Lodar was nothing but a simple hunter.
He had no particular talent besides that, but he liked to think of himself as a good judge of character. Anyway, he was still alive at fifty: he must have done something right.
Looking at the child sitting opposite him on the other side of the fire, he thought that once again he had survived where others had not. A glance toward the three bodies piled nearby confirmed his thought.
— So? What do we do now? he surprised himself by asking.
The boy finally turned his eyes to him.
— Now? I was thinking of asking if you knew of a village or a tribe nearby. I'll make them the same offer I made you.
A shiver ran through Lodar. The way the boy spoke put him on edge: strange, detached, as if nothing around him mattered. Like a man in a dream—without fear, without consequence. Is that how one sees the world when the chains that bind us are gone? Lodar would have liked to know, but he didn't expect an answer.
— A village? said Nova, the apprentice huntress who had accompanied them to learn the trade. There are several in the region. Probably about ten within a thirty-kilometer radius.
— And the Wall? Where is it? the creature with the child's appearance asked again.
This time Lodar answered. The others had never approached the Wall, not even from afar.
— That way, he said, pointing in the direction. About two days' walk. But I advise you not to go there—the crows are dangerous.
— Hmm…
The conversation died there. Lodar watched for a moment longer, then returned to his meal.
The thing across from him wanted to create its own kingdom. Like those who live south of the Wall.
Lodar didn't know what to make of it.
On the one hand, he was rather proud to be a man of the Free Folk.
But on the other, the child had been right on every point.
Lodar's life had not been glorious.
He was the child born of a rape. His mother had abandoned him at birth; he had been taken in by an old madwoman who wanted someone to care for her in her old age. His friends had died of disease, of the cold (during winters), of hunger, or had been killed in raids by a neighboring tribe.
He had had two children, both dead at the ages of five and ten.
His wife? Dead too.
When Lodar thought about it, he often told himself that if he had never existed, perhaps nothing would have changed.
So when the child gave him the choice, he hesitated between death and hope.
He ended up choosing to dream one last time.
This time, perhaps he would not wake up.
He looked at his companions and thought they surely had the same thoughts.
No one could force a man of the Free Folk to kneel if he did not want to. They would rather die.
So they had surely chosen hope too.
To dream of a better life.
To dream of a house full of laughter and joy.
To dream of a death that has meaning.
To dream of glory.
To dream of wealth.
And if they did not have what it takes to obtain it, then they would pass their hopes to someone or something who could — and if in exchange they had to follow this man to death, then Lodar thought the price was worth it.
He was tired of living as if he were already dead.
Once the meal was finished, the group headed toward the nearest village.
On the way, Lodar noticed something that should have been obvious from the start.
The child walking beside him was wearing almost nothing but a cloak and a bear-fur skirt.
Another strange thing to add to the pile.
Impossible speed, superhuman strength, and a supernatural resistance to the cold.
What other things would he discover about his new king? Only time will tell.
Arriving at the outskirts of the village, the child turned to him.
— Gather the whole village in one place, I don't want to repeat myself. We'll settle everything here quickly before moving on to the next village. By the end of the week, I want us to have finished with all the villages in the area.
Lodar took a deep breath before moving forward.
The path leading to the village creaked underfoot; the thatch roofs showed as dark blotches through the snow. Lodar walked in silence, his arm clutched around his satchel. Barely had he reached the edge when someone called to him—Bram, busy feeding the pigs. A man of muscle, though that description could have fit almost any man beyond the Wall.
— By all the saints, Lodar! Long time no see. What brings you here? Game? Beer?
Lodar answered, dry, without smiling:
— I need to speak to the chief and the shaman. Now.
Bram's laughter died; his gaze slid over Lodar's weathered face. He straightened, suddenly attentive.
— The chief? he said. You want to see Hareth and Míra? They're at home. You know the way. Is it serious?
Lodar hesitated for a moment, then said:
— It will depend on the choice the chief makes. If you trust me, don't resist when your turn comes.
With those words, he continued to the chief's house.
The chief's house stood in the center of the village: a long building of gnarled wood, the entrance decorated with old hunting trophies. The smell of grease and smoke filled the air. Hareth, the chief, sat at a wooden table, his graying beard pinched between his fingers. Beside him, Míra the shaman looked frailer than her name suggested: she wore around her neck a chain of feathers and bone, a sign of those who read omens and speak to the children of the forest.
Seeing Lodar step through the door, Hareth rose, spreading his arms in welcome, a broad smile marked by fatigue on his lips.
— By the old gods, Lodar, we missed you. I hope you bring good news and fine stories for the children.
Lodar allowed himself a slight smile, remembering the mischievous little ones of the village.
— As for stories, I have plenty. But I came for something else, Hareth.
Sensing the seriousness in his tone, the chief frowned before motioning Lodar to sit with a wave of his hand.
— Very well, tell me what brings you here.
Before Lodar could explain, Míra—who had remained silent until then—spoke in her hoarse voice.
— You follow a crownless king, Lodar. And you came to offer us the same choice you yourself had to make.
The phrase spread like oil on water. Hareth set down his cup, forehead creased.
— A king? Lodar, explain to me clearly what is happening here.
So he did. He told them everything, from beginning to end: the meeting in the clearing, the child's demand to submit, Hurgot's death, the submission of him and his people, the child's promises. Lodar's own thoughts.
At the end, silence reigned in the room.
— Do you think we have a chance to drive him off? asked Hareth.
Lodar would have liked to answer that positively, but he could not bring himself to.
Seeing Lodar's silence, the chief understood.
— I see…
Míra spoke again at that moment.
— If we cannot pierce the veil of mist that surrounds us, others may be able to. I will go ask advise from the children of the forest. In the meantime, we can invite the crownless king to stay among us. We can then better understand him.
Hareth sighed with relief upon hearing that. Indeed, they could always seek advice from those elusive magical beings who dwelt in the ancient woods.
The decision made, Míra rose. She readjusted the bone chain around her neck, rubbed her fingers together and closed her eyes for a moment, as if to listen to a sound no one else could hear.
— I'm going to the edge, she said. I won't be gone long. Take care.