THE WHITE WOLF

During the battle of Firildor, Saerion was separated from Dassenar and the red-haired elf’s other bodyguards due to the attacks of a vicious honey-badgerkryn. The Eshgir warrior wasn’t very tall, but he was able to use a set of lombardian cleavers to incredible effectiveness.

He had cut down several Skarian warriors before reaching Saerion and fought fearlessly, pushing through the ranks of black armoured warriors.

As the badgerkryn approached Saerion, the harpy-eaglekryn thrusted forward with his partizan polearm, forcing him to lean back and dodge, the tip, which passed through the thick, brown, fur coat he was wearing.

Saerion then stepped to the right, repositioning his body in order to avoid being exposed to a bearkryn warrior nearby. The badgerkryn tried to rush toward him, mesmerizing Saerion with the speed of his strikes, moving as if he was possessed by some demon.

Saerion blocked many of the Eshgir warrior’s wild, slashing attacks, but was forced to move back, as he constantly repositioned his body, keeping a low stance and sending his polearm forward every so often to strike at his opponent.

Unfortunately, Saerion couldn’t seem to land any strikes, while the badgerkryn was able to scrape his vambraces several times, getting dangerously close to the eaglekryn’s wrists.

The badgerkryn did a somersault forward, trying to get in close to Saerion in order to render his polearm useless. Unfortunately for him, the eaglekryn was well trained and stepped back, standing on one of his large, talons and grabbing the badgerkryn’s face with the other.

He quickly twisted his leg, sending the badgerkryn against a nearby rampart, on the side of the bridge. The badgerkryn had tried to cleave into his heel but hadn’t been quick enough.

Saerion followed the motion, stepping forward in his wide stance and thrusting down with his polearm. He struck the badger just below the left shoulder as the Eshgir tried to dodge the polearm.

As the polearm’s tip hit, however, the badgerkryn was able to drop a cleaver and hold onto its shaft, just above the spearhead. The Eshgir tried desperately to pull it out of his chest before the eaglekryn could push it further.

Feeling the resistance, Saerion moved forward again after the first hit, positioning himself to force his polarm into he badgerkryn with both hands.

He wasn’t able to do so, however, as a large bearkryn hit him on the back of the head with a club, the upright feathers on the back of his head bending forward as he fell to the ground, unconscious.

*****

Just over a month later, Saerion arrived in Ghinmeru, a northeastern settlement of the Eshgirs. The eaglekryn had been taken prisoner by his foes and was being brought to an Eshgir warlord, one of the highest echelons in their society.

The warlord would be choosing Saerion’s fate, which, according to the guards transporting him, was likely slavery or death.

The group of Eshgirs who held Saerion captive had slowly made their way north, through the karst, spending several days in certain areas to secure them. They hunted down anyone they came across, killing many civilians who were fleeing the orcs in the east.

Finally, they had reached their destination, a large settlement called Ghinmeru, on the shore of the Nemralnur, a large river which flowed down from the Noriondir Mountains.

This region of the karst had been named Nemral, meaning rich eagle, by the elves, as they observed wealthy eaglekryn sailing along it from the Sea of Pellion in order to tame their great eagles in Noriondir, in days of old.

No eaglekryn passed through these lands now, however, as the powerful Eshgir forces had organized several points of defence along it, ambushing anyone who dared to enter the karst.

Ghinmeru was made up of a few large, wooden buildings and hundred of simple wooden cabins, their roofs made of thatch.

In every settlement they occupied, the Eshgirs displayed their round shields on the walls, along with the heads of defeated enemies. They had adopted the round shields of the Vargals during their wars against them, but chose to paint them grey, black or brown, unlike those of the northerners, which were often colourful.

The Vargal shields had colours representing the different clans, but the Eshgir high council wanted to abolish the clan system and erase any signs of them to truly unite their people and convert their coalition into a large, unified state.

Their plan had been fairly successful, thus far, but the Eshgir High chieftain now ruled with an iron first, having been given full power over the nation.

Without their chiefs to protect them, their tribes disbanded, the Eshgirs were not starting to regret their cooperation with the high council’s plan. The warlords had replaced the chiefs, but, having been a part of his original tribe they were loyal to the high chieftain and rarely had the interests of the lower ranks in mind. A notion which had been made clear to Saerion as he overheard their conversations.

Upon arrival in Ghinmeru, Saerion was brought to a cage outside of a small cabin, near river. Several other prisoners had been taken in Firildor, but they had always been kept separate.

The Eshgirs had dealt with many Skarian prisoners and had developed this method in order to prevent them from planning any sort of escape. They had been caught off guard by Skarian slaves trying to break free several times in the past. This caused the Eshgirs to be more careful with Skarian prisoners, especially kryn, like Saerion, whose strong physique made them dangerous even without weapons.

Saerion waited several days for his hearing with the warlord, as word came from the back of the line that another group of Eshgirs had been ambushed by Vargals as they had also been making their way back from Firildor, to a different city, in the north. The Eshgir warlord had quickly mobilized his warriors and travelled north, to eliminate any Vargal forces in the region.

During this time, there were only a few guards left with the prisoners in Ghinmeru, but the prisoners were tied with thick ropes and in cages, making it next to impossible for them to escape.

The aye-ayekryn guard whose assignment had been to keep an eye on Saerion and a few other prisoners would easily have fallen to the eaglekryn had he not been tied up behind bars.

He had received the eaglekryn’s polearm as a gift from the honey-badgerkryn after the battle, who, also of short stature in comparison to most Eshgirs, felt a connection to the aye-ayekryn. Though, the badgerkryn still felt he was far superior in combat. A feeling further bolstered by his rank, though he was barely above regular warriors such as the aye-ayekryn.

The badgerkryn would often visit Saerion, spitting on him in anger as the wound below his shoulder had become infected and made him ill. He was still healing and wasn’t fit to go help in the north, leading the warlord to leave him in charge of the prisoners. A choice which made the badgerkryn feel miserable.

Saerion could see that the badgerkryn was often mistreated by other Eshgirs due to his size and he would take out his anger on those around him. Naturally, his favourite target had become Saerion, whom he hated most out of the prisoners.

He not only felt angry because the Saerion had nearly killed him in battle, but his hatred was aggravated as the eaglekryn was responsible for the source of most of the jokes made by other Eshgirs in the previous days. They had begun teasing him about his wound, as if he were a child with a small cut, patronizing him.

Saerion tried his best not to let anger get the best of him as he sat, helpless, in his cage. Understanding that the badgerkryn was truly far more miserable than him helped him handle the situation calmly and refrain from reacting in anger or frustration, as the badgerkryn hoped.

The eaglekryn had dealt with several people like the badgerkryn throughout his life. He had learned to try and understand them, rather than allow anger to get the better of him. He felt as though anger could be useful in some cases, giving someone the necessary drive or strength to accomplish something, but it often blinded people and exposed them to threats. An old Skarian saying stated that the man who sees red cannot see his own bleeding heart. He was often reminded of this phrase when dealing with the badgerkryn.

One day, as the morning came to an end and the badgerkryn began his afternoon rounds, an Eshgir warrior came running into town, warning the other that ships were approaching.

“What ships?” Asked the badgerkryn in an irritated voice as the human approached.

“Vargal longships!” The warrior yelled back.

The Vargals were known for their excellent, skeid warships and often sailed along the rivers, raiding settlements on either shore.

A fleet of skeids was usually composed of seven to eleven ships which carried up to seventy warriors each. The warriors within one fleet would typically belong to one or two clans. The chieftains of these clans owned boats that were called drakkar as they were marked by dragons, sculpted at the bow and stern. The legendary creatures were meant to show the status of the owner, along with the other beautiful carvings all over the vessel.

“How many?” Asked the badgerkryn, quickly losing his short temper.

“A large fleet.” Said the human. “Eleven ships.”

“How far?” Asked the badgerkryn.

“They’ll be here within minutes.” Answered the human. “We need to prepare the defences.”

“Defences?” Asked the badgerkryn. “We have only a handful of warriors.” He turned toward the rest of the settlement, angrily.

As he looked around, the badgerkryn’s gaze paused on Saerion’s cage.

“Evacuate.” He said calmly, before walking toward the eaglekryn’s cage.

As he spoke, a loud horn could be heard, its deep, growling sound even more intimidating than that of the Skarians, as it echoed in the nearby valleys and canyons.

The Eshgir settlement quickly began its evacuation, but, within minutes, the Vargals were jumping down from their ships, swords, hammers, axes and shields in hand. They had several types of axes, varying from one handed, to two handed or double bladed.

The Vargal tribes were mainly made up of humans, who typically had light-skin and blonde or red hair, and bearkryn, most of whom were polar bearkryn, their white fur conspicuous as it contrasted with their armour. Many Vargals wore gambesons with mail hauberks, while the wealthier wore lamellar armour made of a dark metal above their chainmail. The wealthiest among them, however, had begun wearing simple plate armour, which was typically made by the dwarven smiths who lived in Doralak.

Vargals wore helmets with nasal pieces as well as visors, dipping just below their eyes and leaving room for them to place their shields in front of their mouths, which were often covered with thick beards. Many warriors also had aventails and camails, which were pieces of chainmail that protected either the front or back or their faces. Bearkryn rarely wore any of these, though, a small number of them wore simple, iron helmets.

Vargal armour was masterfully designed and forged, its style inspiring many other peoples of Simanorion, such as various settlements in the Terkin mountains.

They carried their traditional, round shields with bosses in the center, fastened onto the wood with rivets. The shields of these Vargal tribes were mainly painted with black and dark yellow, while some had small red or white lines added to the two base colours.

As they jumped down from their ships. The Vargals rushed through the Eshgir settlement, killing any remaining warriors as they charged through the streets.

The badgerkryn had made his way over to Saerion and was preparing to open his cage in order to kill him before making his escape. He unlocked the metal door and opened it, the rusty metal creaking.

As he entered the cage, the badgerkryn brandished one of his lombardian cleavers. Saerion did what little he could to protect himself, shrugging his shoulders in order to protect his neck. The Eshgirs had allowed him to keep his armour as a way of displaying the fact that they ad a Skarian prisoner to anyone they encountered.

The badgerkryn slowly inched toward Saerion, then lifted his right hand, the cleaver shining as it caught the sunlight.

“It’s my turn to wound you now, birdy” Said the Arshak in a bitter tone.

He swung his cleaver down, but Saerion moved aside slightly, reaching out with his beak and biting onto the badgerkryn’s wrist.

“Aaaah!” The Eshgir screamed in pain and anger. He then kicked at the eaglekryn’s bound feet and lifted his blade again. He was interrupted, however, as a deep voice called to him from behind the cage.

“Stop right there, vermin!” Said a large wolfkryn, holding a simple, carolingian sword, which was the common style of sword for Vargals.

Saerion turned his head to see Edakor, the Skarian leader who had commanded Firildor as it fell to the Eshgirs. The wolfkryn had just jumped down from a Vargal ship, dozens of humans and bearkryn warriors joining him.

The badgerkryn turned tail and ran, along with the aye-ayekryn, as Edakor rushed to free Saerion.

“Get that polearm!” Yelled the wolfkryn as they ran off. He then stepped into the cage, his shoulders pushing against the sides of the entryway.

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“It’s good to see a familiar face.” Said Edakor as he untied the harpy-eaglekryn.

“How did you survive?” Asked the eaglekryn, shocked to see Edakor alive and free.

“For a time, I was a prisoner, like you, but the Vargals ambushed my captors and freed me a few days ago.” Answered Edakor, helping Saerion to his feet. “Since then, I’ve been raiding Eshgir settlements with them, hoping to find more survivors.”

Saerion began to walk but struggled to move forward as his legs and talons had been tied together in a strange position, making them sore.

“We’re here to retake Ghinmeru and kill an Eshgir warlord.” Continued Edakor, helping his friend along. “Some large bearkryn.”

“He’s a grizzlykryn with white fur.” Said a nearby Vargal polar bearkryn. “They say he has a magical sword which changed the colour of his fur.”

“They also say he often becomes wild with rage and kills his own warriors.” Added a human Vargal warrior nearby.

“The warlord went north.” Said Saerion. “I heard the guards talking about it.”

“His troops are moving back south.” Stated Edakor, proudly. “We defeated them in the north and they’re retreating back to Ghinmeru.”

As the wolfkryn spoke, a horn was sounded once again, but not a Vargal horn this time. On the large road within the canyon, which led to Ghinmeru, was the Eshgir warlord and an army of nine hundred warriors.

“Prepare to defend the city!” Came a loud command from further west. “This is a Vargal city now!”

The unusually tall man who had spoken had long, blonde hair, like many other Vargals, but, unlike the others, his face was shaven, accentuating his chiseled jaw. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and wielded two long axes, which would have usually been two-handed axes for a regular sized man. He was among the few who wore plate armour, having been one of the first to invest in the expensive craft of the dwarven smiths. His armour was decorated with runic patterns, telling the story of his ancestors.

“That’s our leader, Einragir.” Said Edakor as he noticed Saerion staring at the Vargal chief. “He is young, but he is wise and fair.”

“Our leader?” Asked Saerion. “Are you a Vargal now, Commander?”

Edakor smiled. “I am no commander. That’s for sure.” He answered, smiling. “They saved me and welcomed me into their army.” The wolfkryn added as he turned to an incoming Vargal warrior.

The Vargal carried Saerion’s polearm, which he had retrieved from the fleeing aye-ayekryn, who was presumably dead.

“The badgerkryn escaped.” Said the human warrior as he handed Edakor the polearm.

“I’m sure we’ll have another chance to catch the slippery fellow.” Answered Edakor, enthusiastically, as he handed Saerion his polearm.

The black and gold weapon was still in fine shape, though the piece of red fabric which had been attached to the pole, just below the spearhead, had been ripped off.

The Eshgir forces soon reached the last two pillar-like mountains before the open area on which Ghinmeru had been built and tightened their ranks as they passed through them.

At the other end of the mountains, the Vargals were also in a tight formation as they prepared a shield wall, which they hoped would hold back their foes, keeping them crammed between the two mountains. Thus, the hundred-meter-wide gap of uneven terrain between the massive cliffs would serve as their battlefield.

When they were fifty meters away and the Vargals began shooting at them with arrows, the Eshgirs charged forward, led by the white grizzlykryn warlord.

Many Vargals shot crossbows and bows as the Eshgirs charged, then the shield wall closed, and they began walking forward to gain a bit of momentum before having the Eshgir force crash into them.

The Vargal fighting style resembled that of the Skarians, as it had been their main inspiration. Though, the Skarians had made a few changes, such as the different shields, the size of their pikes and their organization, which had made it even more effective against disorganized barbarian armies such as the Eshgirs.

A bloody battle ensued, but far more Eshgirs were dying than Vargals. The northern barbarians were far better equipped and trained. They usually were fewer in numbers, but it rarely discouraged them as they knew they had superiority in skill, armour and strategy.

Edakor ran right into the front lines, his carolignian sword in his right hand and a shield on his left forearm. He had lost his greatsword in the battle of Firildor, but still had his black, Skarian armour, which made him stand out among the Vargals.

He overwhelmed his opponents with powerful swings of his shield, bashing them with the metal boss, then cut them down with his sword. He led a group of Vargals around him, cutting through the Eshgir forces and pushing forward.

Realizing they were overextended, one of the nearby chiefs called them back, wanting to maintain the line they had initially formed. As he turned back with the Vargal warriors, disappointed that they couldn’t go on, Edakor chose to make his way back in a diagonal direction, passing through the enemy frontlines.

He attacked several the Eshgirs from the side, surprising them as they had been focused on the Vargal frontline and striking down and mortally wounding quite a few of them.

The wolfkryn stopped however, as he noticed a large, Eshgir warrior near him. Seeing the warrior’s white fur, Edakor recognized him to be the Eshgir warlord they had come to kill.

The grizzly bearkryn was far shaggier than a polar bearkryn and had the typical facial structure of a grizzly, his white fur seeming strange to Edakor. He wore metal armour with large, decorated pauldrons and wielded a double-bladed great axe which matched his shiny, silver armour.

He hit the Vargal warriors around him with such great strength that their armour couldn’t protect them from the deadly, bone-crushing force. Edakor watched him as he swung his axe horizontally, then back around diagonally, starting low and bringing it up to strike a Vargal’s exposed neck. The Skarian warrior had seen powerful axe wielder both in the Vargal and Eshgir ranks, but this bearkryn’s strength seemed to be beyond that of most.

Saerion spotted Edakor making his way toward the warlord, but he chose to stay back as his muscles were slow and weak from a month of poor nutrition and days without moving. He was forced to remain in the front lines, relying on Vargal warriors to protect his flanks. The harpy-eaglekryn was, however, able to do his part, killing many barbarians with his partizan.

Edakor ran right at the warlord and leaped forward, his sword hitting the large bearkryn’s right pauldron. He jumped back to avoid the large axe and swung his sword again, barely missing.

The bearkryn feigned a swing of his axe, but, instead, held up beside him with his left hand, using the right one to strike at Edakor with his massive paw.

The wolfkryn, who had fallen for the trick, barely managed to raise his shield in time, blocking the blow. The mighty paw shattered his shield and badly bruised his arm, but the wolfkryn was able to carry on fighting swinging his sword in reply as he dropped the broken shield.

The bearkryn then stepped forward to swing at Edakor, holding his axe in both hands, this time. Edakor leaped to the side, dodging the axe and reached for a double handed axe at his feet, which had been dropped by a Vargal warrior.

Further north, Einragir was fighting with similar weapons, cutting through the Eshgir ranks without much trouble. Having witnessed Edakor engaging the Eshgir warlord, he now pushed forward ferociously toward them, his chieftain’s guard behind him.

His powerful arms were swinging his axes in either direction, cleaving into the faces of his enemies and hooking onto their necks, cutting them as he pulled them toward him to finish them off.

The large human often used his legs, kicking enemies back or tripping them as their focus was on his deadly axes. He may not have been as intimidating as the white grizzlykryn at first sight, but in combat, he was an equal threat, his axes reaching two meters away from his torso when his grip was near the bottom of the handle and his arms were outstretched.

Every so often, the Vargal chief would look to Edakor as he fought the white bear. Einragir wanted to arrive in time to help the wolfkryn, but, despite his incredible fighting skill, he was struggling to get past the dozens of Eshgir warriors in his way. For now, Edakor would have to fight the white bearkryn alone.

In the midst of the battle, Saerion suddenly spotted the honey-badgerkryn who had tormented him for weeks up ahead. Allowing his anger to get the better of him, despite his efforts to supress it, he decided to risk moving forward, leaving the Vargal line.

He raced past several enemies, dodging their weapons, sneaking by some and killing a few by plunging his polearm into their chests and bellies.

He reached the badgerkryn as the Eshgir warrior finished killing a polar breakryn, his lombardian cleavers cutting open his throat. Using his short stature to sneak up on his enemies, the Eshgir warrior could cleave into the legs of large opponents, taking them down and striking at their heads.

“You?” Said the badgerkryn as he spotted Saerion.

The small badgerkryn was about to continue speaking, when Searion came forward, thrusting his polearm toward his head. The badgerkryn dodged the attack and rolled off to the side, rushing toward Saerion as he regained his footing.

Saerion leaped to the side as the Eshgir warrior approached, dodging his attack and thrusting his polearm toward the small kryn again. The badgerkryn ducked, passing beneath the weapon and swinging his cleavers towards Saerion’s legs.

Saerion took a quick step back, repeating the same movements as he once again tried to stab the oncoming badgerkryn. The badgerkryn sidestepped to dodge the polearm, which was aimed a bit lower this time, preventing him from passing under it.

As he tried to attack Saerion’s left flank, the eaglekryn leaped over him, his bent legs propulsion him high into the air. He landed on his large, taloned feet behind the badgerkryn, who had been caught off guard by the powerful leap.

The surprised badgerkryn quickly spun around, swinging his blades, but Saerion swept both of his arms away with a swing of his partisan polearm and grabbed onto his little face with his talons, standing on his left leg.

The badgerkryn bit his food, but Saerion still managed to kick him to the ground, the Eshgir warrior landing on his back, scars covering his face.

Saerion quickly glanced around, checking for any other threats, and, seeing none, stepped forward to plunge his spear-like polearm in the same place he previously had, just below the badgerkryn’s shoulder.

The badgerkryn had dropped one of his cleavers but still held one in his right hand, which he lifted to swing at Saerion. The harpy-eaglekryn reacted quickly, swinging his polearm to the side and knocking the bagerkryn’s arm down before stepping on it, forcing him to release the hilt of his Lombardian cleaver to the ground.

As Saerion aimed his polearm at the bandage where he had previously wounded the badgerkryn, he noticed the defiant look in the small kryn’s face. The Eshgir warrior’s eyes were filled with tears, but he wrinkled his face with anger and snarled.

To the honey-badgerkryn’s surprise, Saerion lifted his polearm, stepping off of the Eshgir’s arm. He gave him a serious look, the feathers at the back of his head rising behind him.

Saerion then turned to the side, noticing an enemy nearby, and attacked the Eshgir, leaving the badgerkryn on the ground, defeated, but alive.

Edakor had been fighting the Eshgir warlord for several minutes and he had only managed to claw at his face on two occasions, while the white bearkryn had nearly killed him several times.

The wolfkryn felt he was fighting a losing battle, but he had devised a desperate plan, which he saw as his only option. He was weaponless, his axe and sword having been knocked out of his pawes, and quickly tiring from the intense duel. However, the bearkryn was getting confident and had started taking more and more risks to try and finish him off, exposing some of his weaknesses.

As the bearkryn approached him, swinging his double-bladed axe, Edakor leaped toward him, clearing the axe, and striking him in the face. As he jumped over his right pauldron and caught onto it.

Edakor’s right hand held the pauldron as he swung his body around, grabbing onto the hilt of a large sword on the bearkryn’s back with his left hand.

Edakor quickly unsheathed the greatsword, pushing off and landing behind the bearkryn as he turned around growling. As he spun around, the Eshgir warlord swung his axe at the wolfkryn, but Edakor leaped back even further, holding the greatsword with both hands.

Edakor noticed the bear’s fur was quickly turning to a dark brown as he let out a furious growl.

Looking down at his hands, Edakor noticed his grey fur turning white and realized the greatsword truly was a magical weapon, which removed the pigment from the wearer’s fur.

Feeling a wild fervor overcome his body and mind, Edakor gave into the urge and let out a mighty howl. His fur had now turned completely white, while the warlord’s fur had taken on the brown of a grizzly.

Saerion, who had witnessed the wolfkryn’s leap and the change of his coat of fur, looked on in amazement as he rejoined the Vargal line. His white fur, contrasting with his copper-lined, black armour, and his dark red, Skarian cape floating in the wind, Edakor was an astounding sight in the middle of the bloody battlefield.

The frantic Eshgir warlord stared at Edakor with utter hatred. He made a deep, pulsing sound with his throat, fuming with rage, then rushed forward, making a bellowing sound.

Edakor also moved forward, holding the greatsword with both hands to his right and sidestepped to the left as the bearkryn approached. He simultaneously brought the sword in front of him, angling it in a downward position to his left and swinging it back across to the right, diagonally.

The blade, which was originally positioned to his left, pointing toward the ground, gained incredible momentum as it travelled upwards. In its path, it cut across the bearkryn’s arm and struck his muzzle as he turned toward the wolfkryn, ending its trajectory with its hilt beside the wolfkryn’s face, the blade pointing to the sky.

The Eshgir general dropped his double-bladed axe to the ground as his arm and face were both in terrible pain. Edakor wasted no time and struck him in the back, pushing him down to his knees. He then the greatsword’s hilt above his head while flipping it upside-down, the blade pointing down to the bearkryn’s neck, just beside his right shoulder.

Edakor let out another loud howl as he plunged the greatsword into the large bearkryn’s body, taking his life.

Their leader dead, the Eshgirs lost heart, and many ran off, back toward the north, where other Vargals would likely finish them off.

Einragir told his warriors not to follow as they had other matters to focus on. They would soon join a large invasion of the Noriondir mountains, bringing the fight to the orcs.

The Vargals had learned that orc tribes were preparing a coalition of their own to expand their territory by retaking their lands in the karst.

Hoping to gain the upper hand by moving first, the Vargals were racing up the Nemralnur River, through which they would enter the Noriondir Mountains.

Einragir’s men, who had been granted the honour of forming the vanguard, would thus hurry back into their ships and sail onward.

After the battle, Saerion and Edakor found one another, the harpy-eaglekryn fascinated by the wolfkryn’s bright, white fur.

“It’s the sword.” Said Edakor, noticing Saerion’s confused gaze. He then lifted the greatsword, easily carrying the heavy weapon with one hand.

“If only Dassenar were alive to see you, commander” Said Saerion, laughing.

“He very well may be.” Answered Edakor.

“What do you mean?” Asked the eaglekryn, surprised. “Do you think he was captured as well?”

“No.” answered Edakor, to the eaglekryn’s surprise. “I think he escaped on with Taerlyn on Nemdolas.” He clarified.

Saerion stared at the wolfkryn incredulously, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“That is excellent news, commander.” Said Saerion, hopeful. “I hope they made it past the Eshgir vultures and condors.”

“I’m no longer your commander, Saerion.” Said Edakor. “I am simply Edakor, now.”

Saerion nodded, unsure how to respond. He found it strange that Edakor had simply decided to become a Vargal warrior and seemed to have little interest in returning to Skarian territory.

“Edakor, the white wolf!” Came Einragir’s voice from behind the eaglekryn. “You fought like a beast from the sagas of Fjelgar.” Added the Vargal chief, referencing the most famous hero from the Vargal legends.

“The sword is yours, chief Einragir.” Said the wolfkryn, humbly presenting him with it.

“No, my friend.” Said Einragir, smiling. “It is yours to keep. You have earned it by defeating its previous owner.”

Edakor took in a deep breath, delighted to hear the greatsword would remain his.

“My skin is pale enough as it is.” Added Einragir, his smile widening.

“Hopefully, we can find some sun in the mountains!” Said Edakor cheerfully. “I too have had enough of the grey winter skies.”

“And yet, the winter has only just begun.” Said Einrgaig making his way onto his ship.

As Edakor boarded Einragir’s ship, a small figured appeared from the rear and said: “Your sword is mighty, white wolf.”

Edakor turned to see an arctic foxkryn, whose fur matched the his new, white coat.

The short creature was wearing leather clothes with dozens of bones and horns weaved within them, pointing upward in every direction. On his head was a large crown with deer antlers, rising high above it. Edakor recognized the garments to be those of a Vargal shaman.

“You wield Svardömlånd, the sword of the white spirit.” Explained the shaman. “It was originally forged in Norgorim, a great city in our homeland, on the shores of the Vargal sea.”

Edakor examined the sword a bit more closely, noticing the ornate weapon’s design resembled that of the few greatswords he had seen wielded by Vargals. This one, however, was of a light silvery colour, the metal shining with a blue hue, unlike any the wolfkryn had ever seen.

“Beware the white spirit that dwells within it.” Continued the shaman. “It gives the wielder great power but awakens their savage spirit from the depths of their soul.”

Edakor was unsure how to respond but did not need to, as the arctic foxkryn turned back and walked to his small corner in the back of the ship.

“Don’t worry too much about Dlavi.” Said Einragir, dropping his large hand on Edakor’s shoulder. “He’s always speaking in strange riddles, trying to worry us with his ominous visions.”

Edakor nodded, considering what he had just heard.

“He is our connection to the gods, but I’m not always sure he has an effective way of communicating with them.” Continued Einragir. “Speaking with the gods is often as challenging as trying to communicate with someone who stands at the stern, during a storm and speak old Vargalian while you stand at the prow and speak the common tongue.”

The Vargal turned to look ahead as the rowers prepared. He had made it clear that he respected the gods, so some extent, but didn’t have much faith in the guidance they were said to provide.

The Vargal chief dropped down on one of the benches and grabbed a large oar as he called out to his men: “Now, let us row, to Noriondir!”

Horns sounded and the Vargal forces cheered from each of the eleven ships as they continued their journey up the Nemralnur.