Svaltha II: To Ensnare an Eagle
The Seventh Day of the Third Moon, 873 AD.
Isan's Passage, Hoarsoil Valleys, Scelopyrea.
She wasn't sure how long it had been when she came to. It might have been a few hours, could have been half a week, but regardless of how long she'd been in a trance she was still alive.
Alive, and not where she'd been when she'd first slipped into her trance.
There was a man next to her wearing some of the most bizarre looking armour she'd ever seen, with what looked like animal bones over steel. She curled her lip up in disdain and confusion.
"Who the fuck are you?"
The man bolted upright, apparently having been half-asleep, and looked at her as though she had grown three heads. He immediately jumped to his feet and cupped a hand around his mouth.
"BOSS, SHE'S UP!"
At that there was the sound of pattering feet, surprisingly light for a man in heavy armour, and a figure she'd seen before in fleeting visions appeared before her. She stifled a smirk before it had a chance to appear on her face. Perfect.
"Holy druid, I thank the Bloody One you're alright. We would have set off by now, but we did not wish to disturb you whilst you were communing with the Lord of Slaughter."
Svaltha rolled her eyes.
"You are Kætil, the son of Dyfed, are you not?"
He nodded at her respectfully, if in a manner that displayed more than a little egomania.
"Indeed I am, holy one. Tell me, do you wish to make for my father's warcamp?"
She huffed a little at the uneasy politeness in his tone.
"Put away the pleasantness and attempted deference, you're clearly not good at using it."
The boy blinked at her a few times, apparently surprised by either her informality or acerbic tone, perhaps both, before grinning at her.
"Well, that's certainly more my sort of interaction. Right, here's what we're going to do," the warrior cupped his hands to call out to his men spread out across the valley, "BOYS! GRAB UP YOUR KIT, GET THE WOUNDED ON HORSEBACK, AND MAKE READY TO HEAD FOR HOME!"
She winced a little at his volume, then took a moment to look around at what had once been the convoy she'd led. There was a pyre set up using the remaining intact pieces of the carriages and carts as well as all of the little shards of wood that had splintered away, and on top of it lay the bodies of seven humans and two Umbra. Guess they got them.
"Seven of your men died, then?"
Kætil nodded grimly at the pyre.
"They did. We had six die in the fighting and one more from his injuries afterwards. You see Krai over there?"
He pointed at one of his men who was being supported by two others. She nodded twice, gesturing for him to continue.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he's dead come the end of the day as well. A mighty swing from one of the Jotun broke just about every rib he had. A damn shame really, he's a fine mate to have at your back. Ah well, more's the pity I guess. Not much can be done unless he gets back to the warcamp, so we'll just have to hope for the best on that front."
She nodded at the warrior and gestured towards the two slain giants.
"Who got them?"
"Me, in the end." The young man gave her a toothy grin. "Sword through the skull of one, then me and the boys got the other one bleeding out until I could give it a mercy stroke."
"Krakevasil preserve me, you'd better not let that go to your head."
The son of the Great Jaerl barked out a laugh at that, deftly mounting his horse. He stopped after a little while and looked almost confused, as though he were struggling with something he didn't quite understand.
"Strange though, to see them so far south."
Svaltha raised an eyebrow again.
"It's uncommon to see Jotun this far south, yes, but not that strange. The giant folk have been ranging down here with increasing regularity this last decade. There are few inland traders up here who haven't seen them anymore."
"Yes," he started, still looking mildly disturbed, "but not Snowborn. Never the Snowborn."
That comment took her aback.
"The Snowborn? Not the Stonetrees, not the Smithsons, but the Snowborn? That can't be right, their homeland is nearly eight-hundred miles away. What next, are you going to tell me the Fjordbairns are on the move as well?"
Though he did seem to somewhat enjoy her acerbic comments, something about this situation clearly didn't sit right with him.
"Not their homeland, that was burned centuries ago. Semantics aside that's what I thought as well, but they told me they were from the Snowborn. They hinted at a few things here and there, said our kind wouldn't understand why they were moving for many years yet, but... but then why are the Snowborn on the move?"
She stilled herself a little as the young warrior looked off into the distance, then shrugged to herself. She'd consult her peers when she was made a full Druid to see if they knew anything of these happenings, but for now they were of little use to her.
"As enlightening as this is, how about we get going to your father's camp? Provided we're not too far away do you think we'll be able to make it before nightfall?"
Kætil seemed to shake himself from his thoughts and then grinned at her again.
"A sound idea. Mount up, boys! Syren, make sure some of the lads take the reins for the riderless horses, but leave one for our holy friend here. Can you ride, girl?"
She scoffed at him.
"Better than you can, and that's not in doubt."
The boy raised an amused eyebrow at her in response.
"In that case you'd better mount up as well. We'll be back at the warcamp before dawn."
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She heard him again when they were riding along a small trail to the warcamp, apparently the route that the men escorting her had taken to get to the caravan to begin with. His voice was the faintest whisper on the wind, the lightest possible touch upon her head, but she heard it all the same. His voice was that of driftwood on the tide, waxing and waning in her mind with every moment she lived. To her he was but the faintest whisper, but she knew that to the elders his commands were as booming thunderclaps in the mind, as loud and belligerent as any Warchief and yet so soft and gentle at the same time. Her god was a litany of contradictions, and she was so very grateful to be blessed enough to hear his voice in her head. Even so, it did mean that she was a little... distant, sometimes. Preoccupied, even. Take now, for instance. She hadn't even noticed the arrow in her horse's flank until it tumbled down to the floor with her atop it.
"Death to the false Jaerl! Death to Dyfed! In the name of the Eyvindottir!"
Almost in an instant Kætil was dismounted and at her side, longshield out in front of him in such a way that covered the majority of her body. He was stooped a little, ducking under his shield, for with the sudden nature of this ambush he hadn't had the time to put his helmet back on.
"Dismount!" He cried to his men. "Dismount and kill the fuckers! For the Great Jaerl!"
"For Ostæinson!" Came the scattered rallying cry from the men escorting her, each man who could dismounting and readying their weapons.
She didn't like to admit it, but Kætil had done the right thing here. She didn't want to stroke the ego of a young man who'd doubtlessly spent most of his life in the spotlight alongside his father, but he'd made the right choice. Men on horseback would be useless through this narrow woodland trail, the thick brambles and undergrowth making footfalls a certainty for their steeds and thus limiting their manoeuvrability a great deal. Better to have the men bunched up on foot, all the better to protect each other from their assailants.
"There, beyond the treeline!"
The shouted exclamation came from the man she'd interacted with when first awakening, one 'Syren' if she had his name right. A good pair of eyes he must have had as well; there were indeed figures moving through the treeline from the direction of the shouted warcry.
"If you've got a shield, try to protect your brothers! Look at how they move; they're hunters, not warriors or raiders! The javelins will fall like rain soon enough, so make ready!"
Those who had shields moved to follow his orders, covering their comrades as best they could whilst those without instead readied whatever javelins and throwing axes of their own they had to hand.
Ammunition whistled through the air, both parties throwing their weapons with deadly precision. Kætil would not risk moving from his position of protection over her, and so instead simply did his best to catch whatever was thrown towards them on his shield. A javelin went a little wide, impaling the already injured flank of her horse who protested with a great deal of whinnying and ineffectual kicking as it writhed in pain. More were thrown, caught on the shield of Kætil who dug his feet in and did his best not to be moved as the heads of two went directly through the wood of his shield and embedded themselves several inches out the back, ending up really rather close to the young warrior's face. A throwing axe found its way next to them with a 'thunk', but whilst it seemed well and truly stuck in the shield at the very least she could not see its head peeking through the other side.
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"Is anyone gonna throw any of the fucking things back at them, or do I have to do everything around here?!"
"On it, boss!"
With that little exclamation she watched as Syren deftly moved to pick up a discarded javelin from the man next to him, appraised its weight briefly, then moved it into a throwing position and let it fly with deadly precision. The javelin flew through the air at great speed, burying itself deep into the chest of one of their assailants and knocking them straight backwards. Kætil let out a hearty laugh as the hunter fell to the ground with a strangled gasp of shock.
"See, now that's more like it! Come on, if the bastards don't wanna get in close then we'll have to play by their games, so lets see some more of that! Anyone got any idea how many of the bastards are out there?"
"Somewhere between a dozen and a score, chief!"
She watched as Kætil nodded, seemingly out of habit since the man couldn't really see him very well, and barked out a few more orders.
"We've seen the worst of their javelins now I think! I want throwing axes ready for a counter-loosing and then blades out! We're all in chain, and they're in rags and furs! Let's get the feckless supporters of the Valkyrie-Queen! Death to the Eyvindottir!"
"Death to the Eyvindottir!"
Svaltha had to give Kætil one thing; his men certainly seemed to like following his orders. They weren't all that impressive when one had already seen the Jomsravens in action, but they were certainly good nonetheless. She supposed the difference was that whilst the Jomsravens may have been the greatest heavy soldiers the north could offer, they acted only on the orders of the Druids. On the orders of particularly high ranking Druids. They'd never get involved in a petty squabble like this, small skirmishes between two warring parties who were no different than one another and blinded by bloodlust. No. The Jomsravens would have been far better in making sure this situation had never happened at all.
As it stood however she did not have the Jomsravens by her side, but she did have this little party. They would do for now. Looking around she realised that she must have gotten lost in her own head again, for now the enemy were amongst them. Well, she said the enemy, they weren't really her enemy even if they were trying to kill her, simply the other side of the balance that the Druids had set up.
Kætil caught a number of blows on his shield from a skinny man with a pair of axes before almost effortlessly cutting him down. Twice were throwing axes sent hurtling towards him, and twice did they embed themselves into his shield. Said shield, which must now have been extremely unwieldy due to the number of axes and javelins stuck within it, was discarded on the floor, the young man opting to rush into the fray with a bellowing warcry. It seemed that, in this instance, the apple had not fallen far from the tree.
Looking around she saw more than one of Kætil's men join him in his mad charge forwards, but their opponents were hunters, not warriors, and as such the majority slipped away into the woods. A few remained, trying to fight on, but they were cut down almost effortlessly. The men here were wearing heavy chain, and the hunters were not. That was all that her god cared for in bouts such as this.
Looking down at her own sacrificial blade at her side she contemplating jumping into the fray when the hunters inevitably decided to counter-charge, but such things were, strictly speaking, against her code as a member of the Druidic order. That being said, they did attack me first. They didn't know who I was, but if I'm only acting out of defence...
With that thought in her mind she clambered to her feet and forced herself to focus on her surroundings instead of the faint whisperings of her senses. Krakevasil would understand; a god of war would always forgive his followers for spurning his voice so long as it was with the goal of killing the foe, for any who didn't were foolish in the extreme.
Less than ten seconds after the hunters had begun to slink back into the forest there was the sounding of a horn in the woods, and a fresh group of hunters rushed forth with blades at the ready. In an instant they were amongst the beleaguered huscarls of Kætil's force once more, though miraculously the only casualty amongst the defenders seemed to be two of the already wounded men who had been supported by their comrades from the caravan to this point. It seemed a pity that they had died here and not when fighting the far greater foe that had slain many of their number back at the caravan, but such was the way of battle.
She watched as Kætil gripped a woman's throat and jammed his sword down through the nape of her neck, unaware of the man charging towards his side with a spear aiming squarely at a join in his armour. She launched herself at the man as fast as she could move, deftly knocking the strike off-balance with a flick of her blade before ramming the hilt into the man's nose as forcefully as she could on the rebound, delighting in the crunching sound it made as he fell. She quickly moved around to his side as he clutched his broken nose and opened his throat from behind, his body dropping to the floor like a marionette who's strings had been cut. Maybe she could allow herself to join the fight. Just a little bit.
Looking back at Kætil she found him staring at her in... well, it looked like a mixture of surprise and gladness, as well as something else she couldn't quite identify. He stared at her for a few seconds before grinning, offering his hand out and pulling her to her feet.
"I knew I liked you for some reason. Come on then, let's get the rest of the fuckers; I'll watch your left-"
She finished his sentence for him, a grin of her own coming over her face.
"And I'll see to your right. Sounds like fun to me. Come on then pretty boy, "
Maybe she wasn't really supposed to take part in violence between polities like this, but it was just so fun. This was what she enjoyed; she might have been really rather good at plotting and scheming, but fighting was far more enjoyable. Besides, if any of her superiors inquired she'd just say that fighting at Kætil's side helped her earn his trust. If the grin he was sporting on his helmetless face was anything to go by then that wasn't really a lie.
The rest of the combat went on without much of a hitch, and if it did then it wasn't in any way which impeded her anyway. There were no further casualties amongst their own side, only those two wounded who had been struck down earlier. Amazingly even the heavily-injured Krai seemed to be alright, which was made even more amazing by the fact that there was a hatchet stuck in his chainmail. It was a one-sided affair really, one that surely must have been orchestrated by her higher-ups. Their attackers had been ill-equipped and ill-prepared to face a group of trained men in full armour. A band of hunters could be a fearsome foe to face in the woods, but facing off against a group of huscarls... well, there was only ever one way this was going to end. She was just giving a mercy-stroke to a man who'd had both of his legs cut off below the knee by a greatsword when she saw Kætil finally catch sight of his injured friend, mad smiles on both of their faces. She noted that there seemed to be no real concern for each other's well being, nor their own, in their tones and actions. It was as though they trusted the other completely to pull through no matter what.
"Krai, how the fuck are you still alive!?"
She looked over at the wheezing man, who grinned a wide grin at Kætil.
"You know me; it'll take more than that to do me in, boss."
Krakevasil, she thought to herself with a smile on her face, what sort of people have I gotten myself involved with? Despite her better judgement she had the feeling that she might actually come to enjoy the rest of this assignment after all. It promised to be interesting, if nothing else, and at the end of the day 'interesting' was a by-word for 'violent'.
And she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy violence.
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When the excitement was over and the twelve of them were all mounted once more, herself on a fresh horse since hers was... regrettably incapacitated, they continued on their way back towards the warcamp. She was riding directly behind Kætil, and as such figured that this was as best a chance of broaching the subject of her continued companionship that she had as the Druids had wished for.
Not that he needed to know this was all orchestrated, of course. She wasn't sure if the ambush by the forces of the Eyvindottir was planned without her knowledge or not, but she wouldn't have been surprised. She was but one piece in this grand machination, after all. An important piece, a distinctive piece, but a single piece nonetheless.
"So, my Warchief," she started, noting that he shifted a little in his saddle to turn slightly and look back at her, "have you any amongst the Druidic orders in your retinue?"
The young man shook his head a little, though the action was a little stiff given the angle he'd turned his neck around at to look at her.
"Nah, they're uncertain as to whether or not I'm ready."
"Well," she continued, "how about me? You slew a pair of giants and we fought alongside each other against an ambush. I'm not a full Druid yet, only a Novice, but I'm due for my true initiation anytime now. I'd be more than happy to serve as your 'spiritual advisor' so long as you don't try and keep me away from any fights you partake in."
Kætil grinned back at her again.
"Not a full Druid yet? We'll see about that; I'll have a word with a few of the Druids I know, since they seem to like me. They say I'm destined for great things, so you'll be a Druid in no time. As for you staying in my retinue... well, I believe you saved my life twice in the ambush-"
"Three times," she cut in, "if you count the woman with the sword."
"Three times in the ambush," he conceded with an acknowledging nod, "so it would be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity to keep you here killing by my side."
Krakevasil, this was almost too easy.
"Well, if you wish it then all you need to do is extend the offer, Warchief Kætil. The choice is yours."
He nodded at her once more with a toothy smile, then turned back around and focused himself back on the trail in front.
That was a quick start to her plan. It seemed a little bit of bloodshed was all it took to get her in the good graces of her charge. Him promising that he'd see her made a full Druid was a very nice addition as well. After all, she couldn't very well demand a promotion herself, nor could she try and manipulate the son of the Great Jaerl into it, but if she were promoted because of an idea he put forwards... well, the fastest way to gain someone's trust was to go along with what they thought was their own plan, their own idea. This was indeed a very fortunate start to her plans.
She pulled a little bit of a face as she stared at the back of Kætil. She had her mission, and it seemed at a glance like it wouldn't be too hard on a surface level; he appeared as though he would be very easily led, especially by a Druid such as herself. The trick would be making him think that the ideas she fed to him were his own. Even then, there was always the risk of someone else realising what was going on and raising the proverbial alarm bells.
There were several issues when it came to isolating her young warrior, however that was the main one; if someone else stopped her, if someone let him know what she was doing, then that would set her back a great deal. She couldn't kill off his friends and companions, for he would inevitably find out and that would just make him resent her, but these two in particular, Krai and Syren, needed to go. Maybe... maybe she could persuade Kætil or his father to have them 'kicked upstairs', so to speak. A promotion for Syren would certainly leave him unable to act as Kætil's loyal advisor since he'd be sent out on missions of his own, and as for Krai...
She thought hard for a moment. The young man was a survivor and warrior, yes, but not a leader. It would not do for him to take up arms as a Warchief. Hmm...
She clicked her fingers as it came to her. Of course; the man would make an excellent bodyguard for the Great Jaerl, or rather given how few people wished to try their luck with the man, one of his more 'statesmanlike' underlings. After all, you could never be too careful these days.
Then again, if the two of them in particular could be manipulated just as Kætil was to be, the two of them being Krai and Syren of course, perhaps there could be something to be said for keeping them close as well. They were both dependable and, in the short time she'd known them, they at least appeared to be loyal. If they could both be persuaded and kept on-side for her cause... yes, that was certainly a more palatable plan than any alternative. A far more difficult course of action, to be sure, but if she could see it through then the long-term benefits promised to be far greater than if she just kept the ear of Kætil. After all, her advice might reluctantly be written off, but if she could keep a hold over both Syren and Krai as well then the son of the Great Jaerl would surely be unable to reject the advice of three dependable councillors. Of course if she succeeded in this course of action then the Syren and Krai's advice would simply be whatever advice she told them to give, which would have a far greater on seeing the great plan to fruition in the long term.
Well, now she had the beginnings of her plan moving forwards at least. All she needed to do was become a trusted member of the little warrior's inner circle, his go-to person for information and advice. If she could do that then she'd be able to influence the Great Jaerl. If she could influence the Great Jaerl then the blood would run thick and fast.
And if the blood ran thick and fast then Krakevasil would be made whole again.