Ragnar Ironborn ran through Duskwood with two axes in his fists, and something hungry ran faster. A day ago he had stepped through a portal, a Viking king ripped from his own shore. He had come here to gather the forest's broken warriors and rule them. Now he might die alone, before a single man knew his name. The beast crashed through the brush behind him. He had caught its glowing eyes at dusk. It took his scent and never lost it. Its ragged limbs never tired. Ragnar's did. He reached a huge tree with dark, rugged bark and thick low branches. He set his back to the trunk and turned to face the thing. Better to die swinging than gutted mid-stride. The creature shambled into the open. Its jaw hung loose. Its skin was torn and gray, its wild eyes fixed on him. It lunged. Ragnar buried one axe in its shoulder. The blade stuck. The beast did not slow. Claws raked his arm and knocked him against the bark. He lost the second axe in the dirt. "Down!" a voice called. A girl stepped from behind the tree. Purple braids hung past her waist. She wore a light dress and thin shoes, no armor, no blade. Ragnar thought her mad to stand near the fight. Then her braids moved on their own. The hair whipped forward like ropes. It wrapped the creature's arms and throat and yanked hard. The beast toppled. It thrashed against the braids and could not tear free. "Your axe," the girl said. "Now, while I hold it." Ragnar pulled his weapon from the ground. He drove the blade down into the creature's skull. It shuddered once and went still. Her braids slipped loose and settled back down her shoulders. He stood over the body, chest heaving, and looked at her. "You have a warrior's timing," he said. "Few would stand for a stranger." "I'm Lily," she said. "I heard it hunting. I don't like what that thing does to people it catches." She wiped dirt from her dress. "You fight like you mean to take this whole forest." "I do," Ragnar said. "I mean to unite its warriors and rule them." She studied him a moment. "Then you'll need more than two axes. The scattered ones won't follow a man they've never heard of." She lifted a braid, and it glowed faint at the tip. "I can open doors that steel can't. Fear, memory, the way a crowd thinks. I'll lend you that." Ragnar looked at the dead beast, then at her small hand held out to him. He had come here with nothing but weapons. Now he had one ally, and a way to reach the rest. He clasped her wrist. "Then we start with the nearest camp," he said. "Lead me to the warriors who've heard the beast howl. Tonight they hear it stopped."

The first camp had listened. Two hunters and a spearman heard Ragnar tell how the beast fell. They liked his fire. But when he asked them to follow, the spearman spat and said, "Follow you where? You've got no roof, no walls, no hall. A man swears his blade to a place, not a stranger with two axes." The others nodded and drifted back to their fires. Ragnar walked out with nothing but Lily beside him. "He's right," Lily said. "You need a seat. Give them somewhere to kneel." Her tone left no room for argument. Lira Renshaw, a leathery old trailguide, sold him the answer. She kept maps in a cart hung with charms, and she drew her notched machete across one route before he could pay. "That way's death," she said. "But there's an old longhouse a half-day north. Dark timber, iron bands, stone footing. Strong bones. Empty now." She grinned with brown teeth. "Empty because the last band there fed something." Ragnar took the map. By dusk he stood before the fortress. Its dark timber walls rose two stories, bound with heavy iron fittings. A green shingle roof sloped over carved beams. He could hold a hundred men inside. He shoved the door. Something moved in the dark. A shape unfolded from the rafters and dropped to the floor. It was tall and lean, its hide a deep purple, its eyes burning pink. A barbed tail lashed behind it. The thing had no fear in it. It hissed and came straight for him, claws wide, hungry to tear anything living. Ragnar swung. His axe scraped off armored hide and threw sparks. The creature's tail whipped his ribs and knocked him against the wall. His iron-banded leather took the blow, but the breath left him. The thing pinned him with one clawed hand and reached for his throat. "Hold still," Lily said. Her braid shot past his ear like a cast rope. It coiled around the creature's neck and both arms and cinched tight. The thing thrashed and screeched. Its claws raked empty air. "Now," she said. "It won't hold long." Ragnar wrenched free and set his boots. He brought both axes down together into the creature's skull. It shuddered, folded, and went still. Lily's braid slid loose and settled back over her shoulder. He stood in the wide hall, chest heaving, and looked around. Stout walls. A high roof. A hearth waiting for fire. This was a hall a king could rule from. "Bring the hunters," he told Lily. "Bring the spearman. Tell them the hall is taken. Tell them there's a seat now, and a man in it." He drove one axe into the great table at the center of the room. The blade bit deep and stood. Ragnar had his stronghold. Now the whole forest would learn there was somewhere to kneel — and Kragen Bloodsworn, whose exiles took what they wanted, would learn it too.