For most Volva, the aspiration of the return of the gods is a vague concept, often forgotten or simply set aside when confronted with the realities of power and influence over local rulers of Mannheim. Not for Osesigne. Ever absorbed by the task of her sisters, Osesigne did not allow for such distractions.
Dismissing the Einherjar and their constant rejection of the Volvas’ suggestion to replace the old gods, Osesigne’s restless focus turned to different possibilities. Following the thread of the Blooded’s very existence in Nord society, she flirted with the idea of divinity being passed down through blood – and perhaps being reawakened in certain candidates. Securing a majority among her sisterhood’s council, she invited them to explore this idea further but while the Volvas were willing to allow her to explore that avenue, the Blooded were deemed too unstable and their divine blood too weak. Instead, the tale of Sigurðr was considered as an option, as the legend underlined his ascendance above the confines of human mortality through the power of dragon blood. With the sisterhood’s leave, Osesigne set to work.
Sigurðr legend placed him throughout the centuries in different parts of the world, with the southern mountains of the Kingdoms being the best possibly candidate. Eager to fund her expedition – and to secure enough swordarms to reach the distant land, Osesigne turned to Gudmund Gudalfson, Konungyr of Vinnheim. Lured by her promises of ascension – and of escaping the limits the High King would impose on his ambitions – Gudmund raised an army in response to the volva’s suggestions. Soon, under the command of Gudmund himself and with Osesigne at his side, an entire army sailed south, landing on the shores of Riismark.
The Riismark campaign saw Gudmund’s Nords secure a victory whose equal had not been achieved since the invasion of Svarthgalm: the Konungyr’s men conquered a Kingdom, Angengrad, while maintaining control over its rivers all the way to the northern shores. Alas, however, this victory did not come cheap or easy. Having suffered losses beyond what he expected, Gudmund’s mind began to differ from Osesigne’s. Ignoring her pleas to leave forces in the city, while a smaller force kept moving south, Gudmund decided to establish himself in Angengrad and defend it until winter, giving his captains enough time to repair their ships and sending messages for reinforcements to Mannheim. Hoping to placate and distract the Volva, Gudmund entrusted her with various tasks, that would in the future reinforce her own plans to venture further south. Secretly, however, Gudmund planned to occupy the lands he had conquered for good, bringing glory to all Mannheim and eventually escaping the reach of the High King and establishing a proper domain for himself.
Sensing his plans, Osesigne made plans of her own behind his back. Rather than risk the future of the Nords as she perceived it in search of vain glory through conquest and victory in battle, she secretly begun preparations to abandon the city and Gudmund to their fate, while she would travel covertly to find the lands of Sigurðr. As preparations were almost ready and Riismark’s army was ready to attack the city, however, Osesigne was approached by an agent of the Alchemist. In exchange for support during the upcoming battle, she would share part of the findings of her quest with the Merchant Prince of Nepenthe.
When Fredrik’s forces attacked, Osesigne was still in the city, assisting until the Spire forces made their appearance, ensuring that the King’s army retreated from the city walls. But while the city was still disorganized and counting its dead and wounded, Osesigne did not hesitate. She gathered her most loyal, having suffered some losses among them during the battle, and she left on foot, leaving her ship behind for Gudmund. This made her realize: while she would not completely abandon her Nord brethren, their battle in Angengrad was not hers. Her destiny, and that of all the Nords, lied in the blood of Sigurd, far to the south.
Pleased at the growth and burgeoning political power of her cult among the North, Osesigne turns her attention to the thorny matter of the Einherjaren directly. The people have embraced the divinity of the Einherjar… but the Einherjar themselves refuse to embrace the mantle. This must be resolved.
(Choice: )
If the Einherjaren cannot be convinced to embrace their divinity, the sagas speak of divine children inheriting the world from their fathers after the long winter. None can deny the divine power that flows in the veins of the Blooded… If that could be harnessed perhaps new gods can be raised who are less…intractable.
The harsh, white light of day pried her eyes open as she lay draped on the soft furs of her lover’s bed. Despite the bright light, Ossesigne woke with a smile. A good night’s sleep always cleared her mind and last night’s dilemma had been heavy indeed.
Seeking the Killing Wind would have been a mistake, she now knew. Even if the Einherjar still lived, who was to know if he would be any more amenable to her direction than the stubborn fools upon which the divine mantle had landed. In fact the man was rumored to have been so driven and unpleasant that when he launched his invasion, none of his kind had followed. No. She had her fill of these intractable godlings… What she needed was pliable minds she could groom into godhood and greatness.
Ah, if only they could all be as soft and pliable as Lukan here, she mused, her hands running through the exalt’s perfectly muscled, if hairy, back. How much easier this would all be. She lay there quietly, a contented smile on her face and her fingers tracing his muscled back as a plan slowly hatched in her mind…
The thick steam of the pervaded the interior of the lodge smelt of clean smoke and sharp resin. Around Osesigne, the remaining High Volvas of Mannheim lay in varied states of undress and apparent relaxation. It had taken not just months of gifts, honeyed words and concessions to get her counterparts here, but a small amount of judiciously applied violence. Inga, eldest among their number and most conservative of the council had not survived her long trip to Aarheim, Osesigne had made sure of that. By granting her seat to Thyra, who had until recently been Thurhilds apprentice, she had secured the two votes upon which to build her coalition. They had all finally agreed: if the Einherjar could not be swayed, a new generation of divinities would have to be raised… The question had been the how.
(Choice: )
There were the legends of Sigurðr, the Dragon-Slayer who transcended humanity after drinking dragons blood, but lost his path as he became addicted to its power. There are tales of an order of Heamomancers who follow his teachings in Dannonia and have far surpassed humanities limits.
The sea winds wind chapped her lips, plastered her long hair against her skull and chafed her skin, but Osesigne was exuberant. Behind her the shore receded as before her the norther seas unfolded in all of their rough, gray majesty revealing the fleet that lay just beyond the opening of the fjord.
Standing on the bow of the ship, her path unfolded before her with a clarity she had never grasped before. Gudmund and his Chosen Men stood by her side and a group of hand-picked Valkyries were scattered throughout the crew of the ship. It had been laughably easy to bring Gudmund around.
As wealthy and powerful and Gudmund had become, he was still forced to answer to the seat of the High King, particularly when Angbjorn sat on it. That insurmountable gap in prowess and power had festered and rankled for many years. All it had taken had been the promise of godhood, the promise that he could face Angbjorn and the Einherjar on an equal footing within the challenge ring, and Osesigne had her fleet and a raiding force powerful enough to bring a kingdom to its knees.
As the sun broke behind the heavy clouds and wreathed her in a golden glow, Osesigne laughed in delight as the pleasure of sailing and the thrill of the unknown beckoned her onwards.
“LOOO! RIISMAAAARK!”
The crew exploded into cheers, as did the crews from the ships near hers. Soon enough, the cry was echoed by other lookouts, as hands pointing were raised from all crow’s nests, and for a moment it seemed that the entire sea was roaring with bloodthirsty cries, the cheer “Odinaug” echoing again and again, as weapons were raised in the air saluting the Konungyr next to her.
She could not fault them. Her own fingers were trembling with excitement. All those plans, all those conspiracies, secret dealings and manipulations, they all culminated into this. The realization of her dreams, the forging of the new gods begun now; but celebrations could wait. She turned to the Konungyr herself and continued from where she had been interrupted by the yelling. “Gathering the fleet will strengthen our numbers” she said “but it will also give time to our enemies. We could establish a foothold but the ships will be exposed…”
Gudmund Gudalfson of Vindheim was looking calm and composed, a handful of his Chosen next to him, but Osesigne knew better. Of all the brutes shouting, Gudmund was the most excited despite his silence. His proposal and the way his finger rushed to point on the map only confirmed it. “Glauburg” he said in the end. “A better foothold than the beaches and an early, strong victory to strike fear to the hearts of the soft-skinned southerners.” She shook her head.
“We would also lose too many men in the first battle of a very long road” she replied. “Besides, if we decide to take the ships as far inland as possible, Glauburg is risky. The river there leads to Brandengrad and if our Hansen spies are correct, that will be the most heavily fortified.”
“It will also have the better sacking” the Konungyr said.
“This is only the beginning, my Konungyr” she said smoothly. “We need to cross their lands, if we start laying sieges and fighting them at ev…”
“Svarthgalm didn’t carve their lands by dancing around” Gudmund replied.
“And Svarthgalm is dead” she retorted.
Choice
Establish a foothold for the fleet to gather safely.
Establish a foothold
“This is it? These are the defenders of their shores?”
She nodded absentmindedly at the Konungyr’s question. Her eyes were fixed, not on the crude palisades and the warriors defending them, but on the rider galloping in the distance. The defenders were well armored and equipped but no more than a handful or two. Taking the beach would be easy and, if the patrols that harassed their camp were of equal strength to this sorry excuse of a defensive force, keeping it would prove no issue either.
“Cowards!” Gudmund spat with disdain. “Hiding behind their walls, no doubt.”
She nodded, agreeing with the assessment but not sharing his disdain. This was not a defense; it was a delay tactic, probably followed by harassing forces in the days and nights to come. The more time they spent establishing a foothold, the better prepared their enemies would be. They needed to be quick. Quick and watchful.
Choice
Nords Assault
The night song of the forest covered their careful steps, avoiding the distant glare of the bonfires on the beach. Sergeant Javen Emulson motioned for his men to stop, eyeing the ever-expanding camp on the shores from between the bushes at the edge of the forest. Most of the barbarians seemed to be resting under the stars covered in their cloaks, many without even bedding or a cloth between them and the rocks and sand. But, he noticed, tents had been raised against the larger longboats; captain quarters, he mused, but in truth he did not care. They could prove good kindling for their fire arrows and that’s what mattered. He turned to motion for his men to prepare their bows before he paused, baffled, as he noticed that he had seen no guards. Then he noticed the yellow eyes that were suddenly opposite his on the other side of the bush, freezing the blood in his veins, as his last breath came from a mouth bitter with terror.
“The skinchangers feast tonight” Gudmund commented as the growls and cries reached them in his tent. “That is good. All this waiting has made them… agitated. I promised them action, Volva. Action and blood.”
“And you will deliver, Konungyr” she answered. “We won’t be allowed much more without a fight.” He nodded and she went on, leaning over the map before them. “Glauburg and its river are closed to us, I’d say. The last report of our spies mentioned the walls being garrisoned far beyond what’s normal. We have not heard from them since. Risking a siege would take time and men but leaving it as is would mean we have at least one force on our backs at all times.” She paused, as Gudmung nodded once more.
“Now, the fleet has mostly gathered and the couple of missing longboats can follow as they can but we need to move soon. The stalkers report that the eastern river is watched but as far as they can tell, it is still an option for the waters remain high enough for our ships. If our captains can navigate them, it is the fastest way south. Angengrad is supposed to be smaller than Glauburg but it is still a town and we’d be sailing in blind. If, however, we manage to take it, then we should be guaranteed control of the river, at least until the lake further south.” He scowled, as she expected he would, but she ignored him. “The other option is to continue on foot. We would be slower, surrounded by two cities, Haubach and Angengrad, but we would have ways to maneuver, possibly even chose where to make a stand, if need be. Plus, there’s at least some plunder and villages along the way. Not rich, surely, but they should keep the… more eager among the army satisfied. Burn their crops, steal their cattle, destroy their barges and plunder their mines. Hit those hard enough and we might force their armies out of their walls.”
Choice
Attack Angengrad
Angengrad
The mist came first. It was sudden but not sudden enough to alarm Tybalt Edwikkern. Sergeant Dowid’s lack of reaction reassured him further. This was Riismark after all, land of rivers, mud and mists. Still, he felt uneasy and, hefting his bow, he looked north, where the chain outpost was. He nodded to himself, reassured once more, for the muted light of torches could be seen, even if barely, with nothing betraying trouble.
The sudden snarl was a little more worrying. He nudged Dowid who, having noticed the sound himself, simply shrugged.
“Just some animal, Tybalt” the sergeant said. “The swamp is full of them. See? The dogs are barking. Keep your ears open and you might hear chicken or sheep panicking.”
“I’ve never heard no swamp animal make such a noise” Tybalt replied “and it came from the direction of the outpost. If the chain…”
“Pah. Could you be any greener, lad?” Dowid snorted. “The chain can only be loosened from the city. From the outpost side, they dig as deep as the earth goes so one would have to break them on that end and they cannot be broken. Every Kingdom in Riismark has their rivers chained and not once has a rival kingdom broken them. Trust me. Once those barbarians sail close enough, they’ll be stopped, sitting ducks for our arr-“
There was a metal clang, distant but loud. Too loud. Then a rooster croaked, as the first lights of dawn started painting the mist in golden hues.
* * *
“Shields!”
Arrows and bolts rained mere moments after the order, their whistles and thuds soon lost under the scattered screams of pain and death cries. Profanities followed with survivors taunting the besieged southerners, as metal clangs echoed over the battlefield.
“Cover the giant, you troll-faced bastards! Keep firing! KEEP FIRING!”
Osesigne barely heard the Konungyr’s orders, or any of the mayhem around her really. She never noticed the stalkers firing their arrows in response, trying to force the defenders behind the battlements Her mind was focused, her senses dulled to the distractions around her, as she channeled all her power to keep the mountain giant alive. He had to break the chain. He had to! The mist was being held, covering the ships as best as possible but dawn had come in earnest. Soon, her army would be exposed and the siege stalled, giving time for the southerners to bring reinforcements.
They needed to take the city before that.
Choice
Victory.
“Gudmund, we are not here to conquer!”
The Konungyr slammed his fist on the table, plates and cups rattling.
“Remember who you’re addressing, Volva!” he said in a harsh tone. “We may be alone but I am still…”
“I don’t have time for your ego trips… Konungyr,” she replied. “And right now, you don’t have the luxury to chase glory. We barely took the city. We lost men and we lost ships and this was just the first true battle. How many more before we reach the south?”
“You said it yourself,” the Konungyr replied, bringing a cup dripping foam to his lips. “We lost ships.”
“So leave those Captains who lost their ships. Give them the city for their bravery and let them repair and sail north when they are ready.”
“There is an army gathering” he said angrily. “You know this. I will not leave my men to die here.”
“You will leave them to fight,” she said, lowering her voice but not calming her tone. “You will leave them to secure a position at your rear, behind the safety of walls. And if in the end they can’t, you will leave them to stall your enemy from chasing you. You wanted the glory of being Konungyr. These are the decisions Konungyrs make.”
He looked at her for a moment, weighing her words, eyes frowned in thought, but before he had a chance to reply, she spoke again.
“You forget why we are here,” she said, staring at him coldly. “Your destiny, the destiny of all Nords, lies south, not some backend city in a swamp.”
“I do not forget,” he said. “But you saw the maps of their land. There is another city south, before the lake. Another city, another chain, another siege. You would attempt the same with fewer ships, less men and one less giant? No.”
“Even if it has to be just me and you in the end, we must reach the land of Sigurd. We must!”
“Your heart can be colder than Hela’s breath, witch!” he bellowed standing up to stare her down. “But for all the majesty of your scheming mind, you are not thinking. We can’t run forever in these lands. Sooner or later, we will have to fight. If I have to face an army that knows the land better than I, I’d rather have walls they must climb to reach me. We can break them here. And if we can’t, we simply hold and call for more captains to join. You think of this as a summer’s task. It can be more. It should be more. You cannot forge a destiny for a people without that people.”
“Say you hold. Say you hold the entire season here. What happens next?” she asked, irony dressing her voice. “When all the southern Kingdoms sniff out your grand invasion ideas? What then? No. This King stands alone save for his jarls now. This is the time to push as deep south as we can. We had a plan, Konungyr. Do not falter from it.”
Choice
Hold the city.
“I still believe we are losing time,” she said “but there are merits in your plan. If you are set on this course of action, we must make the best out of it.”
The Konungyr simply nodded. He had found that letting the volva rant on usually calmed her down and, judging by her crossed hands and her foot tapping ceaselessly on the floor, she desperately needed to do so.
“Securing the city and repairing the ships must be our top priorities; if this swamp of a land can provide any proper wood for the job, that is. Setting up a proper healing place would be clever too. Then we need to set up patrols, both on the river and the area around. We need to keep the way open, both to the north and to the south, lest we get trapped. And stalkers. Don’t forget to have stalkers following their king’s army at all times. They said he is going east but it could be a ruse. We best not wake up one day with an army outside our walls. Then there are provisions to secure. Winter is closing in and…”
He kept eating, slowly, now and then gulping down mead. She was an unstoppable force, that woman. When she was not acting, she was preparing and when she was not preparing, she was planning. He listened to her going on and on, single-handedly formulating plans for multiple scenarios. A formidable woman, the greatest asset of his army.
He feared he would lose her when she found out he had already sent a ship to Mannheim; if he would have his way, the Nords would carve a path south for her, not stalk and dance around like cowards. And while he’d never admit it, he feared her reaction too. Until then, all those things she had mentioned needed doing and he thought it best to let her do them. To establish one’s self in a conquered area was a huge undertaking; to do so in hostile lands was a military operation in itself. Let her be distracted by the tasks at hand and, hopefully, placated by her success. Perhaps then, when she found out, she would not take it too badly.
He had another sip of the mead. It was local and tasted weird but not badly so. He could get used to it.
Choice
Operation success.
The air smelled different in this land.
Far was the invigorating, crisp wind of snowed valleys and frozen shores. This air was heavier, wetter, even this high up on the fort’s battlements. It felt lazy and reluctant; alive, yes, but emanating sluggishness and rot. No wonder Gudmund was so eager to stay put. This air could turn brazen men timid, warriors into idle townsfolk, leaders into sloths whose boldest order was for their cups to be refilled. She sighed, annoyed with herself as well as the air.
It was obvious that Gudmund was planning to spend the winter here, lure more captains now that a solid foothold had been established. If he thought that the ship he had sent to Mannheim had gone unnoticed, he was sorely mistaken. Even if she didn’t inspect the condition of all ships each morning, nothing happened in this army without her knowing about it.
It was not an entirely idiotic plan, she thought, still annoyed by the air she was breathing. Gudmund had sent scouts and raiders all around, blocking the passages east so that no reinforcements could reach the southern king. Having the Nords control shores and a river before the next raiding season would be a victory in itself, the first Konungyr to offer such a foothold since Svarthgalm’s invasion. If her mission became synonym to such a success, then the legend she was building was already standing on a solid foundation, a feat repeated only by an Einherjar, some four centuries ago, and never since or before. Plus, it could spell safety for her mission, having a land to retreat without depending on fleeing North with a ship herself. She could stay. Ensure Gudmund’s success and thus increasing the chances of success of her own mission. It would be a good saga and good sagas inspired more.
But what if no captains heeded the call? What if they were left alone, surrounded by hostile armies? Sure, right now the local king was battling the Dweghom, reports from the South spoke of barbaric tribes from the East and the capital was right next to a Spire. But their intentions, their goals were a mystery to her. And assuming they left the king in peace, this Fredrik would hardly offer the same curtesy to her people. He too was trying to establish himself as a power to be reckoned with and having a city left to the Nords would hardly spell success in his efforts.
Leaving Gudmund was an option. Take the Half-bloods, take those warriors sworn to her and not Gudmund and keep going South. Not a large enough force to alarm every lady and lord from here to Sigmund’s lands, but strong enough to ensure her safety and with enough blood to spare, should the magic she was after demanded it. Her absence could spell doom for the army she had gathered. She would prefer not to have to do it but Gudmund was forcing her hand. She would honor them, perhaps, when her mission was over. She would offer some verses in the saga of the blood reawakened, of the coming of the new gods.
Choice
Take a force and go south.
For now, secrecy was paramount and if that meant a delay, so be it. She would not risk a confrontation between Nords, not so far deep in southern lands. Not while surrounded by enemies. Contrary to what the Konungyr would no doubt believe, she neither wished him ill or his endeavor to fail; she simply could not wait. Once everything was prepared, then she could, perhaps, talk to Gudmund, try to make him see reason one last time.
Her logic was simple: make all preparations necessary to leave at a moment’s notice with exactly as many as she thought would be needed. She would not spend the winter in this damp, swampy city with the insipid air to dull her senses. If they were attacked before that, she would not allow one battle to decide years of research and toil. If defeat knocked their door, she would leave before the day was lost.
Her sworn would keep their mouths shut. Not only did they know better than not to, but they had also been chosen exactly for their loyalty and levelheadedness. The trick was to move provisions and her longboat in a good position without arising suspicion. The latter was easy; she would straight up tell Gudmund that she would personally go on patrols to the south, ensure their way was never blocked and the river was kept open until the next city. He would be suspicious but, she hoped, would also see it as a minimal risk; if she ever decided never to come back, one boat and a handful of men would not hamper his own plans. He would be much more careful about provisions though. Spending the winter in enemy territory would mean a passive siege, more likely than not. Gudmund would need all the supplies he could gather before that.
She tightened the piece of parchment in her hand. She would not rely on its words but should they prove true, whoever this “friend” was, they could prove useful. Until then, however, they seemed terribly familiar with her plans. That was a risk she could not take. For now, secrecy was paramount.
Choice
Operation success.
“He stopped the Dweghom.” The Konungyr mumbled, a thought spoken aloud more than addressing her. If she realized, she did not care.
“And now he is heading here,” she blurted, urgency dressing her voice. “Gudmund, please! Remember our mission and remember our plan.”
“I will not run from this King or any other!” he said. “If he fought the Dweghom, victorious or not, he is weakened. We can-“
“He is not our enemy!” she exploded. “For the love of the gods, Gudmund, this is not why we came he-.” She paused abruptly, sighing. “I will not have this argument again. You have battle fever like a youth in the Kapp-a-Görask. And those youths die, Gudmund. It is the levelheaded that become true warriors.”
He got up, not fast but determined.
“Is that a threat, witch?” he said coldly.
“It is an insult,” she said, staring at him unflinchingly. “I did not bring you here to kill you. But even if I had, I wouldn’t need to act upon it. You act the fool and you will achieve this yourself,” she added and turned to leave, her body tense, her ears perched to hear the slightest move behind her in case she needed to react. She didn’t. She stormed out, striding furiously through the castle’s corridors, shoving a servant out of the way before she slammed the door to the battlements open then again slammed it closed behind her. Only there did she stop, panting furiously, her hands shaking from anger.
The fool! The utter, absolute fool! Years of planning, alliances, schemes and he would throw them out the window as if they were his. She looked down, not towards the wilderness but to the city, listening to the voices of her army – her army – below. She stayed there for a moment, looking lost in thought, torn as if she was being pulled from two sides. Then, suddenly, she turned.
She had not heard the servant she had pushed come out. She wasn’t even sure if it was the same servant, for she could put no face to his memory. Hela, she had difficulty looking at the man now, catching herself constantly throwing glances left and right, unwillingly; but he felt wrong and that help her keep her focus on him.
“You…” she said and the creature moved uneasy, awkwardly, almost unnaturally. “Whoever your master is, tell him:”
Choice
“If he wishes to be my friend, he will help my army. We will protect this city at all costs.”
The Battle of Angengrad
“Everything is – ”
She winced as the horns sounded once more, rising above the clamor of battle and drowning the Captain’s voice. Two long blasts, then two sharp ones; South – Reinforce. She paused, just for a moment, then shook her head, before she reached for the prow and put one foot on the ship’s side. Then she paused again.
“Whenever you are ready,” the Captain spoke again.
She nodded absentmindedly. She was ready. She had been ready for years. This was her destiny; not her mission for today or this season. It was the very purpose of her existence. She had done all she could to help Gudmund and that idiot should be able to hold, especially if her “friend” delivered on his promise. But her? The boat was ready, her retinue behind her; all she had to do was board and they would follow, to the end of the world.
“Volva?” the Captain asked. “If we are to leave unseen we should go now.”
She nodded but did not move for the horn sounded again. Two long blasts, two sharp ones. South. Reinforce. She fought the urge to glance and assess the situation so she just stood there, hand on the prow, foot on the side of the longship. The raiders in the ship were looking at her, she realized and she returned their looks, searching in their eyes.
The Gods, all Nords knew, spoke to you beyond their graves. They would hide messages in the entrails of sacrifices and guide where the runebones landed. They would whisper their knowledge in the wind or write in the skies with clouds and the pattern of bird flights. But few knew that their whispers were ceaseless, if one knew how to listen for them. They would speak with a tired sigh or an eager growl, a well-placed word of a passerby or a loved one. Or through where a man was looking, tightening their grips on their seethed weapons, torn between the oath to a volva and the call of battle. And sometimes, just sometimes the Gods would yell.
Short blast, long, then two sharp ones. Urgent – South – Reinforce.
“Soon,” she said to the Captain in the end. Then she looked up and smiled, eager, bloodthirsty. “Keep her ready,” she added and she reveled in the eager cheers of her men.
“How many?”
“Four, Volva,” the woman said. “Fridda Jahndottir, Halfdun Halfdanson, Rolf the Blind and Kirsi of the Fimmting.”
“Wounded?”
“Another five. Most can make it but Eric Ylfling won’t be travelling any time soon.”
Osesigne nodded solemnly.
“Better than I had feared,” she said in the end but her eyes were frowned. She looked to the north, noticing Gudmund leaning against the ramparts looking outside but her mind raced. She did not regret turning back. If nothing else, she had ensured the city was held by the Konungyr. Well, her and her… friend had ensured it. The question was, for how much longer could the city be held. Winter was settling in and that should possibly stall things.
No, she snapped her attention back, turning to look at Ygridh, who was waiting for her orders. Gudmund would do what Gudmund wanted. The question was how she could best reach her destination. Her crew and ship were waiting but was it wise? With Gudmund staying here for the winter – or for as long as he could hold, anyway – carving a path through the southerners’ lands seemed dangerous. The rivers would be monitored, more chains raised and she would possibly have to fight again and again to open the way. Could she count on her “friend” helping with that? Did she want to rely so much on him or her?
A smaller group, on foot, could be a choice. The roads would be monitored and only Ygridh and her Captain knew the southern tongue but still, she would attract less attention, possibly cut through the wilderness when she had to, rather than stay on the roads. It would be slower and should trouble find them she would have less fighting hands. But subterfuge was sometimes better than brute force and leaving an extra ship and more men with Gudmund…
She paused, realizing something; she wasn’t even contemplating staying. This needless war did not concern her any more. She had lost enough time already. Before the day was over, she would be on her way south.
Choice
Take a small group and travel on foot.
EPILOGUE
It was done.
They had needed a local, in the end. The southerners heavily patrolled the land around the city and she thought she could guess the reason why; they were looking for her friend’s warriors, those weird creatures with the bone armor. That had complicated things so she decided she needed someone who knew the land, a hunter preferably or a woodsman. In the end, they had found a smuggler, all too eager to leave the city and gain some coin while at it. She suspected she would have to meet many more like him in the months to come.
The local, a man named Gath, seemed to know his way around the swamps, finding paths where none could be seen; better yet, he knew how to avoid the patrols. He had found cloaks that would somewhat disguise them, he had explained which paths they would follow and now he was at the helm, so to speak, of her band. Osesigne had Engelin shadow their guide’s every move, of course. It would be easy for him to lose them in this muddy hell but Engelin’s not-so-subtle drawn knife was a constant reminder that one wrong step would cost his life. So far he seemed to be delivering on what he had promised but it was neither a pleasant walk, the one he had offered, nor a fast one. Their ankles were constantly in the water, finding unsure footing on a muddy, unseen trail, pushing reeds to make way while having to endure the constant attacks of insects, which flew in mouths, nostrils and eyes without discriminating.
For all the misery of the walk and the tension of escaping the patrols’ attention, she realized that this was the most relaxed she had been in a very long time. Her eyes were absorbing the details of the otherwise unattractive environment; her ears suffered the annoying buzzing of insects, finding relief only in the sloshing sounds of their muddy march. For the first time in months, if not years, she was entirely in the present. She was not planning the next move, she was not scheming to reach a destination, she was not consumed by her own thoughts and plans. She was there. She was walking the path and that’s all she had to do for now. The past had been decided and the future lay ahead.
All she had to do was walk to meet it.