Ice Blink

35: Mortu's Heir

He stayed in the shadows, observing the warrior traitors. Mortu had considered using them, recruiting them, but their ties to Illulik were too strong, and they didn't want word to get back to the meddling Circle. Instead Mortu chose this: hiding, observing, waiting. He had perfected the art. But they wouldn't have to hide forever.

Now, watching the entrances in case the Inua emerged, his thoughts strayed, weaving reality with memory.

*

"I have trained you all to lead in my stead, but only one can rise above the others. Only one can be my heir."

The hall carved out of the ravine was scattered with darkness and light filtering from the top of the cliffs, so impossibly far away that the sky was a mere sliver and no wind or snow reached them. They stood before the Sovereign, shoulders thrown back. Viggo's eyes were alight with hunger, his shoulders already as broad as a man's, while beautiful Nyra narrowed hers to slits.

Between them, he fixed his attention on Mortu, drinking in every word.

Ragged red banners fluttered along the cavern walls behind them. Half of this structure was natural, while the other half had been shaped by human hands centuries ago.

Under Mortu's rule, it was an arena.

Mortu picked up a cage. A ragged black bird fluttered feebly within, a few feathers missing from one wing. "I want you to move like warriors. I want you to think like fighters. I want you to view each other as the enemy."

Nyra dropped into a crouch, poised to push off as soon as he gave the signal.

Mortu opened the cage door and threw the bird out.

The Crow knew that this was their signal and leaped into action a fraction of a second sooner than the others. His heart pounded, blood and adrenalin thrummed through his body.

He had been training for this moment his whole life, and he had never felt more alive.

Fixated on the bird, he hadn't sensed Nyra gaining on him until she seized his hood and dragged him backwards. He gasped as the parka cut into his windpipe. By the time he'd pulled free, she was already dashing ahead. Aware of Mortu's eyes following their every move, and the masked soldiers perched on ledges high above, he cursed himself silently and tried to catch up. Viggo had the longest legs, and he was easily pulling ahead.

The hurt bird was already a black speck in the distance. Viggo and Nyra were too far ahead for him to catch up, but the bird was gaining height despite the stale, breezeless air.

Changing tactics, the Crow veered towards the closest wall and sprinted up a narrow path which wound along it, taking him higher than the others. Now he was at the same height as the bird, which was a weak fledgling. All he had to do was catch up.

Metal sang through the air. He ducked on instinct, and one of Nyra's concealed knives zinged past his face, so close it split a couple of hairs.

Directly above his competitors now, he stamped hard on a loose rock. Stones crumbled beneath his feet, raining down upon the others, and Nyra let out an enraged shriek.

Viggo was still leading the way.

He couldn't let him win. Everything he'd dreamed of would be lost forever.

Pure panic spurred him on as they reached a dead end and the bird started to rise towards the sky. Viggo had reached the opposite wall, climbing it using the notches etched in with all the strength and prowess of a snow leopard.

The Crow swore under his breath. Mortu had expected them to go the way Viggo had chosen, hence the notches – but he was still too far away.

He took a running leap when the ledge ended and caught a banner pole which was jutting out of the wall. Trembling, he heaved himself up until he was straddling it. The bird was faltering, slowing down, losing the last of its strength.

Viggo snatched, and he thought it was all over.

The bird tore free, leaving Viggo with nothing but tail feathers, and veered sideways – away from both of them.

The Crow didn't think. He flung himself off the pole and hit the ground in a roll, pain bursting through his side on impact. The momentum had him back on his feet, racing for the bird, hardly breathing. Viggo was a streak of brown on his left.

The Crow dived on him just as he was about to overtake again and they tumbled to the floor. Viggo tore away but he seized his ankles, brought him crashing back down. He clawed at the Crow's face, animalistic in his desperation, and they struggled for a few silent, furious heartbeats. The Crow delivered a sharp blow to his groin and he howled, his grip slackening.

The Crow jumped to his feet as Nyra streaked into view, blood running down her face from a gash on her scalp.

He forced his way in front as the bird made one last bid for freedom, barely able to fly with so many missing feathers.

He snatched it out of the air. Nyra's nails clawed his arm and Viggo collided with his other side, but they were both too late.

He locked his fingers together as the creature fluttered against his makeshift cage. He could feel light, hollow bones and a small heart beating twice as fast as his own as he fought for breath, stepping away from his competitors.

It was over.

Unable to speak, clutching stitches in their sides, they both glared at him.

Mortu strolled towards the trio and dismissed the other two with a wave. A group of masked soldiers escorted them away as he turned to the Crow.

"I thought... you were always... going to choose me," he panted, realising too late how childish that sounded.

Mortu lifted the cage he held and placed the bird carefully back inside. It was a small, half-grown crow.

"I was. But I didn't want you to know that," Mortu replied. "It was never about the bird. I could have given you any other kind of test. I could have even given you legions, made you wage war to figure out who would be a better general, but that would have been a waste of time and resources. This has always been about ensuring your own victory, about wanting to win more than the others. I wanted you to prove you were the best. I needed you to yearn for it, just as I yearned when I was trapped by the Circle. Only now will you truly know what it means to be my Heir."

Heir.

I'm the Heir.

His ears buzzed as Mortu took him through a craggy archway. They walked along a straight stone path and ascended steps until they stood atop a carved dais which rose high in a circular cavern, jutting out several feet above the floor like the figurehead of a mighty ship. Banners flew on either side with the black handprint of Annoatok emblazoned proudly upon them.

He caught his breath. They were surrounded by the inner circle, Annoatok's best, most elite warriors and nobles. All had their heads tipped back to look up at the duo as they stood in ranks at the bottom of the chamber, and all wore their ceremonial masks.

"Annoatok," Mortu announced, "I present to you my Heir: the Crow."

A rumble of approval rippled through the crowd, each voice slightly distorted by a mask. Mortu stepped back. Poised alone on the edge, the Crow was the centre of attention.

I needed you to yearn for it.

He had. He had yearned for it with a fire which drove him to train until his bones broke, until his muscles tore, until his skin bloomed black and blue. But as he stared down at Mortu's followers – his followers – an even more intense emotion seared his insides, and he knew the fire had not been quenched. It had only just ignited.