Halvard's sword flashed as he raised it and drove it into the chest of the man who only seconds before had tried to kill him. Wulfric slipped from the man's back as Halvard kicked him to the ground. All around the clearing, other warriors of Rovngalad were jumping up from sleep and seizing their swords and spears. Torvald barked a command, and Branna flew from the tree she had been roosting in, fire blossoming along her wings and illuminating the pandemonium below. Halvard checked to see if Wulfric was unharmed before kicking a spear to him. "Protect my nephew." And with that, he was gone, running into the fray.
Wulfric raced to Svein and Talvar's side. The boy had his sword in hand, crudely lashing out at any of the masked warriors who drew close, though none got close enough for him to strike out at. The only one who did was immediately set upon by Talvar. A Banette emerged shrieking from the trees and tackled Talvar to the ground, freeing the man the Houndour had pinned. An Ariados skittered towards them, but Wulfric jabbed at it with his spear, driving the insect away. Branna, Chatot and the other Rovngalad air aligned were battling fiercely against a flock of Murkrow and a Haunter.
A warrior with two Bisharp charged at Torvald, but Torvald held his ground. Skerast had wrapped around his arms, and Torvald held one blade loosely in each hand. Wulfric had been told Torvald was the finest warrior in the north ever since he had been kidnapped, but he had never seen Torvald truly fight. He now saw that the title was not merely empty boasting. With a roar, Torvald engaged his attacker, whirling with Skerast in a complicated pattern of blows. He seemed to be surrounded by a shifting curtain of steel, hitting everywhere at once. Steel rang against steel as he parried both of the Bisharp and sent one sprawling with a quick riposte. One of Skerast's blades began to glow, and he ripped clear through the spine of the second. Then, without losing any momentum, he turned on his heel and hacked off the man's head with a heavy blow that Torvald made seem almost nonchalant. His face was spattered with blood, but Torvald paid it no mind, simply stalking through the chaos to find another foe.
Halvard was mounted on Steinarr's back, hacking away with sword and axe. The Gogoat charged around the edge of the clearing, tossing foes with his horns. The men of Rovngalad knew to stay within the perimeter Halvard had set to avoid being caught beneath Steinarr's thundering hooves. A Machoke bellowed as it jumped in Halvard's path, seizing Steinarr's horns. Halvard brought up his axe and lopped one of the hands off, changing the bellow into a strangled roar of pain and surprise. Steinarr disengaged with a toss of his head, and Skaldi screamed as he brought his axe down again and again on the war aligned's back, not stopping until the massive Machoke lay still in a spreading puddle of blood.
Wulfric kept Svein close, using the reach of his spear to try and drive attackers away. After the initial attack, the men of Rovngalad had turned it into a rout and were driving most of their assailants back. Most of the masked assassins were now trying to retreat, and those that weren't had more pressing concerns than a scrawny monk and a boy. The battle-maddened pokemon of both sides crashed around, sparing little thought for friend or foe. Wulfric seized Svein by the collar and dragged him away as Ivarr's Beartic hurled down a foe's Pangoro right where they had been standing. The ice aligned fell on the prone dark aligned again and clamped his heavy jaws down on the Pangoro's throat.
"Thanks," Svein said, more than a little shaken. He batted away a swooping Fletchinder with his small round shield. The air aligned spiraled off, flying lopsided.
When all of the mysterious assailants had retreated or been killed, the energy of the warriors evaporated. Halvard stumbled over to where Svein and Wulfric stood in mute shock. Dismas fluttered down, and Wulfric tossed his spear aside to take the Chatot into his arms. Halvard knelt before Svein and took the boy's face in his callused and bloody hands. "Are you all right? You aren't hurt?" When Svein assured him that he was fine, Halvard clasped him in a brief embrace and turned to Wulfric. "You saved my life."
"It is my duty to serve you."
"Nonetheless," Halvard said. "You showed true courage, acting as you did. I don't know how many of my men would have done the same. I won't forget this."
Wulfric did not get the chance to reply. A keening wail split the night air, and the three of them turned to see Ulfi on his knees, clutching something to his chest. When Halvard crouched next to him, Ulfi held out his arms. "Look what they did. Look what they did to my boy." Someone had cut Odmund's throat, a gaping red line beneath his chin. A bruise on the side of his face suggested he had been bludgeoned with the blunt end of an axe, and a red stain had spread on his tunic from another wound on his chest. Svein let out a strangled cry and Wulfric buried the boy's face in his chest, trying to spare him the sight. Halvard put a hand on Ulfi's shoulder in mute sympathy.
Aside from Odmund, there were two other Rovngalad casualties. They were older men, veteran fighters with little to speak of in terms of family. They had fallen bravely, and while their passing was mourned, they had died the way they wished. But Odmund had just been a boy, with a whole lifetime ahead of him. Ulfi would not leave the corpse, and wept bitterly. Ivarr sat with him and helped Skaldi recite the prayers to send Odmund's soul to the cold halls of the Bringer of Death.
When the rites were completed, Halvard returned to Ulfi's side and touched a finger to the ring on Odmund's arm. He whispered something into Ulfi's ear, and the boat builder nodded. "Odmund would have been honored," Ulfi managed to say.
Halvard slipped the ring from the dead boy's arm and went to Wulfric's side. He held out the bloodied ring. "Take it."
"What?"
"It's yours now. Take it."
"But that would mean—"
"It means you're free. It means you're a man of Rovngalad. I don't need a thrall. I need a good man like you to stand by me." He shook the ring insistently. "Take it, Wulfric." Wulfric slid the bangle onto his wrist, and Halvard jerked his head towards Yeavenguut. "Now come with me."
They were joined by Torvald at the edge of the clearing, and the jarl nodded brusquely to his bloodied brother. The two of them fell into step beside each other, and Wulfric had to hasten his steps to keep up. "So what's our next move?" Torvald growled, adjusting his grip on Skerast's hilts.
Halvard clicked his tongue at Steinarr and ran a hand through the grass aligned's bushy mane. "That's on the Usurper now. Do you have what I told you to bring?" Torvald mutely held up a dark sack, and Halvard pressed his lips into a grim smile.
They came upon the closed gates of Yeavenguut, and Halvard pounded on the thick slabs of wood and iron Minutes passed with no response, and the jarl's hand was turning raw from the repeated knocking. Finally, the door creaked open slightly, and a sleepy-looking porter peeked around. Torvald shoved the door open, knocking the man on his rear. "Get the king," Halvard snapped. "Tell him that I and my men were just attacked."
"Jarl Halvard, King Ingmar is sleeping now and—"
The porter broke off when Torvald leveled one of his blades at his throat. "The king. Now." The poor man nodded and hurried off into the city proper.
When he was out of sight, Halvard sighed and pressed his forehead against Steinarr's. "I'm so tired, my friend. Why won't the gods just let me rest?" Steinarr rumbled low in his throat and licked Halvard's chin.
The porter returned with Ingmar, the priest in red robes, and an honor guard. Ingmar tried unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Jarl Halvard, why are you terrorizing my porter at this time of night?"
"A better question is why your men were terrorizing our camp!" Torvald snapped.
"What are you talking about?" Ingmar shot back. "Why are you covered in blood?"
"We've been sending your treacherous warriors back to the Cold Halls where they belong," Torvald said. "And may they rot in the deepest, darkest pits the Bringer of Death can find."
"I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about."
Torvald upended the sack he carried in his left hand, and a ball rolled out of it, stopping at Ingmar's feet. The red priest picked it up and showed it to the king, careful to hold it so as not to stain his robes. When the priest raised it up to one of the torches, Wulfric saw that it was the severed head of Trygi and nearly vomited. Ingmar studied the head of his retainer dispassionately and shrugged. "Trygi acted on his own accord. I had no knowledge of any raid he planned against you. Had you left him alive, I would have had him tortured, but you spared me the trouble."
The look that passed between Halvard and Torvald made it clear that they thought Ingmar was lying through his teeth, but lacking any solid proof, they could do no more. Ingmar knew it too, and he allowed a smirk to crack his carefully blank visage. "Jarl Halvard, you ought to take your southern thrall back to camp. He looks quite ill."
"My southerner is no thrall," Halvard said. He reached out and seized Wulfric's arm, raising it to the torchlight so that all could see the ring there. "He is a man of Rovngalad."
Ingmar made no move to mask his distaste. "You must truly be desperate to try and swell your ranks with southern priests."
"I lost three fine warriors tonight," Halvard said. "One of them was a boy who swore an oath of loyalty to you just hours ago. Trygi died with his blood on his hands."
"What northman doesn't have blood on his hands? Between the two of us and your brother, we have more than most. What does a little more matter one way or the other?"
Halvard narrowed his eyes. "My men will be leaving on the morning tide. We swore our oaths to you, and I have no more patience for your mummer's show of a festival. You can try to stop us if you choose, and we can see if those southern towers of yours really can stop the men of Rovngalad."
"It would seem to me, Jarl Halvard, that one of your men has not sworn an oath to me." He glanced down at Wulfric's arm ring and smiled.
Halvard placed a protective hand on Wulfric's shoulder. "The time for that rite has come and gone. Wulfric is my man for the next year, and he will swear to you at your next feast, as is customary."
Ingmar glanced at Agmundr, and the red priest spread his hands. "He is not wrong."
Ingmar huffed out a breath. "So be it. Leave this place, Halvard Sigurdsson."
"With pleasure." Halvard mounted up on Steinarr's back and rode through the gate. Torvald paused just long enough to spit at Ingmar's feet before turning on his heel and gesturing for Wulfric to follow him. Together they disappeared into the shadows of the forest.
The rigging creaked as the longships tacked towards the mouth of Rovngalad's fjord. Uthald kept pace with the lead longship, the sunlight glittering on his sapphire-blue and golden scales. The sea wind blew Wulfric's hair back from his face, and on his shoulder Dismas ruffled his feathers. The monk idly toyed with the ring on his arm, still unused to the weight of the bangle. He watched Halvard slowly rise from his place atop Uthald's crowned head and settle his stance as they passed the spars of land that marked the entrance to the fjord.
The rowers guided the longships to the wharf, where the women, children and infirm of Rovngalad waited to meet them. Skaldi jumped from his boat as soon as they reached the shallows, holding aloft the severed heads of three of the night assailants. His Breloom leapt after him, and together they splashed onto the shore.
Torvald stepped lightly onto the dock and swept Runa up in a hug, carrying her off into the village proper after a brief nod to Ragnhildr. Svein raced to his mother and embraced her, babbling excitedly about the chaos of the nighttime attack. Ragnhildr mussed her son's hair and sent him after his uncle, promising to listen to his full accounting later. Wulfric hung back to help Ulfi lift Odmund's body, now wrapped in a burial shroud, from the belly of the boat. Odmund's Timburr limped along next to the boat builder, looking just as shocked and confused as the boy's father.
Odmund absently patted Wulfric's shoulder, muttered "Thanks" and continued on his way towards his house on the shoreline. Wulfric looked for Halvard and finally saw him making his way up towards one of the game paths that lined the hills around the village. Halvard generally walked those trails when he wanted solitude to think, but Wulfric wondered if he ought to go after him. When he tried to move off the dock, Ragnhildr stopped him.
"Torvald sent word about what happened home with Branna," she said.
"Yes."
"So I know what my brother has done for you." She glanced down at his arm.
"I… yes. I suppose I'm one of you now."
Ragnhildr's lips twitched up in something approaching a smile. "Yes, I suppose you are. It is not undeserved." She wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him close. "You saved my brother's life and protected my son. I cannot thank you enough." She abruptly pulled away. "You are more than welcome to remain in our hall, until such a time you wish to move into one of your own."
"Ragnhildr, thank you. That is…"
"The least the children of Sigurd can do to show our gratitude. Now follow me if you want your dinner before it gets cold."