“Are you worried?” Marion asked.
Dahlia jumped at the sound of the question, her head swiveling as she turned to look at the walking corpse that had appeared behind her. Marion resembled that of a pale young woman, her blond hair tied into an intricate braid. Her black dress was reminiscent of a funeral dress Azurvalians would adorn their dead. She was anything but dead, unfortunately.
“Worried?” Dahlia asked. “About what?”
Both the Shaman and resurrected cadaver were currently at the new extension of Yorktown, which was slowly coming to a finish. The tall trees that had once bordered the town were now reduced to stumps, their timber used to build the new homes and buildings here. Dahlia, as second in command, was here to oversee it.
“Master Holter,” Marion said. Her voice was monotone, not a single ounce of emotion in it. “You seem to be on edge and, frankly, unfit to commit to your duties.”
Dahlia scowled but held back a biting response. “I’m not worried. Just tired.”
“While that may be true, judging from the sluggish movements, I find that hard to believe,” Marion said bluntly. “I can relate in a way. I, too, worry about Master Malik’s endeavor. Despite being accompanied by proper protection.”
“Of course you do,” Dahlia sighed. Ever since she had met Malik’s favorite summon, the Shaman had grown to despise her. While most of it was attributed to her unholy nature, Dahlia couldn’t stand her blunt observations and unbearable tone.
Marion furrowed her brow, a rare sign of emotion. “Master Malik’s life could be in danger. The Outlander who attacked weeks ago is still on the loose. There is a possibility that she is currently targeting him and your precious Jarl.”
That was a valid concern, Dahlia had to give her that. Despite searching the island and vetting ships that were leaving and entering the island, they had found no trace of the Outlander that had infiltrated Yorktown. Not even Malik’s scrying yielded anything useful. The entire situation was strange.
Yet Dahlia didn’t feel concerned at all. She trusted James in his judgment about the stranger. He, too, was an Otherworlder and had even spoken with her. Dahlia knew that there was no danger from the Outlander.
“I’m not worried about that,” Dahlia muttered.
“So you are worried,” Marion said with a glare. “Does this mean that you are unfit to lead for the moment? Shall I call for Sergeant Dunn?”
“No,” Dahlia responded, barely holding back the urge to shout. “I’m worried, sure, but I’m not crippled with fear.”
“You love Master Holter, do you not?” Marion asked. “So your worry for him is much more of a burden, then.”
Dahlia furrowed her brow as she walked off, her hands behind her back as she roamed about the part of town. Marion followed behind, her gaze still on the Shaman.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Dahlia asked with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not incompetent enough that I’d let my worries fail me.”
“So you ignore the real chance that he might not return?” Marion asked, almost confused. “That’s… a foolish way of thinking.”
“It’s more than that,” Dahlia said. “It’s trust. I trust that James will take care of himself just fine. That he will come back home safely.”
“I see now. Is that what you call faith, perhaps?” Marion inquired. “I remember hearing about that from Delphine fanatics. Back in my previous body.”
“In a way, it’s similar,” Dahlia admitted. “But I’m not having blind faith that he’ll magically return due to some otherworldly powers. No, I trust him because he’s come back from worse.”
Marion paused at that, her walk slowly as she processed the words. The Shaman left her behind, her voice calling back to the undead woman.
“In other words, I know he’ll come back. Not because he’s unkillable or insanely strong,” Dahlia said, a small smile on her lips as she glanced back. “It’s because he has something that he’s kept on him ever since the day he arrived here. Luck.”
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James felt Frostbite’s deck lurch as it broke through another wave, sending a spray of the ocean into the air. The crew continued to work around him, uncaring for the movements as they fulfilled their duties.
A long time ago, James would’ve been sick to his stomach from the constant movements, his legs unable to keep themselves steady. Now, however, after months of sailing, James had finally accustomed himself to the rough sea. His hand still gripped onto the railing, but his legs rarely shook, and his posture was straight as an arrow.
Regardless, there was still a sense of twisting in his gut. He recalled the night before, specifically the talk with Margaret. She had spoken strangely toward the end of their conversation, giving the young Jarl worry. The Frue had spoken as if an end of things was to come. That feeling was enough to bestow concern on James.
‘Conqueror. She was just talking theoretically, right? There’s no way she insinuated that I would become one, let alone aspire to be one.’
Still, he had to keep in mind that Redyr was still one of the longer-standing clans. Their rule extended beyond Yorn’s, and their influence was still felt up in the north.
‘I can process this all another time,’ he thought to himself. ‘Best I don’t stress over this today of all days.’
“I remember when you couldn’t even handle the ship during a normal cruise,” a voice said, cutting through his thoughts. James turned to see Brant grinning at him, the shorter man standing by the ship’s mast. James and his crew picked him up during their brief stop at Vindis, taking him along for the ride as he guided them to the meeting spot. Finn was nowhere to be seen, his place being with Jarl Ivan as a guide.
“Things change,” James said with a small smile. He kept his focus on the shifting sea, watching as the waves rose and fell, rocking Frostbite as a whole. Regardless of the movements, he didn’t worry for the ship’s wellbeing. It had gone through worse, and the crew here had clearly worked with less in much more hazardous conditions.
“They sure do,” Brant chuckled. “I never expected you to do what you did months ago, James. Taking on the marauders and Lumen Kingdom head on? I knew you were crazy, but…”
“It just happened,” James said with a shrug. “I couldn’t leave the city to burn, not when I was the only one who could do anything. It didn’t feel right to stand by and do nothing.”
“You really haven’t changed that much since the last we met,” Brant said with crossed arms. He smiled at the young clan leader, who couldn’t help but return the gesture.
“You’re excited, huh?” James asked. He noted the way the other man glowed, his grin wide as he looked around at the crew. Horuk and his orcs lounged about the ship, and a couple of guardsmen played cards with them as the ship’s crew worked around them. James could even see how one of the men in charge of the sails was taking a break to shoot the shit with them.
“A proper clan, huh?” Brant said with a sigh. “Even back when I pledged my allegiance to you, I didn’t think you’d get to this point so fast. You even look like a proper Jarl.”
“Thanks, but I think I owe it all more to my friends,” James admitted. He thought back to the times when he had counted on them to just survive the day. Hell, his biggest victory wouldn’t have been achieved had it not been for Seamus and Dahlia. He owed everything to his friends. To his followers.
“When this is all over and done, would you like to live in Yorktown?” James offered, the question coming out naturally. “Technically, if we make an alliance with Ivan, you won’t have to live outside of the clan’s borders.”
Brant brightened at that. “I’d like that, actually. If you have the room, of course, and a job I can fulfill. I think a guardsman role will fit me fine.”
“I’ll do you one better,” James chuckled. “I’ll appoint you as a personal bodyguard, although the benefits aren’t that great. Dental’s not included, unfortunately.”
Brant barked a laugh at that, the jovial response soon turning to coughing. He hit his chest with a fist, his grin still there regardless. “Quite the hard bargain you drive. Deal.”
James held out a hand to the other man, watching as he accepted it. Brant’s expression was almost comforting to James. This man had been there at the beginning. He had been one of the first to truly put faith in James and his ideals. The first man who had pledged loyalty to the clan.
‘Trust, eh?’ James thought to himself. He couldn’t help but feel relieved that Brant was still the same as he had always been. It gave him hope that the rest of this day would turn out for the best.
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James had to refrain himself from vomiting into the sea, his fist moving to cover his mouth as he held back a burp. He watched as a couple men rushed to the railings, their puke hitting the waters below.
“I’m guessing this is the power of a rune gate?” Brant managed in between breaths as he leaned over the railing himself. He was barely holding himself together. James turned to the rear of the ship, where a portal had been ripped into the fabrics of reality. Its edges shimmered with visible runes, and the water around it sizzled in response to the magic.
Malik stood at the quarter-deck, his hands raising as he formed runic symbols with his hands. He slowly lowered his arms to his sides, the portal’s structure faltering as he did so. A moment later, it disappeared. The only trace it left was the smell of burnt wood and the twisting feeling in everyone’s guts.
“Why can I never get used to that?” James managed out with a painful grunt. He had to use the mast as an anchor to keep himself standing.
“I don’t know the exact science, but…” Malik held back a gag as he stumbled to the railing. He seemed to take it better than everyone, but the gate still had an effect on him. “It has something to do with traveling through the void in between realms.”
“Like Thien?” James asked, the question leaving him in a quiet burp. “I know he travels through the realms with his boat.”
“In a sense,” Malik agreed with a nod. “But I feel as if he has a protective aura of some kind when he uses it. Either that, or he cares little for those he takes on his rides.”
James felt like the latter option made sense, but he disregarded that. He had gotten dizzy from his ride in the demi-god’s boat, but his stomach didn’t feel as if they were turned inside out and set on fire. He guessed that Thien could only do so much to protect mortals during one of those boat rides. After all, reaching a speed that could cross into other dimensions was bound to have serious consequences on the human body. Perhaps dizziness was more of a mild symptom that couldn’t be avoided.
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“Well, let’s all take a short break,” James called out to the crew, who were all disoriented and stumbling about. Even the more seasoned men were having trouble with their bearings. “This is going to subside in just a minute, so let’s all calm for a minute.”
While this wasn’t the first time he had been through a gate, James was still far from getting used to the effects. It had been particularly bad on his first time, back when he had ventured out to take back the city of Vindis. Back then, everyone had to take a few minutes before they could even walk straight.
‘Well, it’s not as bad as back then. So maybe something’s improved,’ the spirit said.
James shrugged at Faust’s comment and rested on the deck with a deep breath.
It didn’t take long for the crew of Frostbite to get back to work, the ship making headway toward its destination. With any other ship, the distance to the meeting spot was roughly a week’s journey if one were to go straight from Yorktown. The distance would have been shortened greatly if one had started at Vindis, which was why they had all opted to bring the vessel as close as they could to the meeting before using Malik to activate the Gate Runes.
While extremely useful, Gate Runes required a caster with significant reserves to use properly. Malik wasn’t a pushover when it came to those, but James still wanted to decrease the cost for him. Just in case the necromancer needed the extra reserves to cast lifesaving spells.
The meeting spot, in general, was a spot in the middle of the south, owned by no one and patrolled by neither clan. It was a neutral area in Valenfrost, perfect for a meeting between two Jarls.
James was worried at first that he wouldn’t be able to find the spot, but those worries subsided when he saw a lone ship floating ahead, its sails sporting the symbol of a flying hawk. James instantly recognized it, recalling a similar sight back when this same ship had arrived at Yorktown’s docks. He was surprised that he still remembered the vessel’s name.
“Talon, right?” James said as they approached the ship. Brant stood next to him at the bow, his head nodding at the statement.
“Seems like they brought the crown jewel of their fleet,” he commented.
“Crown jewel?” James couldn’t help but mutter. Talon looked like a decent longship, but it was smaller than Frostbite and had less care taken. The sails were ripped, and the hull’s paint was faded. It was beginning to dawn on him that Ivan might be worse off than he himself.
Frostbite headed slowly toward the other ship, the crew raising sails to slow it. By the time it reached Talon, the brig was basically being carried by the movements of the waves. Brant stepped up to the starboard side, his hands waving as the men on the other ship confirmed that they were friendly. After a moment, ropes were thrown on both sides and the two vessels were drawn together.
A deck bridge later, and James was standing near the railing, watching as Talon’s crew all dispersed to allow him and his small group of soldiers to approach.
“Greene, stay behind and watch over the ship,” James ordered. “Farin, you and two of your men are coming along.”
Both men nodded and they separated to follow through on the instruction. James felt a bit of pride at how quickly and efficiently they organized, Greene’s squad moving to formation as Farin’s squad split up. Before long, James’ group was a sizable six men. Himself, Malik, Brant, Farin, and two of his squadmates. James struggled to remember their names.
‘Trelade and Oscor,’ he recalled. They were amongst the recent of the guard, the ones that had joined after midsommar.
With a nod, James turned forth and made his way to Talon. The bridge creaked as he put his weight on it, the sound enough for James to make a slight mistake. He looked down on instinct, seeing the swirling waters that lapped between the two ships. That sight and the bridge’s creakiness were almost enough to make him rethink his choices.
‘You got this far. Best we don’t squander it all over some fear of heights,’ he thought as he forced another step. James took the lead to Talon portside, his men slowly following in single file. Malik was right behind him, his muttering unintelligible. James could guess he was saying some colorful things about the state of the ship they were getting on.
He decided to focus instead on the men on the other side of the deck bridge. They all looked tired and gaunt, their gear ranging from padded tunics to none at all. There was a sense of pity about them.
James patted at his own armor. He still wore the enchanted cuirass that Rockford had repaired for him. It hummed as he pressed against the poncho he wore over it, the magical runes vibrating like electricity.
‘Maybe it’s overkill,’ he thought as he eyed the men aboard the other ship. Amongst the unfamiliar faces, James spotted Finn. He was at the lead of a well-armed group, his tabard flapping in the wind as he waited.
James was silent as he finally crossed, his eyes scanning through the men Finn led. They weren’t any better dressed than their other comrades. However, they did carry themselves with a better posture and an air of confidence. At their center, he spotted him.
Jarl Ivan Falk wore a gold trimmed black cloak that covered most of his torso, his clan’s symbol pinned on his collar. The Hawk. He wore a small golden band that twisted and curved around his head, the symbol of a true Jarl.
Ivan was not as old as presumed but he clearly wasn’t living through the days of his youth. Despite having black hair that had little to no grays, he was balding. His goatee was trimmed to a simple soul patch, his gaunt cheeks insinuating that he had either gone days without eating or sleeping. Perhaps both, actually.
His face was also gnarled in a way that surprised James. It was like someone had forcibly shaped his face in a poor attempt to replicate a Van Gogh painting. More than that, Ivan looked tired. Exhausted. Black bags hanging underneath his eyes.
‘Christ. What kind of stress has he gone through these past months?’ James thought as the men finally crossed over. Jarl Ivan straightened himself as the rest of the group finally stepped down onto the deck, his dark eyes watching James as he patted his clothes down. Underneath the cloak he wore, James spotted a standard green tunic with a chainmail shirt placed over it. He came prepared and protected but not to the extent as James.
Regardless, he didn’t even seem worried about the armed men that accompanied James.
“I take it that you’re Jarl James Holter?” Ivan asked. James nodded.
“This ship is a floating piece of work, right?” Ivan said with a sigh as he looked around the deck. James followed his gaze, spotting scurrying rats and men who were clearly sick to an extent. “No matter. Not like I’m any safer on my own terms. Not with all those orcs and men you have with you.”
“Well, with any luck, there won’t be any danger tonight,” James said with a nervous chuckle. Ivan didn’t react to that. “Let us get to the captain’s quarters, then. I suppose I’ve kept you waiting long enough.”
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James couldn’t shake off the feeling of nervousness as he sat across from Jarl Ivan. The older man seemed… drab. Like his soul was deprived of emotion. He sat with a slouch, his eyes wandering around as the men filed into the room. It was bare, with little to no furniture or windows. In fact, the only things here was the nailed down table and chairs that James and Ivan sat upon.
Finn and Brant stood nearby behind James, positioned to his right whilst Malik and Farin were positioned to the Jarl’s left. James glanced at the two men on his right, where Brant flashed a genuine smile. Finn, on the other hand, ignored the gesture with a dejected sigh.
‘Brant really has faith that this is going to work, huh? Well, let’s not fail him.’
“Well, let’s get to work, shall we?” James said as he turned back to the Jarl before him. He had to force a smile, doing his best to ease up the tension in the room.
Jarl Ivan simply nodded, his focus now on the younger clan leader. He was still as a statue, his fingers tapping on the table as he stared. James took that as an invitation to speak.
“I’ll start with a proposition,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. He needed to show the men here that he wasn’t just some nervous Jarl who had no clue what he was doing. Then again, that was a half-truth. James wasn’t sure what he was really proposing. All he knew was that it was vital for him to gain some help from Falk in order to repel an orc invasion. An invasion that only he knew about.
‘This will probably be harder than I thought.’
“I’m willing to work out a truce of sorts regarding the events that transpired last time our forces met,” James started. “I can look past the deaths it resulted, as both sides suffered casualties. The alliance with Gryff is a problem, however.”
Jarl Ivan raised an eyebrow at that but did not say anything.
“I’m concerned that you may have also collaborated with enemies of mine. I want to make sure you haven’t had any dealings with the Lumen Kingdom or the Marauders of the North,” James said, his chest tightening a little. Ivan had no reaction. That was normal, right? He had nothing to hide, so he wasn’t really worried. So why did it feel wrong?
“To cut to the chase, I’d like my appointed Wizard here to strike a temporary pact between the two of us,” James had to snub the fact that Malik was a necromancer. He knew of the bad reputation that was associated with the profession and how it usually made or broke relations.
“Only for a few minutes, and the condition is that we won’t be able to lie to each other,” James revealed. “Better for the both of us if we’re transparent with each other. Don’t you agree?”
Ivan said nothing. He only sat back against his chair, a long and tired sigh escaping from his lips. He was silent and still for a few seconds before he brushed his hair back. James caught a glimpse of cold hatred in those dark eyes of his. It was there for only a moment.
‘This doesn’t bode well,’ Faust murmured.
‘We need to get out of here,’ James responded suddenly. He could feel his left hand twitching in response to the random thought, his instincts on high alert. Before he could even act on it, Ivan finally spoke.
“Where is Seamus Halvorson?”
“What?” James said with genuine surprise. He hadn’t expected that question.
“Where is Seamus Halvorson, last son of Yorn Halvorson?” Ivan asked again, his tapping stopping. “I was to believe that he was your ally? Did he not come to this meeting to oversee it?’
“No,” James responded. He narrowed his gaze at the Jarl, whose expression darkened. Ivan was silent for only a few seconds, but it felt like forever for James. Finally, he let out a breath of frustration. He then muttered to himself, his eyes darting to the ground. It was hushed, angry whispering. Directed at nothing.
Ivan’s guards didn’t even react to it. They simply shifted uncomfortably, their gazes avoiding the Jarl as he cursed at thin air. James strained his hearing and caught a small snippet of what Ivan said.
“I’m not doing that… Not my job…”
“Jarl Falk,” James said. The simple call was enough to make Ivan go still. The Jarl grabbed at his right wrist, his gloved hand clenching hard as he gritted his teeth.
“No, I don’t agree with anything you said,” Ivan said. He locked gazes with James, his face contorted into anger. “You are a deceiving, filthy, Outlander. Who knows nothing of the plights and struggles of Valenfrost and its people.”
James recoiled back at the sudden change in tone. Ivan’s eyes flashed hatred as he stared, his voice deepening.
“You parade yourself as a Jarl despite having no claims,” he announced. “No allies other than the monsters you command and the men you forced into a truce. You, James Holter, are a parasite. And I have no qualms about getting rid of such filth.”
“Hey!” Brant suddenly called out, stepping up to James’ side. “The hell is this?”
James quickly raised a hand to stop the man. He turned back to Ivan, his heart beginning to beat harder. He needed to leave.
“I’m going to take my leave from here, Falk,” James said, trying to make himself seem calm. “If you try to stop me…”
“This is idiotic!” Brant shouted. “Ivan, you are a fool to deny Holter’s truce!”
“Brant, I—” James was interrupted. Something hot splattered against his right cheek, his voice dying in his throat. He stopped in place, his eyes widening as the sounds of gurgling echoed out into the room. He slowly turned to his right, seeing Brant stumble around. He was holding onto his throat, scarlet blood leaking through his fingers. Finn stood nearby, left hand bearing a stained dagger.
The world seemed to stop there. Seconds passed like hours as James processed what had happened. Confusion and shock was the primary emotion. Then came the anger.
James could only remember his hand unsheathing the sword at his side. He threw his chair back as he stood, his hands bringing the weapon up. Before he could even use it, the soldiers in the room mobilized.
All hell broke loose.