Kingdoms of Caelum; Autumn of the War Queen

Chapter 23

After climbing a set of worn steps carved into the rock, they found their selves outside the walls of the tower, and able to return to the murky, night time Fortis streets which were once again alive with Dark Elves. Like much of their journey together, they walked in awkward silence until Bane announced they would head to his dwelling. Katla wasn't sure what she should have expected, but she certainly never imagined Fortis to be Bane's home; he seemed so much more at ease in the wilderness. It all seemed so strange. After a while they stepped down a dirty, narrow street which resided on Ward Three, and Katla knew this is where Bane had to live. It was quieter, darker and more mysterious than the other streets, away from the hustle of the first and second Wards. It suited him. He stopped outside a tin hut and Katla gasped. Lavishly engraved in silver sat the emblem of a wolf so familiar. It was placed upon a shield above the door and glared at her, making her heart stop dead in its beating track; the unmistakeable symbol of the Clan of Lupus.

"Questions can wait," he pre-empted her confusion as he placed a bronze key into the door and twisted. She blinked several times still gaping at the shield, then at Bane. He couldn't possibly be from Roskilde, could he? Perhaps he had killed someone from her Kingdom and claimed the prize. The thought felt heavy in her throat as she nodded, silently entering the home. It was basic, almost empty in fact. There was one goose feathered mattress on the floor in the far corner of the room, a window with a basin and cupboards adjacent to it, and crammed shelves of herbs and spices above. There was a small fireplace, tiny really, and Katla wondered how he could cook anything larger than rabbit on it. In front of the fire, sat a small wooden table and one chair. Bane took off his belt and weapons, throwing them onto a pile of dusty clothes in the corner, and then he bent to one of the cupboards, taking out a pile of dry logs for the fire. Katla mirrored him silently; together they lit and stoked the fire until it was burning furiously. Bane sat and winced, the stab wound stung, ripe with mild infection; his body felt weak. He was not used to feeling so helpless. He looked at Katla who sat obediently and, for once, subdued beside the fire at his feet. She had new clothes, of course he had noticed, and he had also noticed the new pin she wore. His worst fears realised. But here she was. Katla Veurink in his home. He stroked his chin and distractedly vowed to shave in the morning light.

"May I ask about the Clan of Lupus now?" Katla asked quietly over the silence. Bane stared deep into her eyes for a while and slipped off his wild cat cloak. She felt a hair-raising shiver float down her spine as he kept on staring and she adjusted her eyes back to the fire. He looked intense, frightening almost. He had not looked at her that way before.

"I can never return to Roskilde, and that is all you need to know," he said finally.

"Roskilde means little to me."

Katla looked at him from behind her lashes and still with a gentle voice, afraid to anger him she replied, "And yet you bear the Clan arms above your door?"

Their eyes interlocked and, for a moment, she saw a deep rooted hurt in the chestnut pools that stared back.

"Sleep," was all he offered, and she knew the conversation had ended.

Bane had refused to take the mattress that night, instead he sat by the fire. She had watched him for a while, wondering about him and who he was, or who he had been. Sleep took hold of her quicker then she had anticipated and when Katla awoke the next morning he was gone. She took the opportunity to stoke the fire and to wash in the basin. At some point Bane had left a bucket of fresh water, it was icy cold like the air in Fortis, but it was welcome. The last traces of sleep washed down her cheeks as she looked out of the murky window. It was odd how the streets were deserted during the day and alive at night. A couple of men, black with dirt, walked past the window, over their shoulders slouched giant pick axes weighing them down: miners. The great mines of Fortis were legendary. Wars had been fought and many had died in the quest to control the vast mountain mines, but the Dark Elves had held onto them venomously since the beginning of time. Now they provided a great source of work for both Dark Elves and men alike. She looked up the street and noticed Bane returning, in his hand a brown linen package. She saw also that he never went anywhere without his battle axe. The door opened, he strode in throwing the package on the table: cooked warm chicken, and it smelt good.