Trigger warnings for heavy violence and decapitations

Azgeda Chronicles: Chapter 7: The making of war heroes

Azgeda territory: Norway

A rolled up snowball went flying into her face, launched by a grinning Blair, who was trying to hold back her cackles of laughter. Clarke narrowed her gaze at the dark-haired girl. Blair's excitement hitched and she giggled, "Oh no, oh no." She tried to run as Clarke gathered up two large pieces of snow and chucked them at Blair. Blair was out of range when both snow pieces landed. Another snowball careened through the air, thrown by Casey, who was being followed by a running Farron, who was holding up a pile of well packed snowballs in his arms, some of them falling out of his arms as he ran, a big grin on his face at Casey's determination to hit someone, anyone with a snowball. It didn't matter to her really, who it was.

"Crap," Clarke said, smirking at Casey and Farron, "Here come the reinforcements." Casey started racing up the hill grabbing two snowballs. Clarke then noticed two more figures approaching and smirked down in amusement at Casey. Casey was going to get a blitz attack. She looked back at where the two figures were approaching, having recognized them. Kristin and Mario. It had sort of become the rule in their snowball fights that if someone on one team was outnumbered, then anyone who joined the fight would need to join the side that had the lesser people. So Mario and Kristin were her reinforcements.

She watched Casey nearly get to the top of the dune of snow and she herself backed away, checking over her shoulder at where Blair was and saw that the black-haired girl was too far to throw a snowball and turned back to the approaching two teenagers, dodging out of the way of both snowballs that Casey threw at her.

She hopped out of the way when Casey grabbed two more snowballs and grinned wider when Mario and Kristin started coming up into sight, both of them packing together snow to form spheres. "You're finished, Wanheda." Casey said in a dramatic voice. "If I'm finished," Clarke threw back, voice just as dramatic, you're going down with me, Bear Slayer." Casey smirked at the name she had been given for her many successful bear hunts and got ready to chuck more snowballs at Clarke, when she was smacked in the back and the back of her head by two icy projectiles. She stiffened and glowered, turning to one laughing Mario and a laughing Kristin. Farron was trying to hide his own chuckles, cheeks slightly red.

Casey rolled her eyes. This was hell of a lot different from how their lives had been a few months ago. But what she wouldn't give for loads of more snowballs at the ready.

Azgeda territory: border of Finland:

Four Months ago

At the edge of where the two villages stood, the five horses moved closer, their riders focused on their targets. Parker Reed knew that this was wrong. Most definitely wrong. She was damn sure that sacking a couple of villages just for not showing enough respect to a ruler was a crime of some kind, but Parker knew she and the other four didn't have much of a choice. She could feel hot, tight anger in her chest and throat. She wanted to blame everyone. Anyone. The queen. Ontari. The generals. Even Clarke. But Parker knew she couldn't blame Clarke. She could mentally blame everyone else, but she sure as hell couldn't blame Clarke. Especially after what she had seen Clarke do for Cameron.

Clarke had sacrificed everything. She had been protecting all of them for two months. Parker wanted to be angry at Clarke. She was angry at everything, but unfortunately, she knew that she couldn't be angry at Clarke. Not after everything. It wasn't Clarke's fault that she and the others had landed in Azgeda. It wasn't Clarke's fault that the queen was a piece of shit that liked torturing and killing her subjects. It wasn't Clarke's fault that they weren't ruthless enough in Nia's eyes and the woman had decided to send the five of them out on a mass murder mission. Parker glared coldly at the village, feeling the white paint grip the skin of her face. These villages were going to be wiped out and it was the queen's fault. And if they tried to go against the queen's orders? They'd likely be killed for treason. And if that wasn't bad enough? The other twenty-six likely would be killed horribly too. Parker would be lucky if she was killed first so that she didn't have to witness her friends being butchered.

Parker gripped the reins and snapped at them, making Karver go to the very first stone step leading to the iron fence surrounding the first village. At least two hundred soldiers, all dressed in white fur and their faces covered in white paint, armed with swords, bows and arrows lumbered forward, one of them holding a lit torch. Parker had a terrible feeling about what was going to be done with that torch. The order had been to put these people in their place. And how was that going to be done? She had heard plenty of stories from Clarke, Aron, Micah, Lane, Linden and Farron. There were fires that had been used in the past to destroy villages by the Azgeda people when the queen had not been properly obeyed.

Parker could almost feel the inevitability of what was going to happen. She glanced to the right, seeing Glenn, Cameron, Christopher and Beryl riding close to each other. As if they knew that this was something they had to do as well, unless they wished for death to come for them sooner than later. As if they knew that an ax was being held above all their heads and would come swinging down if they did anything against the orders thrown at them.

As if they were afraid of being away from each other.

Parker ground her teeth together. Whether she liked it or not, these four, the other twenty-six, Clarke, the Azgeda kids that Clarke was training, they were all she had. In this shit-hole of a world, they were all she had. And she had to protect that. If that meant serving a complete monster like the queen, then they'd have to do it.

They closed in on the villages. Parker noticed Glenn beginning to pull off one of his bows, the wooden one and readied it, pulling out one of his arrows by its dark brown, feathered end. Glenn set the arrow, pulling the string a bit as the horse walked. Parker felt her heart clench. Were they actually going to start killing people? She had killed before. Just not human beings. She had fought the others and other Azgeda warriors and had properly gotten the shit beaten out of her. And she had hunted and killed for food along with other hunting parties. But she had never killed another human being before. And here they were, being cast into battle, being expected to kill human beings as if it was easy? What was wrong with that queen?

Parker didn't have time to think more on it, because a tremor of a horn's blow blasted through the valley, making all of their horses swing their heads up and down, hooves smacking against the ground, indicating that they were ready to charge. Parker shot her head up. She thought that maybe the horn had been blown by one of the generals at the head of their army, but from the commotion being caused by the general at the front, Salek, she realized it wasn't. And it was only further confirmed a moment later when to Parker's horror, a line of armed villagers stood at the bottom of the hill, at the cusp of the valley. It would have been comical, had it not been so blatantly obvious that these villagers meant business. The villagers, from the edge of the shore where the ocean ended, to the end of the other village's territory, encompassing a huge range of the area, were snarling villagers, men, women, even some children, armed with knives and yes, expected farmer and villager tools in front of them, ready to charge at the oncoming invaders. Parker groaned behind her mask. This was just fantastic. They had loads of pissed of villagers ready to kill them.

And she, Glenn, Christopher, Cameron and Beryl didn't even want to attack! They were just trying not to piss off the wrong person and end up maimed, tortured, possibly raped and dead as a result. Parker wanted to scream that truth at the villagers, scream it till her lungs gave out. But she knew it wouldn't make a difference. These villagers were angry, as was she.

She didn't want to hurt them, but damn it, didn't they know that they didn't have a choice? Hell, Parker would be surprised if any of these soldiers had a choice. For all she knew, maybe all of them had an ax above their heads. She had seen what happened to soldiers who disobeyed Queen Nia. One soldier she and the others had seen who had gone against the queen, not wanting to kill a young boy who had stolen food and the queen claimed that he was taking more than his share, had ended up with his bones pulled out, his skin cut off and his head removed. The boy had been killed right in front of the soldier, just so that the man, Gaffo, would know that everything he did was futile.

Every last one of them was either a willing, bloodthirsty servant to the Azgeda, or a slave with an ax or some torture instrument held above their heads or the head of a loved one, forcing them into the service of the Azgeda. Parker's teeth ground together. Didn't the villagers all know this? They must have known what the Az kwin was capable of. Why were they blaming all of them? Somehow, Parker wasn't sure how she hadn't been aware of it till just now, but somehow, her right hand had traveled to the hilt of her sword at the left side of her belt, her hand gripping the hilt hard in a brutal, powerful clasp. Why didn't the villagers just bow? Just obey? Sure, the real person responsible was the queen. But the villagers didn't have to mean it if they were to say that they would obey the queen's every command. Hell knew that Parker didn't mean it and she was sure the others didn't. So why couldn't the villagers just make that effort? Even if it was a lie? Why couldn't they spare themselves and the rest of the Azgeda army, including the twenty-six of them and Clarke the pain and grief?

Dammit, the villagers were just making more trouble for themselves and everyone else. Parker fumed. She had paid plenty of attention in history classes back on the Ark, even if she had found the classes totally boring. She knew that oppressed people rarely, if ever were to blame for their own suffering. It would be like spitting in the faces of all those that had suffered in the past at the hands of corrupt rulers. But really, just for the sake of being smart and staying safe, couldn't these damn villagers just keep their heads down, pretend they were complying and shut up? It was going to get loads of people killed if they didn't.

The more Parker thought about it that way, the angrier she got. Her hand almost became one with the sword's hilt. The more and more she thought of it, the more thought she put into why the villagers all should have just pretended that they were going along with the queen's orders, the more fiery rage spilled into her guts. Gods damn it. Didn't they understand that they were getting themselves killed? Many of them children?

Before Parker could stop herself, she pulled out her sword, the long, curved, powerful, steel blade gleaming in the sunlight. If only to get them back home and back to Clarke and the others sooner, Parker was going to kill as many of these fucking villagers as she could get her sword near. It seemed Parker wasn't the only one that felt some bloodlust. A man, covered in what Parker figured was the laughable version of armor-a bunch of pieces of bark covering his wide chest and back and legs and arms, stepped up to the front of the so-called army of villagers and called out the Azgedasleng word that Parker knew meant "attack." "Kestangi!" The villager roared, bringing on a chorus of other roars from the villagers, the sea of armed citizens charging forward, brandishing their hoes, rakes, spears, pitchforks-yes, pitchforks and other sharp items Parker still couldn't identify even after months of patrolling areas with Azgeda farmers.

The horde of villagers went forward in a sea of screaming and swinging, sharp, likely dangerous objects, despite their borderline comical appearances and the highest of the generals at the head of Parker and the other four's army, Lackart threw his head back and howled the exact same command for all to hear, "Kestangi!" There was a series of screams and howls released by all the soldiers around Parker and the others. Parker found her own scream being released from her burning throat. She didn't care what the reason was. She wanted these villagers' blood. She wanted as many of them dead as possible.

She kicked her horse's sides and followed the many horse-riding warriors down the valley towards the villages, the lowering sun, making the generals around them light more torches.

They careened down the hill, horses' hooves pounding the ground, sounding not that different from the rampant beatings against a deep, bellowing drum. Beneath Parker, Karver let loose a series of neighs and Parker smirked beneath her brown and grey, metal and rubber meshed mask crafted to look like a grinning skull's face. It sounded like Karver was ready for battle too. Movement to the right of her caught Parker's eye and she turned to see Glenn taking his bow off of his horse's side and pulling out an arrow, the hand that held the bow was gripping the reins of his horse and he rested the arrow against the bow, pulling the arrow and its tight string back, aiming the bow at the mass of villagers running upwards. He let loose the first arrow as soon as the soldiers ran, dipping down, getting out of Glenn's way. The arrow soared, finally landing, impaling into the nearest villager's chest.

It was the chest of a young woman snarling, bearing a pitchfork. The bolt of metal and wood pierced into her chest, making blood spurt out of the wound and her face contorted in pain as she collapsed to the ground. The young woman next to her, who Parker assumed was her sister or something, screamed in horror, face snarling the same as the other, holding up her wooden spear and charging. Another Azgeda soldier leaned down and swiped his sword out, slicing the woman's head off.

Parker gasped when she saw the woman's head go flying, blood bursting out of the ripped open neck.

It was then they all flew into battle.

(Page break)

Azgeda Territory: Norway:

Klark was watching Fynly and West's fight with forced interest. Ontari could tell that it was forced. Klark had a smile on her face as Fynly pivoted and dodged West's movements, but Ontari could understand Klark enough to recognize when something was wrong. At least this much she understood. Five of the young warriors that Klark had made sure to protect, Pakah, Beril, Kamirun, Kristofah and Glen were off proving themselves in battle against two rebellious villages and Klark was just expected to remain here and heal up from her lashings and pretend that she wasn't bothered by five of her people who were still training, to be off, risking their lives.

Ontari slanted her eyes to the side at her adoptive mother. The Az kwin. She loved her mother. As much as someone like her was capable of, she loved her. But she knew very well what Nia expected of Klark. Constant loyalty. No questions. Ontari saw the benefit in that. But her one-day bride was in pain over it. Ontari was a warrior first before anything else, but she knew that to form a strong leadership, one needed to make compromises. And to be worthy of a strong life mate, one needed to prove oneself to worthy. Ontari could be prideful sometimes, if not always, but she knew that she had not done an impressive job of proving herself worthy of Klark. She had said the words, promising that she would protect the twenty-six "delinquents" that Klark had sworn as well to protect. But words meant nothing. It was deeds, not words that proved one worthy of another's attentions.

If she truly wanted to prove herself in Klark's eyes, she needed to act. Not speak. All she had been doing had been following in her and Roan's mother's footsteps. Her brother had been the dutiful son and she had seen what had happened. He had been banished from his own people. He was too weak. She needed to prove that she was strong enough to protect Klark and the Sky People that Klark had more or less "adopted," even if that meant standing against her own kwin and mother.

As Fynly tossed West over her shoulder and West went flying into the snow, there were cackles heard from the watching Azgeda warriors, including from Flynt who was watching, giving a huge, toothy grin, arms crossed over his broad chest. Klark tried not to laugh, but couldn't help the sound that left her throat, wincing as the vibrations likely hurt her back. Ontari lost her smirk. Since West had landed in soft snow, there was no injury to speak of that would result in the girl's defeat at Fynly's hands. But laughing hurt Klark. Ontari frowned, observing the other young woman more.

Ontari had not had a terrible life. At least not one that wasn't natural of an Azgeda Nightblood. As a Nightblood, she had had high potential of being taken from her family as soon as her blood was discovered. Under normal circumstances, she would have been taken by guards of Polis, once reports eventually reached the previous Heda and brought to Polis tower to train. And then forced to fight what were once her friends to the death for the right to be the unfeeling Heda. But there was nothing normal about her life. At least not when compared to other Nightbloods. Queen Nia, after discovering that Ontari was a nightblood, had killed off any that knew about it. She then gave a dozen sacks of gold to Ontari's mother and father, promised them and Ontari, comfortable, luxurious lives if they kept silent about their daughter's blood. If they didn't? Well, that would be another story, wouldn't it?

It likely would have ended with Ontari's mother, Uda and her father, Maltol being put to death for their disobedience. And both of them had to have known that. But there was so much more to gain by complying with their queen's wishes. They knew what the other possibility would bring. Should Ontari be found out by people of Polis, she would be taken from her family anyway, and she would be forced to kill her fellow nightbloods in the conclave. She would be forced to kill people she knew and had made friends with. For them, perhaps relinquishing their daughter to the queen had been a mercy. Saving their daughter ultimately. And so they gave their frightened and confused daughter of only seven to the queen and the queen had taken Ontari in, and made her an heir to the throne, already aware of her only child, Roan's weaknesses and not in any way impressed by what little her son had to offer. Ontari's mother and father had held their end of the deal. Uda and Maltol had remained silent for years and years. And after the conclave had been won by the Trikru girl, then turned into a Heda, Leksa, and the warrior had ascended to the throne, the queen was all the more pleased that she had kept Ontari a secret.

Ontari was her weapon. And now, so was Klark.

Ontari watched the genuine amusement begin to leave Klark's face as West got out of the snow and resumed fighting with Fynly.

Today was a surprisingly mildly freezing day. It was one of those days where one might forget to wear seven layers of clothing. Might only put on three or four. The sun was shining down from a cloudless, blue sky and the sun's light was reflected from stainless, white snow. The arena where Fynly and West were sparring had once had a thin layer of ice covering it. Thanks to guards cracking away at the ice with pick axes, it was now uncovered stone. It would freeze over again in about four hours or so. But for now, the arena could be used till their desires were fulfilled.

Ontari had been watching Klark since those five members of the twenty-six prisoners had been sent out on their trial mission, proving their worth in combat. Klark was a sacrificing person. Ontari had come to understand that immediately. Klark would do anything for the people she loved. For her people. If the Azgeda eventually became Klark's people, then she would sacrifice everything to protect them too. Ontari withheld a sigh as she glanced at her adopted and much harsher and more brutal mother, Nia. Klark, from what Ontari had realized, was a woman that did not deserve to be treated the way she had in the past two months. From the things she had learned about the Trikru and the 100 previous Skaikru prisoners that had landed in the Trikru territory, they hadn't valued Klark as she had deserved to be valued. How did a foolish choice like that even happen by a group of people? You had a gift who would do anything to keep you safe, and you waste it and say that the person doing all of it wasn't doing enough?

From the time Ontari had spent around Klark and observing the Sky girl, she had come to be softened as much as she could be when faced with such a giving and sacrificing person, despite the betrayal Klark had suffered. It seemed almost as if it had been the Skaikru themselves, not the destruction of the Mountain Men that had driven Klark into Azgeda hands. Ontari smirked. Well, it didn't matter much now did it? Now, Klark was here. Here, Klark would one day be a queen. Feared, respected. Loved. The people would immediately obey her as they would Ontari one day. Klark may not have wished for the Ice Queen's throne, but she would have it eventually. Ontari rolled over everything she had learned about Klark's relationship with Onya and Heda. From what she had heard thanks to all the spies that had informed her mother and ruler of the relationship, it had sounded like a truly loving relationship. Klark had adored those women. And Ontari saw what Onya and Heda did with that love. They had destroyed it. They had taken a blessing and had shattered it without thought.

Well, that was going to change now. Onya and Heda might not have been willing to protect Klark's people, but Ontari would. When she and Klark's union ceremony was conducted and they would be bound together, she would then, in the eyes of the law be expected to protect the Skaikru. But Ontari would do more than that. She would protect Klark's people even before the union ceremony. Klark's people, no matter who they were; the twenty-six that the Azgeda had possession of, the Azgeda themselves, or the 100 Skaikru Klark had come down with, Ontari would protect them with all her strength and skill. Even if they were unworthy of Klark, Ontari would protect them because it meant something to the Sky princess. If someone wanted to harm any of Klark's people, they would have to get through Ontari first.

When West was finally too bruised up to try to lift herself up off the flat, stone platform, wincing, Fynly helped lift the other up, West's arm going over the other's shoulder. Fynly looked at the queen, bowing her head. "Your majesty," Fynly addressed Nia, "May I get leave to bring West to the healing rooms?" Nia waved her hand, signaling that the young women could go. As soon as Fynly voiced her thanks and walked off with West next to her, Klark began to lift herself up off the bench. Nia turned to the blonde young woman, and Ontari took note of how her mother was eyeing Klark's movements. Whether it was to see if Klark was in pain still after her lashings or if Klark was showing any hesitation at all over agreeing to allow those five Skaikru children out on the army mission, Ontari couldn't tell.

She got her answer a moment later when she heard her mother speak to Klark, "Worried for Pakah, Kamirun, Glen, Kristofa and Beril?" Klark shot her head up and her dim, blue eyes became alarmed then. She shook her head and said in a voice that Ontari was sure was forced to be calm, "No, my kwin. I know that all five of them will be safe. You have had the best warriors accompany them. And they have learned their lessons well. I have nothing but faith in their eventual accomplishments."

Ontari heard the queen purr, amused and knew that her mother had detected the lie in Klark's voice and words. "I'm certain you are right, Wanheda. I have great expectations in your lessons provided for them. Now," Nia turned to Ontari and smirked, and Ontari understood the meaning of her mother's look immediately, "I shall give you leave now, Klark. Do as you wish for the rest of the day."

Klark nodded, giving a small kneel before getting up, "My kwin."

Ontari did the same gesture as Klark did and once Nia turned on her heel and left the courtyard, walking back to the fortress that was her, Ontari and now Klark and the twenty-six's home, with dozens of muscled, armed guards following behind her, Ontari got up and faced Klark, walking carefully to the other young woman.

"Klark," Ontari began, bowing her head respectfully. "May I speak with you?"

Klark couldn't hold back her curiosity and her eyebrows lifted, but she nodded. "Ain, of course, Ontari. You are the next in line to the throne. You may do whatever you want, as is your right." Ontari tried not to glare. She didn't want to make Klark think she had done something wrong. She didn't want Klark to be so obedient. She knew the only reason Klark was being as compliant as she was with anything that was happening here was because her mother had the twenty-six at her mercy. Before Klark had learned of the twenty-six's existence, she had been more than willing to welcome her death, assuming that the kwin would kill her to "take Wanheda's power" and go against Heda.

Klark wouldn't be nearly this obedient if not for the twenty-six's lives being used against her so thoroughly.

"I may be the next in line," Ontari said calmly, hiding her anger over what her mother had done to this great warrior, making her a servant all but in name. "But so are you. You will be ascending to the throne too one day. At my side. So while I may have authority over all of the Azgeda and over the twenty-six Skaikru in our grasp, but you will one day be my queen. My wife." Ontari looked at Klark, really looked at her, wanting to see how Klark felt about the arrangement. Klark gave nothing away and Ontari tried not to growl. She wanted to know what was going on in Klark's head. Even if it was dread or unhappiness that Klark was feeling as a result of this arrangement, she wanted to know so she could make the situation more bearable.

But Ontari continued, deciding to dig further eventually, but now wasn't the time. "And so you have the right to refuse me when I wish to speak with you. And when you are queen," She added, unable to help but want to prove that Klark would have a say in at least some of what was happening, hoping to please the other young woman in some way, "You will have more than just the authority to refuse me. You will have the authority to command all of the armies of the Azgeda."

Klark blinked, startled at those words and Ontari wondered if her mother had neglected to tell Klark that, hoping to make Wanheda feel more helpless. It wasn't beyond at all what the Az Kwin would do at all. If anything, it sounded exactly like something her adoptive mother would do. All to secure her power. "Well," Ontari continued, hoping this information would appease the light-haired young woman, "You could do more than just reject my offer of words, is all I'm saying. But I have only asked for your attention to request that I speak with you later. Under a more private setting." When Klark tensed, Ontari realized how her request sounded and she felt like she wanted to smack her head against a stone wall. Of course, if she and Klark were eventually to be unioned, Klark would assume that Ontari meant that.

She said in a hurried voice, more than sure her dark green eyes were more panicked than they had been in a long time. "No, no, Klark, I don't mean like that. I just would like to speak with you. That's all."

Klark eyed Ontari suspiciously and Ontari almost grinned at the other's defiance and the telltale sign that she wanted to defend herself when she noticed Klark's right hand twitching, as if ready to reach for the hilt of her knife. The same knife she had used to dispatch Ivarb. Ontari had been quietly gleeful when she had learned that Klark had used her wedding gift to kill Ivarb. It was bathed in Klark's enemy's blood. Almost as if making the gift more pure in Ontari's intentions.

Ontari bowed her head slightly, hoping Klark understood that her one-day wife respected her greatly and would never cross a boundary that Klark had established. "I need you to know that I would never do anything without your permission. I will only do what you ask. I simply wish to speak with you privately. That is all. I swear it." She waited for a response and glanced up, seeing Klark look at her, almost confused. Ontari smiled. "You can always be armed when I come to you. If that would make you feel more comfortable."

Klark almost seemed surprised by Ontari's words and the black-haired Azgeda heir smiled. "I know you are uncertain of me right now, but the only truly private place where we can talk is one of our bed chambers. Is that agreeable to you? I would like to speak to you there. I will see you at your room in one mark of the candles. But only if that's what you wish to do. And as I said, you can be armed. I won't be offended." Ontari gave another little head bow and said in a gentle voice, "Wanheda" and turned around, walking towards the fortress, letting Klark think about what she had offered.

Given what Klark did know about her was that she was the queen's weapon and had tortured multiple people, had even seen her DO it a few times, she knew that Klark had every right to be suspicious of her. But she wanted to show that there was more to her than that.

(Page break)

The recovering Finley, rubbing at her bruises and West were planning out the eventual gruesome death of Atano the torturer. His death would be slow and painful. They knew how they wanted it to be. They wanted it to look like some random thugs had attacked Atano. And that was in no way rare in Azgeda. Even though Nia had ordered the constant fighting in the ring and in the squares for the entertainment of the people, the people being herself, it also helped a great deal of people with grudges work out their anger. That was till it came boiling up once more.

So the lack of thugs in Azgeda was not a problem. What would be a problem would be their weapons. Their weapons, though not exclusive to them, as other Azgeda warriors had them, the blades of Finley's short sword and West's long daggers, the blades twisted like snake bodies were still unique. They'd need other weapons that couldn't be traced back to them. West had pointed out that there was the barracks, which accommodated all of the Azgeda soldiers, regardless of class or rank, and the weapons there were available to all. Including to the two of them. West suggested weapons the two of them were not familiar with, to lesson suspicion as well as putting more time between Clarke's punishment and when they eventually murdered Atano in retribution, so as not to make inspecting eyes automatically draw to them.

Finley looked at West, lifting her red eyebrows. "Spears?" She suggested, thinking off the top of her head what weapons besides swords were the most common to have hanging along the weaponry barracks. "Good idea." West said, keeping her voice soft, remembering that people could be listening at any turn and made sure that the fire in front of them in the fireplace crackled as she prodded at it with a steel poker. "Remember, we have to wait a while." Finley nodded, frowning. She accepted that because that was the obvious thing about this. They had to put distance between the time Atano had angered them, to when they eventually killed him. But every time she had seen the man, when he was bowing to the queen, when he was in the hall, eating, when he was cleaning his torture devices, even when he had bowed to Clarke, asking for "Wanheda's forgiveness," which of course, Clarke had given, Finley's rage almost became a living, sentient thing and felt like it was going to rip out of the shell of her body and attack to infuriating man.

When Atano had had the audacity to bow to Clarke, asking for her forgiveness, Finley had nearly lunged at him, but thankfully, West had grabbed her, keeping her back, reminding her that Clarke would just suffer more if any of them were harmed, which they would be if they outright attacked Atano in the open for everyone to see. But Finley knew that they had to wait. They had to wait. "Still sucks." Finley grumbled. West nodded, and put the poker down on the stone floor, grabbing the hacked off stuck hunk of bear meat that Kristin, Paul, Lane and some other Azgeda had brought back from their hunt, taking the metal end and hefting the piece up off from the metal stands where the pole with the meat on it had been placed and brought it to the fire, able to get their without stumbling, despite the meat's size and weight. David, Jesse and an Azgeda man, Saktar's brother were out on another hunt. They still hadn't returned. Finley got up and tried to help but West shooed her away as she kneeled down and placed the metal pole onto the new metal pedestals. These two new pedestals were just a few inches from the fireplace. Once the metal pole and the meat were balanced on the pedestals, West grabbed the poker and gestured for Finley to grab the other poker from the stand up against the left wall. Finely nodded and grabbed it, the two young girls pushing the sharp ends of the pokers against the bottom of the pedestals, slowly sliding the pedestals and the pole and the meat into the fireplace, the meat now hanging above the fire.

West noticed Finley looking at the meat hungrily and warned her, "Don't yet. It's raw, Finley. It's dangerous to eat it." Finley rolled her eyes at West's overbearing concern. "Don't baby me, West," Finley grumbled, "I have to deal with that enough from Clarke. I know. But that meat had better cook fast. I'm hungry." West chuckled, rolling her eyes. If there was one thing she could always count on, it was Finley's bottomless pit of a stomach. "It will be ready soon, Walsh," Finley glowered at the use of her last name as West knew she would. "Just have patience." "Fine, Ainsley," Finley grumbled out West's last name. "But that thing had better be ready. I'm gonna rip into that meat. Then we kill a pig in a few months." West chuckled at Finley's blunt, disgusted use of the language, directed clearly at Atano. But she wasn't wrong. West got up from where she was crouching, hands going to the mantle above the fireplace, grabbing the two knives from it, where she and Finley had placed it along with their silver, metal wristbands that had been slapped on their wrists before being sent down to Earth.

Clarke had said, after the wristbands were forcefully removed from their arms by the Azgeda, wanting to inconvenience the "Sky People," that they didn't have to keep the bands if they wanted. Or they could, if they wanted a reminder of where they came from. As far as West and Finley both knew, all of the twenty-six still had their wristbands, even if they weren't still on their arms. Their wristbands were a symbol of their origins. They always kept their wristbands around. If not on their persons, hanging from their necks on a thick string of leather, then somewhere in their bunks where they slept. Finley and West always wore theirs. The two metal bands were on the mantle where the knives had been, the difference between the bands signified by the numbers engrained on the inside. "Prisoner 180" marked Finley's wristband and "Prisoner 166" marked West's.

They had never stopped being prisoners, since as soon as they had dropped down into Ice Nation territory, they had been thrown in a cage and had been made into Queen Nia's dogs, but West had to admit, their accommodations were a lot better than on the Ark. At least here, their fates weren't necessarily sealed, carved in stone. On the Ark, their fates would have been sealed. They had all been imprisoned and isolated in the Skyboxes. And when they turned eighteen, they would all have ended up being floated, had it not been for Pike deciding to send them down to see if they could survive after he had lost contact with the previous Ark people.

Were West and Finley scared for Parker, Glenn, Christopher, Cameron and Beryl like all the others? Of course they were. But down here, though they were still prisoners, they could earn respect, even if it was only a little. They could earn marks, showing them off as warriors. They could earn prizes for their prowess in battle. Down here, even in the Ice Nation, they were better off than they ever could have been on the Ark. On the Ark they had no respect, none. But here, even if there was a great deal of suspicion and disregard for them, West had seen it, the glimmer of respect simmering every so often in some of the Azgeda peoples' eyes. Sure, there would always be warriors like Flynt and that scum, Ivarb (West still didn't know what exactly it was he had done. Clarke hadn't told her who he had attacked) but in the meantime, they could earn their marks as warriors. That was something they never could have done back on the Ark.

(Page break)

Azgeda territory: Border of Finland

Parker leapt off the horse, sword unsheathed, a fierce snarl marred across her face, though it was mostly obscured by the mask she bore. She bolted at one of the villagers lunging for another Azgeda soldier, Dio, who had been started by the villager's ambush and before Parker knew it, her sword was through the villager's back. Parker almost gasped at how easily her razor sharp sword sliced through the man's back and came out of his chest like his body was made of nothing but flimsy paper. She heard the sickening "thunk" noise the impact made and the sickening squishing sound that followed, along with the dripping of the blood off the tip and edge of her blade. She found nothing in her craw when she heard those noises. No remorse, disgust or self-loathing like she probably should have.

She grimly nodded, wrenching the sword out of the man's body, watching as he collapsed to the muddy ground. There was no room here on the battlefield for remorse. Parker rounded on the oncoming mass of villagers, slashing and hacking at any that came her way, her strict, nearly endless training in Azgeda making it easy for her to whirl and dodge out of the way whenever a spear, rake or a tine of a pitchfork even came close. She twirled, right booted foot, hitting out, smacking he lower jaw of a charging man, sending him into another villager, the both of them being impaled on the Azgeda warrior, Groten's sword.

Parker whirled again, slicing her sword along the next to encroaching young villagers, both young boys that couldn't be any older than she was. This time, Parker felt a sliver of guilt, but pushed it away when the taller boy swung a small hatchet at her head. She dodged and sliced her sword upwards, the blade running right through the boy's elbow. The young boy howled as blood gushed out of his arm, his wrist up to the part below the elbow went flying into Beryl who was now off her horse and hacking into the villagers. The other girl seemed to barely notice the flying, disembodied arm as she stabbed the closest villager that tried to gouge at her with a rake.

The disembodied limb smacked uselessly against Beryl's armored body and dropped down into the mud, hand still gripping the small hatchet.

The tall boy howled in pain still and Parker knew that even if she had no pity for these people, given that they were the reasons she and the other four of the twenty-six were at war right now, she wouldn't make him suffer longer than he had to. She twirled on her foot, swinging her sword to the right swiftly, the blade connecting with the boy's neck, decapitating him. His brown-haired head went flying, his huge, brown eyes bulging out of their sockets. Parker heard a word she recognized as the Azgedasleng word for "brother" screamed from the shorter boy's mouth. "Yatow!" Parker winced, but in a flash, sliced the blade away, whirled around and plunged the blade of her sword right into the younger boy's chest, using his shock to her advantage.

The sword went through him easily, like he was made of the softest butter. Those accusing, soft brown eyes stared into Parker's menacing eyes. The accusation and horror in that boy's eyes finally pierced through the shell of anger that had been protecting Parker these past twenty or so minutes of charging and fighting. This was an innocent boy, who couldn't help that he was being used to start a battle. He was a pawn like she was. Parker winced, pulling the sword out of the boy, hoping that he could forgive her before he died, even though she knew that wasn't possible, not after what he had seen her do to his brother. She watched as the life left his eyes, a sob wrenching from Parker's throat, shocking her. She hadn't realized his death would affect her so much. She didn't realize this either, but she was completely still as more villagers flooded around her, trying to get at other Azgeda warriors thankfully, her eyes fixated on the now very dead young boy she had slaughtered.

"Parker, what are you doing?!" Beryl's demanding voice hit Parker's ear, making the brunette jump and look at the Asian girl who was dodging and slicing at a snarling village woman with a spear. Beryl snapped without looking in Parker's direction, "Do you want to die? Fight back! They'll kill us if we don't start hacking back." Parker wanted to snap that she had already done enough, her heart clenching painfully as she looked down at the corpse that she had created. But she knew there was no room for that here. Not with so many peoples' anger and peoples' blades aimed at them. Whether she felt sorry for these people or not, as opposed to several minutes ago, there was no help for it now. They were of the queen's army right now. And the villagers knew that. If the villagers had had any doubts, Parker and the others erased those doubts by killing their people. The battle wouldn't end now until at least a huge proportion of one side was in the dirt, bloody and dead.

Parker snapped her head again in Beryl's direction when she heard the other girl cry out painfully. Parker looked at the other and saw Beryl trying to block the woman with the spear, but as a consequence was sliced along her right arm by a young man with a rake. "Beryl, behind you!" She yelled, forgetting her moral crisis for a second, swinging her sword again, the blade slicing through the spear bearing woman's right leg. Blood gushed out and the woman's body fell backwards as she screeched. She fell onto her back on the mud and Parker pulled her sword up, aiming down only when she noticed that Beryl had faced the woman again, the other girl pulling her other sword out, using one of the blades to block the young man's rake, the other piercing into the young man's throat. The man cried out as Beryl's thin sword sliced into him. Parker looked down at the woman, lifting her sword and bringing it down, hard into the woman's chest, trying to ignore the horror that spilled through her as she watched the life start to leave the woman's glistening dark green eyes.

There was no room for pity, regret, hesitation or humanity. Not here. Not if Parker wanted to survive or see the rest of her people survive. Parker pulled the sword out of the woman's chest, feeling sickened at the flow of dark liquid firing out of the woman's mouth as Parker pulled the sword away, the blood spilling down the woman's cheeks and chin. Parker swung on her feet with her sword, resolve restored. Kill or be killed. That was the only mindset she required at the moment.

And she had it. She aimed her sword downwards, the blade aimed up in an upwards stabbing pose, her feet galloping forward, feet leaving the ground as her wicked blade sliced into the next villager, this one about to light a torch before Parker dispatched him with one brutal blow. And along with his huge gasp of breath, his life drained from him as his blood flew out like a river onto the ground. Parker knew that she and the other four would be welcomed back as heroes for this, as would all of the Azgeda soldiers who survived here today, but that was so far from an incentive in Parker's mind right now. Right now, all she cared about was her and her brothers and sisters' survival.

As Glenn jumped from muddy rock to muddy rock, firing arrow after arrow at the oncoming villagers, each arrow hitting their mark, making flowers of blood fly from each villager's chest, neck and face, as Cameron howled in regret as she lunged with her sword, impaling a young man in his early twenties at least, dodging his rake, slicing her sword through his back, as Beryl twisted her sword out of the man's face and then sliced her other blade into his neck, slitting his throat, then bolting to the next armed man from behind, both ends of her sword flying into the man's throat, killing him almost instantly as he went down to his knees in front of the startled Christopher who he had been trying to attack when Beryl killed him, as Christopher yelled his thanks to Beryl, he swung his battle ax at the nearest tall villager who lunged at Beryl, Parker knew she had to go back to her cold mindset. Her people or theirs. That's all there was to it in situations like this. When there was no way out and desertion would be met with torturous deaths.

Right now, Parker had to be nothing but a killing machine, and her sword a hungry, metal mouth.

She took her sword, an extension of her arm, as Aron had instructed her to see it, and bolted forward, swinging upwards, aiming at the underside of an armed woman's throat.

Author's note:

So next chapter, we'll get an update on Lexa and Anya and the Sky people that are coming with them. This story is mainly about Clarke and the twenty-six. But next chapter we'll hear more from Lexa, Anya and the others.