accounts, not a very good man, with gambling and drink as his sole interests. He left no wife and no children.” He breathed in, then sighed, adding, “But he lost his life by your hand. That equals murder. Do you understand?”

  Vidar looked up, his voice trembling. “I didn’t want to do it. I was trying to get away and… he strangled me.” He remembered the labored breathing, the guard’s thick fingers around his neck. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just trying to get him off me.”

  Jarl’s icy expression didn’t change. His eyes grew no less hard at the admission of guilt or the feeble explanation. “The report found something else as well,” Jarl said, his voice sharp. “Something very curious. The cause of death was a hole through the guard’s chest, about the size of a fist. Can you tell me anything about that?”

  Vidar looked up sharply, locking eyes with Jarl. This man knew. His intense gaze made it clear that he was waiting for confirmation.

  “Why does that matter?” Vidar asked hesitantly.

  “This report has seen no other eyes than mine,” Jarl replied calmly, “and the men taking care of the scene afterward have been sworn to secrecy. I’m asking you, Vidar, because there is a path to redemption here for you. It is narrow, and I’m not going to lie—it will be difficult. But there is a solution for you if you cooperate with the steward and the Crown.”

  Vidar’s heart sank. He knew where Jarl was heading, but didn’t want to say it himself. The marshal wanted him to be the one to speak first. Vidar was tired—tired of lying, tired of feeling like a killer.

  “I have discovered new runes and taught myself the use of them,” Vidar admitted, his voice hollow. “Old, lost runes.”

  A slight crease formed around Jarl’s eyes, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a small, knowing smile. He had indeed already known, and now Vidar had just confirmed it.

  “And when you scurried away from me like a scared little rabbit,” Jarl teased, his tone playful.

  Anger swelled inside Vidar, and he threw himself against his restraints. “I’m not afraid of you!” he shouted. “You’ve seen what I’m capable of!”

  Jarl’s face turned to stone again. “Yes, Vidar, I have seen.”

  “It was a shield,” Vidar sighed, defeated. “A barrier, I’m calling it.”

  “Does the guild know?” Jarl asked.

  “They do not,” Vidar replied.

  “They know something, or Viktoria wouldn’t have come here. I will make inquiries as to who leaked information to them. If they know anything, it’s about what happened in that jail cell. Because, Vidar, your barrier… I was the only one to see that.”

  “You mentioned absolution,” Vidar said. “What would I have to do?”

  “Pardon,” Jarl corrected. “Absolution is something only the priests can give, through the embrace of the fallen angels.”

  “Religion,” Vidar spat. “What about the law?”

  Jarl shook his head. “No man is above the law. But perhaps your sentence can be in service to the Crown rather than at end of a noose.”

  Vidar flinched. Death. What other punishment could there be for murder?

  They shared a long, heavy silence.

  “I don’t care about the priests,” Vidar said finally, gathering the last of his courage. “But I will do a lot to escape hanging.” He paused, then added, “You need me, or you wouldn’t be here. You need the runes for something. The dragon.”

  Jarl straightened, assuming his official stance. “Indeed, you are required on the field of battle, Vidar.”

  Vidar had no intention of stepping onto a battlefield. “I have information regarding the next attack,” he said. “I know when it’s coming, and I have the means to slay the dragon. I will share information with you… for the right price.”

  Jarl scoffed. “The right price? Is a pardon not enough for you?”

  “My life is worth little,” Vidar countered.

  “This should be interesting,” Jarl murmured. “Tell me, Vidar, what sort of weapon have you discovered? One capable of killing a creature of myth—a beast that even angels couldn’t slay?”

  “An arrow,” Vidar replied, “capable of piercing a dragon’s scales. Fire it from one of your wagons and the dragon’s death is certain. But you must hurry. It will return soon. Very soon.”

  “Wagons? Ah, you mean the ballistae,” Jarl said raising an eyebrow. “We’ve designed heavier steel-tipped ones, meant to penetrate. Our tests show they can breach the strongest of walls.”

  “It’s not walls you need to breach,” Vidar said. “It’s a legendary creature. And I have delved into its mysteries.”

  Jarl reached into his coat and pulled out a gold coin. “Is that why you have this?”

  “That’s mine!” Vidar shouted, futilely attempting to move his arm to snatch the coin from Jarl’s hand.

  “Gold in your pocket. If not for this, I would’ve been here earlier. Since I did not recognize its make, I’ve brought it before both our minters and some of our trustworthy historians.”

  He held the coin a little closer to Vidar’s face. “Vidar, do you know when this is from?”

  “It’s old.”

  “Very old,” Jarl agreed. “So old, in fact, it was minted when dragons still roamed the skies.”

  “Oh?”

  “Peculiar coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “I told you I’m your greatest asset in this. No one knows more about dragons than me. You need me. My arrow.”

  “Our new arrows will work. What we need from you are shields to protect the ballistae. When the beast attacked last, most of our long-range weaponry was immediately torched.”

  Vidar didn’t feel very confident in his next few words, and it probably showed. “Your arrows won’t work. Mine will.”

  “We’ll take our chances.”

  “Like I said, the next attack is coming soon. Very soon. Release me and allow me to see whoever made your new arrows.” Vidar ran his tongue over his overly dry lips and spoke quickly, sensing Jarl’s interest fading. “Surely, there can be no harm in adding mine to the arsenal. I’ll craft barriers to protect the ballistae. When my arrow is the one to fell the monster after yours fail, you’ll grant me a pardon for any crimes committed and a writ to allow my trading in runes.”

  Jarl broke out into a short but powerful laugh before collecting himself. “You are daring, I’ll give you that. A writ cannot be bestowed by anyone beside the guild. Not even His Royal Highness himself could do such a thing without inviting chaos, much less the steward of Halmstadt, the royal cousin.” He went to the door and put his hand on the handle. “Perhaps I best let you stew in here for a few more days. Give you time to think.”

  “The dragon will be here the day after tomorrow. Perhaps earlier. Time might have gotten away from me in here.”

  Jarl stopped and turned back, his piercing gaze leveled right at Vidar’s eyes. “What sort of grounds do you have for making such a statement?”

  “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  If Vidar told the stiff-backed soldier in front of him the real source for his information, he’d get another laugh out of the man, then a scowl and finally more time in this blasted cell. That was not an option.

  “Then take your chances,” Vidar said, keeping steady eye contact with Jarl. “Suffer another defeat.”

  Their eyes stayed locked for several breaths, and Vidar only looked away and blinked when Jarl gave a short nod. “Very well. But if the dragon stays where it is, I’ll be disappointed in you.”

  Vidar sensed that Jarl’s disappointment would lead to another cell and perhaps even that noose he kept dangling at the forefront of Vidar’s imagination.

  “I’m right, you’ll see,” Vidar said. “So we have an understanding, then? A pardon?”

  “Help Halmstadt slay that dragon and I’m sure the steward will find it in him to pardon the murder”—he emphasized the word—“of one of his loyal guardsmen. The rest is between you and the mercy of fallen angels.”

  He turned to walk out of the room.

  “About that coin?” Vidar asked, unable to help himself.