Mirian dreamed her war dreams. Combatants she felled with her lance. Enemies she slayed with her sword … The battle of Hymlegard. The rain and the mud. Corpses, drenched in blood. The screams. The smells.

Someone woke her.

“Maeghin.” She looked up at him, his black hair kept to the side, his grey eyes giving her a concerned look.

“I don’t want to bother you, but Freivir has returned from the legionaries.”

Mirian rose from her bed, tense, worried. Johanna was asleep and Mirian kissed her on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, my little wolf cub.” Mirian pulled a thick bear pelt over her daughter and nodded to Maeghin.

They left the bedchamber; walked through the corridor and down the stair. “Do you trust Karn?” her cousin asked. Maeghin didn’t look away and his words set her heart to tremble.

“Well … good enough,” she said at last.

“After all, Karn is the leader of a mercenary company,” Maeghin said.

“And we pay him.”

Karn seemed to be a good man, but Maeghin was correct. “I hope we can trust him,” Mirian said.

“So do I.”

Freivir Thoransdaughter awaited them outside. The stars gleamed above her and Mirian gazed up at the constellation of the Goat and the Squirrel. She looked at Freivir, giving her a short nod.

“I’m sorry to have woken you,” Freivir said.

“That’s all right, Freivir. I’m glad you’re here.” Mirian took Freivir’s hands. They shivered, despite her mittens. But Mirian felt colder, dressed in her nightgown. She had her bear pelt wrapped around her. The bloody cold …

“I’m glad too, Your Grace. I’m afraid you’ll be less joyous by my news.”

“Let’s hear it.”

”The legionnaires have promised their support, but it’ll take them time to reach us.”

Mirian looked at Maeghin.

“Well, as expected … ” Mirian said. “Still, we must hold out till they arrive.”

“I’m at your side.” Maeghin laid his hand on her shoulder and that comforted Mirian. Her cousin knew her well.

“Freivir, do you know how long it’ll take them?”

“Several days, likely.” Freivir lowered her shoulders and Mirian grew paler.

“I’ll thank you, but the hour’s late and we need to go to bed. Good night.”

“Good night, my Lady,” Freivir bowed.

Maeghin went to his chamber and Mirian could hear him snore if she put her mind to it. Johanna laid by her side in a deep sleep, but Mirian looked out through the window. Blood and fire. In her mind her beloved Norrtmark was engulfed in flames. The thick timber houses cloaked in fire, people screaming, dying. Gnolls everywhere, slaughtering and eating her people. Johanna …

Mirian shivered, reached for her goblet of wine and drank. One year had passed since her father’s death. She still missed him.

After an hour she fell into a deeply troubled sleep.

*

“There’s no point,” Simon said.

Her dead father was an echo of her dreams. Mirian dreamed, and her dream kept her.

Mirian crossed her arms in her dream. “It’s necessary. When the gnolls realize they can cross the White Mountains unthreatened, they’ll send more. It’s unavoidable. In the end we’ll have a whole invasion at our door. Think, father.” She struck her fist at the table. “We must stop them before that.”

Her father walked back and forth in his chamber and Mirian waited.

“I don’t like it.” Simon looked at her with haunted eyes. “We’re far too few and I don’t have the heart to sacrifice the few we have.”

“Göte. If we propose cooperation.”

“I still don’t like it.” He looked through the window. Snow ravaging outside, the snowstorm howling, icing the cold glass. “Our men won’t just face the gnolls, but King Winter too. Snowstorms and avalanches, small mountain roads where it’s hard to see and harder to walk when the snow winds ravage your face … Mirian, I don’t like it.”

She gave him a hard gaze. “If you won’t do it, I’ll do it myself. I’ll contract a mage and hire the men-at-arms that want to come along.”

*

Snowcapped peaks rose above her. They traveled the small, slithering road.

Mirian looked behind her shoulder. The men-at-arms traversed with their spears raised, flags captured by the wind. She knew that the pavise crossbowmen walked behind them. With that thought in mind she tried to calm herself as she turned forward in her saddle, focusing on the road ahead. She pulled her gauntlet clad fingers together.

“Are you worried?” her father said.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Why is that good?”

“It means you’re not stupid.”

“I guess so. I hope Göte’s men know what they’re doing.”

“They do, don’t worry.”

Despite his words Mirian couldn’t let go of her worries. Was it right to force him? She had been thinking about it for the past few days, when the snow winds tore and bit her. The gnolls always succeeded in staying one step ahead, eluded them like shadows. The road became wider and before them it ran downward. Thirty paces or so to the right the side of the mountain was clear, sloping down into a precipice, while the other side of the road was covered by the dark rocks. Simon rode ahead on his white unicorn Frivei. It was only when it was too late that Mirian discovered the gnolls. "Father!" she cried, growing in despair.

The arrows whizzed and she raised her shield. The arrow pierced into it. Men fell beside her and Darkovian rode after her.

“Mirian.”

“We have to help him.”

"Norrtmark!" her father shouted. Earl Simon thundered in between the gnolls with his sword raised. Frivei speared two gnolls and Simon chopped down three on the fly.

"Norrtmark!" Mirian roared as she tugged on Frostmane's reins.

Frostmane crashed into gnolls. Mirian stabbed and thrusted with her sword. Blood splattered her face and as usual she wore her open bascinet with her thick woolen hood underneath. She preferred to see clearly, so she could counter all slashes.

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"Attack!" Simon shouted over the bloodshed and the men-at-arms charged forward with a war cry. They broke into the gnolls with their shields and their spears. Darkovian led them. The young knight put his spear in one gnoll's shoulder and pulled it out on the fly.

"Mirian!" her father shouted. "Beware!" Frivei thundered forward beside her, and Simon pushed her away from the arrow that otherwise would have hit her right in the bust. Mirian managed to stay in the saddle, saw her father and thanked him with a gaze. Simon nodded.

Some gnolls fled wildly and Mirian raised her fists in a victory gesture, until she saw them. Dozens of gnolls stormed up the ever widening road.

Arrows flew past her, crashing into shields. The pavise crossbowmen answered as Darkovian rode up to her.

“What do we do?” he asked, his voice filled with despair. “They’re so many.”

A rumble from the mountainside to the right. The avalanche was on its way.

Her father gave her a look. “I’ll keep them at bay. Get to safety.”

“Father!”

It was too late. Simon pulled on the reins and his unicorn galloped down towards the gnolls, and twelve men-at-arms followed. The long, broad-shouldered gnoll in black armor pushed past his men and the avalanche rumbled forward.

In a few moments the avalanche would be pouring down the mountainside. Mirian pulled in her reins. She was about to follow her father when Darkovian grabbed the reins. Frostmane rose and then stood still.

”Let go!”

”Mirian! Hear me now!” Darkovian pleaded but she ignored him. Father. Simon galloped towards the gnoll. The gnoll grabbed a pike, and in a single movement, he impaled Frivei … and took hold of Simon before he could even get up. The gnoll drew his black sword from its scabbard while the other gnolls watched, smirking.

The avalanche poured down and Darkovian pulled the reins, getting Frostmane to take shelter by a cliff.

A break in the avalanche. Mirian took the opportunity, peeking behind the cliff. By the rocks stood the gnoll with her father in his grip. In vain, her father tried to fight back. The men-at-arms tried to reach him, but they were hindered by the gnolls’ arrows. The men-at-arms had formed a small shield wall and waited.

“Father.”

Darkovian tore at her, but Mirian barely noticed. Simon met her gaze and his eyes filled to the brim with love. Then he closed them. The gnoll grinned as he chopped off her father's head. Laughing, he raised it. Laughing and mocking.

Mirian was sitting in bed. Her hair was frizzy, and her eyes wanted out of their sockets.

Drops of sweat and sadness streaked down her cheeks. She grabbed hold of the wine bottle on the bedside table and gobbled some wine, then she got up. I still can't sleep.

She knocked on Maeghin's door until he opened.

“Can’t you sleep?” her cousin said.

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

“Can I come in?” Mirian scratched her unruly hair again. The cursed lice plagued her even though she bathed as often as she could.

“Yes, come in.”

Maeghin had lived in the castle for three years, since his family was taken by the plague that came with the merchant ships that traversed the seas.

Mirian exhaled and sat down on his bed. The bed her mother had laid in. Mirian was nine then, when she sat by her mother's side. Her father on the other side and Brose who stood by him. Her mother was beautiful that day, even though she was so close to death. There was something peaceful about her then, something heavenly.

Mirian sighed. “Now I’m thinking about my mother.”

Maeghin put her hand on her shoulder. "Jorunn, yes. It felt heavy when she died.”

“Yes... We were children... And it didn't feel much better after father’s death either.”

Maeghin sat down beside her. He nodded.

Mirian thought about her father, thought about the war they had served in together. The Fifth Dance of the Houses, such was the name of the civil war that had plagued her country five years ago. Dance. Not a fitting word for the war that had ravaged the countryside, when opportunistic devils named earls and the knights and men-at-arms who followed them had plundered the peasants. Raped their daughters and wives, taken their food and killed their sons. War was always a game for the other nobles. But not for her, nor for house Norrtmark. No power without honor, such was their motto.

*

“Ah, Sir Karn.” Maki opened the door and Karn stepped inside the white hallway, followed by his centaur companion Eiron. Mirian clamped down the stairs in full armor. Her coat of plates shone while her hair was washed with soap. Mirian held her bascinet in one hand. “Karn?” she asked, already worried.

“We have a problem; can we take it in your chamber?”

“Certainly!”

Karn sat down on Mirian’s bed. He had seated himself close to her bedtable, with her mother’s vase. Her bad feeling was confirmed when he hit the vase through a mistaken gesture.

“What are you doing?” she burst out.

Luckily, he caught it.

“It’s my mothers.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“At least you didn’t break it.” She smiled, seating herself beside him at her bed. His scent was intoxicating.

Karn looked at the vase. It laid gently in his hands, white, painted with Wa-shi warriors and cherry blossom trees and singing nightingales. He fingered the vase, impressed by the obvious craftsmanship. “Porcelain from the Wa-shi realm ...”

“Father gave it to my mother after his victory at the tournament in Visstad.”

“The tournament. The one who raised your father's fame.”

“You've heard of it.”

Karn shrugged, giving Mirian the hint of a smile. “Every child in Engsmark has heard about the tournament in Visstad. That your father knocked out the country's finest knights, riding a mule.”

“And the best melee fighters. All while he walked around himself in wool, carrying grandfather's old sword.”

“Mm. But enough about your father—if you'll excuse me. Two men have chosen to

challenge me.”

“But you should be able to handle that, right?”

“Maybe, if they don’t start to cooperate with each other.”

Mirian took a deep breath. “That does make matters more difficult. Can you explain some more? I’m not sure I understand the faction politics of your mercenary company.”

“Well, certainly. So, Bleiker, the most threatening of the two, have lots of sway over a third of my men, those who are crueler, so to speak … He’s a rapist, an arsonist, a ravager and a man who loves burning down villages … He’s also a great and ferocious fighter, unfortunately for me.”

“That sounds fun.”

“I see you like sarcasm, my Lady.”

“Indeed, sarcasm keeps us warm during these cold winter months.”

“So, Bleiker is a ruthless, terrible man, but a fine officer with a good eye for strategy.” Karn frowned. “He’s like a cat, in the way that he seems to have many lives.” Karn looked down and Mirian felt a rush of sympathy. Before thinking it through, she took his hand and held it, stroking it gently.

“The other challenger is Ure,” Eiron said. “He was an impoverished knight from a minor house when he signed up and is loved by the simple footmen of the company. He has another third of the company. Right now, they are rivals, but if the cooperate … ”

Karn sighed. “I must betray my own men. Well, some of them. The ones who guard my challengers.”

Mirian raised her eyebrows, as if she didn't believe him. “Would you …?”

“We have no other choice.” Eiron snorted. The centaur’s snorting sounded horse like.

Mirian looked at him as he continued: “If Karn loses, they will want to kill him only to secure their own positions. Then they fight among themselves, Ure and Bleiker.”

“Then our contract will not apply,” said Karn. “Bleiker will sack the town, kill every single one of yours down to the smallest child, if he wins, which he most certainly will.” Karn looked excruciatingly tired, as if he had slept for an hour. Maybe he had? He stood up, to wander around in the bedroom. “I have tried to get him killed for years, Mirian. I gave him the most dangerous missions. In the battle of Hymlegard I sent him out in a frontal charge against Menved’s spearmen, but that madman has always survived.”

“If he touches my daughter ... ”

“You can never do it alone,” said Eiron.

“But together.”

“So what's the plan?” she asked. She was more angry than worried now.

“We’re making a visit to Ure tonight. Take your men with you. We'll break into his beer tent and threaten him.”

Mirian met Karn's gaze. “Raw, but necessary.”

“If that doesn't convince him, I'll cut his throat right then and there.”

Eiron snorted. “We get his men, or he obliges with his life.”

*

“How far do we have?” Mirian whispered.

“Not far now, but we have to get past Ure’s guards.”

Mirian nodded.

“Hurry,” Karn whispered as some of his most loyal men sneaked in the shadows. So far, the encampment laid in shadows and silence. The muzzled silence of winter surrounded them, where only the howling wind was heard. The tents were well anchored with ropes and stakes that braved the fierce snow winds. Ure’s guards patrolled, bright spots in the dark with their torches. The smells of spruce and pine filled the night air and Mirian watched on as Karn squinted in the darkness. The men he had sent forth were nowhere to be seen.

“Good,” Karn whispered.

They had divided the men into five groups with twenty men in each group. Mirian's guard captain Maki led one of the groups. Maki panted in the cold despite his thick woolen armor and the chainmail and woolen hood he wore under his helmet.

“We'll continue,” Karn whispered as he stood up. He made his way forward under the shadows of the tents, zigzagging between tents and cooking fires, careful to stay hidden from Ure's men. Mirian hurried behind him. She heard Eiron's dull hoofbeats, and the silent steps of their men.

The arrows whistled. Torches fell to the ground and were extinguished in the snow.

Darkness closed in where there had previously been light and Karn prayed. “Come,” he whispered, leading the way. Mirian grabbed his hand instinctively.

Karn peeked out from behind the tent he was hiding behind. Ure's large beer tent. Two guards stood at the entrance. Mirian caught her breath and left her hiding place. She charged forward with Karn, Eiron and the men behind them. The guards barely had time to react before they lay dead and Karn rushed into the tent.

The men awoke with jerky movements. Ure himself was too inebriated to be a threat. Karn pointed the morning star at one of the soldiers and Mirian did the rest, ordering Maki and his men to guard Ure's giddy fools.

Karn grabbed Ure’s hair and wrapped his arms around his neck in a firm grip. Ure attempted the madness of biting Karn's hand, but Karn was prepared. His grip tightened. “If you even try, I wring your neck.”

Ure gave up his insane plan. His men sat silent in their beds, watching.

“Well, Ure Fullbencher, you have challenged me. Withdraw your challenge. Give me your support or suffer the consequences.” Karn released the grip somewhat so Ure could speak.

“Bleiker will not allow this. You may have taken me, but you can’t take him!”

Karn's grip tightened and Ure found it increasingly difficult to breathe. “Sad that I will have to kill you.”

Ure's eyes had never been blood splattered like this. He tried to free himself, but it was all in vain.

“Give me your support.”

Ure still struggled, all in vain. “Your support,” Karn repeated.

“I … ”

Karn eased his grip.

“I-I give you my support…” Ure gasped for breath.

“Welcome to the good side.” Karn smiled.