The Winds of Ysgard - Part One

Rikhard sank into a chair, his eyes on Farrun and his mind reeling as the older man spoke. The aromas of the food set before him made his mouth water, but his stomach churned with dread. What was he getting into?

He waited as Addison spoke, pondering his own possible contributions to this quest -- if he managed to stay alive. Maybe there were things he could do that others couldn't. Hadn't Mother taught him to swim and sail, to cook his own meals and navigate by night? When the redhead fell silent, he cleared his throat.

"I don't know a thing about dragons or riding them," he began, "and I'm not a fighter of men or beasts. I'm far and away more at home on the sea than on the shore. But show me the stars on a clear night and I'll show you any direction in any season. Give me meat and fire, I'll make a meal. I can tame a boat like others tame horses or hounds.

"My life thus far hasn't been easy, and I'd be a fool to think this quest will be any better. But if the gods saw fit to bring me here today, then they clearly believe I have some worth. There's little I want more than to believe that as well."

His piece said, he sat back, looking from one companion to the next.

 

Loke grabbed a honeyed roll and tore off a piece, stuffing it into his mouth.

"Good food," he said, heading over to the fireplace. It seemed a small feast had been prepared for them, another dazzling picture. The Wolf Queen would have none questioning her generosity as host.

"As I have already declared my intention to the people of the Western Kingdom it would be impolite to abandon you now."

He pulled down his trousers and began to relieve himself into the fireplace. "For almost a decade I fought the elves, fighting with few I trusted and with little support. Through forests and mountains I raided, surviving through forage and pillage." He finished, shaking himself off and pulling up his trousers. "I know war, but I also know survival. It is those skills I offer you."

He walked up to the table, drawing his seax. "I will not need money. I have wealth enough to pay my own way." He took a game bird he didn't recognise, slicing off a leg. "And should I compose a poem or two." He smiled wolfishly. "I will be most generous in my description of each of you."

The bird's meat was juicy and tender, well-seasoned, but by what he could not tell. He would have to ask, sometime.

"Of course," he said, through a mouthful of food. "If we can kill some elves I would not be opposed."

He caught sight of the elf boy, Einan. "Oh, not you." He smiled in reassurance, grabbing a flagon of mead. "Other elves. The evil ones."

 

Loke turned to Addison and smiled. "My back was to everyone and I see no trees to stand behind. You may sleep apart, if you wish, but I have always fought beside women and, like men, they slept wherever there was space. Though I must admit, it is strange to see a huntress so bashful."

He sliced another leg of his game bird. "Cleaning a kill is a bloody and intimate affair, after all."

 

Bendalitz did not take a seat, but rather stood his ground, watching, like always. "There is a large difference," he said, "Loke, between cleaning a kill and pissing onto a hearth. Do go ahead and realise it, whenever you can."

Before Loke could address him Bendalitz turned his attention to the supposedly near useless Rikhard. "Bendalitz Agrippen, at your service. I can assure you that any skills you have, however few, will be deeply appreciated."

 

Rikhard wrinkled his nose in disgust as Loke relived himself into the fireplace. He was about to respond when Addison and Bendalitz did the same, and he decided to keep his peace.

He glanced at the food in front of him -- some kind of roasted game, with spices he couldn't identify -- and took a few bites. It was tender and juicy, and soon hunger overcame his nauseating dread enough for him to continue. He inclined an ear toward Farrun again, and had to suppress a shudder at the warning against disrespecting others' privacy or wishes. He had no intention of doing such things, but the mention of it brought back memories he was in no mood to relive. He knew of one person in particular who could do with a curse upon him, courtesy of Farrun.

When Bendalitz glanced his way and addressed him, he dipped his head in embarrassment. "Forgive me. My name is Rikhard."

 

Loke sipped from his mead. So the huntress did not bristle or jump to offence. That was good to know.

"Farrun Ramshorn and Bendalitz Agrippen are named for their villages but I have never known a true home. My earliest memories are as an elven slave." Without thinking he reached for the locket hidden under his shirt but he caught himself and quickly returned to the bird. "After I escaped I travelled always–often in the company of hunters or poachers–so I have no true 'surname,' as it were. Bloodaxe is an… an epitaph, and only one of my more common. Bloodaxe, Elfslayer, Wyrmborn, as well as others less well known, and some less generous."

He sliced expertly into the flesh of the bird, finally realising its kin. "Oh, it's a ptarmigan! I recognise it now." He grinned like a madman, celebrating his realisation with a mouthful of mead. "It is very well cooked!"

He continued picking away at the ptarmigan, turning once more to Addison. "It was from the hunters that I first learned to fight. Those who roam the forest can be ruthless, as I well know. Now, you are Caernish, so you will not have known our hardships. This is not to belittle you," he quickly added. "Merely to explain. To me, a weapon was not a thing a human owned. Weapons were for elves or for those the elves empowered. Thrall militia, mostly, terrible fighters and very often cruel."

He emptied his mug and set it aside. "So for me, a weapon was a strange and forbidden thing. I learnt to fight with tools, mostly from the hunter's trade. Knives, boar spears, wood axes, slings–though I could never quite take to the bow. The axe I could carry in one hand while holding a shield in the other. Furthermore, an axe could deal a heavy blow, even to armoured adversaries. I now own swords, of course, and I am skilled in their use, but the axe became my weapon and the one for which I am known. I will challenge anyone in any land to throw an axe as well as I."

 

As the others talked, Einan found himself a mug of mead and a stretch of wall beside the fireplace to lean against. Usually, he would be in the middle of everything, talking and enjoying himself, but something about the gathering had put him out of the mood. Perhaps it was the casual way everyone seemed to be talking of killing elves.

Or perhaps it was that man, Loke--Einan turned his face away, lip curling, as Loke pissed in the fire. It was a common enough habit, but for some reason he felt personally offended.

Let it go, he told himself, taking a sip of his mead. There's no need to cause discord.

His gaze turned to Troia, who was just taking a seat beside Addison. Ari was at her elbow, as always, but he knew the elaborate feast on the table wasn't in danger. She'd trained the dog to only take food that was offered to him.

As he watched everyone else, Einan's thoughts turned to their upcoming journey. For the first time, a sense of trepidation mounted within him as he pondered the thought of venturing into the wild of the Dragonbone Mountains. Firin was poised on the mountains' edge, of course, but he'd never actually entered the true mountains, even when hunting, sticking instead to the familiar dales and heights of the foothills. He'd heard stories about those mountains--everyone had.

And some of them were not nice stories indeed.

At Farrun's voice, he pulled himself from his thoughts and stepped forward. "I am Einan Garrunsson, from Firin. It's a small village in the foothills, closer to Ysgard than we'd like. It's mostly a town of former runaways."

Troia

Troia smiled as she slid into a chair beside Addison, her gaze sweeping over the spread on the table. "Gods, but that's a lot of food," she commented. "And doesn't it look fancy?"

The roasted game bird seemed the dish that looked least like it would take personal offense at being eaten by a country bumpkin. Troia took out her belt knife and carved a few slices from it, her mouth watering as fragrant steam wafted up from the meat. It was so tender that it fell into pieces as she scooped it onto a plate.

As she began to eat, Farrun said something. It was only when Einan introduced himself that she realized the dragonrider had asked them their names. She paused with food halfway to her mouth, face flushing. Quickly she set it down and cleared her throat, trying to shake off her embarrassment.

"I'm Troia Beirardsdaughter. I'm also from Firin...my parents were both slaves, but they both ran away before the rebellion, so I was born free. My father fought in the war."

Behind her, Einan spoke up. "I, however, was a slave, as were my parents, and the one younger brother I had at the time. We and many of our neighbors made our way to Firin after the rebels liberated our village--no one wanted to stay there."

 

For the first time since the Seer had begun selecting them, Loke was truly intrigued. His experience of magic was limited to druidic magic aiding him and elven sorcery trying to kill him. This was something new.

"A fascinating device," he said. "I can well imagine its uses. What kind of magic is this? I have not seen its like."

 

Troia leaned over and studied the orb, careful to avoid touching it. Magic. The art of druidry was practiced some in Firin, but it was the old druidry of the Folk, weakened by things lost or things added on each time it was passed down to the next generation.

"It's beautiful," she said, and she meant it. The orb's simple design was elegant yet deadly looking, its metal skin gleaming sharp in the light.

 

Bendalitz's attention, which for a moment had been on Rikhard, now flashed to Addison's orb. A non-lethal stunning device... He wondered why he'd never heard of them before – it would have proved so very useful so very many times. "And here I was just shooting people in the leg with my crossbow. And that's where I'll stay if we do get into a tussle, in the back with my crossbow. It seems our two hardened warriors will handle the melee," he shot a quick glance from Farrun to Loke, "and we have an experienced Caernish hunter to catch our game, and even a cook and navigator!" He now looked to Troia and Einan. "What will you two bring to the table?"

 

Rikhard stared in fascination at Addison's lightning device. He'd never heard of or seen its like before. He kept silent as the others asked the questions burning on his tongue, and Addison answered each one.

"Where did you get it?" he asked her. "Have you lived or traveled among dwarves?"

 

In response to Benalitz's question, Einan approached the table and laid his bow and quiver down, as well as his hunting knife. "That's all I have, I'm afraid. The bow may be small, but it's powerful, and I'm a good shot."

Troia held up her knife. "This is my only weapon."

 

Rikhard nodded, smiling at the explanation. "Your boss sounds like quite the warrior.

"A knife and a staff are the only weapons I have to offer," he added, looking to Farrun. "I might be able to whittle myself a spear if I need anything better."