Ice Blink

43: Sovereign and Crow

The glacier was so close. Home was so close. The ravine where he had officially become Mortu's Heir, Kilallurak Fortress, Nuuvivak... The Inua had no idea how close they were to the heart of Annoatok.

All was as it should be.

The plan was progressing perfectly.

*

Fire raced along a sword and the warrior swung, turning it into a blur of orange light. When it clashed against a crackling scythe, sparks flew and metal rang, reminiscent of a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil. The flames burned swiftly through the oil which slicked the blades, but these deadly, efficient warriors were used to finishing their fights before the fuel ran out.

Mortu and the Crow watched them training in an amphitheatre in the ravine, perched high on a jutting ledge. Thick, ancient tree roots twisted around them, enclosing the royal box.

He couldn't help but flinch when the sword slammed into reinforced armour. It smouldered before it caught. Within moments, the swordsman's opponent had fallen back, and he began to scream.

Mortu's hand fastened on his shoulder. "The Ikkuma are the best."

"He's burning." Even as he spoke, two more hurried towards the defeated man and threw a bucket of ice water over him. Coughing and spluttering, he slouched from the arena.

The victor picked up the scythe and held both weapons aloft, face bathed in light as they sizzled out.

"They prize and worship fire above all else," Mortu said. "Fire can destroy much faster than metal, which makes it the perfect tool to use when I start my war. Speaking of, how is your training going?"

He knew how his training was going. He knew everything.

"Are you still getting along with Viggo and Nyra?"

The Crow was convinced Viggo tried to kill him whenever they faced off in the ring. Both wanted to be named Heir. And Mortu knew that, too.

Mortu sighed, his hand still a heavy, immobilising weight on his ward's shoulder. "So quiet today."

"Viggo's thirteen already," he said. "He's really tall, taller than me. Fighting him is getting harder."

"And you're worried about that. Of course. You'll always be the underdog some time in your life. There will always be someone better than you, stronger, bigger, faster."

He looked up. He was used to seeing Mortu the Sovereign, Mortu the Lord, Mortu the General, harsh and closed off and brutal when necessary as he ordered his men to do what must be done to prepare for his grand vision. But as he looked down at the Crow now, his eyes were soft and understanding. His touch was... comforting.

"If you learn how to win against those who have the upper hand now, then you will become better, more prepared for the next fight. The next time you go up against someone like Viggo, you'll win."

The Crow thought about it. It made sense.

Mortu crouched in front of him so our faces were level. "What else is bothering you?"

"That man." He gestured to the training ring. "The fire burned him, he's badly hurt." The scream rang in his ears. "If this is what the war will be like, then I don't like it." The Crow stared at Mortu fiercely. He had never said anything so blasphemous in front of him before. As he looked back, unreadable, he added quickly, "You asked what was bothering me."

"I did," Mortu murmured, his baritone voice like velvet. "Come with me. It's time I showed you why I'm doing this. It's time you truly understood."

His entire body prickled as he followed the sovereign out of the ravine and along twisting corridors. Would he be punished for defying him with his statement? They exited the training area of the honeycomb of passages and began a deep descent down a sloping tunnel he'd never seen before.