chance of working?"
"It seemed smarter than fighting. I don't think a dead body can tell me where its bow is no matter how long I yell at it."
Leaves crunched underfoot, smelling of sap and must. The afterimage of his work lingered in Dante's eyes, silvery flecks that flashed whenever he blinked. A pair of norren followed them on either side, two more at their back. Blays did nothing to disguise his stare. The norren paid them no mind. Woodsmoke sifted through the budding branches.
They were directed to a patch of clear, bare earth not far from where the lake lapped softly on the muddy shore. The scarred man was named Orlen, the orange-eyed woman Vee. They disappeared inside a leather yurt to continue their conversation while Arlo, the young norren who'd detained Dante and Blays in the woods, brought out fried trout and raw greens. Blays swallowed the crackly tail, then dug into the sweet, steaming white meat with bare fingers, plucking out ribs.
"This entire trip is now worth it," he declared. "Even if we die, my ghost will agree."
Dante dug his thumbnail against the scraps of green onion in his teeth. "I think we've reached the point where if they wanted to kill us, they'd kill us."
"Maybe we're being fattened."
"They're nomads, not cannibals."
"Maybe they're branching out."
Around them, the norren ate their own meals, stopping at the end to rip off the heads of cooked fish to suck out the eyes, then flinging the bony remainder into the lake.
"Imagine those fish are you," Dante said.
Orlen and Vee emerged from the yurt and approached the main bonfire. Without a word, ten others joined them. The rest of the clan didn't look up, continuing to pick their teeth with fish bones and mend the nets they'd pulled from the lake. Dante raised his brows at Blays and joined the norren at the welcome heat of the bonfire. Orlen stared at them without blinking, even when the shifting wind drove stinging smoke into his eyes.
"I don't know what you've heard about us," the scarred chieftain said finally. "Likely you have heard several things. When a thing is unknown like our clan, people will rush to fill the void of knowledge with whatever stories they like best."
"We understand you want the same thing we do," Dante said. "An independent norren state free of tribute to or dependence on the nation of Gask."
"Vague enough to be a diplomat," Vee said. "Watch out for his promises."
Dante scowled over the fire. "We know your clan has a long history of resistance against the capital. That's all we know . We've heard you possess a weapon called the Quivering Bow. If it does what rumor says it does, I think it could be a critical piece in forestalling a war—or in winning one, if the nobles at Setteven decide they've had enough of what's gone on down here."
Orlen inclined his head. "The bow. Yes."
"Then it's real?"
"It has been a relic of the Clan of the Nine Pines for so long none of us actually knows how we got it."
Vee folded her large hands. "Perhaps it was strung with the guts of patriarch Boh's first son. Or maybe we stole it from lesser people who weren't worthy of it."
Dante's head tingled. "It can do what its name says, then. Shake down walls."
"If you know how to use it," Orlen said. "And if you will use it to help free our people, you may have it, because what greater purpose could it serve? But there is a problem with it."
"Not an insurmountable problem," Vee added. "It is not like the problem of why we are born only to suffer and die."
"Really, a rather minor problem. A dim constellation in the vast starscape of all that is wrong."
Blays pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. "Have you ever considered this problem only exists because you're too busy talking about it to solve it?"
"You see," Orlen said, "we don't know where it is."
2
"I see," Blays said. "Do you remember where you put it last?"
Orlen narrowed his eyes. Smoke rose from the fire in white walls, screening the stars. "In the hands of a
"It seemed smarter than fighting. I don't think a dead body can tell me where its bow is no matter how long I yell at it."
Leaves crunched underfoot, smelling of sap and must. The afterimage of his work lingered in Dante's eyes, silvery flecks that flashed whenever he blinked. A pair of norren followed them on either side, two more at their back. Blays did nothing to disguise his stare. The norren paid them no mind. Woodsmoke sifted through the budding branches.
They were directed to a patch of clear, bare earth not far from where the lake lapped softly on the muddy shore. The scarred man was named Orlen, the orange-eyed woman Vee. They disappeared inside a leather yurt to continue their conversation while Arlo, the young norren who'd detained Dante and Blays in the woods, brought out fried trout and raw greens. Blays swallowed the crackly tail, then dug into the sweet, steaming white meat with bare fingers, plucking out ribs.
"This entire trip is now worth it," he declared. "Even if we die, my ghost will agree."
Dante dug his thumbnail against the scraps of green onion in his teeth. "I think we've reached the point where if they wanted to kill us, they'd kill us."
"Maybe we're being fattened."
"They're nomads, not cannibals."
"Maybe they're branching out."
Around them, the norren ate their own meals, stopping at the end to rip off the heads of cooked fish to suck out the eyes, then flinging the bony remainder into the lake.
"Imagine those fish are you," Dante said.
Orlen and Vee emerged from the yurt and approached the main bonfire. Without a word, ten others joined them. The rest of the clan didn't look up, continuing to pick their teeth with fish bones and mend the nets they'd pulled from the lake. Dante raised his brows at Blays and joined the norren at the welcome heat of the bonfire. Orlen stared at them without blinking, even when the shifting wind drove stinging smoke into his eyes.
"I don't know what you've heard about us," the scarred chieftain said finally. "Likely you have heard several things. When a thing is unknown like our clan, people will rush to fill the void of knowledge with whatever stories they like best."
"We understand you want the same thing we do," Dante said. "An independent norren state free of tribute to or dependence on the nation of Gask."
"Vague enough to be a diplomat," Vee said. "Watch out for his promises."
Dante scowled over the fire. "We know your clan has a long history of resistance against the capital. That's all we know . We've heard you possess a weapon called the Quivering Bow. If it does what rumor says it does, I think it could be a critical piece in forestalling a war—or in winning one, if the nobles at Setteven decide they've had enough of what's gone on down here."
Orlen inclined his head. "The bow. Yes."
"Then it's real?"
"It has been a relic of the Clan of the Nine Pines for so long none of us actually knows how we got it."
Vee folded her large hands. "Perhaps it was strung with the guts of patriarch Boh's first son. Or maybe we stole it from lesser people who weren't worthy of it."
Dante's head tingled. "It can do what its name says, then. Shake down walls."
"If you know how to use it," Orlen said. "And if you will use it to help free our people, you may have it, because what greater purpose could it serve? But there is a problem with it."
"Not an insurmountable problem," Vee added. "It is not like the problem of why we are born only to suffer and die."
"Really, a rather minor problem. A dim constellation in the vast starscape of all that is wrong."
Blays pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. "Have you ever considered this problem only exists because you're too busy talking about it to solve it?"
"You see," Orlen said, "we don't know where it is."
2
"I see," Blays said. "Do you remember where you put it last?"
Orlen narrowed his eyes. Smoke rose from the fire in white walls, screening the stars. "In the hands of a
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