On the following day, the Fri caravan reached the tip of the cape. Before them throned the city of Holms Fäste. High stone walls hid almost every thing beyond them. Only a few watchtowers, and the far off tiles of the castle roofing peeked up behind the tremendous barrier. The construction was old, the stones uncut and puzzled together with more patience than mortar. Sylvia figured the odd bulges and dents of the wall could be either a hinder or an advantage for an attacking force, depending on what tactic was employed. They were certainly easier to climb than cut stone, and some of the outcrops could shield an attacker from stones throw down the side of the wall. However, they were unfavourable for ladders. She wondered what strategy Thorun would employ.

Any direct assault would be incredibly dangerous, and burning it down from a distance was not an option. While there was little reason to spare a Wolf settlement, Holms Fäste was inhabited by many commoners. Sylvia expected ramming through the thick wall was near impossible without heavy siege, and the huge iron gates, set into the stone, did not offer a much better point of attack.

Over said iron gates hung a flag decorated with the now familiar red wolf head. On either side of the flag, a decaying corpse was strung. Former leaders of the city, no doubt. The corpse on the right side had lost an arm. Probably the work of birds. Sylvia wondered what it said about her that the sight did not disturb her.

“They are really making their stance here?”, Aimo asked. He shook his head. “Foolish as ever.”

“Do not complain about an easy meal”, Yri chuckled.

Sylvia looked between the two. “What do you mean?”

Yri’s eyes were wide and intense as she spoke. “We will drive them out and stuff that dammed flag down their throats.”

Sylvia let her gaze wander over the high walls of the city again. “But how?”

“You will see soon enough”, Yri grinned.

On her command, the Fri caravan made camp all along the edge of the woods. The tents were spaced out much further than usual, and the fires were dug into proper beds, despite being in the protection of the trees. Even the baker’s tent was kept compact. Everything was designed to ease movement within and, more importantly, out of the camp.

Aimo aligned his wagons so that they created a wall between the central part of the camp and the city of Holms Fäste. He made a point of hanging Fri flags down the side of the wagons, so they would be well visible from Holms Fäste. It was not long before a handful of flaming arrows soared from the high walls, but none made it even two thirds of the way. Aimo had a good laugh about the attempt.

Once the smell of food drifted through camp, and the sun nestled among the trees, Aimo eased a barrel of wine from a cart. He tipped it over with a firm shove and tapped it with the end of his walking cane. “Help me out, would you?”

Sylvia bent her knees, set her hands against the barrel, and pushed, rolling it along the trampled path which had emerged between the tents. Aimo led her to the very centre of camp, where the cooks were busy stirring a large pot, and adding ever more roots and meat. Beside the baker’s tent, a water barrel stood. Rolling the wine to it, Sylvia dug her heels into the ground, and pushed with all the strength she could muster, to bring the barrel onto its feet again.

“Fill a bottle and bring it to the sisters. They are expecting you”, Aimo instructed next.

Nodding, Sylvia filled one of the empty spirit bottles, and then looked around for Thorun. The beautiful black hair was nowhere to be seen, so she returned to the wine barrel with the flask still in hand. Aimo had taken a seat within the baker’s tent itself, and was chatting idly with Frida. From the look on her face to judge, he was distracting and amusing to equal parts. Sylvia cleared her throat politely to interrupt.

“Do you know where exactly the sisters are?”

Aimo shrugged.

“Just behind us”, Frida answered, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.

“Thank you”, Sylvia said.

She rounded the baker’s, and found a regal round tent, which had been erected right along the back of the baker’s. The tent cloth itself bore the greenery crowned symbol of the Fri. Sylvia had never seen this tent erected before. The construction was elaborate, involving more than fifteen pegs. The flap was held open by two slender posts, creating a generous awning. Sylvia did not even have to duck her head as she walked under it. Inside the tent, a ring of blankets had been spread out for seating. In total six figures occupied the space. This was the first time Sylvia had seen the entire inner circle.

At Yri’s side, sat and older woman draped in furs. This was Heida Thoruns, the oldest of the sworn. Between her and Thorun, sat Bothilder Yris, Heida’s son. On the other side of Thorun, sat a woman with an arbalest lying in her lap, Kaija Yris, Heida’s daughter, and as formidable an arbalist as Yri herself. Had Kaija been the one who found her in Surtearv, Sylvia might have mistaken her for Yri. She had the same relaxed smile and copper hair. The last in the round was a tall woman with blond hair and blue eyes, wearing an utterly blank expression. Sylvia recognised her from the dance the other night, but she could not put a name to the face.

Bothilder stood and accepted the bottle Sylvia was carrying. He poured the wine into five cups, which cluttered the middle of the tent. He put one cup in front of each member of the inner circle, before filling two more. Holding one out with both hands, he looked up at Sylvia. Surprised at the offer, she took a seat and accepted the cup with both hands, making sure to meet Bothilder’s eyes. His eyes were brown, but faded, like the colour had drained out of them with age, just as it had left his beard. He had scars running across this cheeks, but they were not nearly as deep as those Thorun bore, merely painting white lines across his skin. When he nodded, Sylvia let her gaze fall. Drinking the sweet wine in small sips, she listened while the inner circle continued their conversation.

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“Holms Fäste has access to the sea. There is no way we can press the city with siege. We will run out of food long before they do.”

“And neither should we. Those are our people behind those walls, being held captive by these rats”, Yri agreed. Dropping the venom from her voice, she shook her head. “But the siege is not about food. It is about focus.”

Kaija frowned. “Focus?”

Heida nodded. “Remember when I forced the two of you up in the middle of the night for practice?”

“Mother”, Bothilder protested.

“No, I want to hear this”, Kaija insisted. “What about it?”

“The first time, you were focused. The second time, you were focused. The third time, you were missing your target. By the end of the week, you barely made it out of bed”, Heida teased.

“Mm, I was not a fan of your methods at first, I will admit that”, Kaija jested. She stroked a hand over her arbalest. “But in the end it made me a better shot.”

“Because no one aimed to kill you while you practised”, Yri chuckled. “That tired, you would have been an easy target.”

“That is true, I suppose.” Looking between her mother and Yri, Kaija smiled, “So you are saying we should keep them from sleeping?”

“Exactly.”

“Will it not it leave us vulnerable as well to stay up all night?”, Bothilder questioned.

“It would, but we are not going to. We will sleep soundly”, Thorun answered.

Looking to the blond woman, sitting by the mouth of the tent like a statue, she ordered, “You, Bothilder, and Kaija will take turns scaring them up at night. Yri and I will come up with ways to keep them on their toes during the days. Do just enough to get them to ready for battle, but do not risk your limbs. We do not need to truly threaten them. We just need them to feel like we could come at any time, day or night. It will be more than enough to deprive them of sleep, and of focus. Who knows, maybe the rats will stop listening entirely when we cry wolf.”

The blond woman gave no indication that she had heard the order, but Thorun did not seem to mind.

“And what would you have me do?”, Heida asked.

“Stay in camp. I still need your guidance”, Thorun ordered.

Sighing, the old woman nodded. “As you say, Liege.”

Bothilder dutifully refilled the cups as soon as the bottom was visible. Sylvia made sure to keep a little wine in her cup to avoid this. She had no intention of getting tipsy while the discussion progressed.

“I expect three or four days should be enough to make the rats drowsy. We do not want to linger too long, else they might get ideas”, Thorun determined.

“In the meantime, I will scout for the entrance”, Yri added.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“What formation do you propose? And I am guessing we should prepare to saddle up for the breach?”, Kaija asked.

“Sorry, what entrance?”, Sylvia interrupted.

All eyes turned to her. Yri smirked in amusement. “There is another way into Holms Fäste, but the entrance is well hidden. I know the approximate location. It should not present any great problem to find it again”, she explained.

“Like a side door?”, Sylvia asked.

“Like a tunnel”, Thorun said.

“And you do not believe the Wolves know about it?”

“How would a northerner know about such things?”, Thorun questioned.

Sylvia shrugged. “How do you?”

Yri snorted a laugh. Waving a hand, she giggled, “That is perfect. Hah! Yea, Sister, Dearest, how do you know?”

Thorun did not seem amused. “I would be a fool not to know something like this. This is our city.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she exhaled slowly and admitted, “The mayor of Holms Fäste showed us the tunnel, when they agreed to join us.”

“I am sorry, I did not mean to be rude”, Sylvia said, wringing her hands together.

“Oh no, no, do not worry about it”, Yri chuckled. “It is a very good question.” Patting her sister on the knee, she grinned, “Some are just a little touchy.”

“Fuck you”, Thorun said dryly.

Everyone in the tent laughed heartedly at her expense, everyone but Sylvia and the blond woman sitting silent by the entrance. Her blue eyes were focused on the cup of wine in her hands. She had not even sipped the drink.

“Point is, unless someone from the city or a Fri has turned traitor, they will not have a clue. And if someone has, they do not have much longer to live”, Thorun finally said.

Yri nodded in agreement. “I am operating under that assumption. Should all else fail, we can always tear down the walls, but it would be a shame, wasting such a good sturdy wall. It would cost a lot more lives, too.”

“If the Wolves do not know about the tunnel, and the walls are intact, then how did they get in?”, Sylvia wondered.

Silence fell over the round. Yri and Thorun exchanged a glance, and the blond woman finally looked up, her eyes fixing on Sylvia.

Before Sylvia could find the air to apologise, Kaija sighed audibly. “That is the real question, is it not?”

“Someone could have been foolish enough to attempt to trade with them”, Heida suggested.

“If anyone opened the gates to these rats, I will have them dig the graves for ours, and then see them hanged right next to the rotting corpses of this plague”, Thorun spat.

“Or maybe they were tricked”, Yri said calmly.

Thorun huffed, but she did not say anything further.

“Either way, that is a question which can wait until after the battle”, Yri added, to get the conversation back on track.

When the discussion was at an end, the round tipped back their remaining wine. Even the blond woman drained her cup, before setting it down, and taking her leave. Sylvia followed the example and forced back the last swing of wine. Bothilder returned the nearly empty bottle to her, and then began gathering the cups. Sitting alone with the man, Sylvia let her eyes flicker over his form. He was rather short, and not very broad for a soldier. If she had not known better, she might have taken him for a servant.

“Excuse me, Bothilder”, she began.

“Yes?”, Bothilder responded. His voice was a hoarse whisper. Sylvia had noticed it before, but now that he did not strain to raise his voice, the rasp in his throat was even dryer.

“May I ask about your bond with the Fri? Your mother is Thoruns, but your sister and you are Yris, correct?”, Sylvia asked.

Bothilder nodded. “Certainly…”

“Sylvia Fri.”

“Sylvia. My mother was kept in the same brothel as Yri, until Thorun took them home. I was young then, but I will never forget the gift that the sisters have given us. That is why I am sworn. Thorun would not have me, but Yri did me the honour. I do not know if Thorun refused me due to my age at the time, or due to my being a man. It matters little. My sister did not witness it herself, but she swore to Yri as well when she was old enough to understand. Such is the nature of our bond.”

“And the blond woman?”, Sylvia inquired.

“Kvist. That is not my story to tell”, Bothilder said, shaking his head.

Sylvia nodded. “May I ask another question?”

“Always, Fri.”

“Where did you get those scars? They are quite similar to Thorun’s.”

“Your observation is true, but I will not speak of it unless she does”, Bothilder stated. “All I can say is that I would not be here if it had not been for Thorun.”

“I understand. I apologise for my indiscretion”, Sylvia said, dropping her gaze to the floor.

Bothilder waved a hand. “Not at all.” Bowing his head, he added, “You will have to excuse me, Fri.”

Turning her palm up, Sylvia dismissed him, and he got to his feet.