"I’m going tae ask ye some things," Ivar said, his voice flat and hard, "and ye’re going tae answer them. We’ll dae it quickly if ye decide that’s the better option."
The man’s working eye moved between Ivar and Torvald and he gave a small, bitter laugh that spoke of a man with nothing leftto lose. He swallowed, and his voice came out hoarse, like he was forcing the words past a cracked throat.
"Aye," he rasped. "I’ll talk. But nae fer ye, Gunnarsson."
Ivar's eyes narrowed. "I dinnae care who ye think yer talking tae ye’ll answer me now."
The man didn’t flinch, his lips curling into a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Ye dinnae get tae make the rules now. I already did."
Ivar didn’t waste time with threats or anger. Instead, he asked, his voice steady, almost impassive:
"Callum. Tell me what ye ken."
The man took a slow breath before he spoke again, his words measured, the kind of man who had long practiced evasion.
"Callum’s coin," he muttered. "He’s been paying fer this. Two weeks before the fire, the harbor attack was already planned. It wasnae just the fire, he needed the confusion, the distraction. The smoke, the chaos… it was always about the moment of separation."
Ivar's jaw clenched at the mention of the separation. His mind immediately began running through the possibilities, how it was a vulnerable point. It had been the first real threat they’d faced. The fire, just a cover.
"And the men who entered as traders?" Ivar asked, cutting to the heart of it. "The ones in the harbor?"
The mercenary's good eye flicked over to Torvald, then back to Ivar. His voice dropped lower, as if the memory made him uneasy.
"The fire was cover," he repeated, the words coming more slowly now. "The smoke, the chaos… that was always the diversion. They knew exactly where to go. The moment of separation. The plan was tae split everyone up, make sure some got lost, make sure the trail went cold. They’d already set up the camp. There’s one near the western path… the camp off the coastline. Ye already knew that, aye?"
Ivar’s eyes flickered to Torvald, who nodded silently, confirming that they’d already located it. But the mercenary wasn’t finished.
"There’s another spot further north," the man said, his voice rasping with a mix of fatigue and defiance. "I dinnae think ye’ve got that on yer maps yet. It’s a smaller camp. Callum’s been sending men back and forth."
Ivar paused. His fingers twitched ever so slightly as he registered the new information. A second camp? That was new.
"Where?" Ivar asked sharply, not wasting time.
The mercenary hesitated for a moment, his eye darting toward the ground as though he was weighing how much to give away. Finally, he spoke.
"North of the old mill. Along the trail that leads into the cliffs." He paused, then added, "Ye’ll need to move fast. Callum’s men are set tae relocate soon."
Ivar absorbed the information without comment, his mind calculating the implications. The mercenary, on the other hand, had fallen silent, his jaw set tight in defiance. He wasn't going to offer any more unless pressed.
Ivar leaned in slightly, his eyes hard.
"What’s yer plan, mercenary? Ye going tae make this easy or hard on yerself?"
The man met his gaze, but there was a coldness in his eye. Then, finally, the stubborn words came. "He’ll nae stop."
Ivar straightened, his gaze cold. The words hung in the air, thick with their meaning.
"Callum. He’ll nae stop," the mercenary rasped, his voice suddenly firm. "He wants the woman. And he’ll have her, before he’s done with this. I’ll nae die before I see that done."
The room froze. Ivar’s expression didn’t change, but his body went still, too still, like a storm on the horizon.
For a moment, nothing moved. Ivar’s jaw tightened, and his fingers curled into fists. He glanced at Torvald, who had lowered his head, avoiding the mercenary’s glare.
The mercenary’s words were clear, this was more than just a threat. It was a promise.
"Aye," Ivar said softly, his voice a low growl. "Ye will."
He didn’t hesitate. The decision was made in an instant, cold and practical, the only choice that made sense. Without ceremony, steel flashed in the dim light of the room. The mercenary’s final chapter was closed with a swift, clean motion.