The air in Wormwood was thick with a kind of oppressive stillness. The twisted, gnarled remains of trees clawed at the sky like skeletal fingers, their bark blackened and cracked as though scorched by some long-forgotten fire. The ground beneath Vigdis’s boots was dry and uneven, scattered with brittle weeds and the occasional shard of rusted metal. It was a land that felt hostile to life itself—a perfect home for raiders.
Every step carried a weight of anticipation, the kind that crept along her spine like a phantom. She could feel their eyes on her long before they made their move. Raiders thrived on fear, and they were watching her now, measuring her stride, her stance, her readiness. She didn’t falter. There was no advantage in showing hesitation, not in a place like this.
The first figure stepped out from behind a warped tree, his grin splitting his grime-covered face. His eyes roamed over Vigdis, lingering on her broad shoulders, the powerful curves of her body, and the scars that marked her as a fighter. The leather corset she wore, snug and practical, only accentuated her strength, while her knee-length skirt swayed faintly as she moved, hinting at muscular legs built for survival. More emerged, some descending from hidden perches among the trees, others seemingly rising from the cracked earth itself. Their makeshift armor clinked with each step, a patchwork of scavenged steel and leather, and their weapons—mostly crude and brutal—gleamed faintly in the dim light. But their focus wasn’t on her gear or the pack slung over her shoulder. It was on her.
“Well, look what we’ve got here,” one of them drawled, his voice oily and confident. He was tall and wiry, his head shaved smooth, a jagged scar running down one side of his face. His grin widened as he looked her up and down with a predatory gleam in his eye. “Looks like this one might handle us all. Unlike the last one.”
The others chuckled, a low, ugly sound that grated against the eerie stillness of the forest. One of them spat on the ground, his grin flashing yellowed teeth as he joined the leader. “Think she’ll last longer this time? I like it when they’ve got fight in ’em.”
Vigdis’s expression didn’t change. She scanned their faces, counting heads, noting stances. They weren’t just looters; they were confident, cocky in their numbers and their turf. That made them dangerous.
“Let’s talk, guys,” she said evenly, her voice carrying just enough weight to make them hesitate. “I’m not looking to carve my way through your turf if I don’t have to.”
The leader’s grin faltered for a second before he barked, “You two, hold her! Rest of you, let’s show her she doesn’t call the shots here.”
Vigdis moved immediately, stepping back into a ready stance, her hand hovering near her axe—but she didn’t draw it. Killing them wasn’t the goal, and she knew wielding the weapon could turn restraint into an impossibility. Her focus narrowed, her breath steady as they closed in.
Two of the raiders lunged forward, their arms outstretched to grab her. Vigdis shifted her weight and twisted smoothly, sending one sprawling into the other. They collapsed in a heap of curses and tangled limbs as she stepped back, her stance low and ready.
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“She’s quick!” one of them growled, scrambling to his feet.
Another voice yelled, “Come on, she’s just one woman!” A wiry raider with a chain stepped forward, swinging it wide. The metal hissed through the air, the sound sharp and menacing. Vigdis caught the chain mid-arc, yanking hard enough to send the attacker stumbling forward. She shoved him back, his head cracking against a nearby tree with a satisfying thud.
“Get her legs!” another raider shouted, swinging a club in a low arc. Vigdis leapt back, narrowly avoiding the strike, and delivered a sharp kick to his knee. The man collapsed with a howl, clutching his leg as she turned her focus to the others.
“Is this really your plan?” she called out, her voice sharp and cutting through the chaos. “Rush me all at once, hope for the best?” Her elbow connected with a raider’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. “I thought you lot were supposed to be organized.”
The leader growled, frustration flaring in his expression. “Take her down, damn it! She’s just playing with you!”
Another raider charged her, swinging wildly with a rusted sword. Vigdis ducked under the blow, grabbing his arm and twisting it sharply. The weapon fell from his grip, clattering to the ground, and she shoved him back hard enough to send him tumbling into the dirt.
Finally, the last raider standing—a burly man with a scar across his chest—hesitated, his weapon raised but unmoving. Vigdis straightened, her breathing heavy but steady, her gaze locking onto his. Around her, his comrades lay groaning or slumped against trees, their confidence shattered.
“So,” she said, her voice cutting through the heavy silence like a blade, “can we go to whoever’s in charge and talk? Or do I have to keep schooling you all day?”
The man glanced around at the carnage, then back at her. He lowered his weapon slowly, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get fancy. I’ll take you to the boss.”
“Good.” Vigdis rolled her shoulders and adjusted the strap of her axe, stepping past the defeated raiders. “Let’s move. And try not to trip over your dignity on the way.”
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The raider led her through the twisted landscape, the gnarled remains of trees growing denser as they moved deeper into Wormwood. Vigdis followed without comment, her axe slung across her back, every sense attuned to the subtle sounds of their surroundings. The faint shuffle of unseen feet, the rustle of disturbed leaves—there were others out there, watching.
As they approached a clearing, the raider slowed his pace and turned to her, pulling something from his belt. It was a cloth, grimy and yellowed with age, though it might have been white once. He held it out to her.
“What’s this?” Vigdis asked, eyeing the cloth with suspicion.
“Put it on,” he said, his tone serious now, the earlier bravado gone. “Over your arm or wave it. Whatever. It’s gotta be clear you’re here to talk.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
The man hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “If I bring you to the king unchained and without it…” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. “He’ll kill me on the spot. That’s how he knows the difference—chain ’em, they’re spoils. No chains, and it means you’re here to negotiate.”
Vigdis considered this for a moment, her fingers brushing the worn fabric. It reeked faintly of smoke and sweat, a scent that clung to the air in this place.
The raider smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You didn’t kill us. That says something.”
She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she tied the cloth loosely around her arm. “Fine. But if this king of yours tries anything, you’ll be the first to regret it.”
The raider’s smirk faltered slightly, and he nodded, turning to lead her deeper into the twisted woods. Behind them, the shadows seemed to shift, the presence of unseen watchers a constant weight. Vigdis’s hand twitched toward her axe more than once, but she kept her stride steady, her expression calm. This wasn’t her first walk into enemy territory, but it always felt the same—like balancing on a razor’s edge, every step potentially her last.