DB Lazarus
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85. Interlude: Grimglæf
🕑 Added 2025-07-22 16:00:15 +0000 UTCHi everyone, I’m back from my break! It was a busy time, but I managed to get a lot of writing and planning done. You can expect a few interludes coming up soon that I hope will deepen the supporting characters and expand the world. Thanks for sticking around!
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Grimglæf blinked, the blackness slowly receding from the center of the vision. He resisted the urge to flood his body with Energy and charge his…Sæmdarskati. That title stung almost as much as the loss of honor—almost. It should have been his. Yet, the cold of the stone floor seeping into his body told otherwise. He had been out for…too long.
One punch…and from a man who should have been his equal.
He took a deep breath, pulling in the Aether around him. The Sæmdarskati’s punch had disrupted his natural regeneration, halting the regeneration of injuries that should have healed minutes or even seconds at this density of the Aether. He couldn’t show more weakness. The throbbing in his jaw spiked. His anger flared, but the rage at having to accept the role of Verndari had long since settled to simmer. He had control over himself as well as the Energy that now filled his channels. He let it infuse his body. Wounds from his earlier battle closed, and the ache from Sæmdarskati’s rebuke faded to nothing. However, no skill could do anything for his injured pride.
He picked himself off the ground with a deliberate grace. His leader had expressed his disapproval in the most public way possible, and he didn’t need to add to his disgrace.
His eyes swept the cavern, finding only dead monsters littering the floor. He had to make another pass to confirm. He gritted his teeth. The Oresian had been right. The number exceeded anything they had faced in the damned mines, and that didn’t even include the danger brought by those abominations.
Energy surged through his mind at the memory of the weight of the despair. If he had been any weaker…
It is for the greater good.
He stood, waiting for one of his men to give him an update. The entire company had given him space after the Sæmdarskati expressed his displeasure. He couldn’t fault them for that, but he would keep track of who returned. Those who were truly loyal wouldn’t hesitate.
One of his hærliðar approached, coming to a stop at his side. He stood quietly, waiting to give a report. Grimglæf didn’t make him wait. "Tell me it was worth it."
His subordinate nodded. "The cavern contained more than any of us would have dreamed."
Good. Now—
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the Human leaving with the Oresian exiting a tunnel. The Elder and Sæmdarskati lagged not far behind. He started to return his attention to his hærlið but stopped, focusing on the elder [Shaman]. The woman had guided their tribe for decades, and in that time, she had gained power and had learned to wield it with a deft hand that rivaled her prowess at healing. She had bent more than one Sæmdarskati to her demands without saying a word. Even now, after working with her closely for years, he still struggled to discern the emotions underneath the expressionless mask she favored. Yet, everyone once in a while, it would crack, and today was one of those times. Whatever had occurred in that tunnel had not been to her liking.
The Sæmdarskati broke off from the group, moving to speak briefly with another of Grimglæf’s hærlið, Eiræk Sistvaktær. The hærlið hailed from the other tribes, but Grimglæf had strived to learn about all the men under his command. From what he had learned of Eiræk, he had expected resistance. Grimglæf had, after all, taken his position of the Verndari when the tribes merged. However, while he expressed his disagreement, he never disobeyed an order. Grimglæf wouldn’t have hesitated to woo the hærlið to his side if it had any chance of success, but his loyalty to the Sæmdarskati knew no bounds.
Sæmdarskati spoke a few words to Eiræk before heading out of the cavern, not showing any interest in seeing what his company—no, he—had earned them.
His fist closed into tight balls. The man could have the decency to at least feign appreciation. They had spilled blood to help wipe away the stain on their honor—a stain the Sæmdarskati forced on them. Better they had died fighting than bowing before the Volki. The sooner they were free of this place, the better. The savages knew nothing of respect. They pillaged the Mother and used her gifts for what? Dominance? At least that drive kept them in check; otherwise, they would be as much of a plague as the Humans.
Speaking of humans, he still struggled to understand the threat of the one under his command. He had no obvious power, but he had managed to make an ally out of that Oresian noble. And the rumors…he needed to put to rest the outlandish talk of that Human's skill. What he heard sounded unbelievable, but when had the boy not surprised him? A Human of his tier shouldn’t have survived the mines, especially not after his…intervention. Yet, he had. More than that, even. He hadn’t emerged as a stunted husk but grew stronger with each passing day. How? That question would have to wait. The Elder wanted to talk.
Grimglæf returned his attention to his subordinate. If the man had noticed his distraction, he didn’t show it. Grimglæf snapped out a quick order. "Ready everyone. We have a job to do. Give them something to occupy whatever doubts linger in their minds." Then he headed off in the direction of the tunnel that the Elder had disappeared down.
He walked down one of the many side tunnels. He heard that the Mother had filled this land with caves, but he had not grasped the magnitude until witnessing their numbers and size firsthand. He noted the irregularity of half the tunnel’s mouth. A natural extension of this cave that they had widened, if he remembered correctly, and another reminder of how suited his people were to this forsaken place.
The sooner we can return to the Great Sea, the better.
He didn’t have far to walk before he found the [Shaman]. “Took you long enough," she snapped.
He wasn’t in the mood, but he still held his tongue. The Elder had long lost any shred of kindness—if she even had any to begin with. Instead, he bowed his head in respect. "Greetings, Elder."
"I see you," she responded in the traditional reply. "Now tell me what happened here."
Grimglæf recounted the battle. The good, the bad, and the unexpected. He held nothing back, not to a woman of her stature. Still, he couldn’t help but add, "If we had a [Healer] or even a few [Spear Weavers] with us, this would have been trivial."
“Of course it would have, but you don’t.”
His ears popped as the pressure in the tunnel increased, but he weathered it without so much as a blink, just as expected for desiring the role of Sæmdarskati. She gave him an appraising look. Then the pressure receded as quickly as it appeared. “Be thankful that I have not detected any falsehoods from you, but I have not liked what I have heard. You got lucky today. I have assessed your wound. All will recover."
“That seems..."
"Impossible?" The elder [Shaman] scowled. “It should be, but the Oresiani love their potions. While they are a sign of weakness in a [Healer], I am not foolish enough to disregard their power. They make survival here possible.” Her eyes softened. “Child of the Mother, I understand your desire to free our people from this place. The Sæmdarskati betrayed our ideals. This whole thing is an affront to the Mother. They steal her gifts, using them to steal more. However, your good intentions mean nothing if all your men are dead.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “The man you despise made sure that didn’t happen. If the Sæmdarskati hadn’t taken you to task, I would have. Unfortunately, I worry that his lesson will not stick.”
Grimglæf started to object, but then every muscle in his body stiffened. He tried to stretch an arm toward the perpetrator, but it locked into a painful spasm. “You—”
The rest of his words ended in a pitiful croak. The Elder didn’t move. Her Marks barely glowed. She had stopped him with a fraction of her power.
“You have disappointed me, but I know you can do better. However, first you need to understand what could have been.”
His body screamed as her power seeped deeper inside him. It tore at his organ, boiled his blood. His regeneration tried to compensate, but he stood inside the sphere of a master [Healer]. His skills failed at their tasks. Pain surged instead of diminishing. Vessels ruptured instead of mending.
He tried, but he couldn’t breathe. Each attempt ended in a sickly gurgle. A sticky warmth rolled down from his eyes and ears, and the tunnel took on a reddish hue. The black at the edge of his vision crept inward.
He pushed against the intrusive power, but he couldn’t perceive its working. His vision went dark, and he sank to his knees.
The Elder knelt next to him and spoke in his ear. Though dull and muffled, he could make out every word. “You led your men into a battle they weren’t prepared for. They stood frozen just like this, waiting to be slaughtered by those abominations like a calf lost from its herd. Don’t let it happen again.”
The pain and torment vanished. Her power began to reknit his body piece by piece, and as soon as he could, he gave her the answer she desired. “Yes, Elder.”
“Good. Now I need to know about this Human.”
The Vísir gave him the time he needed to compose himself. He took it to push out what remained of her influence from his body. “What do you wish to know?”
“Like I said. You were lucky. You should be down two, maybe three men. I do not have all the details, but from what I saw and heard, they should be dead. That Human kept them alive until I arrived. I need to know how.”
He couldn't hide the surprise. “He’s a [Healer]?"
"No," she replied with vehemence. "He is not a true [Healer]. I don’t know his class, but he claims to need potions to heal. I don’t doubt the veracity of his words.”
“That fits with what I’ve heard. He has offered to enhance the potions.” Grimglæf’s Mark flashed. “Humans don’t need another path that drives them to forsake the Balance.”
The elder [Shaman] shook her head. “Perhaps, but there is more to him. How did he survive the Aether in the mines?”
Grimglæf debated sharing his machination but held back. As today had proved, she wasn’t an ally. She would only help when their interests aligned. “I had the same question. I attributed it to his friendship with the young Oresian noble.”
The Vísir tsked. “The Human does have some luck, but that isn’t all. There is more to him. The methods he used to keep our people alive were barbaric, but like the potions he used, they were effective. They came from an understanding of the body. I may not know his class, but I know talent and training when I see it. I watched him work on our wounded. He moved with methodical precision, never once hesitating.”
Grimglæf went stiff. “Is he a genius?”
“No. Not once did he project a skill.”
"What does that mean then?"
"It's too soon to tell, but I do now have a new apprentice."
"You cannot be serious."
Jaw clenched, she bit off each word. “Our Sæmdarskati made his opinion quite clear."
"How?" Only one thing would get this Elder to take on a Human apprentice, but to have the power to force her when she had just locked him down with a thought.
How far behind that man was he?
The Vísir mistook the reason for his agitation. "Calm yourself. I can fight my own battles. This one isn’t worth fighting. This will let me keep an eye on him, and let’s not forget, the Wilds are a dangerous place."
Of course, she already had a plan to put down the latest thorn in her side. He has lost enough favor for one day. He could bend like the grass of the Great Sea.”
"Still! A Human as an apprentice?”
"What is done is done. Now you need to focus on what's important. Find out how much ground you’ve lost amongst your men.”
He took a deep breath to center himself, trying to ignore the cold, dank air so at odds with the land he called his own.
“The Sæmdarskati tarnished my honor, but if what my hærliðar tell me is true, many will forgive me. His bargain has never been popular, even among his own people. The darkness saps our strength. Every day away from the Great Sea increases their desire to find an end. I just worry about what you said. If the Human did save my men, then he may find favor, especially amongst those in my company from Sæmdarskati’s tribe. It may extend to even the young of our own."
She spat. "Foolish. I would think better of our own. But the young…so easily they forget the past and our sacred duty."
“They are weakest. Of course, they would find a [Heal—” He corrected himself as the Elder’s eyes snapped to his. “His skills would be prized. It doesn’t help the Sæmdarskati’s willingness to treat with the Humans.” He took a deep breath. “The Sæmdarskati dared to put all our honor on the line. While it was his right, many don’t see it that way. Even those in his tribe dislike it. This strike will go a long way to ending our debt to the Volki."
“Good. Now I need to return to my duties. Thankfully, this did not take too much out of me. I doubt I'll be that lucky with others."
"Is it getting worse?"
"I think so.
“Any signs of the Wasting?"
"By the Mother's grace, no. Now go attend to your men. Report to me what comes of it. Don’t make me pass rites on more of our people. We’ve lost enough already."
He nodded his head in respect. "Thank you, Elder."
Comments
tibbish
Wasting? Cancer maaaaaaaaaybe? Without a good understanding of the cause of cancer I'd suspect most healers would have a hard time dealing with it. Especially with cancer's tendency to grow faster than most other tissue. Healing magic would be a death sentence unless properly targeted to deal with it I'd suspect.
snowshoes1818
Welcome back! :)
