Page 63 of Warrior of the Wild
“He’s trying to repay a life debt!”
Iric shrugs. “Sounds like an excuse to be near you, if you ask me.”
Oh, what would he know? Iric doesn’t concern himself with honor. But I want him to like me, so I’m not about to say that aloud.
“And if, say, I had been a tall and handsome man instead of a plain-looking girl, what would you have done?” I ask.
“I don’t need something pretty to look at. I have my letters with Aros.”
Yes, good. This is the turn I want the conversation to take.
“How much do you love him?” I ask.
“More than my own life.”
“And what would you be willing to risk to get back to him?”
Iric halts suddenly, and I nearly run into his back. He spinsaround, brows raised. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do, Rasmira, and it’s not going to work. I already told you, I have no desire to die. If you’re trying to save my soul without my realizing it, you underestimate my intelligence.”
I throw my hands up in defense. “I have no interest in getting you killed, I swear it.”
“Then spit out whatever it is you want to say. Let’s get it out in the open right now so we need never talk about this again afterward.”
To the point. I like it.
“I want to help you get home,” I say. “I want to teach you how to swim. I want to be in the water with you when you kill the hyggja.”
Iric blinks but says nothing. Then he turns around and keeps walking.
“You’re a brilliant inventor,” I say as I follow him. “If anyone can come up with a weapon to kill the hyggja, it’s you. The only thing you lack is the ability to swim, and that can be learned! I’m not saying all of this because I want you to die and reach Paradise. I’m saying it because I think it can be done, and I can help you get home to Aros.”
“We’re here,” Iric says. “Mind the circle of traps. Keeps the beasts from running off with my tools.”
Iric said he had a forge, but I wasn’t picturing something quite so large. He’s carved himself a stove out of rock, shaped a chimney out of metal. I spot a bellows made from animal hides and heaping buckets of coal off to the side. He has his own anvil, tools of all shapes and sizes, molds for casting, several good-sized hammers. It’s a full smithy, right here in the wild.
It’s beyond impressive, but if he thinks it will distract me from our conversation, he’s wrong.
“Iric—”
“Why? Why do you care whether I go home or not? Why bring this up at all?”
I try to think of a truthful response that doesn’t make me sound selfish, but one isn’t forthcoming. “Because I need your help in return. I can’t get into the god’s lair while wearing my armor. You’re a smithy. I thought perhaps you could help me build something that wasn’t made out of metal.”
“Ah,” he says.
“But don’t you see? Normally, those who are banished aren’t exiled in pairs. You and Soren have had an advantage, and that’s why you’ve survived so long. I’m only alive because of you two. If we all want to go home, we’ll need to help each other.”
“I don’t think our villages would take kindly to us helping each other.”
“There’s nothing in the rules that forbids it. So long as you’re the one to decapitate the hyggja, Soren is the one to pluck the feather from the otti, and I’m the one that ends the god, who cares who else is involved in the planning?”
Iric doesn’t look convinced. I add, “I think we can do it. You must know I’m serious. I’m willing to put off killing the god to help you complete your quest. I can’t die in any other way than completing my mattugr in order to be greeted into Rexasena’s Paradise. I wouldn’t take this risk unless I thought we could pull this off. I’m not trying to manipulate you. I want to trade. My help in exchange for your help.”
Iric grabs a hammer, examines it as though he suddenly finds it fascinating. “And what about Soren?”
“What about Soren?”
“You would have me complete my quest, help you, and then leave him out here alone?”
