Chapter 4: Arrival

¹³‘Neath dark skies, ne’er to have seen the light of day, on the ground which bore the vessel of first Death. 
¹⁴Darkened blood, unseen o’er the throne of blackest stone. A whisper of a life, lost in the current. – Vow of the Bloodsworn – First Passage, Line 13 and 14

Kriv rode off at first light, a shadow in flight bearing northward. 
Victra did not sleep, instead she meditated through the night as her companions rested. It was silent. Peaceful. As the horizon to the east began to glow with the soft colors of a rose, she almost wished for it to last. 
The men roused themselves quickly, preparing to break camp even before the sun had cleared the horizon. As Victra was tightening the saddle of her mount, a flutter of wings above drew her attention. 
It was a raven, with brilliant white feathers, wheeling overhead. It circled once before dropping into a dive and coming to land on a splinter of rock. The raven croaked, tilting its head as it studied Victra with intelligent eyes. Around its leg, a band of red leather was affixed. It croaked again, and hopped closer. 
A white raven, often seen as an omen. Yet for Victra, she found a very different meaning in it. She extended a hand, words soft under her breath. 
“Come, friend.” The elvish words sung through the air. “Bring me your news, o herald.”
The raven croaked, then danced forward and dipped its head as it offered its leg towards Victra. She carefully removed the leather, a tightly rolled scrap of parchment inside. The raven hopped from side to side, croaking softly. 
“Peace, friend,” Victra whispered in elvish, a language known even among the beasts and wild creatures of Tisménos. “You are received with gladness.” She found herself surprisingly comforted, realizing the Legion used ravens as messengers rather than other means. And a white raven carries meaning, though she could only guess as to what significance it could carry for the Legion. 
Victra turned her focus to the message in her hand, unrolling the parchment and quickly scanning the words. 

Victra Naidel. 29th of Enedron.
The Legion has been mobilized and will be on the march by first light on the morrow. Outriders are preparing to depart as I scribe this. They number one hundred, and will reach your destination in three days time. Your task is to confound the imminent siege, by any means necessary, until reinforcements arrive. The strength of the Legion will be an additional three days behind the outriders. 
My warlord wishes you good fortune and good hunting. Strength in Victory. 
Márdil, Scribe to Warlord Redmane.

Victra scrawled a hasty response acknowledging the information and relaying their anticipated arrival at Hillhold by day’s end. She fastened the message to the raven’s leg, gently scratching its neck. 
“Fly swiftly,” Victra whispered, and with a flash of white, the raven took to the air. 
Three days, Victra thought with growing dread. She looked to the faces of her companions. 
“Three days,” she said, “for the first of the Legion to reach Hillhold. Until then, we’re on our own.” A solemn realization settled over the group as they steeled themselves. Victra set her jaw and gave them all a nod. “Let’s not waste any time.”
They rode hard through the swaying fields and the sweeping hills of the Rao Plains. Like a waving sea of amber, the great expanse seemed to stretch endlessly towards the brilliant blue horizon. As the sun rose higher, the heat grew oppressive, but the steadily growing column of smoke in the distance drove them onward. It was nearly a tenday past the autumn equinox, yet the heat of the summer remained. The storm that had held in place over the plains for days on end had finally blown past, and the pale blue sky offered no relief from the radiant light of the sun. 
As they rode, Mars began engaging with the newcomer, Fenris, in conversation. For the time, Victra was content to ride in silence next to Cael, though she listened intently to what the sailor said. She was immediately struck by his thick Northern accent, sounding harsh to her ears. Gradually, as he spoke, Victra felt as though she could parse more and more of his meaning. 
Mars, seeming to have little difficulty understanding him, noted that Fenris did not seem Alerian, and asked where he came from and what brought him to the capital. 
Far more alert than the previous day, Fenris keenly responded to Mars’ questions. He came from the lands north of Aleria, a place of deep snows and thick ice, which Victra took to mean Northshore or perhaps even farther north. Further distinction was rare for most who lived in the Eastern Heartlands. Fenris explained that his clan had lived there for generations, embracing the hardship of the land and the life it fostered. They sailed the stormy seas, ranged the snowy forests, and climbed frozen crags. It was his home, and there was a clear pride that Victra heard in his voice. 
Fenris had left his home years ago as a young man, sailing south when news of the war reached them in the north. He had set out to find glory, to prove himself beyond the tests of his home. He sailed under the Alerian banner for years, and had remained when the peace had been won. As he spoke, Victra detected things unspoken in what he shared, perhaps more to why he had not returned home.
The conversation soon shifted towards their current task. Mars pressed Fenris for what he knew about giants, how he had hunted them, and what they might expect. 
Giants are old, Fenris began, as old as the bones of Tisménos, some say. They are a proud race, the ones who found and slew dragons before the dawn of the ages. Though time and war and the expansions of men have driven them to the ends of the world and left them a shadow of their former glory, they are still great. The jotun are fiercely tribalist, holding tradition and bloodlines even more jealously than men and elves. Grudges last hundreds of years, and the bonds of honor are said to be sacred beyond all others. 
Fenris went on to explain that many giants are warlike, which is the experience through which most of the people of Valir understand them. Yet, there are just as many who are content with their peace, to remain in their realms and live apart from the smallfolk. There are clans that still live in the harsh reaches of the north, those who have never seen the human civilizations that have grown in the current age. Others still believe they are the destined inheritors of Tisménos, that it is their birthright as children of titans to once again rule this world. 
In their pride, there is an innate drive to be better, to surpass all others, especially their kin. It exists within families, within clans, and within all jotunkind. Pride drives them to greatness, and shame is a cloak most abhorrent. For any giants seeking to claim their perceived birthright, it would make sense that they would rally to a warband and march upon the lands of men, to wrest control of a region such as the great plains. Fenris shared that there are clans to the north who seek war, whose horns blow as the coming storm and would be the first to answer a call. Those would be the banners he would expect to see at Hillhold. 
“There are also those wanderin’ bands,” Fenris continued, his dialect still forcing Victra to focus in order to fully understand him. The vowels were all wrong, and the emphases were in all the wrong places. “These nomads, as ye might say, range from place to place, with nae home to speak of. Perhaps some of them might be enticed to join the warband with the promise of a settled home.”
“We’ve already seen giants working together,” Mars said. “The last time we fought at Hillhold, most of the giants were massive, thick-bodied with skin darkened from the sun. Though when we found their chieftain, he seemed to have been parlaying with another. They were paler skinned, their body muscular, and had their head shaved while all the other giants we saw had long, thick hair. Might that have been such a joining of groups you have been talking about?”
“Aye,” Fenris replied. “Though it’d be unusual, and very dangerous.”
“Redmane was given details when we spoke to him after,” Mars said. “The warlord had been suspicious of a pact between different clans, but no further word ever reached us.”
“Then let us pray that is because there was nae word to send,” Fenris said grimly. “Jotunkin tend to be cautious of each other. Tribes and clans rarely work well together, their drive to exceed one another always gets in the way. Any sort of compact or agreement usually breaks itself down before any actual progress can be achieved. It does give cause for concern, that these giants have braved the journey south and had begun the steps of formin’ alliances. I hope this is nae more than a single gathered warband, rather than somethin’ unprecedented.”
A foreboding silence fell over the group as they rode on. Victra kept her eyes on the plume of smoke on the horizon, Cael remaining silently at her side. Mars and Fenris let the conversation wane, their horses falling into line. And at the end of the group, Iden loomed behind them all atop his steed, a steady reminder to give them all confidence with him at their backs.

It was several hours past highsun when they crested the hill that finally gave them a vantage of their destination. It had been described to Victra as a steading or frontier fort, but the scale caught her by surprise. Set atop a great hill amidst a landscape of rolling hills and fields, Hillhold dominated the rise. Great wooden walls formed a palisade around what appeared to be an interior structure. A tall tower rose high above the western wall, and broad gates and sentry towers faced southward. Victra’s heart sank as her gaze took in the landscape surrounding the fort. 
It seemed for a moment that the entire field before Hillhold was covered by the warparty of the giants. The siege was fully underway, with a great host gathered beneath banners flapping in the wind. What Victra had assumed had been a column of smoke instead hung close to the horizon and stretched north. It struck her that while thin plumes of smoke rose from the field of battle, the bulk of it was instead a great dust cloud sent skyward by the movements of the horde. The devastation of the path that the giants had traveled was carved upon the landscape like a great ugly scar, stretching northward beyond the hills and out of sight. 
Victra quickly forced herself to move past her initial shock and began to take in as many details as possible even from their distant vantage. The walls of Hillhold still stood and the main gates remained intact. The smoking and smoldering remains of the few outer defenses and barricades lay abandoned, and the encircling force was encamped perhaps two hundred yards from the gates of the stronghold. The landscape dropped down more gradually at the southern face, and as Victra looked, what appeared to be a massive force was gathered in an arc facing the gates of Hillhold rather than fully encircling it. The tactics of the giants at least appeared straightforward. The giants had their own rough fortifications in place, with their encampment spilling outward. 
Darkened patches of ground and blasted craters marked the earth where the heavy defenses of Hillhold pushed back the attackers, but for the time no movement or sound came from the fortress. Victra could see light damage to the stockade walls, even a darkened section from remnants of a fire, but the defenses held, for the time being. 
Among the giants, Victra was relieved to see that there were no signs of complex siege engines. Looking across their encampment she saw several heavy wagons and sledges. At the edges of the camp, pens held heavy, thick-haired aurochs, massive in their own right. Tents and shelters were circled together, almost forming smaller camps within the sprawl of the giants’ gathering. Closer to the fortress, the giants had prepared piles of large stones, though they were few in number, likely prepared to be used sparingly. Victra’s previous relief evaporated as her eyes focused on three massive tree trunks laid atop broad wagons. Two looked roughly cut, marked equally with deep grooves and remaining bark. The third had been stripped and cut, and looked to be banded with metal and bound in thick rope. A battering ram.
Victra finally had to force herself to look back to the one piece she had yet to study, the thing that caused her to freeze, even for an instant. Despite all they had done, all she had been told, the sight of the giants themselves caused the cold rush of fear to fill her. Barely able to grasp their scale from the distance, Victra forced herself to rationalize the immense stature of these new adversaries. Her keen elvish sight granted her details that she almost felt herself wishing she could ignore. They were every one of them twice the height of the tallest man, and far more broad. They moved around their camp with long strides and heavy movements, though there was little that could be considered lumbering or sluggish in them. Most were long limbed, with bodies thick with muscle, and faces with heavy brows and broad foreheads. Many had the deep tanned skin Mars had spoken of, whom Fenris had identified as the wandering tribes of the plains. Others were pale-skinned, more lean in their build, with shaved heads and their skin covered in dark markings, whether warpaint or tattoos, she could not tell. There were others who shared the paler visages of their brethren, but were more muscular in form, and where the others wore clothing of soft hides and woven cloth, these were bound in hardened leather, flashes of metal, and heavy furs despite the heat. 
Throughout the camp, many different banners and standards fluttered lazily in the wind, marking more groups than Victra cared to count. Fenris’ hope of a single warband had seemed to be in vain. Victra was surprised to see the variety in banners and sigils, having already dismissed giants as dense and brutish in both culture and war. She saw banners of black and red, others upon fields of green, and even some of a deep blue. Markings varied from a series of runes or glyphs, some looked akin to sigils or heraldry, while others had the appearance of stylistic expressions, such as a claw or the head of a bird of prey. 
A low growl to her side pulled Victra to the present. She turned, seeing Fenris there with his eyes fixed on the giants’ host, his lip curled upward. 
“Aye,” he said in a low, dangerous tone, “that’s it, then. Vothir’s might, I have nae seen anythin’ of the like.”
“How bad?” Victra asked, almost dreading the answer.
Fenris looked at her, the bright gleam back in his eye as he gave her a smile devoid of warmth. “I suggest we all make our peace with whatever you believe in, this is nae a fight we were sent to win.”
“We don’t have to win, but we aren’t here to lose,” Victra said evenly, looking back to the field. “We need to get a closer look, we need to properly assess their position and numbers.”
Fenris grunted. He raised an arm, indicating multiple points throughout the warcamp. “Can ye make out those banners? Even from here, I can see the standards of six different clans. Usually, a single jarl calls his oathbound clans to war. There, ye see the Ridgehold banner, the green with the mountain? Around that is the jarl’s sworn clansmen, all with the same green but marked with runes. Or at the heart, the banner of black and red, that bears the mark of royalty from the northern mountains. This is what I warned about on the ride, these jotun have found common cause enough to put aside generations of bad blood and rivalry.”
Victra ground her teeth. “It doesn’t change our objective.” She scanned the plains around them as they stretched towards Hillhold. “Our first task is to thoroughly scout the landscape and gain as much insight to the situation as we can before we can even hope to mount any sort of attempts to disrupt the siege.” Her mind raced as she tried to take in the landscape around them and reconcile it with the impossibility of their task. Mars had shared more than once how narrow their success had been the first time the guild had been to Hillhold, and that had been against a handful of giants. The gathered force on the field before Hillhold must number three score or more. 
Knowing they were looking to her, Victra tapped her heels to her horse’s flank, urging them behind the hilltop and out of sight of the giants’ camp. They rode in silence around to the west of Hillhold, finding a hidden depression on the western edge of a rocky ridge. They dismounted, everyone looking at Victra.
She exhaled slowly, pushing down the rising nervousness and sense of hopelessness. She needed focus. “We don’t have the time to spare, but we need more information. So we need to be fast. Cael, Fenris, and I will go. Mars and Iden stay here, keep the horses ready in case we’re discovered. Cael, you head to the western wall. Scout the ascent to the fort, and the state of the watchtower. Keep an eye out for patrols. Fenris, I need you closer to the main force. Move towards the main gate, look for signs of the defenses weakening. And anything more you can tell about their camp. I’ll head north, and track eastward.” She looked around the group, the stoic silence blanketing them. “We’ll meet back here within two hours. Don’t be seen, surprise is the one asset we have right now, and we can’t afford to squander it.”
The men all nodded. Mars and Iden settled back into the shade of the ridgeline, methodically checking all the horses and keeping them quiet. Cael removed his wide-brimmed hat and cloak, and silently made his way up the rocky face and out of sight. Victra felt a twinge of trepidation, knowing the young man was capable, but his lack of experience still gave her pause. She turned to watch Fenris as he unshouldered his shield and harness, retaining just his belt with the assortment of hand axes and heavy knives. One by one, he checked each to make sure each piece was secure and silent. Standing tall, he took a long, lingering stretch before he began a low, smooth run to the south. Tall as he was, he slunk through the tall grass, loping almost like a hound before vanishing even from Victra’s keen sight. 
Blowing out a breath, Victra tucked her own pack and cloak between two rocks, fastened her sword on her back, and with her longbow in hand, moved northward. 
Low to the ground with the rustle of the grass around her, Victra moved like a shadow fleeing from the sun. The buzzing of insects filled the air, and hidden from sight of the siege, it could be almost idyllic. Victra moved steadily, weaving her path through the landscape and following the ebb and flow of the terrain. At varying intervals, she would pause, staying completely still as she listened, straining her ears for any hint of danger. She looked to the fort as she tracked, the more aggressive incline acting as a partial defense of the northern walls, though Victra could tell it was far from unapproachable. 
As she reached the top of a low hill, her eyes caught a movement to the northeast of her vantage. Peering through the shifting grass, Victra saw a small campsite, nestled behind a rise no more than a thousand yards from the walls of Hillhold. She counted four giants at this secondary post, positioned not to watch the fort, but instead to watch the landscape in the opposite direction. More strategy from the giants. Victra exhaled slowly, forcing her frustration to evaporate as she steadied her breathing. 
Looking past the group of giants, Victra had a vantage of the entire landscape to the north. In the distance, she knew where the Àite Plateau loomed on the horizon, where Flamehair’s Pass would sit, and the direction the greater giant force came from. She could see the evidence of their warpath, the ugly scar upon the landscape, and she began to form an idea of where this great gathered host came from, the question of what their purpose could possibly be, but there was still too much she did not understand. 
Marking the position of the sun above her, Victra slowly slunk low into the grass before sweeping in a wide arc, her senses strained as she began making her way back to her companions. 
Back in the protected shadow of the ridge, Shattered Silence shared dry travel rations and gulped down water as the scout shared what they had observed. 
“The walls hold,” Cael said between bites. “The tower is sturdy from the looks of things, but that could just be because the attack has been focused to the south. The walls are rough, and there were at least two spots where we could feasibly climb over.”
“Good, we need to make contact with the defenders,” Victra said. “They need to know we’re here, and that the Legion’s reinforcements are on the way.” Cael nodded, and shifted in position on the rock he rested atop, craning his neck to peer towards Hillhold.
She thought for a moment. “Likewise to the north, the landscape makes the approach more difficult, though not impossible. We could move around the northern perimeter, and have even less chance of being spotted. There is a camp to the northeast of the fort. I saw four giants there. My guess is they are a scouting group, watching for an attack from the north. They didn’t seem to be positioned to observe or attack Hillhold.”
“They’re not stupid,” Mars said. “We’d be fools to underestimate them, everything points to sound tactics here. This isn’t some mindless raiding party pillaging.”
“Ye have the gist of it,” Fenris said. “Their encampment is rough, but sound. Their defenses thorough. The gates are sturdy, and from the looks of things, they’ve been tested. The rams they’re preparin’ are clear on that front, their next assault will likely be decisive.”
Victra ground her teeth. “Any indication how soon that might be?” Fenris gave a noncommittal shrug. Victra spat. “Damnation!”
“I did get a closer look at their banners,” Fenris said, showing no reaction to Victra’s outburst. “I recognized the banners of three jarls, another four large clans, and a scatterin’ of smaller oathsworn clans and tribes. It’s as ye feared, this is nae small band of raiders, but likely the prelude to somethin’ more. The jarls are selfish and quarrelsome at the best of times. The jotun of the north owe each other no loyalty and pay no obeisance to any king. They rule by strength and conquest. Somethin’ brought the jarls and the clans together, somethin’ that got them to set aside their self-servin’ tendencies.”
Victra muttered fouly under breath. Darkly, she wondered how much of this Kriv had known before passing on leadership to her.
“There’s another thing that has my head spinnin’,” Fenris continued. “All those warriors down on that field, they are nae from the same region. The Ridgehold clan, prominent from the lowlands. Draekan, a dangerous jarl from Northshore, and two others from the northern mountains. There are oathbound clans of the lowlands, the northern slopes of the Wind Mountains, and others from the frosted peaks to the far north. This here is a force of clans and families, jarls and chieftains. And they have gathered for a mighty purpose, and there must be a single, strong leader capable of bringin’ the jarls and chieftains together. If that leader is nae here, they have an appointed warlord. Otherwise, hot blood would see a force like this decimated within a fortnight.”
Victra slumped forward, pressing her knuckles against her forehead. “And it’s the five of us against sixty of them…”
Fenris grunted. “Erm, likely closer to four score.” Victra glared up at him. The northman shrugged. “At least based on the number of tents.”
“So what do we have?” Mars interjected, attempting to drive the conversation. “Iden and I have fought giants before, so we know what to expect. And I’ll say that as strong as I know we are, there’s nothing like it when one of those things is towering over you.”
Iden grunted in agreement. “And from the looks of things, these giants are far more disciplined than the ones who last held Hillhold.”
“There’s that too,” Mars said. “They could be as different as a rowdy bunch of brigands compared to a seasoned company of veteran mercenaries.”
“Do you think that’s the case?” Cael asked softly.
Mars looked around, pausing. “Well, I saw a little while we were on that hill. And I may have taken a long look when I told Iden I needed to take a piss.” Iden’s helm slowly turned to look at Mars as the big man pointed avoided his gaze. 
“I don’t know that they have as much unity as it seems,” Mars said in a conspiratorial whisper, a note of eagerness creeping into his voice. “They function as a great war host, and I’ll admit the amount of organization worries me, and what Fenris said about a stratified order does make sense. But it’s not cohesive. They have all their banners flying, they have a series of small camps, not one unified one. Didn’t you notice how they all circled together even within their own fortifications? Almost as if they’re prepared for an attack from within their camp? There might be fractures within, or at the very least not as unified of a front as it might seem.”
Victra watched as Fenris slowly nodded at Mars’ words, the northman narrowing his eyes. 
“Fenris,” Victra asked slowly, “if we do move against the giants, what can we expect from them? Our options are limited, but maybe there is a way for us to gain an edge, offset them enough?”
“They came prepared for war,” Fenris responded, “but that looks different between clans. And it is very different for clans prepared for war against jotunkind, or against the forces of a city such as Aleria. Some clans here will likely have only warred with their own kind, while others will be far more adept at facin’ smaller foes. As ye have said, surprise will be our strength. If they cannae take the fight to us, we stand a better chance.” He looked thoughtful, glancing at Mars. “As ye spoke, I recalled I dinnae see any banners of the Farseer jotun amongst the camp. Nae was there any sign of the völva, the witches or seeresses of the powerful clans. There may be those amongst them with megin, or magic as you say, but it will nae be as powerful as if a völva was here.”
“Can you be sure there isn’t one?” Victra asked. “They could have brought them in secret?”
Fenris shook his head. “To send a völva is to grant a uh, a divine blessing. It is to say that it is nae only the head of a clan behind this warband, but that it would be blessed by the gods. Such a statement is a mark of pride, and it would be seen as shameful to not grant it the proper respect.”
Unconvinced, Victra chose not to press the issue. Turning over her thoughts, the quiet was interrupted by a clatter of stone as Cael slid down the rocks.
“There’s a patrol out there,” he said softly. “I thought they were staying closer to the fort, but they’re heading right towards us.”