It wasn’t a long sleep. For whatever reason, Qara found herself awake again after not more than an hour or two. Perhaps it was the sense of urgency she’d heard in the Jarl’s voice that propelled her to wake once the worst of her fatigue washed away. Regardless, she rose, had a quick snack, crossed the bridge behind the Jarl’s longhouse and began following the river east.
It was a familiar sort of territory to her, if yet mostly unknown. Like her home, the place was full of colorful aspen and birch trees, and the grass was long, thick, and golden. The river’s progress in its banks played a noisy counterpoint to the birds’ chittering in the branches.
Go east along the river until I find a stream, then turn north. So where’s the stream?
Qara was beginning to worry that she’d gone the wrong way until she caught a whiff of wood smoke and food on the breeze. A moment later she found the stream; it had scoured all the soil from its rocky bed and was dancing its way downslope toward the river. Qara smiled and turned north. Shortly thereafter she spied a cabin nestled amongst the aspen.
A large man, dark-haired and dressed in heavy leathers and furs, hammered on something at a workbench just outside the cabin. She approached him slowly and cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, but are you either Svegard or Ulgar?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m Ulgar. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve come from Amber Creek with a message from the Jarl. There’s… a situation. You and Svegard are to resume your duties as his housecarls, as soon as you can get there.”
Ulgar snorted. “Is that bastard Yngvarr up to something?” He made a disgusted noise. “We knew this would happen someday. Hrmph. Tell Agnar that we will prepare, then head down there.”
“Alright. Thank you.”
She was already on her way back when she heard Ulgar yelling. “Svegard! Come on! Agnar needs us.”
Qaralana went directly to Borvaldur Manor without looking around Amber Creek.
“Jarl Agnar?”
It was completely silent in the longhouse. She searched in all of the side rooms and even went upstairs, feeling a bit guilty as she stuck her head into the Jarl’s bedchamber; but he wasn’t there, either. Frowning, she went back outside – and gasped in surprise.
Agnar stood in the roadway, talking to a very tall man in gleaming black armor. She’d never seen the man before and something about his posture said “threat” to her. She approached slowly, one hand atop her blade’s grip.
“It’s simple,” the man said. “I’ll only ask one more time. Let us search, and then we’ll leave.”
Search? Is this…
“You will do no such thing,” Agnar answered. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Yngvarr, but you will leave my people be.”
“You will let my people search,” Yngvarr said, closing the gap to Agnar. Qara noticed the mace the man wore at his side. Ebony, by the looks of it, and hefty. He was geared up for war, no doubt of it.
“And if I don’t? What will you do?” Agnar growled. “Go back to Staalgarde, Yngvarr. You are not welcome here. Leave me and my people in peace.”
“I’ll be back,” Yngvarr snarled. “And you’ll regret this. Your whole town will.”
Yngvarr turned to look at Qara. She thought he was about to address her; but all of them were then interrupted by the friendly tones of Ulgar approaching from the east.
“Got sick of Staalgarde already?” he called out, grinning at Yngvarr as the man stomped off toward the gate. Svegard was close behind, and gave Yngvarr an equally-cheeky grin.
“Here on vacation, are we?” he said.
“Shut up, both of you,” she heard Yngvarr mutter just before he reached the gate. The brothers had sounded jovial, but it was clear that they were deadly serious about the threat Yngvarr posed. They stared after him, making certain he was well away and the Jarl was safe.
“Svegard! Ulgar! It’s good to see you two again,” Agnar cried.
“Indeed,” Ulgar said, turning to face his Jarl. “It has been too long, my friend.”
Svegard, who had continued frowning at Yngvarr’s back, turned as well. “How may we serve you, my king?”
Agnar tsk’d. “Svegard, we have been over this.”
Svegard grinned. “Sorry. How may we be of assistance, Agnar?”
So he really is the king, and he doesn’t want the title. That’s worthy of respect all on its own.
Agnar sighed. “Yngvarr is up to something. He demanded to search the town and has mobilized his people.”
“His entire army?” Svegard said, frowning.
“He’s up to something for sure,” Ulgar agreed.
“I’m afraid he may make a move on Amber Creek or Borvald. I think you two need to be here.”
“Of course, Agnar,” Ulgar said. “Our swords are yours.”
“Very good,” Agnar said. “Then we must figure out wha…” He stopped as a figure in priestly robes approached.
“Brother Thorlough!” Qara exclaimed as the monk neared them. Nice of you to show up.
One of Agnar’s eyebrows rose. “Have you decided to help?”
Thorlough wasn’t amused. “Aye. They… that bastard!”
Svegard frowned. “What happened?”
“They came to the Priory, demanding to search the place. We let them search the main temple, but when they wanted to search the private quarters Brother Collens stepped in. Yngvarr’s men simply killed him, and searched the place anyway. They tore it apart. We buried him, cleaned up, and grabbed our weapons.” Thorlough turned to address Agnar.
“We were to remain neutral until provoked. But Yngvarr just hit the beehive with a stick! Wherever you need us, we sons of Shor will be there!” By the time he finished, his voice had risen from a whisper to a full-bodied shout.
“May Brother Collens be guided to Sovngarde,” Agnar said respectfully. “I am glad you decided to fight. This could be worse than we thought.”
“What could Yngvarr possibly want?” Svegard asked. “He tried to search the Priory, and then Amber Creek… Why hasn’t he touched Borvald?” His mouth dropped open as he realized the implications of his own question.
Agnar’s eyes opened wide. “Borvald! Either he’s already been there or he’s headed there now. Jarl Valfred must be warned.”
“We are not leaving your side. You’re in too much danger,” Ulgar said.
“Ulgar’s right,” Svegar agreed.
“I must stay, to mourn,” Brother Thorlough muttered. “And to think.”
Brother Thorlough, you’re about as useless as… Qaralana gritted her teeth. That’s going to make me the messenger again, isn’t it?
“That just leaves our friend here,” Svegard said.
“The Redguard?” Ulgar asked.
“Half-Redguard, Ulgar,” Qara said with a grin. “My Daddy is Nord.”
Agnar turned to her. “Yes, I’m afraid so. We’ll stay here and look at guard reports. Maybe we can figure out exactly what Yngvarr wants. Go to Borvald, the city on the plateau to the east, and have his housecarl take you to Jarl Valfred. Tell him what has happened. Warn him that we are on the brink of war!”
For a moment Qaralana stared at him, annoyed. He takes a lot for granted. I’m not one of his subjects. A couple of days ago I’d never even been here before. And yet…
“Would Yngvarr really attack Borvald?”
“Back in the war a hundred years ago they tried to take the city; but it was late in the war, and Sebedus Borvaldur was well prepared. If Yngvarr attacks now, Jarl Valfred will be completely unprepared. Borvald is in very grave danger.”
She looked at his expression and saw desperation just under the surface. He doesn’t exactly have a lot of choices, does he? Brother Thorlough must stay here to mourn? He couldn’t mourn while he walked, like a normal person in a crisis? Bah.Useless.
Again she thought of the training she’d had from her parents and Delvin. I might even have an advantage. They don’t know me. I’m not a threat to anyone on the road. And Yngvarr didn’t look at me long enough for me to have made an impression, I hope.
Her mind having been made up, she nodded at the Jarl and started down the road toward the east. She would keep an eye peeled as she went. It wouldn’t do to run up on Yngvarr by mistake, and she didn’t want to risk having to kill him. That would be an inevitable spark to war.
I’m not having a war on my hands.
There were no unwanted interruptions as she sprinted down the now-familiar road, and for that she was grateful; she needed to make good time. She slowed for a moment when she reached the crossroads just below Borvald’s plateau. There was no smoke rising from the city, no attackers visible anywhere, no sounds of battle. In fact, it was so quiet that deer strolled placidly along the roadway, only moving when she started running again.
I’ve made it in time, then. Good.
The path up the plateau began well around the base of the plateau itself, down the road a bit and past a mostly-ruined house that drew her interest. It felt like the sort of place bandits might hide in. But she heard nothing, saw nothing, and therefore forced herself to keep running.
No. I can’t stop and look inside no matter how intriguing it is. I need to get up this mountain.
There was a man dressed in Falskaar guard armor stationed at the foot of the passage. He looked her over, but seemed mostly unconcerned by her presence and had nothing to say.
Apparently I don’t look like a bandit. You might think a stranger who looks and is dressed so differently might be worthy of at least some questioning, but…
The man just outside the city’s closed gates took a greater interest in her as she arrived at them, panting from the run and the effort of climbing. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but he looked substantial, and official, and she had the distinct impression that things wouldn’t go well for her if she tried to push past him.
“The city is in lockdown by Jarl Valfred’s order. What makes ye think I’d let you in?”
“Because,” she said between attempts to catch her breath, “I have… a message… from Jarl Agnar. It’s imperative that he gets the message immediately.”
“From Jarl Agnar? Hmm,” the man said, rubbing his chin. “Alright. Very well. I’ll show you to Jarl Valfred. Follow me.” He stepped ahead of her and called out loudly enough to be heard inside. “Open the gate!”
For just a moment Qaralana wondered whether this man might be a bit too trusting. But as the gates swung open she was completely distracted by the beauty of the city before her. Just inside was a marketplace atop hard-packed soil and ground cover. Other buildings were Nord-style structures of wood and stone, their roofs a dark, brick red color that matched the canopies over the market stalls. The steeple of a large stone church rose above the city, its colorful stained glass catching the sun.
And it was dead silent. There seemed to be nobody about aside from the guard who had opened the gate for them.
He wasn’t kidding when he said the place was in lockdown. People aren’t even outside their homes!
The man led her through the city and up through several levels of attractive buildings. Finally she saw their destination: a lovely manor much like her uncles’ home, set on the highest point of the plateau near the top of a short flight of stone steps. The guard opened the door for her and said she would find the Jarl within.
The inside of the manor was surprisingly modest, without the fine furnishings and appointments she expected in a Jarl’s home, especially in the capital city. There were no servants or courtiers bustling about, either; when she stepped around the entryway into the main hall she found a lone man, dressed in fine clothes but otherwise unremarkable, stirring something in a cooking pot.
“Hello?” she said hesitantly. “Are you…”
“I’m Jarl Valfred,” he said, putting the stirring spoon aside and straightening to face her. “Can I help you in some way?”
“Yes. I’m here on behalf of Jarl Agnar. We’ve learned that Yngvarr is raising an army. He’s looking for something and seems unlikely to stop until he finds it. His people already have terrorized the docks, threatened Amber Creek, and killed one of the brothers at the Priory, and we’re afraid Borvald may be next.”
“I had a feeling that’s what was happening. I’m glad I had the city sealed.” He tsk’d. “It would be Yngvarr. Damn Unnvaldrs up to something again. Can’t they just leave us be?” He sighed and shook his head, then met her gaze again. “You said he was looking for something. Do you know what?”
“No, but his people ransacked the Priory and tried to search Amber Creek. We wouldn’t let them.”
“We.” I guess I’m more a part of this than I’d realized.
“Hmm.” The Jarl frowned. “I don’t like what this implies. I think I may know what he’s after, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I…”
“Jarl Valfred, sir,” came a distressed voice from behind Qara. The man who’d escorted her here was standing in the doorway, looking agitated. “The city is under attack! The bandits have breached the gates.”
Qara’s mouth fell open. “But I saw nobody around, on the roads here! Only…” Only the men along the road, dressed in guard uniforms. Who’s to say they weren’t disguised lookouts for a hidden force? And when they saw me enter the city, they used that moment to force their way in while the gates weren’t completely closed? Did I bring this about?
“Damn it!” the Jarl cried. “Then we don’t have much time to flee. Goran, fetch our weapons!”
“Already have them,” Goran said.
“Yngvarr has the nerve to attack my city?” the Jarl snapped, turning to Qaralana. “This is certainly the start of another damned war. You have to go and tell Agnar. Yngvarr’s been desperate for power, though he already has a lot of it. Let’s go!”
Valfred and Goran drew their swords and ran for the door. Qara was horrified.
The Jarl has no armor, only a sword! What is he doing, running out there like that?
She drew her blades and followed them out.
It was pandemonium outside. The sound was overwhelming; she could hear screaming, and could see that some citizens had defied the order to stay in their homes, coming outside to defend them. Swords clashed just out of sight, on the stairs and below them in the city.
“Get ready!” Valfred shouted, running headlong into the battle.
“No!” Qara cried out, following him.
Goran stood just in front of the Jarl, grunting as a bare-chested Orc bandit rushed toward them. Goran struck; the Jarl stepped around him and slashed with his own sword.
“That all you got?” the Orc sneered.
“Nope, you ugly bastard,” Qara said, ducking under the sweep of someone’s sword – she wasn’t certain whose it was – to slice at the Orc with both blades. He was good, though; he had a full shield that he used effectively to block both of her attacks. He dropped down one step.
“You made a mistake coming here,” Goran growled.
Qara stepped back out of the line of attack for a moment, to make sure she didn’t strike the Jarl or Goran by mistake. Instead, she circled around behind the Jarl, dropped down beside the stairs, and then ran up them again to attack the Orc from behind. Goran took a mighty swing at him just as she sliced him from the back, and he finally fell.
An Argonian in ringmail, highly visible with his green skin and ivory horns, took the Orc’s place and made directly for the Jarl. For a moment Qara stopped, in awe at Valfred, in only his gold-embroidered finery, fiercely taking aim at the bandit with a form that told of a lethal blow if his weapon connected.
“This’ll be your last mistake!” Goran shouted, taking a mighty swing at the Argonian and staggering him. Once more Qara rolled forward beneath Goran’s upraised weapon, a move that added her own mass to the power of her blows as she came up and struck. The Argonian stumbled and fell backward off the stairs, and a guard who’d been rushing to his Jarl’s side finished the bandit off.
She took quick stock of the battle. There was a wild skirmish involving a mage, next to the closest building. Flames had erupted on the next lower level and were racing through the stables and coops full of hay. Dead bandits, citizens, and guards littered the area. And there was noise. So much sound. She didn’t know where to turn next.
Suddenly a memory came to her, as vividly as though the battle had stopped to show it to her.
It had been one of those happy occasions when the whole “family” had been gathered, back in the days before she’d learned how unusual and important many of its members were. To her, they were just “the grownups,” and Harald was simply her playmate and Chip’s friend. The men, as older men often did, were reminiscing, mostly about battles; her father stood to the side looking amused, as usual. “I never fought in the wars, lass,” he’d told her often enough. “I prefer helping things out behind the scenes.”
“I wish I’d been there, Father,” Harald had said in his usual, serious fashion. “I’d have helped.”
“And I’d have been up on the walls, shooting down the enemy. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!” Chip had cried, miming his bow form.
“You wouldn’t have needed to,” Roggi had laughed, “because Queen Frina was there.”
“Oh!” Qaralana had breathed. “I wish I’d been there too, so I could have seen Queen Frina fighting!”
Frina had turned to her and smiled sadly, shaking her head. “No. It’s true that I fought in the war, but… You don’t ever wish to be in a battle. None of you do. It’s the most awful, most terrifying thing. There’s no time to think, no air to breathe, and the noise is…” She’d looked pointedly at her husband and then back to Qara. “And all these big, strong men are lying if they try to tell you anything else.”
Qara blinked as she heard a woman shouting. She whirled to see a female bandit bearing down on Jarl Valfred, war axe readied. Qara raised her blades and started for her, but a guard stepped protectively in front of Valfred. The axe came down into the notch at the base of the guard’s neck, and what started as a cry ended in a gurgle as he fell to the ground. Qara screamed and started beating on the bandit with her blades in hand, not thinking about form, or function, or anything but ridding the world of the woman who continued taunting the Jarl. She’d been injured enough already that it only took a few blows to finish her off.
The battle had surged to her left, into an area where sections of fallen stone wall blocked the exit. Beyond the walls everything was alight. The Jarl, Goran, several guards and a citizen in nothing but thin clothing were all attacking a pair of bandits – perhaps the last in this area, she couldn’t tell. Over the general din individual cries rose.
“I’m not letting you escape!”
“Bring it on!”
“Borvald shall endure!”
Qara reached the knot of combatants, but not before a bandit with a huge battleaxe sliced the civilian almost in half. She screamed in rage and helped bring him down; the others had the second bandit well in hand.
And then, before she even had a chance to get her bearings, the remaining guards and Goran were propelling Jarl Valfred back up the stairs toward his manor. She looked to her left and saw that the flames were spreading.
Wooden structures. This is a disaster.
She followed as quickly as she could. They ran to the rear of Valfred’s property, where the curtain walls hugged the edge of the plateau. They’d be just above the gates here and could, presumably, escape the battle.
I need to get out to warn Agnar. But we need to safeguard Valfred, too, so he can return and rebuild Borvald later.
The guard who’d led the way dropped back to guard their backs. Qara, Goran, and Valfred jumped down from the edge of the retaining wall onto a rock outcropping and dashed around a corner toward the gates. They skidded to a stop and gaped in disbelief at the sight.
The gates were blocked. Rubble had fallen in front of them – heavy rubble that would take far too long to clear under the best of circumstances.
“Damn it!” Valfred cried. “We’ll have to go through the crypts. There’s a little-known exit we can take. Let’s go!”
They ran back the way they’d come, much to Qara’s confusion. But tucked back in a low corner, well out of sight of everything else, was a nondescript iron door. Goran pushed it open, and Qara followed the Jarl through it and down into the catacombs. She didn’t realize that Goran hadn’t followed them until Valfred turned to look back toward the stairs. Goran’s voice came down them.
“There are too many bandits topside,” he said quietly. “I don’t want any following you in. I’ll stay behind and hold them off.”
“Goran…” Qara started to say.
“But Goran, you can’t just…” Valfred yelped.
“No gods damn time to argue!” Goran snapped. “Now go!” He drew his sword and headed back up the stairs. The door clanged shut behind him.
Valfred looked at Qara with dismay in his eyes. “We should go if we don’t want his death to be in vain.”
She couldn’t speak. It was too unfair. She just nodded.
The catacombs were like dozens of other barrows Qara had seen, but happily devoid of ancient corpses rising up to attack. There were, however, bandits, inexplicably holed up in the twisting corridors. They heard the first not far inside.
“Maybe I should pay off my bounty. No sense in hiding from my mistakes.”
The man had a battleaxe. Valfred barreled into the chamber, yelling; but as the man fumbled with his axe Qara did what she did best, leaping out of the way only to rise up behind him and take him out with a few quick swipes at his neck and ribs.
“That wasn’t too bad,” the Jarl said.
“No, but don’t let down your guard,” she whispered. “I think there are…”
And there were, as she’d been about to say, more. Two angry men with weapons held high rushed out of the shadows. Jarl Valfred easily blocked the blow that would have killed him if it had connected, but Qaralana took a solid hit from the backswing of the other man’s mace. She shrieked in pain; it felt as if she was bleeding, but she couldn’t stop to check.
I’m gonna die, gonna die.
I can’t die. I have to get back to Agnar, and I have to get home to Mama and Daddy and Chip. And Harald.
She needed to heal herself, somehow. She had to get this man off her. There was only one way she had left to do that.
“FO – KRAH!”
The man turned frosty white and staggered backward just as Jarl Valfred finished off the other bandit. Qara ran back into the catacombs several steps and began healing herself.
I’m sorry, Valfred. I don’t want to leave you exposed but it’s the only thing I can do!
She watched the two men dance around each other as she used all the magic she had on herself. She wasn’t close to being healed, but there was no time to find potions; she darted back into the fray, drawing the bandit’s attention for a split second. That was all the time Jarl Valfred needed to land the blow that felled the man.
They found the next two bandits in what looked like the main chamber. One was in hefty armor, carrying a shield and a club. The Jarl took a swipe at him and then sidestepped to attack the second, sparsely-armored bandit. Qara stepped between Valfred and the better-equipped of the bandits and beat against his shield, getting a sense of his timing and then reaching around his block to stab him in the heart. Valfred and the other man were exchanging blows, shouting at each other. Qara made a half-turn to see what was happening and then pivoted on her back foot, striking with her primary blade.
It struck the bandit’s head from his body.
She stared down at the twitching corpse for a moment, utterly stunned, having never done anything like that in combat before. She had just begun to tremble from the shock when Valfred called from the wooden staircase leading up. Qara took a deep breath to clear her head, and followed.
There was a handle embedded in the stone wall just beyond the stairs’ landing; when the Jarl pulled it, a section dropped slowly down, revealing a rough, narrow passage beyond. Qara took the lead, and they hurried along the twisting path to where it emptied into a small room with a door on either side. An oval window on the opposite wall revealed a pedestal just out of reach, atop which rested a shining piece of metal.
“By the Divines,” Jarl Valfred breathed. “What is that?”
Qara turned her head to look at him, but then heard a triumphant growl from beyond the window and whirled around again. An Orc in heavy armor snatched the item from the pedestal and laughed.
“You’re too late. The Key is mine! Yngvarr will find the Heart of the Gods and will rule all of you!” He stepped back into the darkness and disappeared.
“Of course,” Jarl Valfred groaned. “The Heart of the Gods. That’s what Yngvarr’s looking for. This is very, very bad. Come on, we must hurry!”
He opened the door to their right and led the way through another passage, this one wider and rougher, with dirt floors. They emerged into a cave.
Qara barely had time to register the barrels packed into almost every part of the cave before the bandits there attacked.
“What is with all this oil?” Valfred exclaimed. “Are they going to blow up the city?”
“Not if I can help it!” Qara yelled, taking on the first of two bandits rushing up a ramp to her right. She got very lucky. The man had a greatsword, and was winding up for what would have been a tremendous blow when she stepped in, using a combination of dagger strikes to ruin his neck. The second bandit, behind him, had only an iron club; and while she was tougher, she was basically unarmored.
But just as Qara finished her and stepped back from her body, another bandit yelled from behind. “Why won’t you die?” Qara’s shoulder erupted in blinding pain as the shaft of a battleaxe came down hard on her. Her peripheral vision caught the shape and the size of the axe head that would have ended her life if she’d not taken that quick backward step.
She turned on him, nearly blind with pain and anger, and started attacking and stabbing as hard as she could with only one of her daggers. Again she got lucky; she stepped forward as he swung backward, and buried her blade in his heart.
Or maybe it’s not that I’m lucky. Maybe it’s that I’m nimble and I have good weapons, made of ebony and cared for over the years.
“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here!” Valfred yelled at her.
“One second!” she yelped, healing herself and looking around in discomfort. I have the feeling we didn’t get all of them, but I don’t know. I don’t see anyone. But her shoulder throbbed; her head rang from all the battle sounds, and the noisy stream rushing down the bottom of the cavern toward a metal door made even thinking impossible. She followed Jarl Valfred out the door and then gasped in dismay.
They stood on a narrow sliver of cliff, so far above the ground below that she could barely see it. What she could make out was water – a pond, or a river into which the stream she stood in flowed. It was pouring down rain. Sounds made it clear that the battle continued to rage above them; they were being joined by intermittent explosions.
The oil! They’re bombing things with casks of oil! That’s what was so wrong about that cave!
“This is it,” Valfred told her. “The way out of here. Now go on, you have to jump. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”
She stared at him. “Ok, so take my hand and we’ll jump together.”
He shook his head. “Tell Agnar that Yngvarr’s trying for the Heart of the Gods. He’ll understand. I’ll hold these bandits off as long as I can.”
“You’re out of your mind! I’m not leaving you here,” she said, shocked that he would even consider such a thing. “You’re an admirable fighter. Kind of amazing, even. But you’re the Jarl! You have to live!”
“I am the Jarl,” he said quietly, “and I’ll have you obey my order because I am still the Jarl of Borvald and you’re in my city. Now jump!”
And he gave her a shove.
Qara went hurtling into midair, screaming as she windmilled her arms over the rapidly-approaching water. But her screams were muffled by an enormous explosion.
Someone had gotten to the oil.