8In darkness, Her gifts become manifest. 9In Her service, I shall wield them in greater acts of my service. 10In the silence, Her voice reigns supreme. In my waiting, my peace shall endure. – Vow of the Bloodsworn – First Passage, Line 8-10
Victra ran down the hill.
She reached Mars and Iden sitting in the grass as the two men checked their wounds. Fenris’ long strides carried him behind her, and she saw Cael settling low into the grass atop the hill.
“How bad?” Victra asked Mars, tilting her head to look at the cut in his side.
“I’ve had worse,” Mars said cheerily, twisting his torso to give her a better look. The cut was long, but clean and not dangerously deep. “Though it’s bleeding pretty good.”
Victra instinctively reached for a pouch on her belt where she kept a variety of herbs and simple medicinal tonics. She looked over to Iden. “And you? Looked like a good wallop you took.”
“Aye,” Iden groaned as he removed his helm and loosened the buckles of his armor. He lifted the breastplate, grunting as he shifted it around where a dent was visible from where the giant’s spear had struck him and launched him into the air. He shifted his tunic aside to reveal a deeply purpling bruise already spreading across his ribs, the color alarming against his pale skin. Victra winced, knowing he likely had several broken ribs.
Iden frowned as he raised a hand above the injured area. He closed his eyes, but Victra saw the flash of gold before his eyelids fell. His hand began to glow, and warm golden light began to pour from his fingers. He breathed deeply, flexing as he opened his eyes. Victra watched as the golden light dissipated and the dark bruising faded, but did not vanish entirely. She knew Iden would be conserving his energy. As he stood and began to retighten his armor, he did not wince, and Victra trusted it had been enough.
Turning her attention back to Mars, she helped him clean the wound and held it closed. She closed her eyes, reaching into the vast well of power in the deep places she could not see, but always sensed. She felt the power there, reacting to her touch, and almost reaching back to her. She willed it upward, through her, and felt it drift from the hand she held to Mars’ side. She opened her eyes as the pale threads of magic knit the skin together, closing the wound.
“That will have to do for now,” she said, breathing heavily. “Just keep it clean while it’s fresh.” She stretched a cloth around the big man’s midsection, binding it tightly as he claimed he didn’t need any more attention.
A grunt from behind caused Victra to turn just as Fenris pulled the large bearded axe from the side of the slain giant. Victra narrowed her eyes. Blood covered his chest, streaming from a broken nose, but otherwise he looked far more alright than he had any right to. He had taken the brunt of the giant’s fist, and had been flung five yards or more through the air, but he smiled at Victra as he wiped the bloody axe on the corpse.
“That was somethin’, eh?” He laughed as he stepped towards the head of the giant, wrenching the throwing axe from where it had split her face. Chunks of bone and flesh scattered in an arc as he shook it.
“That blow should have caved your chest in,” Victra said evenly.
“Ach,” Fenris shrugged as he wiped the axe clean, and slipped it into a loop on his belt. “Years beneath a sail, and growin’ up in the north breeds a stronger sort of folk. I’ve lived my life as likely to freeze to death as die by a blade, it all made me harder to kill.” He lifted his large circular shield from where it had fallen, and slung it across his back.
Unconvinced, Victra said nothing. Whatever his bluster, his endurance wasn’t something she could argue with, but there was far more to this northman than he was letting on.
“No sign from the camp,” Cael called, jogging through the tall grass. He pulled his hat low against the setting sun. “No alarm or sign of another patrol, so I don’t think they noticed the fight.”
“We won’t be staying to find out,” Victra said. She turned to where Mars and Iden were shouldering their weapons. She nodded curtly. “Gather your things. We return to the horses and relocate quickly. The sun will set soon, and if we’re lucky they won’t find these until the morning. We struck first, and we might be able to hold onto the element of surprise a bit longer.”
“Vicia’s favor then,” Fenris echoed, invoking the Goddess of Luck.
A minute later, the hillside was silent. The setting sun casting long shadows in the gently waving grass, the hue of the sun washing over the red of blood staining the ground.
Following Victra, the group skirted northward around the lower hills beneath Hillhold. Keeping track of the scouting camp she located earlier in the day, she led their way through the landscape. From what they had seen, she believed the giants would focus their attention towards the southwest in the direction of Aleria. The giants had shown enough tactical awareness to know from which direction reinforcements would likely come, or so Victra hoped.
They found a rocky ravine that cut between two hills, the gentle babble of flowing water guiding them in the failing light. Victra judged they were less than half a mile from the fortress, closer than she’d prefer, but their options were limited. Mars took the horses to the narrow creek Fenris had discovered to water them as an austere camp was prepared.
Packs were staged for a hasty retreat, but cloaks and bedrolls were spread across the ground, as the nights were beginning to hint at autumn. Waterskins were refilled, and everyone drank deeply as trail rations offered comfort. Victra knew she had had much worse, but how much more effort could it take to get rations with some flavor?
The group was silent as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky changing from a bright pink, to deep red, before fading to darkness. The lingering warmth on the stones around them would soon fade, and Victra closed her eyes as she let it wash over her.
“Uh, Victra?” Mars’ voice interrupted the peace she found herself lingering in. “You better take a look at this.”
Suppressing a sigh, Victra pulled herself up and half climbed, half crawled up the rocky landscape to where Mars was positioned. From behind a sharp spike of stone, he had a clear view of Hillhold and the landscape to both the east and west. Unbidden, a snarl pulled from her as she caught sight of it.
Hillhold was bathed in light, illuminated despite the absence of the sun. Spots of brilliant light shone around the stronghold, banishing the darkness. She narrowed her eyes, honing her keen elvish vision to the bright points, despite the strain. Large stones, which any of them might have thought were nothing more than the landscape, were positioned in a wide ring surrounding the fort. The stones, which must have been well over the height of a man, had markings that shone will blinding white light, casting illumination several times greater than a large bonfire.
“Rune magic,” a voice from beside them said. Victra turned to see Fenris, again annoyed she had not heard his approach. “Theirs is an old magic, channeled through the scribing of runes of power. Each stone has the rune carved into it.”
Victra focused back on the stones, and for a moment against the blinding light thought she could make out the markings of runes across their surfaces. Grinding her teeth, Vicra fought against the sensation of despair. She had been counting on the nighttime being a reprieve from the siege, that it could be another opportunity for their attacks. But with such power, the giants wouldn’t be helpless in the dark. And they could continue their siege. Shouts and the sound of heavy impacts drifted through the air, as if punctuating her conclusions. Even if the great host of the giants didn’t know the Bound Legion were on their way, she found her hope that the defenders would last that long growing thin.
“We need to rest,” Mars said, gripping her shoulder. Vicra realized her jaw was clenched and she was glaring in the direction of the fort. She forced herself to relax. “We can’t do any more tonight.”
“You’re right,” she said evenly, letting the rise of emotions evaporate. “We rest now. Tomorrow we see how much we can slow them down.” They clambered down the stones and rejoined Cael and Iden.
The younger man spoke up as he pushed back his wide brimmed hat. “Iden needs rest the most, so he’ll take the first watch.” Cael shrugged. “I came out fine, so I can take the second watch.”
Victra nodded. “I need little rest, I’ll relieve you and watch until you all wake.” She paused, fixing the relaxed young man with a keen eye. “Will you be alright? The deepest part of the night and those human eyes will do you no favors. Maybe you should take the first watch, and let Iden take the second.” As much as he might have looked human, Iden’s otherworldly influence was known to Shattered Silence, and the blessings that accompanied it.
Cael chuckled and gave a smile. “I can see just fine at night, don’t worry about me.” Victra raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
Cael caught the expression, and without seeming to take offense, rose to his feet and motioned to Victra to follow him as he walked away from the camp. She followed him to the far rim of the ravine, looking northward away from Hillhold. The illumination was a dull glow in the distance behind them, the landscape in front of them stretched into darkness. Victra’s elven eyes caught impossible details, but she knew before the moons rose overhead, human eyes would be all but blind.
To her surprise, Cael quickly described the landscape in front of them in great detail, noting key landmarks and terrain. He did so quickly and without bravado, and when he finished, gave Victra a look that amounted to, “Satisfied?”
Victra gave him a single nod, and turned back to the camp. Cael’s grasp of magic was strange and was something he rarely spoke of. Whatever its source was, if it allowed him to better serve their troop, Victra for one would not question it.
When they reached the others, Mars and Iden were to the side together, speaking in low tones. Victra’s keen senses caught enough to know they were revisiting the melee with the giants. They were two of the strongest, most ruthless warriors she had ever known, and the giants could crush them if they were caught unawares. Their fighting needed to be flawless.
Seeing Fenris sitting by himself with his pack beside him, she took a seat on a stone next to him. The northman was still damp from the creek he had found. He had taken the time to wash the blood and dust away, and he had reset his broken nose. From the looks of it, Victra guessed it wasn’t the first time it had been broken. Now the man sat quietly cleaning and oiling the leather of his harness, while his weapons were laid out at his other side and his tunic on a stone to dry.
Continuing to methodically tend to his equipment, Fenris chuckled. “Does it surprise you that a rough sailor is so meticulous with his kit?”
“You’re a strange one,” Victra said, studying him.
“Heh, you are one to speak,” Fenris said as he set the harness to the side, and picked up a throwing axe and whetstone. “The first time I saw you, I thought one of the figures from my mother’s stories had found me. You have the look of one who walks the halls of the dead.”
“Not all of us fear death,” Victra said easily. “Some of us have walked its edge, and emerged on the other side.” She tilted her head, studying the variety of tattoos across his lean, muscular body with fresh eyes. She focused on the large, admittedly beautiful piece that stretched across his shoulders and up the left side of his head. A wolf. She laughed dryly. “Is that why you took the risk of letting those northern wolves free? Some special… thing for wolves?”
Fenris turned and held her gaze, a solemn seriousness falling over him. He tapped the wolfshead that marked the shaved side of his skull. “This is my vaettr, my spirit. It is a long tradition that the warriors of the north, if shown to them, take their spirit. I am what is called ulfhednar, wolf-kin. Or you might say, wolf warrior.” He inclined his head, looking at Victra’s side where her silver raven pendant hung. “Are you also a spirit warrior? I noticed your pendant, it bears the image of the Allfathers’ messengers.”
Victra suppressed a sharp rebuke, instead replying cooly, “She Who Heralds the Dead is not some simple spirit, neither is She some wilderness deity.”
Fenris rumbled a laugh deep in his chest, but said nothing more. He set aside his clean weapon, and reached for the wide leather belt he wore, opening one of the pouches. Removing a few small items, he made a small covered circle of stones, and with a sparkstone, set a flame to a tinder bundle.
“I thought we said no fires,” Iden’s voice came harshly from across the small camp.
Fenris blew on the ember, the barest light smoldering more than burning. “We’re beneath a ridge, and the flare of their magic will blind them to anythin’ out here.” He blew on the ember again, a puff of smoke billowing out. “And it won’t be lit for long.”
Victra shook her head, but didn’t have the desire to argue. She watched as the northman tended the embers before removing a piece of branch from his pouch, placing it in the embers. The end began to smolder, but not light. Victra picked out the distinctly white color of either a holly or ash branch.
After a minute, Fenris took a metal tin, and crumbled the end of the burned branch into a dark charcoal powder. From the no longer burning embers, he did the same with the grey-white ashes. Producing a vial from his bags, Fenris scooped a fingerful of a thick, oily substance almost like tallow. Like something from a memory, Victra caught the scent of goose fat. Fenris took a moment to combine a thick glob of the goose fat with the white ash, and then again with the charcoal, putting each mixture in its own small metal container.
Late into the night, Victra watched the moon arc through the sky. It was the smallest sliver, the rings nearly invisible in the dark. Tomorrow will be a moonless night, she thought. She was unsure whether that would be a good thing.
A shift of movement broke through her thoughts, as he turned to see Fenris silently stepping over towards her. Victra didn’t move.
“I’m steppin’ out,” he whispered, barely more than an exhale. “Just so you dinnae put an arrow in me when I return.”
Victra gave a small nod, and the large man slunk off into the darkness. There was something strange about him. And more than just the different customs of Northshore. Yet, for as different and dangerous as he was, there was something that Victra felt she could trust. Something steady enough to rely on. While she could never always explain her instincts, they were rarely wrong. There was an open honesty to the man, and a simplicity that felt refreshing.
She stared up at the night sky, watching the tapestry of constellations overhead.
Some time passed before a shadow moved, and Victra caught sight of Fenris’s silhouette moving through the darkness. She frowned, glancing at where the crescent moon was. He had been gone for nearly an hour. To her annoyance, he made no explanation, and instead collapsed onto his bedroll and before long was snoring gently.
Victra looked out into the darkness, a quiet peaceful landscape as she pushed the sounds occasionally drifting their direction from Hillhold.
Heath, she thought mournfully. Where are you?
The Writer in White 