JP Koenig
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Chapter 22 - Prey
🕑 Added 2025-03-20 00:00:06 +0000 UTC“You come to me with your skin unweathered and palest of blues, boasting of your Sea Forging and demanding to learn how to gain a Second. Who are you but a dirt farmer who tracks mud upon the decks of my ship? You know nothing of the Sea yet proclaim your ignorance with pride.”
- Awilda, Pirate Queen of the Kattegat
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A scream and commotion interrupted Taliesin’s breakfast. Taliesin took another bite, but the noise only increased in volume. With a forlorn sigh, he put down the slice of buttered bread and washed down the bite in his mouth with a sip of small beer. He turned to see Runolf and his men were already standing with hands on the hilts of their weapons.
Gunther wasn’t in the hall yet, for the hour was earlier than the Jarl was inclined to rise. The door to the hall burst open as a group of five House Guards stormed with a cloak that was being used as a stretcher to carry a body. They set their burden down on the floor before the Jarl’s table, and looked around mildly perplexed.
Taliesin tapped the shoulder of the serving girl near him who was staring open mouthed at the scene, a look of horror on her face. “Do go fetch the Jarl, please, Britta, if you don’t mind?”
The maid, shocked from her inactivity, scampered away. Taliesin walked over to the body, and Aina materialized at his elbow. He looked down to see the corpse of Captain Hrodi. The man’s face was frozen in surprise, with dried blood caking from his mouth to his chin, and a few streaks dribbling down his left cheek.
“Who is it? Where’d you find it?” shouted Jarl Gunther as he stormed into the hall in his nightshirt. The young maid chased after him with a cloak, held so that she could slip it over his shoulders if he stood still for just a moment.
“It’s your militia captain,” said Taliesin. He knelt down to examine the body further. “He’s been dead for some hours now.”
Gunther knelt down next to Hrodi’s body. His hands glowed with divine magic, but he let it fade before calling on his Forging to attempt a healing. “Ah, Hrodi, you poor bastard. Someone get his wife in here, and someone else go to Hrodi’s father. I need a bowl of warm water and a rag. At least we can clean his face before his family arrives.”
Taliesin closed the eyes of the corpse as best as he could, but despite his efforts they stayed partially open. At least the poor man’s wife wouldn’t have to stare into dead eyes. It was then that he noticed the man’s clothes were charred. He pushed aside the cloak to see burn marks on the man’s skin. He tore the scorched tunic and found a massive purplish mark about twice the size of a man’s hand on Hrodi’s right side.
“That’s not a burn mark. Was he struck, perhaps?” said Taliesin out loud.
Gunther looked down. “That looks like the mark of a bludgeoning attack. Yet he’s scorched by fire. Did someone try to burn his body?”
“We found him behind the archmage’s barn, milord,” reported one of the House Guards.
Everyone in the room turned to look at Taliesin. “None of my men use mauls or maces. They wield axes and swords. Besides, what fool would try to burn a body with a torch?”
“Could the fire be magical?” asked Jarl Gunther.
“Ah, well that could be the case. I do not know any flame-aspected attack spells, however, the burns aren’t nearly as extensive as I would expect from a fatal fire attack.”
“Aren’t you an archmage? Can’t you, you know, magic up something like this?” asked one of the Guards. Gunther silenced the man with a look, but the question hung in the air.
Taliesin stood and looked at a room full of questioning eyes. He could feel the fear, the need for answers, that pressed down on all present. “I come from a world that was invaded by a demonic army. I watched, helpless, as this army used fire magics to burn every village, every town, every city. They torched fields and forests, jungles and plains. We were so overpowered that all I could do was help my people flee to another world and shatter the portal behind them as they left.
“I despise fire magic to the depth of my being. It is destruction and death, a ruination wrought upon its victims that consumes all around it.” Taliesin fell silent.
“Of course, Stormlord,” said Jarl Gunther. His use of Taliesin’s title reminded the room that Taliesin was a weather mage that controlled rain and storm, not flames. “I’m sure none here doubted you.”
Taliesin nodded in acceptance, and saw more than a few abashed looks from those who had leapt to conclusions. “If it matters, if he was struck by fire before his death, I doubt it was the cause. The skin is reddened but not blistered or blackened. The worst damage appears to be the bludgeoned area.”
“So he was ambushed, then, and dumped here. We must find who did this.”
“Would this be the work of your rival claimant?” asked Taliesin.
“Sheriff Hallfred? I doubt it. Killing a prominent member of the Windrime Clan would be political suicide as well as actual suicide. They won’t just accept a payment of weregild. They will proclaim a blood feud over this cowardly act. The Sheriff can act rashly, but this is the act of a fool.”
“Clear the hall, and place the body in a position of honor before the hearth,” ordered the Jarl as he wiped the last of the blood from Hrodi’s face. “Everyone else, get out. Archmage, a word?”
The room cleared, including Runolf and his men. Aina vanished from view as the servants headed to the kitchens and the House Guard retreated to posts along the wall, just out of earshot of the Jarl and the archmage. Brant and Viggo remained at the side of their respective masters.
“Milord, we must ensure the Windrime Clan’s anger does not turn our direction. I fear they will slay the messenger, so to speak,” said Brant.
“That is a valid concern,” said Taliesin. “The body was found at the heart of your power.”
“I had every reason to want poor Hrodi alive, not dead!” exclaimed the Jarl. “We just swayed him out of Hallfred’s faction. By Odin’s hairy balls, this is a complication that will make everything more challenging. The winter thaw cannot happen fast enough! I will run that Sheriff out of town the minute the King confirms my title.”
“Until then, may I make a suggestion? Hrodi’s oldest, Haeming, has been in the militia for five or six years now. Appoint him to his father’s post,” said Brant.
“He is still young. Will the older militia respect him?” asked Gunther.
“The same could be said of you, milord,” said Brant. “Yet you’ve been proving yourself to be a canny leader. Your age hasn’t been a burden yet.”
“I would suggest you also give Haeming full authority to investigate his father’s death,” said Taliesin. “That should help as well.”
“Fine, I’ll do that. Archmage Taliesin, if you could continue your work on warding the city walls? I am willing to grant you the old longship by the harbor in return for your remaining carts and horses, as your steward suggested, but I must have the town walls warded as fast as you can.”
Taliesin shot his steward a look, but went with the conversation as if he knew what the Jarl was talking about. “Of course, Jarl Gunther. I will continue my work at once.”
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“I’m sorry, milord, I had some preliminary discussions with the Jarl’s steward while you were working on wards yesterday. I’d planned to discuss this with you after you finished your breakfast,” said Viggo.
“That’s fine, let’s discuss it now,” said Taliesin as they walked to his rooms. Then he paused, and looked at a blank section of the wall. “You can reveal yourself, Aina. It is only Viggo and myself in this hallway.”
Right where Taliesin was looking, he saw the telltales of divine magic dissipate, to reveal a sheepish looking Aina.
“I’m sorry, Stormlord.”
Taliesin waved it away, while Viggo looked flabbergasted.
“I assume your Second Forging is what allows you to turn invisible?”
“If I move slowly, I can stay invisible for some time. It takes a lot of concentration.”
“And patience, I’d imagine, which you learned while hunting,” said Taliesin with a half-grin.
“As you say.”
“Come, join us,” said Taliesin as he proceeded to open the room to his quarters. He strode in and poured drinks. “What did you think of Brant and Viggo’s plans for Hrodi’s son?”
Aina shrugged. “The Windrime Clan isn’t going to calm down until they get blood. I don’t think this will help much.”
“Smart girl,” said Viggo with a smile.”You’re not wrong, but it will help blunt the initial rage. If the Jarl can find who did it, he will win an ally for life.”
“So tell me about the longship.”
“Ah, yes. There is an old longship at the harbor. It belonged to the Jarl’s great-grandfather. Jarl Arni built a newer, larger one to go a-viking in, and the old one has been left on the shore ever since.”
“You see this as our means to leave this town, then?” asked Taliesin.
“Moving overland isn’t great for moving a big group of peasants, milord. Come spring, they’ll be so muddy that you’ll sink to your hip in places. The Jutland peninsula has plenty of coasts and rivers, so we can go where we please in a fraction of the time.”
“Alright, let’s take a look at it. I need to start laying ward stones at the walls anyway.”
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Aina was in shock. She’d never been found while invisible before. Yet the archmage had spotted her, and been able to tell where she was the entire time. He’d looked straight at her when he asked her to reveal herself. She’d thought the gods would hide her from anything. It just went to show how there was always someone more powerful.
Yet the Stormlord’s reaction was, if anything, the more perplexing one. He hadn’t scolded her for spying. She hadn’t meant to, but she was curious and gave in to the temptation. She’d slipped around the hearth behind the varingjar as they left, and had a golden moment when no one was looking at her - aside from the archmage. He must have known she was there yet let her listen in anyway, and didn’t reveal her secret to the Jarl and the steward.
Instead, he’d asked her opinion, and genuinely listened to her. She didn’t know what to do with that information. She followed along as the Stormlord and Viggo linked back up with Runolf and the other men who were to accompany Lord Taliesin today. Runolf nodded in acknowledgement to her as they headed out of the manor.
The morning was cold but the skies were clear. The sun was bright as it rose, lending a cheer to the air that felt inappropriate considering the day’s beginning. They walked through town as people began their days. Shops were beginning to open, and lines at the bakeries were already filled with sleepy townspeople looking for fresh bread before starting their labors. Many of the buildings were dressed with streamers in advance of the midwinter feast. The fears of the gnoll invasion seemed a bad dream in the sunlight, but Aina knew the worry and fear would be murmured about once heads cleared and the tension of waiting set in once more.
Viggo led the small group through the streets to a poorer part of town. They reached the harbor. No town wall protected the harbor, for the river ran well below the town. A steep road went down the steep hill to the water, and docks were built out into the river from there. It was less a harbor and more an entrance to a deep, stony creek that ran too swiftly for even small craft to use. Aina could see a wall and gate on the far side of the creek to protect the bridge leading off to the farms south of town.
At the bottom of the road, they arrived at the town’s docks. To call it a harbor would have been too generous, with a dozen slips and a few boathouses at most. A grand longboat was pulled into drydock behind the largest slip closest to the road. It was freshly painted, but had no sails and was clearly stored for the winter. Beyond that were numerous empty slips. On the hill side of the docks, fishing boats - both large crewed craft and smaller dinghies, lay on their sides or upside down. However, their goal was at the very end.
A large longship lay pulled up on the sand beyond the last dock. It was tilted to one side like the fishing vessels, not propped up as the Jarl’s newer, larger longship. The boards were weathered and the paint faded away. Yet to Aina’s inexperienced eyes, the ship looked sound. None of the wood was rotted, although she had no idea if the ship was seaworthy. It had a mast, but no sails.
“Hmm, probably needs to be pitched at the minimum,” said the Stormlord. “Likely a bit of carpentry required as well. Is there a shipwright in town? We can assign labor to the peasants, but we’ll need a skilled craftsman to direct them.”
“Oh, a fair few of Runolf’s lads have gone raiding before. There’s a few old fishermen in town that know their way around a boatyard as well. We can rustle up the skills enough to make it seaworthy. I take it you can’t use a spell or something to fix it?” asked Viggo, his nose red in the cold.
Taliesan chuckled. “I’m afraid there are many things that magic cannot solve. Wooden ships are organic. I can shape stone and metal with ease, but living matter has already impressed itself into reality. That will is not so easily subverted, even after death.”
Viggo nodded along with Lord Taliesin’s words but was clearly confused. To Aina’s almost ritualistic understanding of the gods, it sounded like common sense. Living things had spiritual meaning, and often had divine relevance as well. That’s why the archmage had used the holly sprigs for his magic in the barn.
Aina trailed behind Lord Taliesin and his entourage as they poked around the boat. They even climbed into it rather awkwardly, as the decks were at a steep angle. They couldn’t really move, just peer into the hatch and see part of the hold. At one point, Lord Taliesin made a portal into the hold so they could see better. Then Viggo, Runolf and Taliesin just puttered around in the way that men did when they were favoring something but weren’t quite ready to make a commitment. Aina had seen several courtships ended in her village by such indecision.
Finally, they headed back into town and towards one of the city walls. Lord Taliesin began doing his strange magics while staring at the wall. If she didn’t know he was a powerful archmage, and didn’t occasionally see flashes of colored lights and swirling shapes, she’d think him mad. As the time passed, she came to one inescapable conclusion.
Guard duty was boring.
She took to watching the people on the street as they wandered by or stared curiously at the archmage for a few minutes. Inevitably the watchers would lose interest swiftly and move on about their day. Aina wasn’t really watching the people for threats, however. She was not a guard, she was a hunter, after all. Instead, she watched them so as to have something to while away the hours. She was cold, bored and a little bit hungry.
That was when Aina spotted him, and white-hot rage flooded through her. It was Samuel, the celtic thrall who had robbed her and carried her out of town. He was the one who left her in a ditch, and the reason the healed up frostbite on her chin made it so it hurt in the cold. She rubbed at her face absently through her green mask as she glared at the man. Samuel must have felt her eyes on him as he wandered from shop to shop, the iron collar missing from his neck. He turned and locked eyes on her, and she watched in satisfaction as the blood drained from his face.
She began to walk towards him, and he fled into the crowd. Aina sped up to keep sight of him. She was so intent on her target that she plowed into the back of a stranger. Aina blanched as she realized she’d collided with the militiaman, Galti, the one who’d always been cruel to her at the town gate.
“What the hell… you! You’re supposed to be dead!” exclaimed Galti, his face red with anger at being shoved. “How dare you push me like that?”
“I didn’t mean to run into you. I was trying to catch up to someone,” she signed.
“You know I can’t do that finger talk thing you hunters speak. How about this? You hand over whatever coins you got on you as an apology, or I’m gonna beat the shit out of your dirty villager ass. You must have some coin, seein’ how fancy you’re dressed.”
“Is there a problem here?” came Runolf’s rumbling voice.
Aina felt a rush of relief, as Sven stepped up as well. Then she looked back to see the other two men were still guarding the archmage. Good, she thought. I’m not endangering the Stormlord.
“I’m just putting this uppity villager trash in his place. You two move along,” sneered Galti.
“How about you move along, bully boy,” said Runolf. “Aina’s part of the Stormlord’s retinue. Ain’t lettin’ no pissant peasant conscript like you mess with the archmage’s people, especially not one with a Second Forging.”
Sven had a dagger in his hands and tapped the blade meaningfully against his palms.
“What!? How..” Galti flushed with anger, but then took in Runolf and Sven properly for the first time. They both wore thick leather jerkins and were well armed. The grips on their weapons were worn smooth, and the trinkets that decorated their belts were carved with imagery of war. These weren’t normal refugees, and he had seen the Archmage enter the town the previous week.
“Know your place, peasant,” said Runolf. He turned and escorted Aina back towards the archmage, while Sven backed away from the spluttering militiaman. He rumbled to her, “we’ll have words later, you and I.”
But Aina’s mind wasn’t on Runolf’s implied demand for answers, nor was it even on the bullying town guard. It was the sighting of the newly freed thrall, Samuel. She had a score to settle with that man, one that she would dole out with a visceral anger. The entire encounter was a reminder that she was, in fact, still a hunter.
And she’d just caught wind of her prey.
Comments
андрей ткач
Thanks for the chapter!
