Chapter 6: Wolf

The march to Feroxa was quicker than Syntribos anticipated. The days practically flew by. She reckoned that was because of the company she kept. The Feroxi were just the right kind of companions for such a trek. They were boisterous and talked plainly. There was always a space by the fires for her, and they treated her like she was: a fellow warrior.

She didn't want to leave. Syntribos put it off everyday, and before she knew it, the city loomed ahead.

Feroxa was beautiful in a way Ylisstol never could be. It was truthful to itself. It did not waste everything it had on elegant architecture or sprawling temples, but it did have functional stone walls dotted with ballistae. It was built by veterans of war and it showed. The streets were a confusing web that would stump every invading army, and the houses grew smaller the closer they were to the outside so that defending archers could gain a height advantage should the enemy post their own marksmen above during an invasion.

And the warriors! The amount of soldiers present put Ylisstol to shame. Every single section of the city was more secure than even the Ylissean palace.

Feroxa was rounded and overflowing with houses. It was situated by a small frozen lake, and a village rested on the other side of the body of water. The rest of the land around the city was a barren, treeless tundra.

"The lumber business must be thriving," Syntribos muttered.

Raimi shrugged. "It is, actually. Merchants fund woodsmen to cart in the lumber, but it's closely monitored. If we cut down too many trees we won't have enough for next winter. People would freeze." She glanced to the side. "What do you think?"

"Difficult place to live. I like it."

"Thought so. You'll fit right in."

Syntribos smiled. Raimi was an easy companion to have. She was like Sully in a lot of aspects. The two of them had already formed a fast friendship based on foul language and intensive training regimes.

"This place is busier than I anticipated," Syntribos observed. "Have you been spared Risen attacks?"

"You mean those dead things? Nah. But we kill 'em as soon as they crop up."

That was good. That was very good. Regna Ferox was shaping up to be a warrior's paradise. Her paradise. A place where she could hide away and expend herself in brawls and ale. If that was what she wanted.

But Syntribos wasn't quite sure anymore. She didn't know what she wanted. All she needed was a sign. A sign that Horkos was watching, that she was on the right path...

She wished Astrea were there with her, to guide her back to the proper way of things.

Her good mood evaporated, she didn't say anything else as they marched through the gates and delved straight into the bustling heart of the city. Raimi led the way through the press of bodies and guided them through the winding streets. They almost lost Sumia at one point, and spent fifteen minutes waiting around before the new pegasus knight found them again.

Neither Raimi, nor any of her soldiers, wasted time on ceremony and brought them straight to a throne room deep inside the brutish keep in the city's centre. No one was there, aside from a pair of bored guards.

Raimi turned and bowed. "Prince Chrom, if you would please wait here, I will alert the Khan."

She left them with the guards and those few Feroxi who had escorted them to the city.

"The khan is away?" Robin asked aloud. The nearest Feroxi, a grizzled old warrior, shrugged.

Chrom hummed thoughtfully. "Yes... Out training, I'd wager. I've heard that the khans of Ferox prefer battle to politics. Or rather, battle is their politics."

The Feroxi man nodded. "Sounds about right," he muttered in a detached, uninterested voice.

Robin grinned. "A warrior ruler, eh? I can picture him now… A giant of a man of unparalleled might, his broad chest covered in hair..."

The chamber's side door slammed open. "Am I now? Please, do go on!"

A tall, armoured woman sauntered in. Her skin was dark and her hair a bright blond. Her features were powerful and bold. She leaned a heavy sword against her shoulder. She wore a suit of light plate, half of it painted dark red while the rest was left as gleaming silver. She smirked and raised an eyebrow, eyes on Robin.

"You're the-?!" Chrom began. Lissa, none-too-subtly, stepped on his foot. "Ow! I mean... Er, that is to say... You are the khan, I presume?"

She nodded. "One of them, yes - the East-Khan. My name is Flavia. I apologize for the troubles at the border, Prince Chrom. You are welcome in Regna Ferox."

A small handful of warriors - Flavia's guards - filed in after her and took up positions as she sat on her throne.

Chrom scratched his neck. "Thank you, but I'm confident we can put that misunderstanding behind us. Is it true bandits posing as Ylisseans have been ransacking your border villages?"

Syntribos eyed the gathered Feroxi warriors. She didn't expect a fight, but it never hurt to be prepared. Most of them were like those at the border, only better armed. They all looked like tough bastards, the kind that would give her trouble. Hell, the man to the left of the throne looked like a-

She gave a start. No one noticed it. Not with Chrom and Flavia speaking. But he did.

"Yes. Those Plegian dogs!" Flavia scowled. "We found documents proving as much on the corpse of one of their captains. Plegia must see some benefit in raising tensions between your kingdom and ours."

Syntribos turned her focus back to the discussion at hand, trying to distract herself, but it was impossible. He was there, watching her. He knew something was up.

Chrom cursed. "Damn them!" The, realizing his mistake, he paled and took a step back. "I... Forgive me, Your Grace. That was... indelicately put.

Flavia crowed, "Ha! Damn them and damn delicacy! Here in Ferox, we appreciate plain speech."

The Ylissean Prince smiled back. "In that case, you should have a word with your damn border guards…"

The Feroxi Khan bellowed with laughter. "Ha ha! Now that's Feroxi diplomacy! Yes, I like you already." She leaned forward and the amused expression fell away. "I know why you have come, Prince. But regrettably, I cannot provide any Feroxi troops for Ylisse."

"What?!" Lissa blurted. "Why not?!"

Flavia leaned back on her seat and shrugged. "I simply lack the authority."

"Forgive me, but I don't understand. Aren't you the khan?" Chrom asked.

"As I said, I am one of the khans. In Ferox, the khans of east and west hold a tournament every few years. The victor acquires total sovereignty over both kingdoms. And that means they have the final say when it comes to forging alliances. The West-Khan won the last tournament, you see, and so…"

"So we are to receive no aid at all?" Chrom looked down, dejected.

Flavia snorted derisively. "Not if you always give up so easily! You Ylisseans are in luck! The next tournament is nigh, you see, and I am in need of champions."

"What does that have to do with us?" Robin questioned.

The khan looked at them thoughtfully. "The captain of my border guard informs me your Shepherds are quite capable, Prince Chrom. Perhaps you would consider representing the East in the upcoming tournament? If you win and I become ruling khan, I will grant your alliance."

Chrom frowned. "I... would have assumed Ylisseans had no place in such Feroxi traditions."

Flavia snorted again. "Ha! On the contrary. The khans themselves do not fight - they choose champions to represent them. Otherwise our land would be rife with blood feuds and dead khans! We don't involve comrades or kin for the same reason. Over time, it was decided the tournament should be fought by outsiders. Although the outsiders have never included foreign royalty... that I know of. Regardless, it is your choice to make." She looked at Syntribos. "My captain also claims that you could very well rival the champion of the west. Well?"

Syntribos chose her words carefully. "I don't care for boasting."

"A humble one, eh? Well, if your prince agrees, we'll see what you're made of."

Chrom sighed. "There is no choice, East-Khan. My people are desperate. We face not only Plegia's constant attacks, but now the added threat of the Risen. If fighting for you is the quickest way to an alliance, then we will take up our steel."

"Oh, I like you, Prince Chrom. I do hope you survive the tournament. It's only two days away, so you may lodge here, under my roof. If you need anything, tell a servant. There's a bunch of them scurrying about, last I checked."

Syntribos stayed in the keep only long enough to be assigned a room and drop off her belongings. A stablehand had taken Equus away to water and feed, leaving her free to do what she wished.

She left it all behind to explore the city.

And to see how far he would follow.

But he knew the city, and she did not. It was only twenty minutes out that she found herself in a less lively part of town, where the market stalls were sparse and few between. There were still people about, which was a layer of protection she was keen to use, and plenty of escape routes. But Syntribos was no fool: she knew it was as good as any dead-end.

She pretended to browse what was on offer and waited for him to approach. When he got close enough, she turned about with a mock smile and a hand hovering by her dagger.

He was armoured from head to toe. He wore a spectacle helm with a chainmail aventail covering his neck and lower face. A horsetail crested the top of the helmet and recurved ram horns sprouted from it on either side. He wore a full mail hauberk with a lamellar cuirass thrown over it. He had leather vambraces with metal strips covering his forearms. He wore gauntlets of plate over leather gloves. He had thick leather boots with metal strips attached as a leg guard and leggings of reinforced grey cloth. A roundshield hung over his back. Both a sheathed ulfberht sword and a throwing axe were attached to his belt. He held, in one hand, a Dane axe. A ragged pink silk cloth fluttered from where it was tied around his arm. There was a dark red spot on it that looked remarkably like dried blood.

He stopped in place and studied her just as closely. Eventually, he said, "You are a far way from Ashfeld."

"And you from Valkenheim," she shot back.

The warrior chuckled. "Seems like it." His mirth died away and he leaned closer. "What legion?"

"What clan?"

"You first."

"Horkos."

"Horkos?" He tilted his head. "Never heard of it."

"Few years old. Clan?"

"No clan. Used to be with Úlfur."

"What changed?"

"Coming here. That's what changed." He huffed. A moment passed. Then another. And another. Finally, he asked, "Want a drink?"

A drink meant mead and firewine. Mead for the man of Valkenheim, firewine for the woman of Ashfeld. Syntribos sipped her drink slowly and watched as her newfound companion nursed his cup as if it were the last he would ever have. She didn't know whether to be pleased to find a true warrior from home or to be wary of the potential foe.

His face was pale, as was common with the people of the northern reaches, and he had long, braided blond hair. His beard was short. He wore dark warpaint around his eyes. A tattoo of a nordic pattern trailed down his neck. He was somewhere around her age, she decided.

"M' name's Grimvaldr," he said quietly. He stared into his drink. The tavern was somewhat busy, and they didn't want to be overheard. "I've been here for years. Took my crew to go Viking. Ashfeld was already picked to the bone, so we thought to find other lands. We reasoned that since no one sailed past Hel we would find an untouched paradise. We never expected the Bifrost to take us..."

The sky ripping open. The faerie lights. Syntribos set down her tankard. "Where's your crew now?"

"Some dead, others scattered. We hit rocks to the east of here. Nasty place. Full of carrion birds and bones. There was something in the water. It grabbed Thorgildr and Gunnar. We left the shore, went inland. Empty land for hundreds of miles around. Some of us dropped. Cold got them. Or the wolves did. Didn't really matter, it all amounted to the same thing: dead."

"And you... arrived here?"

"No. Found a village. None of us were in any state to raid. Good thing they spoke a language we understood. We moved on. Whole new world? Aslauga thought it was the golden will of Heimdall that we come here. I say it's Loki's doing. I went wherever the glitter of gold took me. Found work with the Feroxi for the last few years. Good people. Almost as good as Warborn in a fight, but peace has softened them."

Syntribos nodded sympathetically. "It has."

"What about you?"

"I am a sworn knight of the Order of Horkos. I serve the god of truth. I was... sent to Crow's Path to track down and kill an escaped fugitive. That brought me here."

"One of your own?"

"One of my own, yes."

Grimvaldr looked up. He wore a hollowed grin. "You're interesting."

"Oh?"

"I just said I was going Viking and you didn't bat an eye. You're not a normal knight."

"I told you. I'm a knight dedicated to truth."

"So you don't care?"

"I didn't say I didn't care. But no, you're right, I don't." She drank deeply in an attempt to drown the part that said otherwise.

Grimvaldr blinked. "Right. Skrýtið..." (Weird.)

Syntribos raised an eyebrow. "Ekki prófa þolinmæðina." (Don't test my patience.)

The Viking went still. He stared at her, shocked. "You speak my tongue..."

"You're not the only one to have gone raiding."

"You... You're a Blackstone..." His eyes narrowed.

She shrugged. "Used to be."

"Used?"

"Blackstones are gone. Those who survived its fall found other paths. War reforged us into new shapes. Just like it did your people."

"That's no comparison. We had no choice." His hand reached for a weapon.

Syntribos smiled disarmingly. "Neither did we. I've witnessed your raids. I've felt their impact all my life. You attack, we retaliate. That's how it's always been. In the end, you just pushed us too far. You made us who we are. I must thank you for that. I would never have found my calling if your people hadn't forced it upon me."

Grimvaldr glowered. "You... murderer..."

"I could call you the same." Syntribos stood. "This has been enlightening. Thank you."

She turned around and walked away. She could feel his seething glare burning a hole through her back.

Syntribos found Sully waiting for her. A couple of Feroxi warriors were with her, chatting amongst themselves.

"Hey!" Sully said with a grin, having caught sight of her. "We're headed out for a drink. Want to join us?"

"No, thank you." Syntribos shook her head. "I've already had one."

"Not alone, eh?" One of the Feroxi winked. "Saw Grimvaldr chase after ya."

Sully makes a curious sound. "Grimvaldr, eh?" She raised a mockingly innocent eyebrow. "Anything I should... know?"

Syntribos scoffed good-naturedly. "Nothing happened."

"And I have a hard time believing that." Sully grinned.

"Nothing. Happened."

"Not yet." Sully chuckled. "C'mon, lads, lets go. Syn here's already got her fill."

They left with smiles and laughs on their lips. Syntribos wasn't anywhere near as ecstatic as they were.

She entered her room and undid her armour. She didn't need the extra weight. The servants had left a tub of water in the corner, still lukewarm. She hurriedly washed and dressed in simpler clothes. Syntribos laid out all her weaponry on the bed and watched the door

She waited, patiently, as the hours ticked by. She amused herself by listening to the sounds of the keep and imagining just what people were doing. Servants whispered to one another when they thought no one could hear them. A maid was meeting with a warrior near the kitchens. Somewhere, a pair of soldiers were sparring.

The door opened quickly, but quietly, and slowly swung open. Grimvaldr stood beyond, cold fury written across his face. "We aren't finished," he said in a deadly quiet voice. He entered, uninvited.

The moment he did, she was up and pressing a dagger against his neck. She smiled disarmingly. "Careful. One does not step into a wolf's den uninvited."

He glowered. "You're going to kill me? The Feroxi will crash down on you like Thor's hammer."

"I could kill you and escape before they even noticed."

"Then do it."

She almost did. A dribble of blood ran down where steel parted skin. A Viking was at her mercy. A death sentence for most.

Syntribos disengaged before she ended up subconsciously killing him. "It would be a waste."

"A waste?" He rubbed his neck. It only spread the red.

She nodded quickly. "This place is weak. The Feroxi had the right mind of it, but they're untested. The Plegians? The Ylisseans? Weak. It puts all humanity to shame. Better to leave you alive, to better teach them what a true warrior is like."

Grimvaldr scowled. "What makes you think I'm a true warrior?"

She pointed to his silk armlet. "You bear a trophy."

A multitude of expressions crossed his face: surprise, panic, anger, sorrow, then neutral indifference. She sensed the last one was only a pretense. "'s not a trophy," he muttered. Or sulked. It was difficult to tell.

"Then what? A token?"

His expression said it all.

Her eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps you aren't... Why are you here?"

Grimvaldr's gaze hardened. "You're a Blackstone."

"And? You want to wring answers out of me?" She held out her arms. "You'll find no apologies here. No excuses. No remorse. I did what I did and that is that. I am not ashamed of my past."

"What you did was-"

"Necessary. You think it monstrous, but we did what was right. What was needed."

"To what? Rally us into invading?"

Her smile only widened. "And let the wolves run free."

Grimvaldr shook his head and backed away. "You're insane."

"I'm honest. There's a marked difference. Now," her tone darkened. "Get out. My mercy's a fickle thing, and you're exhausting it."

She lifted the knife for emphasis. Grimvaldr growled, but he was an obedient hound and backed out. He slammed the door shut behind him. Syntribos locked it for good measure - she didn't trust him not to come back and kill her in her sleep.

Breakfast was an informal affair. There was a grand hall full of long tables and benches where the keep's staff - soldier or not - sat down for their meals. Syntribos received a cup of light wine and a platter of fish and black pudding. It was simple and delicious, and enough to revitalize her after the hastened journey north. She brought it to an empty table in the corner of the room by the exit - a purely strategic choice.

Sully didn't show up. The cavalier was likely still in her room, dealing with the aftermath of a night full of drinking. Instead, oddly enough, it was Robin who joined her.

"I thought you didn't like me," Syntribos asked curiously. Her eyes remained on the book she had snagged from... somewhere.

Robin grunted noncommittedly.

"What was that?"

"Dunno yet. By all rights I shouldn't... but you have been helpful."

"That I have."

"What are you reading?"

"Feroxi politics. A fascinating subject. Did you know that the khans of east and west commonly warred with one another for sovereignty over Regna Ferox? It devolved into such a mess that many contemplated extending the Longfort to divide the nation in two. Then some clever sod had the idea of the tournament."

Robin nodded to himself. "Strange people. They're like you."

"A compliment, I hope."

"If you think it is, then sure."

Syntribos hummed. "In that case, thank you. But no."

"No?"

"I'm Ashfeldian. We're planners. Not thoughtless brutes like these Feroxi."

Robin frowned. "You're doing it again. Insulting people."

"I meant brute in the nicest way possible. They're fighters, which is good. But they don't have the inventiveness my people do. The creativity. Speaking of which, I've drawn up a plan for you."

"A... plan?" Robin asked uncertainly.

She brought out a small pile of notes. "I've lost sleep poring over these, so don't lose them." She handed them over.

He briefly skimmed through them. "These are... instructions."

"Battle-formations. A training regime. And more." She tapped a claw down on one page in particular. "You'll need Raimi for this. She's already agreed to guide you, if you seek him out."

"Seek who out?"

"There was another Ashfeldian here a long while back. The Feroxi say he's retired, but odds are you can rouse him. You just need to show him who you are. Say… Bellator. Non finitur. He will teach you."

"Who?"

Syntribos leaned back. "Legate Marcus Aquilus Octavius. He captained the Longfort for twenty years. He led troops in Ashfeld for decades just before that. Disappeared with the entirety of the Ninth Imperial Legion. I assume that this is where he ended up."

"A military leader?"

"Exactly. His Order are gifted strategists and leaders. He can teach you the finer workings of what it means to be a tactician - maybe he'll even join you."

"Thank you!" Robin almost jumped with relief. A thoughtful look crossed him. "But... why? Why are you telling me about..." His eyes widened. "You're leaving, aren't you."

"I am. I'm... lost. I need to find my own way." She sighed. "And if I can't... I still have a criminal to hunt. Working with the Shepherds has been a... strange experience. Constant frustration, but also constant inspiration. There is a font of untapped talent in there - and in you. I would have liked to be there to see that potential unlocked, but I am not suited to the task." She set about finishing her meal.

Robin floundered. "But you... We need... What about the tournament?"

Syntribos smiled. She tried to appear as earnest as she felt. "I'm sure you can think of something. It'll be child's play."

"RISEN!"

Her smile disappeared. Syntribos had her sword drawn within mere moments, ready to spill blood.

The man responsible for the yell was right by the entrance. He gasped for breath. Sweat rolled down his face. He pointed behind him. "My khan! Risen sighted across the lake! They're headed for Slencrest!"

Flavia, who sat at the other end at the hall, rose slowly. A hush fell over the hall. All eyes were on her. She, in turn, looked at Chrom, who sat beside her. With an eager grin, she loudly asked, "Want to prove your worth to me?"

A cheer echoed around the chamber from Feroxi throats.

Someone grabbed Syntribos' shoulder. She almost punched their skull in, but the sight of Raimi's grinning visage forced her to reign in her violent tendencies.

"You coming?" The Feroxi captain inquired.

Robin nodded. "If Chrom is, then so am I." He sent Syntribos a questioning look.

"Of course," she grunted. "It'll be... educational to see how your people work in the field."

Raimi chortled. "Oh, it'll be educational all right."

Syntribos rained an eyebrow. "What about your arm?"

The Feroxi woman shrugged. "What about it? I had a cleric check it out."

The entire concept of healing magic was just as tantalizing as the presence of offensive spells. Soldiers could recover in mere days from wounds that would otherwise prevent them from taking part in a campaign. Casualties could be cut down to a fraction of what they previously used to be.

Maybe that was what she should be doing. Piling together everything that would help her revive the fight at home.

That was a thought.