CHAPTER 5, BERGUNN

“A slaver armada,” Diantha repeated, the black haired, silvery-skinned woman sounding dubious.

I stood in the Council Chamber of Valadonia, the knights turned rulers sitting around the massive table before me. They all held my respect, to varying degrees, though our relations had become strained with their ascent to rule and my own change in profession. Still, when I had called for a meeting, they had come.

“That’s what he told me,” I confirmed, trying not to glare at Diantha. I respected her deeply for her commitment to our cause in the last war. She also made me want to throttle her sometimes. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I was a little afraid of her. “Some cult has hired them all to converge on an island called Varkaras, where some ritual is going to be performed.”

“What does the Liberator,” intoned the mechanical voice of Gamma Hawk, the warrior machine sitting dressed in regal clothing of bronze and blue, “require of us then?”

“To ready yourselves and your cadres,” I answered him directly, favouring the Knight of Earth with a respectful nod. “I myself will be gathering the Shields of Light and making ready to march when he calls.”

“To march?” Diantha, the Knight of Steel, asked softly. “Tell me, Bergunn, how exactly will our beloved, illustrious leader have us arrive on time?”

I smiled at her, for I had been prepared for just such a question. “He told me to tell you he would open a Gate.”

Her shocked face was a wonder to behold.

“How is he capable of such a feat?” asked Yrsa Vrang, the Knight of Water. The violet-skinned, horned woman was one of their greatest practitioners of the arcane, yet she held a grounded, practical mindset that made her far more favourable in my eyes. “This is not me questioning his prowess, far from it. But he was a holy warrior, not an archmaster of the mystic arts. Such powers were simply not in his domain.”

“I concur,” Gamma Hawk agreed. “He and I were of similar fields in terms of power and ability. We both could reach powerful heights in terms of our sacred oaths, but the casting of mighty spells simply was not in our purview.”

A rumbling laugh came from the other side of the table, and we all turned to face Frodan Kairn. The grey and red bearded, balding, coarse nosed and rune inscribed dwarf was chuckling. “Yet he claims he is capable. Do you truly doubt his word?”

“Not his word,” Diantha said, recovering. “But how are we to trust that Bergunn is indeed being honest with us?”

The rest of the table glanced at her dubiously.

“What I mean to say,” Diantha went on, seemingly unperturbed by their united attention, “is that she could have been deceived. How many creatures out there are potentially devious enough to take on the Liberator’s face and use it as a means of drawing us away?”

“It was him,” I said firmly, trying not to clench my fists. “He came to my sanctuary, carrying a girl on the cusp of death, and asked us to care for her. And I spoke to him directly not long after that. It could be none… other.”

“You seem unsure,” said Eudoxia, the Knight of Shadows, her voice soft as silk. The hooded woman was on the most isolated portion of the table, far separate from the others.

They all turned to stare at me.

“He… has changed,” I admitted, trying not to show how much my heart had broken during that talk on the pier.

My poor, devoted charge. The son I never had. There will always be another war for you, won’t there?

“But despite how much he has altered, it remains him at heart,” I continued before Diantha or even Eudoxia could override me. “He has asked me, has asked all of us, to fight beside each other one final time.”

They all were mostly taken aback. Yrsa Vrang covered her mouth, worry in her eyes. Gamma Hawk’s optics narrowed, one of his fingers tapping at the table in a gesture of concern. Eudoxia froze, turning still as a statue. Frodan Kairn scowled, his hands curling into white-knuckled fists. Diantha blinked, something genuinely sad appearing on her face.

Do you mourn for him, princess? Do you truly care about him? Or are you so lost because you fear you’ve lost your chance to marry the son of that bastard King Dextran?

“Fuck it,” intoned the Knight who had not yet spoken.

Colossal Uherion rose from his seat, the grey-skinned, nearly hairless warrior glaring at them all in challenge. “In case all you fancy pricks had forgotten, we were still slaves barely two years ago. We toiled in mines, in whorehouses, in laboratories, all to please our masters. Now here we sit, the victors of a war that he fought for us. By all rights we should be kneeling before him as emperor. Instead, he asks that we do it again for people who never had our chance. Because no matter how big a head he got, he never asked that we treat him as anything more than an equal. I’m going. If you all want to stay here and twiddle the silver spoons you’ve all been slowly slipping up your asses, go right ahead. I’ll be out cracking skulls and doing the good work that we always should be doing.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Uherion had been one of the first the Liberator had found in his war. They had fought together for months before this small band had fully formed. This was as much about heeding a brother’s call to arms as it was saving those in need. And there was something beautiful in that.

“If you’re cracking skulls,” Frodan, the Knight of Storms, grumbled happily, rising, “then you’ll need me. The wee Knight of Fire only knows how to look imposing. Leave it to the professionals to actually do Asgard’s work.”

“Fuck you, Kairn,” Uherion said, a broad smile on his face.

“I’m too pretty for you, giant,” Frodan snapped back.

“Before this lovely flirtation can go further,” Yrsa Vrang said smoothly, rising, “I will also go. I will not allow one more soul that I know of to suffer at the experimenting hands of another madman.”

I tried not to look at the surgical and alchemical scars running up and down her arms.

“By the will of the gods,” Gamma Hawk declared, rising, “it shall be done. Let we Baldurian Knights take to the field once more.”

“The girl, Eir, is now a citizen of Valadonia,” Diantha declared, elegantly standing from her seat. “Thusly, all her family members should be considered as such, unless they should deny it. I will not tolerate a single one of our people being held in bondage any longer than required.”

We all turned to regard Eudoxia.

“If my math is right,” the assassin said, “then all of us together make up a number just shy of a hundred. There could be hundreds, if not thousands, on this mysterious isle. Bergunn, was he truly certain of this plan.”

“Utterly,” I declared confidently. “He held no doubts or fears, he held absolute confidence in both us and himself.”

“Well then,” Eudoxia said, rising. “What are we waiting for?”

I exited the council chamber not long after. For all their recent politicking, they were still warriors at heart, and the Liberator had offered them a chance to fight directly once more. Just as he had done for me.That is not to say I didn’t think the work I had been doing at the sanctuary was invaluable. But the chance to take up spear, shield and axe again was an attractive prospect on its own, let alone being able to put down monsters who deserved nothing less than death. This nation had been founded on their corpses, after all. The cast down flesh of the tormentors and abusive masters. We were made to kill such souls.

My reverie was interrupted by a small, practically mousy figure waiting for me in the grand hall. Dozens of people moved about their business here, each hoping to gain the attention of one of the Councillors or their staff. Merchants, ship captains, bankers, architects, scholars, priests and more talked with one another as they hurried about their busy schedules. But the girl was the one who anchored my attention. Eir Elgar stood near the entrance, wearing fresh clothes, and looking far healthier than when she had arrived. Truly, good food, fresh air and sunlight worked wonders.

“Bergunn,” she said softly, her eyes downcast. “Have you… heard anything?”

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I gave her a compassionate look. “We will be mobilizing soon. When he sends word, we will move in with the rescue teams.”

She looked up, teary eyed and hopeful. “Then it’s really true? I will get to see my brother again?”

“I’d bet my life on it,” I replied firmly. “Walk with me, child.”

She followed along in my path, lightly scrambling to keep up with me. Truth be told, I worried that’s all that she would be. A follower. She had been alone and at the mercies of a cruel man for so long that she might never recover. There was a good change she might always be looking to please those around her, based on a now potentially intrinsic fear that she would suffer if she did not. It was a survival mechanism, but that was far as her agency went. It was admittedly a cruel line of thought, one that hadn’t yet seen enough evidence to be fully concrete. Perhaps Eir had a hidden spine to her, one that required a nourishing environment to fully enter the fore of her personality.

“How has Valadonia been treating you?” I asked casually.

“G-good!” she replied, seeming genuinely happy. “I spent most of the morning with Arnja, visiting shops in the Golden Net.”

“Indeed?” I asked, intrigued. Arnja had mentioned no such plans to me.

Eir bobbed her head as we began navigating the busy streets. “We broke our fast together, right after you left. She began asking me questions about my life, about anything I might have learned before.”

“And?”

She swallowed, blushing deeply, yet seeming somewhat proud. “I remembered that my… mother, used to teach stuff about herbs. I didn’t make anything of it for a long time, especially when she… Well, for a long time I’d forgotten about it. But Arnja’s prodding brought out the memory. I spoke with the alchemist, one Master Kurvin. He complimented my ‘knowledge of alchemical formulae’ or something, and offered to take me on as an apprentice.”

I tried to maintain a smile. Master Kurvin was a foreigner to the city. That in itself was no condemnation to anyone, as many of our newest citizens came from far and wide in an attempt to find a different life. But Kurvin was a person of interest. He was someone that the Liberator had brought in, an alchemist and apothecary who was an agent of the shadowy figure, the Shadow Gale. To the broader world, the Gale was a hero, a member of the legendary Silver Sigil. But I couldn’t shake a dislike of the roguish figure. I never could call myself fond of those who worked with cloaks and daggers, metaphorically speaking. Even Eudoxia was a spot of some discomfort for me. The Liberator spoke well of Tarrin, calling him one of the best. A professional, plain and simple. But my former charge had a naive streek to him as well, and his prior travelling companions were a mixed bag all in all.

The Gale, for all the praise spoken about him, was mostly an unknown to me. What I did know was that he now leads some secretive organization that I had never heard of, one spanning the whole of the continent. That Eir was working for one of his agents was something concerning to me. Granted, Kurvin had never acted maliciously. In fact, he was practically an outstanding citizen. He brought his employer’s alchemical concoctions to the broader populace, fastly improving our recovery capabilities. There was no one better in Valadonia that Eir could have found to teach her.

Still, I fucking hated spooks.

“I hope your… apprenticeship goes well,” I said, trying not to choke on my words. The girl clearly needed some way of boosting her confidence, and if this was where her skills rested, then so be it. “Do you think you’ll be happy here, living in Valadonia?”

She was quiet for a good few moments, as we moved from the broader streets back towards the more open ones that lead to the sanctuary. Her expression remained completely static, lost in some quiet contemplation the whole while. It was almost unnerving, how old she looked in that moment, despite just barely being a teenager.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, the damage in her voice making my heart split. “I never thought about being happy before. Just making it to tomorrow. So much has changed so quickly, I feel like I’m drowning.”

“You’re doing well, despite that, child,” I responded, honestly enough. “You’ve been holding onto your mind with a fortitude I had not initially anticipated, truth be told.”

She shifted away lightly, embarrassed by the praise. “Thank you, Bergunn.”

We continued on quietly until we returned to the sanctuary. I moved around to find Arnja in the others, telling them to pack their gear and get ready for a fight. I made sure to inform others that they were staying, for they were needed to keep the place running in their absence. They all nodded, they knew which tasks they were best suited for. After an hour or so of talking to my old team, and arranging word with the local smiths to repair our equipment, I found myself in the storage hall looking for my old armour.

To notice that Eir was still following me.

“Tree fend, girl,” I swore, turning sharply. She had been as quiet as a shadow. “You didn’t have to stay with me this whole time.”

She swallowed nervously. “I know. But I needed to ask you something.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Who is he?”

There was no confusion as to whom she was referring.

“His name is… was, Calen Valadon,” I explained, taking a massive chest off the wall and setting it on the floor.

“Calen?” she asked, moving a few steps closer, curious and nervous all at once.

I nodded, kneeling down and pulling out my key. “When he came to us, he was clad in arcane armour, wielding a crystalline sword blessed by a god. He emerged from nowhere, holding the blood-soaked crown of the king who had enslaved us. He proclaimed that the master of the tyrannic empire was dead, and he intended to free every slave in the realm. He moved with such haste, camp after camp joining him and forming a grand army. It was a holy war, in a way, for he carried with him the power of one of the greatest of the Aesir.”

She moved forwards, her eagerness to learn more overcoming her shyness. “He’s a sacred knight?”

I nodded, blowing dust off the chest’s surface. “One of the best swordsmen I’ve ever seen. On the battlefield, he was a monster, smiting all those who challenged him with steel and light. It didn’t matter if blade, arrow or even spell was thrown against him. He shrugged most of it off, healed himself if he was truly injured, and kept going. Those around him were impervious to fear, and they followed him in his almost mad gambits.”

“Mad?” she asked, crouching down in front of me. “He seemed rather… collected to me.”

“Oh, he was quite mad during the war,” I replied, honestly enough. I flipped open the chest, revealing the old armour contained within. A winged, silvery helm. Hauberk, gauntlet, greaves, even my old axe. “He was driven by an almost reckless abandon, to the point where it was a miracle he didn’t kill himself.”

“Why?” she asked softly, only sparing the slightest glances for the contents of the chest. “Why was he so determined?”

“Short answer?” I replied, pulling out the axe and testing the lovely weapon’s weight. Still perfect. “He was a whore.”

She blinked, the expression on her face almost laughable in its bewilderment. “I beg your pardon?”

I smiled. “Before he found us, he lived life as freely as he could. He drank, he gambled, he slept with just about anything and anyone willing, he had a whole damned list of absurd objectives he wanted to achieve in life. Win a fight naked, piss off the tallest mountain in the world, fuck one member of each mortal species, content like that.”

Her face had turned utterly crimson. “You’re lying to me.”

“I am not,” I laughed, placing the axe back in the chest. “He told me all about it during our many nights away on campaign. Tree fend, he even showed me the damn list before he set it on fire.”

“Then how does someone like that end up waging a holy war?”

I breathed out a long breath, shutting my eyes to try and close out the pain and fury I felt. “Because someone hurt him. Hurt him bad.”

Eir remained quiet.

I tore one of my gauntlets out of the chest, and began examining it for flaws. Though nearly perfectly well maintained, I didn’t intend to go back into battle with even a single blemish on my armour. It would have to go to the smiths.

“Truth be told, he was born a slave to the same king who shackled us all,” I explained bitterly. “King Dextran, lord of Utrium, conqueror of Occlium, protector of the dominion, master of mysticism, and a royal shit. He intended to use his own son as a sacrifice to fuel some occult ritual, raising him to be nothing more than a pig for slaughter. I’m sure you don’t have to imagine too hard what that would be like. Growing up unloved, unwanted, all alone in the world.”

Eir’s eyes shone.

“So Calen ran,” I said, pulling the axe out again. The weapon could be put back in my office for the time being. I could tend to what minor maintenance it required myself. “Because of course he did. He ran until he found a ship, got on it and never looked back. He swore two oaths to himself then. That he would live life to its fullest, and that he would never break a promise. And oh how he indulged in the first oath, seeking ever greater pleasures, never realizing that they were broken attempts to fill a void in his heart that simply couldn’t ever be whole.”

“How do you know all of this?” she asked, her voice cracked.

I looked sadly down at the girl who wept silently, who was pitying the being who had been her salvation. “I was his bodyguard, his protector, his confidant. He told me things that only Uherion and the other Shields know.” I shut my eyes, recollecting all too clearly the conversations we had shared over candlelight. “He spent his days shouting orders, leading tens of thousands into battle, striking down monsters and demons, and inspiring his followers with his radiant presence. At night, he would weep, breaking down into a mess. He fought with such maddened frenzy out of a deep, deep sense of guilt. For in our now-dead masters, he saw ugly reflections of himself. Monsters who lived life to their fullest by using us to fulfill their twisted appetites, the bloody fool.”

“Did… did things get better, when you won?” she croaked, a wild desperation in her questioning, weeping eyes.

“For a time,” I admitted, lifting up the chest. “Indeed, most of us hoped that peace would be a balm to his soul. The frenzy was still there, but we weren’t knee-deep in shit and blood any more. We were building a republic, a home for all the displaced and broken. He got to see how his efforts were helping people, rather than how he thought he had been hurting them.” I looked away from her. “But then he left us, off to fight another war.” I turned back to her, hoping she didn’t see my own tears. “And the truth is? I don’t think he will ever stop fighting. He can’t. There will always be another enemy that he thinks is too like his foulest self, another tyrant that vaguely resembles his father. Weep for him, Eir. Weep for the Liberator who can never be free.”