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Skyrim Spartan

Chapter Five

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When morning came, Kratos stepped out and silently watched the remaining guardsmen load the carefully wrapped bodies of their fallen comrades onto the wagon. Four of the six guardsmen who had gone to the shrine last night died in the skirmish with the Forsworn, their bodies now set to be returned to their families for proper burial. The two who survived were recovering from their wounds, tended to by Rorik's friend, a sly old mage named Jouane who was apparently a skilled healer.

Of the seven guards who remained behind, three would be departing with a man named Beinir to make for the city of Whiterun with the wagon in tow, leaving only four healthy guardsmen to defend Rorikstead. Six, if the two injured ones recovered quickly enough.

As the group departing for Whiterun continued their preparations in the dawn light, the village of Rorikstead slowly began to wake up around them, and it would not take long for the news of what happened to spread to every resident.

The unspoken peace between them and the Forsworn nearby was now broken.

"Jarl Balgruuf cannot ignore what has happened," said Rorik, who was standing next to Kratos on the front porch of Rorik's manor. "He will have to act."

"And if he does not?" asked Kratos, his gaze still focused on the party preparing to depart.

Rorik did not answer. Instead, after a moment of silence, he excused himself to get some much-needed sleep.

Kratos could not blame him. He and Rorik had spoken all night. Although Rorik did most of the talking. The Spartan did not want to waste the opportunity to gain some immediate knowledge about this strange new land that he now found himself in. A land called Skyrim.

He was still leaning against the front of Rorik's manor where Rorik had left him, lost in thought with his arms crossed, when the guardsmen left with the wagon. Shortly after that, a figure walked up the road towards the manor. It was the old mage.

"Greetings, stranger," said Jouane as he approached, mustering a friendly smile that creased his wrinkled face. He looked and sounded weary, having been up all night as well.

Kratos acknowledged him with a silent nod.

"I'm sure Rorik's already told you who I am. But let me introduce myself anyway." The mage dipped his head and bowed a little. "The name's Jouane. Nice to meet you."

Kratos eyed the bald mage for a few seconds. "I am Kratos," he rumbled.

"You're a big fellow, aren't you?" remarked the mage good-naturedly, taking a good look at him in the morning light.

Kratos grunted.

"Did you get some sleep?"

"I am not tired." Kratos didn't really need sleep, though he could if he really wanted to.

"Lucky you then!" Jouane chuckled, running a hand over his smooth bald head and then rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched it. "I feel every one of my fifty-three years right now. Damn these old bones."

Kratos thought the mage looked older than fifty-three. "How are the injured?" he asked.

Jouane sighed. "They'll be fine after some proper bed rest. You have my thanks for saving them, by the way. It could have been far worse had you not been there."

"It was. . . nothing." He did not mention that those guardsmen probably would not have even been out there nor would they have been attacked if Kratos had not been there. Besides, it was the mage who healed them and saved them from the clutches of death, not Kratos.

"Well, I don't think they feel the same way about that," said Jouane.

Kratos shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the wood exterior of the manor. He was not in the mood to chat any more. "You should get some sleep," he said dismissively.

"That I shall!" agreed the mage with a laugh. "Before I turn in though, I humbly ask that you pass by the Frostfruit Inn when you can. Mralki is minding the wounded there and he probably wants to thank you in person for saving them and his daughter."

Kratos grunted noncommittally.

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The Frostfruit Inn was easy enough to find in the center of the village. There was really only one structure in Rorikstead, other than Rorik's manor, large enough to be considered an inn. Of course, the sign out front helped too.

Kratos had gotten a few surprised and wary stares from the handful of people who happened to see him walking down the road. None of them dared to approach or say anything as he passed.

Pushing the door to the inn open, Kratos had to duck to enter and was immediately enveloped by the warm, smoky air tinged with the smell of ale, sweat, and blood. A long fire pit in the center of the main hall was ablaze with what looked to be fresh logs.

There was a man there mopping some blood off the stone floor, mumbling to himself. He had his back to the front door and apparently had not heard the Spartan come in. Though before Kratos could call his attention, he finally turned around enough for him to catch sight of the hulking warrior and froze, staring at Kratos in apparent disbelief.

The man shook his head, apparently getting a hold of himself, and set aside his mop. After wiping his hands with the towel half-tucked into the pocket of his apron, he walked over to Kratos and, much to the Spartan's surprise, dropped to his knees and bowed his head. Though it was less an act of reverence and respect and more a sudden realization of a father that he had been so close to losing everything.

"I cannot thank you enough. . . But thank you so much for saving my foolish daughter. I am in your debt, stranger," said the man solemnly. "My daughter, foolhardy as she is, is the one thing in this world I cannot bear to lose. Even now, thinking that she had been so close to death, and I was asleep and unaware of it, I don't know what I would have done if she. . . if she actually. . ."

Kratos understood how the man felt, and of all people, Kratos knew what the man would do if his daughter died on the hill last night. He stared down at the man and took a deep breath as his thoughts turned to his own daughter, Calliope. She was hopefully spending the rest of eternity in the fields of Elysium, along with her mother. Though there was unfortunately no way for him to know for sure, he believed that they were there. They deserved to be.

Kratos stepped forward and bent down, extending a hand to the man. "Get on your feet, son of Skyrim," he said. "You need not kneel for me."

The man laughed a little, shaking his head as he wiped some of the moisture that had gathered around his eyes. Then with a nod, he grabbed the Spartan's big hand and stood up with his help.

"My name is Mralki, and I'd like to welcome you to the Frostfruit Inn. Sorry, I. . . lost myself there. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" He beckoned for Kratos to follow him to the bar that sat at the far end of the hall. His breathing was still heavy and full of emotion, but he did his best to calm down.

Kratos took a seat in front of the bar, the stool groaning beneath his weight, and stared at the plate of grilled mushrooms, leeks, and meat that Mralki had set down along with a mug of what looked like water.

"It's not much, but I haven't had a lot of time to prepare anything else," said Mralki apologetically. "And I thought it might be too early for ale, but I could get you some if you'd like." He gestured towards the barrels behind him.

Kratos held up a hand and shook his head. "This is fine." He wasn't particularly hungry or thirsty, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to try some of the food. It turned out to be decent enough to eat.

Mralki picked at the food on his plate. "You know, when I was woken up last night and they brought the wounded in, I was so shocked at everything that was happening that it took me a few minutes to notice that my daughter was among those who had walked in. She had snuck off in the middle of the night with my sword." He sighed. "I don't know what to do with that girl."

Kratos ate quietly, not having anything to say.

"Anske is a good girl," Mralki continued, staring at his food. "She works hard and helps me as much as she can. But she dreams of becoming an adventurer someday, and I. . . I can't bear to lose her, you know? She's the only family I have left. But I also want her to be happy, and I can tell that she's. . . not really happy here. Not as much as before, at least."

Kratos stared at his plate. Thoughts of his own family stirred in his mind once again. After everything that had happened, he had come to terms, for the most part, with what he had done to them, but that didn't mean he would stop missing them. That didn't mean he would stop thinking of them. Even if it hurt him every time. He wondered what Calliope would have wanted to be if she had had the chance to grow up.

The girl had been so unlike any of the other Spartan children. That was her mother's doing, of course. She was innocent and carefree, loving and naïve, and she loved music. Not only that, but she had a talent for it too. Perhaps she would have become a musician? There were so few of them in Sparta. He closed his eyes and thought of the flute that he had carved for her, and in the recesses of his mind he thought he heard the faint echoes of her melodies.

"I'm sorry," Mralki said, bringing Kratos out of his brooding. "You must be tired, and here I am whining about my own troubles. Feel free to take one of the remaining rooms. You can stay as long as you'd like, though. . ." the man hesitated a moment. "I don't think the beds will be big enough for you to sleep in comfortably."

Kratos opened his eyes and glanced at the innkeeper. Rorik had certainly told him a lot, but Kratos needed to know more about this world before he could decide on what to do, and he could think of few better to ask than an innkeeper. No doubt the man had seen and heard a lot from the people who passed through his doors. "May I ask you some questions?"

Mralki gave him a curious look, then nodded. "Of course. What do you want to know?"

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THUD.

The axe bit deep into the trunk of the big pine, scattering shards of bark everywhere. Pine needles rained down from above. Kratos grunted as he retrieved the axe and swung again at the same spot.

THUD.

The tree shivered and groaned as it began to list to one side, loosing more pine needles all over the place. Two more grunts and well-placed swings later and the tree teetered slowly over the side before crashing into the dirt with an earth-shaking thump. Birds scattered from the nearby trees, chirping angrily at the commotion.

Kratos wasted no time as he eyed the fallen tree closely and walked to its midpoint. He proceeded to chop it into two long pieces, each one roughly fourteen feet long. He then cut away all the branches, leaving only the two pieces of tree trunk intact. Reaching down, he tensed as he gripped one of the pieces and then, with some effort, hefted it up and over onto his shoulder with one arm. The axe still held firmly in his other hand, he proceeded to walk back to the site of what was to be his new home here in Rorikstead.

It's been three days since Kratos decided to stay in the village, and four days since his arrival in this world. He figured that the village was a good enough place to stay, at least until he could figure out something better. The village was small enough that he wouldn't be too bothered by people, and the home that Rorik had given to him was on the far western edge of the village, making it even less likely for someone to come out to pester him.

Although that didn't mean nobody did. There was one individual in particular who came by a lot, much to his chagrin.

"Kratosss!" called the now familiar and clearly feminine voice of the person in question.

He sighed as he emerged from the copse of trees not far off from the partially finished house. As he neared the partially built house, a young woman bounded around the corner and waved excitedly at him.

"Whoa!" she gasped, eyes bugging out as she realized that he was carrying around the trunk of a big tree on his shoulder like it was nothing. The hand she was using to wave at him froze and slowly fell to her side as the shock washed over her.

Kratos paid her no mind. He reached a pile of trees cut to roughly the same length as the one he was carrying and dumped the newest addition onto it with a loud crash. Turning around, he started heading back out to get the other piece.

"G-Good morning, Kratos," said the young woman as she ran up to him, looking at him with unrestrained awe.

He spared her a brief glance as they walked. "Anske," he said in greeting. The girl often came to check in on him, probably at the request of her father Mralki, and she always brought some food along with her to give to him. This time she brought a small sack of apples and dried meats.

Anske was the young woman he had saved on the hill when he first arrived in Skyrim, along with the two guardsmen. Apparently, she was not supposed to have been out there with them that night. She snuck out and followed the group of guardsmen, hoping for a taste of adventure, and nearly died because of it. Yet even after such a harrowing experience, and her father berating her for it, she was even more determined to become an adventurer someday. Which made her either very foolish, or very brave.

"What are you?" she asked in a soft voice, tucking a stray strand of her blonde hair behind her ears.

As usual, Kratos didn't answer and kept moving. Not that Anske ever took the hint. She was stubborn like that and kept following him.

"Do you normally carry around tree trunks like they're merely a sack of potatoes?"

He gave her a look but remained silent.

"I don't think I've ever seen someone just casually lug around several hundred pounds of wood like you just did," she continued unperturbed by his lack of response. "Well, supposedly the giants rip trees straight out of the ground and then use them as clubs, but I've never actually seen one so I can't say for sure. Does that mean you're actually half giant? Pa says you might be. And even Jouane thinks so. It would certainly make sense."

It didn't surprise Kratos that the villagers talked about him when he was not around. He was not only a newcomer, but he was also markedly different from anyone in the village, even ignoring the fact that he was over seven feet tall and built like a statue of solid muscle.

"And you look like you might be one too," she said thoughtfully, peering at him. "Which of your parents was a giant?"

Kratos let out another sigh. "Neither."

"What?" Anske said in disbelief. "So you're actually. . . human? Like the rest of us?"

He wasn't human anymore either. Not really, anyway. Not that he said any of that aloud.

They reached the remaining piece of the fallen pine tree and Kratos hefted it onto his shoulder like the first one, with Anske gawking at him as he did so.

He started to head back.

Anske caught up to him. "Okay, who are you?" she asked.

Kratos gave her a weird look. "I am Kratos."

"I know that!"

He let out a snort. If she knew that, then why was she asking him who he was? He decided then that she was a foolish girl after all. Stubborn and foolish.

"Your name is Kratos," she said. "But who are you really? I mean, are you even a Nord? You kinda look like one, but. . . I don't know."

There was a brief stutter in his step, one that the girl didn't seem to notice. The question reverberated in his mind. Who was he really?

"And how did you get so strong, anyway?"

"Training," he replied curtly. Countless hours of grueling Spartan training honed him into the perfect soldier even before his divine blood and blessings came to light, before everything fell apart.

The girl was quiet for a little while but then suddenly ran ahead of him and turned around, blocking his path so that he came to a standstill.

"Kratos, can you please train me?" she asked, hands clasped in front of her as she bowed her head.

"No." There was no hesitation in his reply. He walked around her and for the next half hour ignored the thirteen additional times that she asked as she continued to watch him work. Eventually, she had to leave to get her own work done back at the inn, and Kratos watched her go with some relief.

Pausing for a moment to stare up into the sky, he marveled at how he hadn't lost his temper once thus far. Not even close. His old self might have sent the girl to the underworld in a heartbeat and without remorse, but the thought hadn't crossed his mind at all. And it wasn't because he had somehow grown more patient. No, he could definitely feel some annoyance towards the girl. Yet he was not angry at her. Like he had felt back in the endless void, the blazing rage within that had defined and consumed him was snuffed out, replaced instead by a cold indifference that left him wondering if that was a good thing or not.

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They arrived the next day. A squad of thirty mounted Whiterun soldiers accompanied by Beinir and the three guardsmen who had gone with him. They also had three new recruits in tow. They were supposed to replace the fallen guardsmen from the skirmish.

After arriving, the reinforcements began to set up a camp just north of the village, along the main road, acting as a buffer between the village and the Forsworn since that was the easiest way for them to attack the village.

Anske had been the one to tell Kratos of all of this, busy as he was with building his house he hardly went into the village. She loitered around once again as he worked, talking about how upset Rorik and her father were at the underwhelming response from Jarl Balgruuf. They thought the jarl would send in the army to finally root out the Forsworn from Whiterun lands for good.

Apparently, the jarl had also sent a message along with the group, stating that he was still deliberating how best to deal with the Forsworn and asking for patience. In the meantime, he was sending these soldiers now to help defend the village.

Sergeant Vors, one of the two survivors of the attack, and Captain Sorarke, who was leading the squad of reinforcements, were apparently trying to calm down the two leading figures of the village when Anske left to visit Kratos.

"Father says there are hundreds of Forsworn out there," said Anske worriedly. "And that if they attacked en masse, we would stand no chance. He said that even the Companions would be hard-pressed to deal with them all at once if they were ever hired for the task."

Kratos had heard of these Companions from Anske's father as well. A group of highly skilled and experienced mercenaries-for-hire who were based out of the city of Whiterun. He suspected that their services would not be cheap for something like this if they were to be hired. Assuming they would even accept such a job. From what he was told, the Companions only had around ten or so members.

Kratos readied the nail, pressing it up against the wood, and began to hammer it in. Rorik and Mralki had been kind enough to give him enough tools and supplies to finish the house. They had been surprised at how quickly he was making progress, but unlike Anske, they didn't ask questions and generally left him to his own devices.

It helped immensely that he hardly needed sleep, not to mention his great strength allowed him to handle all the heavy lifting by himself with ease. Plus the house had been nearly half-built when he started, and now he estimated he needed only another day or two to finish it all up.

"They say it's only a matter of time before the Forsworn attack again. That they will probably try to avenge those who died in the battle last week. And this time, there will probably be more of them."

In truth, that was partially the reason why Kratos decided to stay. He was the reason the Forsworn had attacked the guardsmen in the first place, and by doing so he painted a target on the village of Rorikstead. A part of him felt that he should try to defend it if the worst should happen and the Forsworn decided to attack again. Hopefully, that would not come to pass, but he was not optimistic about it.

"Kratos," Anske said. "Aren't you worried?"

Kratos stopped hammering for a moment. "Worrying solves nothing," he told her, then resumed his work.

She let out a short laugh. "I wish I could stop worrying like you," she said and then sighed. "I think I'd worry a lot less if I knew how to better defend myself in a fight. I mean, I'm sure that's at least partly why you're not worried at all, right? Because you know how to fight and can fight really well if a fight ever happens."

Kratos knew where this was going. "Ask your father."

Anske kicked at the dirt and pressed her back against the nearly finished outer wall that he was working on. "He won't do it," she said with a shake of her head. "I've asked him a few times before, and his answer has always been no. And now. . . after what I did, going out there on my own and nearly getting myself killed. . . he'll probably think that by training me some more I'd go out to do even more stupid and dangerous things."

Kratos let out a grunt and moved on to the next section he needed to hammer in. He could understand her father's reasoning, and from what he knew of the girl, she would probably do just that.

"But the thing is. . . I don't regret going out there that night. And if it comes down to it, whether or not I'm properly trained, I'll still go out there if I can make a difference, even if only a little. I mean. . . If I hadn't been there that night, they would have all died before you arrived. Even Vors said so. He said that my distraction saved them. But. . . father won't listen. He still yelled at me for what I did."

"Then make him listen," said Kratos.

"It's not that easy," she retorted.

For Kratos, it did not seem as complicated as she was making it out to be. She just needed to think more carefully about how she was going to discuss the matter with her father. From what the Spartan could tell, Rorik was a decent man and a good father, and Kratos was sure that if she approached him in the right way, her father would listen. And if that failed, surely there were others who could help her out.

"Ask someone else then," he said.

"I have. No one else wants to train me either," she lamented with a frown. "Not you. Not anyone. Not even Vors. He said something about respecting my father's wishes. . . but what about my wishes? It's not like I'm a child anymore, yet they all still treat me like one. I just don't get it."

Kratos quietly took a step back, carefully inspecting the wall to make sure everything looked okay and that he hadn't missed anything. He pressed his palm against it and pushed, testing the strength of the wall. It felt solid.

"They all said that?" Kratos glanced her way.

"Well. . . no. A few of them said they couldn't train me because they didn't have the time," she admitted. "But I think they also just didn't want to go through the trouble of training me, not that I could really blame them for that I suppose." She twirled a lock of her blonde hair with a finger.

Kratos could understand that reasoning as well. He might have the time, but he had neither the inclination nor the energy to train someone. It really was troublesome.

"Train yourself," he said. For Kratos, in the end it all boiled down to how badly you really wanted to do something. If you truly wanted to get something done, you would do everything in your power to make it so. Perhaps the girl wasn't trying hard enough.

The young woman shrugged. "I do practice, but there's only so much I can learn on my own and I think I've reached my limit. And besides, I don't even have a proper sword to train with. All I have is the wooden one from when I was a kid, and it's just not the same. . . Father keeps his sword in his room now, so I can't borrow it anymore. And it's not like I can afford to buy a real one on my own, not that father would even allow me to. . ." She blinked and snapped her gaze to him, realizing something. "Hey, you know what? I think this is the most you've ever spoken to me."

Kratos let out a snort.

"Will you please train me?" Anske asked again, sounding hopeful.

"No."

Anske's laugh was hollow as it rang through the air. "Worth another shot."

She left shortly after, and from the north there blew a cold, biting wind.

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Seven days after arriving in Skyrim, Kratos finished what would be his new home in Rorikstead. He was not a skilled craftsman by any means, but he knew enough to get by thanks to his Spartan training - particularly the parts about setting up encampments and fortifications - and learned the rest from trial and error. Besides, with the foundation already set and the skeleton of the house in place, all he had to really do was gather the necessary materials and put it all together. It had been a lot easier than he expected.

He had even managed to build some of his own furniture, though the interior was still quite sparsely furnished. He didn't really mind though. As long as he had the bare necessities it was fine.

The weather outside had turned nasty and it was dark despite it still being sometime in the afternoon, with sinister black clouds threatening to unleash one hell of a storm. The frigid wind howled relentlessly, blowing the big storm from the north, and Kratos found himself throwing logs into the blazing fireplace in the center of his new home.

He settled into one of three chairs he had put together, large and sturdy enough to accommodate his size, and stared into the crackling fire.

Skyrim. Tamriel. The Empire. The Aldmeri Dominion. The Forsworn. The Legion. The Stormcloaks. These names floated around in his head, words that previously held no meaning to him. All of them were things that he had learned from Rorik and Mralki, and even Anske. Yet none of them mentioned the one word he had been hoping to learn about: Dovahkiin.

Akatosh's words echoed in his mind.

"YOU... WILL HELP... MY CHAMPION... MY DOVAHKIIN..."

Kratos closed his eyes. It was hard to forget what was said. The god had practically shouted the words in his face before throwing him into this world without even asking if he would comply. Not that he had much of a choice, in that moment the god had been powerful enough to rip him from the eternal void and to breathe life into him once more. He wondered if he was even strong enough now to take the god on, if it came down to it. He reached for one of his forearms and ran a finger across the cloth and leather strips that were wrapped around it.

A banging at his front door startled him, the skin around his eyes tightening as he turned his head to stare at the door. His whole body tensed. Who in their right mind would be walking outside before a massive storm such as this?

"Kratos! Are you in there?" called the voice of Anske from the other side.

He almost groaned. Of course it would be her. Kratos lumbered to his feet and made for the door. When he opened it, a blast of cold wind blew in as the young woman ran inside. He shut the door, grumbling internally about the fact that the girl had entered without even waiting to be invited. Not that he would have denied her entry, given the state of the weather. He turned and found the girl hunched over by the fire with a sack of what he assumed was food on the floor next to her.

"Wow, it's really bad out there," she said with a shake of her head. "Might be the worst storm we've had in years. At least, I don't remember the wind being this bad in a long time. And the snow hasn't even begun to fall yet. It's a good thing you've finished up your house before this storm came. You might even say it's perfect timing."

Kratos folded his arms across his chest. "Why are you here, girl?"

She smiled at him, gesturing towards the sizeable sack. "I brought you some food, of course! The storm might last a few days and-"

"That was unnecessary."

"You're welcome," she said dryly. "Is that so hard for you to say?"

Kratos sighed. "It was foolish of you to come." He unfurled his arms and strode over to a barrel in the corner that was full of fresh water from a nearby stream. On the wall above it was a shelf with a few wooden cups. "Water?" he asked, as if there were other options. There were none.

Anske smiled. "Sure!"

The dull roar of the wind outside was a constant reminder of the storm bearing down on them. Kratos was not worried, of course. He had weathered far fiercer storms than this.

"You should head home," he said after watching her take a few sips from the cup of water he had given her.

"Yeah, I will soon." She sipped on the cup again, the cheery air around her changing into one of somberness. "I was just. . . I wanted to make sure you had some food. And. . . well, I was so excited. . . I wanted to tell you that I did it."

Kratos settled into his chair again and waited for her to elaborate.

"I finally sat my father down and. . . we talked. Really talked. For a long time." She played with the ends of her hair as she stared into the fire. "By the nine it wasn't easy. . . err. . . I guess it's eight now, but whatever. Anyways, my father finally gave in. He realized how serious I was about this, how determined I was to reach my goal of becoming an adventurer, so he's going to teach me how to be a proper warrior once this blasted storm ends."

Kratos regarded the young woman closely as the firelight danced across her delicate features. She was not the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but she was pretty. And there was a strength in her eyes that he respected. He could even see a little bit of a Spartan woman's spirit in her, though she certainly continued to have a rebellious and foolish streak. Perhaps her father's training, for Mralki had been an Imperial Legionnaire before he settled down here, would help to temper her recklessness. Still, he thought she was far too slender to be a true warrior who fought on the frontlines, but maybe she would surprise him.

Anske turned to face him, locking eyes. "Thank you, Kratos," she said again with a serious expression.

He stared back at her impassively. "I did nothing." He really didn't do anything except reject her requests for training, so her gratitude baffled him. What was there to thank him for?

"No. You did do something. You listened. And I'm really grateful for that," she explained. "I don't know why I shared all of my thoughts and troubles with you, to be honest. I mean, we hardly know each other and. . . I know I was annoying you all this time. It was pretty obvious and I'm sorry about that. But even so, not once did you tell me to shut up or leave. And I was able to just talk. . . vent, or whatever you want to call it. . . and it helped. It really helped. I was able to think about my situation and you even talked me into finally deciding to do something about it. So. . . thank you."

Kratos didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He might not have spoken out loud that he would like her to leave him alone, but he was pretty sure he made it clear that he wasn't really interested in what she had to say. He hardly responded to her all this time and was for the most part minding his own business while she talked around him, but he didn't bother telling her that now. If it made her feel better, then he supposed he would have to accept her gratitude, despite his firm belief that he really didn't do much of anything at all.

"Plus, seeing how strong you are and how focused and determined you were about finishing your house. . . even when I came over to pester and distract you. . ." She glanced around the spacious room they were in, bare save for the three chairs, a crudely built table off to one side, and the barrel and shelves in the corner. ". . . it was truly inspiring."

A quiet moment passed between them, with Anske looking thoughtful and Kratos as expressionless as ever. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the girl.

Anske quickly got to her feet, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Well, that's all I really came here for. I should probably go before it gets any worse out there."

Kratos escorted her to the door, where she stopped and hesitated for a moment before glancing up at him.

"Thanks again," she said. "And sorry for barging in unannounced."

Kratos gave her a nod and opened the door for her, the cold wind howling through the opening.

She ducked her head and took a few steps out, but then stopped in her tracks, emitting a gasp that was carried into the house by the wind.

Kratos had been about to shut the door when he heard her gasp. He looked up and noticed her standing still, her whole body rigid and not because it was cold. She appeared to be staring at something in the distance. He poked his head further out and followed her gaze, wondering what it could be now.

Even in the dim light beneath the gathering storm, the black smoke that scattered over the village was obvious. And beneath it was a spreading red-orange glow.

Rorikstead was on fire.

o=o=o=o=Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω=o=o=o=o=o

AN: I promise that the next chapter will be way more exciting. :)