King of the Bastards by Brian Keene, Steven L. Shrewsbury

four of the warrior women immediately jumped to their feet
and drew their weapons. Akibeel let out a startled squawk, and the attendants
shrank away, dropping platters and pitchers. Javan quickly moved between Rogan
and Asenka, his arms outstretched, palms up.
    “Please,” he said. “Need I remind you all that we are guests in
this lodge?”
    “Still your tongue, boy,” Rogan growled. “Or I’ll deal with you
next.”
    “While you’re doling out punishment,” Asenka spat, “you could
instead focus your rage on these people’s oppressors.”
    “Oh? Tell me, woman, how are we to fight all of Amazarak’s
hordes? There will be far more than the dozen dead men who assailed us on the
beach.”
    “The Kennebeck don’t know how to forge steel, old man, but you
do. You can teach them.”
    Rogan raised an eyebrow, and turned to Javan. “Have you not
wondered how this Amazarak knows the secret of steel, but these people do not?
Aren’t they both originally from the same tribe?”
    Javan translated for Akibeel. “Amazarak tapped an entity from
beyond to work in steel even before the arrival of Croatoan, a creature called
Azazyel. He gave the wizard the secret of steel in exchange for—”
    Rogan sat again, his anger at the women forgotten, and waved a
huge hand. “Yes, yes, all of these gods and devils want blood and children.
I’ve heard that song before and never had understood the tune. Wodan be praised
for his disregard of this world. At least he isn’t a vampire screaming for the
blood of infants.”
    “There is another obstacle as well, sire, but I’m not sure that I
can translate it properly. I believe he’s saying ‘giants’, but I’m not sure.”
    “Giants? I have slain several in my time.”
    Akibeel chattered with irritation. Javan suppressed a laugh.
    “What is he saying?” Rogan asked.
    “It seems that Akibeel grows as frustrated with the pace of my
translations as you do, sire. He wishes to consult with forces beyond so that
he can speak to you directly. He asks that we give him a few moments to
prepare, and invites us all to continue with our meals.”
    They all sat again. The warrior women moved away from Rogan and
Javan, shooting them wary glances as they ate.
    “Sire,” Javan whispered, “tell me again of your vision.”
    Rogan took a bite of corn. “There was something wrong, Javan.
Truly, the palace was deceived. We must have been betrayed from within.”
    “Why do you think that, sire?”
    “The slaves, surely servants of this Karac, were allowed in
close. So there was treachery from within. But this Karac, the one that is to
have been my son, he sported long locks of shaggy hair.”
    Javan gnawed at a rabbit leg. “And why does that trouble you?”
    Rogan frowned. “Because they shear down slaves so that lice
cannot spread. No matter if they work in the field or as teamsters. The other
blacks in the palace were bald, but Karac had hair.”
    “Fascinating.”
    “I can see the damned teamsters arguing with Volstag, wanting
more pay and inserting a newcomer like that to make him angry. But never mind
that. We were betrayed, plain and simple. And perhaps not just by our slaves.
There were maps on the table, Javan. Maps of other lands—as if they were
preparing for war.”
    “Surely the neighboring lands are your allies, friends of yours!”
    Rogan nodded. “But they may fear me and not Rohain. They want to
test his sack and how effectively he can use it. The fact that he may have an
heir in his wife’s belly is no sign of achievement. Dogs have workable cocks,
Javan.”
    “True enough, sire.” Javan saw Zenata suppress a grin.
    Akibeel returned with a small clay bowl, filled with dry sage. He
placed the bowl on the floor and produced a flint. Soon, thin lines of grey
smoke drifted from the burning sage. Akibeel left again.
    Rogan patted the ground next to him and nodded at Zenata and
Asenka. “No sense sitting over there. If you intend to join forces with this
old man and