“Sylvia! Are you up?!”

Sylvia sighed when she heard Kaija’s voice outside the tent. Yet again, she had dreamt of her beloved Rebecca. The dreams were so vivid, it sometimes saddened her to wake up.

“Sylvia?!”

“Yea, yea. I am awake!”

“Great. You have got about half an hour before Yri will drag you by the ears”, Kaija said. She took her leave and her shadow retreated from the wall of the tent.

Sylvia stretched and yawned aloud. She sat up and cracked her knuckles before turning to Afi. “Awake as well?”

He nodded a little and opened his eyes. “After Kaija screaming about, how could I not be? I already miss the inn, tiny bed and all.”

“You and me both”, Sylvia chuckled. “Though, I have to admit, I do not mind the bedroll. It is not as soft, but in a good way, you know? Feels more like…” She paused for a moment. “Home?”, she suggested to herself. She thought for another moment and then nodded. “Home”, she confirmed.

Afi rubbed his eyes. He watched Sylvia crawl out of her bedroll and get dressed. She was tense again. It was not visible in her posture, but he could sense it. The tension hung between them, pulling at him as well. Something bothered Sylvia. Afi had not been able to put his finger on it so far. The tension fluctuated without any observable cause. It had been this way for a while now. Sitting up, he watched Sylvia pull a comb through her hair. She seemed perfectly content on the surface, but her soul was straining.

“Sylvia, can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

Afi hesitated. It was an invasive question, but he had to know. “Yri said you killed someone. ‘Gutted like a pig’ was the way she put it.”

Setting the comb down, Sylvia met his eyes. She tried to sense him, but there was nothing. Whatever he felt, he was holding it back. Carefully distancing her soul from the accusation in turn, she shrugged. “And?”

“A Wolf, I take it?”, Afi asked

Sylvia nodded. “He killed Rebecca. He was the one who did it.” She looked down at her hands. “So I killed him.”

“Did it help?”, Afi asked.

“Did what help?”

“Getting revenge.”

Sylvia shook her head. “Not really. She is still dead, and now I…” She bit her lip. “Do you think it is true, that broken souls are stronger?”

Afi frowned. “What? Why would you think that?”

“You said it yourself. Do not get angry. Do not cry. Never show emotion. It is a weakness your enemy can exploit.”

“Not showing it, yes. I do not think that not feeling is a good thing. It is what makes us alive, is it not? Having a soul? Feeling things?”, Afi frowned.

Sylvia inhaled sharply. The tension grabbed a hold of Afi’s shoulder. He winced in turn. Sylvia definitively still felt things, and quite strongly so. Afi was relieved. He climbed out of his bedroll and came to Sylvia’s side. He looked into her eyes. There was no discolouration, either. Her eyes were not as clear as they had once been, but there were no visible clouds in her eyes.

“Just what did you do?”

Sylvia slimmed her eyes. Afi could feel her anger prickling over his skin. Even though it had cost her, there was no remorse.

“Do you really want to know?”, Sylvia challenged.

Afi hesitated again. He shook his head. “Just tell me, how bad is it? Your soul?”

“I am not sure”, Sylvia admitted. “It really hurt, and it seems to have made me more vulnerable to breaking. After my actions, and what I saw back home, I have lost my innocence. I still feel things, though, so I guess it is not too bad?”

“I see.”

Sylvia sighed. “Though, I do feel—how to explain it? I feel a little dull. My emotions are a little foggy from time to time.”

“I know what you mean”, Afi nodded. “I have the same thing. It scares me sometimes.”

Sylvia took a hold of his hand. “I guess I should not be surprised by that.”

“Suppose not”, Afi agreed.

“But it also makes things easier at times”, Sylvia jested.

Afi huffed a laugh. He squeezed her hand gently. “Just know that I am here for you. Whatever you need.”

Sylvia smiled. “I just need you to protect me until we can reunite Sev.”

“You believe in this effort, then?”, Afi asked.

“What else is there to believe in?”, Sylvia returned the question.

Afi bowed his head lightly and jested, “I bow to your wisdom, oh powerful mage.”

Sylvia shushed him playfully.

“I will be with you every step of the way, My Liege. You know that.”

Sylvia smiled. “Afi. Thank you. Truly.”

“Always”, Afi said firmly before letting go. “Let us get some breakfast while there is still time.”

Knowing her position among the Fri now, Sylvia had not hesitated to set up her tent right next to those of Kvist and Kaija. Instead of strolling through half the camp before breakfast, they merely had to round two tents to reach the baker’s today.

Frida smiled at them from across the bed of embers. “Good morning, Sunshine”, she flirted.

Handing over two slices of bread, she turned to fill bowls of soup for them. When Yri, Thorun, and Kvist joined them, Frida smiled, “Big day today.”

“Hardly”, Yri huffed.

“Oh, I bet it will be. I have started a big batch of sweet rolls for the celebration.”

“Do not get ahead of yourself”, Thorun reprimanded. “Make sure you fill some with blueberries, yea?”

Frida chuckled. “Of course. Who do you think you are talking to?”

The sisters sat down and Frida handed the two bowls of soup she had prepared to them, before turning to fill two new ones for Sylvia and Afi.

Yri balanced her bowl on a knee while pulling her hair into a ponytail. “I still fail to see why we should not put you on the throne instead of some spoiled brat”, she commented.

“It has to be a man. You know that as well as I”, Thorun refuted.

“As long as things work, people will not care who is in charge”, Yri argued.

“But they will care when it does not work yet”, Kvist cut in.

“Exactly” Thorun nodded. Kvist handed her a slice of bread and she dipped it into the soup. “It will take time to enact any significant changes. It will take more time still for people to notice. Never underestimate the pettiness of humans. Whoever we install will be hated by a significant portion of the population, especially early on. It is definitely not going to be me.”

Yri fixed her sister with a disbelieving stare.

Thorun took a bite of the soggy bread and then brought the bowl to her lips, slurping in delight. She looked back at Yri over the rim of the bowl and sighed. Setting the bowl down and licking her lips, she gave her sister a tired look in return. “Do not even start with me. I do not intend to let go of all our influence. We will have good seats. We will influence laws, even write them ourselves. We will just not have shit thrown at us for it. Our little prince can play target for us.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Whatever”, Yri huffed. She turned her attention to her own meal.

Thorun looked over at Sylvia. Noticing the inquisitive hazel eyes inspecting her, she smiled and then turned her attention back to the food as well.

After breakfast, they gathered on a hill near camp. Sylvia feasted her eyes on the unfamiliar landscape. The city of Nordborg was almost as big as Fristad. The most prominent building was a large castle at the centre, which towered far over any other house. From the topmost tower, a flag waved in the wind. It featured a blue crystal, but in contrast to the Fri rhombus, it was a heptagon. Behind it, a red ribbon ran from the top left corner down to the bottom right. The city only had one wall, but it was an impressive one, with several watchtowers. Each tower was manned, and decorated with flags. The stone barrier even reached several hundred metres out into the water, creating an artificial bay to protect the harbour. At the very ends, two more watchtowers stood, surveying the river. The water of the East Cut gently swirled around them. They must have been there for a long time to get along with nature so well.

“Quite a sight”, Afi commented.

“Quite. Do you think you could see Severn from those towers?”, Sylvia asked.

“No”, Afi responded at once.

“You do not think so, or you know so?”

“I doubt it. You cannot even see it from the ruins of Söderborg”

“You have been to Söderborg?”, Thorun asked.

Afi hesitated for a second, trying to read her mood. Unable to make heads or tails of her tone of voice, he simply nodded.

“When? Are there Wolves there?”, Thorun demanded.

Afi shook his head. “We tried to set up an encampment in the ruins, but it was a lost cause. It is the strangest thing. Nothing will grow there. The fire killed more than people. It killed life itself. It would have required far too much work, clearing the woods and setting up farms around the charred land. We moved on to Surtearv instead.”

Thorun grumbled. “Bloody pest.”

“What does Söderborg have to do with the towers? I thought it was all flat land”, Sylvia asked.

“It is, but one tower still stands among the rubble. It is taller than these, and you cannot see Severn from it. I do not believe the river is any more slender here than it is there. For that matter, you can sail a ship along the middle of East Cut and not see land on either side. It would require a massive construction to see the opposite shore, something like the towers of Eshein”, Afi explained.

“I never realised it was that broad”, Sylvia said. “That makes it very unlikely that it was dug by hand. How strange.”

“You think it is a natural occurrence?”, Afi asked.

“I am just saying it seems very unlikely anyone could have dug this by hand. How would that even work?”, Sylvia defended.

“The East Cut was definitely dug by hand”, Yri asserted.

“How do you know?”, Sylvia questioned.

“It is too straight.”

Sylvia tilted her head in question.

“Natural rivers do not go straight. They have curves and arms, like Guldader, Isbäcken, or Fiskarns. East Cut is completely straight, like a channel rather than a river. It is hand made. I do not know how, or by whom, but there is no way that is natural”, Yri explained.

Sylvia eyed the shoreline. “Still…”, she mumbled.

“You know the land so well you could be a messenger bird. You would never get lost”, Kaija teased.

Yri motioned a punch toward her and she flinched and sniggered.

“Here they come”, Kvist interrupted.

The lot of them peered toward Nordborg. The broad wooden gate folded out from the city. It hung from heavy iron chains. When it met the ground, a low rumbling sound echoed through the clearing. Open like this, the gate formed a bridge over the mote surrounding the city.

“How old-fashioned”, Kaija chuckled.

They watched an entire troop of riders leave the city. The riders headed up the road until they were halfway between city gates and Fri camp, and came to a halt. Five horses broke off, heading straight toward the hill on which the sisters stood waiting.

“Coward”, Yri said. She clicked her tongue.

Kvist hummed in agreement when she saw the approach. “We should not leave your side.”

Thorun shook her head. “It will be fine.”

“He brought a whole cavalry for backup, and he is accompanied by four armed guards”, Kvist argued.

“Because he is scared”, Kaija countered. “If we take as many soldiers as him, we show that we are scared too. Besides, we are better off staying outside and remaining armed if we want to protect the sisters in case worst comes to worst.”

“Fair enough”, Kvist conceded.

“Let us make sure the little prince knows who he is talking to”, Thorun smirked. Mischief danced in her voice.

“Shh”, Yri hissed just before their guests came into earshot.

The five riders dismounted at a respectable distance and approached on foot. Oskar was quite a sight. He was stocky and had long flowing hair. A short beard softened his chin, emphasising his strong eyebrows instead. In contrast to the sisters, he was dressed in a suit of armour. It was plain, but well made, clearly not a statement piece. The only décor was a gold necklace with a gem hanging from it, which rested over his breastplate. With him, Oskar had a shield and a heavy axe.

Thorun stepped forward and Yri followed, urging Sylvia along with her. Oskar on the other hand did not detach from his guards. He merely took one step forward and bowed his head.

“Lady Fri, it is an honour to—”

“That is simply Fri for you”, Thorun warned sharply.

Taken aback at the interruption, Oskar exchanged a glance with one of his guards. The guard shrugged ever so slightly.

Oskar bowed his head again. “I apologise. It is an honour, Fri. I am pleased you wish to work with me as I establish—”

Thorun huffed a laugh. “Now slow down there. I have not agreed to anything except meeting you. If you think you are worthy of my troops, you had better prove it.”

Before Oskar could recover, Yri put a hand on her sister’s shoulder and smiled softly at the stunned man. “Yes, but let us not stand around out here. We prepared a tent were we can talk more comfortably.”

“We did prepare the hall to—”, Oskar began.

Thorun scoffed. “Too fine to sit on the ground, Little Prince?”

“Not at all”, Oskar said, shaking his head. “If you prefer it so, we shall confer in this tent of yours. I merely wished to make you feel welcome in Nordborg.”

“We will be three, me, Thorun, and our scribe, Sylvia”, Yri announced, motioning at the three of them. “How many cups will you need?”

“Five”, Oskar responded. He looked to his left and right, and introduced, “Theodorus, Tone, Ida, and Una.”

“Come along then”, Yri smiled, leading the way.

At the very tip of the hill, the large tent they had used to convene at Holms Fäste stood ready. Stopping in front of it, Yri declared, “All will lay down their weapons before entering.”

“That seems wise”, Oskar agreed, He motioned toward Yri with his open hand.

Yri scoffed and loosened her arbalest from its sling. She lay it down before reaching for her axe and placing it alongside the ranged weapon. Then, she crouched and produced two daggers from her boots. Laying them down as well, she stepped back demonstratively.

“Your turn”, Thorun said firmly.

Oskar motioned one of his guards forward. Tone came to the front. Sylvia watched him with an air of curiosity. His looks were a stark contrast to Oskar’s. Tone’s hair was put up in a tight bun, and a pair of slender eyebrows emphasised his sharp features. While his armour was ordinary, his weapon was everything but. Sylvia had never seen anything like it. The sword handle was long and straight, and it had no pommel. When Tone unsheathed it, Sylvia noticed the blade itself was curved and had only one edge, like a knife. A black seam ran along the entire length. Tone produced two shorter swords of the same peculiar style and lay them down as well before stepping away.

Thorun unceremoniously tossed her swords and daggers onto the ground and then nodded back at the opposite side in challenge.

Two young women stepped forward next. They had the same kind of smooth black hair as Tone. It fell straight, and almost shimmered in the sun. It looked silken and rich. They also had similar chins and cheeks, eyes and noses. Ida and Una had to be Tone’s daughters, Sylvia concluded. Sure enough, Ida and Una produced the same kind of curved swords. They also lay down a longbow each, and Sylvia noticed they did not carry their quivers on their backs, but on their hips. It was an interesting quiver design.

“Are you from the mainland by any chance?”, Sylvia asked.

“No. From Eshein”, Una answered.

Ida and Una retreated to Oskar’s side again. Oskar motioned back across the weapons piling up between them.

“Sylvia is not armed”, Yri said. “She is a scribe, not a solider.”

“How do I know that?”, Oskar challenged.

“Actually, I do have one weapon”, Sylvia said. Pulling the dagger Thorun had given her from the sheath tucked under her tunic, she lay it down and backed away.

Oskar nodded in approval, lay down his axe and shield, and motioned to his final guard to finish the ritual.

Said man was by far the most curious of the bunch. Theodorus was dressed in only black and deep brown, a mix of thick cloth and leather. Over his shoulders hung a broad cloak, hiding any hint of his statue. He was of average height, but that was all Sylvia could determine. Theodorus’s face was hidden as well. The cloak had a deep hood, which covered nearly his entire head. The part of his chin which would have been visible under the hood was covered by a face guard. He had an ominous air about him. Something occult drew Sylvia’s attention. She could not say how, but she knew that Theodorus was intrigued. Sylvia watched him closely, trying to pinpoint just what he was so interested in.

When Theodorus stepped forward, he produced a multitude of weaponry from underneath the cloak. Two swords, two sets of daggers, throwing needles, and another knife. Taking a seat on the ground, he tugged his boots off and simply put them aside together with the weapons. Still sitting in the grass, he tugged the face guard from his mouth and pushed the deep hood back, revealing a metal mask which covered his eyes and the bridge of his nose. It was slender, ornate and beautiful, shaped like a bird in flight. An owl, if Sylvia was to guess. She wondered briefly why someone would wear a masquerade costume at an occasion such as this. She eyed Theodorus from tip to toe.

Despite his crisp white hair, Theodorus looked young. His skin was smooth, if pale as the moon. A few blue tattoos were well visible on the ghostly canvas. One line ran up the middle of his chin and over his lower lip. On his cheeks, horizontal lines marked the edge of his mask. He must be from the west. The mountain people tended to mark their skin like this. Sylvia searched her memory. The lines symbolised something, but she could not say what. The overview of Sev which Priest Ryther gave her never included such detail.

Theodorus grimaced and spat out a slender piece of metal before he got to his feet. There was an eerie silence all of a sudden. The Fri all looked down at the small piece of metal lying in the grass beside their collection of weaponry. Far too curious to resist the urge, Sylvia crouched down and picked the suspicious piece up. It was steel, about a centimetre wide, and featuring a sharp edge. Sylvia frowned deeply and stood. Turning the piece over in her hand, she tried to fathom what its purpose might be.

Kvist took the piece of steel from Sylvia and inspected it as well. She held the piece up toward the strange guard. “That is brutal, even by my standards.”

“You call it brutal. I call it effective”, Theodorus countered.

“There are less painful alternatives”, Kvist argued.

“Which can break.” Theodorus nodded toward the little piece of steel. “That will never falter, and neither will I. Try me.”

Thorun barked a laugh. “I like him already.”