Svaltha III: Spirits Left Unseen
The Sixteenth Day of the Forth Moon, 873 AD.
Dyfed's Warcamp, Hoarsoil Valleys, Scelopyrea.
Speaking with her superiors had never been a particularly easy feat for her. She'd always been so intimidated by them, and as a child she had privately wished to see them just a little bit scared so she knew for a fact that they were as mortal as her. She'd gotten close enough to that almost forgotten wish recently, and now she never wanted to see such a thing again.
The druids had been what looked like a mix of surprised and apprehensive, leavened with perhaps a little joy. They'd known some of the giants were abroad, but if something really was pressing on their mountain homes and driving them south...
She'd never known her elders to look scared before, and she had still yet to see a member of the order higher than herself look afraid, but that was the closest she'd ever seen to real fear on their faces. But why? The giants themselves, whilst terrible foes, were far from a real threat to the druidic order. All except Dragrr, perhaps, but he hadn't been seen in an age and a half. Maybe it was... what if they knew something she didn't? What if they knew what might be driving the giant folk south? The other seasons were growing shorter and shorter, winter ever longer and colder, and the land itself rarely saw the sun anymore. What if something truly was pushing in on them? What if that was why the druids had grown so desperate to resurrect their god these last few decades? Oh, for certain, decades felt a long time to her, but for an order who had spent a millennia trying and failing to find their fallen lord thirty years was just a blink. Why this sudden drive? Why now?
Why?
She didn't know, and it scared her a little. She didn't like to admit it, but if even her elders were beginning to grow afraid, if even they were left in nervous anticipation at what was coming...
What hope did she have?
She shook her head a little to rid her mind of such treacherous thoughts. She was a child of the Raven-God, and that was strength enough for her. Her god would see her through whatever storm lay on the horizon, no matter how dark the clouds appeared. Her god would protect her and her ilk, and if that was the truth then it didn't matter how many lessers were trampled into dust and spent as callously as lesser men spent gold. The druids would endure, as they always had. Not the druids of the far west, but the true druids. The Scelopyrene druids. Krakevasil's druids.
In an age long past the gods had all abandoned the people of Scelopyrea, the Corvid Pantheon turning their backs on their own faithful during the dark days of the silence. Of the seven gods only one remained, only one true protector to shield them where seven should have stood. The Raven-God, the Father of Carrion, the Lord of Slaughter, call him whatever you will. He had remained, and the others had left them.
And then, when the floodwaters receded, the Brythonians and their ilk had the gall to call them the traitors for turning away from the rest of the gods! For walking away from gods who never cared! Was it the Jay who ensured their fields were fertile? No! It was the Raven who watered the soils of Scelopyrea with blood. Was it the Magpie who brought about wealth from trade? No! It was the Raven who taught them to take what they needed! Was it the Rook, the half-forgotten and faded Lord of Death who-
She stilled herself again. The other gods were traitors, and were to be shunned as such. The Raven was all that mattered. Krakevasil was all that mattered. One day he'd return to them, and lead them to unending glory and slaughter. They just needed to wait a little longer. Just a few years more. And if she were able to keep her three new friends from the slaughter when the time came... well, what could she say? She'd grown quite fond of their company these last few weeks, and it helped that the three of them were all really rather good at their jobs. Krai was still alive, somehow, and was healing fast. He'd even gone around the camp for a little bit of light exercise today, and though it wasn't much she was still surprised that someone who was as badly injured as he was could physically be jogging at the moment. She shook her head a little as she remembered how the one-eyed man had needed to be physically stopped from trying to spar by Syren and Kætil himself, the two young men half-grimacing and half-laughing at their friend as they guided him to a tree stump so he might sit and watch instead.
Speaking of Syren, he was still doing well from what she'd heard. He'd been summoned by the Great Jaerl himself a few times now, and he always seemed resolute if a bit shaken whenever he returned. The boy was strange, more than strange, but she'd be lying if she said he wasn't one of the funniest people she'd met, as well as being loyal and capable to boot. Many people in her position hated those with a strong sense of loyalty since it was far harder to get them onside, but she found such a trait to be wonderful! Loyal friends and companions were predictable, and predictability was invaluable when you had a job like she did. The disloyal turncloaks were hell to work with, since there was no guarantee that they'd do what you wanted them to do no matter how much leverage you held over them or how big a reward their was. No, she'd much rather deal with loyal people any day of the week. It was just a matter of making Syren think that he was best serving his leader by acting as she wanted him to, and in that regard she just needed to make sure she was good friends with him.
She wasn't sure if she was pretending to be friends or not at this point, and in all honesty she was leaning towards calling them all true friends, but the mission still remained in the back of her mind at all times. She had a job to do, and trying to keep her new friends alive and well whilst carrying it out would be an extremely difficult job. If push came to shove and she needed to choose between her friends and the mission... there was no room for hesitation. Scores of thousands would die, and so what matter three more?
But she was getting ahead of herself. That was all a matter for then, but she was in the now. There were a great many fights to be had and battles to relish before the world was upended once more.
And then, last but certainly not least amongst her three new friends, there was Kætil himself. The son of the Great Jaerl, the target she was destined to dig her claws into and guide as a puppet. There was so much to say about him, but foremost amongst all his qualities was that of his military prowess. Any northman could swing a sword or wield a javelin with some degree of skill, but to actually lead men as he could with such ease and grace was certainly a rarity. He cared more for seeking out dangerous foes to best personally than he was with leading, but when he actually put his mind to the more mundane business of leading men and women into battle he was a force like almost no other she'd seen. He couldn't match his father, but then there was only one person who could in all Scelopyrea, so she didn't think anyone would think such a judgement too harsh.
The two of them spent much time talking, usually just about fighting techniques and survival skills, but occasionally he'd ask her about other things, things that realistically speaking only the druids should know. He'd asked her questions about the Jotun, the two of them trading knowledge about the ways of the giant folk and the recent happenings surrounding their movements and migrations. Some time later he'd asked her about some of the less clandestine rituals druids underwent, such as their communion with Krakevasil. She'd told him about how his voice came to her as the faintest of whispers carried on the wind, that in order to hear his words she needed to pay such great attention, as though she were trying to hear the cawing of a bird from deep within the ground.
Then he'd surreptitiously asked her about runes. She knew he had a rune of carved amber that called upon Krakevasil to bolster his spirits, but he seemed... he seemed as though he really wanted something more. He'd asked her some really rather apposite questions about materials needed in the carving of runes, of who he'd need to speak to and beseech for permission before they were carved, that sort of thing. His pertinent questions had given her an idea, but it was too soon to bring such things up. It was a good idea, a very good idea if she did say so herself, and one that would certainly catch the attention of their god, but it would have to wait a little while before it could be brought up. She'd need to get permission and advice from a few other members of her order first, but when that was done she'd be able to offer him some brand new and extremely potent runic inscriptions.
"-altha? Svaltha?"
She blinked a few times, mind snapping back to the present. She gave Kætil an apologetic half-smile as she realised he'd likely been trying to get her attention for a little while now, and calmly asked him to repeat himself. The son of the Great Jaerl was far easier to talk to than her superiors, and for that she was glad.
"Wait, what were we talking about?"
Kætil smiled at her, clearly amused.
"Krakevasil, you really were out of it for a minute. We were talking about the movement of the horse-lords to the east of the Archic mountains."
She nodded, the details of their conversation catching up with her. Yes, the increasing unity of the Skonisnomas was very strange. There were only a few of the great nomadic dynasties left, time claiming the majority and war still more. The last of the twelve original dynasties had fled back to their ancient ancestral homelands in the frigid northern wastes when the Silence had receded from the world, but that dynasty was as good as gone. Nothing could survive that far north, still less a society so reliant on grass for their horses and the temperate climate of the plains for the ability to move freely and make camp wherever they wished. No, that dynasty was certainly lost.
"You think they're close to uniting?"
Kætil nodded at her.
"I do. I still have a few contacts from the east, and as the seasons roll by there is ever less opposition to... well, I don't know who it is that leads them. There isn't really a single man or woman in charge, rather a council that every nomadic leader is invited to sit at. At any given time there are, apparently, more than a hundred people on that council. As more and more of the nomads join, those who are reluctant watch on and realise that there is no trick there; the nomadic council does seem to be genuinely pushing towards a loose confederation where no tribe or band are beholden to any other. I don't know what they're preparing for, but there's bound to be a war involving them soon enough. Not with us I don't think, not with Scelopyrea, but with the decadent southerners of Licotemos. You know, that massive Klironomean kingdom. They'll fall like rain from a cloud when the nomads invade."
She nodded in agreement. For any peoples not born in the saddle to stand against the horse-lords in the field invited only disaster. If the nomads really were poised to strike south once more, then that raised more questions in her head. If the Jotun were moving south, and now so to were the Skonisnomas... should Scelopyrea be moving south as well?
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"Hey, I can practically hear you thinking there. Conversation runs both ways Sval, and right now I'm carrying this one."
She snorted at his jape, weak enough though it may have been, and made to continue talking. Hey, Kætil being right was a rare enough occasion, but in this instance he had done most of the talking while she'd been uncharacteristically silent.
"Well, what was the original reason we were talking? Not that little aside about the horse-lords, but the actual reason?"
Kætil was silent for a moment, visibly wracking his brains. It seemed like he's nearly forgotten as well. After a little while he snapped his fingers, a smile coming across his face as he spoke.
"Oh, of course! My father is beginning preparations for a series of skirmishes along the banks of the river. Apparently when I told him of how our party had to move up the river to find a ford the druids in attendance at the hall were inspired, and with their advice my father has decided to engage the forces of the Eyvindottir along the banks of the river Isanar in order to draw them all in and eventually meet the Valkyrie-Queen in one final battle. The fate of the northern world rests but a few years away, maybe as little as a year, and as soon as Scelopyrea is whole the world will be ours to take."
Svaltha grinned. Now that was some fucking good news. The elder druids had been as good as their word when it came to planting the odd idea for the Great Jaerl, and she had absolutely no doubt in her mind that, in the east of Scelopyrea, the Valkyrie-Queen was being fed the same advice by the druids in her own warcamp; "March along the Isanar, engage the supporters of the backwards 'Great Jaerl', draw him into one final battle.". The coming year promised to be brutal indeed.
"Now that sounds like a bloody ordeal. I can hardly wait to join in myself, only my vows as a druid prevent me from doing so unless attacked first."
Kætil raised an eyebrow at her, mischief in his eyes.
"And if you just... tell people you were attacked first?"
She shrugged while smiling.
"The elders would probably get more than a little disgruntled, but Krakevasil himself would care not. He has very few qualms about what someone is doing so long as they're in the right and the blood is flowing."
"And we'd be in the right, of course! We'd be uniting the scattered tribes of Scelopyrea!"
Svaltha nodded, choosing not to mention the fact that the Valkyrie-Queen was doing the exact same thing, and then changed the subject a little as Kætil poured out two tankards of ale. She wasn't sure where he'd got the rundlet, but she wasn't going to complain about a free drink.
"So," she said when she'd taken a long gulp of bitter, "what are we going to be doing in the year of skirmishes?"
"Well, as father's favoured commander apart from himself I'll be heading most of the skirmishes myself. I hope you're not too saddened by the fact that your vows will be holding you back from a year of small-scale battles."
She rolled her eyes at the shit-eating grin on his face.
"I'll be making plenty of exceptions and excuses so long as I can get involved."
There was no shame in that; yes, her vows might have forbid her from getting involved in violence between polities unless she was attacked, but the elders knew what she was like. They must have known that she'd try and get involved in as much carnage as possible. They always said that Krakevasil demanded blood, after all. If they rebuked her then she'd just make sure to keep out of it from then on, but until a punishment was forthcoming she'd get involved as often as she wished. My god demands war, and how can I not obey?
----------------------------------------
The rest of that day had been... a very mixed bag, all things considered. On the one hand she had been granted an audience with the Great Jaerl himself, but on the other hand she was to meet with the Great Jaerl himself. Standing before him was, by itself, a daunting task. She had to crane her neck back to meet his gaze, and she was in all honesty terrified of the man. He was huge, larger than any man she'd seen save only the Jotun themselves, and was so broad shouldered that she was certain he could break her in twain with one hand. He carried with him an aura of such intensity that she was almost certain that his gaze would melt her into little more than a gibbering wreck, for it was no maddened, violence-crazed gaze like she'd half-expected before meeting him for true; he was shrewd, she knew that now. Oh, she'd known he must have been a grand commander, a true leader of men, but what she hadn't counted on was just how piercing and all-seeing his stare was. She was almost certain that he was looking right through her and into her very soul, and for the briefest of moments she feared that all of her plans, hidden away and never spoken of, would be laid bare before the eyes of the greatest man the north had seen in centuries.
Yes, he was huge, but that was not why she feared him. He was smart. Smarter than almost any man she had met in the north, smart enough to know what he was doing and play people against each other for his own gain. She now understood exactly what her elder had meant when the woman had decried her fellow druids for allowing the eldest son of Ostæin to slip through the order's fingers; he would have made a fucking terrifying druid.
Dyfed Ostæinson was every bit the man that the stories had made him out to be, in short. Yes, she'd seen and spoke to him very briefly before now; all the way back when she'd first arrived in this camp he'd asked her one or two questions with a cordial and almost deferential disposition, but it seemed that his prior attitude was purely pragmatic. He did not defer to any druid, still less one as minor as her, and had only acted as such so as not to alarm the more senior druids who had been in attendance that night. But in the meeting, now, in private?
He held no such reservations.
He wasn't rude, never rude, but by the Raven-God could she read between the lines. He suspected something. By Krakevasil, he suspected something. Was this- did he know? Had someone within the order tipped him off, rendered the plans of her peers moot? Was he-
She took a deep breath, steadying herself as surreptitiously as she possibly could. She didn't fear looking nervous, after all, she was a young druid stood before one of the greatest warriors the north could offer with half of their people at his back. It would be more strange if she weren't a little nervous, on a personal level if not an official one.
"You summoned my, mighty Jaerl. I have obeyed."
His eyes swept over her once more, and with a grunt he nodded.
"I did, and you have. Drink, girl. I'd prefer you not to be shaking whilst we talk."
He handed her a goblet of wine, strong but not overly so, and allowed her to drink a few mouthfuls to quell her anxieties. She dipped her head a little in thanks at the dangerous man, then made to speak once more.
"Might Jaerl, may I ask why you have summoned me?"
The man nodded, and from the brief flicker of his eyebrows she got the impression that he might almost have been tempted to make a joke of some kind just then. Whatever it was went unsaid, for it seemed he was not in the mood for jovialities today.
"You have taken an interest in my son."
She nodded respectfully.
"I have, mighty Jaerl."
"Why?"
His question may have only been a single word, but the sheer simplicity of what he was asking stunned her for a moment. She'd been expecting rigorous grilling, of having her arguments meticulously combed through, each one ending up split apart like a frayed rope, but this put her on the backfoot before she'd even been able to prepare her defences.
It wasn't just that she didn't understand what exactly the Jaerl meant, but rather that she'd been hoping that he would have worded the question in such a way as to indicate what he may have been looking for so she could fit her reasoning around that, but she had nothing to work with here.
With that look in his eyes she knew full well that such vague and concise wording was intentional.
Swallowing slightly she made to speak, answering as best she could with as much of the truth as she could reasonably fit in her statement without giving the game away.
"He rescued me from the Jotun, and then defended me again from ambushers whilst I was lost in thought on the road. I've travelled half the length of the river Isanar with him and his men. I enjoyed fighting alongside him and, selfish though it may be, I'd hoped that if I proved myself useful to him he might be able to see me promoted from my novice state faster."
There. No word of that was a lie, but it was not the full truth. Someone as intelligent as the Great Jaerl seemed to be would see the half-truths for what they were, and she had no delusions when it came to thinking that such an answer would satisfy the curiosity of the great man in front of her, but at the very least it would buy her a little more time to straighten her thoughts out and force him to elaborate a little more, giving her an in. Or an out, as the situation may be.
"I see."
The big man was silent for a long while after that, his expression giving nothing away as he stared at her impassively. When the silence had stretched on too long to bear she made to speak, only to be cut off by the Great Jaerl.
"I do not like druids. I respect their counsel and I acknowledge their godtouched status, but I do not have to like them. Your masters think themselves smart, as though I am dancing to their tunes unknowingly, but I know it all too well. I know not what your masters have planned, but you will leave my son out of it. Do you understand?"
She swallowed hard. He wasn't willing to give away exactly what he knew, and she didn't blame him, but she couldn't stop herself from blurting out her confusion at his brazen dismissal of the druids.
"But why tell me this to my face! Surely it would be better for you to hide this information, to keep it out of my hands?! What if I tell my elders and-"
She cut herself off, kicking herself for letting that slip, and awaited whatever fatal blow was sure to follow now that she had admitted, to the Great Jaerl's face, that she was looking to influence his son.
But such a blow never came.
For five beats there was silence, and then she watched as the Great Jaerl, father of Kætil Dyfedson, finally broke his impassive façade. He grinned at her knowingly, a mocking thing, and when he spoke she felt as though ice were forming in her stomach.
"Go. Tell your masters, girl. Tell them everything. Tell them the Great Jaerl is capable of thinking for himself, that they are not the only ones who have learned how to scheme. Tell them this, and see what they do to you. See if they will listen. I won't stop you, you can even go straight to them right now if you want! But you won't, will you? No, I see the recognition in your eyes. You know I speak the truth. What is the word of one novice compared to their prized pawn? Go, girl. Run back to my son and his friends, and be glad that they enjoy your company. Should you betray them you'll be dead before you have time to pray. Am I clear?"
She nodded fearfully at him, and with a nod of his head he dismissed her.
"Oh, one last thing." The Great Jaerl started, his voice no louder than the low rumble it had been this whole conversation. "If the druids wished to make us dance to their tune as though we were actors in a play, then they should have done a better job at making us stick to our lines. Dismissed."
With that she left, unanswered questions racing through her mind. The Great Jaerl knew he was being played, knew and was deliberately leaning into it. What was he planning? He hadn't acted with hostility to any druids before now that she knew of, but maybe they'd all been just as intimidated as she had. And for that matter what did he mean by 'us'? Who were the other 'actors' in this play? Who could he possibly be an equal-
Oh. Oh, by the Lord of all Bloodshed, no.
She stopped and stood still, looking back towards the tent of the Great Jaerl, but of the man she could get no sight. He was inside, the flaps were shut, and the two huge guardsmen were stood at the closed entrance once more.
Oh, if her suspicions were correct then they were all fucked. Royally fucked. If this is true then my god will never be- will forever remain led in-
She stilled her thoughts until her mind was clear, then forced one single thought to the forefront of her mind.
She needed to go to her elders right now, no matter what the Great Jaerl had said. They needed to act. She had no proof, but- well, there was no 'but'. She had no proof. She'd never be believed.
She heard a familiar voice over to the side, Syren walking over to her. There was a strange look in his eyes but it must have been a trick of the light, for when she looked back it was gone.
"He can be a right scary bugger, I know. Come on, lets get you something to drink. Krai and the boss have been worried about you; you've been in there for hours."
She looked over as she walked alongside him, trying her best for an easy smile.
"Krai and Kætil, but not yourself?"
"Oh, don't you worry," Syren replied, "I know well enough what you're like. You were always going to be fine. I knew that as well because I know what the boss' old man is like. Not a good man to cross he ain't, but so long as you never get any funny ideas we'll all be fine here. I'm sure you'll be smart enough not to do anything stupid."
Though his voice was as jovial as ever she couldn't help but be a little put off by that hint of warning in Syren's words. Whether it was real or imagined she didn't know, and so she did her best to shake such feelings off and just continued walking with him to where she knew Kætil would be waiting with cold beer. Maybe Krai as well, if the man hadn't been chased back into the medical tents again.
She'd just focus on that for now, and work out her next steps later. Things were going to get a lot more complicated from here on out.