She scanned the crowd.
It was somewhat larger then the one of the previous night, not a whole lot, not enough for a large increase in the noise, yet somehow the noise seemed to be double. It was the gift of the Norse, she mused. One of many.
The Bar Keeper was happy. That much she could see. It was unlikely that he would give her any part of the profit that he would gain tonight. He was a businessman, a shrewd one, who had fought long and hard against the price she asked. He would be happy now. His coffers would be refilled gloriously.
She glanced at the sky outside. The sun was slowly lowering herself into her bed, her bright colors filling up the cloaked woman's eyes. How she longed for her words to be as vibrant as the colors seen outside. She sighed and turned back towards the crowd. Anticipation echoed throughout the room, and she had felt it. Perhaps, it was now time.
Her fingers dipped into the case by her feet, and drew out the lyre, her weapon.
"Lleana..." she whispered, longingly, hopefully inciting the lyre to help her when she weaves her tale. She runs her hand over the age-rendered smooth oaken handle before starting full force into her song of enticement.
The song wound its way through the throng of Norse, circling the throats of the each one, and silencing the words they wanted to speak to each other. It drew their attention to the woman sitting in her corner, and when she opened her mouth, she held them in the palm of her hand.
And so she started.
***
Her eyes opened and she stared at the wall in the dimly lit room. Out of habit she flung her hand over to the other side of the bed. She didn't notice the scars upon her arm
It was empty. She moved her hand downwards, a frown appearing on her face as it struck something sticky. She grimaced as she felt something cold, limp, and soft underneath her questing fingers. It was then that the stench reached her nostrils, and with the smell came her memories of the previous night.
The smell of rot was soon mixed with the smell of vomit.
She had to get out. The smell was overriding her senses, clouding her thoughts. Asvora rolled out of bed and planted her feet firmly on the floor. At least she thought it was the floor.
When she looked down she wished it had been the floor.
She blanched. A man's arm had been flung to her bedside from her mad rampage from the night before. It was cold, a deathly blue, and underneath her feet it felt disgustingly squishy. Her feet quickly left the human footstool.
With a quickly beating heart, Asvora slowly raised her eyes and nearly blanched again. Bodies were scattered across the room, mutilated by the swings of the axe, but it wasn't them she cared about.
"My son...my son...." she whispered, her voice husky with grief.
She ran into the room where she had lay hidden the night before. Light was seeping into the room, giving the once-mother enough light to see by. How she wished that it was dark, for the sight of his cold shell of a body, rid of the soul she had loved so much nearly sent her mad with grief again. He was the only person she had been able to talk to, and now she was alone...She was so Lonely.
A strangled cry escaped her throat, as she rushed towards her son, sweeping him up into her scarred arms and tossing his death arrow aside. She gave him her breast wishing he would awaken from his sleep to suckle. Her mind was crying "No, you are a fool, Asvora. He is dead...", while her heart cried louder "He is only in deep sleep. When he awakes he will be hungry..." Asvora felt no comforting pressure and so the tears came.
She hadn't cried for years. Her life had hardened her, and she had been taught that tears would accomplish nothing, her life would not prove easier. The last time she cried was when she realized Daddy wouldn't be coming home. Daddy. Her Daddy.
She didn't even know his name, for he had left when she was young. Her mother never mentioned it to her, nor did her neighbors say anything about him to her. She simply knew him as Her Daddy, with his ticklish beard and twinkling eyes. His arms sweeping her into a big bear hug. The sounds of his running behind her as he chased her. Her Daddy.
Daddy had left to go on a raid on the Brits. He had been told the spoils would be well worth it. The year had been rough on her family, for disease had swept through the herds, killing them off. Mother had begged him not to go, but he went anyways. He was to proud to ask for help from his good friends. Daddy hadn't returned, and mother began to be worried. She took up any jobs, working herself hard to prepare themselves for winter. She got sick, and then Hel took her.
Asvora cradled the cold limp body, salty tears moistening it as the memories came back from a time she wished to forget. She had been left all alone after then, with little money to her name. There was only one job open to her and she took it. She achieved womanhood sooner then most.
She set her son on her lap, bending her head to look at him, causing a cascade of gold tumbling over her shoulders. A shaking finger ran over the whole of him. She wanted to remember him.
The blood around his wound was dry. The cold night must have swept away all moisture. Her finger ran over it, feeling the roughness of it, watching it flake. She paused a moment before she picked up one of the larger flakes. Raising it to her face, she set it unto her tongue. It moistened and she swallowed.
She had been part of him, and now he was part of her.
Rising up then, clutching her son, she walked out the rooms. Her eyes glanced towards the bed where her once-husband lay. His body was mangled beyond all recognition. Bodies lay scattered around the bed, a moat of death and blood. Asvora sneered at them, her heart cold to them. They would be shunned, and they would go unnamed, unpurified, into Hel's cold embrace.
She spat onto the ground with her son clung close to her breast, and then she left the room. Her son, he would get a proper warrior burial, for did she not see him in the Halls of Asgard? His body was sacred.
Asvora passed through the common rooms without a glance at the destruction. her thoughts were focused on the burial that she must now prepare for. Her son had no symbol of the honor he had. She had hers though. Perhaps that would suffice.
There was a soft thud on the ground below. She frowned slightly, wondering what could have fallen. The frown soon disappeared however, for what greeted her eyes mad her smile. It was obvious that the gods figured that her valkyrie symbol would not suffice. He must have the symbol of the thane.
She had all she needed now.
**
Behind her fires cackled gleefully at the dead it encompassed. The flames rose high, as if reaching towards the Halls to send the dead there. Only one flame would succeed.
Asvora knew she should have let the wolves feed upon the Britons. A pack was nearby, she had heard them. Yet, wolves were sacred to her now, and they did not deserve to become so tainted by the blood of the Britons. So, she had done what she could to make sure they did not. A loud crack of the house's timber echoed throughout the quiet forest, its heat hot on her back. She didn't like the fact that her son's burial was so like the burial of the dogs who killed him, but there was nothing she could do. She sent her curses with the lighting of the house, and her blessings to her son. Her work there was done.
Asvora clutched the worn coat closer to her body. Even though it was almost summer the nights were freezing. Her shield and sword clanked noisily together. It scared away any animal, and for that she was thankful, but it brought any human that was out there to her in curiosity.
She shivered. It was doubtful she could defeat a band of British Dogs now. She felt that she was freezing to death.
It had been a couple of days since she had awaken to the carnage. Her feet ached badly. She was use to riding is she had to go anywhere. She rarely rode. Asvora sniffled slightly as the cold chilled her nose. The town should be close now. She didn't know why she had to live so far away. He, her husband, had said that the land was better. It was more likely the land was cheaper.
The moon was bright tonight.
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain as something struck her head. She blacked out.
Yes. The moon had been bright tonight.
*
"'Ere's `nother one milord. Caught `er in the woods near the village."
"Set her in the wagon with the others"
"Yes, milord."
"Finally...a pretty one. D'ye know just how many old hags I've had to have on this raid?"
"Dun ye think that the lord would want `er? There may be a reason she's been untouched..."
"If she's been `lone this long, I can't see a reason why not to..."
"Well...Alright then. Just dun ruin `er `nough so I can't use `er."
"Now John, even if I bust `er, I'm sure ye will still fit."
"WHAT?!"
"Twas a joke John. All in good `umor..."
"Did ye just insult me? Yew, `hoo ran away from an' ol' woman?!"
"I tol' ye before...She was a jabbering spells a' me....!"
"Ye ol' liar!"
"WHAT?! Me?! A liar?!"
"I said i' once an' I'll say i' again..."
"Ye're a dead man John..."
"None mo' `en yeu!"
"Ah! A lady in deep slumber...What D-ye think will awaken her...Sir Robert?"
"Hmmm...Well, Brian, if she was merely dozing, I would suggest that applying a slight pressure upon her lips. But, that would not work here. Listen to the deep breaths she takes! I think that to open her...eyes, we must insert a key...
"Sounds like that'll do it."
"Oh aye. Worked for me many a time before."
"Really, Robert?"
"Aye Brian. And I am thinking that a big girl like her will need a big key."
"Hm. Makes perfect sense to be Robert."
"Thank-you, good-sir. Now if you'll just move aside...."
"WHA-?!"
"Robert! Brian!"
"Wha' tis it, Kris?"
"The `orses with the loot bags got spooked an' took off!"
"What? The gold? Gone?!"
"Aye!"
"Well, men, we must go and save it!"
*
Asvora eyes fluttered open. Her head hurt. She cradled her head tenderly, but her eyes furrowed in confusion. Her hands were heavier. She didn't remember her arms being so heavy. In fact, she didn't remember them making a clanging sound with her every move. She glanced down at her arms and then let out a growl of anger at what greeted her eyes.
Chains of solid metal chimed their happiness of keeping someone down whenever she moved. Bands of wrought iron weighed her arms down, and with that extra weight her heart dropped. She was captured and she didn't know what to do.
Asvora looked at the poorly made walls surrounding her. The ceiling was low, perhaps only five feet, and poorly made. The walls easily let the sounds from outside in. Men calling, horses snorting, and a low rumble of wheels flooded her sense of hearing. She'd rather hear silence.
Across the room there came a scrapping sound, approaching the weary woman. She looked down. Below her was a roughly made cup filled with a cool substance. It lay just within her reach. Asvora reached down and lifting it to her nose, she sniffed it.
Willowbark tea.
She had forgotten all about it, but in a flash her headache came back. Sniffing again, to make sure that was all that was in it, she gave a weak smile into the shadows, to whomever gave this to her. She drank it slowly, wishing that it could have been at least lukewarm. As it was, it was like drinking water fresh from the springs. It chilled her.
She peered at the cup, now empty. It was strangely cut, not with a knife, but it looked like it was carved with...nails. Sharp ones.
A faint rustle in the shadows alerted her to the presence of at least one other. Asvora peered into the shadows, but she saw nothing until a form came into the light.
The woman blinked several times, for she was not sure she was seeing right. Herself, she had never seen one alive. They usually lived farther away from the Viking settlements, and didn't venture into them to trade.
The female kobold blinked also, but it wasn't because she was surprised. A small, welcoming smile was inlaid on the kobold's thin lips.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, young warrior" spoke the kobold, her voice full of shadows. It was enticing, and told of an honest person.
"I am Skyshadow, shaman of the clan of the Fox."
"And I am Asvora, val-"
A sudden motion from the shaman silenced the words in Asvora's mouth. Skyshadow made an apologetic gesture, and then crept as close to the sitting woman as the chains would allow. A light humming noise filled the valkyrie's ears.
"Do you hear that? It is the sound of magic, the magic in my chains. I used some spells on the dogs outside before that caught me. They were smart enough to make sure I couldn't curse them again." Skyshadow whispered quietly, making sure that the outside noises would cover up the talk going inside the wagon, "But, they saw only your shield and sword. They view you only as a warrior, a mundane person. They are nothing more then stupid dogs who couldn't comprehend the symbol upon your breast. I know who you are though." the shaman grinned again, mouthing the next words so no one could hear her. "Handmaiden of Odin."
Asvora felt a slight rush of pride at the silent words. A valkyrie was she. And as one, she could channel the god's will...
"Why do you whisper, great shaman? I do not understand the dogs, and so why should they understand us?"
Skyshadow made a slight clucking sound in her throat before answering.
"The dogs were smart enough to bring one among them who understands our tongue. He-"
The shaman was about to say something more, when there was a knock at the door. Skyshadow grinned wide this time, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. Asvora felt it was odd that one of the dogs would have the decency to knock.
"You may enter, Haslett, and welcome."
At the shaman's permission, the door swung open, and in jumped a boy. The valkyrie was startled, for she did had not thought that the Brit's would have brought a young boy. He could not be more then 16, for his form was still lanky, and his face was beardless. She grinned slightly as his face became a little red when he climbed in, a great feat in itself, for the door was small and the wagon was moving.
"I hope you no mind my presence. Men outside boring." he said. Asvora felt that he spoke it well, though it was broken. She smiled at him, and she thought he got redder.
"I am Asvora, and I take it you are Haslett?" she asked, wanting to try out the unusual name.
Haslett brightened slightly, and grinned.
"I welcome you Asvora."
The chains around Asvora lightly chimed together, and she frowned slightly.
"Is this how you welcome everyone, you British dogs?!" she asked, her voice an angry whisper.
Haslett paled slightly, while Skyshadow clucked her tongue in disapproval.
"Asvora, hold not the boy responsible for what the men do. It is he who brought the willowbark tea, and he will help us."
"Help us?"
Skyshadow looked over at Haslett, with a look that said something silently that only he could understand. He pursed his lips slightly and then looked straight at Asvora.
"I help you escape." he answered very softly.
The woman froze. Escape? She had almost resigned herself to go wherever the Brits would take her. She had thought that this was a test of Odin's, a very horrible test. Yet now, perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps she would not have to stay in this cramped wagon any longer.
"How can a boy help us?" Asvora questioned the shaman, forgetting her manners.
"He has helped you already Asvora. Why do you think that you have remained untouched this long?" Skyshadow retorted quietly, her dark eyes focused on Asvora with slight concern. "It is not because they do not want to."
Asvora almost paled, but caught herself. Instead she calculated the boy sitting near her, her pale eyes resembling shards of ice. It took her mind off things.
He was short. At least he was shorter then her. Perhaps just underneath 6 feet. She paused a moment, remembering her own people who were tall. He could pass for a short Viking. His hair was bleached blonde, and his eyes were a dark blue. His face was slightly angular, making it more feminine then most male faces she saw. A hand lightly touched her own chin, feeling the sharpness of it. She was unusual among her people, for her features were sharper then most Norse. Haslett was lanky, not yet filled out with the muscles that most Viking youths have at his age. He smiled shyly underneath her hard gaze, and it was then that she froze. It was the smile she had often seen on her son. Her son. She bit her lip and looked away. Tears would prove useless now, so why did they want to come?
"Haslett, how...how did you come about learning our language?" she asked, wanting to steer her thoughts away from the dead.
"Our...priests, monks, like learning. Big Curiosity of other people. Want learn Viking culture. Need learn language. Capture Viking, learn language. I allowed learn. I proud." He said, his chest swelling with pride.
"Why where you with the monks? Did your parents want you there?"
Haslett's eyes became rather misty, and his lips became pursed hard, trying to remain a strong man and not cry.
"Parents gone. Leave me orphan. Go monks learn. No need money."
Outside, a man hollered, and Asvora could hear the sound of Haslett's name echoing throughout the wagon and the forest. She hadn't noticed it before, but the wagon had stopped and the noises of making camp sounded. The boy paled visibly, his eyes were full of fear. He nodded a goodbye to the two women, seemingly to shaken to say anything else. He took a deep breath and then left the wagon.
Skyshadow looked outside and saw the sky darkening as another day passed and another night came. The shaman was obviously worried about something, but Asvora didn't understand what. She closed her eyes and listened to the outside noises. She needn't have focused so much.
There was a loud rumble of British voices, and she could hear them coming closer. The shaman was breathing harder, and suddenly motioned to Asvora to get her attention.
"We need to escape now, else you will be handmaiden to Odin no more, and we will both be in the dogs hands to use. I need you to get these chains off me, Asvora." the voice was calm, yet the eyes spoke of fear.
Asvora looked at the seemingly thin banes of magic that circled the shaman's hand, and at the thick ones that surrounded her. She flipped her wrists over to look at the lock. All it needed was a key. She looked around for one, but the shaman hissed and shook her head.
"It would not work. Set me free, and I will take the chains off you."
Asvora narrowed her eyes at the shaman. It was obvious that Skyshadow knew what to do, but she wasn't going to tell. Asvora glanced at the corner where her sword and shield lay, far enough away that she would not be able to reach them, if she remained chained. She looked back to where the chains were fastened to the most well built part of the wall. Asvora yanked hard, and the wall groaned. She yanked again, and she thought she heard the timber start to crack.
"You will not get the wall down in time if you do that."
Asvora hissed, and focused on her arms, willing them to be stronger, more powerful. She felt a surge of energy race through her veins, and she tugged again, with all her might.
A loud splitting noise in the wagon, stopped the low rumble of British talk, but it didn't stop the motion of Asvora. With two solid movements she grabbed her sword and swung downward with the blade, channeling her will into the wrought iron as the gods channeled their power through her. The blade sang its song as it sliced the air, and with a bell-like chime it cut through one band of iron, and with another stroke it struck the other and broke it. In both cases the blade had stopped before the skin on the shaman's wrists were pierced, by the gods' will she supposed.
Skyshadow turned quickly to face the sound of the British voices, who were now yelling, and with the opening of the door she unleashed a spell, screeching at Asvora to shut her eyes.
Screams of pain replaced the yells of anger. Asvora, whose eyes had been tightly shut, felt her eyes being seared in the bright flash of light. She too, yelled out of agony. It took a few moments for her to feel safe enough to open her eyes, and when she did, she saw the little kobold holding up a key.
"Hurry!"
Asvora obeyed, grabbing the keys offered to her. Trying several before one fit, she unlocked the bands from her wrists, and with their clanging unto the ground, she massaged her wrists, glad to feel warm skin where there was once iron.
"No time, no time...Hurry, Hurry!"
The kobold tugged at Asvora's worn clothes and dragged her towards the door. It was the first time Asvora had a good look outside in a couple of days. Men were laying upon the ground, screaming their pain and their curses at the little witch in the wagon. Asvora thought she saw a slight smirk on the kobold's face, but Asvora didn't understand what the men were screaming. It was just as well.
A pounding of hooves alerted Asvora to the approach of another, and she raised her sword, ready to kill the man who escaped the shaman's spell. A small hand held her sword down though, and the small shaman was shaking her head, clucking her tongue.
"It is better to look and see before you attack blindly. You would have killed Haslett."
The shaman looked over at the young boy, tugging three British horses behind him. They were taller and seemed more slender then the horses she was used to. Asvora hoped they could carry her.
The three of them said nothing to each other as they each mounted a horse. The kobold took the smallest and oldest of the three, Haslett a placid bay mare, and Asvora mounted the largest of the three, a dark chestnut, fiery, stallion.
It had been perhaps a minute since the spell had been ushered from the shaman's mouth, but already some of the men were recovering, stumbling towards the nearest horse in order to chase them. The shaman saw this, and with a final look thrown over her shoulder, she cursed them with slowness, channeling her will to aid her in this spell. Shouts of frustration came from the dog's mouths and she grinned again before taking off after Asvora and Haslett. She couldn't help feeling however, eyes somewhere watching her. It sent shivers down her back.
They galloped till their horses were worn down, the distance made even greater by the shaman's spell of quickness. By then the only light there was the light of the moon, which was just beginning another turn. The shaman had summoned another spell, this one producing light equal to a torch from the feathers she wore around her arms. She had given one feather to both Haslett and Asvora, for they needed no injuries at this time. The group of three had been traveling in silence, until Asvora decided to break it.
"Haslett, can you lead us back to where you captured us...?"
"Could if in Midgard. Good memory, have I."
Asvora blanched, though no one could see it in the night light.
"What do you mean `if we were in Midgard'? Aren't we?"
The deeper voice of the shaman answered Asvora's question.
"No, Asvora. We are in Albion, the land that gave birth to the dogs we call the Brits. Sorry Haslett."
Asvora paled again. She could see the farm where she lived, the inn where she had earned her living, the house where she had died, and had risened again, renewed. The place where her son had died, and the place where he was buried. Asvora broke down.
Ohhh...Her son...
"My son...My son..."
***
The cloaked woman grinned slightly at the anger that resounded in the voices of her listeners. Her tale had the effect she wanted it to have on them. She played Lleana for a few more minutes, making them remember the woe of Asvora, implanting it unto their memory. Perhaps they would bring more listeners to hear the tale of this valkyrie. To listen to the bard who they did not know the name of. The bars whose name they could not know.
Newcomers were entering the bar now, disrupting the mood of slight contemplation she had kept the Norse in. It was just as well. Thinking was not a past time the Norse liked to do a whole lot.
The lyre's song changed from one of contemplation to one of merrieness and drunkeness. The mood immidatly lifted with the song of the music, and the bar once more began to serve the beer it had wanted to.
It was late into the night, perhaps even near morning when she left. Men were laying halfway on the tables, the low rumble of snores echoing throughout the wooden room. Another regular night, another regular morning.
She opened the door and welcomed the fresh air.
It was somewhat larger then the one of the previous night, not a whole lot, not enough for a large increase in the noise, yet somehow the noise seemed to be double. It was the gift of the Norse, she mused. One of many.
The Bar Keeper was happy. That much she could see. It was unlikely that he would give her any part of the profit that he would gain tonight. He was a businessman, a shrewd one, who had fought long and hard against the price she asked. He would be happy now. His coffers would be refilled gloriously.
She glanced at the sky outside. The sun was slowly lowering herself into her bed, her bright colors filling up the cloaked woman's eyes. How she longed for her words to be as vibrant as the colors seen outside. She sighed and turned back towards the crowd. Anticipation echoed throughout the room, and she had felt it. Perhaps, it was now time.
Her fingers dipped into the case by her feet, and drew out the lyre, her weapon.
"Lleana..." she whispered, longingly, hopefully inciting the lyre to help her when she weaves her tale. She runs her hand over the age-rendered smooth oaken handle before starting full force into her song of enticement.
The song wound its way through the throng of Norse, circling the throats of the each one, and silencing the words they wanted to speak to each other. It drew their attention to the woman sitting in her corner, and when she opened her mouth, she held them in the palm of her hand.
And so she started.
***
Her eyes opened and she stared at the wall in the dimly lit room. Out of habit she flung her hand over to the other side of the bed. She didn't notice the scars upon her arm
It was empty. She moved her hand downwards, a frown appearing on her face as it struck something sticky. She grimaced as she felt something cold, limp, and soft underneath her questing fingers. It was then that the stench reached her nostrils, and with the smell came her memories of the previous night.
The smell of rot was soon mixed with the smell of vomit.
She had to get out. The smell was overriding her senses, clouding her thoughts. Asvora rolled out of bed and planted her feet firmly on the floor. At least she thought it was the floor.
When she looked down she wished it had been the floor.
She blanched. A man's arm had been flung to her bedside from her mad rampage from the night before. It was cold, a deathly blue, and underneath her feet it felt disgustingly squishy. Her feet quickly left the human footstool.
With a quickly beating heart, Asvora slowly raised her eyes and nearly blanched again. Bodies were scattered across the room, mutilated by the swings of the axe, but it wasn't them she cared about.
"My son...my son...." she whispered, her voice husky with grief.
She ran into the room where she had lay hidden the night before. Light was seeping into the room, giving the once-mother enough light to see by. How she wished that it was dark, for the sight of his cold shell of a body, rid of the soul she had loved so much nearly sent her mad with grief again. He was the only person she had been able to talk to, and now she was alone...She was so Lonely.
A strangled cry escaped her throat, as she rushed towards her son, sweeping him up into her scarred arms and tossing his death arrow aside. She gave him her breast wishing he would awaken from his sleep to suckle. Her mind was crying "No, you are a fool, Asvora. He is dead...", while her heart cried louder "He is only in deep sleep. When he awakes he will be hungry..." Asvora felt no comforting pressure and so the tears came.
She hadn't cried for years. Her life had hardened her, and she had been taught that tears would accomplish nothing, her life would not prove easier. The last time she cried was when she realized Daddy wouldn't be coming home. Daddy. Her Daddy.
She didn't even know his name, for he had left when she was young. Her mother never mentioned it to her, nor did her neighbors say anything about him to her. She simply knew him as Her Daddy, with his ticklish beard and twinkling eyes. His arms sweeping her into a big bear hug. The sounds of his running behind her as he chased her. Her Daddy.
Daddy had left to go on a raid on the Brits. He had been told the spoils would be well worth it. The year had been rough on her family, for disease had swept through the herds, killing them off. Mother had begged him not to go, but he went anyways. He was to proud to ask for help from his good friends. Daddy hadn't returned, and mother began to be worried. She took up any jobs, working herself hard to prepare themselves for winter. She got sick, and then Hel took her.
Asvora cradled the cold limp body, salty tears moistening it as the memories came back from a time she wished to forget. She had been left all alone after then, with little money to her name. There was only one job open to her and she took it. She achieved womanhood sooner then most.
She set her son on her lap, bending her head to look at him, causing a cascade of gold tumbling over her shoulders. A shaking finger ran over the whole of him. She wanted to remember him.
The blood around his wound was dry. The cold night must have swept away all moisture. Her finger ran over it, feeling the roughness of it, watching it flake. She paused a moment before she picked up one of the larger flakes. Raising it to her face, she set it unto her tongue. It moistened and she swallowed.
She had been part of him, and now he was part of her.
Rising up then, clutching her son, she walked out the rooms. Her eyes glanced towards the bed where her once-husband lay. His body was mangled beyond all recognition. Bodies lay scattered around the bed, a moat of death and blood. Asvora sneered at them, her heart cold to them. They would be shunned, and they would go unnamed, unpurified, into Hel's cold embrace.
She spat onto the ground with her son clung close to her breast, and then she left the room. Her son, he would get a proper warrior burial, for did she not see him in the Halls of Asgard? His body was sacred.
Asvora passed through the common rooms without a glance at the destruction. her thoughts were focused on the burial that she must now prepare for. Her son had no symbol of the honor he had. She had hers though. Perhaps that would suffice.
There was a soft thud on the ground below. She frowned slightly, wondering what could have fallen. The frown soon disappeared however, for what greeted her eyes mad her smile. It was obvious that the gods figured that her valkyrie symbol would not suffice. He must have the symbol of the thane.
She had all she needed now.
**
Behind her fires cackled gleefully at the dead it encompassed. The flames rose high, as if reaching towards the Halls to send the dead there. Only one flame would succeed.
Asvora knew she should have let the wolves feed upon the Britons. A pack was nearby, she had heard them. Yet, wolves were sacred to her now, and they did not deserve to become so tainted by the blood of the Britons. So, she had done what she could to make sure they did not. A loud crack of the house's timber echoed throughout the quiet forest, its heat hot on her back. She didn't like the fact that her son's burial was so like the burial of the dogs who killed him, but there was nothing she could do. She sent her curses with the lighting of the house, and her blessings to her son. Her work there was done.
Asvora clutched the worn coat closer to her body. Even though it was almost summer the nights were freezing. Her shield and sword clanked noisily together. It scared away any animal, and for that she was thankful, but it brought any human that was out there to her in curiosity.
She shivered. It was doubtful she could defeat a band of British Dogs now. She felt that she was freezing to death.
It had been a couple of days since she had awaken to the carnage. Her feet ached badly. She was use to riding is she had to go anywhere. She rarely rode. Asvora sniffled slightly as the cold chilled her nose. The town should be close now. She didn't know why she had to live so far away. He, her husband, had said that the land was better. It was more likely the land was cheaper.
The moon was bright tonight.
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain as something struck her head. She blacked out.
Yes. The moon had been bright tonight.
*
"'Ere's `nother one milord. Caught `er in the woods near the village."
"Set her in the wagon with the others"
"Yes, milord."
"Finally...a pretty one. D'ye know just how many old hags I've had to have on this raid?"
"Dun ye think that the lord would want `er? There may be a reason she's been untouched..."
"If she's been `lone this long, I can't see a reason why not to..."
"Well...Alright then. Just dun ruin `er `nough so I can't use `er."
"Now John, even if I bust `er, I'm sure ye will still fit."
"WHAT?!"
"Twas a joke John. All in good `umor..."
"Did ye just insult me? Yew, `hoo ran away from an' ol' woman?!"
"I tol' ye before...She was a jabbering spells a' me....!"
"Ye ol' liar!"
"WHAT?! Me?! A liar?!"
"I said i' once an' I'll say i' again..."
"Ye're a dead man John..."
"None mo' `en yeu!"
"Ah! A lady in deep slumber...What D-ye think will awaken her...Sir Robert?"
"Hmmm...Well, Brian, if she was merely dozing, I would suggest that applying a slight pressure upon her lips. But, that would not work here. Listen to the deep breaths she takes! I think that to open her...eyes, we must insert a key...
"Sounds like that'll do it."
"Oh aye. Worked for me many a time before."
"Really, Robert?"
"Aye Brian. And I am thinking that a big girl like her will need a big key."
"Hm. Makes perfect sense to be Robert."
"Thank-you, good-sir. Now if you'll just move aside...."
"WHA-?!"
"Robert! Brian!"
"Wha' tis it, Kris?"
"The `orses with the loot bags got spooked an' took off!"
"What? The gold? Gone?!"
"Aye!"
"Well, men, we must go and save it!"
*
Asvora eyes fluttered open. Her head hurt. She cradled her head tenderly, but her eyes furrowed in confusion. Her hands were heavier. She didn't remember her arms being so heavy. In fact, she didn't remember them making a clanging sound with her every move. She glanced down at her arms and then let out a growl of anger at what greeted her eyes.
Chains of solid metal chimed their happiness of keeping someone down whenever she moved. Bands of wrought iron weighed her arms down, and with that extra weight her heart dropped. She was captured and she didn't know what to do.
Asvora looked at the poorly made walls surrounding her. The ceiling was low, perhaps only five feet, and poorly made. The walls easily let the sounds from outside in. Men calling, horses snorting, and a low rumble of wheels flooded her sense of hearing. She'd rather hear silence.
Across the room there came a scrapping sound, approaching the weary woman. She looked down. Below her was a roughly made cup filled with a cool substance. It lay just within her reach. Asvora reached down and lifting it to her nose, she sniffed it.
Willowbark tea.
She had forgotten all about it, but in a flash her headache came back. Sniffing again, to make sure that was all that was in it, she gave a weak smile into the shadows, to whomever gave this to her. She drank it slowly, wishing that it could have been at least lukewarm. As it was, it was like drinking water fresh from the springs. It chilled her.
She peered at the cup, now empty. It was strangely cut, not with a knife, but it looked like it was carved with...nails. Sharp ones.
A faint rustle in the shadows alerted her to the presence of at least one other. Asvora peered into the shadows, but she saw nothing until a form came into the light.
The woman blinked several times, for she was not sure she was seeing right. Herself, she had never seen one alive. They usually lived farther away from the Viking settlements, and didn't venture into them to trade.
The female kobold blinked also, but it wasn't because she was surprised. A small, welcoming smile was inlaid on the kobold's thin lips.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, young warrior" spoke the kobold, her voice full of shadows. It was enticing, and told of an honest person.
"I am Skyshadow, shaman of the clan of the Fox."
"And I am Asvora, val-"
A sudden motion from the shaman silenced the words in Asvora's mouth. Skyshadow made an apologetic gesture, and then crept as close to the sitting woman as the chains would allow. A light humming noise filled the valkyrie's ears.
"Do you hear that? It is the sound of magic, the magic in my chains. I used some spells on the dogs outside before that caught me. They were smart enough to make sure I couldn't curse them again." Skyshadow whispered quietly, making sure that the outside noises would cover up the talk going inside the wagon, "But, they saw only your shield and sword. They view you only as a warrior, a mundane person. They are nothing more then stupid dogs who couldn't comprehend the symbol upon your breast. I know who you are though." the shaman grinned again, mouthing the next words so no one could hear her. "Handmaiden of Odin."
Asvora felt a slight rush of pride at the silent words. A valkyrie was she. And as one, she could channel the god's will...
"Why do you whisper, great shaman? I do not understand the dogs, and so why should they understand us?"
Skyshadow made a slight clucking sound in her throat before answering.
"The dogs were smart enough to bring one among them who understands our tongue. He-"
The shaman was about to say something more, when there was a knock at the door. Skyshadow grinned wide this time, and her eyes sparkled with amusement. Asvora felt it was odd that one of the dogs would have the decency to knock.
"You may enter, Haslett, and welcome."
At the shaman's permission, the door swung open, and in jumped a boy. The valkyrie was startled, for she did had not thought that the Brit's would have brought a young boy. He could not be more then 16, for his form was still lanky, and his face was beardless. She grinned slightly as his face became a little red when he climbed in, a great feat in itself, for the door was small and the wagon was moving.
"I hope you no mind my presence. Men outside boring." he said. Asvora felt that he spoke it well, though it was broken. She smiled at him, and she thought he got redder.
"I am Asvora, and I take it you are Haslett?" she asked, wanting to try out the unusual name.
Haslett brightened slightly, and grinned.
"I welcome you Asvora."
The chains around Asvora lightly chimed together, and she frowned slightly.
"Is this how you welcome everyone, you British dogs?!" she asked, her voice an angry whisper.
Haslett paled slightly, while Skyshadow clucked her tongue in disapproval.
"Asvora, hold not the boy responsible for what the men do. It is he who brought the willowbark tea, and he will help us."
"Help us?"
Skyshadow looked over at Haslett, with a look that said something silently that only he could understand. He pursed his lips slightly and then looked straight at Asvora.
"I help you escape." he answered very softly.
The woman froze. Escape? She had almost resigned herself to go wherever the Brits would take her. She had thought that this was a test of Odin's, a very horrible test. Yet now, perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps she would not have to stay in this cramped wagon any longer.
"How can a boy help us?" Asvora questioned the shaman, forgetting her manners.
"He has helped you already Asvora. Why do you think that you have remained untouched this long?" Skyshadow retorted quietly, her dark eyes focused on Asvora with slight concern. "It is not because they do not want to."
Asvora almost paled, but caught herself. Instead she calculated the boy sitting near her, her pale eyes resembling shards of ice. It took her mind off things.
He was short. At least he was shorter then her. Perhaps just underneath 6 feet. She paused a moment, remembering her own people who were tall. He could pass for a short Viking. His hair was bleached blonde, and his eyes were a dark blue. His face was slightly angular, making it more feminine then most male faces she saw. A hand lightly touched her own chin, feeling the sharpness of it. She was unusual among her people, for her features were sharper then most Norse. Haslett was lanky, not yet filled out with the muscles that most Viking youths have at his age. He smiled shyly underneath her hard gaze, and it was then that she froze. It was the smile she had often seen on her son. Her son. She bit her lip and looked away. Tears would prove useless now, so why did they want to come?
"Haslett, how...how did you come about learning our language?" she asked, wanting to steer her thoughts away from the dead.
"Our...priests, monks, like learning. Big Curiosity of other people. Want learn Viking culture. Need learn language. Capture Viking, learn language. I allowed learn. I proud." He said, his chest swelling with pride.
"Why where you with the monks? Did your parents want you there?"
Haslett's eyes became rather misty, and his lips became pursed hard, trying to remain a strong man and not cry.
"Parents gone. Leave me orphan. Go monks learn. No need money."
Outside, a man hollered, and Asvora could hear the sound of Haslett's name echoing throughout the wagon and the forest. She hadn't noticed it before, but the wagon had stopped and the noises of making camp sounded. The boy paled visibly, his eyes were full of fear. He nodded a goodbye to the two women, seemingly to shaken to say anything else. He took a deep breath and then left the wagon.
Skyshadow looked outside and saw the sky darkening as another day passed and another night came. The shaman was obviously worried about something, but Asvora didn't understand what. She closed her eyes and listened to the outside noises. She needn't have focused so much.
There was a loud rumble of British voices, and she could hear them coming closer. The shaman was breathing harder, and suddenly motioned to Asvora to get her attention.
"We need to escape now, else you will be handmaiden to Odin no more, and we will both be in the dogs hands to use. I need you to get these chains off me, Asvora." the voice was calm, yet the eyes spoke of fear.
Asvora looked at the seemingly thin banes of magic that circled the shaman's hand, and at the thick ones that surrounded her. She flipped her wrists over to look at the lock. All it needed was a key. She looked around for one, but the shaman hissed and shook her head.
"It would not work. Set me free, and I will take the chains off you."
Asvora narrowed her eyes at the shaman. It was obvious that Skyshadow knew what to do, but she wasn't going to tell. Asvora glanced at the corner where her sword and shield lay, far enough away that she would not be able to reach them, if she remained chained. She looked back to where the chains were fastened to the most well built part of the wall. Asvora yanked hard, and the wall groaned. She yanked again, and she thought she heard the timber start to crack.
"You will not get the wall down in time if you do that."
Asvora hissed, and focused on her arms, willing them to be stronger, more powerful. She felt a surge of energy race through her veins, and she tugged again, with all her might.
A loud splitting noise in the wagon, stopped the low rumble of British talk, but it didn't stop the motion of Asvora. With two solid movements she grabbed her sword and swung downward with the blade, channeling her will into the wrought iron as the gods channeled their power through her. The blade sang its song as it sliced the air, and with a bell-like chime it cut through one band of iron, and with another stroke it struck the other and broke it. In both cases the blade had stopped before the skin on the shaman's wrists were pierced, by the gods' will she supposed.
Skyshadow turned quickly to face the sound of the British voices, who were now yelling, and with the opening of the door she unleashed a spell, screeching at Asvora to shut her eyes.
Screams of pain replaced the yells of anger. Asvora, whose eyes had been tightly shut, felt her eyes being seared in the bright flash of light. She too, yelled out of agony. It took a few moments for her to feel safe enough to open her eyes, and when she did, she saw the little kobold holding up a key.
"Hurry!"
Asvora obeyed, grabbing the keys offered to her. Trying several before one fit, she unlocked the bands from her wrists, and with their clanging unto the ground, she massaged her wrists, glad to feel warm skin where there was once iron.
"No time, no time...Hurry, Hurry!"
The kobold tugged at Asvora's worn clothes and dragged her towards the door. It was the first time Asvora had a good look outside in a couple of days. Men were laying upon the ground, screaming their pain and their curses at the little witch in the wagon. Asvora thought she saw a slight smirk on the kobold's face, but Asvora didn't understand what the men were screaming. It was just as well.
A pounding of hooves alerted Asvora to the approach of another, and she raised her sword, ready to kill the man who escaped the shaman's spell. A small hand held her sword down though, and the small shaman was shaking her head, clucking her tongue.
"It is better to look and see before you attack blindly. You would have killed Haslett."
The shaman looked over at the young boy, tugging three British horses behind him. They were taller and seemed more slender then the horses she was used to. Asvora hoped they could carry her.
The three of them said nothing to each other as they each mounted a horse. The kobold took the smallest and oldest of the three, Haslett a placid bay mare, and Asvora mounted the largest of the three, a dark chestnut, fiery, stallion.
It had been perhaps a minute since the spell had been ushered from the shaman's mouth, but already some of the men were recovering, stumbling towards the nearest horse in order to chase them. The shaman saw this, and with a final look thrown over her shoulder, she cursed them with slowness, channeling her will to aid her in this spell. Shouts of frustration came from the dog's mouths and she grinned again before taking off after Asvora and Haslett. She couldn't help feeling however, eyes somewhere watching her. It sent shivers down her back.
They galloped till their horses were worn down, the distance made even greater by the shaman's spell of quickness. By then the only light there was the light of the moon, which was just beginning another turn. The shaman had summoned another spell, this one producing light equal to a torch from the feathers she wore around her arms. She had given one feather to both Haslett and Asvora, for they needed no injuries at this time. The group of three had been traveling in silence, until Asvora decided to break it.
"Haslett, can you lead us back to where you captured us...?"
"Could if in Midgard. Good memory, have I."
Asvora blanched, though no one could see it in the night light.
"What do you mean `if we were in Midgard'? Aren't we?"
The deeper voice of the shaman answered Asvora's question.
"No, Asvora. We are in Albion, the land that gave birth to the dogs we call the Brits. Sorry Haslett."
Asvora paled again. She could see the farm where she lived, the inn where she had earned her living, the house where she had died, and had risened again, renewed. The place where her son had died, and the place where he was buried. Asvora broke down.
Ohhh...Her son...
"My son...My son..."
***
The cloaked woman grinned slightly at the anger that resounded in the voices of her listeners. Her tale had the effect she wanted it to have on them. She played Lleana for a few more minutes, making them remember the woe of Asvora, implanting it unto their memory. Perhaps they would bring more listeners to hear the tale of this valkyrie. To listen to the bard who they did not know the name of. The bars whose name they could not know.
Newcomers were entering the bar now, disrupting the mood of slight contemplation she had kept the Norse in. It was just as well. Thinking was not a past time the Norse liked to do a whole lot.
The lyre's song changed from one of contemplation to one of merrieness and drunkeness. The mood immidatly lifted with the song of the music, and the bar once more began to serve the beer it had wanted to.
It was late into the night, perhaps even near morning when she left. Men were laying halfway on the tables, the low rumble of snores echoing throughout the wooden room. Another regular night, another regular morning.
She opened the door and welcomed the fresh air.