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Bergsveinn was ecstatic.
His mentor was finally taking him with her on a mission. Alvör was gruff, thorny, fought like a angry cat and sang like a boar.
He’d mate her if he could manage it.
It was an important mission too. He could tell. Alvör brushed it off, saying it was just a diplomatic mission. But the Stormjarl and the Longfang had long been allies. It probably had something to do with the war. Alvör was no diplomat. Neither were any of the guards coming with.

They were going to the Longfang’s far flung outpost. It was about as far from home as he could manage without landing in a mordok nest, and that suited him just fine. His young blood boiled at home, his mother deftly keeping him out of harm’s way and therefore out of fun’s way. But she couldn’t thwart Alvör’s will(no one could! he thought gleefully), and Alvör needed a partner on the long trek.

They were even going to get ponies! Alvör had decided that with the war and all, they would need extra supplies. She didn’t want to hunt much in what could be unfriendly territory, so she requisitioned two ponies. Bergsveinn hadn’t been around the stocky furry creatures much, but he had always admired them from afar. He’d heard that the outsiders had bigger ones, ones big enough to ride! He hoped one day to see it, but he couldn’t imagine ever actually keeping one, let alone riding it.

One of the ponies was named Crackers. She was a young mare, beige colored and sweet. The other was named Scramp, an old man in pony years, dark brown and grumpy.
Bergsveinn loved their little ears, their wispy manes, their scraggy fur, their feathers on their hooves, and their soft noses.
This was going to be amazing.

By the time they had left Grimward territory and were almost to the Longfang outpost, Bergsveinn did not love ponies. They were smelly, they ate too much, they were bad tempered and would step on your foot if they thought you weren’t looking. They wouldn’t listen to him, and would sometimes just decide they’d have enough of this walking nonsense and refuse to move. At least, that’s what Scramp did. Crackers was pliable enough, but Scramp refused to do anything that Bergsveinn wanted. The stupid pony made him look foolish in front of Alvör, and would never be forgiven for it. She had actually laughed at him. Laughed!

He tugged on the lead, pleaded and yelled, but Scramp refused to move. In a fit of rage, Bergsveinn snapped up a stick and whipped the pony’s flank. The animal squealed in outrage, lashing out with it’s hooves and bolting. Bergsveinn sat on the ground, struggling to breath and watched the animal flee into the woods, accompanied by the derisive howls of his companions.
Good riddance. He thought victoriously.
Alvör stared at him in horror.
“Find that animal.” She snarled.
“But….!” He whined.
“Find it. NOW!”

They followed the trail of destruction that Scramp’s passage had made, finding bits and pieces from the pony’s pack strewn across the ground.
“You had better hope that the package is in one piece or so help me, I will cut you and feed you alive to the Mordok.” Alvör promised, and he was not so sure she was joking.
They found Scramp, chewing on grass and looking mighty smug. Bergsveinn wanted to hit the infuriating beast. Alvör sprang at Scramp, and before he could escape, she had his lead in hand. She desperately dug through the torn packs on his back. “NononononoNO! Shit shit shit!” She wailed.
“What? What is it, what’s wrong?” He asked, bewildered.
“We are dead. We are so dead! She will kill us and skin us and feed us to crows!” Alvör cried in despair.
“It’s gone. The claimant bar is gone!”

The fire burned low in the Great Hall of the Watchwolves of Luna. The assemblage had been talking for a long time, and had shut out the servants, so no one had tended the fire recently.

“We estimate that there are perhaps eighty Grimward Soldiers in the Wolf’s Hackles.” said Knorr to the council, “They have entrenched themselves in such a manner that the terrain favors them against any troops approaching from the East.”

“In other words, they have cut us off from the Watchwolves of Sol, the Nightrivers, and the Sjóúlfur.” Said Bergthorr, the Lunar Chieftain.

“Our allies will not likely be able to break through.” said Knorr, “Even if they had superior numbers, the Grimwards are in an excellent position to defend from that direction.”

“Our only hope is to open the pass from this side.” said Raskolf.

“We cannot spare the warriors to do that.” said Bergthorr, “The Graytides are massing on our Southern border. We will just have to wait it out while relief comes around the mountains the long way.”

“We will be dead by then!” said Raskolf.

“You are not in any position to argue such, Ambassador.” said Knorr, “You already overstepped your bounds with that debacle in Grimward territory. You are no longer a military commander. Consider yourself lucky that you were even allowed to participate in this meeting.”

“If you don’t want my input, then why invite me? I have more experience with this sort of thing than anyone else here.”

“You have made poor decisions in the past.” said Bergthorr, “Your record is far from flawless. I myself might be a grandfather by now were it not for your incompetence as a war pack leader. By the way, that is a very nice shirt. Don’t make me compliment it twice more to make it mine, weregild debtor.”

Raskolf gritted his teeth.

“I would never be so arrogant as to claim to be infallible.” he said, “I made that mistake once before, as you so politely pointed out, but I learned from my mistakes. I learn from all of my mistakes, and trust me, I have made mistakes that you don’t even know about.”

“Tell me about it, disgraced one.” said Knorr, “One of the reasons we are in such a situation is because you went and got our Chief Warpack Leader killed in that disastrous peace summit of yours last spring! Imglyf would be sitting right there, in your chair.”

“Hold your tongue!”

“In the name of Gaia, stop!” yelled Lucia, “This is my first time being allowed into such a meeting, and I pray to the mother of us all that this is not how my leadership does business!”

“Thank you, young Witch,” said the Priestess, “You are correct. This is not how the Watchwolves of Luna do business. Now, how badly do the Graytides and Grimwards massing to the South outnumber us?”

“There are at least twice as many of them.” said Knorr, “Not only that, but Khulgar Graytide and Lycon Graytide are leading them, and their personal warpacks are among the assembled. These are not mere clan militia of Grimward, these are warriors. They are well equipped, and well trained.”

“What do we have to work with?” asked the Priestess.

“One understrength warpack with an inexperienced leader and our militia of turnip farmers and blacksmiths.”

“Don’t sell our people short.” said Raskolf, “Many of those farmers and blacksmiths are veterans of our war with the Mordok. They may not be well equipped, and many of them may no longer be in their prime, but they will fight hard to defend their homes. Do not underestimate our warpack, either. Those warriors have faced the Grimwards before, and their leader was there when Imglyf fell.”

“What about the independent warpacks?” asked Lucia, “Have any of them answered our call for help?”

“The Bloodfangs said they were coming.” said Knorr “Their leader was once a Watchwolf of Sol. We have had no contact with them, however. They were coming from the East. They could be somewhere in the Great Wolf’s hackles already.”

“If that is the case,” said Raskolf, “then it is even more important that we open that pass. It is our lifeline to the Solar camp, the Nightrivers, and possibly one of the most elite warpacks on Mardrun.”

“With what troops?” said Bergthorr, “We don’t have anyone to send. We need our warpack here, to protect our capitol, our people, and our Great Hall.

“I’ll do it.” said Raskolf.

“Pardon the cliche,” laughed Knorr, “but you and what army?”

“I will take my personal bodyguard of Longfangs, as well as the novices that my brother has been training. They are good. I have watched them practice.”

“Raskolf,”, said Chieftain Bergthorr, “Two things for you. First, may I remind you that you are not allowed to lead military actions anymore. Ever. Second, nice shirt.”

“Then I will go and trade with our enemies in the mountains.”

“Trade?” asked Lucia.

“Yes. I will take my personal bodyguard, which my brother will surely augment with his students, and we will go and trade steel with the intruders.”

“This council will not allow such nonsense!” shouted Bergthorr.

“Do not think that you can speak for all of us, Chieftain!” shouted the Priestess, “Raskolf’s plan does not use any of the troops that you had planned on using in the defense of our land. On matters of trade or commerce, you have just about as much authority as he does regarding defense. His Longfangs are his bodyguards, and they have to follow him wherever he goes. If he goes into the mountains, it is their duty to follow him.”

“And what of Rhodi’s students?” said Knorr, “Are we really expected to send our sons and daughters on a suicide mission?”

“One of the final stages of their training is to fight alongside an actual warpack.” said Raskolf, “The opportunity to fight alongside the legendary Longfangs is not one that comes along every day. Besides, I have a theory.”

“And what would that be?”

“If the Graytides and Grimwards have massed two warpacks in the area to our South, I find it hard to believe that they would also place elite warriors in the mountains to hold a pass. That would leave their lands farther South and East open to the Nightrivers, and the humans of the Order. There are eighty Grimwards sitting up in that snowy mountain pass right now, far from home and feeling sorry for themselves. They are not warriors. They are militia.”

“A few minutes ago, Raskolf, you told us not to underestimate militia.”

“It’s different when they are defending their homes. These Grimwards are not. There is more to war than numbers, Chieftain.”

The Chieftain gritted his teeth.

“You are getting way too good at bending the rules to suit your desires, Raskolf Vakr. No matter what you say to the contrary, that is proof enough to me that you are no longer a warrior, but a politician. Stop looking for glory. You claim to have learned so much from your mistakes, and yet here you are, ready to march a tiny contingent of troops against overwhelming odds to relive your past. It is selfish and un-befitting.”

“The only thing I care about is the Ulven people and my Clan.” snarled Raskolf, “That pass is the key to our survival as a people, and I am willing to risk my own life to secure it. That is not selfish at all.”

“That is enough.” said the Priestess, “It does not matter whether or not Raskolf has the approval of this council. He is not asking permission of us. He is simply telling us what he is going to do. I may not be a tactician myself, nor have I ever walked the path of the warrior, but I know a thing or two about the hearts of warriors and I can tell you that within his chest beats one. He does this not for glory, but because he believes it to be right.”

“What would you have him do, Chieftain, if not to go to the pass?” asked Lucia.

“I would have him guard this hall. He is a good fighter.”

“You mean you would have him protect you?” she snapped, “And you call him selfish?”

“How dare you, you insolent pup! This is the first time that you have been invited to sit with us in council. Do not make it your last.”

“My apprentice makes a good point, Chieftain, and whether or not she attends these gatherings is not your decision to make. It is mine. See to the defense of your people. It is your job. Since you have already dismissed Raskolf’s counsel on the matter, you obviously do not need his help. We should release him from this meeting.”

“Very well. Raskolf, you are dismissed. But before you go, weregild debtor, I would like to compliment you a third time on your very fine shirt.”

Raskolf said nothing. He turned his back to the assembled elders, un-fastened his belt, and pulled off the fine green tunic that had been gifted to him by the Prince of New Aldoria. Folding the shirt nicely, he set it down on his chair as the flickering torchlight danced across the branded runes of shame upon his chest and back.

“Thank you, Raskolf Vakr.” said the Chieftain, “You better leave now, before I compliment your pants as well.”

“If you did that, then you would be the one who felt ashamed of himself, Chieftain. Good luck, sir, with your battle here. I hope that the Great Wolf’s ears ring with your name.”

The Chieftain snarled in return, but Raskolf was already leaving the Hall.

“You could have let him leave with his dignity, Chieftain.” said the Priestess.

“Don’t you see it?” said the Chieftain, “He is a careless glory-seeker, not a warrior. He hasn’t changed at all over the years and he hasn’t learned anything. He just wants to redeem himself in the eyes of the Great Wolf by dying heroically, but it doesn’t work like that! You can’t TRY to be a hero. It has to just happen. That man is no warrior, and he is certainly no hero. My son was a warrior, and my son was a hero, and my son is dead. My son is dead because of Raskolf Vakr, and now you fools have just condoned that idiot to take another pack into a hopeless fight to die. Their blood will be on your hands and the hands of Raskolf Vakr, but not mine!”

“You are blinded by your emotions, Chieftain.” said the Priestess.

“I think you are blinded by your ambition, Priestess.” growled the Chieftain.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Raskolf’s mate is the Clan High Priestess, after all.”

“Enough!” shouted Lucia, standing so quickly that she knocked her chair over backwards, “That is enough! Look at yourselves! What in Gaia’s name are you thinking? This is no time for in-fighting. Our enemies could be crossing the border as we speak. My whole life I always looked up to you people. I always trusted that you were wise, and that you knew best, and that you would take care of me and my family. I was but a child, but I knew these things to be true. Well, today I see for the first time just how foolish and naive I have been. You are not wise. You do not know best. You are just children yourselves!”

Bergthorr bared his fangs, but then averted his eyes and clenched his fists. He said nothing.

“Chieftain Bergthorr,” said Lucia, “you lamented earlier tonight how you lost your son and had no grandchildren, but I think that you may have forgotten your position. You are the Lunar Chieftain of the Watchwolves. The people outside of this hall all look to you as a father, or a grandfather. They trust you to be wise. They trust you to be fair. They trust you to be understanding, and right now, they trust you to protect them and organize their defense. That means that you need to listen to your advisors, not chase them out of here with their clothes half on. What you did to Raskolf was juvenile, and you should be ashamed of yourself, young man!… I mean, old man… Chief.”

*

Outside the Great Hall of the Watchwolves of Luna, the human warrior Thanatos stood talking to Stanrick.

“So, what do they do in there during these meetings?” he asked.

“How should I know?” grunted Stanrick.

“You’re a guard. Surely you’ve been in there during this sort of thing before.”

“No.” he hesitated, “Not really.”

“Come on, friend. Tell me. Are they doing some kind of dark rituals? Are there animals involved?”

“Of course not.”

“Is there blood? Are they reading entrails?”

“Why are you being so persistent?”

“I can’t help myself.” said Thanatos, “The irony is killing me.”

“Explain, human.”

“See! That right there! You just did it. You invite us up here for this great cultural breakthrough and make a big production out of allowing non-Ulven into your Hall for the first time, but then afterwards, things go right back to the way they were before.”

“Look here, pup. Things are not the way the were before, nor will they ever be. You are within the walls of this stockade, are you not? And are our leaders not in that Hall at this very moment, strategerating how we are going to survive the war that we got ourselves in all because we stood up for you people in the first place? How dare you show such disrespect. We are a proud people, and our leaders are wise, charismatic, and selfless. What is going on in that building right now is a sacred and beautiful thing.”

Suddenly, one of the doors to the Great Hall burst open and Raskolf trudged out into the snow of early spring. The bare-chested Ambassador screamed, flung his balled-up cloak into a snow bank, and kicked one of the pillars so hard that he dislodged a sheet of snow from the roof overhang.

“I knew it.” said Thanatos to Stanrick, “They’re gambling in there!”

*

Lucia began hastily gathering up her things. Her mind was racing. She couldn’t believe she had just said that, and her anger and righteousness was suddenly replaced with terror. She just wanted to run away. She scurried towards the door and reached for the handle.

“You are right.” said Bergthorr, “Don’t go.”

“What?!” asked Lucia.

“Chief?!” said Knorr.

Lucia had never thought in a million years that she would live to see the day where she snapped at an elder, let alone spoke to one in such a chiding manner, but her own actions weren’t nearly as shocking to her as the fact that her Chieftain had just admitted that that he was wrong and she was right. Lucia felt dizzy, as if the world was being turned on its side. She wasn’t entirely off target either, but of course it wasn’t actually THE world so much as HER world.

“You are right.” he said again, “I let my emotions get the better of me. My eyes are blinded by my hatred for the one who took my son from me. Now sit back down, Witch. Sit back down. We have our work to do here.

Lucia set her chair back up, fixed her hair, and then took her seat. She was trying not to let anyone see that she was shivering with anxiety, and kept her hands out of sight beneath the table.

“Now, in the event that Raskolf’s, er, trade caravan, fails their mission,” said Bergthorr, “we could be in for a long siege. Knorr, have someone find out how much food we have in our larders, and in the larders of every outlying village of more than two-dozen people. We will need to consolidate it here, and plan the evacuation of the infirm and the children. Every able-bodied adult of 12 years or older who is not part of the militia already will begin training tomorrow on how to fight in a unit. Send word to every village. As the Militia moves South to our border villages, they can pick up anyone who owns their own weapons and armor. Those who don’t should head North to train here.”

“I will make it so.” said Knorr.

“Lucia,” said Bergthorr, “have you selected a warder yet?”

“No, Chieftain.”

“You have fought the Graytides before. I want you to head South with the militia, to supervise the triage and care of the wounded, and to offer spiritual guidance to the troops. It is dangerous to go alone, however. Before Rhodi’s students leave for the Great Wolf’s Hackles, I want you to go and select a warder from amongst the class.”

“In that case, Chieftain, I have already made my decision. I choose Drifa. We fought the Graytides together at the Wayward Inn, and I trust her with my life.”

“Very well,” said the Priestess, “Go to her, then, and tell her when this meeting adjourns. Do you have a totem necklace to present her with?”

Lucia Coinen, the daughter of the most successful merchant in the history of the Ulven people, smiled. She had more jewelry lying around then she could keep track of.

“I do.”

*

The village looked different empty. Everyone had either fallen back to the next village down the road by Gill’s farm to train with the militia, or had been evacuated to the Chieftain’s stockade farther North. The five guards were the only ones present here, now. Their job was to serve as lookouts for the rest of the militia, who were over at the farmstead. The guards ranged in age and variety from a fat white-bearded old man with barely a tooth in his head, to a skinny boy not old enough to shave, and having just gotten his fangs.

Gazing up into gray skies, the old man squinted in the bitter wind. A raven cawed in the distance. The old man arose from his seat on the snowy earth, shrugged off his blanket, and began to crack his joints.

“What is it, Grandfather?” asked the boy.

“It is a sign.” the old man grunted.

“What is? The bird? It is just a bird.”

“No.” said the old man, reaching for his dented old helmet and shuddering at the cold metal as he set it upon his head. “It is a sign. I know that bird. There will soon be a wolf on the road.”

“Wolf road?!” exclaimed the boy.

“The eyes and ears, son. The eyes and ears. They come to warn us that our enemies are coming.”

“What do we do?!” stammered the boy, fumbling with his armor as he followed his grandfather outside of the wall.

The old man didn’t answer at first. As the two walked out onto the road in front of the village, they were joined by the other three guards. The old man smiled sadly as he gazed out upon the snowy Southern road.

“Your shield, boy.” growled one of the other guards, who worked as a baker when he wasn’t part of the town watch.

“Huh? Oh!” said the boy, running back inside the walls to retrieve it.

“That grandson of yours would forget his own head.” grumbled the baker.

The old man didn’t say anything. He just slowly raised an arm and pointed to where the clearing ended and the road disappeared into the darkness of the woods.

There was a wolf on the road, with a raven perched upon a stump next to it. The world was silent for a few moments.

“A grim omen.” said one of the guards.

“What is?” panted the boy, returning with his shield.

The wolf and the raven were already gone.

“You missed it.” grumbled the baker, fastening the chin strap on his helmet.

“He was not meant to see it.” said the old man, “It means that he is not to share in it.”

“What are you talking about, Grandfather?”

“You must leave now, son.” he said, “You must run as fast as you can to Gill’s farm and alert the militia there that the enemy is coming.”

“No!” he shouted, “I will stay and fight! The eyes and the ears can alert the others. They don’t need me and I won’t leave you.”

“The four of us have seen an omen, boy.” said one of the guards, drawing smoke off of his pipe for the last time and then dumping out the bowl, “You missed it. That happened for a reason. It isn’t your choice. Now go.”

“Warn the militia and join up with them.” grumbled the baker, “And don’t sulk. You might still get a chance to die later, with them.”

“Here, boy. Take my pipe. Maybe smoking will help your beard come in. Assuming you live to see the end of the day.”

“What’s going on?” cried the boy, “Why won’t you tell me?”

“We have seen a wolf on the road, son.” said the old man, “Now run swiftly to the farmstead, knowing full well that the real Great Wolf will be less than a village away from you, and closing.”

The boy’s eyes widened.

“Do not mourn us, son.” said the old man, wrapping his cold arthritic hands with dry leather strips. “It is only death. The Great Wolf already knows our names.”

“You on the other hand,” said the baker, “better run along before you get eaten.”

“I killed two Mordok last summer!” he protested.

“No, you helped kill one that had been ganged up on by you and your little friends,” snickered the other guard, “and the other one was almost dead already and you put it out of its misery. Neither of those count. Now go. Join up with the rest of the militia so you can at least get the experience of fighting in a shield wall.”

“Well, we should all go. Come on!”

“No, son.” said the old man, “The eyes and ears are upon us, and we will be judged. Besides, we couldn’t keep up with you. Go now, and do your duty. I know that you will earn great glory and honor in the future, for if you were not meant to, then why would you have missed the omen when the rest of us saw it?”

“It is a good day to die,” said the guard, tossing his tobacco pouch to the boy to go with the pipe he’d already given him, “but not your day to die.”

“I will be brave, Grandfather,” said the boy, “and I will prove my warriors heart by not crying even if I miss you.”

“You make me proud, grandson.” said the old man, “The Great Wolf’s ears will surely ring with your name someday.”

“They surely ring with all of yours this day.” said the boy, “If I live to have children, I will make sure that they, too, know all of your names.”

“It has been an honor.” said the baker, saluting the boy.

As he turned to walk away, the boy hesitated and tried to keep himself from looking back.

“It is alright.” said the old man, “You do not need to be ashamed to say it. I love you too, son.”

“I love you, Grandfather.”

The noise of weapons being beaten in rhythm upon shields drifted up the road. The boy ran as fast as his legs could carry him to warn the others of the attack.

The Graytides clustered at the edge of the woodline. Khulgar was puzzled by the apparently deserted village, and the four poorly armed and barely armored men who had come out to challenge his mighty war pack. He was afraid that it was a trap, but after the humiliating defeat at Ulslog, his warriors were too worked up and frenzied for him to hold them back. He didn’t order a charge, but it happened, so he worked his way to the front of the pack.

On the road, an old man stood defiantly, his spear set to receive the charge. As the screaming horde closed on him and his companions, time seemed to slow down, and the black armored warrior with the red eyes seemed to morph into the shadowy form of a great black wolf. The fight was over in exactly as much time as it took the warriors to run over and trample the four men on the road.

The boy ran as fast as he could. He was already clear of the Northern boundary. The cold air burned his chest. He was ashamed of himself. He’d promised his grandfather that he wouldn’t cry.

*

There were fifteen of them in total on the trading caravan into the Great Wolf’s Hackles. The party was comprised of seven Watchwolves, seven Longfangs, and the human named Thanatos. Raskolf scouted the Grimward encampment from the higher ground of a ridge. There were twenty of them. Otama and Azra looked on as well. Fifteen versus twenty is not good odds, especially when the defender is the one with the numbers, but there was more to it than simple math. Raskolf could tell that many of the Grimwards were archers. That meant two things. First, that they were likely not warriors, but men who hunted for a living. Secondly, they were lightly armored and carried no shields. Raskolf confirmed this by glancing around the camp. Indeed, there were only a handful of shields lying about. The element of surprise would be everything in this battle. If Raskolf could get his troops in close enough, the archers would be helpless against his armored “sword and board” fighters. The Grimwards in this camp were disorganized and unprofessional. They did not even post sentries.

“Otama,” said Raskolf, “we are going to charge straight down the one trail that they are actually guarding.”

Otama didn’t say anything, but she raised an eyebrow.

“We will charge straight in, just those of us with long weapons or large shields. About half of us in total. We will create a shield wall right there where they have actually prepared to defend.”

Behind Otama, Azra grinned. She had played this game before.

“The defenders will think that everything is going as they have planned and drilled for. They will focus all their attention on trying to overwhelm us with numbers and focused archery. We have the shields and armor to endure that long enough for Azra and a handful of others to charge down the ridge and flank them from within their own camp.”

“We will get rid of the archers first.” said Azra, “They will go down quickly once we close with them. That will even the odds and put us behind their melee fighters.”

Otama shot a concerned glance at Raskolf.

“And you, Ambassador, will be in the back coordinating this.”

Raskolf didn’t acknowledge her statement. He just tossed his cloak back over his right shoulder and headed back down to the waiting warriors and novices. Minutes later, he was charging madly down the trail, straight towards the enemy camp.

“Raskolf! Get back!” shouted Otama, “How are we supposed to protect you if you are in the front?”

“Run faster!” he panted.

Up ahead, he could clearly see archers scrambling to pick up their gear and nock arrows.

“Shield wall!” he yelled, “Now! Lock up but keep moving!”

“This wasn’t the plan!” snarled Otama, overlapping her shield over Raskolf as arrows began peppering the formation.

“That’s ok.” he grunted, thrusting his spear into the belly of a Grimward militiaman, “No plan ever survives contact anyway. Just watch!”

As the warriors cracked shields together and traded steel, Otama saw Azra and her skirmishers sweep down the ridge and into the helpless archers, cutting them down before many of them even had a chance to draw their swords or make any effort to defend themselves.

“See.” grunted Raskolf, “Their plan of defending this pass just totally fell apart!”

Otama watched as an arrow sank deeply into Raskolf’s right arm, causing him to lose his grip on his spear. His opponent took advantage of this and rushed in close. Raskolf managed to reach across his body to protect his exposed side with his shield, but the angle was awkward, coming from the opposite side, and the weakness of the stance left him vulnerable. He successfully turned aside the blow, but lost control of his shield in the process, the low upward strike causing it to fly up and strike himself in the mouth with its edge. Raskolf lost his balance and tumbled backwards into the snow. His opponent also took a fall from over extending, and nearly landed on him. Otama and Harlok moved in quickly to finish off the Ambassador’s Grimward enemy. Azra’s skirmishers cut down the last archer and charged into the rear of the Grimward line. The fight was soon over. The “steel trading” caravan had defeated an enemy that outnumbered them. They had suffered only a few minor injuries themselves, including Raskolf’s arm, which was immediately tended to by the Daughter of Gaia who had accompanied them.

Raskolf smiled at his frustrated bodyguards, though his grin was a little less smug, and even more lopsided now that his right fang had been lost somewhere in the snow.

“I heard a horn, Raskolf.” said Siren. “They may have alerted the next camp when they sounded it.”

“We need to keep moving, then.” he said, “Catch your breath and get bandaged up. We need to maintain our momentum. They will likely be better prepared at the next camp.”

*

As the Grimwards marched into the next Watchwolf village, they found themselves confronted by an organized defensive formation of shields and spears. The militia had placed themselves in a narrow part of the road to make flanking them difficult, and a large patch of ice lie in front of them.

“Very clever.” muttered Khulgar, who was vividly remembering the battle at Ulslog, “They have done everything they can to stack the odds. The stockade opens up between two buildings, and we are on a slight incline.”

“It matters not.” grunted Lycon, “We outnumber them more than two to one and few of them even have proper armor.”

Drifa Blackfrost pushed her way to the front of the Watchwolf formation. She was adorned with black warpaint and carried a claymore over her shoulder. Not long ago, she would have been terrified to so much as look Khulgar Graytide in the eye, but after the events at the Wayward Inn a cold resolve had overtaken her. She was no longer Drifa of Winterclaw, the refugee who looked out for number one and begged for scraps from another pack. She was a Watchwolf, now, and these were her people.

“Leave these lands at once, Khulgar Graytide. You are trespassing.”

“Trespassing?” Laughed Lycon, “Why, that would suggest that these were someone else’s lands. They are not. These lands are ours, and have been ever since we set foot upon them. All we are doing now is clearing them out.”

“Go home, Lycon Graytide,” shouted a wiry old Watchwolf with a bushy white beard, “before you slip and break your hip! You are too old to be on the warpath!”

“I certainly hope that the Great Wolf knows your name, you geezer,” replied Lycon, “for the meat upon your bones is surely long since spoiled.”

“Go home, Lycon!” said the skinny old man, whose name was Nezzer, “There are fishing nets to be mended. Oh! Nevermind. You can’t even do that you old cripple.”

The gray-bearded Lycon bellowed with laughter, and warriors on both sides cracked smiles at the two grouchy old men.

“I know you.” said Khulgar, pointing his mace at Drifa, “Last time I saw you, you were running terrified into a swamp while your friends bravely fell in combat against my warriors.”

Khulgar laughed.

“This so-called leader of yours is naught but a coward.”

“I used to be a coward, Graytide, but you forgot one thing about what happened at the inn. You forgot what happened when you cornered me and Lucia. I fought you Khulgar.”

“That’s right.” said Khulgar scratching his chin, “You did try to fight me. I’d have easily killed you without so much as a scratch if it weren’t for that traitor, Rogar.”

“Looks like you’ve gone and gotten yourself cornered again, woman.” sneered Lycon.

“It’s different now.” she said, “I’m not a cornered animal this time. There is an open road behind me and you certainly know that. It’s where you are trying to go, is it not? I’m a wolf standing up to fight alongside my pack. I am a Watchwolf of Luna, now, and I am protecting my land and my people.”

“How touching.” said Khulgar.

“Whether you are a cornered rat or a female bird protecting its nest makes no difference to me.” laughed Lycon.

Khulgar took a few steps out onto the ice.

“You blasphemers don’t have to die senselessly today.” said Khulgar to the Watchwolves, “We give you a chance to earn redemption in the eyes of the Great Black Wolf, who judges you even now. Join us in our war against the outsiders, and help us to purify Gaia’s lands of this corruption and filth from across the ocean before our mother shares the same fate as the invader’s homeland.”

“You dare to call us blasphemers?!” shouted Drifa, “You, who wear ears and fingers as trophies? You, who pull the fangs from other Ulven for the sake of your jewelery? Since when is it up to you to decide which tenets of our faith are to be observed and which are to be ignored? I saw my entire pack perish because they committed the same sins that you are committing. You were right about one thing, though, Khulgar. I used to be a coward. It was how I survived. But the tables have turned, now. Here I stand, resolute and unafraid, while you and your packs cower in the shadows.”

“Clan Grimward does not cower!”

“Oh, but you do.” said Lucia, “You are afraid. All of you. Especially the Graytides. You are so afraid of the colonists from across the sea that you have placed your fear of them above your fear of our own gods. That is why you adorn yourselves with such blasphemous trinkets. It is why you have resorted to treachery and lies to manipulate your own people.”

“How far will you take this war against your own kind, Graytide?” said Nezzer, “Will the violence ever end? Or will you just keep killing until there is no one left for you to breed with but the Mordok you revere with your sick trophies.”

“I will light your pyre myself this night!” screamed Lycon Graytide, charging across the ice and burying his axe into the skinny old man’s kite shield, knocking him clear back into the formation and nearly dislocating Nezzer’s shield arm as he ripped the blade free.

Before Khulgar could regain control of his warriors, the pack followed Lycon and surged forward onto the slippery ice. Steel rang out and wood knocked together as the Grimwards crashed shields-first into the Watchwolf formation, only to lose their footing and stumble back into the tangle of bodies. The icy ground hindered their movement and made it nearly impossible to fight. Watchwolf spears flashed out from the defensive formation, and even the ones that only caught contact with Grimward shields pushed the attackers back and caused warriors to stumble and fall on the ice. Time and time again, Drifa’s massive claymore cleaved into the Grimward shields, splintering the wood, knocking troops down, and even breaking shield arms. Her countless hours working in Rhodi’s smithy since her adoption had given her a startling upper body strength that allowed her to wield the largest great-weapon on the field with unusual ease. She truly was a different person than she had been when Khulgar last faced her at the Wayward Inn and he was a little unsettled by her ferocity as he watched her pummel his warriors into the frozen earth. He kept waiting for her to tire, but she showed no sign of slowing down despite the scale of her melee weapon nearly matching her own height. The rest of the Watchwolf formation, however, wasn’t matching her endurance nor her ferocity.

The defense held for a while, but the Grimwards had the numbers to press their advance onto better footing, and once they did, the Watchwolf formation began to falter. Casualties mounted on either side, the more experienced warriors of the Grimward and Graytide warpacks finding their momentum as the Watchwolf line buckled and smaller, three to four person skirmishes broke out. Lucia moved down the road as casualties needing her attention began to mount, and Drifa was forced to fall back to protect her ward.

On the front line, Lycon and Khulgar cut a swathe through the poorly equipped militia, making their way towards Lucia and Drifa. Khulgar was sure that he could take Drifa, for though strong of arm and stout of heart, she lacked experience and skill. What he really wanted to do was to challenge her to a duel. He fixed his gaze on her as he pulled his mace clear of a crushed Watchwolf skull. Time seemed to slow down. As he closed with her, their eyes met. Drifa adjusted her grip and took up a better stance, placing herself between Khulgar and Lucia. Before Khulgar could challenge her, though, Lycon Graytide charged in from the side. He was about to bring his axe down upon Drifa but she spun out of his reach and brought her claymore around the long way, with all the momentum and power of her movement behind a single blow. It connected, crushing his ribs through his armor and cutting deeply into his side. Khulgar watched in rage as Lycon crashed to the ground, showering Lucia with blood and spittle. He wasted no time. Watchwolves were already swarming Lycon’s fallen form, stabbing him, and trying to drag him away. Khulgar and Ekaj rushed in to protect him. Ekaj distracted the enemy while Khulgar helped his friend to his feet and put pressure upon his wounds. As they hurried back toward their lines, Khulgar heard brave Ekaj fall in combat behind them, but they couldn’t stop.

Drifa wasn’t sure exactly what happened. She had been forced to turn her back on Khulgar to keep Lycon from getting to Lucia. As she had pulled her claymore free of Lycon Graytide, she realized that she had been stabbed in the back. Something hit her in the head and she started having trouble seeing. There was red everywhere. She was on the ground suddenly and everything was foggy and wet. Something stabbed her again and again. The next thing she knew, She was being dragged towards the Grimward lines. Lucia was there too, marching at swordpoint.

The battle raged on in the meantime. Though the Watchwolf militia had seriously faltered, the sudden loss of the Grimward leadership had happened at almost exactly the same time that a small contingent of men from Vandregon and Watchwolf reinforcements led by a warrior named Artai had run in from the next village and bolstered the lines. They had even taken a Graytide as prisoner. The fighting slowly devolved from an organized attack and defense into a cluster of chaotic skirmishes within the village, going from building to building, fence to fence. Old Nezzer had just finished off a fighter much younger than himself who was trying to flank the building containing the casualties, when he noticed some of the Grimwards were retreating.

Nezzer watched as the Witch and her Warder, Drifa, were dragged away. Something primal flickered within the base of the old man’s skull, and despite better judgment, he ran after them alone, without saying anything to anyone else.

*

Back at the mountain pass, the Trading Caravan was locked in brutal combat against the Grimward militia. It was the third battle they had fought in less than an hour. Raskolf had never been so shot full of arrows in his life, and his shield was starting to look like perhaps the leather covering it was genuine porcupine hide. Not only was he tired, but it was getting increasingly difficult to move. His legs were stiff, and he was pretty sure that he had pulled something in his spear arm from a combination of all the overhand stabbing and the arrow he took there in the first fight today. He was out of shape and out of practice, but he tried really hard to conceal his misery. His current opponent certainly wasn’t helping things. The two had been going round and round for way too long. At first, Raskolf was impressed that his opponent was holding his own against him. Now, he was starting to get concerned that maybe it was the other way around.

Raskolf faced a hardy youth of perhaps fifteen years. The boy was ridiculously fast, and moved with a spryness and confidence that impressed the old veteran. Raskolf’s spear gave him the advantage of reach, but the weapon was more suited to fighting in a group than in one on one combat. Typically, in such a situation, Raskolf would have dropped his spear and drawn his sword in case his opponent got in close under his spear, but the boy was just too fast, and Raskolf didn’t have time to change weapons. He was forced instead to settle for a sturdy under arm position, which helped keep his opponent back, but made offense difficult because he was limited to stabbing straight into his opponent’s shielded zone. Fortunately for Raskolf, the kid never rushed in close or capitalized when he parried the spear thrusts. Raskolf guessed that his opponent was a wild talent, and probably had little formal training if any. It was only a matter of time, though, before he figured it out. Raskolf could see the wheels turning in his head.

As two more warriors moved in to assist Raskolf and flank the boy, the young Grimward nimbly dodged their attacks, rolling and somersaulting just out of their reach over and over again. The kid was fighting with instinct and raw talent. In a different time and place, Raskolf would have tried to recruit him for the Tundra Wolves. In the here and now, though, he was an enemy. Otama locked blades with the young fighter, while one of the Watchwolf novices knocked him off balance by burying a claymore into his shield.

The boy’s eyes bulged in the sockets as Raskolf’s spear punched through his unarmored abdomen and sent him crashing down into the snow like a boar held down by hunting hounds. Blood spew-ed from the boy’s mouth and as he impacted the frozen earth.

Raskolf looked down at the fallen Grimward youth. He barely looked old enough to shave. Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes and he began gasping for air like a fish on land.

“What is your name, warrior?” asked Raskolf.

“Solembum.” choked the poor boy.

“The Great Wolf’s ears ring with your name, Solumbum.” he said, “You fought well. We will howl your glorious death when we light your pyre tonight.”

Raskolf nodded to his fellow Watchwolf, and the boy’s suffering was ended with one sweep of a claymore.

“That’s seven for me, today.” said the novice to one of his fellows.

“That doesn’t count!” said the other, “That was an assist.”

The young novices started bragging to each other and calculating how many they had killed so far that day.

“Gaia forgive us.” Raskolf muttered to himself as he saluted his fallen foe.

Raskolf was about to say something to the novices, but he stopped himself and instead turned his back to them and walked away.

Solembum had been the last to fall. The steel trading caravan was battered and exhausted. Raskolf began checking on his comrades. They didn’t have much fight left in them. Harlock Longfang was in bad shape, but was refusing healing, indicating that he wanted others to be healed first. There was no time to consolidate though, because another pack of Grimwards emerged from the woods on the other side of the pond. There were about twenty of them against Raskolf’s remaining thirteen.

“Orders, Ambassador?” said Stanrick.

“Hold here.” replied Raskolf, “If they try to cross the pond, they will fall through the thin ice. If they come around the long way, they have to go through deep snow and then cross an open field. Catch your breath and eat some snow. We are going to make them charge us. Yawn, Thanatos! Taunt those Grimwards. Make them angry.”

“What? When?” said Yawn, looking up from the wound he was bandaging.

“Now.”

“Why?”

“Because they are too far away.” said Stanrick as it dawned on him, “Would you want to fight someone after running that far through knee high snow?”

“Wait,” said Thanatos, “why am I doing this?”

“Because you are very good at being annoying.” grumbled Stanrick.

“It is because you are human, Thanatos.” said Raskolf, “They hate humans.”

“Right!” said Thanatos.

The two moved a little ways out into the open field so that they could be clearly seen and heard by the Grimwards.

“Pardon me!” yelled Thanatos, “That’s right! You! You fornicators of matriarchs! You are all just in time to watch us ravage and desecrate these little girls that you sent against us in combat. If you would care to surrender now, we could really use some slaves to help us dig a pit. We really ought to dig a latrine for this filth.”

Yawn began dancing and making lewd gestures. With coaxing from Stanrick, the steel traders began laughing and cheering as loudly as they could.

“My friend the human infidel is right.” bellowed Yawn, “Say! Do all grimwards have weak bladders, or is your bloodline so thin that it just smells like urine?”

“I say!” shouted Thanatos, “You female curs have dreadful posture! How many generations removed from your Mordok ancestry are you?”

Seconds later, the Grimwards were charging through knee deep snow.

“Here they come!” shouted one of the Watchwolf novices, picking up his shield and sword. Raskolf raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

A minute later, the Grimwards were charging through knee deep snow.

“Should we form up, Ambassador?” asked the novice.

A minute after that, the Grimwards were still charging through knee deep snow.

“Ok,” said Raskolf, “If you have a bow, string it and move to the front.”

The fastest of the Grimwards were just breaking into the open field, wheezing, panting, and struggling with cramping and stiffening legs. They were widely scattered now, with some of their slower troops still quite far away. As the charge faltered and they limped into the open field, the trading caravan filled them with arrows. By the time any of the Grimwards had actually managed to close with the Watchwolves and Longfangs, the numbers were much more even, and any advantage that the Grimward had as fresh troops had been lost. It was a brutal melee. Both sides were agonizingly exhausted to the point where they had forgotten their skills and training, and combatants simply made slow and heavy chops at each other until someone died. One by one, the wheezing and panting Grimwards fell to the members of the steel trading caravan.

It had been no easy victory for them, however, and not without cost. Two of the Watchwolf novices were dead and Harlok Longfang had been mortally wounded after entering into a berserking rage and had smashed a hole through the enemy line. Everyone was bloody almost beyond recognition, and Raskolf couldn’t walk. He had taken arrows to both legs, and been stabbed repeatedly in the back and chest by someone he’d mistook for dead. Otama scowled at him as she tended to his wounds.

“Azra!” he croaked, realizing that his throat was completely dry and his voice gone.

Raskolf tried to wet his throat by eating some snow. It helped a little, but it also hurt his broken fang like crazy. He finally managed to get her attention.

“Ambassador,” she said, “Harlok is dying!”

“I know, friend. That is why I called to you. Take these to him.”

Raskolf handed her two healing potions that he had been saving for an emergency. Azra wasted no time in running back to the unconscious warrior. He was barely breathing. The Longfangs managed to carefully pour the potions down Harlok’s throat. Some color returned to his face, and his breathing seemed more consistent, but he did not wake up.

“I fear it may be too little, too late.” said the novice with the healing basket.

Yawn nodded solemnly as he helped hold pressure on Harlok’s wounds. Siren and Stanrick carefully worked the casualty’s armor off of him to expose the injuries as blood oozed out and turned the white snow a striking color of red. Siren removed Harlok’s left gauntlet to reveal a mangled and crushed hand with a broken forearm, the bone protruding through the skin in two places.

“I know some first aid and some basic healing,” said the novice, “but I fear that he has internal injuries beyond mundane ability.”

“Hopefully,” said Yawn, “those potions will be enough.”

Raskolf sat there panting from the immense exhaustion of fighting for so long. He looked in front of him at the wounded and the dead and the immense splatters of blood and gore that dotted the white field in front of him. Warriors collapses to rest and tried to tend to numerous stabs and cuts and broken limbs. A Longfang warrior with a spear rolled over a dying Grimward and stuck him through the gut and pinned him to the ground without any hesitation or remorse.

“Dear Gaia, what have we done?” said Raskolf.

*

Nezzer slowed from a jog to a hunter’s stalk. His quarry didn’t move quickly. The Grimwards were dragging Drifa and Lycon. Nezzer couldn’t believe the amount of blood that Drifa was leaving behind. Before long, the Grimwards reached the outskirts of the first fallen Watchwolf village, where they had set up a hasty triage and camp. Nezzer knew that town well. He had a close friend who lived there. Based on the message from the man’s grandson earlier, though, Nezzer assumed that his friend had died honorably in combat that morning. Nezzer counted the guards at the back gate. There were two women. One was an archer, and the other was armed with a battle axe. Then he circled around and checked the livestock chute. There was someone on the other side, but he couldn’t make out how they were armed. As he observed, the Grimward Daughter of Gaia tended to Lycon Graytide’s wounds. Khulgar was there, too. Nezzer watched in silence through the gap. He would have to wait.

Drifa continued bleeding out into the snowy earth 100 feet in front of him, but Nezzer could do nothing to help her. He had lost sight of Lucia and the Grimwards who had captured her.

Lycon Graytide’s wounds were tended to, stitched, and he was administered one of the precious few healing potions that their Witch had in her healing basket. Khulgar made some hasty repairs to their armor in the mean time. Once Lycon was back on his feet, the two gathered their things and prepared to escort the Witch’s apprentice to the front line.

Khulgar paused and stared at Drifa and the reddening snow around her prone form.

“See something you like, old friend?” laughed Lycon, elbowing Khulgar, “She has good hips on her, and is very strong. Me thinks she’d throw some powerful children.”

From beneath a tangle of dirty, blood matted hair, Drifa bared her fangs at the two Graytides.

“No, Lycon.” said Khulgar. “No.”

“But look how spirited she is! She’d be fun to break.” he sneered gyrating his hips and squinting his eyes, “I’d be willing to help you with that!”

The Chieftain shot an annoyed glance at the big one-armed veteran.

“I was right…” gasped Drifa, “about you. You aren’t children of the Great Wolf. Nor do you uphold his honorable virtues. You are just mongrel dogs.”

“Silence, wench!” said Lycon.

“Or what? You’ll kill me? Go ahead! Do it! Grant me a warriors death! It is the least you can do.”

A shout came up from the front gate. It was one of the guards.

“Look!” she said to the novice patrolling the perimeter, “There is a wolf on the road!”

The Witch looked alarmed, made a holy symbol across her chest with her hands, and grabbed her apprentice to avert her eyes before she could see for herself.

Khulgar didn’t look. Instead he stared into the watering eyes of Drifa Blackfrost and clenched his fists.

“The Great Black Wolf is watching us, Khulgar Graytide.” choked Drifa as blood dribbled from her lips onto the snowy earth.

Tilting her head back and brushing her hair aside, Drifa exposed her throat to him.

Khulgar ground his teeth and snarled.

“Tend to her wounds, Witch.” said the Graytide Chieftain.

He then turned his back to her and walked down the road.

Drifa laughed like a madwoman. She laughed so hard that she vomited.

“Do not let any further harm come to her.” Khulgar ordered the two women guarding the gate.

“The wolf is gone.” muttered one of them, “You missed it.”

“Are you even listening to me? he growled.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

“Just keep her alive. Don’t let anyone kill her.”

“Of course, Chieftain.”

“Well,” said Lycon as the two Graytides walked away, escorting their Daughter of Gaia to the next village, “if you don’t want her, then maybe she’ll be mine.”

“Those poor kids would be built like Cave Bears.” grumbled Khulgar.

Lycon bellowed with laughter and would have slapped his friend on the back, but Khulgar was on the wrong side of him, so he could not.

The three Ulven walked down the road towards the front line. The forest was eerie and silent of any noises of Gaia. Not a single bird or beast was to be heard or seen. As they got closer to the next village, the sounds of steel ringing and warriors shouting carried clearly in the crisp winter air.

Khulgar was giving serious thought to his next troop movements and as to who was going to replace brave Ekaj as a lieutenant, when his train of thought was derailed by the big warrior at his side.

“I’ve given it some serious thought, Khulgar.” said Lycon, “You need to move on. Your mate has been dead a long time. Exactly as long as your sense of humor, in fact.”

“What? Why are we talking about this now?”

“Loneliness does not befit you, Khulgar,” continued Lycon, “It makes you grouchy and unpleasant.”

“We are on a battle field right now!”

“I’m just saying that you could use the attentions of a woman. A mead in one hand, a soft breast in the other, and a round butt sitting upon your lap.”

The young Daughter of Gaia shrank into the recesses of her cloak and shrugged her shoulders. She fell back a little, to put some distance between herself and the big one-armed Graytide.

Khulgar bared his fangs.

“Shut your mouth, Lycon.” he said.

“I am merely saying, old friend,” said Lycon, “what no one else would dare tell you. Your mate has been dead a long time.”

Khulgar ground his teeth and clenched his fists.

“You know what else has been dead a long time?” he said, “The days when you were of sufficient station to talk to me so casually.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Khulgar?” growled the one-armed Graytide.

“Time and again I have looked to you for wisdom, and all I get is foolishness and selfishness.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” shouted Lycon, “I’m just trying to look out for you, old friend!”

“No. You aren’t. You’re embarrassed that that amateur swordswoman got the best of you and almost killed you. Now you’re looking for an excuse to show her a different kind of swordplay. You are just trying to manipulate me.”

“I cannot believe that you would even suggest such a thing! You ungrateful bastard!”

“I cannot afford another one of your failures like at Uslog. Take the Daughter to the front line. I must find Black Owl. You are dismissed.”

“Khulgar,” snarled Lycon, “I taught you everything you know!”

“I most certainly hope not, Lycon.” growled Khulgar, turning to walk away.

“I made you, dammit!” bellowed Lycon, “I made you! You wouldn’t be where you are today if it weren’t for me!”

Khulgar stopped dead in his tracks and his shoulders tenses in primal rage. He suddenly spun around to face Lycon once more with a glare that would cut lesser men down where they stood.

“And where am I, Lycon?” he shouted, “Where am I? I stand here in Ulven territory, and, yet, in enemy territory. Do you not understand? Do you not see? This is wrong, Lycon! Why do you revel in it, so? Why do you love such grim business?”

Lycon stared at his old friend until he could no longer bear his gaze. Then he averted his eyes and clenched his fist. The young Grimward Daughter of Gaia tried to hide within the hood of her cloak.

“Khulgar,” said Lycon, “this is the ultimate test of a warrior. It is the greatest opportunity in all of history to gain glory and the favor of the Great Wolf. We face our corrupted peers. We face other warriors! Not stinking cannibalistic animals, but real Ulven warriors!”

“Then what does that make this, Lycon?” snarled Khulgar, “The final battle? The end times? The glorious and bloody climax to some ridiculous holy conflict?”

“Blasphemer!” shouted Lycon, “You know damn well that this war is all about preventing the end times!”

“Is it really?” said Khulgar, “Or do we instead hasten it? As we tilt the ears of the Great Wolf with violence against our own people, have we forgotten the other half of our spirituality? What of Mother Gaia? What damage do we do in our conquest? What consequences must we live with in the future?”

Lycon shook his head. He said nothing. Nor did he meet Khulgar’s gaze.

“You!” shouted Khulgar, “Daughter of Gaia!”

The poor girl gasped in terror as Khulgar grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Tell me!” he said, “Tell me that this is Gaia’s will! Tell me that we are justified!”

“Please.” whimpered the frightened Daughter of Gaia, “Please, don’t.”

“Tell me!” he shouted, “Tell me that it is Gaia’s will! Tell me that I am her instrument!”

The girl’s eyes were huge with fear.

“Tell me!” he shouted, shaking her violently.

“Yes!” screamed the girl, “You do her work! It is her will! Please, let me go!”

“Coward!” roared Khulgar, shoving her into the snow, “So easily manipulated. And this is our spiritual leadership?”

He turned to face Lycon.

“Even if it is the will of the gods, Lycon,” he said, “it is dark work. At least pretend that it bothers you.”

Khulgar turned and trudged off the trail and into the wet and heavy snow.

“And so that’s it?” said Lycon, “And now you turn your back to me?”

“Consider yourself relieved of your duties as my advisor.” said Khulgar.

“You ungrateful wretch!” shouted Lycon, “I treat you like family and you betray my trust and my loyalty!”

“Traitors are the worst kinds of enemy, Lycon,” Khulgar said over his shoulder, “because they were once brothers.”

Lycon looked like he was going to say something, but instead he just stood there in silence for at least a minute. The poor Daughter of Gaia sobbed uncontrollably within the hood of her cloak, and fell to her knees in the snow. She felt as though she might throw up.

From the shadow of a pine bough, Corvo Blackwing regarded the entire scene undetected. As Lycon stormed off dragging the Daughter of Gaia by the wrist, Corvo redirected his gaze to the shrinking silhouette of Khulgar Graytide. The corner’s of the Blackwing’s mouth slowly curled upwards into a grin not easily replicated by one possessed of a sane mind, and his eyes laughed in silence like those of a rabid wolf.

*

After the Witch had finished tending to Drifa, she retired to one of the buildings in the little village, leaving the prisoner with the two female guards.

“I don’t think she’s going to make it.” said the first guard.

“Why not?” said the second.

“Because, the Chieftain seemed interested her.” replied the first guard, “And I can’t have anyone competing for his attention. I’ve worked too hard to get this close to him. When he picks a new mate it will be me, or no one at all.”

“Oh!” giggled the second guard, “I see what you mean. Now that I look at her, she doesn’t look too good, does she? Maybe the Witch missed a wound.”

“Yes,” said the first guard, drawing her dagger, “this one, right here.”

The guard pulled up on the edge of Drifa’s kidney belt and slipped the dagger underneath the armor and into the Watchwolf’s flesh.

The roving guard outside the wall heard the others talking and turned to peek through the fence. That was the opportunity that old white bearded Nezzer had been waiting for. The young Graytide died quietly and his body fell softly into the deep snow. Nezzer wasted no time. He wasn’t much of a runner these days, but he strode confidently in through the open back gate. The female guards had their backs to him and were taunting the hemorrhaging Watchwolf. As he crunched through the snow, they mistook him for the young warrior he’d just killed and paid no attention. The first guard glanced over her shoulder to say something to the roving guard, but it was too late. She was met with the white visage of a red-eyed wolf upon a black kite shield and a flashing blade across her face and throat ended her life almost instantly. The other guard panicked and stumbled back over Drifa’s bleeding form. The old man hacked gracelessly at the Grimward with all the vigor he could muster until she lie mangled, pumping fresh lifeblood from numerous wounds and crying in the snow. Nezzer was about to finish her, when an arrow whizzed in and stuck in his shield. Three more arrows struck the shield, and he peeked out over the top at the shooter. She was a skinny young girl, no older than fourteen or fifteen. She had made the amateur mistake of an archer who has only hunted, and never fought before. She had run in close to the old man as she fired, trying to get a better shot. She was within charging distance now. She was also clearly out of arrows, and carried no sword. A panicked look entered her eyes, and the color drained from her face as she began hyper-ventilating and stumbling backwards. Tripping over a rock, she landed on her back and made a muffled whimper as the wind was knocked out of her. Nezzer stomped up to her, raised his blade, and made eye contact with her. She had the same look in her eye that a prey animal gets when it has been caught. She was in shock. All was silent for a few seconds, and then she began crying hysterically. Nezzer knew that he needed to kill her. He needed to kill all of them. He couldn’t leave survivors. As he studied the girl, he realized that she was but a short-fanged child. His rage left him as he was suddenly bombarded with thoughts of his own grandchildren being forced to fight for their lives.

“You.” he said, pointing a wavering blade in her face, “You do not belong here. You are a foolish child.”

“Please,” she whimpered, “I was just trying to save my friends.”

“I know.” said the old Watchwolf, “That is why you are going to honor my victory by letting me save Drifa Blackfrost. I have defeated four of you by myself, and I have earned it. I am going to take her and leave now. I have shown you mercy. If you shoot me in the back, the Great Wolf will know of such treachery.”

The terrified girl sobbed and nodded her head.

The old Watchwolf threw Drifa’s arm over his shoulder and grabbed a hold of her kidney belt with his other hand. She could barely support any of her own weight. Almost all of it was leaning on Nezzer’s old arthritic frame. He had barely made it to the gate before he started to seriously doubt whether or not he could actually do this. He’d been a strong young lad once, but that was long ago. It didn’t help that the snow was so deep. Nezzer gritted his teeth, clenched his eyes, and tried his best to control his breathing, but before long, he was snorting like a beast of burden. He tried to adjust his hold on Drifa, but it didn’t help. He was still a long way from the Watchwolf line. He was starting to get his second wind and pick up a rhythm when suddenly, an arrow thwacked into the kite shield that was strapped to his back. Nezzer stumbled forward. He meant to set Drifa down, but momentum got the best of them, and the two tumbled face-first into the snow. Another arrow whizzed just over head, and the deranged cackling of Black Owl echoed through the wood. Nezzer un-tangled himself from Drifa and fumbled to unstrap his shield. Holding it in front of him, he drew his sword and began trudging and stumbling through the snow, as arrow after arrow struck his shield. As he closed with his adversary, poor old Nezzer’s legs were burning and spasm-ing so bad that he could barely bend them, and his shield felt ten times heavier than normal. There was nothing else to do, though, except push forward. He was less than twenty paces away when Black Owl threw down his bow and went for his sword. Nezzer doubted he could defeat this warrior, as fatigued and slow as he was, but his shield did give him an advantage. That was when Nezzer’s silent prayer was answered. Black Owl’s blade stuck when he tried to draw it. Nezzer saw the opening and lunged forward with everything he had. Black Owl’s blade broke free of its scabbard a second too late, and the old Watchwolf was already upon him. Nezzer knocked him to the ground, pinned him down with his shield, and began madly hacking at the fallen warrior’s legs with his sword as if he were chopping wood in a log splitting competition. He only stopped when his arm was spasm-ing so bad he could lift it no more and he was breathing in ragged gasps.

Khulgar Graytide was looking for Black Owl, and he had just found him. The crazed warrior was cackling and shrieking maniacally as he lay bleeding to death in the snow beneath the hunched and shuddering form of an elderly member of the Watchwolf militia. The old Watchwolf heard Khulgar coming up behind him and spun to face him on all fours, splattered with blood and foaming at the mouth like a predator upon a kill. Khulgar was slightly taken aback by the unusual scene, but remained calm as he drew his mace from its belt ring. Nezzer knew he had no chance in a fight against Khulgar Graytide, but he no longer cared.

“Get back, Khulgar!” he snarled, “I have defeated five of your warriors by myself today, just so that I could carry Drifa Blackfrost back to our lines. I am spent, now, but I have earned this small victory. I’m done fighting. If you carry in your heart any sense of honor or respect, you will stand aside and let me carry Drifa home!”

Khulgar narrowed his eyes and studied the hunched and shuddering old Ulven as he stumbled to his feet. Nezzer sheathed his sword, slung his shield, and walked straight towards the Graytide Chieftain as if he wasn’t even there. Khulgar took a small step to the side to let him pass. He glanced over at the mangled and bloody form of Black Owl, who began laughing even more hysterically as the Graytide Chieftain met his gaze.

“What is your name, elder warrior?” he asked Nezzer.

“My name is Nezzer,” he replied, “and I am but an old fisherman, not a warrior.”

Khulgar crouched down to apply tourniquets to what was left of Black Owl’s legs.

“They…” stammered Drifa, who was barely conscious, “They lied to you, Khulgar. Your own people… They lied to you.”

“Hush, Drifa.” whispered old Nezzer, who had his back to Khulgar and couldn’t believe that he was still alive.

“I‘m sorry.” Whispered Drifa, “I… I think I just died. You worked so hard. Thank you.”

Nezzer almost fell over as Drifa lost consciousness and all her weight suddenly shifted.

“Nezzer!” said Khulgar, “I have an important message. You must deliver it to Raskolf Vakr.”

“Very well.” panted Nezzer, hefting Drifa back onto his shoulder, “What is your message, merciful Graytide?”

Khulgar told Nezzer what his message was.

***

The Watchwolves couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw old Nezzer coming back with Drifa Blackfrost on his shoulders. He turned her over to the care of the Watchwolf Daughter of Gaia and checked in with the militia Captain, Artai, who was arranging a prisoner exchange to trade Ekaj for Lucia, the Watchwolf Witch.

Nezzer handed his arrow filled kite shield to a youthful member of the militia, as well as his helmet. Only stopping to get a drink of water, he began falling back toward the nearest settlement that would have messenger hawks. He had to get Khulgar’s message to Raskolf.

As he cleared the outskirts of the village and made his way out onto the road, he heard a noise off to the side. It was a girl. She was sobbing. Nezzer stopped and turned to face her. It was the Grimward he had spared back in the other village.

She had an arrow knocked, and at full draw.

“Coward…” was the last thing Nezzer ever said.

Yawn’s dreams had been playing tricks on him. Or . . . or Yawn hoped they were. One could only forego sleep so long. Sooner or later . . . sooner or later. But always . . . but always with certainty, oblivion would catch you. Would drag you down. Would wraps its arms around you, soft and sweet and welcoming, before dashing you against the inside of your own skull. Yawn had to sleep . . . had to. Had to keep up appearances . . . All eyes were on him. Any mistake . . . and the rare talent he’d shown would vanish. All that work.

All the blood, pain, and effort, gone in a breath of anger.

Yawn tapped his pipe clear . . . at last relenting to his bed roll.

How quick the night’s embrace came.

Yawn. Yawn needed to work. He needed to work fast. He was hunted. But first . . . first the task . . . then. His fingers stitched something supple and wet. He did it without the aid of daylight . . . just a flickering candle. His fingers knew the trick of it.. His fingers, damp and slick but working, the wet turned gummy now and then, and with each stitch and pull to tighten the thread . . . stout stuff, whatever it was, the needle very fine, bringing pain. He didn’t stir, save for his task. As he felt his fingers dance, a quick, precise, practiced stitch . . . and at last, the seam finished, his nimble fingers flicked the needle end over end, looping the thread over itself, the needle through, pulling the stitch taught, tying it off. With a hard pull, his left hand snapped the thread . . .

Why was he stitching with only his left hand?

He worked the needle into a spot on his tunic . . .

Why wasn’t he using his right hand to hold the work steady?

Why didn’t the work need to be steady?

When had he learned to mend with a single hand?

“Why?”

His hand took up the needle again.

A voice came from the dark, trembling – not with weakness, but with roiling hate.

At once . . . at once his heart broke, the pieces swelling and filling his chest.

“Why keep fighting? Everything you’ve ever loved is dead.”

The voice questions him. Yawn’s hand begins tying off the thread’s end . . . tough, wet . . . sinew?

It was sinew, and he was starting a new line – the light came into better focus, his eyes finally taking in the faint glimmers of light.

“Why why not end it all? You can’t win?”

Yawn knew what he was binding.

There in the pale light, he was stitching the skin of his right arm back together . . .

Not his skin, not his arm. His now? His arms were the stuff of nightmares, with patchwork skin stitched together in a mad pattern . . . the fingers on his left . . . disjointed, freakish things, stitched at each knuckle, bony but impossibly quick. Clever. Had he been experimenting? Binding the dead to himself?

He felt this dream of himself blend with who he was now. The reasons . . . the loss. The grief sticking in his throat.

“They killed Siren.” the voice came flat. Empty of hate or sadness. Hollow. His rage had always burned cool, but this was something different. “They killed Stannrick. They burned Onsallas to the ground. They killed Rill.”

His fingers did the dance with needle and thread . . . as sensation returned to his right arm, he saw . . . no, felt . . . no, something between sight and feeling, a knowledge, a certainty that the fingers of that one were whole. How many times had he done this? By the lines and patches on his body, more times than he could count . . .

“Grief has driven you mad, Yawn.”

“As it did you when my brother died.” Again . . . flat, hollow.

A third voiced joined “Weren’t you the one to speak of pyres and bodies, Yawn? You wanted to protect, to defend, to save. This is vengeance, Yawn . . . It will kill you.”

At last, the alien body that he knew as his, but not at all his, looked to those addressing him.

Ysla, the first voice . . .

Magrat, the second . . .

Ysla had grown fit… Magrat looked as ever herself, save for her eyes – hollow, haunted eyes . . . Yawn was grateful not to see himself . . . Great Wolf only knew what this version of himself did to rest of his body
.
“Yes, yes, it is vengeance . . . b-but. But you will tell my story to the Great Wolf . . . “ he spoke, stuttering and hesitating at first, but gaining strength with each word. “He may yet know my name . . . I may yet join my sisters, my brothers. And my mother . . . for I know my father has no place in the Great Wolf’s longhouse.”

He rose. Took up his shield and mace, and a familiar single-edged blade . . . untouched by time . . . its edge still true and unbroken, no signs of use or any clues to what drove him. “There isn’t time to argue . . . go . . . make my death mean something . . . ”

“All this . . . all this to slake your taste for blood, Yawn?” Ysla called.

His dream body faced the door and, without turning, replied. “I just can’t die knowing he’s still drawing breath. I will show them what it is to suffer.”

The trap door slammed behind him. He hardly noticed over the blood pounding in his ears. He had a task . . . “Gaia, forgive me for what I do.”

The first was through the door, ax raised. Yawn’s hand lashed out, a quick precise thrust to the throat, the steel an extension of this alien body, the familiar weight and balance highlighting the horror of this vision . . . in came the second and third . . . again, Yawn’s arm acted of its own accord., and his enemies pressed in through the door . . .

“So, here you die, Yawn,” called a voice. A voice that filled Yawn with hate.

“Oh, I will . . . but will there be any left to cry out your name to the Great Wolf?”

The room burst with laughter. “He’s gone mad, finally snapped. When started stitching himself back together, I knew he was gone, but the last thread tethering him has snapped,” came that hateful voice, finishing with a low chuckle.

“Oh yes . . . yes, you can certainly kill me,” Yawn felt the mana burning in his hand as he let his shield drop away. “But tell me . . . can you kill them?”

The three fallen rose . . . The . . . no, his tools of vengeance . . . He’d had given all. He would give all. He would burn the Greytide, the Grimward, and the White Oak from the world. Screams and war cries filled the room. Each fallen warrior rose again, another tool guided by his hand . . . Yawn smiled as his foe found himself in the snare he’d meant for Yawn trapped him instead . . . a gift that affirmed his vengeance.

“Once you used my own mace against my friend,” Yawn started as he strode over, blade in hand, mace in its loop . . . no other words but his own rang out, now only screams and moans, the gnashing of teeth, filled the room. Only the voices of the dead and dying. Besides himself.

“Now. . . now, I will scour you and your packs and your clans from the face of Gaia. But, you – you will be there for all of it. You will see all of it. You will be my first great work. These,” he gestured to the shambling figures, once Ulven – now his monsters to command. “These are simple, mindless . . . hungry dead.” He leaned in, placing the blade under his foe’s throat. “You will be my first attempt at raising something worse. And I pray you will be awake in that shell I use to witness every last thing I have it do.”

The blade sunk in, and the eyes opened.

Black eyes . . .

Knowing eyes . . .

Yawn woke up in a cold sweat. Heart pounding, he fumbled for the water skin. Drinking deeply, he glanced about . . . good, he hadn’t disturbed the camp’s watch. His hand slipped into his pack, pulled his pipe out and filled it. Hands were numb. He paused as he fished out the fire stick, whispered a silent prayer to Gaia, and lit it. As he drew deeply on his battered cherrywood pipe at last, his heart slowed its pounding. He drew again, and again . . . blowing great, billowing cloud of May’kar burly smoke.

Nix whispered in his ear. “None it is true, Yawn . . . worry not, I would never let you give yourself over to that.”

He answered quietly. “Thank you, Nix.”

He didn’t see it, but he knew Nix was smiling. At times like this, he felt a small weight on his shoulder . . . Nix’s favorite perch, her spirit bringing him comfort.

“Now maybe if you listened to me and emptied your skull before bed, you’d have fewer of these dreams. Yawn, think of that when next you feel awkward meditating among Ulven.”

He replied in a soft whisper. “Why would I say that of my father?”

Nix brushed her whiskers against his ear. “You know naught of him but what you’ve heard, Yawn. Perhaps those you love protect you from the truth. You may find it, but once you know, Yawn – as you learned you could cast – there is no way to go back, to not know . . . finish you pipe and do see about doing something useful. Knowing you, you won’t be falling asleep again this night.”

Tomorrow, he’d trudge closer to his new home. His new pack.

Selena Stargazer

Selena pauses at one of the bridges that connects the two territories together. She is quietly surprised that it still standing. She turns and looks behind her back into Nightriver territory then up the river with a sigh. Its only taken her a few days to get here from New Aldoria… quicker then she was expecting. She hope her letters made it as she shifts her packs on her back. She takes a deep breath… “Time to go to work” she mumbles as she starts across the bridge.

As Selena crosses the bridge, she knows that she is leaving behind the safety of her Clan Nightriver escorts. Knowing that crossing with her would be suicide, the handful of Ulven disappear back into the woods. She looks down, noticing the long dried and old blood spatters. It is obvious that the bridge has been a place of numerous battles recently since the civil war broke out.

As she nears the end of the bridge, a handful of Ulven on the Clan Grimward side of the bridge move forward to greet her. They make their presence known but stay far enough back so that any Nightriver archers cannot launch an arrow at them. These warriors are dirty, gruff and battle weary. Several of them are adorned with scratches and dents on their armor as well as dried blood and fresh bandages. A warrior with intense predator eyes, a shaved head and a large braided beard steps forward.

“Either you have a death wish, you are crazy or you have a purpose for crossing this bridge alone. State your business.” says the bearded warrior.

Selena sighs.

“Most think I am crazy for coming back this way but either way, I am Selena Stargazer, Truth Seeker for Clan Spiritclaw. I am looking to meet with Khulgar Graytide.”
The bearded warrior looks over the Ulven female in front of him and sizes her up for a moment.

“We have been expecting you. Come with us.” he says as he turns and begins to walk away.

As the Clan Grimward warriors leave, Selena walks beside them. They make no attempts to converse with her and are not even remotely friendly. They do not give Selena the impression that they will hurt her though and for that she is grateful.

The small band escorting Selena passes by several groups of heavily armed and armored Ulven. These groups are stationed close enough to the border between the two clans that they can react and join in on a battle or reinforce a line. From what she can see, most of the Ulven on both sides are dug in and appear to be waiting. Selena feels that both sides will not yield to the other peacefully and this civil war could last for a very long time.

After a long and grueling walk that takes most of the day, Selena and her escorts reach a small village. The village is alive with movement as warriors and villagers move all around. Stacks of weapons and armor are being tended to feverishly by a small team of blacksmiths. A triage unit has been established where a number of Ulven villagers and several Daughters of Gaia are tending to wounded Ulven. In a farmer’s field nearby lay hundreds of small tents as warriors tend to cooking fires and do combat practice and drill battle lines near them. The entire village has been transformed into a support station and supply line for the Clan Grimward army.

As Selena is taking in all the sights, she realizes she is being watched. She snaps out of her observation to realize that before her stands Khulgar Graytide. She hadn’t noticed that her escorts have taken her directly to the command tent at the heart of the village and that she had reached her destination. Standing in his padded gambeson, large predator furs adorn his shoulders and his blood red eyes and intense gaze give Khulgar a very dangerous and cunning quality. Selena knows this man has faults and is capable of reason, but the months of war have been turned him into a hard veteran warrior. He was not wearing his helm at this time, allowing him to converse more easily while in the village.

“Selena, I am pleased to see you again. Come, sit and we can discuss. I received your letter detailing your arrival. You have questions for me, no doubt, given your role and title.” says Khulgar as he turns and takes a seat near the outside of his command tent.

“It good to see you again as well, Rhya.” Selena smiles and replies. She is careful to use the honorific title as she can see people watching her out of the corner of her eye as she takes the seat offered. She slowly reaches into one of her packs knowing she is being watched by more than just Khulgar at the moment and pulls out a bottle carefully wrapped in cloth and offers it to Khulgar.

“As is customary, a gift for you for letting me stay in your territory.” she says courteously as he takes the offered bottle.

She sighs and crosses her arms under her chest.

“Yeah, I seem to have more questions then I do answers currently and everyone has a different story to how something happened. It makes my job difficult. The biggest one that is on my mind currently is the failed peace summit. The ending everyone can agree on… that it went bad quickly. No one is disputing that. The question I have is was it planned that way from the start and if so by whom or did they do something that triggered the slaughter.”

“Well, you want to dive right into your questions, now don’t you. I have a feeling you had a long road and plenty of time to think about them before this meeting.” says Khulgar as he pours himself a tankard of water from his leather water skin.

“The summit at the great hall of Clan Grimward was what… a year and a half ago? It seems like it was so long ago. So much has changed since then…” said the Ulven as he was lost in thought for a moment.

“Before the summit, violence broke out in Clan Grimward territory. A pack of humans moved into Grimward lands and settled there. They were warned to leave and ignored the warning. When Pack Graytide went again to remove them, violence broke out and many of the villagers were killed. It was unfortunate that it happened but tell me of a Clan, other than the pathetic Nightrivers, that would allow such a trespass on their lands? Tell me, Selena Stargazer, would your Clan be so neutral if it was their land that the outsiders moved in and took from you?” spoke Khulgar as emotion began to fill his voice and his blood red eyes took on a fierce look. He continued before giving Selena time to respond.

“Clanleader Haygreth Grimward wished to hold a summit and discuss peace with the Watchwolves, the voices of Nightriver, and the leaders of the outsiders. There was a lot of talk leading up to the summit of what to do. I will tell you honestly what I told Haygreth… I told him that we should go to war. I told him that we should cast out these vermin and push the outsiders back into the sea, that we need to be true Ulven and defend our lands and Gaia from these intruders. Haygreth values my opinion highly but he is wise, he called for a summit as a last chance to talk and discuss the terms in which the outsiders were to be dealt with.” said Khulgar as he took a good long drink of his water tankard.

Selena shifted as she considers his words.

“During the summit, I admit that I was worked up. I called out Raskolf’s honor and said things that I should not have said. The entire great hall was in a heated argument and members of both sides were losing composure… food and plates were being thrown, oaths of vengeance spoken in anger… even our High Priestess was involved and attempted to tell Raskolf and the others of the dire portents that her wisdom had seen. When news of the dead walking on Mardrun reached the hall, Haygreth asked Raskolf if he knew of this. He blatantly admitted to it! He kept this secret from his own people!” roared Khulgar as he slams the tankard down on the table, caught up in the emotion of reliving that scene.

“Haygreth had heard enough. Raskolf had thrown in his lot with Clan Nightriver, whose leader I personally witnessed had bowed down to appease the outsiders at the so called political dinner from earlier, and Haygreth saw the honor and pride of our people slipping. The infectious lies being told by the outsiders were poisoning the minds of some of our leaders and he would hear no more.” Khulgar seemed to calm down a bit and lean back into his chair.

“Haygreth drew first blood. He declared his intention for war and nearly cleaved a fat outsider priest in two after the man offended him. He then ordered me to remove the heads of the other outsiders and send them back to their leaders in sacks. A bloody battle broke out as Clan Grimward warriors and those traitorous Ulven following Raskolf drew steel on each other. We killed each other with ferocity unmatched as Ulven killed Ulven for the first time in our history…”

“Does my answer satisfy your question, Selena Stargazer?” says Khulgar grimly, waiting for her response.

She is quiet and reserved and just watches his every move as he relays his story. The only reactions she shows is she does jump a little when he slams his tankard down. When he finishes, she sighs.

“One starts with the uncomfortable questions first so one can move on to lighter topics later and try to mend the wounds from the heavier topics. Yes Rhya, your story does satisfy the other half of what I was looking for.”

She shrugs and says “To answer your earlier question… If it was our land, if they are just coming in and taking it without respecting the territory of another then probably not. We would remove them at blade point as well. It comes down to if they are being respectful to the people that actually care for the land once they learn whose it is. I don’t expect the outsider to know whose territory they are on until someone goes to greet them. If they are respectful and we can determine their worth, like do they make new products to trade, do they grow a food source unique, what new building techniques do they know. They don’t get to use the land for free they have to contribute like everyone else. In the end though its not me who makes that call it would be the Clanleader of Clan Spiritclaw. You did ask them to leave and they didn’t, so they brought it on themselves I suppose. ”

She is quiet for a view moments as she contemplates where to go from there. “I suppose the next story I wish to hear about was about an honor duel with Freya Rev Anda.” she shakes her head

“I spent a week at the Outpost and when I told them of my desire to come back this way they one looked at me like I was touched in the head and when they couldn’t persuade me otherwise they told me to have you tell me this story.”

At the mention of the honor duel, Khulgar shifts in his seat. He contemplates for a moment, reliving that memory as well. He is obviously hesitant in answering.
“I am not sure how this topic is relevant to this discussion. You came here asking about the war we are currently in, did you not?” Khulgar snaps back at Selena.
Realizing that his reply was a bit harsh, Khulgar sighs and then continues.

“The honor duel was two years ago. I was traveling with Ekaj Graytide and a few other hunters. We had some supplies that we had promised to deliver to the Onsallas village. While we were there, the mordok were more active than normal and were attacking the Longfangs. A number of outsiders had traveled to the Outpost as well. After helping them drive back some mordok, we rested in the outpost. I then discovered that Freya Rev Anda was there. The bitch was responsible for the death of my brother, one of Pack Graytide’s best warriors and next in line to become Chieftan, so I challenged her to an honor duel. I lost. Next question.” replies Khulgar in a somber tone.

She raises and eye brow at getting snapped at though she remains calm and shrugs.

“I also heard as part of that story is that you supposedly cheated during that fight and drew a dagger and tried to kill her even though apparently that wasn’t the terms of the honor duel. I don’t necessary understand what this story has to do with anything either. They just said I should ask. I don’t get to decide what is relevant, my job is just to collect the information.”

Khulgar sat and sized up Selena for a moment. He waited just long enough for the pause to be uncomfortable before continuing.

“During the duel, I do admit that things got out of hand. I am shamed to admit that I indeed did draw a knife, but I did not intend to kill her. Perhaps you should ask your source about how the outsiders disrespected us both by interfering. They stepped in and tried to stop the honorable duel. A fight almost broke out between Ekaj and several of them and even Kragen Bloodmoon tried to interfere. I lost the duel. I admitted defeat. It should have ended there, but Kragen continued and pushed it further. He even threatened violence against me and drove us out of the Outpost. I swore that he would regret his actions that day. He brought dishonor to his Clan be allowing outsiders to interfere.” said Khulgar as he stood and moved to an armor stand nearby. Hanging from the stand was his oiled chainail and breastplate.

“And where is Kragen now? The mighty Warleader of the Clan hides behind Branthur’s skirts and calls for claims of peace yet allows blasphemous acts to be committed on our soil. Kragen’s time has come to an end, along with Branthur’s, for the true Ulven of this continent will not stand idly by and allow Gaia to be savaged in such a way. True Ulven warriors do not sit idly by and allow such transgressions.” said Khulgar with venom in his tone as he began to don his armor.

Several warriors moved to the tent. They made an obvious move to ignore Selena as they addressed their leader.

“Chieftan, one of our scouts has reported that the Stormjarl emissary is here. He wants to talk directly to you.” said the smaller of the two warriors.

“Has there been any word on the Clanleader’s daughter? We heard reports that her ship disappeared as it moved down the coast.” replies Khulgar as he finishes sliding the chainmail onto his torso.

“No, Chieftan, she is still missing. I checked in with the other packs, some of our war bands moving through the area and even the scouts from units stationed along the Stormjarl border. Nobody has reported in seeing her or has any knowledge of her disappearance. No warrior loyal to Grimward would dare interfere with or attack a Daughter of Gaia sent on behalf of Clan Stormjarl.” replies the warrior.

As Khulgar continues to equip himself in his armor, he turns back to Selena.

“Tell me Selena, when in the history of our people have any of our emissaries disappeared when traveling by boat? Clan Stormjarl are master sailors and we have had no ill weather recently. Since Mordok do not sail ships, what do you think happened to her since she was reported to be heading towards Nightriver territory? I also need to know how much longer you plan on questioning me. I have things to do.”

“None to my knowledge. None have ever disappeared that hadn’t fallen victim to storms.” Selena frowns unable to keep the concern from her face that a fellow Daughter is missing.

She slides her hand into a small cloth bag at her side. Stones rattle as she pulls one and studies it for a moment.

“Nothing good that is for certain but which group is responsible is yet to be seen. I can think of two off the top of my head that may be responsible. One would attack a ship, the other has been causing problem in this area in the past but I was unaware they could attack ships on open water.” She absently rubs the blue stone between her thumb and finger.

“Last question, who is the Witch in charge here? I have a ritual that needs to be passed on to her. Anything else I can ask others about.”

Khulgar tightens the belt around his mail armor but keeps his gaze fixed on Selena.

“The witch that you should see is Yohla Grimward. She oversees the daughters that are supporting the clan’s warriors in this area. She is very skilled and studied directly beneath our High Priestess. She is at the village northwest of here, about a half a days journey. Whatever it is that you need her for, it must be important.” says Khulgar as he puts his breastplate to his chest and holds it there. The warrior who had spoken to him earlier moves forward and begins to buckle him into the last of his armor.

“You traveled all this way through a civil war to inquire about the past, questioning my honor in the process whether you intended to or not, and then simply ask me where to find the nearest Witch? I am not sure if you playing a game, Selena, but I would recommend that you not. We are at war. Clan Grimward has had emissaries meet with numerous Clans to discuss their involvement in this war. Clan Stormjarl is ready to join our cause. Clan Whiteoak already has. The Watchwolves are being ground to dust, we continue to bleed them and take their lands. What is the decision of Clan Spiritclaw?”

She leans forward and rests her arms on her knees and she keeps her gaze fixed as well. Her voice is hard but tired.

“You think I am playing games? Fine, then I’ll just speak plainly then. I have been back and forth more in the last six moons then most Ulven travel in a year. I’ve been hearing stories that your some sort of damn nightmare and will kill your cousins at the slightest provocation. I seem be one of the few people left who doesn’t want to believe that. I have seen you fight remember, I know better. I traveled this way not because I am looking to disrespect you, in fact quite the opposite, I traveled all this way in this Gaia forsaken War because I wanted your side because I do respect you and didn’t want to believe all the stories I was being told. ”

She rifles in her bag and pulls out two sets of papers and set them on the table next to her. “I am looking for a Witch because Witches are the next highest ranking than a Daughter. If I thought I had the rank to walk up to a Priestess or High Priestess, I would do that but I know I don’t. While you are so busy worrying about who is taking a shit on your land, the Mordok are getting stronger. Warriors are spread so thin or so concentrated on the lines that Mordok are running rampant. I spent the better part of the night with people I didn’t really trust helping decipher this ritual from the Old Runic language so Fritha Stormjarl and I could cast a ritual in time. Feel free to read it if you like. I translated it into Common and made copies of the runic as well for your Clan. This goes beyond the civil war… this is beyond who is pissed at whom. Fight the corruption however you can is one of the tenants both Pack Stargazer and Clan Spiritclaw uphold and while it is my duty to try and figure out the damned war as a Truthseeker, my duty to THE PACK and to Gaia as a Daughter is just as important, maybe more so. Protecting Gaia has been and will always be our duty. ”

“While you worry about where your next victory is, Clan spirit claw has a square full of refugees from both side of the war. We will give hospitality to them until they can go home. They are family no matter how distant. I wont lie this will probably put a strain on our winter food stores but we will not abandon them or let them go hungry. Though I am guess we aren’t the only ones going to be struggling this winter either. With most of the able bodied males in the lines, farms are short handed. production isn’t as good as it should be. With war ravaging some of the more prime hunting grounds, game is harder to come by for the hunters.”

She takes a moment to take a deep breath to calm herself.

“You are so worried about who is on what side when you forget that we are all supposed to be on the same side. The hawks are still flying. A decision hasn’t been reached yet.”

Khulgar listens to Selena’s words. He was calm and obviously taking in what she said. Although his exterior shows a calm and collective leader, Selena knew that her words bit deep and rattled him. How could any leader of the Ulven denounce what she had said as truth?

“These are indeed dark times for our people. That is why Clan Grimward has made a stand and a line has been drawn. If we sit idly by, our entire race could be at risk. What kind of future do we hand over to our children and their children? Are we the generation of Ulven that will admit that we allowed such transgressions against our people, our culture, and to Gaia herself to go unnoticed and unchecked? Would you not defend your family if an intruder entered your hearth and home? What is worse, Selena… peace and the slow rotting decay of our people… or war because we refused to bear our throats to the change? When we die, do you think the Great Wolf will hear our name’s if we were to allow such things to pass?” Khulgar says surprisingly without emotion as he walks over to his armor stand. He picks up his rhunic decorated metal helm and stares into the eyes of it. The dents and scratches from previous battles glisten in the light.

Selena sighs and looks at the ground.

“What are we teaching the children when we draw steel against our own with out the call of a honor duel? What are we showing the children by killing entire packs, families, who weren’t even at the political dinner… or signed the treaty… who are just trying to work the land and survive but happen to be on the wrong side of the river.” She leans down and picks up a handful of dirt and lets it fall between her fingers.

“I would defend my home if someone broke in but stay my hand in killing them until I could find out if they meant me harm or they broke in because they where just cold and hungry. Maybe I am just soft like that though.”

Selena brushes her hand on her pants and looks back at Khulgar.

“You are forgetting the great law of the Woods. Adapt or die. Stagnation and refusal to adapt to change causes just as much death as invasion and sudden change. The Outsiders brought bad habits with them that is truth. Most of them have changed to adapt our ways not all but most. But would you kill and entire pack because one member offended you? Or would you challenge that one person to a honor duel and be done with it? Traditions, we are forgetting them. You have every right under Gaia to chase them, even kill them if they are on your land and you have asked them to leave and they have not. Respect the Territory of another… the law is pretty simple. Though lets be clear here though, the Outsiders did not cause this Civil War. We did. They are just the excuse being used to continue the fight. We have to be the ones that end it one way or another. This fighting is not something I want to pass on to our children. What would Gaia and the Great Wolf think of us if we left this mess for our children to clean up?” says Selena.

“My warriors will escort you to the nearest village. Meet with our ranking witch and if needed, I will approve of your counsel to any priestess that you need. I will not allow your work to be impeded and whatever food and supplies you need will be granted to you. Take whatever time you need and a boat can also be arranged to hasten your travel when you are done here if you wish, although you would have to travel west to the coast in order to board.” Khulgar replies as he turns the helmet over and slides it onto his head. His sudden shift in topic shows Selena that he is done with this conversation.

Selena picks up the papers and places them back in her bag at the mention of an escort to the village.

“Thank you, Rhya. I think I will take the long way home though.” she says as she looks up at the trees.

“They are almost to full color. I think I need to make one more stop at Onsallas for Pineed Sap before it stops flowing for the winter.” She looks up and frowns as their gazes meet and the meaning isn’t lost on her.

“What your Clan is doing with the refuges is amicable, Selena… but in this war of our people, neutrality is not an option.” says Khulgar as he locks an intense gaze on Selena, obviously to let the meaning of his words to sink in. After a few moments, Khulgar turns and walks away in his full battle dress and armor, his strides confident as he walks toward his gathered warriors.

Selena sighs tiredly and hikes her stuff up onto her shoulder and heads in the opposite direction towards the village.

Stanrick Longfang

It was about midday when Stanrick found himself near the banks of the river. He had been wandering for over a day now hunting: not for food or Mordok, but for something else. He knew that he was not far from the village and luckily what he was hunting for did not allow for him to travel far.
“A rock? Really, I’m looking for a rock? How in the name of Gaia am I supposed to find a rock that is most like Selena?”
Instead of getting supplies ready for his journey in to the darkness of the Dirge Swamp, he went hunting for a rock. He had turned over thousands of rocks, if not more, looking for the right one. He found brown rocks, gray rocks, black rocks and white rocks. He picked up big rocks, small rocks, round rocks and sharp rocks. None of those rocks even closely resembled Selena. Ulven mating was a strange matter, but not as strange as courting. Males would do the oddest things for females once courting began. Courting would start with a male attempting to gain favor with the female. This in itself could be strange. Some males would sing, some would dance, and others would fight.
Selena, however, chose Stanrick because of his little brother’s stupidity. Yawn saw Stanrick leave Selena’s tent the morning after the fair in New Aldoria. If he would have talked to his older brother about it and not let it fester like a splinter in his mind then he would have known that Stanrick and Selena did nothing but discuss her dreams. The whole fight could have been avoided. If Yawn had not attacked him, Stanrick would have been trying to impress Selena on his own. The elder brother had made a drawing of Selena by firelight as he kept watch while he was escorting her from the Graytide’s land to the Long Fang outpost. He had planed to use the picture to impress her. He felt an attraction to her at the outpost months before, and it only grew over time. Finally, he did give her the drawing, after she pulled the glass from the back of his head. It was that night, under the full moon that the courting began.
Stanrick had done strange things before. He had climbed a tree to get an egg out of a bird’s nest. He once captured a live rabbit by hand. Yet here he was, in the middle of the woods looking for a rock. This was by far the strangest thing he had done. He stopped and sat down. “Ok Gaia, I am listening. What can I do to find this?” He listened to the wind, the birds and the water. He looked up at a cedar tree: the sunshine was coming through the branches and a beam was shining in to the stream. He got up and walked over to look. The roots of the tree were twisted in knots over rocks and dirt, growing into the water. He looked into the stream where the sun light shown, and he saw it… a small smooth stone. It was blue like Selena’s eyes. It sat there, in the middle of the rushing water. Reaching for the stone, Stanrick fell into the stream, thrashing around and trying to keep his head above water: Ulven were not made to swim. He started to panic, not thinking straight. This is going to be it, he thought. I am going to die in this damned river. The Great Wolf would laugh at him, and eat him for this death, all because of a female.
It made him smile and he stopped his struggle, the water flowed over his legs and he sat up. “Oh Great Wolf damn it!” It was only about a foot deep and cold as winter. He got up and turned to look for the rock, which was still sitting in the stream. He reached down and picked it up, it was smooth and had different shades of blue. A smile crossed the veteran’s face, for he knew he had found the stone. He got out of the river and sat on it’s shores looking at the stone, turning it around in his hand, content with his find.
The walk back to the village was short, but gave him time to reflect on the crazy thing he was about to do. He was going to go deep into the swamp. He knew it was crazy and he had begged his friends not to go. He even saw to it that Yawn and Siren were sent elsewhere so they would not follow. He could not do that for Selena, for she had not listened to him. This would not be the first time he went off deep in a place that did not want him. But for her, he was glad to go; if even to just to keep her safe. They would get out just fine. He saw the gate to the village and Selena sitting and waiting. He smiled and looked at the gift in his hand, but as he looked at the stone a thought crossed his mind.
“Why is this stone like Selena?”

My Dearest Larina,

For far too long I have not seen my beloved mate, I have lost track of the days. We have been defending the main bridge over the river that protects us from Clan Grimward. It is unnerving, every night we hear the songs of their warriors and we see their hunters on patrol during the day. We do the best to keep our warriors in fighting shape. Yesterday I sparred with one of the humans from Vandregon. He was part of a patrol that had stopped by to warm himself by our fire. The weather is turning for the worse. The last of the leaves have changed and the chill in the wind cut into the cloak that you gave me. I will write more after my patrol.

Sorry Beloved, I meant to get back to this sooner but this war has different plans. One of the younger warriors was foolish and went to the river bank for a drink. The river is less than two hundred feet across here and one of the hunters on the other side of the river likes to take pot shots at us. It’s clear that he is just toying with us because he only shot a hole in the pups water skin. From the cries you would have thought he was hit in the gut. We ran down only to see the hunter sink back in to the bushes. We pulled the pup back and hopefully he learned his lesson. I wish I had more time to write you but I am lucky if I can sleep… I miss you and our son. I hope he is not being too much of a handful and helped with the harvest. I must rest and will write more soon.

It is now mid morning and about an hour ago I saw one of the war boats from the Order of Arnath’s fist. I have seen it come and go more times then I can count and I don’t know if it is the same boat or if they have more then one. Every time they look more and more damaged. But today is the worst I have ever seen it. It looked like some one had tried to burn it down, the once dark brown timbers are now chard black. The soldiers on the boat are not afraid of the hunters on the other side of the river. The first few times the hunters tried to take shots they received more arrows than they sent but it was not until the boat used it’s catapult that they got the hint. Now whenever the war boat comes up or down the river the Grimward pull back just far enough that they can’t hit them.

It is a little warmer today but the leaves will be falling soon. I hope that I will be home to see you before it snows. But I fear that dream is slipping away. Last night a fight broke out and its not the first time this subject came up. What if the Great Wolf is angry with us? What if this is not the path Gaia put us on? Why should we kill Ulvens to protect the human and syndar? And like time and time before the questions lead to fighting. It is getting so bad that even some of the Daughters cant stop them till some one is hurt so bad they cant go on. But now I find my self wondering if we are right? I mean, will the Great Wolf even know any of our names? Or will he be so mad that he won’t care what our names are? I keep losing sleep over these thoughts and I don’t know what to do.

Bodil tells me that as warriors, even if the war displeases the Great Wolf, we should not fear it because we are loyal to our clans and that loyalty will please him. Her words only help so much. She misses you too and sends her love and also dreams of the day we can all be together again. Sadly this will have to be my last letter for a while we don’t have much paper here. And I want to send this with the next hawk. May Gaia be with you, beloved.

Your loving mate,
Thaer

I shiver as I sit propped up against the back of the bed in small hut. Its been the better part of a week, most of which I barely remember as I’ve been in and out of awareness due to a fever. Even though we had a healer and his kit and a mage that could supply me with mana I still wasn’t able to keep the corruption of the swamp from effecting those of us with open wounds. The wounds were closed by the surgeon the best he could while we moved and I was purifying the blood regularly but we were too far in and it was too strong for me in my weakened state. I am still not entirely sure how we got back to the village, it took us twice as long to get home as it did to get us in and the last few hours of the journey getting out are still a blur. I remember seeing the village in the distance and much like the last time i was poisoned I remember swearing as the blackness filled my vision. At least this time I wasn’t unconscious for days, only a few hours, and I didn’t have any visions. I awoke in the hut I am currently in being tended to by a couple of Daughters and a skilled healer. They told me that Ylsa and Rhodi of the Watchwolves got myself, Stanrick and Bryech back to the village. I just nodded and whimpered as they removed the stitching the surgeon put in so they could clean the wound better now that we were safe. I think I passed out again at that point. This was the game we played for the better part of a week. They would come in cleans the wounds. I had a deep one on my side along with broken ribs and one from my hip down along the top of my left leg almost to my knee. Not as bad as the one in the side but it did require a lot of stitches. They wouldn’t let me cleanse myself as they said I needed to save my strength. Fever would spike on and off so I was only conscious for a few hours at a time during that week. I am feeling better now. Fever is still there though I am spending more time awake than asleep, which is a good sign. It is still going to be awhile before I can travel again though with the ribs being broke.

I stare down at the blank piece of parchment and writing board in my lap. I still haven’t told my clan nor my pack what happened. Really how could I, how does one explain what a failure one is? The plan was simple. Go in, find a book, and get the hell out. Things were going wrong by the third day. I knew we had no idea where we were and the wooden supply cart had broke down and we were unable to carry all the supplies at this point. Getting out took precedence in my mind so I thought what I was divining for was the exit. Turns out Gaia or someone else had other plans. I never got a vision of what I was divining so I was going off instinct and faith like I normally do. I can feel the tears sting my eyes as my mind relives it all. I had just sent a scout up over the berm to check the other side while I scoured the area in front. I was positive whatever was pinging my divination sense was nearby, yet whatever I was latched on to I failed to detect it when it walked five feet behind me in someone’s pocket. Worse seer ever. I heard movement so I paused and turned and looked down the road and I could feel the blood drain from my face as four Mordok spotted me. I turn and look to my left and right and I am the only one to be seen. They charge. I scream. They are on top of me before I could stop them. Their shaman played with me, slicing non vital parts enjoying to hear me scream with each one. One stabbed me in the side with a spear and I remember screaming for Stanrick. The world starts to get fuzzy as I can feel my blood soak the cold ground beneath me. I remember seeing a shield smash into the Mordok above me right before the shaman could slash my throat. I feel arms tugging me and I see light glint off a shiny hat as we both struggle to get to our feet and stumble out of the way. Fredrick got me behind the group and set me down and trusted a health potion from his own supplies into my mouth and forced me to drink it. My incompetence nearly cost me my life. I owe Aeden, a Lion of Arnath, and a member of the Bastards and Fredrick of the Bastards, my life.

But no, that isn’t the end of it. Chaos broke out from there. A small band of mercenaries decided to turn and kill the others, everyone got separated and broke off into groups. We struggled to get to a safe place from there. Thrand, Stanrick, myself, Orrin and Bryech and one of the human clerics were in one group. We were forced to leave Rhodi and Ylsa behind as the Mordok continued to swarm. We ran for our lives. Nothing elegant or brave or heroic… we flat out ran like the Great Wolf was chasing us. We paused just long enough for me to divine a direction, this time knowing I was looking for the exit. We made to the broken down cart where we were swarmed again. Everyone fought. I got slashed in the leg and in the side taking the full force of a swing to my ribs. As the fight died I turned and looked behind me. Stanrick was on the ground. My heart sank and I ran and dropped to my knees. I went to go start to cast my divine magic and realized I was empty, I could feel the panic setting in, I couldn’t keep it out of my voice. I looked around desperately for a way to get the energy I needed, the human cleric dropped next to me and I begged him to give me mana and he said he couldn’t. He did say he had enough to help pull Stanrick back from the edge of death and bid me to look down, I turned and looked at Stanrick grasping for my hand. Tears stung my eyes then as I tried to hold it together in the moment. Here in the quiet of the hut my control falters, they fall splashing on the board in my lap. I remember I took his hand and begged him to not leave me alone. Thrand screamed to get moving and get him up. He could see more Mordok coming out of the edge of the clearing. Thrand shot arrow after arrow at them to slow them down but they kept coming. Orrin helped me carry Stanrick. Bryech fought to keep them at bay but he was cut so many times. By some miracle of Gaia, Ylsa and Rhodi were alive and not harmed and got a small band of people to safety including the healer and one of the mages that could transfer mana. Fredrick even risked his life again and went back and managed to get the healer supplies and a pack full other items. Rhodi and Ylsa helped Stanrick and Bryech until we could find a place to rest and do patchwork healing.

I fling the board from my lap across the room in frustration. I was completely useless, in fact I almost got myself killed and those I care about as well. I pull my knees up slowly as I can feel the stitches pull in my leg. I rest my head on my knees and just sob. Every time I close my eyes, all I see are Mordok. I feel the spear in my side. I see Stanrick on the ground. I feel overwhelmed, lonely and useless. I don’t know what it is I am suppose to be doing anymore, I feel so lost.

I hear rustling and raise my head just enough to see a Daughter stick her head in the door of the hut. She is younger than me but not by much, though heavier and stout of build and has wheat blonde hair and blue eyes. I believe her name is Rill. She eyes the board on the floor then looks at me, I hastily wipe my face on my sleeve. She steps inside and picks up the board, parchment and writing stick and gently sets it on the bed side table.
“Soulveig wants to see you.” She states as she looks over me. “I have been sent to help you.” I nod and pull myself together. I know better then to turn this down.

She checks the bandages and stitches and helps me into a simple chemise and dark brown skirt. My pants are trashed and my gambeson is need of repair. The brown travel leathers I normally wear are too constricting with the broken ribs and stitches. I’ve been told loose clothing until I can take a full breath again without it hurting or at least till the stitches can come out. She helps lace up my brown boots and hands me my staff which I use as a walking stick since it still hurts to put all my weight on my left leg.

She leads me to the largest wooden long house structure in the village. The outside is very plain in comparison to the Clanleader’s longhouse in Everspring. She unlatches the large oaken door and we both walk inside past two big guards. I step inside the doorway and the magical energy of the room nearly sends me to my knees. “You wish to see me, Rhya.” I manage to state as I look across the fire at this old women who could probably toss my sorry ass into the yard with a flick of long her fingers. Her eyes glow with Luna’s energy clear as day to me as she studies me with silver eyes that never appear to blink. She watched me for a while as I stand just inside the doorway. I could feel her flipping through my soul like it was an old book that she was studying. Any attempt I made to spiritually defend myself got slapped aside with ease. I finally stopped fighting and let her read what she wanted to see. I looked at her with the other set of eyes I had. The way she pins back her long wavy grey hair and watching her make tea from muscle memory reminded me of Grandma Freya who I haven’t thought about in years. Soulveig’s silver eyes could pierce like a blade. Her strong jaw clenched in the similar way I have seen Stanrick’s do when he is contemplating or trying to understand something and when Siren does when she is pissed and is trying to control her temper. Soulvieg is much older than any Ulven I have ever seen though yet she doesn’t appear frail or sick in fact quite the opposite. She had a regal demeanor that would of put anyone one in Clanleader Cahal’s court to shame. I can tell she was at one time no stranger to the Elder Halls and court discussions. Her magical aura was the strongest I have ever felt, though there were other visual cues from around the room that told me that there was more to the story. Rill stays along the edges of the room and busies herself with tasks. I can tell she is listening to every word we say.

She finally speaks, her voice is commanding like most Matriarchs I know but yet there was something there I couldn’t put my finger on. “Sit, child.” She nodded her head to a pile of cushions next to her. I did as I was instructed and though it took me a moment to figure out how to maneuver around the stitching and the broken ribs. She was watching me the whole time. She handed me a cup of tea. “It will ease the pain” she stated. I looked at it, it was a simple mixture of pineed sap, spruce sprigs and lavender. I sipped the steaming liquid, watching her over the rim of the simple tea bowl. “Stanrick talked with me for some time to try to convince me to see you.” My eyes grew big. With all the preparation for the swamp and the travel I sent Stanrick on, we forgot to go meet with her before we left. I curse under my breath “Rhya… I…” I stammer. She holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Hush child, I don’t care about excuses” I shrink down into myself. Yet another thing to add to my list of things I screwed up on. “Though I know why he wanted you to see me. I don’t know all the details of the dream. You only told him part of it.” I sigh and nod. “Stanrick was already trying to fix things. He barely knew me at the time. I didn’t want to give him reason to worry or a reason to drag me here to fix it now before I went to Grimward territory. I had a job that had been delayed long enough. Though I will say that High Priestess Morrigan did suggest I talk to you about it as she thinks it is lingering corruption. ” She looks at me and tilts her head to the side for the moment and then nods. “Probably for the best. Morrigan has always been wise like that. So, child, why don’t you tell me what you can’t currently tell him.” She states as she continues to watch me as she prepares herself a bowl of tea as well. I look over to Rill then back at Soulvieg. She frowns at me. “She is my apprentice. She will not tell anyone or she will have to deal with me.” “Very well, Rhya” I state. I look down into the bowl of tea in my lap and try to push all the current issues aside as I pull up the dream. Even though Soulvieg’s pack is clanless and does not necessarily follow the same ranking systems as the clans do, she is both this packs Chieftain and Priestess. She and Anjan Vakr-Ravensmark are the two strongest witches that any Ulven knows of and I would be an idiot for not getting her thoughts on it. If she says Rill will tell no one, she is my elder so therefore I believe her. So I tell this ancient matriarch the same thing I told my own High Priestess. It starts that I am standing in a clearing and see a image of the Mother, Gaia, like when I was laying in a coma for days due to Mordok poison after I had talked to Raskolf in the pass. She is tall and regal, long black hair and the dark green robes that I know are made from the needles of the evergreen that blow gently in the breeze. She turns to look at me, her normally flawless pale skin is marked with black large marks that are oozing. They are black like the muck in the swamp. Her bright blue eyes are sad and in pain. She cries at me “Why didn’t you do what I told you? Why didn’t you do your duty and save me…” The plants around her wither and die and the ground under her feet turns black like the marks on her skin. She slowly starts to sink like it was quicksand. I reach out to help, tears streaking my face but couldn’t get close enough. My feet are sinking into the same black tar that Mother Gaia is sinking in. I hear a cry of pain that made my heart ache, I look over my shoulder and the Great Wolf stood there at the edge of the black tar. He strugged against arms of my brother, father, mother and my first mate Torolf. They struggle to hold him back as he howls for his mate. They are trying to reason with him as he struggles to try to save her. I turn back and start casting every spell I could think to get to the Mother. I even turn to some of the long forgotten spells… nothing works. I watch the Mother sink into the earth and I was trapped up to my chest. I hear Torolf scream my name as my head slips beneath the tar. I cant breath, I feel hands tear my clothes and my hair as I continue to sink. I hear a woman laughing though it sounds like the voice from the corruption idol in some weird way. She is saying something but I cant understand what she is saying. It is a language I don’t know. As I feel like I am about to pass out from not being able to breath, I would wake up screaming and gasping for air.”

Soulveig sits there and studies me for a moment. With a heavy sigh she signals Rill to bring her something. “I know you took the Idol home from here a couple of moons ago with no protection spells other then what you learned to cleanse the corruption. That was foolish. You are stronger then you think if nightmares are the only thing you walked away with.” She starts to mix a potion. “Morrigan is right, you may have some deep ingrained corruption that won’t let go even with all the thorough cleansing spells I know your clan has. “ She studies me again then looks at her potion then adds a few more things. I can tell she isn’t telling me everything she knows. The tightness around her mouth is telling me she wants to say something but chooses not to. She is also clenching her jaw as well. She takes the tea bowl from me and adds the potion to it. “You are going to be fighting it for a while but this should give you aid. My Daughters and I have seen our share of corruption from that swamp and know how to fight it better than most. Just remember, you are not alone in this fight.” I didn’t press for more information on what she is leaving out. If it was important she would say something. “Thank you, Rhya” I say as I drink the contents of the tea bowl.

“What else is on your mind child?” she asks as she looks at me. I take a deep breath and wince a little. “I feel I need to apologize to you. Not for forgetting the appointment though I need to do that too, for almost getting your nephew killed. My incompetence nearly costs us our lives.“ I work myself to my knees and bow my head to the ground in contrition. She smacked me in the back of the head so hard my ears ring. I sit up and rub the back of my head, looking confused, now knowing where Siren got that trick from. She raises her eyebrow at me as she glares at me like a disapproving grandmother that makes me want to shrink in on myself in shame. “Have you ever had to divine something before?” she asked me. “Yes, with Fritha, but I helped her in her ritual, it was not mine…” I state plainly. “You were how far into the swamp?” She stated. “About three days in but it took us six to get back” I reply. “For someone who has never had to track something before with divination, was surrounded by such a high level of corruption and yet still managed to see through it, you may not have found what you sought but you managed to get almost everyone out alive. I think you are selling yourself short. I said you are stronger then you look. I meant it. ”

She is suddenly taken by a coughing fit. I lean forward to help but she holds up her hand to stop me. She raises her head and looks at me, I notice a small trickle of blood coming from her nose. Soulvieg just sighs at me as Rill comes over and notices and shoots me a glare. “Go now and be with that hard headed nephew of mine. He needs you more then he will admit.” Soulveig tells me with a wavering and unsteady voice as she waves me off. I frown and nod and quietly leave the long house though I can feel her eyes linger on me as I leave and wonder what it is she was unable to say to me.

I hobble over to the Daughters of Gaia healing hut and pull the curtain back. It looks like a force of nature went though this hut. A couple of Daughters were still cleaning up the mess and mopping up some blood. Stanrick is tied down to a cot and fresh bandages cover his wounds on several parts of his body. I frown and untie him. One of the senior Daughters grumbles at me. “If he awakens and flips out again, you are cleaning it up.” I look at her and sigh “Fine”. They find me a bunch of cushions and I managed to sit down again. “Don’t leave me…” I whisper as I kiss the back of his hand. I rest my head on the side of his cot and pray to Gaia for guidance.

Yawn had listened, though the request itself had shocked him. Who the hell would ask him – him – of all people to train troops? To raise warriors. He’d become comfortable being the outsider, being out of the call to serve beyond that of shieldmen. He was aware of it. After it was lost. He’d probably be in more discussions had he not stepped off the path. He may yet wind his way back onto that path, but . . . but the only thing that had mattered to him then was being a warrior. Proving himself. Having found it so soon, at such cost . . . that had broken something in him. He could kill. He could wound. He was skilled in it.

But . . . but all the skill in the world with sword, spear, mace, ax, and shield could not mend wounds. Could not cure poison or sickness. Could not set a broken bone, or pop a joint back in place.

He knew he’d gone a bit mad after the raid on the outpost. After the massed attack on Onsallas. In those days of loss, days of blood and thunder, he’d gone mad. Mad with loss. Mad with lament. It was then he had slowly realized what it was he wanted most of all. To end the dying. To pull his friends back from the brink. To protect. To heal. And he was willing then, for the first time in his life, to question what he’d been raised to be all his life. Moreso after the death of his mother, the very night he came face to face with the ghosts that walked. When he’d thrown a boulder at the lich, thinking he’d cornered a Mordok straggler.

He’d already step off the path by then . . . but that night, he fixed it in his mind to keep as many of his friends and family alive as he could. Then it was not about “Could he cast?” . . . He’d passed that barrier . . . but to keep his and his own safe. To grind the dead to dust. To have a means to fight them. Yes, yes skill with the weapon mattered. But the blessing tied to it gave the arm wielding it the means to end the undead. That became his new mark. His new goal. His everything.

The day was cool. As warm as it would get. He stood abreast Kreiger.The details had slipped his mind the moment Kreiger had asked him to train up his new warpack. The snow had not yet dusted the ground, though the frost was gaining footholds, slow and sure.

Siren. Siren had already set off with her lot of green wolflings the evening before. Yawn did not envy them. She would make warriors of them. Or she would gut them trying to do it.

Kreiger spoke at last, and the murmuring crowd at once fell mute. Yawn felt the hard stares and meet them, keeping his face relaxed. Unlike his niece and brother, Yawn’s fury burned cold.

“As you know, Yawn Longfang is your new packmate. I’ve asked him to train you. I’ve asked him to harden you.. The Longfang have stood with us from the start. Many of you know his brother Stannrick and cousin Harlock,” Kreiger paused letting his pack murmur for a moment at those names, shooting a quick grin in Yawn’s direction. Yawn . . . Yawn shot back a quick grimace, just a bit mortified Kreiger would mention his relationship to convince them that he was worth listening to, the odd male who picked up magic from the green one.

Yawn made a note to listen more to Raskolf on matter of diplomacy. Mostly, he waited for a command or a clear opportunity.

Kreiger spoke again. “I will be leaving. To aid the Watchwolves, who, like the Longfang, have stood and bled beside us,” Again, the murmuring came, but one voice . . . one carried over the others – a harsh, deliberate “HUH?”

Umbra . . . Umbra, a brawler of some note in the pit. And an ongoing pain in Kreiger’s backside. By reflex, Kreiger fought not to roll his eyes. This would be trouble. He had a pack of wolves. By nature they would question.

“You’ve something to say then?” Yawn called out, before Kreiger had a chance to speak.

Umbra, who stood a half-head above the crowd, grinned like a loon and shouted, “I”VE A GREAT DEAL TO SAY ON THIS LONGFANG!”

First of all, Yawn was grateful Siren wasn’t here. The pair might scrap like brother and sister, but Gaia and the Great Wolf pity the fool stupid enough to threaten or insult either in front of the other. Yawn forced himself to relax. He’d didn’t have the skill that others did in speech, but he’d listened to those who did. Though in these situations he so seldom did.

“Well then, speak your heart before its bitterness poisons you.” For once, Yawn had a plan.

Umbra swaggered forward, the crowd parting, “Some pup, some crazed pup they send to teach us? Some pup that can cast and thinks himself a warrior.”

Yawn kept his face neutral, but didn’t avert his eyes. He couldn’t allow his eyes to roll or brow to raise. “Quit circling the fire and come to your point, it’s too damn cold to stand around hurling insults.”

Umbras eyes lit up. “Anyone could do better then you.”

Yawn grinned, knowing damn well it would drive Umbra mad. “If you feel so strongly about it, then challenge me.”

That was all the bait Yawn needed to draw Umbra in. Umbra bellowed his reply, eyes flashing with anger. “I challenge you for the right to train the Bloodfangs to -”

Yawn cut off Umbra. “As this is an honor duel, the old ways say I choose the terms. First blood or first fall. Choose your weapon.”

Yawn strode for the rack, unclasping his winter cloak as he did, but did not shrug it off; clenching his hands, he rolled his wrists, popping his knuckles and thumbs. He turned aside a few shields, plucked a heavy round strap shield from the lot, taking it up by the strap, shaking it hard to be certain the straps remained stout, noting Umbra’s choice of a great sword.

Yawn strode to the clear flat patch. Umbra looked on, a bit confused. “Aren’t you going to choose a weapon?”

Yawn replied only “I have chosen. Kreiger, if you’d call the start and finish of the match?”

Kreiger nodded in agreement. “That I can do.” Then, in a softer voice, he asked, “Yawn what in the hell are you doing?” as he strode toward the pair.

“Trust me in this Kreiger, better now then when you’re away.”

Kreiger took a moment to confer with Umbra and Yawn rolled his shoulders, raising the shield to the guard position.

Kreiger withdrew, positioning himself in the ring his pack mates were still forming and murmuring. He raise his arms, and loudly called out, “FIGHT”.

Umbra rushed in, blade arching over his head, a guttural war cry sounding. Yawn lunged to meet him, shield high, his right hand closing over his cloak’s collar, out of sight of his foe and the crowd. Umbra brought the blade’s weight to bear as Yawn punched with the shield, the pommel of the sword ringing as the blow echoed off the stout oak of the shield’s slats, and the edge of Yawn’s shield connected with Umbra’s shoulder. The shield, heavier then any mace or hammer. The cornerstone of Yawn’s gambit.

Umbra cried out as the blow sent Yawn backward, skidding on his heels over the cold, hoarfrost-covered ground. As Yawn felt himself slide, he swung off the heavy cloak, the crowd gasping as he cast it over Umbra’s great sword as it dipped down and to his foe’s right, due to Umbra favoring his uninjured left arm. There was panic in Umbra’s eyes as his right arm reached to clear the cloak from his blade, struggling with his left to raise the lowered blade.

Yawn found his footing and rushed in over Umbra’s lowered guard, lashing out again with the shield’s edge. This time the lower edge struck Umbra’s left hand with a loud crack, and as the blade dropped, Yawn took a second step, driving in and up off his right leg. His left leading, arching the whole of his weight up and and through his shield arm, he clipped Umbra across his chest and cheek. Umbra pitched wildly for a moment, legs struggling to find footing, arms sweeping as he fell.

Kreiger shouted over the crowd’s roar, “FIRST FALL, FIRST BLOOD!”

Yawn tossed the shield aside in order to offer Umbra his hand, pulling his pack mate up by his. The two stared at each other a moment. The crowd fell into hushed murmurs . . . Umbra .. . beaten, bleeding from a cut along his cheek . . .

He grinned, grabbed Yawn’s sword arm by the wrist and raised it. Yawn laughed hard as the crowd cheered. When at last Umbra released his arm, he held his hands up to quiet the crowd. “First, well-fought Umbra . . . ”

Umbra chuckled. “. . . well-fought for a bit of wheat in the wind, mayhap.” At that, the crowd roared with laughter at Umbra’s good humor, even in defeat.

“You’ve fire . . . all of you. I know you burn with it, every fight, every day, in everything you do, you burn.” Yawn started and the crowd again quieted. “But, fire alone is not enough. Kreiger knows this. I know you all would give your lives for those around you, as would the Longfangs . . . as have the Longfangs, without hesitation or a second thought.”

“But to win,” he continued, “to survive as a pack takes more than fire. It takes more than fire, rage, and strength. You’ve stood with Pack Longfang. We have survived not by being the strongest, but by learning. By tactics, and discipline. By learning to move fast, to cull what we need as we go from the land, to outlast our foes, to outmove and outthink them.”

The crowd again grew hushed. . . . it was a strange feeling, being listened to . . . now Yawn knew how Raskolf felt addressing a crowd. “The wolf’s strength is the pack. The pack is only strong when they work together, and this what the Longfang have learned. I am your pack mate. What I ask of you will not be pleasant. Or easy. But let me share this knowledge with you. Let me show you how to fight as a pack. Let me make this gift to you, my pack mates . . . and know now, I will ask nothing of any of you I have not been through, or will not do myself.”

Again the crowd roared. Yawn raise his hands one more time, waiting a bit longer for the crowd to calm itself. “One final point . . . ” Yawn smiled, a bit of nerve showing even through his growing confidence. “Yes. Yes, I am the odd male you’ve heard whispers about – the one that casts. You are my pack. I will make no secret of it. I will hide nothing from you. But I am here to teach you all I can of tactics and fieldcraft, not of my own personal Journey.”

The crowd murmured a bit, so he continued, saying, “Kreiger, I think we’ve stood in the cold long enough – where is it you lot hide the stew pot?”

Kreiger called back, “So we have, Yawn. I’ll lead the way.”

Yawn called back to the crowd . . . no, to his pack. “BE MERRY! Smoke, eat, and drink, for tomorrow, training begins, and I tell you this; before the month is out, you will hate me . . . but you will be a stronger pack.” The crowd again broke into merriment, Umbra slapping Yawn twice across the shoulders – hard – as he joined him.

Kreiger rushed in alongside Yawn. “Was that plan,Yawn?”

Yawn looked to Kreiger. “Well, I knew something like that could happen . . . I hoped not, but it seems to have worked out well. Now tell me more about the rabbit stew – do you favor cheese and rabbit, or rabbit and vegetables? I honestly can’t think of anything I’d rather do now than fill my stomach, fill my cup, fill my pipe, and give you a proper send off, Kreiger.”

Divided We Fall

=== Old Aldoria, many years ago ===
Everyone was on edge, which was exactly what she had expected. The older boys sharpened what weapons they had found or stolen. Some of them only had butcher’s knives, but they looked sharp enough and so did the young men wielding them. Younger members scuttled about the Peach Street house with a speed that always meant danger, delivering messages and running errands in silence. The usual jumble of jokes and pointless squabbles had hushed. It was a house full of young men, silent and serious as the grave. A young girl in a pretty pink dress, Ryla would have seemed out of place except that she shared a certain lean sharpness, a ruthlessness born of wanting, with the rest of the gang. At the rear of the house, in the room he used for an office, she could hear Thomas bellowing at someone.

A small boy in cloths two sizes too big finished a mug of some kind of terrible beer and bounded over to her. “You going to see the boss?”

“That’s the plan. You seem giddy. Not worried about going up against Roger’s boys?”

“Nah. Everybody knows Tom’s the smart one. We’ll wipe the floor with them.” One of the older boys, Ryla thought his name was Rowen, shot him a dirty look. “If Roger’s really the two bit back biter Tommy thinks he is. Which I’m not saying he is. Just. . .”

“It’s okay James. I know what you were saying. Obviously someone’s expecting a fight.” The boy had a tiny knife someone had nicked for him strapped to his belt, as though he would actually know how to use it. He was a decent cut purse, but he’d never killed a flea. And not for a lack of them. “James,” she leaned in and whispered to him, producing a few coins from her purse. “Why don’t you pop over to Old Wallace’s pub and get a bottle of that gut rot Thomas likes. Might calm him down.”

He looked apprehensive. “I have to be here for the brawl.”

“I know, I know. I think you’ve got a little time though.” She pulled out a few more coins. “Probably even enough time to get yourself something sweet on the way back.”

It wasn’t possible, but his eyes grew a size bigger and he snatched the coins from her greedily. “Yes ma’am.” And he was off.

Down the hall, Thomas opened the door screaming. “What in the hell. . . Oh, hi Ryla. Get in here.” He pulled her into his office and set about pacing. “It just keeps getting more and more ridiculous. Marcus, tell her what you told me.”

Thomas’ lieutenant shot Ryla a tortured look. “Roger claims that he found evidence that Thomas ‘took advantage of’ Helen”
“Helen? That girl he keeps around?”

Thomas laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah. Of all the idiotic crap he could accused me of. After everything, all his plotting and scheming he accuses me of . . . of what? Stealing his woman. I swear, my brother is king of the lunatic morons.”

“It might not be what it seems Thomas. Have you tried talking to him? Maybe this has all been a misunderstanding. You know how boys are. They spread rumors, they blow things out of proportion.”

Thomas smiled and stopped for a moment to pat her on the head. “Oh, little Ryla. You always think the best of people. Some day you’re going to have to grow up, or the world is going to eat you alive. But maybe you’re right. Did you get the letter from Gregory? If he has good news, there might still be hope for us all.”

Ryla nodded, lifting it to him reluctantly. He snatched it and read feverishly. Then he read it again. Every second that passed it seemed his face fell further. Finally he collapsed into his broken down desk chair. “No, I think we’re passed talking, little one. The letter confirms everything I suspected of him. I’ll have to kill him for this.” His mind must have been whirling. He was counting his allies and making strategies. The destruction of his brother was to be handled with swiftness, but prudence.

Roger had never been big on planning. There was a racket at the front of the house. As it got closer it was obviously the sounds of battle. Or what a group of wretched street thugs call battle anyway. There was a pounding on the door and a bloodied young man burst into the room. “Roger’s here. He’s brought all his men with him.”

Thomas leaped to his feet and grabbed his long blade. He stopped just short of the door and went back to Ryla. “Here,” he led her to a closet. “Hide. We’ll make short work of him and then I’ll be back.” He gave her a peck on the forehead and was gone.

=== New Aldoria, 262, Winter’s doorstep ===

Ryla suspected the room was supposed to seem simple and rustic. A deer’s head hung over the mantle. The mantle and furnishings were made of some dark rich wood she didn’t know the name of, sanded and polished to an unearthly smoothness. She took a seat in one of the chairs next to the fire. They may have lacked ornamentation, but they were still royal chairs. Deep and soft, they weren’t merely comfortable, they wrapped her in comfort. She actually nodded off for a moment.

“Am I interrupting?” The voice was smooth and unconcerned, with only the slightest hint of disapproval. Her eyes flew open and she shot up, then down again in her best imitation of a curtsey. It must have looked ridiculous in her traveling clothes.

Aylin looked very much at home. His cloths matched the rest of the estate, the richest form of rustic she’d ever seen. His simple hunting clothes could have kept Garrow and his men appointed for a half year.

“Forgive me, Your Highness. It was a long trip back from Onsallas.”

He waved off the honorific and took his own seat next to the fire. “Then you’ve only just now arrived? Nice of you to come straight here. Tea?”

“I’d love some. Your schedule is no doubt fuller than mine. When the Prince has time to see you, you make time to see him.” She settled back down on the edge of the chair.

“And how is the outpost? Did your business there go well?” Aylin produced an intricate pipe—long and silver with an bizarre valve system—and began to pack the bowl.
“Yes, it went very well. Thrand did sort of threaten to cut off my fingers and send me out to the Mordok.” She chuckled, but a deep frown crossed the Prince’s face.
“Barbarous, to treat a guest like that.” He took a few puffs.

“I think that was mostly a misunderstanding. Anyway, I should have your share of the profits to you presently. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to respond to your letter about the lumber.”

The Prince waved the pipe to the side, leaving a rippling trail of smoke behind. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you. There is however still a load if your ship is able to take it.”

“It would be our pleasure. We’re likely going to work Onsallas into our route, at some point.” She looked at him sidelong. He was fiddling with a valve on the pipe. It was at least half ruse though, meant to disarm her. She smiled. “Your Highness’s generosity has been the greatest help to me and my cohorts. Even when we’ve paid you for the ship, I feel as though we will still owe you a debt.” He didn’t rise to the flattery, instead he occupied himself with his tea cup.

“Onsallas was enlightening, though. They may be barbarous, but it seems even the mighty Ulven occasionally need help with trade. I met a woman there as well, named Sorcha. A business woman who’s had trouble finding reliable transport for her goods. It certainly seems I picked the right occupation.” They exchanged a pleasant smile, but before he could comment she continued on. “If we survive the winter I’ll have more opportunities than I know what to do with.”

“If we survive the winter?” He somehow managed to be patronizing, but likable. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I don’t buy into all the hype about the war, either. The peasants ramble on about the Grimward coming for their children at night. Even my own mercenaries blather on about it. You’d think the Grimward were monsters and not just Ulven. I mean, what’s another war, right? Aldoria’s been through worse, it’ll weather this all the same. Perhaps come out better for it, as everyone around us wastes themselves fighting.”

To his credit, Aylin’s face remained pleasant and neutral. “We’ve done what we can to aid our Ulven supporters. We’ve been helping by moving goods to the colony at an extremely fair price and New Aldoria has been a host to numerous soldiers and warriors of the Ulven in their journeys. The gates are always open in New Aldoria, for allies.”

“Naturally, Your Highness. New Aldoria is nothing if not supportive of it’s allies. Surely you’ve done everything within your power. I’d expect nothing less from so great a man…”

“Stop it.” He set the pipe down and looked her in the eye.

“Stop what, Your Highness?”

“This,” he said in a measured tone, so quiet Ryla found herself leaning in to hear. “This double talk. Is that all I’ve earned from you? What exactly did you come here to get from me?”

For a moment he let her consider, they measured each other. Ryla dropped her gaze in deference. “I’d like you to increase your support of the war effort.”
“And you thought you’d do that by talking me around, instead of just asking me?”

“I’m not used to people simply giving me things because I asked for them.” She could feel him watching her, but she kept her eyes down. She tried to seem respectful, maybe even pitiable.

“Who is? Honesty isn’t a virtue because it’s easy, Ryla. I’ve had just about enough plotting for, oh, a lifetime. Best luck to you, Miss Larksfield.” He rose to leave.

“Prince Aylin, please stop.” She put as much command into her voice as she dared, praying it still came off as respectful.

He eased himself back down into his chair and leaned in. “Okay, lets start over. What do you want?”

She sighed, then looked him flatly in the eye. “I want you to commit troops to the war.”

He eased back into his chair, picking up his pipe and regaining some measure of his genial attitude. “Why?”

“Perhaps because if the Grimward win, we’re all doomed.”

“Still being dramatic?”

“Hardly. The Ulven only seem to tolerate us, even our closest allies. I believe the Grimward intend to wipe us off the map, and if they win they’ll rally the rest of the Ulven to their cause. We need to support our allies now, more than ever before. The Stormjarl are poised to make their decision and at this point it looks as though they aren’t going to stick their necks out for us. I can’t even say that I blame them. All I know is, things are coming to a head. This war will be over soon, one way or another.”

He nodded. “You make an excellent point.” The smile was only slightly mocking. “See, was that so hard?”

“So, you’ll commit troops?”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t commit our troops and leave the farms and families of New Aldoria defenseless. It just isn’t an option.”

“But. . .”

“A second ago I was ‘so great a man’—you might have a little faith. There’s more to fighting a war than how many men you’ve got. You’re Aldorian too, you should know that. There’s some belt tightening we can do around here. I can commit some extra supplies to the men already fighting.” A moment of silence passed while she considered. “Disappointed?”

“It isn’t the sort of aid I came here hoping for. But it will help. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’d been considering the matter for some time. Everyone has an opinion, everyone has a solution. I appreciate your input. Don’t give me that look.”

“I’m hardly the sort of person who advises royalty on a regular basis.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s my call to make. Incidentally, there was something else I wanted to ask you about.”

“Oh?”

“As you may know I recently funded mercenaries for an expedition into the dirge swamp. It didn’t. . . go well.”

“That’s one way to put it.” The Prince gave her a grim look at the remark and she took a long sip of tea as cover.

He continued, “I believe someone paid them to betray me. If you can give me some clue as to who that might be, I’d gladly make it worth your while.”

“I’d heard a rumor to that effect. It seems the most likely explanation. Unfortunately I don’t have any insight into what kind of a motherless asshole would do such a thing. Pardon my Vandregonian. If I do hear anything, I’ll tell you directly.”

“Thank you. It’s obviously someone of means, perhaps another noble. Who can tell. Politics remains the same ruthless viper’s nest it’s always been.” He gave her another appraising look. “It can be very difficult to tell who has your best interests at heart. But enough of this dreary banter, tell me more about these Ulven to the north.” replied the Prince as a genuine smile crossed his face.

=== Old Aldoria ===

Ryla imagined spending a few hours in a closet was pretty horrible even without a bunch of people killing each other outside. When it grew quiet and two confused looking town guards opened the door it was as near a godsend as anything she’d ever experienced. “What? Who are you?”

“Me? I’m the person your boss sent you to find. Right? Little girl, big mouth, likely hiding in the house somewhere. That’d be me.” When they stared at her stupidly for a minute too long, she coached them further. “You’re boss is looking for me. Translated into idiot that means bring me to Guardsman Wright.”

Wright was the sort of man who looked more frightening than he was. He was big as a house, with fists the size of the hams they served at the Baron’s banquets. Or so Ryla imagined. He was standing in the midst of the carnage that was now the main room, giving his men orders in a calm and almost fatherly tone. The corpses of foolish young men draped over what remained of their poorly kept earthly processions. He started when he saw her.

“Damned fools. This is no place for a little girl. Get her out of here.”

Ryla ducked the quicker of the two fools escorting her and paced to their Captain over her erstwhile comrades. “I trust things went according to plan.”

He frowned, but resigned himself to allowing her to stay. “Just as you said. They nearly wiped each other out. We didn’t lose a man. Never seen anything like it. Wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it. Two of the most notorious criminals in the Low Streets, beaten by a little girl.”

She snorted. “They beat themselves. And Thomas?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Dead. Tried to surrender. Bad business that, but. . .”

“A promise is a promise,” Ryla finished. “I need to see him.”

He looked a bit sick. “That’s no sight for a young lady.”

“If I see one around here, I’ll tell her. Where is he?” He pointed to a corner of the room. Sure enough, Thomas and Marcus lay cold on the floor. Long crimson gashes marked their throats. She closed her eyes, but waited a moment to turn back to Wright.

“Bad business,” he repeated, “even for dogs like them. Must have done something terrible to you.” Ryla supposed good men were always protective of little girls. Part of their nature.

“No,” she picked up a flute one of the boys used to play on boring nights and fiddled with it absently. “Never did me wrong.” She seemed to catch herself and tossed the pipe aside. “And he never will. I meant what I said. Thomas is one of the most brilliant and cruel men in the city.

“Was,” she corrected pointedly. “Would you betray a man like that and let him live to pay you back?

“No, I suppose not.”

“Neither would I.”

He said nothing, shifting uncomfortably. She let the moment drag, enjoying his unease. “Well,” he finally spouted, smiling to hide his discomfort. “It seems the guard should certainly offer you their thanks.”

“Not really. They should forget I exist.” She turned to leave. “That was the whole point, after all.”

=== New Aldoria, 262 ===

The street was very dark and quiet. Few people ventured out at night this time of year. Ryla waited by the front door for a moment. It was a long walk back from the Prince’s estate. She breathed out slowly, watching the cloud of steam rise into the dark. It felt like she’d been holding her breath all day. Her hands shook and it had nothing to do with the cold.

There was laughter from inside. Dishes clinked and the smell of a cooked bird of some kind wafted out to the street. She’d fought for things before. Respect, comfort, power. When she was young and lean and angry she had thought she’d do anything to get ahead. She liked fighting dirty. It had become comfortable for her.

The door opened, enveloping her in warmth and light. Duncan reached out and pulled her into the house. “. . . standing out there like an idiot,” he finished saying to someone else. He took her cloak and put a mug of warm cider in her hand. “So, how was meeting the Prince?”

“We’ve met him before.” Nighen corrected from across the room. She was helping Ty do something with herbs. An occupation he left in her hands so he could meet Ryla at the door and give her a long hug and friendly kiss.

“It was fine, I guess. He won’t commit troops. But he is going to send extra supplies, so that’s something.” She enjoyed the calming weight of Ty’s arms around her shoulders. “He’s clever. I like him.”

Duncan nodded, but the instant he opened his mouth Erin was there with a plate of food for Ryla. “She doesn’t want to hear your political ramblings right now, dear.” She winked at Ryla. “She’s had a long trip, let the girl rest.” Duncan was about to complain until Erin decided to distract him with a kiss. Ryla made her way to a chair next to the fire and began eating quietly.

Nighen continued with a story she’d obviously been telling before Ryla had interupted. “So we’re carrying all this stuff to the Outpost. And these two Mordok show up out of nowhere. Well, Ryla wasn’t about to let them go that easy. She dropped the chest she was carrying and hit them with the highest pitched, girliest scream I have ever heard. It was impressive. You should be so proud of your student Duncan.”

When Duncan could breath again, he gasped, “No, no no. There was this one time outside of Newhope. . .”

“Don’t you dare tell that story,” Ryla warned.

“And there was this farmer and his damned cow.” Ryla resigned herself and sat listening to him recount her most embarrassing moments as a mercenary. Outside the night grew colder and darker.