The bard entered the tavern that she had woven her tales for the past two nights, blinking to get use to the dim light. She tugged the hood over her head, making sure no one could see her face, even if they looked directly at her. The tavern's chatter had quieted down when she had entered. Well known now, was she, at least among the tavern's regulars. Those whom she did not recognize talked amongst themselves for a few minutes before quieting down. Impatient looks at those few by the waiting regulars succeeded in quieting the tavern down better then her harp could. She smiled underneath the shadow of her hood as she made her way over to her usual corner. It was good to feel so welcomed.
Delicate fingers reached inside her cloak to draw out the wooden lyre, and the anticipation rose visibly in the room. She did not start her tale right away. No, instead she played a summary of the story past, allowing the regulars to remember and the newcomers to learn. She paused a moment, the last note she played ringing throughout the room, before opening her mouth for the first time that night.
***
"Asvora," the shaman's voice cracked the woman's shell of surrounding grief, bringing her back to the present dire conditions. "Do you mean to tell us that you have a son?"
"Had."
"He's gone then?
"Killed."
"By whom?"
"Brits."
The shaman muttered something underneath her breath, and left the subject drop for now. She would ask Asvora again sometime though, perhaps when they were back in Midgard. Back into relative safety.
"Haslett, this is your country, no?" questioned Skyshadow, turning her attention to the boy. He seemed rather nervous, she noted. So was she, but she hid it with a shaman's confidence.
"Don't travel here much. In north. Near Midlands. Live southeast, nearer to cities. Nearer to safety. Midlands not safe. Danger." he answered, his voice quiet, for he feared he would attract unwanted attention. Bedtime stories meant to scare were often placed in "The Midlands". He shuddered slightly.
The shaman grunted her agreement, and she shuddered also, though hers was from the coldness. At least most of it was.
"We need some wood for a fire." She stated to no one in particular, but her dark eyes glanced significantly at Haslett, and she arched an eyebrow in silent inquiry.
"I'll...go...get...some..." Haslett answered, his voce quiet, as if full of fear. He grasped his feather of light and headed into the darkening forest.
Skyshadow watched him leave, making sure he did leave, before turning back to the sagging woman who focused too much on things in the past.
"Asvora. Did your horse have any food in the saddle bags?"
"I don't think so."
"Check and make sure. I really don't think you would want to hunt tonight, no?"
Asvora didn't say anything, but rose quietly to her feet and walked over to the grazing stallion. She hadn't taken the saddle off, and the stallion had been to ravished to try to scrape it off his back. Ears flicked towards her, but the chestnut did nothing else. Asvora smiled slightly, and dug her hand into the saddle pack. Questing fingers felt several smooth bottles, all heavy with whatever substances they carried. Pulling out one whose color was a dark murky brown, she popped off the cork, but when she got a whiff of the liquid inside, she wished she hadn't. In retaliation to the stench, she pulled her arm back, getting ready to throw the foul substance into the woods. A wicked breeze brought a second whiff to her nostrils and she nearly gagged. How foul...how very-
"Stop!"
The kobold darted remarkably quickly to where Asvora now stood, her hands held outwards, asking silently for the bottle, dark eyes filled with disapproval. Asvora gingerly handed the bottle to her, a blonde eyebrow arched in inquiry.
"It smelt like very strong vinegar. Very bad vinegar"
Skyshadow clucked her tongue a couple of times, letting Asvora know her displeasure without saying anything. Clutching the bottle in her hand, she stooped down low and tossed a few drops of liquid onto some blades of grass. Asvora couldn't be sure, for the light was dimming fast, but she thought that she saw the few blades get a bit greener. The shaman nodded, as if she expected so much. Raising herself up to her short height, she then dipped a gnarled finger into the elixir, then let a single drop fall onto her tongue. She waited a few seconds before saying anything into the waiting silence.
"I could care less what it smells like. I prefer to know what it tastes like and-"
"But-"
"It tastes like honeyed wine. It would have been a pity if you would have thrown this away."
"Why?"
"Daft girl. Do you know nothing of potions? This is a very powerful healing potion, masked by a scent so that anyone else who picked it up would throw it away." The shaman paused again and side-glanced at Asvora with evident annoyance. "Like you nearly did."
"Oh."
It was the only response Asvora could think of. Her eyebrows furrowed a moment, before reaching into the saddle bag once more and taking out the rest of the bottles. Opening one of similar color to the one the shaman held, she was about to dip her finger into it when it was suddenly knocked out of her hand. Asvora gasped and glared at the shaman for but a moment. A moment was all she had before she heard a sizzling sound coming from the ground where the smashed bottle lay. She paled slightly and looked down to find a patch of dirt at her feet where there was once grass.
"Hmph. Thought as much." Skyshadow remarked through pursed lips.
"The Brits don't seem to be of a very trusting nature."
"When you venture so close to your enemies border, it is considered wise to use whatever means possible to make sure that the enemy does not get anything good if you are killed. Especially now."
"Oh?"
"Have you not heard about what happened in Albion recently? Do you not pay attention at all to what is going on in the other Realms?"
"No." Asvora wasn't going to say anything more, but when she saw the frank disapproval the shaman regarded her in, she went on. "I was locked in the cage called my husband's home for the past 10 winters. I rarely went out and rarely let anyone in. It was total isolation until the Brits came." she paused a moment to force memories to the back of her mind. "And then I was captured. I had no time to ask someone what had been happening."
The old kobold arched an eyebrow, and Asvora thought that she saw a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
"You have much to learn then I suppose."
With that she sat down and closed her eyes, clearly indicating that she did not want to be disturbed with any more questions.
Asvora sighed and sat down near the shaman, focusing her attentions on the piece of forest that Haslett had gone into. She hadn't thought that gathering wood took so long.
It felt like hours, but she knew it was only a few minutes when she heard a loud cracking of a fallen tree branch. She stiffened slightly and moved into a position that would allow her to stand easily, tense with anticipation. Her muscles soon relaxed though, for Haslett appeared from out of the brushes and into their clearing, carrying an armful of wood.
"I got lost on my way back." he muttered quietly as his excuse, setting himself down to get the fire started.
"No you didn't."
Haslett tensed, so much that it was visible in the moonlight. His eyes darted to where the shaman sat, meeting her eyes for a second before looking back down to do his work. Skyshadow's was unreadable, but Asvora felt a sense of uneasiness descend over the camp.
It didn't bode well.
*
They spent a week like this, in shadowed existence. Haslett had found some rations in his saddlepack, but those fed them only for two days. After that, Asvora had to hunt.
It wasn't because she was the best hunter. She hadn't had to hunt much, for she usually had a ready animal in her yard when she lived with her once-husband. The kobold, however, had years of experience, but she was to old to hunt. Besides, she stated, she had foregone the physical path to tread the path that would aid her reach for full shamanic power.
Asvora had managed to catch a few rabbits and foxes in the traps she set at night when they made camp. Crude little things that often collapsed under their own weight. They did get the job done though, and the three of them never got too hungry. At least none of them went mad due to lack of food.
The valkyrie sighed again and rocked to the horse's movement, chewing on the leaf of some plant to help ease her hunger. She didn't get close to going mad because of hunger, but because of something else. Haslett was a growing boy, whose stomach she was beginning to compare with a void. He was constantly hungry and never full. He nearly drove both the women mad.
"I am beginning to think that having Haslett along is not such a good thing." Asvora sighed as she looked over at the pile of picked clean bones. Haslett had left to go find some more wood. Her lips pursed slightly at the small fire sitting in between the shaman and the valkyrie. It wasn't very big, but by her judgement it would last them the night that they were at this spot. She shrugged to herself.
"He is a growing boy." Skyshadow answered, her voice seeming to be distant. She sat opposite of the valkyrie, and through the fire that lay between them, she looked much more powerful. Mysterious.
Asvora half-smiled. The shaman had a way of tracing her thoughts. Or at least Asvora's eyes.
"I understand he may be hungry, and I do not mind hunting. It is good practice."
"So why do you go so far in suggesting that we should not enjoy his company any more?"
Asvora snorted.
"Enjoy his company? The only thing I know about him is that his name is Haslett. I know nothing of his father, or of his mother, or anything of his past life."
"You do not know anything of mine. Does that mean you have no wish to be in my presence anymore?" the shaman had the I-know-something-but-I-am-not-going-to-tell-you-what-it-is-until-you-guess-it tone of voice. Whatever it was that the shaman knew about Haslett, Asvora felt it was not good, for Skyshadow's voice was monotone, and devoid of any emotion.
"Of course not. But...but...you are at least are in alliance with me. Haslett is a Brit and...and I do not trust where his allegiances lie."
Asvora thought she saw a sudden spark in the shaman's eyes but it was probably just the fire.
Skyshadow looked up at the sky for a brief moment, before staring intently at Asvora. She knew that the old kobold was trying to tell her something, but what it was, she couldn't discern.
"The moon has moved to much since the time Haslett has last seen the light of our fire. Perhaps you should go out and look for him."
The valkyrie blinked, glancing at Skyshadow for a long moment before letting out a sigh, muttering her agreement, and rising up. She grabbed one of the feathers the shaman had enchanted before turning to the darkness of the forest.
"...Asvora?..."
"Hmm?"
"...I would advise you to walk as quietly as you can, and to keep the light underneath your cloak." the shaman paused a moment, before offering an excuse for this precaution. "There are many dangerous beasts out there who would not might having a late night feast."
Asvora nodded her agreement again, then left the shaman's presence.
*
The forest had scared her at first. It was different from forests of her home, and it was a difference she could feel. Perhaps because she knew that in Midgard she was safe, and now she was in enemy territory.
The trees had looked so much alike as well. She had gotten lost a few times, yet somehow she had found her way back. After a few days she started to gain skill at forest treading rapidly, and her step was quiet. Slow, but quiet.
It was by accident that she stumbled unto the clearing. A had blocked her path, forcing her to go to either side of it. Taking the right hand side, she only had tread a couple hundred feet when she saw a dim light. Instantly in a crouch, she slowly approached, taking refuge behind a dense, but not too dense bush.
The clearing was small, and easily lit by the fire in its center. It was empty but for two persons. One was tall in stature, arrogant in bearing, and unknown to her. The other was slightly shorter, but still to be considered tall, and his form was one that she knew.
"When will you take them, Lord?"
"In time. Perhaps when the moon is full."
"Very good, Lord. I...I do not think I can stand eating like I do now much longer."
The taller, older man, chuckled. Asvora didn't hear any humor in the laugh.
"It is cooked, I take it?"
A pause and the valkyrie figured that Haslett had made a disgusted face, for the man named, "Lord." laughed again.
"It is well cooked, Lord, but totally lacking in any sort of flavor. Barbaric."
"Hm. Well, I would consider you very lucky. From what I have been told, the Norse are wolves. They eat their meat raw, freshly torn from the carcass."
Asvora supposed she should have felt anger at this jab at her people, but she could not. A pack of wolves was mighty and strong. Like the Norse. But, she pondered, a lone wolf is weak, and lonely for company. Not unlike her.
"Milord, you told me...that...you would...give me something...to-"
"I know very well what I told you." The man paused and looked up at the sky for a moment, then into the forest facing North. "We get too close to the Midlands border. Another few days at the pace you ride at and we will be past it."
"Is there something happening in the Midlands, Lord?"
"You are lucky that you have the excuse of travelling with ignorant Norse. Otherwise, your ears would be coming off and your eyes struck blind to make you truly ignorant to the world."
Asvora couldn't see it, but by the way the man laughed, she guessed that Haslett had blanched.
"The Norse are swarming over the Midlands. Our scouts have been there many times before, and have found nothing of value. We of the Brits have come to the conclusion that they are preparing an invasion, and the force of men I have with me are to small in number to deal with the amount of Norse the Scouts have reported to us."
There was a pause before a sound of metal against leather echoed throughout the clearing, followed by a dim flash of light.
"This is the Dagger of DragonFire. Forged in the heat of a dragon's breath, shaped by a hammer made of a dragon's claw, pounded to life on a bleached skull of those beasts. It is one of the Banes of Magic." The elder handed it to the younger with much care. Haslett grasped the handle gingerly, the pressed his thumb against the blade.
"Its not sharp."
A wave of anger overcame Asvora, and not from her. She saw the "Lord" tense, and Haslett cowering, mumbling his apologies and begging for forgiveness.
"Get up, boy, and let me explain."
"To any mortal the dagger is dull. It is something that in the forging of the Dagger, I could not overcome, no matter how long I spent shaping it. Thus, to any mundane human who happens to pick it up, it will be nothing more then a-." his voice grew full of disgust as he voiced the last three words."-glorified butter knife. But, to one whose veins flow with magic, it is deadly. The Dagger becomes sharp enough to cut through a thigh, bone and all. That is not the real power of it though. That is not the reason why I spent years preparing and forging it."
The "Lord" paused in his explanation and drew something out of his coat. Muttering something over it, he threw it at the ground. A large log appeared in front of him..
"A log." he paused to draw out a dagger. Asvora could see the light of the moon shine off it. "Now see, a regular dagger. Absolutely devoid of any and all magic." He knelt down and sliced at the log with such power that if he had held an axe, it would have cut it through. All that sounded though was a slight thunk. "It is useless. No regular dagger could cut through a log in a single stroke, agreed?." He didn't wait for an answer, for he took back the Dagger that lay in Haslett's hand, knelt down beside the log and carefully started to cut it. With placing minimum pressure on the dagger, it cut as easily as though the log was butter. That was odd, but not quite as odd as what happened to the log.
When the blade first started to cut, at the first touch the log started to shrink.. With every inch the blade sliced through, the log grew smaller. So it shrank until it was nothing but a twig, and hidden from her sight.
The man chuckled darkly as he bent down to grab the once-whole twig. Now split in two pieces he held them close to the boy's eyes, as if Haslett was nearly blind.
"Do you see it, boy? The wood is seared, as if a flame touched it." His voice had been rising, but suddenly it dropped back down to his normal tone. "That isn't what is important though. What is the fact that it cut off the flow of magic through the wood. The log had been nothing but a twig until I made it become large. The magic that made it so flowed throughout the twig, keeping it from reverting back to its normal size. Yet, this Dagger stopped the flow. It seared the veins of magic!" the man's voice was arrogant and by the end of the explanation, extremely enthusiatic. Dangerously so.
Wild eyes looked up at the moon again, and for a moment, it seemed that he would howl at it.
The man is utterly mad.
Disgusted beyond what she ever thought possible at this betrayal, as well as the insanity of the British wizard, Asvora carefully started to back away. Silence filled her ears until she was just in hearing range of the voices in the clearing.
"Do it tonight boy. In the morning it will be too late."
Asvora froze in midstep, her mind blank. Tonight? Skyshadow...
She turned to head towards the camp, when she paused again. No. The knife he held in his hand would be fatal to the shaman and herself. She could flee, but honor held her to try to save the shaman. Skyshadow had saved her, so perhaps now she could repay her debt to the shaman. Would repay her debt.
She turned again, for the final time, towards the way that Haslett would most likely run, when a scream in the direction of she was about to head sounded. A piercing scream, one that sounded from the throat of a young man. It wavered in the air, like a bird struggling in the air, before slowly sinking into silence. Asvora's heart beat furiously, fear freezing the blood in her veins. What had happened to Haslett?
A bush moved in front of her, and Asvora bit her lip hard to keep the scream that threatened to echo through the forest in her throat. She stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over her own feet in her fright as a bloodstained wolf's muzzle poked through the shrubs.
"You are lucky that Freya discarded you. It would have proven interesting to see how a boar and some cats would have handled the situation that presented itself.. Don't you think so, Geri?"
"Yes, Freki...Most interesting."
The second wolf, Geri, trotted out of the bushes, approaching the valkyrie till it was a few inches away from her. A Dagger lay within its jaws.
"Take this Dagger, girl. It has a foul taste around it."
Asvora obeyed, herself too numb with fright to do anything else. With the Dagger out of it mouth, the Wolf shook its head furiously, as if trying to shake the taste out.
"Absolutely disgusting."
"Oh cheer up, Geri. Its nothing a good leg of deer can't cure."
"I suppose you are right, Freki," the wolf's amber eyes focused back on Asvora for the last time, "Hurry girl. We helped you once. Don't expect us to help you again."
"Unless Odin bids it so."
"...Yes...unless One-Eyed Odin bids it so."
With that as their farewell, Odin's pets, the wolves, Freki and Geri left her.
It took a moment for Asvora to collect her senses about her. Her life had taken a second sudden twist with her gods, a second twist that she had been unprepared for. As if sensing the valkyrie's numbness to the world around her the Dagger flashed in a beam of moonlight, awakening Asvora out of her slumber of shock. Shaking her head to shed the last cloudy thoughts, she leapt into a run, heading towards her camp.
When she neared the spot where the camp was, she bit her lip again. The fire was dying down, the light it given off only slightly brighter then the light of the moon. To a careless eye, it might to be the same amount of light. Her ears picked up no noise, which frightened her. The shaman usually muttered quietly in her sleep, and it was too late to do much else except sleep. Asvora took a deep breath to help steady herself, then walked into the clearing.
For a moment she feared that she would now have to find the way back to Midgard by herself. The place where she had last seen the shaman was barren, as was the area close to the fire. They must have come to take Skyshadow right after the Wolves took the Dagger from Haslett. Her lip was too swollen to bite down on it again, and pain laced through her when she did. She didn't want to be alone again. Not again. Not now...
"Snap out of it, girl. Hurry up, we need to go."
Asvora blinked and looked in the direction of the voice. On top of the dirty Grey pony, sat the small old kobold, dark eyes piercing the darkness easily. The shaman held out the rope that made sure the stallion did not wander, to Asvora impatiently.
Asvora shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had wanted to talk to the shaman about what had happened that night, wanted to show the shaman the Dagger, to ask her advice, but now she supposed was not the time. Danger was creeping up on them from all sides, though they did not know it.
Grabbing the reins quickly, Asvora leapt onto the stallion's back, stuffing the Dagger into one of the bags.
"Which way do we head?" The valkyrie questioned Skyshadow, tightly pulling on the reins to keep the stallion at an unsteady halt.
"The way where we were always heading. To the North." Skyshadow whispered, glancing around the empty campsite nervously. It was too quiet, even for this time of night.
"...We go now!" she hissed loudly to Asvora, kicking the pony, who snorted indignantly before breaking into a bumpy trot. The shaman kicked it again, hard, sending it into a gallop. At the sight of his small equine companion taking off, the stallion took his head abruptly, tearing the reins out of Asvora's hand, and took off into the forest.
The men in the bushes watched them go.
"Do we pursue?"
"We will not pursue. We will follow."
The leader looked at the trail left by the galloping horses, listened to the sounds of their pounding hooves, smelled the scent of their passing. It would be an easy trail to follow.
***
She smiled to herself as her mouth closed and her voice became silent. Asvora has done much fleeing from the British. Such was the bond between the bard and the valkyrie. Still smiling to herself, she tucked the lyre away, into her cloak. Life was beginning to stir around her once more, but she didn't notice any of it, so when large Norseman approached her, he caught her by surprise.
"I don't often hear a voice like that." spoke the tall, man, a warrior by the sword on his back. His light blue eyes were sharp, as if trying to pierce the darkness of her hood. Not wanting to start an argument, she kept her head bowed, yet not so much that she could not see the man's moves.
"I will take that as a compliment, strong warrior."
"It is not meant to be a compliment. The last time I heard a voice like that was in the skirmish with Hibernia. From her bards," He paused a moment, crossing his arms, before jutting his chin towards the lump in her cloak that was the lyre. "The harp that you use is not Nordic made. Probably not even Midgardian made. The wood is from a tree that I saw only in the Land of the Celts."
"That is because I found it in the arms of a dead elf." It was not a lie, yet nor was it a truth.
The warrior had no answer to this statement. It was very possible that she spoke the truth. But...
"Why is it that you use an instrument from Hibernia. Do you think that the ones from Midgard are to poor to use?"
"Great warrior, I am but a poor skald. I take only enough money for me to eat and sleep by. I take no money to buy a new harp. It is by the gods' will that I have this instrument, else I would have none." she replied calmly.
This exchange had attracted a lot of attention, and now most of the occupants eyes were focused on the two. It made the warrior nervous. Not wanting to disagree with the gods, or start a tavern brawl, her nodded his head in obvious farewell, breaking off the exchange quickly.
"I would advise you to watch your back, skald. I do not trust you , no matter how great of words you weave." He whispered to the bard, in a voice only she could hear and understand. She said nothing in return, and made no movement that would have acknowledged the warning.
Instead, she stood up, and walked out of the tavern, her back straight and confident.
Blue eyes stared after her, their look having the sharpness of daggers.
Delicate fingers reached inside her cloak to draw out the wooden lyre, and the anticipation rose visibly in the room. She did not start her tale right away. No, instead she played a summary of the story past, allowing the regulars to remember and the newcomers to learn. She paused a moment, the last note she played ringing throughout the room, before opening her mouth for the first time that night.
***
"Asvora," the shaman's voice cracked the woman's shell of surrounding grief, bringing her back to the present dire conditions. "Do you mean to tell us that you have a son?"
"Had."
"He's gone then?
"Killed."
"By whom?"
"Brits."
The shaman muttered something underneath her breath, and left the subject drop for now. She would ask Asvora again sometime though, perhaps when they were back in Midgard. Back into relative safety.
"Haslett, this is your country, no?" questioned Skyshadow, turning her attention to the boy. He seemed rather nervous, she noted. So was she, but she hid it with a shaman's confidence.
"Don't travel here much. In north. Near Midlands. Live southeast, nearer to cities. Nearer to safety. Midlands not safe. Danger." he answered, his voice quiet, for he feared he would attract unwanted attention. Bedtime stories meant to scare were often placed in "The Midlands". He shuddered slightly.
The shaman grunted her agreement, and she shuddered also, though hers was from the coldness. At least most of it was.
"We need some wood for a fire." She stated to no one in particular, but her dark eyes glanced significantly at Haslett, and she arched an eyebrow in silent inquiry.
"I'll...go...get...some..." Haslett answered, his voce quiet, as if full of fear. He grasped his feather of light and headed into the darkening forest.
Skyshadow watched him leave, making sure he did leave, before turning back to the sagging woman who focused too much on things in the past.
"Asvora. Did your horse have any food in the saddle bags?"
"I don't think so."
"Check and make sure. I really don't think you would want to hunt tonight, no?"
Asvora didn't say anything, but rose quietly to her feet and walked over to the grazing stallion. She hadn't taken the saddle off, and the stallion had been to ravished to try to scrape it off his back. Ears flicked towards her, but the chestnut did nothing else. Asvora smiled slightly, and dug her hand into the saddle pack. Questing fingers felt several smooth bottles, all heavy with whatever substances they carried. Pulling out one whose color was a dark murky brown, she popped off the cork, but when she got a whiff of the liquid inside, she wished she hadn't. In retaliation to the stench, she pulled her arm back, getting ready to throw the foul substance into the woods. A wicked breeze brought a second whiff to her nostrils and she nearly gagged. How foul...how very-
"Stop!"
The kobold darted remarkably quickly to where Asvora now stood, her hands held outwards, asking silently for the bottle, dark eyes filled with disapproval. Asvora gingerly handed the bottle to her, a blonde eyebrow arched in inquiry.
"It smelt like very strong vinegar. Very bad vinegar"
Skyshadow clucked her tongue a couple of times, letting Asvora know her displeasure without saying anything. Clutching the bottle in her hand, she stooped down low and tossed a few drops of liquid onto some blades of grass. Asvora couldn't be sure, for the light was dimming fast, but she thought that she saw the few blades get a bit greener. The shaman nodded, as if she expected so much. Raising herself up to her short height, she then dipped a gnarled finger into the elixir, then let a single drop fall onto her tongue. She waited a few seconds before saying anything into the waiting silence.
"I could care less what it smells like. I prefer to know what it tastes like and-"
"But-"
"It tastes like honeyed wine. It would have been a pity if you would have thrown this away."
"Why?"
"Daft girl. Do you know nothing of potions? This is a very powerful healing potion, masked by a scent so that anyone else who picked it up would throw it away." The shaman paused again and side-glanced at Asvora with evident annoyance. "Like you nearly did."
"Oh."
It was the only response Asvora could think of. Her eyebrows furrowed a moment, before reaching into the saddle bag once more and taking out the rest of the bottles. Opening one of similar color to the one the shaman held, she was about to dip her finger into it when it was suddenly knocked out of her hand. Asvora gasped and glared at the shaman for but a moment. A moment was all she had before she heard a sizzling sound coming from the ground where the smashed bottle lay. She paled slightly and looked down to find a patch of dirt at her feet where there was once grass.
"Hmph. Thought as much." Skyshadow remarked through pursed lips.
"The Brits don't seem to be of a very trusting nature."
"When you venture so close to your enemies border, it is considered wise to use whatever means possible to make sure that the enemy does not get anything good if you are killed. Especially now."
"Oh?"
"Have you not heard about what happened in Albion recently? Do you not pay attention at all to what is going on in the other Realms?"
"No." Asvora wasn't going to say anything more, but when she saw the frank disapproval the shaman regarded her in, she went on. "I was locked in the cage called my husband's home for the past 10 winters. I rarely went out and rarely let anyone in. It was total isolation until the Brits came." she paused a moment to force memories to the back of her mind. "And then I was captured. I had no time to ask someone what had been happening."
The old kobold arched an eyebrow, and Asvora thought that she saw a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
"You have much to learn then I suppose."
With that she sat down and closed her eyes, clearly indicating that she did not want to be disturbed with any more questions.
Asvora sighed and sat down near the shaman, focusing her attentions on the piece of forest that Haslett had gone into. She hadn't thought that gathering wood took so long.
It felt like hours, but she knew it was only a few minutes when she heard a loud cracking of a fallen tree branch. She stiffened slightly and moved into a position that would allow her to stand easily, tense with anticipation. Her muscles soon relaxed though, for Haslett appeared from out of the brushes and into their clearing, carrying an armful of wood.
"I got lost on my way back." he muttered quietly as his excuse, setting himself down to get the fire started.
"No you didn't."
Haslett tensed, so much that it was visible in the moonlight. His eyes darted to where the shaman sat, meeting her eyes for a second before looking back down to do his work. Skyshadow's was unreadable, but Asvora felt a sense of uneasiness descend over the camp.
It didn't bode well.
*
They spent a week like this, in shadowed existence. Haslett had found some rations in his saddlepack, but those fed them only for two days. After that, Asvora had to hunt.
It wasn't because she was the best hunter. She hadn't had to hunt much, for she usually had a ready animal in her yard when she lived with her once-husband. The kobold, however, had years of experience, but she was to old to hunt. Besides, she stated, she had foregone the physical path to tread the path that would aid her reach for full shamanic power.
Asvora had managed to catch a few rabbits and foxes in the traps she set at night when they made camp. Crude little things that often collapsed under their own weight. They did get the job done though, and the three of them never got too hungry. At least none of them went mad due to lack of food.
The valkyrie sighed again and rocked to the horse's movement, chewing on the leaf of some plant to help ease her hunger. She didn't get close to going mad because of hunger, but because of something else. Haslett was a growing boy, whose stomach she was beginning to compare with a void. He was constantly hungry and never full. He nearly drove both the women mad.
"I am beginning to think that having Haslett along is not such a good thing." Asvora sighed as she looked over at the pile of picked clean bones. Haslett had left to go find some more wood. Her lips pursed slightly at the small fire sitting in between the shaman and the valkyrie. It wasn't very big, but by her judgement it would last them the night that they were at this spot. She shrugged to herself.
"He is a growing boy." Skyshadow answered, her voice seeming to be distant. She sat opposite of the valkyrie, and through the fire that lay between them, she looked much more powerful. Mysterious.
Asvora half-smiled. The shaman had a way of tracing her thoughts. Or at least Asvora's eyes.
"I understand he may be hungry, and I do not mind hunting. It is good practice."
"So why do you go so far in suggesting that we should not enjoy his company any more?"
Asvora snorted.
"Enjoy his company? The only thing I know about him is that his name is Haslett. I know nothing of his father, or of his mother, or anything of his past life."
"You do not know anything of mine. Does that mean you have no wish to be in my presence anymore?" the shaman had the I-know-something-but-I-am-not-going-to-tell-you-what-it-is-until-you-guess-it tone of voice. Whatever it was that the shaman knew about Haslett, Asvora felt it was not good, for Skyshadow's voice was monotone, and devoid of any emotion.
"Of course not. But...but...you are at least are in alliance with me. Haslett is a Brit and...and I do not trust where his allegiances lie."
Asvora thought she saw a sudden spark in the shaman's eyes but it was probably just the fire.
Skyshadow looked up at the sky for a brief moment, before staring intently at Asvora. She knew that the old kobold was trying to tell her something, but what it was, she couldn't discern.
"The moon has moved to much since the time Haslett has last seen the light of our fire. Perhaps you should go out and look for him."
The valkyrie blinked, glancing at Skyshadow for a long moment before letting out a sigh, muttering her agreement, and rising up. She grabbed one of the feathers the shaman had enchanted before turning to the darkness of the forest.
"...Asvora?..."
"Hmm?"
"...I would advise you to walk as quietly as you can, and to keep the light underneath your cloak." the shaman paused a moment, before offering an excuse for this precaution. "There are many dangerous beasts out there who would not might having a late night feast."
Asvora nodded her agreement again, then left the shaman's presence.
*
The forest had scared her at first. It was different from forests of her home, and it was a difference she could feel. Perhaps because she knew that in Midgard she was safe, and now she was in enemy territory.
The trees had looked so much alike as well. She had gotten lost a few times, yet somehow she had found her way back. After a few days she started to gain skill at forest treading rapidly, and her step was quiet. Slow, but quiet.
It was by accident that she stumbled unto the clearing. A had blocked her path, forcing her to go to either side of it. Taking the right hand side, she only had tread a couple hundred feet when she saw a dim light. Instantly in a crouch, she slowly approached, taking refuge behind a dense, but not too dense bush.
The clearing was small, and easily lit by the fire in its center. It was empty but for two persons. One was tall in stature, arrogant in bearing, and unknown to her. The other was slightly shorter, but still to be considered tall, and his form was one that she knew.
"When will you take them, Lord?"
"In time. Perhaps when the moon is full."
"Very good, Lord. I...I do not think I can stand eating like I do now much longer."
The taller, older man, chuckled. Asvora didn't hear any humor in the laugh.
"It is cooked, I take it?"
A pause and the valkyrie figured that Haslett had made a disgusted face, for the man named, "Lord." laughed again.
"It is well cooked, Lord, but totally lacking in any sort of flavor. Barbaric."
"Hm. Well, I would consider you very lucky. From what I have been told, the Norse are wolves. They eat their meat raw, freshly torn from the carcass."
Asvora supposed she should have felt anger at this jab at her people, but she could not. A pack of wolves was mighty and strong. Like the Norse. But, she pondered, a lone wolf is weak, and lonely for company. Not unlike her.
"Milord, you told me...that...you would...give me something...to-"
"I know very well what I told you." The man paused and looked up at the sky for a moment, then into the forest facing North. "We get too close to the Midlands border. Another few days at the pace you ride at and we will be past it."
"Is there something happening in the Midlands, Lord?"
"You are lucky that you have the excuse of travelling with ignorant Norse. Otherwise, your ears would be coming off and your eyes struck blind to make you truly ignorant to the world."
Asvora couldn't see it, but by the way the man laughed, she guessed that Haslett had blanched.
"The Norse are swarming over the Midlands. Our scouts have been there many times before, and have found nothing of value. We of the Brits have come to the conclusion that they are preparing an invasion, and the force of men I have with me are to small in number to deal with the amount of Norse the Scouts have reported to us."
There was a pause before a sound of metal against leather echoed throughout the clearing, followed by a dim flash of light.
"This is the Dagger of DragonFire. Forged in the heat of a dragon's breath, shaped by a hammer made of a dragon's claw, pounded to life on a bleached skull of those beasts. It is one of the Banes of Magic." The elder handed it to the younger with much care. Haslett grasped the handle gingerly, the pressed his thumb against the blade.
"Its not sharp."
A wave of anger overcame Asvora, and not from her. She saw the "Lord" tense, and Haslett cowering, mumbling his apologies and begging for forgiveness.
"Get up, boy, and let me explain."
"To any mortal the dagger is dull. It is something that in the forging of the Dagger, I could not overcome, no matter how long I spent shaping it. Thus, to any mundane human who happens to pick it up, it will be nothing more then a-." his voice grew full of disgust as he voiced the last three words."-glorified butter knife. But, to one whose veins flow with magic, it is deadly. The Dagger becomes sharp enough to cut through a thigh, bone and all. That is not the real power of it though. That is not the reason why I spent years preparing and forging it."
The "Lord" paused in his explanation and drew something out of his coat. Muttering something over it, he threw it at the ground. A large log appeared in front of him..
"A log." he paused to draw out a dagger. Asvora could see the light of the moon shine off it. "Now see, a regular dagger. Absolutely devoid of any and all magic." He knelt down and sliced at the log with such power that if he had held an axe, it would have cut it through. All that sounded though was a slight thunk. "It is useless. No regular dagger could cut through a log in a single stroke, agreed?." He didn't wait for an answer, for he took back the Dagger that lay in Haslett's hand, knelt down beside the log and carefully started to cut it. With placing minimum pressure on the dagger, it cut as easily as though the log was butter. That was odd, but not quite as odd as what happened to the log.
When the blade first started to cut, at the first touch the log started to shrink.. With every inch the blade sliced through, the log grew smaller. So it shrank until it was nothing but a twig, and hidden from her sight.
The man chuckled darkly as he bent down to grab the once-whole twig. Now split in two pieces he held them close to the boy's eyes, as if Haslett was nearly blind.
"Do you see it, boy? The wood is seared, as if a flame touched it." His voice had been rising, but suddenly it dropped back down to his normal tone. "That isn't what is important though. What is the fact that it cut off the flow of magic through the wood. The log had been nothing but a twig until I made it become large. The magic that made it so flowed throughout the twig, keeping it from reverting back to its normal size. Yet, this Dagger stopped the flow. It seared the veins of magic!" the man's voice was arrogant and by the end of the explanation, extremely enthusiatic. Dangerously so.
Wild eyes looked up at the moon again, and for a moment, it seemed that he would howl at it.
The man is utterly mad.
Disgusted beyond what she ever thought possible at this betrayal, as well as the insanity of the British wizard, Asvora carefully started to back away. Silence filled her ears until she was just in hearing range of the voices in the clearing.
"Do it tonight boy. In the morning it will be too late."
Asvora froze in midstep, her mind blank. Tonight? Skyshadow...
She turned to head towards the camp, when she paused again. No. The knife he held in his hand would be fatal to the shaman and herself. She could flee, but honor held her to try to save the shaman. Skyshadow had saved her, so perhaps now she could repay her debt to the shaman. Would repay her debt.
She turned again, for the final time, towards the way that Haslett would most likely run, when a scream in the direction of she was about to head sounded. A piercing scream, one that sounded from the throat of a young man. It wavered in the air, like a bird struggling in the air, before slowly sinking into silence. Asvora's heart beat furiously, fear freezing the blood in her veins. What had happened to Haslett?
A bush moved in front of her, and Asvora bit her lip hard to keep the scream that threatened to echo through the forest in her throat. She stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over her own feet in her fright as a bloodstained wolf's muzzle poked through the shrubs.
"You are lucky that Freya discarded you. It would have proven interesting to see how a boar and some cats would have handled the situation that presented itself.. Don't you think so, Geri?"
"Yes, Freki...Most interesting."
The second wolf, Geri, trotted out of the bushes, approaching the valkyrie till it was a few inches away from her. A Dagger lay within its jaws.
"Take this Dagger, girl. It has a foul taste around it."
Asvora obeyed, herself too numb with fright to do anything else. With the Dagger out of it mouth, the Wolf shook its head furiously, as if trying to shake the taste out.
"Absolutely disgusting."
"Oh cheer up, Geri. Its nothing a good leg of deer can't cure."
"I suppose you are right, Freki," the wolf's amber eyes focused back on Asvora for the last time, "Hurry girl. We helped you once. Don't expect us to help you again."
"Unless Odin bids it so."
"...Yes...unless One-Eyed Odin bids it so."
With that as their farewell, Odin's pets, the wolves, Freki and Geri left her.
It took a moment for Asvora to collect her senses about her. Her life had taken a second sudden twist with her gods, a second twist that she had been unprepared for. As if sensing the valkyrie's numbness to the world around her the Dagger flashed in a beam of moonlight, awakening Asvora out of her slumber of shock. Shaking her head to shed the last cloudy thoughts, she leapt into a run, heading towards her camp.
When she neared the spot where the camp was, she bit her lip again. The fire was dying down, the light it given off only slightly brighter then the light of the moon. To a careless eye, it might to be the same amount of light. Her ears picked up no noise, which frightened her. The shaman usually muttered quietly in her sleep, and it was too late to do much else except sleep. Asvora took a deep breath to help steady herself, then walked into the clearing.
For a moment she feared that she would now have to find the way back to Midgard by herself. The place where she had last seen the shaman was barren, as was the area close to the fire. They must have come to take Skyshadow right after the Wolves took the Dagger from Haslett. Her lip was too swollen to bite down on it again, and pain laced through her when she did. She didn't want to be alone again. Not again. Not now...
"Snap out of it, girl. Hurry up, we need to go."
Asvora blinked and looked in the direction of the voice. On top of the dirty Grey pony, sat the small old kobold, dark eyes piercing the darkness easily. The shaman held out the rope that made sure the stallion did not wander, to Asvora impatiently.
Asvora shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had wanted to talk to the shaman about what had happened that night, wanted to show the shaman the Dagger, to ask her advice, but now she supposed was not the time. Danger was creeping up on them from all sides, though they did not know it.
Grabbing the reins quickly, Asvora leapt onto the stallion's back, stuffing the Dagger into one of the bags.
"Which way do we head?" The valkyrie questioned Skyshadow, tightly pulling on the reins to keep the stallion at an unsteady halt.
"The way where we were always heading. To the North." Skyshadow whispered, glancing around the empty campsite nervously. It was too quiet, even for this time of night.
"...We go now!" she hissed loudly to Asvora, kicking the pony, who snorted indignantly before breaking into a bumpy trot. The shaman kicked it again, hard, sending it into a gallop. At the sight of his small equine companion taking off, the stallion took his head abruptly, tearing the reins out of Asvora's hand, and took off into the forest.
The men in the bushes watched them go.
"Do we pursue?"
"We will not pursue. We will follow."
The leader looked at the trail left by the galloping horses, listened to the sounds of their pounding hooves, smelled the scent of their passing. It would be an easy trail to follow.
***
She smiled to herself as her mouth closed and her voice became silent. Asvora has done much fleeing from the British. Such was the bond between the bard and the valkyrie. Still smiling to herself, she tucked the lyre away, into her cloak. Life was beginning to stir around her once more, but she didn't notice any of it, so when large Norseman approached her, he caught her by surprise.
"I don't often hear a voice like that." spoke the tall, man, a warrior by the sword on his back. His light blue eyes were sharp, as if trying to pierce the darkness of her hood. Not wanting to start an argument, she kept her head bowed, yet not so much that she could not see the man's moves.
"I will take that as a compliment, strong warrior."
"It is not meant to be a compliment. The last time I heard a voice like that was in the skirmish with Hibernia. From her bards," He paused a moment, crossing his arms, before jutting his chin towards the lump in her cloak that was the lyre. "The harp that you use is not Nordic made. Probably not even Midgardian made. The wood is from a tree that I saw only in the Land of the Celts."
"That is because I found it in the arms of a dead elf." It was not a lie, yet nor was it a truth.
The warrior had no answer to this statement. It was very possible that she spoke the truth. But...
"Why is it that you use an instrument from Hibernia. Do you think that the ones from Midgard are to poor to use?"
"Great warrior, I am but a poor skald. I take only enough money for me to eat and sleep by. I take no money to buy a new harp. It is by the gods' will that I have this instrument, else I would have none." she replied calmly.
This exchange had attracted a lot of attention, and now most of the occupants eyes were focused on the two. It made the warrior nervous. Not wanting to disagree with the gods, or start a tavern brawl, her nodded his head in obvious farewell, breaking off the exchange quickly.
"I would advise you to watch your back, skald. I do not trust you , no matter how great of words you weave." He whispered to the bard, in a voice only she could hear and understand. She said nothing in return, and made no movement that would have acknowledged the warning.
Instead, she stood up, and walked out of the tavern, her back straight and confident.
Blue eyes stared after her, their look having the sharpness of daggers.