"The Ulfen people are some of the finest traders on Golarion. If they stopped wasting effort on raiding and in-fighting they'd be as great as Absalom…so, Abadar willing, they will never stop." - Anonymous Absalomian trader
--=--
Unknown Time
Unknown Location
The Ancalagon Throne gleamed in harsh, artificial light. The chamber it sat in was not nearly as large as one might expect a throne room to be. There was only enough room for a few people to stand before the Throne. This was intentional. Power was not about grandiose displays or massive halls to overawe the viewer. Power was to look one's lessers in the eye, speak to them, and know one's will would be done, no matter what. It was to allow anyone to stand close to the individual at the heart of rule, to have their leader easily within the thrust of a spear or stroke of a blade, but for the thought of betrayal to never even enter their mind for fear and loyalty.
Power. It was everything to Koilnyr. Yet, it seemed to slip further from his grasp with each passing day.
Koilnyr, as was the case with many dragons, actually enjoyed spending a lot of time in a smaller form. He chose that of a blue-scaled dragonborn, though a full foot taller than the natural born of that race (if, indeed, one could call their creation natural). Koilnyr's sleek, segmented, full-body armor was matte bronze metal known as glaurung, a truly one of a kind suit. There were no weapons near to hand, but Koilnyr did not need them.
The door to the throne room slid open. A tall, badly scarred human woman with deep green hair came tromping in, fury in her pale face, viridian fire in her eyes. Quietly, Koilnyr wished Vesperex's defensive spell had failed entirely and that she had been consumed in the explosion that had claimed her warriors.
"You summoned me, Your Power." Vesperex said with unconcealed shame and rage as she dropped to a knee.
Prime Koilnyr Holds-the-Stars-In-His-Claws leaned forward on his throne to glare at Vesperex. The green dragon's eyes were locked on his boots.
"Don't act like you didn't expect it." Koilnyr growled.
Vesperex's lip curled in a sneer. "I should be back on Golarion pursuing our agenda and…"
"An entire StasShip lost." Koilnyr interrupted her. "Five-hundred dragonborn. To say nothing of those already awakened that you got killed. And all the work of only four people?"
"They were…unexpectedly strong. Exceptional among their kind, not the norm." Vesperex retorted quietly.
Koilnyr's hand slammed against the arm of his throne. "Over five-hundred lost! To four! And they all escaped!" The Prime felt spittle flying from his lips but did not care. His anger was almost to the point of transcendence.
"The forge-wombs will replace them." Vesperex argued, daring to raise her eyes.
Koilnyr backhanded his subordinate, laying her out flat upon the floor. "Not quickly! Not efficiently! It will be a net loss and you know it!" The Prime had to stop himself from rising up and killing her on the spot. "How much longer do you think we can sustain our efforts on the recycled bodies of our fallen, hm? Do you want the Ancalagon Imperium to die a stillbirth?!"
Vesperex coughed, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. "No, Your Power."
Koilnyr did not elaborate aloud further. Of course, Vesperex knew. She knew that the forge-wombs needed fresh, sustainable fuel. What was done was done. Now, they could only move forward.
"The silver lining, I suppose, is we have learned early on that our enemy is stronger than anticipated." Koilnyr mused, mostly to himself, as he leaned back in his throne. "We will have to change our tactics. The draconic presence on Golarion is strong. It seems Apsu and Dahak were generous in their bounty here. Dispatch emissaries. I want every draconic creature that will join us brought on side."
"It will dilute the power of the Imperium's aristocracy." Vesperex said, though much more careful with her tone now.
"A bit, yes. But that is preferable to failure." Koilnyr reasoned. "I want it done. I would have every child of Dahak that would join us abroad on Golarion, wreaking whatever havoc they can."
"It will take time to find and rouse them to action." Vesperex warned.
"Then we had best get to it." Koilnyr commanded, waving a dismissive hand.
Vesperex left the throne room, leaving Koilnyr to ponder by himself. They were in a precarious point of transition; free from the Masters' yoke, but nowhere close enough to understanding the Masters' magic and technology. They needed time. Stability. Living fuel. All those things could be found on Golarion.
"Any who stand in our way will be ground to blood and dust." Koilnyr growled to himself. "Golarion is only the beginning."
--=--
10th Arodus, 4721 AR
Vylkavik, Lands of the Linnorm Kings
The royalty of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings were comparable to lesser nobles of more centralized nations. The average Linnorm King was based out of a settlement of decent size, a large town or small city, controlling the immediately surrounding lands. Some might have subordinate Kings or networks of alliances. None had ever risen to rule the whole of the Lands. Anytime one King grew too powerful, they would be overwhelmed by those they could not subjugate.
Vylkavik was an impressive town, not at all a hardscrabble holdfast full of uncouth, dirty barbarians. Its main avenues were paved, its buildings crafted with stone foundations. Many structures had artful, runic carvings along their eaves, some of them ending in the carven heads of dragons, wolves, or bears. The people themselves were clad in garments of wool, leather, and hides. As expected, the vast majority were Ulfen humans, pale of skin, hair, and eye, but the darker heads of Kellids and Varisians could be seen here and there.
In short, Vylkavik was a remarkably normal place, as such things went. There were merchants calling out about their wares, taverns and inns handling the breakfast crowd, and guards keeping watch over the streets. Of course, the reputation of Ulfen raiders did not come from nowhere. Many of these people would be leaving other occupations behind to go ranging out onto the seas in longships on the hunt for plunder before autumn brought ice to the north.
Tem's group drew eyes as they always did, but no one stopped them as they rode for the center of town. Ahead, looming on a hill in the center of Vylkavik, was King Astrid's hall. It was behind a wooden stockade wall, with towers manned by archers.
"Ah, Cayden bless me, I can taste the mead already." Dhrak said happily as they rode through the city. "I'm gonna sample all Vylkavik has to offer tonight." The duel against Serytal had left a rather rugged looking scar across his face.
"At least you're small enough to easily carry back to bed after you've passed out." Scaelia said with a sigh.
"Hah! Ain't no one can drink Dhrak Cailean-Aldori under the table!" The goblin assured her. "You can bet on it."
"What are the odds on that bet?" Asaf queried.
"If Halo is betting on it, we'll have to set things up so it really does look like Dhrak's telling the truth. I'll split the winnings with you." Scaelia said mischievously, winking to the goblin.
"I don't think Sarenrae would look kindly on such deception." Asaf turned his head to say to Scaelia.
"Deception? But I just said it right to you. No one's being deceived." Scaelia said, quietly cackling as if she'd just come up with the most devious plan on Golarion.
Temperance did not contribute to the conversation, but he did laugh through his nose at it.
There were guards on the ground watching the four adventurers as they rode through the stockade's gate, the newcomers were not challenged just yet. They stopped just inside. Astrid's mead hall was a mighty structure, a looming thing built around a section of the ribs and spine of some massive, primordial serpent. It was an incredible sight that seemed at odds with the mostly mundane settlement around them. Temperance was taken aback. What creature had left that behind?
"Those are the bones of Vylka l the Great Crag Linnorm." Said an Ulfen woman just inside the gate. Clearly, she was used to giving this explanation, and also relishing the shock of those who beheld it. "Vylka was slain by Balgruuf the Bold, first king of Vylkavik."
"It must have been incredible." Scaelia breathed, suddenly and furiously writing in one of her many journals. "How long ago was this?"
"Not long after Azlant sank beneath the waves and the Runelords went to their long slumber." The guard said. "You seek audience with King Astrid?"
"We do." Tem confirmed. "We have news of the fate of Arjyk Shield-Splitter."
The guard's eyes went wide in shock. "The Prow-Breaker? Really?"
"It's true." Asaf reinforced Tem's words.
"Gods above. Come. Her Highness will definitely want to hear this." The guard insisted, motioning for them to follow her, her mail hauberk clinking as she did.
The four adventurers dismounted and dismissed their horses, then followed the nameless guard beyond the palisade, up the slope to the front steps of King Astrid's mead hall. It was quiet, none of the expected shouting and carousing to be heard so early in the morning.
The front door led to a great chamber with two long rows of tables and benches running on either side of a large, smoldering hearth. The walls between the massive ribs were lined with the heads of beasts and monsters, trophies of past hunts and battles. There were only a few more guards in the hall, breaking their fast at one of the tables with porridge and honey.
Beyond the tables, up the stairs of a dais, sat a throne crafted from what must have been Vylka's fangs. Beside the throne of fangs was a smaller one made of wood. In the wooden throne sat a bored looking half-orc woman that appeared to be in her early twenties. She wore a hide vest that showed off arms of rippling muscle that were ringed with torcs of gold and silver. Her dark hair trailed down to her neck on the left side of her face, but was shorn down to her slate green skin on the right. The half-orc's eyes narrowed as Temperance and his companions approached the fang throne.
Sitting in the fang throne was, without a doubt, the most imposing woman Tem had ever seen. Had she been standing, she would have been almost as tall as Temperance, but it was her bearing, not her stature, that gave her menace. The woman who had to be King Astrid had pale green eyes. Hair that had once been entirely crow black was blending with grey now. A hauberk of adamantine chainmail and a cloak of vivid yellow linnorm scales guarded the King of Vylkavik. Her hand rested on the haft of a hefty warhammer that sat beside her throne.
Astrid's strong jaw rested on her other fist as the guard leading the party intoned, "you stand before Astrid Sigrunssdottir, King of Vylkavik, Wave-Jarl, Gold-Giver, Dragon-Reaver, and many more. Pay homage and be welcome, so long as you come in peace."
Temperance took a knee, as did his companions. "I thank you, my King, for giving us this audience."
"I would ask why you come to my hall", Astrid began in a deep voice, "but I know what it is that rests on your back, warrior. You are a bold one, indeed, to carry Blackbole in here."
The warriors eating their breakfast paused, all looking up at Temperance now. They must have been some of her huscarls.
Astrid went on, leaning forward on her throne. "Tell me who you are, stranger, and why I shouldn't have you cut down for claiming a relic from the grave of one of our finest."
Temperance bristled at the implication. It impugned not just Tem himself, but Arjyk's memory, too, for it denied the truth of the Shield-Splitter's valiant end.
"You lot might wanna be rethinkin' that", Dhrak warned the huscarls, who were taking up weapons. "Methinks you don't wanna have a show of Aldori steel."
"Perhaps don't threaten them…", Asaf suggested quietly.
"Enough." Temperance raised his voice, then addressing Astrid directly. "My King, I am Temperance Hallow-Horn, Crimson Templar, and if you'll allow me the chance to explain, I'll tell you how I came to possess this shield, and why we came to Vylkavik in the first place."
"He'll lie." The half-orc grunted.
That did it. Ragathiel's fire started flickering around Tem's profile, simmering in his eyes. He kept the wings from sprouting, but it was a near thing. All the same, the huscarls clearly did not like it. It was Tem staying in place and not going for any weapons that probably kept them from attacking.
"If I lie, then may the General of Vengeance forsake me." Temperance intoned.
Astrid's stern face actually turned to a slight grin now. "Heh, now that's not something you see every day. And not an oath made lightly. You'll have to forgive my daughter. There is pugnacity in her thought-cage and it flows easily to her tongue." Astrid leaned back in her throne. "Shield-Splitter was one of the only huscarls of King Sveln that was worth anything. Very well, Sir Temperance. Tell your tale."
Temperance did so, the flames dying as he began explaining the end of Arjyk Biorrsson. He introduced his companions as well, using their titles rather than their surnames as befitted their surroundings. He had to make one up for Dhrak on the fly, going with Quicksilver. The goblin seemed to like it, puffing out his chest a little.
When he reached the end of his story, Temperance concluded, "I apologize for any tension our arrival may have caused, my King. I only wanted to fulfill my oath to Arjyk." He produced Foebiter and Arjyk's seax, offering them to the guard that had led them in, who accepted the weapons.
Astrid let out a long breath. The King of Vylkavik looked every bit the sullen warrior-king of Gorumite legends, soon to be described having "gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth."
"The ice wyrms stir before the turning of the seasons, sahuagin harry our ships in the open sea, King Ylva begs for aid in her war against Ornagard, and now I'm brought news of a man we all assumed lost." Astrid mused, seemingly to herself. "I'd like to meet whoever cursed me to live in interesting times and flatten their skull with Drakebreaker." She thunked her hammer against the dais for emphasis. "You've done us a service, to come here and bring us this message. It speaks of your honor."
"And your prowess in battle. I would not duel the Shield-Splitter lightly, even if he was withered by undeath." The half-orc commented, but there was not as much praise in her voice as one might expect. Rather, there was a challenge there. Tem would accept it if it was put out there, but he would prefer to leave without violence.
"Urka speaks truly", Astrid said. "The descendants of Arjyk Shield-Splitter no longer live in Vylkavik, but you have my word that I'll ensure these belongings reach them in Ornagard."
"Thank you. I've fulfilled my oath. That's all I wanted." Temperance repeated. "We'll avail ourselves to Vylkavik's hospitality for the evening and head south aboard ship tomorrow, if anyone is going that way."
"There will be room aboard at least one longship, I'm sure." Astrid said. She rubbed her chin. "Before you go, I must ask. Where are you from, Sir Temperance?"
Tem blinked at the question. "I'm from nowhere and everywhere, my King." A fairly universal nomadic Varisian answer.
"Fair, but which clan?" Astrid asked further. There was a strange insistence in her voice that she was doing a poor job of hiding. The half-orc beside her looked just as confused as Tem felt.
Not seeing any reason to lie, Temperance said, "well, my King, if you must know, I was raised by…"
"Dragon! My King, a dragon!" A thin man in disheveled farmer's garments cried as he half ran, half stumbled into the mead hall. There were others, guards and citizens alike, crowding the door, a susurrus of hurried conversation hovering around them.
Astrid rose from her throne. "You are…Storr Styrsson, yes? From one of the northern steadings."
The newcomer hurried forward, falling to his knees in exhaustion and supplication before the dais, his rapid progress arrested by two huscarls. "Yes, my King. An elder white wyrm emerged from the northern fjord between our lands and King Drengr's. My steading…my crops…all encased beneath ice!"
"An elder white wyrm. You truly say it's an elder wyrm?" Astrid asked pointedly. Tem did not know what classification of dragon an "elder wyrm" was, or if it was just some local parlance for a large dragon.
Storr nodded frantically, "I swear it by Pulura's lights. Must've been twice as big as my bloody house! I beg you, my King, please help me and slay this beast…"
Astrid asked no further details. "Get this man some food and mead. You've done well to bring me this news, son of Styr. No one under the protection of Astrid Dragon-Reaver will need to fear the bite of a fell wyrm. Urka. Muster my huscarls. All of them. Call the militia to readiness."
"Yes, mother." The half-orc, Urka, responded, getting to her feet. "You heard the King! Get to it!"
The mead hall exploded into fast but controlled motion. Astrid took up Drakebreaker and descended the dais beside Urka.
"Hallow-Horn. Worldwalker. Deepsun. Quicksilver", she addressed each of them in turn. "The Lord in Iron speaks through opportunities such as these. Ride with us against this beast and you will not go unrewarded."
Tem looked to his friends, not wanting to speak for them.
"You already know my answer, mate." Dhrak said, grinning broadly.
Asaf smirked. "I have a bit of a vendetta against dragons at the moment. Count me in."
"I guess that means I need to come or Halo's going to end up as a weird looking icicle." Scaelia said.
"I would be an excellent icicle, thank you. The very example of one, even." Asaf retorted.
As they bickered, Temperance said to Astrid. "You have your answer. We will ride."
"Good." Astrid grinned fiercely. "Then let's waste no more time."
--=--
Astrid could call just over one-hundred huscarls to her banner. No Linnorm King could support the standing armies of the larger nations to the south, instead keeping relatively few elite warriors attached to the household. Most of their strength would be filled out by militia fighters from among the populace in times of war, many of whom would still have combat experience from joining raider crews and the smaller wars between Kings. Other than the huscarls, Astrid had also gathered a score of hunters and rangers.
The small army rode out from Vylkavik's gates before the sun was at its noonday zenith. Astrid and her people rode sturdy draft horses or smaller riding ponies, beasts made for work and travel, not war. The huscarls all carried spears and shields, most having axes to fall back on, though some carried swords. Urka had a large, two-handed bearded axe across her back, the blade of which was engraved with a face in profile, the curve from forehead to nose to chin following the curve of the blade. The face's braided beard trailed down the beard of the blade.
Astrid had Oath and Khamsa riding up with her and Urka. The half-orc seemed to be the leader of Astrid's huscarls. It would not be nepotism. Urka would have fought to claim and keep that honor, a King's daughter or not.
"Your axe. Who is that on the face?" Tem asked Urka.
The half-orc clearly relished getting to tell someone new. "That is the face of Gundurjorn the storm giant. After I slew him and broke my old axe upon his skull, it was in his blood that my new axeblade was quenched. Ah, a fight for the ages. You'll have to hear the song of it in the mead hall tonight after we win." Again, a challenge in her voice. And you'd better have some songs of your own to outdo mine. Tem had no songs. He was not ashamed of the fights he had been in. He was proud of many of them, truth be told, but none of them felt like something appropriate to be boasting about, let alone singing about. Bragging about the Crusade…it felt like bragging about giving a fortune away to charity, somehow.
"That is impressive. I hope I get to see your skill today." Tem said sincerely.
Urka seemed to not know how to take that and merely nodded in thanks.
"If I might ask, my King." Asaf said as they rode. "What precisely is a 'elder wyrm?'"
"You southlings would call it a great wyrm", Urka fielded the question in her gruff voice.
"There is only one elder wyrm roosting anywhere close to Vylkavik", Astrid continued the answer. "Ghordurath the Rime Lord, they call him. It's highly unlikely we ride to face the Rime Lord now. Storr was probably just hysteric. I expect it's a younger dragon or even an adult ice drake."
"And if we do face such a thing?" Scaelia asked.
"Then it will either be a deed worthy of song for years to come or, and this is more likely, a swift and painful end." Astrid said, not a hint of fear in her voice.
"Oh. Delightful." The drow breathed.
"We don't got a thing to worry about, my King. Know why?" Dhrak asked, his eyes twinkling even as his companions sighed.
"Why might that be?" Astrid asked him.
"Because we're heroes!" Dhrak replied triumphantly.
Astrid did not look any more assured.
Ancient dragons were some of the most powerful creatures on Golarion. Entire armies and bands of the mightiest heroes had fallen before such beasts. If that was what they were approaching now, they were all as good as dead. Temperance continued spurring Oath on all the same.
The column of riders thundered across the road that carved through the craggy, rough terrain of the Lands. Tem kept expecting to see smoke on the horizon, but white dragons breathed ice, not flame. He recalled Astrid mentioning that the beasts were stirring outside of their usual season. What might be causing it? Perhaps only due to the obvious association, Tem thought of Vesperex and her dragonborn warriors back in New Thassilon. It was possible the two events were linked. Without more information, it was useless to speculate, but it was certainly something Tem would be keeping in mind.
The farm in question was shrouded not in smoke, but in fog. The sun was up, the air above freezing, and so swathes of ice-coated wheat were slowly thawing. The road became muddy as the riders approached Storr's farmstead, which was dripping as if it had been soaked by rain.
"Does anyone else hear that?" Scaelia asked.
Astrid stopped in place, causing the entire column to follow suit. They all strained their ears.
Tem could hear it. It was a low droning sound. Their was a rhythm to it, somewhat, though Tem had no idea what it might be. It made him uneasy.
"It sounds like a talharpa." Astrid mused, spurring her horse on towards the sound. It was coming from the homestead.
The column rode up to the homestead, much more slowly and cautiously now. The strange sound, which was unmistakably music now, grew louder as they approached.
The source was a man sitting on a stool out in front of the steading's house. A nearby barn's doors had been smashed open, and there was a trail of blood leading out of it, slowly diminishing until it disappeared near the man on the stool. Insects and birds loudly went about eating what offal was left in there.
The man himself was quite pale, his hair white as frost. He wore nothing but a hide kilt and boots, his bare torso rippling with muscle as he dragged a horsehair bow across the four strings of a wooden string instrument.
The Vylkavikans kept their distance from the strange man, only Astrid and Urka coming within a stone's throw of him. Tem and his companions joined the King.
"I am King Astrid of Vylkavik." Astrid raised her voice to be heard over the music. "Tell me who you are."
The music stopped, leaving an eerie silence in its place.
"Just a…visitor." The man said, looking up. He looked up with solid white eyes. "A King visits me? I'm honored."
"You are on my lands and under a great deal of suspicion." Astrid said in a low, dangerous voice. "Don't think I don't know you for what you are."
"Your lands?" The man chortled, setting the talharpa aside. "Aaah, your foolish words bring such fond memories to my thought-cage. I remember a time when your kind didn't dare come so far north as this." He raised his face to Astrid, revealing pure white eyes. "I knew mortal arrogance would demand a response like this. Why go hunting when the prey just brought themselves to my table?"
Urka hurled her spear at once. The man did not move, the missile passing clean through him without leaving a mark. An illusion.
The man laughed, standing up from his stool. "King Astrid Dragon-Reaver, wielder of Drakebreaker", the man's smile was altogether too sharp. "I, Zekraniath, will put both those names to the test."
Several things occurred at once. Illusions over the barn and house both faded, revealing completely wrecked structures, the ruins of which were occupied by sinuous, coiled bodies. Zekraniath's illusion faded and the dragon himself lifted himself from behind a hill, first noticed by Scaelia, who cried out a warning and pointed at the white-scaled dragon. Zekraniath was about forty feet in length, lean and dangerous where Vesperex had been broad and imposing. He had fewer horns, the length of his spine instead being a series of overlapping, bony ridges. At the top of his neck, just behind his skull, were large, webbed frills.
The beasts in the ruined structures uncoiled themselves. Each was about half Zekraniah's size in length and even leaner. Their blue-white scales covered serpentine bodies that ended in a draconic torso, head, and forelimbs.
"Ice linnorms!" Asaf cried as he spurred Khamsa into action. Many of the Vylkavikans followed suit, spurring their horses onward. Well used to responding to beasts such as these in their unforgiving homeland, the huscarls and hunters put some space between each other to minimize the damage when their draconic foes inevitably…
Zekraniath's bony snout split open and a torrent of ice breath erupted from the dragon's maw. It traced a frostbitten line along the ground and flash froze a half-dozen huscarls and horses solid. The linnorm in the house, which was nearest to the column, lunged forward, biting a huscarl in half and swatting aside another.
"LOOK AT ME, GORUM!" Urka roared as she urged her horse onward towards the further linnorm, the one coming from the barn. The linnorm was slithering at the column at speed. Urka threw her spear, which deflected off the linnorm's scales, but the half-orc was already standing up in her saddle, jumping as the linnorm snapped forward and ripped Urka's horse apart. Urka's momentum carried her forward, her axe crackling with lightning as she landed on the linnorm's back. Blood sprayed, lightning arced across the linnorm's back, and the beast tried to coil its body to throw off its unwanted passenger.
CRUNCH
Astrid had ridden forward, wielding her hammer from the saddle, and crushing the linnorm's skull with a single blow as it tried to kill her daughter. There was no doubt in Tem's mind, though he had already suspected for obvious reasons, that Drakebreaker bore a powerful Dragonbane enchantment.
While Astrid and Urka slew that linnorm, the other was tearing its way through several more huscarls, being pelted with spears and arrows from all sides. Asaf was riding Khamsa around in tightly controlled circles about the beast, while Scaelia was putting arrow after divinely-glowing arrow into the beast. Temperance couldn't contribute much to killing the linnorm; charging in would just hinder the much safer method of termination that was already taking place. Instead, he looked back at Dhrak.
"Can you take the reins?" The tiefling asked, jerking Oath to one side Zekraniath made another pass, his ice breath killing several rangers who had been following him with longbow shots.
"Can I? Yeah. Will it end well? Probably not!" Dhrak replied.
"Guess we'll find out." Temperance said as crimson flame began streaming from his eyes. "Five-Winged Knight, stand with me!"
Tem leapt from the saddle, summoning his wings and soaring into the air, Forbearance trailing scarlet fire as he ascended. Zekraniath was going to be faster than him, but it wasn't about killing the dragon. It was about giving him something else to focus on while the people on the ground finished off the remaining linnorm.
Correction. Linnorms. Tem cursed as he saw a third, fourth, and fifth serpentine beast emerge from where they had been hiding beneath the water of a small river about a half-mile away. They were now joining the fight, the already committed huscarls unable to bring a concerted effort against them.
Except Khamsa was splitting off from the fray, riding beyond the steading to meet the linnorms, its riders looking awfully small compared to the beasts from up in the air.
Temperance turned his gaze as Zekraniath swooped near, roaring at the tiefling. Tem flew towards the dragon, bellowing his own war cry in defiance of the dragon.
Zekraniath unleashed a torrent of ice at Tem. The tiefling raised Blackbole, wishing the shield covered more of him, when all of a sudden small roots and branches sprang out from it, weaving together like knitted fingers, more than doubling the area of the shield's protection. The ice breath hit the shield and was stopped by this spontaneous growth. The branches retracted a moment later.
Temperance didn't have time to comment on Blackbole's unexpected feature as Zekraniath came close and slashed at him with a forelimb, forcing Tem to dart to one side. The tiefling managed to slash along the dragon's flank with Forbearance, eliciting a snarl of pain from Zekraniath. His triumph was short lived as he ducked one of the white dragon's back legs but failed to avoid Zekraniath's tail. Tem was clubbed in the back and jarred down to his bones, losing focus on his wings for a moment. He started to fall.
"Thorfinn!" The voice of Astrid called out from below.
Clearing the cobwebs, Temperance drew out his wings once again in a burst of fire.
"The General of Vengeance has marked you, sinner!" The Templar roared as he banked in the air and put himself on a direct course to intercept Zekraniath.
The dragon turned to face him again.
--=--
Asaf was rather surprised that Scaelia didn't voice a single complaint as the two of them went, by themselves, to face the three incoming linnorms while the Vylkavikans finished off the one that remained from the first two. He urged Khamsa onward, keeping his spear in hand. The horse's legs snapped and crunched through ice-brittle wheat as they bolted forward.
"I don't think we'll be able to dodge cold breath from all of them on the approach!" Asaf warned his passenger.
"Then let's not have to!" Scaelia responded, muttering a spell and launching an arrow. The arrow soared between the incoming linnorms, then burst like a flash of lightning. The three draconic beasts made enraged huffs and clicks as they were temporarily blinded. It allowed the two riders to pass between the center and right linnorms.
"Take the left!" Asaf commanded, turning right to launch a rapid fire series of scorching rays directly into the flank of one linnorm. Scaelia fired a single arrow into the linnorm on the left, but spoke a word of power as the arrow flew. When it struck home, the column of flame marking a flame strike spell descended on the linnorm. The air was quickly filled with the stink of charred flesh.
The two adventurers rode past the linnorms, Asaf guiding Khamsa to avoid the lashing tail of one. Scaelia turned in the saddle and fired backwards at her target, a move known as the Hongalan Shot. It might have seemed a simple thing, and a bow that spawned arrows certainly made it easier, but it was far from simple to turn around on a speeding horse, focus on the target, and still hit it. After putting a trio of arrows in the back and flank of her target, Scaelia made an amazing shot as the creature turned to unleash its breath on them. The arrow went into the linnorm's left eye all the way up to the fletching. The draconic beast became like a fish dropped on a dock, flopping violently in its death throes.
"Hah! Everlight be praised!" Scaelia declared.
"I do have to give you that one, I admit." Asaf said.
The linnorm Asaf had burned continued onward toward the main mass of the Vylkavikans, though with a noticeable tenderness to its half slithering, half ambling movement. Astrid's soldiers had finished off the linnorm they had been focusing on, and were turning on the newcomer, though Dhrak was leading the charge against the beast. Astrid and Urka were looking skyward, watching as Temperance took on an mature white dragon all by himself.
While Asaf and Scaelia wheeled around for another pass on the final linnorm, the scaly beast twisted in on itself and followed them. It was not an intelligent creature like a dragon, but possessed a low cunning, making as if to unleash its frost breath. Asaf jerked Khamsa to one side, realizing all too late he had been duped as a torrent of biting cold engulfed Scaelia, Khamsa, and him. Khamsa dematerialized, a silver horseshoe thudding to the ground alongside Asaf and Scaelia. The two adventurers hit the ground hard and rolled.
"Remind me to ride with Horns next time." Scaelia complained as she pushed herself up.
"If we survive, I'll be happy to." Asaf said. His entire body ached from the cold, and he could feel frostbite on his nose and ears. He had very little time to react as the linnorm sprang at him, its jaws wide.
Asaf took a long step back, thrusting with his spear as he did. It was a move only good for a charging opponent, for the backward move robbed the thrust of killing power. The linnorm ran its chin onto the spear blade, producing a spurt of sluggish purple blood, but the beast didn't seem too bothered by the wound. The spear stuck between the scales and the linnorm shook its head to get it out, sending Asaf flying. He collapsed the spear into bracelet form as to not accidentally impale himself, then landed heavily on the ground for the second time in the past few moments. Asaf's head slammed against the ground and sent a dizzying wave of nausea through him, a truly horrid pain exploding through his skull.
"Receive the Dawnflower's final mercy!" Asaf heard Scaelia cry. The aasimar unsteadily got up once more to see that Scaelia had drawn her scimitar. The linnorm slashed its claws at her, but she cut into the beast's palm with a blade glowing with Sarenrae's holy light. It slashed again, then snapped at her with its teeth, but Scaelia dodged both, her scimitar cutting across the linnorm's face for good measure.
The linnorm's wail was one of utter fury as its tail whipped around low, which Scaelia leapt over, but being in midair meant she could to little to dodge another swipe from the beast's clawed hand. The drow's silksteel armor could do little to stop such a sharp and powerful attack. She was thrown to the ground, bleeding badly, her scimitar flying from her hands.
She's dead. She's gone. A voice in the back of Asaf's mind told him. No one could survive a direct hit like that. Turn. Run. Get back to the huscarls. You won't help anyone if you perish here. He saw collapsing ruins in his mind's eye, looks of betrayal. Things his old bodyguard didn't know about. Things his old bodyguard didn't even ask about. Things Asaf had been able to avoid even thinking about until Temperance Tasgal came into his life…
"No." The aasimar breathed as his halo came into being around his head. He lifted his spear and readied a spell in his other hand. "Never again."
The linnorm coiled once again, its good hand on the ground as it eyed Asaf up.
Lightning sprang from Asaf's hand, searing across the linnorm's body. It made an unpredictable approach, slithering this way and that. Asaf cast another spell on himself. He jumped, magic augmenting the action as he soared over the linnorm, hurling firebolts into the monster's back as he flipped over it. Asaf landed in front of Scaelia, bringing up a shield as a torrent of icy breath washed over him.
"Hang on, Miss Scaelia. I know it would send you to the next life with a bad taste in your mouth if you were to perish before me." Asaf said to the drow, though he couldn't be sure if she heard him.
The shield dropped and Asaf faced down the linnorm. The beast was measuring him with a new glint in its eyes, now. Asaf had moved from prey to potential predator, but the linnorm would be here under Zekraniath's yoke. It could not flee. However, Asaf was not sure he could kill the linnorm by himself, not while still leaving himself magic for fighting Zekraniath. And there was Scaelia to consider. Asaf always had a healing potion in his bag of holding if he could help it, but he couldn't give it to the drow without the linnorm taking advantage.
That's when Asaf had an idea.
"Oh, merciful Sarenrae, gird me against my own brilliance." The aasimar sighed as the linnorm decided it didn't want to wait for the sting of another spell.
Asaf prepared his chosen spell, collapsing his spear to bracelet form and running at the linnorm. It swiped with a claw, which Asaf ducked under the claw, glancing up to see the linnorm was opening its mouth to eat him. As the fanged maw descended, Asaf used his enhanced jump to leap directly into the linnorm's mouth and down its throat. There was very little about being in the gullet of an ice linnorm that was pleasant, so Asaf didn't linger in there to better define the experience. Instead, he cast his prepared spell.
The aasimar grew, both in height and width. The linnorm made a choking sound that would have been comical if not for the fact that Asaf was the direct reason behind it. Flesh ripped and tore. More frigid breath shrouded Asaf and he cried out. Finally, there was a ghastly rending and an explosion of unpleasantly syrupy, violet ichor. Asaf found himself flopping to the ground for a third time, vomiting even as the enlarge person spell fell away. The spell wouldn't do him much good against Zekraniath, anyway.
Scrabbling across the grass away from the headless, twitching linnorm, Asaf got to Scaelia's side as quickly as he could, cradling the badly wounded drow and producing his healing potion with a shaking, numb hand. Thank the gods one didn't have to physically dig through a bag of holding to grasp the desired object, merely needing to think of it to have it in hand. Asaf pulled the cork with his teeth then poured it into Scaelia's mouth. Behind him, Asaf felt the ground shake as Zekraniath landed. There were screams among the huscarls.
"Everlight, please do not abandon your servant here." Asaf entreated the Dawnflower through chattering teeth. He could feel his grip on consciousness fading, the repeated exposures to extreme cold sapping away his strength. Around him, the wind was whipping up, the temperature dropping, snow beginning to fall. Asaf eventually folded to the ground, protectively curled around Scaelia. All he could do was hope he and Scaelia had done enough.
--=--
While Asaf and Scaelia did battle with "their" linnorm, Temperance realized his plan was reaching the end of its viability. He had managed to deal Zekraniath only a few minor wounds, but there was little hope that he'd be able to kill the dragon in aerial combat.
Just as Tem was trying to come up with a way to make Zekraniath land and be exposed to the Vylkavikans, his felt his limbs lock up as spectral chains wrapped him. Zekraniath had cast a hold person spell. It was easy to forget that dragons were inherently magical creatures capable of spellcasting beyond their other, more obvious dangers.
The end result was Temperance falling through the air, struggling and thrashing against the ghostly chains, trying to fix his course with only his wings. He managed to do so, to a degree, flaring out his wings and going into a glide before hitting the muddy earth of one of Storr's wheatfields. The chains shattered, his wings extinguished, and Tem rolled through the golden stalks. It was a jarring impact, but it could have been much worse.
Sticking Forbearance's blade in the ground and pushing himself up with it, Temperance looked back to the farmstead to see Zekraniath making a pass on King Astrid and her huscarls. Arrows and spears chased the dragon as it flew by, a few finding their mark, but none doing enough to actually bring the beast to the ground.
Tem ran for all he was worth to reach Astrid. The mud before the steading was churned up, made even more sodden by the blood of fallen warriors, slowly melting ice on flash frozen corpses, and the butchered corpses of the linnorms.
"Sweet barleybrew, that geat lizard's gonna pick us off and fly 'round free as can be!" Dhrak complained, watching as Zekraniath turned hard in the distance to come back around.
"Where's Halo and Scaelia?" Tem asked the goblin.
"Your friends felled one of the linnorms", Urka pointed with her axe. "But they have not returned to us."
Tem couldn't focus on the possibility of their deaths. He looked up at Zekraniath, watching as the dragon inclined the angle of its flight in anticipation to unleash another blast of freezing breath.
"Dhrak!" Tem exclaimed. "The ruin in New Thassilon!"
"What's that got to do with…?" The Swordlord started to ask, but then his beady red eyes went wide as he started to protest. "Oh, no, no you fuckin' don't, Tem, I ain't gonna let y-..."
Too late. Temperance picked Dhrak up, said, "go for the wings", and hurled the goblin into the air. A stream of swear words trailed behind Dhrak as he soared up and tried to grab hold of Zekraniath's scaly shoulder. His fingers couldn't find purchase and the Swordlord ended up tumbling backward down the dragon's body until he was able to jam his sword deep into Zekraniath's back, right near where the dragon's wing met his body.
This was finally an injury that Zekraniath couldn't ignore. The dragon roared, bellowing his displeasure and anger into an echo across King Astrid's lands. Zekraniath's wingbeats became irregular, visibly painful, as every flex of his muscles worked the blade deeper in and further along its ruddy, ragged course in the dragon's flesh. Dhrak, for his part, merely held onto his sword for dear life as Zekraniath, in a fit of rage, descended upon King Astrid and the warriors arrayed around her. As Zekraniath fell, he spat a hateful series of arcane syllables. Wind whipped around the battlefield, snow forming almost from nowhere.
Zekraniath came down, crushing a pair of huscarls, biting a third in twain, smashing a fourth with his tail with such force that the Ulfen warrior was hurled out of sight. The brewing blizzard closed in fully, obscuring sight. Tem felt like a candle against the full might of winter with the red flames of limning his body amid the gale. Even so, the flames were a reminder he very much needed.
"Ragathiel stands with me." The tiefling asserted to himself. The wind stole his voice even if he had wanted to be heard, so he went into the fray, barely able to hear the clash of steel and occasional scream over the howling gale.
A shape stood directly in front of Zekraniath, coming into view as Tem drew closer. It was Astrid, Drakebreaker in her grasp, standing defiantly before Zekraniath. She stood with Urka on the ground behind her. The half-orc's axe was gone from her hand. In fact, it was lodged in the meat of Zekraniath's left shoulder, sending jolts of lightning along the limb that caused the muscles around it to convulse. The huscarls tried to attack Zekraniath from the flanks, but the white dragon was using his inherent control over snow and ice to great effect. The huscarls were being buried in snow, walled up in ice, sliced by flying icicles. Zekraniath could not focus on each individual to make all these efforts lethal, but the effect was obvious; slay King Astrid, remove Drakebreaker from the equation, slaughter the rest, then…feast.
But there would be no feast for the dragon today. Not while Temperance Hallow-Horn still stood.
Astrid whipped Drakebreaker around and up toward Zekraniath's skull. The dragon raised its head up out of reach with great haste, then lunged down with jaws wide open to snap Astrid up in a single bite. Temperance came forward, willing the branching shield to expand once again. Zekraniath's snout slammed into the expanded shield, sending Temperance skidding back through icy mud into Astrid. The King held a hand out and braced herself, stopping the tiefling from pitching over as the two of them were pushed back a few more feet, leaving them standing right over Urka. Now that he was more in tune with Blackbole, Tem was sure it only had one more expansion left in it. Whether that was for the day or forever, he did not know.
"I am with you, my King, and Ragathiel is with us both!" Tem called as Blackbole retracted to its normal form. He wondered where Dhrak was, hoping Tem's gambit had not gotten the Swordlord killed.
"Ragathiel can focus on you, Sir Temperance." Astrid growled. She lacked the battle rage that Urka had shown, but the ferocity in her eyes was no less striking. It was a cold, keen-edged fury of singular purpose. "The Lord in Iron is at my shoulder."
Both of them ran at Zekraniath. It raised its right forelimb, the other still immobilized by coursing lighting, and swiped at both of them. Temperance, who was first in line to receive the attack, swiveled and planted his feet, raising Blackbole. The clawed hand struck with the force of a runaway wagon, it seemed, and Temperance was thrown off his feet, into the slush and snow, but it had the intended effect of blunting the attack, letting Astrid close in. She delivered what would have been a bone shattering blow to most creatures with Drakebreaker, and indeed, Zekraniath's lighting scourged left forelimb gave out, causing the dragon to pitch forward. Tem rose, striding forward and driving Forbearance deep into the crook of the dragon's neck. The dragon was an evil creature, and one whose very essence was that of cold. A holy, flaming sword like Forbearance was about as much an antithesis to Zekraniath's existence as Drakebreaker was. Along the beast's body, other warriors managed to get in close, axes and swords scoring crimson lines along Zekraniath's flanks.
Being so close to a mature dragon was not without its consequences, though, and a palpable aura of biting cold made all those striking Zekraniath pay for the damage they were dealing. More than one huscarl was unable to maintain the assault, being forced back, or collapsing into the sheeting ice and snow as the cold devoured their strength as surely as the dragon would devour their bodies. Temperance could feel this aura attacking him, though he was a bit lucky. Besides the obvious resistance to fire, all tieflings also had some small inurement against both cold and lightning. It did not make him immune, but it gave him enough time to withdraw Forbearance and stab the sword in again, and again. Temperance flared the divine, primordial flames of Ragathiel for all his will would allow him.
Through this, somehow enduring what her warriors could not, bereft of any inborn resilience to such things, Astrid Dragon-Reaver remained in close, Drakebreaker hammering the same spot as Zekraniath tried to recover and ward off his attackers. She fought with the determination, single-minded, and unveiled ferocity focus that only a parent fighting for their child could hope to muster. It seemed, at last, that Zekraniath was about to be done away with.
The dragon raised his head to the sky and roared, but it was no normal sound. It carried a spell; a wave of hurricane force, chilling wind that blasted in every direction. The warriors of Vylkavik were thrown in every direction. Temperance and Astrid could not stand against this gust anymore than the others and were thrown back. Tem felt himself crash through the broken remnants of Storr's barn, landing amid the remnants of a linnorm's meal that were, thankfully, frozen by Zekraniath's blizzard. The wind leaving his lungs and a fresh, bone-deep bruise spreading across his back, Temperance desperately tried to gulp in chilled air that was almost painfully cold to breath. He could feel frost in his beard, see it in his eyelashes. This was how the white dragon had been taking its prey for many years, he was sure. Weaken them. Separate them with thralled creatures and magic.
Tem could feel the eyes of his god upon him, he thought, as he had when battling Cormac and Arjyk. It might have all been in his head, a result of injuries, weariness, and the onset of hypothermia. As much as his mind was telling him to lie down and accept that this was his limit, Tem refused. He used Forbearance to stand up once again, the five burning wings of the Crimson Templars igniting around him as he strode from the barn and into the blizzard. He could not hope to fly with so little visibility and such strong wind, but he did not need to.
"Ragathiel alone fell upon the fortress of Infernal Duke Deumus!" Temperance recited as he approached the looming form of Zekraniath through the driving snow. "With divine flame he put it to the torch!" He noticed a faint glint and fell to a knee, sacrificing the final expansion of Blackbole to stop a storm of icicles in their tracks. He stood and forced his numb, leaden legs to run. "By a single swordstroke did he cut of the hand of Deumus and smite the great devil with defeat most resounding!"
He spoke the tale for no one's benefit but his own; Ragathiel, by himself, casting down an Infernal Duke and an entire iron fastness of Avernus. As Temperance charged Zekraniath, he saw the Five-Winged Knight felling Deumus, putting an army of devils to rout, in his mind's eye.
Zekraniath fought on; a battered, wounded, and stricken beast, but one still radiating with immense power. Gods only knew how many of Astrid's people the dragon had managed to kill. Zekraniath saw Temperance coming and blasted his cold breath at the tiefling. Tem's wings reached out and caught the driving wind around him, lofting the Templar over the icy breath. Temperance dismissed the wings before the wind took him away, leaving him on a collision course with Zekraniath. Tem reared back with Forbearance as he drew near, the dragon lifting his head with the intent to catch Temperance from the air in its jaws.
Forbearance came down, cleaving through Zekraniath's upper jaw, splitting the dragon's tongue. When the sword became lodged in Zekraniath's bottom jaw, Tem channeled his will through the blade and flared the divine flame of Ragathiel through it. Smoke and burnt stink emanated from Zekraniath's mouth and the dragon's violent recoil tore Forbearance from its mouth.
Tem fell as the dragon did, the tiefling landing on his feet but falling to his knees. Zekraniath's legs all collapsed beneath him, the dragon finally folding all the way to the ground. The blizzard faded as quickly as it had started, sunlight glittering off the freshly fallen snow that surrounded Storr's steading. Injured, exhausted, rime caked huscarls had been thrown all over by Zekraniath's wind spell. Corpses stained the snow red or remained flash frozen in place.
Rising from his knees, Temperance faced Zekraniath. The dragon's rough, ragged breaths puffed up clouds of snowflakes. The white dragon bled from a hundred wounds.
Tem slung Blackbole onto his back and raised Forbearance in both hands.
"Upon my blade, sinner, find peace." The tiefling breathed, then chopped downward with a pentad of sharp strokes, severing Zekraniath's head from his body.
To the tiefling's shock, the surviving huscarls sent up a cheer. Such a battle would never warrant celebration in the Worldwound, but this wasn't the Worldwound, was it? Ulfen warriors believed that death in battle was the best death. So, they either died in the best way possible, or survived with the glory of victory. That likely explained why there wasn't as much somberness for the fallen as Tem would have expected.
The tiefling did not acknowledge the praise of his fellow warriors, instead looking around for his friends. Dhrak was still clinging onto his sword and slowly thawing, having frozen to his weapon by the aura of cold around Zekraniath. His blade had almost entirely severed the wing at this point. Off in a wheat field, Scaelia and Asaf were sitting, both looking quite pale and wan. The drow was working healing magic to get them on their feet.
Thankfully, Astrid was alive and well. She was helping Urka to her feet. The half-orc was missing an ear now, and would carry a grievous scar across the left side of her head for the rest of her days. Tem sheathed Forbearance and approached Zekraniath's corpse. First, he helped Dhrak down. Then, he pulled Urka's axe free and brought it over to her.
"Throwing yourself at a linnorm alone, then a dragon. If I ever hear anyone doubt the courage of Urka Bold-Heart, I'll introduce them to my fist." Tem said, handing her the axe, hoping he wasn't presuming by being the first to speak a title.
Urka snorted, but there was good humor in the sound. She took the axe like a walking stick, her mother taking the rest of her weight. "And I'll be the first to raise a horn of mead in your honor when we return to Vylkavik, Temperance Bright-Blade."
Tem nodded to her. He then summoned Oath, climbing into the saddle. "My King, I'll hurry back to Vylkavik and return with wagons for the wounded and slain, and healers, with your leave."
"A good idea." Astrid said. "We'll need time here to gather the surviving horses. Bring as many people as can come. We'll need additional help to butcher these dead beasts and bring back the corpses. Kind of these beasts to offer themselves up for the victory feast!"
Again, an unexpected cheer from the surviving warriors, even from a few who were too hurt to stand. Tem didn't understand, but it wasn't his culture; he didn't need to understand. Fighting through the exhaustion, Tem spurred Oath onward to Vylkavik.
--=--
12th Arodus, 4721 AR
Vylkavik, Lands of the Linnorm Kings
The rest of the day after the battle with Zekraniath was spent cleaning up the battlefield, tending the wounded, and getting everyone back to Vylkavik. The day afterward was much of the same. Thirty-one of the one-hundred and twenty that rode out against Zekraniath fell in the battle, but the bodies and blood of dragon and linnorm alike would bring great wealth to Vylkavik. The dead were wrapped in shrouds with weapons across their chests, then lined up aboard a longship, which was put out into Vylkavik's harbor before being set aflame. There was no grand sermon or real valediction for the souls of the departed. They had fallen in battle. Those left behind could only hope the valkyries of Gorum had witnessed them and would bring their souls to the Lord in Iron's high hall as einherji.
On the second day after the battle, a feast was called, and one could smell roasting linnorm and dragon meat throughout the entire city. When night came, all of Astrid's surviving huscarls were gathered in her great hall, along with many of Vylkavik's notable citizens; ship captains, wealthy merchants, and guildmasters. Families throughout the city would be mirroring the feast more modestly in their own homes or gathered in taverns, their plates filled either by their own portions of the meat from the battle, or with food purchased from Astrid's own treasury.
Astrid's hall was alive with music and boasting, the sound echoing off the rib bones of Vylka the Rime Lord. Tem was seated beside Astrid at the high table, with Scaelia, Asaf, and Dhrak in order to his left. Urka sat on her mother's right side, tearing into a slab dragon meat. A wooden trencher piled high with food had been set before Temperance, and he had eaten most of it with gusto. Ale and mead were flowing in rivers and the mood was infectiously merry. A grey-haired but hardy orc skald, Kzodag, was singing a song of the slaying of Zekraniath he had composed in only a couple of days. To Tem's surprise, Kzodag was Urka's father and Astrid's partner, and Astrid looked on dreamily as the orc sang and played a hand drum.
Eventually, the evening started to calm. There was still a great deal of drinking and merrymaking going on, and finally, Temperance had a chance to say something to Astrid he had been thinking about since the battle.
"My King." Tem got her attention.
"Mmyes?" Astrid said distractedly, looking up from her mead horn.
He tried to think of the right way to phrase the question delicately. Tem then remembered where he was. This was the Lands of the Linnorm Kings. "Delicately" was rarely the right way to go about things.
"Thorfinn…that's my real name, isn't it?" He asked her.
Astrid blinked rapidly several times, then repeated the gesture. She likely did not remember calling out the name in the heat of battle. A rueful smile crossed the King of Vylkavik's face, and for a moment she did not seem the Dragon-Reaver or the Wave-Jarl, but a tired woman hauling a great weight on her shoulders.
"No. Thorfinn is the name I gave you…but it is not your real name. Your real name was the one given to you by your real mother." Astrid said, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the mead hall. "How did you know?"
"Arjyk told me I looked familiar, which I didn't think much of at the time. Then, you were very curious about which Varisian clan I was raised by", Tem explained. "Then you said that name in my direction."
Astrid nodded. She was silent for several moments. "Your father was Sveln, may Gorum forget him. He was much older than me when we were married. It was arranged, cementing an alliance with Skjaldborg, where I was born. Back then, Vylkavik was…well, a pit, really. Sveln and his huscarls grew fat and wealthy on hoarded gold while the people starved. And Sveln…gods, he was a bastard. He hated anyone that wasn't human, could barely stand non-Ulfens, but half-humans were especially loathed. Tieflings, aasimar, half-orcs, half-elves, dhampirs…it didn't matter. They were outlawed from Vylkavik. Any such babies born with such blood were to be left outside the walls to die of exposure."
The King's hands gripped the arms of her throne and her knuckles turned white. She calmed after a moment, then continued. "I don't know which side your demonic blood came from. I can only be grateful that Sveln wasn't there; he was insensibly drunk in the great hall with his warriors as he was most nights. Only a priestess of Erastil and two of my maids knew the truth of your birth. When I saw you, red as a sunset, with two little horns, I…", her voice caught in her throat and tears threatened to overwhelm Astrid. She sniffed and huffed, containing her grief for the moment.
"And so you had me handed off to Sandru." Temperance put the pieces together. "It's Desna's own luck that the clan was nearby."
"My thoughts exactly." Astrid agreed. "I snuck out and gave you away myself. Sveln was it had been a stillbirth. He did not care." The fires of the mead hall were bright in Astrid's eyes. "Hatred for Sveln grew in my thought-cage with each passing day. Eventually, I had enough. I was no wilting wallflower. I gathered loyal warriors that I had raided beside in previous years", she gestured around the hall, "several of whom feast with us tonight. Regardless, we tracked a linnorm and slew it, hauling the head back to Vylkavik. There I challenged Sveln to holmgang. I struck down his champion, then gutted the man himself and fed him to the fish in the bay. We cast out his huscarls. I took his great hoard of treasure and spread it amongst the people."
"I thought you had to kill a linnorm alone to be a King of the Lands." Tem said.
Astrid shook her head. "No. Some do, but it speaks for a person's quality as a leader, one who can inspire loyalty and attract skilled warriors, if they and a hand-picked band do the deed." She continued her tale. "Kzodag passed through Vylkavik soon after, wanting to compose a song about my taking the throne. And, to my great gratitude to the gods, we composed something much more beautiful than a song." A warmth showed in her face as she looked to Urka, who was across the room in the middle of a flyting competition with a female huscarl. Currently, Urka was boasting of the glory she would win when she soon shipped off to join the Ulfen Guard of Grand Princess Eutropia of Taldor; a high honor, indeed.
Sister. The word struck Tem suddenly. He had a sister. Urka was his sister.
"Does Urka know?" Tem asked.
"She does. I've been open about the circumstances surrounding you, the possibility that she had a brother out there." Astrid said. "She wasn't absolutely sure until I called you Thorfinn."
Tem nodded. Perhaps he would have to add another correspondence to his growing list, then. It would be nice, he thought.
"But, not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of you, Temperance, where I haven't prayed to Desna to hold you in safekeeping. And I will be sure to give her temple a grand tithe to see you here safely before me." Astrid said. "I…I can only hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If you hated me, I would not blame you. It would never equal the hatred I have for myself for being too weak to keep you. I won't dare to claim to be your real mother. I don't deserve to. But, I am proud of the man you've become, all the same."
It was odd. The subject of his "real" parents had never been much of a consideration to Tem. He did idly wonder sometimes, but he'd had Charani. He'd had the Tasgal Clan. It had been a hard life on the road, no doubt, but a lot of people lived hard lives in their own ways. That was the way of the Varisian caravans. If Tem hated one person, it was this Sveln bastard.
"You made the most difficult decision of your life, and because of that, I had a chance to live." Temperance said. "The woman who took me in as her own, Charani, gave me a good childhood. The whole clan did. That's our way. We Varisians are one big family."
Temperance may not have had any Varisian in his blood, but it as the saying went among the caravans, "a Varisian is someone who believes they're Varisian."
Astrid didn't reply at first, appearing to not have the words, so Tem kept speaking. "And I mean that. Family to a Varisian is a little different than a lot of places. I call Charani 'mom', but in reality, I had a score of parents. A score of siblings. Or, maybe you'd call them all my aunts, uncles, and cousins. Regardless, the definition of 'real' family isn't something we've ever been eager to cut and dry." He reached out, placing a hand on Astrid's. It was cold. "Which means that you're as much my real mother as Charani is, and Thorfinn Astridsson is as much my real name as Temperance Tasgal is."
This time, Astrid did not stop the tears from flowing, and Tem felt a few prickling at his own eyes. It was beginning to seem like Temperance had not given Desna her just due over the years, for he saw the hand of the Song of Spheres in this reunion, this revelation. Somehow, without ever meaning to, Temperance had made his way back to where his road had begun, and for that, he was grateful.