7I shall bear no other oaths before this. I shall offer no allegiance before Her. – Vow of the Bloodsworn – Second Passage, Line 7
It was well past midday when the guild finally gathered in the courtyard. Preparations had taken time, but none had dallied, and they had all been thorough.
The other group of Svrcina, Cassian, Orsic, and Daen were already mounted and ready to depart on their journey north. Nambu waited at the side of the Romero siblings, speaking with them in low voices. Adrie and Lilith were nowhere to be seen.
Of the group riding east, Victra waited alongside Mars, Iden, and Cael for Kriv. When the hunched guildmaster slunk through the gates, a man followed him. Bleary-eyed and stifling a yawn, he was lean but great in stature, and despite his sorry state, there was a youthful vigor to his movements. His skin was pale, even this late into the summer, and his shoulders were broad and arms thick with muscle. His hair was black and shaved on the sides, with a single shock of white that carved through his messy braid. A thick beard covered his jaw, black as his hair and bound in rings of silver.
He wore thick canvas trousers and a cloth shirt open at the front that displayed his muscular and tattooed chest. An array of patterned designs and great runes covered the pale skin in deeply contrasting blue ink. Victra’s eyes took them in, noting elements that looked artistic, others that looked traditional or even ceremonial, with similarities to scrollwork she had seen on dwarven architecture and weaponry. She would almost expect the boring style of tattoos she often saw on the sailors that frequented the Alerian docks; anchors, great fish, the occasional buxom mermaid or siren, but this man’s tattoos were far more detailed, and dare she even say artistic. It hardly matched the rough, likely hungover, and definitely unwashed man that blinked in the afternoon sun. He wore no armor as far as she could tell, but carried a collection of weapons on a thick leather belt and a large round shield on his back. As he stepped closer, Victra noted a great white scar that ran from above his left eye, across his cheek, and through his beard.
Victra suddenly recognized him from outside the Black Crow the night after the Contest’s closing ceremonies. He had been the one to win the wrestling challenge. The sailor had been strong and fast enough to subdue Kriv, and then had been ruthless enough to go on to drop Heath to the dust, battered and bloody himself. He looked capable enough, though severely hungover. For Kriv to bring him along, was he supposed to be some sort of expert, a giantslayer?
“This is Fenris,” Kriv said to those gathered in the courtyard. Fenris stifled a yawn. Victra wrinkled her nose. Kriv glared pointedly. “He’s a northshoreman and is reported to have experience enough with giants. He claims to have hunted them in the far north, and I found at least one other person to vouch for his story.” Kriv’s tone made it clear that he held some skepticism. “At the very least, he understands the language.”
Fenris blinked blearily, and from beneath his weathered brows, his eyes flashed a bright blue, like chips of ice shining in the sun. There was such an intensity in that moment, that with a single look, a number of Victra’s misgivings vanished. Not quite all, but many.
As he stood there, Victra studied him again. Closely. A variety of weapons on his belt, from hand axes to a broad-bladed seax favored by the people of Northshore. His shield was truly massive, close to three feet in diameter, and she saw twin hafts of larger weapons peeking out. His equipment was that of a deck raider, a brawler, and though covered in weaponry, even Victra knew the best way to deal with a giant was to not get close. She thought back to facing the mutated giant in the coliseum only days before. Distance was their best option in her mind. Long spears and pikes, ranged weaponry, even magic. Not holding a chunk of wood and an axe, going toe to much larger toe. At least he could be a good distraction.
Victra suddenly felt herself echoing Kriv’s sentiments, having not only Heath’s experience with giants, but knowing she could rely on the accuracy of his longbow would have been a relief. She had come to rely on him, in more ways than one.
With nothing more than farewells to say, Shattered Silence mounted up. Wishes of good fortune were shared as they filed out through the gate into the Alerian street. As the other group split away, Victra spotted a hooded figure astride a horse fall in alongside them. At just a glance, Victra picked out the fine features of elven lineage, and the haft of a sword beneath the cloak. Barely perceivable, Victra caught the subtlest of nods exchanged between the mystery elf and Kriv. There was a shared familiarity and understanding between the two. And then they were gone, riding into the bustling crowds of the Alerian streets.
Victra’s thoughts momentarily returned to Heath, knowing how intently he had been hunting the Mageslayer. It had been his entire reason for staying with the guild, and had only lapsed once Murmur’s threat had become all too apparent. And now she was dead, he was gone, and the others were chasing down the trail of the Mageslayer. Oh, the turns of fortune and the whims of fate.
They rode east until nightfall, traveling along the cliffs above the Silverfrost River. Having left after midday, they only managed a few hours of riding before the sun dipped towards the horizon. As the slopes of the Silver Mountains lay behind them, they quickly set up a rapid, utilitarian camp. Crouching by the low fire as they prepared a quiet meal, Kriv caught Victra’s eye.
“In the morning I’m riding north,” Kriv said. Everyone around the camp paused. “I’ll meet the Legion once they are mobilized and on the march. I’m to liaise with them on the warlord’s personal request. Their host cannot quickly traverse cross country, so they must pass the Silfgrind before turning east. I’ll certainly be missed as you face the horde of giants in open field,” he said sarcastically. “I’d be a black stain upon one of their boots, my blades little more than an annoyance to their ankles. Instead, I’ll be doing something much more productive, and should further ingratiate Redmane to us.” He fell silent and offered no further explanation. At that point, Victra knew pressing him would yield nothing more.
“So…” Mars said finally, “what about us? We’re just supposed to ride the four of us and stop an army of giants?”
Kriv’s lips curled into a smile. “Not quite, but don’t pretend you aren’t excited about that prospect.” He turned to look at Victra. “You aren’t the ranking guildmember here, but we’re giving you command. This group will make decisions together, for make no mistake, your lives are in each others’ hands. However, should it come to it, you will all abide by her decision and adhere to her orders in the absence of a senior guildmaster. As your function here is that of skirmishers in the field, a direct confrontation is to be avoided. You are here to delay and frustrate the giants’ efforts. That means as a huntress and one with decades spent hunting dangerous and intelligent prey, Victra’s expertise is best suited to leading your efforts in the field. And before you think of making any arguments, Nambu already agrees and Redmane has been informed of the decision. A raven flew before we even left Aleria.”
Victra sat quietly, turning over her emotions as she waited for the response from the others. No words of complaint came. The only sounds around the small fire were low words of acknowledgement answering Kriv, or none at all.
“I will not take this charge lightly,” Victra said, bowing her head slightly towards Kriv. He grumbled a noncommittal response, settling back as his eyes reflected the low firelight. Victra looked around the circle, regarding her companions.
Mars offered an encouraging smile and clenched fist before laying back. The silent Cael gave no word, but only the slightest of nods before pulling the brim of his hat low over his eyes. From Iden came the coldness Victra had sensed growing in recent days, almost as though the towering paladin was withholding his judgment of her. It did not give her cause for concern, but neither did it give her comfort. Victra brushed it aside. She knew that her service to the goddess of death often gave others pause. The Matron was rarely viewed kindly, and was more often feared. Within the circles of faith across Valir, Victra had no illusions as to where her lady resided in the minds of others.
Finally, her gaze turned to the newest member of their party. Fenris offered no words one way or another, and his ease almost gave Victra cause for concern. But then she once again saw the strength of his bearing, the array of scars, and remembered what Kriv had told them. He would not be with them unless he was particularly capable or quite mad.
Though with that gleam in his eyes, Victra thought ruefully, he’s quite possibly both. And we’ll likely see sooner rather than later.
The Writer in White 