The four prisoners sit against the far wall, flickering candlelight shrouding them in shadow. Three of them are young, probably only a few summers older than me. The fourth is grey haired but he sits taller than the rest, his face relaxed, looking more annoyed than terrified. They wear leather armor, the coiling white shape of a snake hemmed near the right shoulder, and each is weighed down by twisting iron chains. When the door shuts behind us, a deathly silence fills the room.
Chief Braniel says nothing to them as he approaches. He walks to the prisoner furthest to the left and lets his axe blade rest on the floor. The prisoner keeps his head down, sweat dripping from his forehead. Wordlessly, Braniel drags the axe across the stone as he walks, the grating nearly deafening in the small room. He starts whistling as he reaches the fourth prisoner, a disturbing smile on his face.
“Kasten,” he says turning my way. “How would you get information from these snakes?”
The question catches me off guard and I stumble with my words. “Me? I don’t know.” I look over the prisoners. These people attacked us, set fire to innocent people’s homes, but I can’t bring myself to hate them. The three on the left look so terrified already and as the room fills with an acrid scent, I’m pretty sure at least one of them has wet himself.
“Why not question him first?” I say, pointing at the grey headed warrior. Despite the chief being right in front of him, he still seems to be holding strong. He watches me as I speak, the same annoyed expression on his face.
“Why him?” Chief Braniel asks, shouldering his axe.
“He isn’t afraid like the others. He must be of a higher rank, maybe even their leader.”
“And how would you go about questioning him?”
I realize suddenly that he wants to know which methods of torture we should employ. But the idea of cutting away fingers and toes sours my stomach. If blood can be avoided, then that is the path I wish to take.
“You,” I say, pointing at the stern warrior. “If you don’t answer our questions, we will…” My voice trails off. The warrior is looking at me with such disinterested eyes. It’s like he’s watching a child at play. Maybe that’s all I am.
Chief Braniel punches the man in the gut, hard. He doubles over and vomits on himself. But when his head raises, he still isn’t rattled. He just goes back to observing us, a little more fire in his eyes.
“This man will not speak no matter what we do to him,” Chief Braniel sighs and scratches at his beard. “I’ve seen his kind before. He’ll be bled dry before he talks.” He hefts his axe, the other three prisoners’ heads all snapping up to look at it in unison. “We must get what we can from these three.”
“Please!” the one on the far left says, eyes wide and bloodshot. “I’m sorry. I was just following orders.”
Braniel smiles, and strides over to the prisoner. “Following orders? What kind of orders?”
The prisoner shuts his mouth and looks away.
“Kasten, when questioning groups like this, it’s key for them to know how serious you are, and importantly, how little their lives mean.” He loosens his shoulder. “Afterall, we really only need one to talk.” His axe comes down so fast I don’t have time to contemplate what he means.
The prisoners head explodes, bits of brain and skull splattering the man beside him. His body falls to the side, the chains wrapped around his wrist and ankles rattling. I feel a pit forming in my stomach as I watch the blood pool and spread across the stones.
“Now, which of you two is the highest rank?” Chief Braniel asks.
Their faces are pale, sweat smeared and trembling. It doesn’t look like they can speak, but then the one with a bit of brain on his shoulder looks up. “I am,” he says quietly, then with more conviction. “I am!”
Chief Braniel’s face softens, he smiles, then he hefts his axe back up. “Liar.”
It comes down and cleaves through the boy’s collar bone. Blood erupts from the wound, and he screams. I have to fight the urge to cover my ears.
“A little off target there,” Braniel plants a foot on the boy’s chest and pulls his axe free. “That wine really was something else!” The axe falls again, and the screams are cut short.
The cold stone wall presses against my back. I have to keep repeating to myself that these people are our enemies. They chose to attack the Hafthan, and this is the price they pay. But I can’t look at the blood anymore. Staring at it reminds me of the beach, the fires and screams in the village, and the three lives I took. Stop being such a coward. I pull myself from the wall and take a deep breath, willing my racing heart to slow. Lives must be taken, that is just the natural order of things. These men signed away their right to live when they chose to attack Sul. In a way, they are already dead. Thinking about it like that, does it really matter what we do to them?
“You.” Chief Braniel places the wide blade of his axe under the frightened prisoner’s chin and raises his head. Looking into his eyes, Braniel speaks. “Why did you attack us and who hired you.”
The prisoner gulps, a thin line of blood trickling from the axe at his throat. “Count Tanner of Bladoria hired us,” he says, blinking back tears. “We are an advance force meant to—” his eyes flick to the grey-haired warrior for a moment. The older man just stares blankly back. “We were meant to harass the Hafthan here at Sul and the island of Panros in the West.”
“Count Tanner? That coward hired you? What is he planning.” Chief Braniel presses the axe just tight enough against the boy’s throat that he can speak without splitting him open.
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“He tires of your seasonal raids on his coast. He’s hired the whole of the Silver Serpents to stop you. The rest of our forces will arrive in Isren within the next two moons.”
“Stop us? We’ve made examples of all those who tried before and we will do so again.” He pulls his axe back and the boy gulps for air. “And who leads the Serpents?”
“Jonas Longclaw.” The boy says the name with pride, a little fire flashing behind his watery eyes.
“That old bastard is still alive?” the chief frowns and rubs the long scar on his cheek. “How many do you number? What equipment do you bring? And what about ships? Troop movements? Plans of attack?”
The boy trembles. “I don’t…I don’t know anything about that.”
Chief Braniel raises his axe.
“Please! I’m telling the truth. I signed up just four moons ago. This was my first mission!”
“And your last.” Chief Braniel brings the axe down but stops it just shy of splitting the boy’s head like a log. Clicking his tongue, he turns to me. “What do you say, nephew. Is he telling the truth?”
Three sets of eyes fall on me. “I believe so.” I clear my throat, speaking louder. “He’s terrified and I don’t think he has reason to lie.”
“Still, always regard what prisoners say with suspicion.” Braniel narrows his eyes and looks over the two dead bodies at his feet. “I hope the Bear-sisters aren’t too cross with me. This blood will be difficult to clean.” He relaxes, looking more like a man basking in the summer sun than an executioner. “I will have Wolf-brother Galmar come and prod this boy a bit more, make sure he’s not trying to trick us.”
“I’m not!” The young mercenary looks ready to start begging, but Braniel silences him with a quick backhand across the mouth.
“Brother Galmar will make sure of that.” The chief wipes the back of his hand across his tunic. “And be sure you answer his questions quickly. Brother Galmar is far more impatient than I.” Turning on his heel, Chief Braniel heads for the door.
I follow quickly behind, more than eager to leave this room for good. Once we’re out in the hall, the chief rests his axe on the wall and closes the door behind us.
“What will you do with them?” I ask.
The chief tilts his head to the side. “A public execution is probably the best course, but the best course isn’t always the most entertaining. Ah.” He snaps his fingers. “They will entertain us after tonight’s feast.”
“Duels?” I say, thinking back to the beach.
“Prisoners like them hardly deserve the honor, but this will be an important night.” He grabs me around the shoulders and gives me a tight squeeze. “My nephew will be named warrior, and I won’t have the night go by without a little excitement!”
I flash a hollow smile. “Duels then.”
Still smiling, the chief looks about the empty hall. “Where is Sarl?”
That’s when I hear commotion coming from the entrance. Walking together, we find Bear-sister Ryka standing by the long central table with a look of worry on her face.
“Sarl has collapsed,” she says as we approach. “They found him just a bit ago down the hill, face down in a patch of blood leaf.”
“What was he doing out there?” Braniel moves away from me, face creased with worry.
“He has fever, chief. One of the bear-sisters of Sul is keeping him at her home for now, but with how fast his condition worsens, I’m not sure he will make it through the night.”
I remember how much Sarl was sweating when we arrived, how he rubbed his hands together as if he was freezing.
“He’s asking for Norn.”
Chief Braniel’s face goes lax, and he frowns deeply.
“Who is that?” I ask. The name is familiar to me, but I can’t put a face to it.
“A Wolf-sister from the Red Maw clan,” Ryka says. “She and Sarl were due to marry, but she died at sea.”
The way she looks at me, I’ve seen it before. “She was on Father’s ship, wasn’t she?”
“She was,” Braniel answers. “A great friend to the clan, lost before her time.” He looks past sister Ryka, eyes lost in memory.
“If he calls for one on the other side, then I fear his time has come.” Ryka gives me a reassuring smile. “But he may yet live. If anything changes, I will let you know right away.”
Chief Braniel nods. “Very well and thank you sister Ryka.” He lays his hand on my shoulder. “But we can’t let this news stop our celebration tonight.”
“Yes, it is an important night for the clan.” Sister Ryka locks eyes with me and I’m reminded of her words that night. “There is more to life than being a warrior.”
“Find Galmar and tell him to come here before you return to Sarl. And someone needs to fetch Sarl’s key, I don’t wish to leave the snakes behind an unlocked door for long.”
Sister Ryka nods and we follow her out into the waning sunlight. Standing atop the hill, I make out the outline of four longships approaching from the east.
“Ah, the Yellow Tusks are done early.” The chief flashes a toothy grin. “Good thing too, we must discuss our battle plans.”
“Battle plans?” I ask, squinting at the approaching ships.
“Yes. If the Silver Serpents and the Bladorians lead a joint attack, things could get a bit too messy, but,” he clenches his fist. “If we crush their employer, they will have no reason to fight.”
“Do you mean to attack all of Bladoria?” The idea of more burning villages is not a pleasant one.
“Not all of them, even if the rats deserve it. The snake mentioned Count Tanner. His coast is the one we raid, and he is a wealthy man. He lives in the city of Isren further east. We’ve never attacked it before, for it is heavily guarded. But the snakes have forced our hand.” He bellows out a laugh. “The Yellow Tusks arrive, and the White River clan shouldn’t be far behind them. With our combined strength, we will raze Isren to the ground. Then no one will ever attempt this foolishness again.”
I look out over the waves, my pulse quickening. Fear threatens to creep in, but I smother it. After tonight I will be a warrior, named and true. And even if there is more fire and death on the horizon, I will face it with steel in hand.
“It will be a grand battle,” Braniel says. “One fit for song.”
“I look forward to it,” I say, pushing back the uncertainty building in my chest.
“As do I. But we can save talk of it for later. We have a feast to prepare for and a warrior to be named.”
I watch the waves as the chief heads back into the longhouse. Soon I will be back on the water, and then my sword will be in my hand, blood spilling from the people of Isren. But they make plans to attack us, and so they must be destroyed. Like the prisoners who forfeited their lives, the people of Isren may be breathing, but they're already dead.