until he found them tucked away in the corner.
Before he could pull them on, a stream of light poured in, followed by a cold blast of air as Vaaler squeezed through the tent’s small slit of an entrance.
“You’re awake,” the Danaan noted with surprise.
The tent was too small to stand up in, so Vaaler had to crawl forward on his hands and knees. Once fully inside, he turned and closed the entrance behind him, quickly lashing the thin sinew strips dangling from the hide-flap door to the tent’s bone frame.
“Are you hungry?”
With the flap closed it was once again dark inside, turning both men into dim silhouettes. But Keegan was able to see that his friend was holding something out toward him.
“Jerky. Figured you’d be sick of soup by now.”
Keegan took the strip of dried meat and tore into it, his stomach rumbling. It was so tough to chew, it made his jaw ache, and so salty, it made him wince. But Vaaler was right—he’d had his fill of soup.
“How come you’re the only one who’s come by to see me?” Keegan asked between bites.
“Sorry if I’m boring you,” Vaaler said, taking mock offense.
“I’m serious,” Keegan pressed. “Jerrod and the others—are they okay?”
“We’re all alive and well,” Vaaler assured him. “But everyone’s been acting a little strange since we got here.”
“How so?”
“Jerrod told me he doesn’t want to put you in danger. The PackMasters don’t trust him; they’re watching him pretty close. He probably figures it’s best to keep his distance. Avoid drawing any extra attention your way.”
“Normally he won’t let me out of his sight,” Keegan muttered. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“I think seeing the pack take down the Inquisitors rattled him,” Vaaler explained. “He’s afraid the Ice Fangs will set their dogs on him if he so much as breathes funny.”
“Ice Fangs?”
“That’s the name of this clan. I think the literal translation is actually “snow tooth,” but Ice Fang sounds more impressive.”
“Did Norr tell you that?”
“No. I’ve studied Verlsung enough to pick up a few phrases here and there.”
Keegan recognized the formal name of the Eastern language from his studies under Rexol, though most people in the Southlands simply called it Clan-speak.
Keegan wasn’t surprised by the admission, and he suspected Vaaler’s command of the foreign tongue was far greater than he made it seem. He spoke Allrish, the language of the Southlands, without any accent whatsoever—it was almost easy to forget that Danaan was his native tongue.
He’s probably just as proficient in Clan-speak
.
Vaaler had expected to rule the Danaan kingdom one day; it only made sense for him to try to learn the culture, customs, and tongues of neighboring peoples. And during their time together under Rexol, Vaaler had shown a fluent mastery over the strange words and arcane chants they’d had to memorize for their spells.
He always learned stuff quicker than I did. Probably still remembers every word of it, too. He would have been the perfect apprentice—or the perfect King—if Chaos hadn’t played such a cruel trick and left him blind to the Gift and the Sight
.
“Norr hasn’t been talking to anyone lately,” Vaaler continued,oblivious to Keegan’s train of thought. “It’s like he’s gone into some kind of deep depression. Even Scythe can’t snap him out of it.”
“That’s why she hasn’t come to see me,” Keegan realized. “She’s worried about Norr.”
“He’s keeping secrets,” Vaaler added. “Big ones. There’s more to his past than he lets on.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The Ice Fangs don’t know I can understand them. I’ve heard some things.”
Keegan understood his friend’s hesitation. Norr had kept his secrets from the group for a reason; exposing them might seem like a type of betrayal in the loyal Danaan’s eyes. But keeping the truth hidden could put all of them at risk.
“If
Before he could pull them on, a stream of light poured in, followed by a cold blast of air as Vaaler squeezed through the tent’s small slit of an entrance.
“You’re awake,” the Danaan noted with surprise.
The tent was too small to stand up in, so Vaaler had to crawl forward on his hands and knees. Once fully inside, he turned and closed the entrance behind him, quickly lashing the thin sinew strips dangling from the hide-flap door to the tent’s bone frame.
“Are you hungry?”
With the flap closed it was once again dark inside, turning both men into dim silhouettes. But Keegan was able to see that his friend was holding something out toward him.
“Jerky. Figured you’d be sick of soup by now.”
Keegan took the strip of dried meat and tore into it, his stomach rumbling. It was so tough to chew, it made his jaw ache, and so salty, it made him wince. But Vaaler was right—he’d had his fill of soup.
“How come you’re the only one who’s come by to see me?” Keegan asked between bites.
“Sorry if I’m boring you,” Vaaler said, taking mock offense.
“I’m serious,” Keegan pressed. “Jerrod and the others—are they okay?”
“We’re all alive and well,” Vaaler assured him. “But everyone’s been acting a little strange since we got here.”
“How so?”
“Jerrod told me he doesn’t want to put you in danger. The PackMasters don’t trust him; they’re watching him pretty close. He probably figures it’s best to keep his distance. Avoid drawing any extra attention your way.”
“Normally he won’t let me out of his sight,” Keegan muttered. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“I think seeing the pack take down the Inquisitors rattled him,” Vaaler explained. “He’s afraid the Ice Fangs will set their dogs on him if he so much as breathes funny.”
“Ice Fangs?”
“That’s the name of this clan. I think the literal translation is actually “snow tooth,” but Ice Fang sounds more impressive.”
“Did Norr tell you that?”
“No. I’ve studied Verlsung enough to pick up a few phrases here and there.”
Keegan recognized the formal name of the Eastern language from his studies under Rexol, though most people in the Southlands simply called it Clan-speak.
Keegan wasn’t surprised by the admission, and he suspected Vaaler’s command of the foreign tongue was far greater than he made it seem. He spoke Allrish, the language of the Southlands, without any accent whatsoever—it was almost easy to forget that Danaan was his native tongue.
He’s probably just as proficient in Clan-speak
.
Vaaler had expected to rule the Danaan kingdom one day; it only made sense for him to try to learn the culture, customs, and tongues of neighboring peoples. And during their time together under Rexol, Vaaler had shown a fluent mastery over the strange words and arcane chants they’d had to memorize for their spells.
He always learned stuff quicker than I did. Probably still remembers every word of it, too. He would have been the perfect apprentice—or the perfect King—if Chaos hadn’t played such a cruel trick and left him blind to the Gift and the Sight
.
“Norr hasn’t been talking to anyone lately,” Vaaler continued,oblivious to Keegan’s train of thought. “It’s like he’s gone into some kind of deep depression. Even Scythe can’t snap him out of it.”
“That’s why she hasn’t come to see me,” Keegan realized. “She’s worried about Norr.”
“He’s keeping secrets,” Vaaler added. “Big ones. There’s more to his past than he lets on.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The Ice Fangs don’t know I can understand them. I’ve heard some things.”
Keegan understood his friend’s hesitation. Norr had kept his secrets from the group for a reason; exposing them might seem like a type of betrayal in the loyal Danaan’s eyes. But keeping the truth hidden could put all of them at risk.
“If
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