Valkyrie Profile:

Lenneth Novelization AU:

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Chapter Thirteen:

Midgardian Interludes II

"Begin."

Following Lenneth's command, Llewelyn and Jelanda stepped off a short stairwell leading into an obstacle course in the training grounds behind the golden hall. Lenneth observed them from the top of the stairs, at the edge of the palace's back terrace. It was covered under a slanted roof, and both ran the entire length of golden hall's width. There were tables and chairs set up for any of its inhabitants who wanted to eat out in the fresh air or just sit and chat.

Today, the goddess wore a loose-fitting sky-blue dress which ended at her ankles. It was as modest as anything else she wore, with a tall collar halfway up her neck and long, loose sleeves. She wore an open long vest of a somewhat darker shade of blue with gold trim. Her black turnshoes were visible at the base of her skirt. Her braid rested over her shoulder instead of down her back. The Valkyrie stood with her arms folded behind her back and her feet together as she managed this training session.

Llewelyn and Jelanda stepped slowly, fanning out to cover different sides of the course. Before them was a large yard modeled on an abandoned worship site. There was a series of small ruins, each about the size of a peasant single-story house. There were trees, bushes, and even the foundations of a wall which run across the middle of the massive yard. At the end of the course was a small pedestal with wooden figurine carved into the shape of a chess Rook sitting atop it. The goal was to get to the end and claim it.

Lenneth watched their progress, noting every place she had set up the course's obstacles.

"Aim your shots well," Lenneth called from the steps. "When a target appears, it will attack you as quickly as a real opponent. If you fail to defend yourself or your own attacks miss, you will take a light shock."

Lenneth first observed as Llewelyn sidestepped around a row of bushes to reach a narrow path at the far end on the left. Then she glanced at Jelanda on the right, slowly passing between a row of ruins. She had no spell readied ahead of time, as Lenneth instructed.

The Valkyrie continued her instruction: "You can take three shocks before you have lost. Three chances to reach the end of the course. Work on preparing your shots with increasing haste. Arngrim, Belenus, and I will not always be around to jump between you and whatever wishes to do you harm. You must learn to operate without us."

Neither said anything in response, but Lenneth knew Llewelyn and Jelanda heard. As the young archer rounded the end of the bushes, a glowing orb shot up from one of the bushes. The boy took aim, but it shot to his left, making chiming sounds as it went. Llewelyn tried to keep the target aligned with his arrow, but it zipped behind the trunk of a nearby tree. Llewelyn kept his arrow trained where he guessed it'd come out to shock him. All the while, he still heard the chiming.

"That chiming," Llewelyn remained still to listen.

He heard the ringing go up higher into the tree, but he couldn't see any glimmers between the branches and leaves just yet.

"It's still on the other side of the trunk," he thought.

He glanced from side to side with his eyes, turning his head slightly in the directions he looked, but he saw nothing coming up to ambush him.

A rustling of leaves in the tree brought his attention back to his current foe. He saw something shining between the leaves and had already taken aim when the flying ball burst from the branches to ram him. Llewelyn fired, and his arrow pierced it through the center. The orb shattered and the pieces, dissipated into nothing. Then from a hole in the wall of a nearby ruined hut, another just charged him head-on. Having no alternative, Llewelyn swung his bow like a club, batting the orb away, knocking it high into the air. While it stopped itself, Llewelyn drew another shot and fired, destroying this one as well.

As he looked, Llewelyn almost preemptively drew another shot, but stopped himself, remembering Lenneth's instructions for the exercise. He took a breath, and slowly continued working his way through the course, eyes rolling from side to side.


"Come on, I can you hear you," Jelanda's impatience came through in her tone.

She'd seen something glimmer from within the buildings and she knew it to be no candle by its movements or the ringing it produced. At all points, she was resisting the urge to well up her magical power to get a preemptive shot off. The struggle she and Llewelyn shared in this regard did not go without notice, but Lenneth remained quiet, scolding neither of them as long as they withheld.

Jelanda peered in through a large crack and saw a ramshackle room. Something under the bed was glowing.

"Maybe I should…" Jelanda picked up a rock and carefully flung it through the gap.

She hopped back, raising her staff, but still refrained from starting a spell. She heard it hit something inside and a series of chimes began. From one of the windows, the flying sphere emerged, and stopped for only a second as it caught sight of Jelanda.

The teen mage began casting but had no breathing room because the ball came right at her. Jelanda leaned right moving just her upper body and the orb flew past. Her concentration had not been broken, and now the spell was ready. She trained the scepter on the orb, but it flew at her again. Jelanda tried to bat it away, but it dove low, colliding with the princess's belly and giving her a light shock before it bounced away.

Jelanda's body twitched, but she managed to keep her magics welled up.

"Icicle Edge!" she fired the spell, aiming at the airborne sphere with her scepter.

She conjured eight ice spears but only fired two. The orb dodged the first but was struck by the second. A cocky grin had just begun to form on Jelanda's face when she heard more chiming behind her. She about-faced, seeing two more orbs coming out of the ruined buildings.

"Still have six shots," she thought.

The glowing globes flew at her and Jelanda loosed her remaining icicle pikes at them. They successfully intercepted the magical targets, destroying them both. The former princess let out a big breath as her body slumped slightly. That had been close, and worse, she'd already lost one of her three hits. She stomped forward, pouting.

From her vantage point observing both the youths, Lenneth noted their approaches. On the left, Llewelyn ran around some trees, trying to lose a quartet of orbs he'd somehow managed to attract all at once. To his credit, he'd managed to do so for longer than Lenneth thought he could so far. On the other, Jelanda had already sprang another one and was wildly swinging her staff at it.

"One too cautious almost to the point of being cowardly," Lenneth mused, and then looked over at the Artolian girl. "And one too brash and eager to prove herself."

Bzzt! "Ow!" Buzz! "Yeeoch!"

"Three shocks, Jelanda," Lenneth called.

Jelanda turned and saw the Valkyrie motioning for her to return. The princess made a loud whine which reached the Valkyrie's ears. Lenneth raised a hand and strictly pointed straight down in front of her, wordlessly reiterating her order to return. Within a minute, a pouting Jelanda approached the bottom steps, arms crossed childishly. Lenneth did not give this display the dignity of a response.

Instead, she continued to observe Llewelyn, who had hidden himself on the other side of a tree. He had his eye on one of the floating globes, which searched through the cluster of trees trying to find him again. Two of the others were floating in his general direction from the other side, which he was aware of. If he didn't act soon, he'd be caught between them.

"Take the shot now, take the shot now," Lenneth silently willed him.

Llewelyn hesitated, and when he'd finally jumped and tried to shoot the globe he'd singled out, the other two were close enough to spot him and catch him from behind, giving him two consecutive shocks. He was stunned just long enough for the orb he'd wanted to take out first to give him a third, ending his round.

"Three shocks, Llewelyn," Lenneth said.

The boy sighed in disappointed, but without a word, he placed his bow back into its holder across his shoulders and came back, joining Jelanda at the base of the porch steps.

"Tell me, do either of you know what you did incorrectly?" Lenneth looked at one, then the other.

"Yeah," Llewelyn hung his head almost embarrassedly. "I… choked. I shoulda taken the shot earlier and then hid again when the other two rushed over to try finding me."

Lenneth nodded and then turned to Jelanda.

"The orbs are too fast," Jelanda winged.

"No, mortal, you stirred them up, inviting trouble," Lenneth corrected. "Then you allowed one too close and instead of keeping your head, you just starting flailing about like freshly beheaded poultry. You were clever in one regard, though."

Jelanda looked up, surprised by the compliment at the end.

"You held back from using up Icicle Edge all at once, and that saved you from the second orb. You should employ that tactic again in the future."

"Thank you, Lady Valkyrie, but why is it a bad thing I tried to draw them out?" Jelanda was confused by the criticism.

"You did so without securing yourself in a defensible position first," Lenneth explained. "Strategy only works if you actually have a strategy. That will be all."

"Yes, Lady Valkyrie," both teens bowed to her.

Lenneth glanced toward Jelanda, considering the girl's lack of close quarters protection.

"I wonder… I should get her a belt with pouches she can put potions and enchanted crystals in," the Valkyrie considered. "I will see if the dwarves do not have one in her size to spare, but first..."

Lenneth ushered the young einherjar up onto the terrace.

"Now, will both of you join me while the course rearranges itself for the training I have in store for Arngrim and Belenus," the goddess said. "They should be wrapping up morning sword drills shortly."

"Rearranges itself?" Jelanda asked.

As if to answer her question, she heard rumbling and tearing behind her as though the earth itself was shifting about. She and Llewelyn both spun around and saw exactly that. The terrain in the training grounds was changing entirely. The buildings sunk into the ground as though swallowed by sinkholes and raw rock rose in their place, transforming the area into a mini-rocky badlands. Llewelyn wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked again. He had indeed seen what he thought he had.

"Come along," their Valkyrie instructed.

As the teens turned to follow Lenneth, they almost didn't remember to look where they were going and nearly tripped on the steps. When they'd joined her up on the terrace, Lenneth turned and led them to the one of the tables where refreshments had been laid out by one of the maids.

"Oh, thank you, Lady Valkyrie," Jelanda grabbed a glass of water and happily began drinking.

"Thank you, Lady Valkyrie, but shouldn't Jelanda and I be getting to target practice?" Llewelyn grabbed his but hadn't drank from it yet.

"Yes, and you will shortly," Lenneth answered. "But first, there is something I wanted to ask you."

"Oh?" Llewelyn said, and then remembered himself. "I mean, yes, Lady Valkyrie?"

"Do you still recall the conversation we had with the St. Henrik's Chapel?" Lenneth asked as she refilled Jelanda's drink.

Llewelyn nodded. "Yes, of course. But what of it, Lady Valkyrie?"

"What do you know of this tower of which the elder spoke?" The Valkyrie asked.

It took a moment for Llewelyn to remember what she was talking about.

"Oh, the Black Dream Tower?" Llewelyn asked.

"Yes, the one with a tale so grim, it would be too much of my delicate womanly constitution," Lenneth wryly answered.

Llewelyn and Jelanda both chuckled.

"By the gods, it's a miracle. She cracked a joke," Arngrim deadpanned.

The three turned to see the sword users approaching them.

"Well, I am a goddess. Miracles are not out of the question," Lenneth didn't miss a beat with that one.

Arngrim happened to catch her amused grin before she turned away quickly. He was too dumbfounded to speak.

"Now about this Black Dream Tower," Lenneth repeated. "Does anyone know?"

"Not me," Arngrim shrugged and turned towards the training grounds.

"The only evil tower I know about is The Dark Tower of Xervah," Jelanda answered. "But it's in Gerebellum on the southwest coast."

"I've only heard the Black Dream Tower's name, but no details," Belenus said.

Llewelyn realized it was on his shoulders this tale fell.

"Well," Llewelyn sounded averse to the subject, but he didn't stop. "The tower's along the northern Monferaigne coast. I've never seen it, myself, but I've spoken to people who have, and they say it's made of decaying flesh and bone. The outer walls are raw, red meat held together by great big bones. They said the front door opened like a mouth, making nasty slurping noises when it did, and teeth were ringed around the entrance."

Lenneth stared in shock.

"That would be a Temple of Hel," the goddess's mind reeled. "It could be nothing else. But on Midgard?"

She noticed the einherjar from Artolia and Lassen all eyeing Llewelyn in surprise as well.

"That sounds exactly like the Dark Tower of Xervah," was Jelanda's shocked response.

Belenus went over and put a hand on Llewelyn shoulder.

"Tell me, does it look alluring from the distance, only showing its true colors up close?" he inquired.

Llewelyn again shrugged. "They just said it looks like a building made out of giant meat and bones. Nothing about looking inviting at a distance."

Belenus put scratched his chin as he thought. "So, there is some difference between the two, but to think two such places exist…"

"Two?" Lenneth asked.

"Yes, Lady Valkyrie," Belenus stepped away from Llewelyn, looking out into the training grounds as well. "I was given a description of the Gerebellum dark tower from a very good source. The Xervah tower is controlled by the undead and serves as one of their strongholds. Gerebellum and Lassen held a joint committee to discuss how to sort it."

"What did they decide on?" Lenneth asked.

"Military action, but it only hindered the undead," Belenus explained. "The tower still stands, unfortunately."

Lenneth took a seat at one of the tables, mulling over this revelation, feeling a weight in her stomach like a lead block.

"And what has Crell Monferaigne done about their flesh tower?" the goddess inquired.

"They sent some men to scout it out," Llewelyn replied. "But they never returned. It's in a real remote spot up on a seaside cliff. It's hard to get to even by land, and there are always undead pouring out of it at night. Dunno how the soldier who stole the vampire orb from it even got in. Or out."

"Same with the Xervah tower," Belenus added. "It's located on the other side of some very treacherous badlands."

Lenneth's mind was still drowned in shock.

"How did Hel get such a foothold on Midgard?" she thought almost feverishly. "This is not right. This is not permitted. Odin has forbidden the worship of Queen Hel on Midgard, and yet her flesh towers have been constructed there. He banished her and her demon legions from the upper and middle realms entirely. Only her demon legions in Niflheim and the dark elves of Svartalfheim dare worship her and build her towers."

Her breathing sped up and she turned away in her chair to hide the panic trying to claw at her mind. Lenneth got up and almost took to pacing around, but she stopped herself.

"Syn scheduled me a meeting with Lord Odin and Lady Freya a week from today, but I must get in to see them sooner," Lenneth decided. "I hope I am able to convince her this matter is of enough importance to allow me in early. The line had already been drawn with the Forest of Woe, but this? Why did Lord Loki not tell me of these abominable structures when he was with us? These towers have been down on Midgard long enough that Belenus and Llewelyn speak of them almost as a matter of fact. Just what is going on here?"

"Lady Valkyrie?"

Lenneth nearly jumped at the voice. As she was dragged from her whirling thoughts, the Valkyrie realized all her einherjar were staring at her. She cleared her throat.

"Change of plans, there is…" she looked around at the various other members of the pantheon around the terrace taking a break and enjoying themselves. Her eyes lit up when she noticed one god in particular.

"Excuse me," she told her einherjar and took her leave.

She nearly ran over to the desired god.

"Ah, Forseti, pardon me," Lenneth greeted him.

"Hmm?" he turned toward her. "Oh, yes, Lenneth. How can I help you? Always a pleasure."

He had long, flowing brown hair which hung past his shoulders, and round, boyish face with ice blue eyes the einherjar swore shimmered. He wore regal red and gold robes, almost like a judge's.

"I must apologize in advance," Lenneth told him, looking regretfully. "May I ask a favor of you, please?"

"Well, certainly, I have time," he said with a smile.

"Thank you. I know this is not your area of expertise, but could you oversee the combat training of my swordsmen einherjar for this round? You just need to make sure the rules are followed and to observe their progress. I have an urgent matter I must take to Lord Odin."

"Well, I would not be much of a 'presiding one' if I could not do this," Forseti wryly responded. His smile faded as he looked at Lenneth intently. "You must see grandfather about something?"

"Yes, it is a matter of dire importance," Lenneth said gravely. "Perhaps even life and death."

Forseti believed her. "Yes, I will do this for you, but you window of opportunity to speak with him will be narrow. He is busy tending to matters of the court and will have a strategy meeting with the commanders within the hour. Go now, Lenneth. I will see to this."

"You have a thousand thanks and my debt," Lenneth bowed low before him.

As she went inside, Forseti approached the bemused einherjar.

"Good morning," Forseti addressed them. "Lady Valkyrie had sudden business to take care of, so I will temporarily be overseeing your training session. The training course before you very closely simulates real battle. The goal is to get to the end and claim the wooden Rook statue. Now, standing in your way is…"


Lenneth walked so briskly through the golden halls, consciously resisting the urge to sprint like a madwoman jumping at shadows. As she went, her mind was busy sorting out the case she'd make to both Odin and Freya, and whichever god she could convince to let her cut in line, so to speak.

"I need to find out who is meeting with them from Syn first," Lenneth reminded herself.

When she got to the entrance of the throne room, she found Syn guarding the door, as always. The other battle goddess looked exactly as Lenneth always remembered her. Syn was as tall as a man, wearing a studded long-sleeved leather jerkin, which looked almost like a waist-length coat. It was paired with dark brown leggings and black leather heeled boots. A single-grip longsword hung from her belt, and she already bore her round shield on her forearm.

Syn had hair that was deep red at its roots and as far as the base of her skull, but turned gradually brighter, first into orange, and then blonde at its ends which hung about her shoulders. Her hair always reminded Lenneth of a blazing fire. Her skin was tanned, and her eye irises matched her hair, starting deep red along the innermost part of the ring around the eye pupils and turning golden around the outer rim.

"Hello, Syn," Lenneth breathlessly greeted. She stopped and gave a quick bow before the other goddess.

"Good morning, Lenneth," the guardian of Odin's throne room greeted evenly. "I've not yet had the pleasure of being able to speak with you this era."

"Apologies, I was sent down to Midgard to begin almost right away," the Valkyrie was tense, and Syn could see it. "Alas, there is a matter that must be attended to. May I somehow be allowed in to speak with Lord Odin sooner than arranged? It is urgent, I assure you. If not, I would like to know who else is meeting with Lord Odin and discuss meeting him in their place. Please."

"I am afraid that is impossible without knowing what the matter is," Syn answered without hesitation.

"Very well," Lenneth complied, and explained presence of flesh towers upon Midgard.

As the Valkyrie spoke, she kept her tone calm. Syn stood and listened, silent the entire time the Valkyrie spoke of how Hel's forces had taken root on Midgard. Syn raised a brow when Lenneth spoke of how the foolish soldier had entered one of the structures, and somehow got out with his life after either stealing the enchanted orb or being given it.

"If they possess more items such as that enchanted orb, they could set them loose on the Nine Realms," Lenneth was unable to stop herself from wringing her folded hands. "There is no telling what destruction they can cause with them. I know not the extent of Hel's designs, but it can be nothing good for the upper and middle realms."

With that, Lenneth fell silent. She folded her hands in her lap as she stood, waiting for Syn to answer. The taller battle goddess put her fingers to her chin as she considered this. Lenneth thought she took too long, given the weight of the matter, but she made herself be patient for the other goddess.

Syn finally met her eyes again. Crossing her arms, she answered, "I understand this matter is of great importance to you, Lenneth, but I am sorry, but you must wait until your appointed time."

Lenneth drew back from guardian incredulously. "'Tis not just me this matter holds weight for. This could spell disaster for the whole Nine Realms if left unchecked! Please, let me through."

Syn held up a hand. "I cannot, Lenneth. The entire pantheon have concerns of their own they are bringing to the All-Father, many of which also pertain to Hel's activities. Besides which, Lord Odin has several war councils to attend with his Commanders as the Three Kingdoms Alliance plan their next move as we speak."

"Syn, be reasonable," Lenneth begged. "In just the two weeks I have returned, the irregularities was piled to the point of absurdity. Perhaps I can speak to whoever is next in line to give up their spot given the weight of this situation."

"I have spoken, Lenneth," Syn was firm. "'Tis just one week. Midgard can bear it."

"'Tis not just Midgard I fear for," Lenneth reiterated.

"I have spoken," Syn shut her off.

Lenneth let out a defeated sigh and gave the slightest nod. She slowly turned and began wandering away with no particular destination in mind. The Valkyrie folded her arms as worry weighed her thoughts. She was so lost in them she didn't even notice the other person in the hallway coming from the opposite direction.

"Hel moves to march on Valhalla as well, and somehow that is not good enough?" Lenneth muttered in bemusement.

"My daughter moves to do what now?"

"Mm?" Lenneth stopped and looked up in surprise.

Before her was Lord Odin's own sworn blood brother, staring at her with equal surprise.

"Oh, Lord Loki. I was just talking to myself," Lenneth ran her fingers through silver strands of her hair as she spoke. "I am afraid you know better than I your daughter's current doings."

"I am afraid I am in the dark," Loki answered. "If Hel means to attack Valhalla, I would have you tell me."

Lenneth regarded him uncertainly. "How much do you know about the current of state of Midgard?"

"Only that it dies even now and has been thrown out of balance. Anomalies fester and undead run wild," Loki shrugged.

"Lord Thor has not spoken to you of these things?" Lenneth wa loss.

"My dear friend has been withdrawn from Midgard to help with the war effort against the Vanir, the Fire Giants, and… my people," Loki's words faltered uncomfortably at the end.

Lenneth could only stare back. Her mouth slowly fell open.

"Lord Thor no longer protects Midgard?"

Loki shrugged. "What need does a dying world slated to perish during Ragnarök have for a guardian?"

Suddenly, everything clicked. "So that is why you are all unaware of the flesh towers."

Loki's brow creased in confusion.

"Flesh towers? As in little Hel's places of worship?" he repeated, prompting an explanation.

"Yes, flesh towers have been constructed on Midgard," Lenneth said. "And I fear that realm is soon to become a stronghold for our enemies if something is not done."

Loki glanced out the window, noting the position of the sun.

"I am due to receive a report from the front," the trickster god reached up and scratched his head near the base of one of his antlers.

He looked at Lenneth intently. "But I think you and I need to have a chat in my office."


"The Three Kingdoms Alliance has successfully began pushing us from our strongholds in Vanaheim and Muspelheim with the additional aid of the Jötunns, and they move to take control of the Bifrost gates in those realms."

"This is grave news, indeed," Odin looked down on his and Freya's sons kneeling at the base of his throne.

As usual, Freya hovered in the air by his side, positioned as though seated. The remaining Odinsons, Thor, Vidar, Hermod, and Tyr all bowed on one knee in a row. They were off-center to the right enough there was still an empty spot left for their deceased fifth brother, Baldur.

"What are you all doing?" Freya's sharp tone hit their ears. "Get up. You are our sons, no meager servants."

"But… it would be improper during an official meeting," Tyre kept his scarred face downturned. His reddish-brown long fell over his face from that position.

"Nonsense," Freya gestured from them to rise. "Up."

Thor, Hermod, and Vidar were quick to stand, with only Tyr lingering reluctantly on the floor before also rising. He looked away, uncomfortably, muttering about 'proper etiquette', getting a chuckle out of Thor and Hermod. Only Vidar remained serious. His face, so much like his mother's, was fixed in a deep frown with his eyes lowered. He and Hermod both had short black hair like their father's used to be while Thor was a dark blonde like their mother.

"Moreover, father," Vidar paused, grinding his teeth. He was loathe to admit this part. "We have still not been able discover how the Jötunns are crossing between realms to aid their Vanir and Fire Giant allies."

He looked up at his forebearers, eyes tense. "I have a theory, though."

Tyr turned to him sharply, already knowing his brother's mind.

"Brother, no!" Tyr shouted more loudly than he intended.

Odin eyed the redheaded god of law and order in subdued annoyance for the outburst. Tyr coughed and lowered his head, flushing. The All-Father returned his eye to Vidar.

"Speak," Odin prompted.

The Creator-god leaned forward, resting one of his forearms on his knee as he listened.

"Thank you, father," Vidar ignored Tyr's stern look. "I suspect the dwarves are assisting the Jötunns in this regard. You are aware of their ability to 'walk between realms', of course."

"A long-coveted secret even I am forbidden from pursuing," Odin sounded thoroughly unhappy as he spoke. "Of course, the mountain folk kept that one carefully close to the cuff until after I had forged a permanent treaty with Balin."

"A treaty we must be careful not to violate," Tyr spoke quickly. "Their weapons and tools are too valuable for us to risk compromising King Balin's cooperation."

"Risk our pact with them?" Vidar growled at him through clenched teeth. "If they are aiding and abetting the Jötunns, they have violated theirs' with us!"

"We have no proof they have committed such a trespass," Tyr replied firmly. "And even if a dwarf is helping them, it could be a rogue acting on their own. Do not act in haste, brother, even if you are the god of vengeance. Ragnarök comes too soon for us to be rash."

"What we need is a solution," Hermod interjected, and stepped between his quarreling siblings.

He was the shortest and least-imposing of the Odinsons, but that did not stop him.

"I agree with Hermod," Thor impatiently tapped Mjölnir hanging from his belt. "This bickering is pointless. Thankfully, we have come prepared with at least one solution which does not involve the dwarves in any way."

"Go on," Odin nodded.

"The Jötunns' ability to traverse the realms under our noses and their alliance with Vanaheim and Muspelheim would be a non-issue if one of the three were to fall," Thor stated with a smile. "What if we repaired the old Körmt Bridge between Asgard and Vanaheim? We could enter that realm and catch the Vanir off-guard, father. No one has guarded the Körmt Gate since Grandfather Njord himself shattered that bridge."

"That would be a task comparable to forging a second Bifrost," Freya said, and pondered the notion. "It would be difficult to gather the materials."

"And we would need the dwarves to construct it for us," Odin added. "If some of the mountain folk have thrown in with the Jötunns, this would open a new avenue for our enemies to infiltrate Asgard as well."

"Not if we employ the Light Elves, instead," Vidar answered.

Freya looked at him skeptically.

"The elves are clever, but they lack the sheer craftsmanship of the mountain folk," she said. "They could construct the bridge for us, but it'd be much weaker than the original."

She paused and mulled over some other factors. "It might not even be able to withstand the boiling waters of the Körmt river for more than one trip across."

"We only need to slip someone to cross once, mother," Vidar said craftily.

"Ah, so that is the play," Odin began to grin. "I am interested, but how will you plan to keep their entry into Vanaheim concealed long enough for them to enter Njord's Silver Hall, the Helgafjell?

"We will mount a full-scale assault on Vanaheim while they slip in," Vidar answered.

"Our assault will need to be on a massive scale to be believable," Thor added.

"That can be arranged," Odin stood up from his throne. He crossed his arms behind his back as and stepped to one end of the throne stage. "And it will not be a handful of agents, but one."

The Odinsons looked among themselves uncertainly.

Odin smiled at them. "Our covert operative into Vanaheim will be one who can carry many within herself and manifest them once there."

"Lenneth?" Freya asked doubtfully.

"Yes," Odin answered deviously. "She and her einherjar can steal into the cliffside Silver Hall of 'dear' old King Njord, assassinate him, and claim Vanaheim's sacred treasure for us."

Freya stiffened as talk of killing her father passed so casually from her husband's lips. She said nothing, telling herself there were no alternatives left. Tyr stared on in astonishment at what was being said.

"The Megingeirr," Hermod breathed. "Grandfather's famous long spear."

"Yes, 'tis one of the lesser Sacred Treasures," Vidar shrugged. "But… still advantageous to have."

"The power to grow as tall and mighty as the mountains while wielding it is lesser?" Thor asked with a laugh.

"Well, lesser compared to the likes of Gungnir and the Dragon Orb," Vidar admitted.

Tyr however did not share their humor about the situation.

"Wait, father," Tyr stepped forward, stopping short of the throne steps. "We are not earnestly considering taking one of the Sacred Treasures from its realm, are we? That would cause Vanaheim to fall into decline and die."

"Why not?" Vidar demanded.

"'Tis against Sacred Law!" Tyr shot back. "And the imbalance it would cause in Yggdrasil could spread beyond Vanaheim's borders. As one of the upper realms, it lies too close to Asgard for us to risk bringing such destruction upon ourselves as well."

Odin and Freya exchanged a brief but pointed look.

"Then what do you suggest? Occupying Vanaheim indefinitely?" Vidar incredulously demanded.

"Why not?" Freya asked with a wry air. "Had Frei and I not been disowned I would have selected one of you to serve as your grandfather's new righthand and heir while I reign as Queen here. I was the crown princess, and by blood I still am, no matter what my father says. Therefore, Vanaheim is also part of your birthright."

Freya hovered down to her sons. "And if you must take what belongs to you by force, so be it."

The Odinsons smiled hungrily at those words.

"Yes," Odin almost purred. "I think it is time for what is owed to you be collected. The success of this venture means gaining the other half of your rightful inheritance."

He looked lovingly to his wife. "The half only your dear mother can bequeath to you. Eternal lordship of lands in Vanaheim."

"I know I accept," Vidar proclaimed. "I will consult the original plans for the Körmt Bridge to begin gathering materials!"

"I will go to the Light Elves with Loki to begin negotiations for the new bridge's construction and for their military assistance on the mission," Tyr said.

"I will begin reconnaissance to best determine what kind of opposition we will face on this mission," Hermod said.

"I will take stock of our troops and work with Loki to formulate an effective strategy as soon as possible," Thor said. "Even if we succeed in ending the reign of Grandfather Njord and seize the Silver Hall and the Megingeirr, there will be much to be done in securing our occupation."

"Very good. Begin at once," Odin ordered.

"Of course, father, but… Tyre hesitated.

"Speak, boy," Odin prompted.

"There is one other thing we must consider," Tyr said.

Odin for his life couldn't think of what they could possibly be missing. So, he stood silently, waiting for his fourth son to continue.

"Gullveig," Tyr said. "She can still pose a problem even after this operation. As grandfather's replacement heir, the Vanir would rally behind her if she escapes. We would have a resistance against us and they would still have an alliance with Muspelheim and Jötunheim."

"Yes, we will need a way to contain Gullveig," Freya concurred. "Killing her is useless, since she keeps coming back. We learned that one the hard way."

"One step at a time," Odin told her. "For the present, we will prepare for the mission. We can work out how to deal with Gullveig when the other pieces are in place. You are all dismissed. May the Fates bless you on your mission."

"May the fates bless us," the Odinsons replied in unison.

Then they vanished, leaving the rulers of Asgard behind.

"Hmm. Rebuilding the Körmt Bridge. Audacious. Creative. Even reckless," Odin grinned as he thought on the plan.

Freya stepped in close, leaning her head on his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. He put one of his arms around her in return.

"Perhaps just reckless enough to work," Freya softly said.


"So, my own daughter was the cause of that mess?" Loki sat at his desk, with his elbows resting on its wooden surface. His fingers were interlocked, tip-to-tip.

"Indirectly, at least," Lenneth sat in a chair on the opposite side, hands folded neatly in her lap. "I know not if the actions of the foolhardy soldier who took the orb were intended or simply a byproduct. Either way, the presence of this Black Dream Tower and Dark Tower of Xervah are… deeply concerning."

"And the undead inhabit these halls? Not her demons?" Loki asked.

"Yes, it is possible Lord Brahms has thrown in with Hel, but I cannot say anything for certain," Lenneth confessed.

"Very well. In that case, to what extent have these anomalies occurred?" Loki asked.

"They have even infested the threads of fate," Lenneth said. "One of my einherjar was not even supposed to be chosen. He was supposed to live a long life with his beloved and sire a whole brood of children, but a rip in space and time allowed his lifeline to be infected and broken, casting a horrible curse over him and everyone connected to him. I only chose him to break the curse."

"By Odin's eye," Loki seemed shocked. "This is…"

He stared off into space as he processed this revelation.

"I am not the first to report these things," Lenneth pressed the point. "Idunn and some of the other goddesses have spoken to me about this, but Odin and Freya brush off this clear threat."

"Indeed, I remember Freya being quite reticent about the matter when you originally brought it up," Loki replied.

After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision and nodded to himself. The Trickster snapped his fingers. In response, from deeper within his office, a winged ball of pink light flew out from behind a stack of papers atop a table in the back.

"Yes, my Milord?" an echoing, high-pitched voice chimed.

"Ah, one of the fairies," Lenneth realized.

"Merci, I want you to grab a pen and parchment, and record everything Lady Lenneth says," Loki told her.

"Yes, Milord! Right away!" Merci fluttered back to her own desk.

"Lord Loki?" Lenneth inquired, uncertain of what he was getting at.

"Lenneth, I want you recount every abnormality you and your einherjar have encountered and henceforth do so after every future incident," Loki instructed. "Odin and Freya may be stubborn, but they'll have to listen to me. Together, we will build a case to present them in court. While you are at it, we will include the testimonies of the other gods who have attempted to speak of them about this."

Lenneth beamed happily at him.

"Thank you, Lord Loki," the goddess bowed her head respectfully to him.

The fairy Merci returned a moment later, levitating an inkwell, pen, and parchment through the air with her magic.

Loki cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table. "Alright, let us begin."

Lenneth couldn't help but stare a moment, still bewildered that someone in the upper echelon of the Aesir pantheon was actually listening and trying to help her. She smiled.

"Of course, Lord Loki."


"Well, done… Belenus, correct?"

"Yes, my lord," Belenus bowed, holding the wooden Rook in his hand.

The item was about the size of a teapot, but much heavier and less delicate. Belenus stood front and center before Forseti at the base of the terrace steps. Off to the side, Llewelyn clapped for his comrade. Jelanda joined in, too, albeit a bit reluctantly. She pouted at her inability to complete the course. Then there was Arngrim, standing away from the two youths, with his arms crossed and fuming silently.

"Although you were perhaps too long in completing the course, your observation of your surroundings and quick reflexes took you to the end," Forseti praised him. "In a real battle, the enemy would be more persistent in hunting you down and you would be forced to make decisions more quickly. With a bit more experience, you will be able to make a timed run of the course."

"Thank you for the appraisal of my skill, Milord," Belenus answered respectfully. "I shall endeavor to take your wisdom into account."

Forseti gave him a smile and an acknowledging nod before looking to Arngrim. The large warrior growled a little, knowing what was coming.

"Arngrim," he addressed. "I believe you already know what you did wrong."

"Hmph," the scarred man grunted.

Arngrim crossed his arm, still feeling cheated from what happened during his and Belenus's run.

"Stop it!" Jelanda scolded him, whispering harshly from behind him. "Are you trying to end up in Niflheim?"

"Very well, if you will not admit to your mistake," Forseti said. "I will reiterate it again. You failed to study the terrain ahead and walked right into an ambush without thought."

"And Valkyrie arranged it that way," Arngrim sullenly muttered.

"Of course, she did," Forseti was becoming annoyed. "If you don't start looking before you leap, you will lead your team into disaster."

"I am afraid Lord Forseti is right, Arngrim," Belenus rolled the wooden rook over in his hands as he spoke. "You do tend to rush in without thinking. Just like in the Forest of Woe. You kicked down the front gate of an undead infested city and brought down a horde on us."

Forseti noticed Jelanda and Llewelyn shudder and moan unhappily as Belenus spoke.

"Thank you, kindly," Forseti said to the Lassen noble before turning to Arngrim again.

"I have no doubt Lady Valkyrie set this up as a lesson to you," the god of reconciliation mused. "I also doubt little your rash tendencies contributed to your demise."

Arngrim's twisted into a murderous scowl as that last comment hit deep. However, he made no move on the son of Baldur.

"Mind your own business, pretty boy," the large warrior said.

"Hey!" a gruff voice shouted from elsewhere on the palace's rear veranda.

Two nearby Aesir jumped up from their chairs and stormed over to where Forseti addressed the einherjar. One was a tall, muscular man with long, blonde hair with a beard tied in small braid. The other was a shorter, squatter, but still formidable man with red hair. They both bore warhammers not unlike Mjölnir on their belts.

The two men stood on either side of Forseti, glaring down at Arngrim, looking ready for a fight. The Artolian Heavy Warrior grabbed Dáinsleif.

"I think we need to teach you a lesson, little man," the blonde man said, gripping his hammer.

Forseti saw the two men getting ready to engage Arngrim and turned around, holding up his hands.

"Cousins, please," he bade. "I am capable of handling one mouthy human, myself."

"Aw, come on, we just wanna play with him for a bit," the shorter one smirked maliciously.

"Modi, no," Forseti told him firmly. "I said I will handle Arngrim. Enjoy your mead. I have this sorted."

"With all due respect, Cousin, you're the god of reconciliation, not vengeance. Modi and I know a bit about putting uppity snots like him in his place," the taller of the two said, palming his fist.

"I am also a god of justice. Now, Magni, please," Forseti stressed his appeal.

Magni regarded his gentler cousin, looking like he wanted nothing more than to grind Arngrim into powder. Forseti gave him silent plea, and after a moment, Magni tapped Modi on the arm, nodding for them both to back off.

"Come, little brother. Mead awaits us," he said.

Modi gave him a reluctant look but turned and slowly began to walk back to their table. Magni lingered a moment longer, and pointed right at Arngrim as he spoke:

"Valkyrie will hear of how you spoke to Forseti so arrogantly. Do not think she will let you off for that."

Then the Thorsons were gone, and Forseti breathed easier.

"Arngrim, stop this. Picking a fight with the gods will not end well for you," Belenus quietly told him.

Forseti turned to Arngrim angrily but waited until after the disrespectful human's peers had finished speaking to him. When Jelanda ceased chiding him, the god of justice descended the steps, walking right into the warrior's personal space.

"The other thing you need to work is your attitude towards authority," Forseti told him. "I don't know how or why Valkyrie tolerates your insolence if this is how you address her, but it will do you no favors with the rest of us."

"Who says I want any?" Arngrim shot back. "And get out of my face."

Forseti scoffed. "If it were my place to discipline you, you would be sent to the shore of the Ifing River to clear out the ice wyverns and their nests with others who cannot behave this very instant. Alas, you are still Valkyrie's charge, and your punishment will be hers' to decide. As Magni said, she will be hearing of all this, I assure you."

Arngrim defiantly turned away. "What's all this 'Valkyrie' crap, anyway? I thought for sure you'd be calling her 'Lenneth'. Aren't her fellow Aesir allowed to say her real name, either?"

"We are," Forseti answered. "When not around human ears. You presume too much letting her true name pass your lips. I care not that you learnt it somehow, but it is forbidden for you to say it."

Arngrim gave him a suspicious side-eye. "So, what's the deal with that? The Holy Writs go on and on about every other Aesir. Your names, your powers, your jobs, and all your great deeds. But Valkyrie is just Valkyrie and only gets one passage and a poem? What's all the secrecy about?"

That snared Llewelyn's attention, who had wondered the same thing more than once.

"The Holy Writs tell enough, and her contributions are recorded," Forseti flatly replied. "Valkyrie collects the souls of the heroic slain, train you, and then send you to us when you are ready to serve a higher purpose."

"Guessin' you don't plan on addin' in how Valkyrie broke the curse over the Skara region of Creel Monferaigne the other day?" Arngrim though.

"But enough of his diversion," Forseti didn't seem to have heard what Arngrim said. "Adjust your attitude."

"What is going on here?"

Everyone regarded the returning Lenneth. She stared quite crossly at Arngrim as she approached.

"Your subordinate's attitude leaves much to be desired," Forseti turned address her.

Arngrim looked away, trying not to listen as Forseti explained his defiance.

"Oh, you are in trouble now," Jelanda crossed her arms. "Don't say I didn't try to warn you."

Belenus and Llewelyn wondered if they really wanted to be around for this.

"Arngrim."

That single word from Lenneth was enough to send chills down the spines of the man's comrades. Arngrim turned around to see her giving him a look of disappointed annoyance.

"I have tolerated your… maladjustments too long, it seems," she said. There was a glint in her eye that might have been mischievous. "I have the perfect punishment for you, though. It seems the stable hands have been short staffed for at least a week and been unable to keep with… maintaining cleanliness in the royal cavalry's stalls."

Arngrim's face fell as it sunk in what she was saying.

"Oh, shit," Arngrim muttered.

"I suppose he's really stepped in it this time?" Belenus dryly said, prompting a groan from Jelanda.

Lenneth's lips turned up in another rare half-smile. "Indeed."


Ku-chunk!

"Hey, careful with that wagon. Precious cargo in there!"

"Eh, just jostled and scarred 'em a bit. No harm done to the youngins," the coachman said. He turned to look back at the crowd of small faces behind iron bars. "Yer alright, right, kiddos?"

The underfed children in the cage didn't answer him. Some stared back in hopeless fear. A few gave him baleful glares. The coachman smirked maliciously and cracked his whip against the bars, making the children pile against the back of the cage.

"I said, 'Ye alright'?" he repeated, giving a nasty smile of yellowed teeth.

"Y-yes, sir," one of them took the liberty of answering.

The coachman then snapped his whip against the bars violently again.

"Quiet! No talking!" he ordered and then burst into woops of harsh laughter as he drew his attention back to the road ahead again.

Many of the other slavers gave him annoyed glares. The coachman was a gaunt, lanky fellow with frail, angular face almost like a witch's, complete with a pointed chin and a long nose. His shaggy black hair hung in a greasy mess upon his brow. He looked almost like a propaganda illustration come to life sitting in the driver's seat of the slave wagon.

His coach was somewhere in the middle of a wagon train of iron cages with metal slabs for roofs, each containing poor souls who had been sold into slavery. Each wagon was pulled by a team of two large horses, guarded by many armed guards, some of whom rode horseback alongside each wagon. Others went on foot in pace with the clomping hooves. The caravan was made up of a mix of the man in black who worked for the company. Others were mercenaries. This particular caravan was heavily guarded for reasons lost on the coachman.

The coachman's eyes were pulled from the rode by the sound of a pounding hooves coming up alongside his slave wagon. He flicked oily strands of hair from his eyes as a man so large his feet almost drug along the ground despite being on horseback. His head was shaved completely, but he had a mustache and a long beard, both of which were showing the first signs of gray. His skin was tanned and his eyes dark. He wore a chainmail coat over a long tunic and his primary weapon was a great spear which rested across his back. A sword also hung from his belt, as a backup.

"Well, if ain't Mr. Big Important Mercenary, 'imself?" the coachman sarcastically greeted. "Come to pay some attention to us unimportant folk?"

"Mr. Smits," the mercenary stoically said. "I don't care if you have mock them, but please refrain from potentially harming Sir Reginald's goods before we reach Gerebellum. His buyers are expecting fresh servants at the market, and he will be less generous with his money if they arrive… damaged."

"Begging a thousand pardons, Rollo. Meant nothin' by it," Smits said. He looked back at the children, grinning wickedly. "Ain't that right, kids?"

"Smits," Rollo snapped.

"Ay, steady on," Smits relented. "No more trouble, on the double."

"Glad to hear it," Rollo sternly answered.

The coachman quickly decided to change topics. "Might I ask you somethin', sir?"

"Must you?" the muscle-bound mercenary asked.

Smits shrugged. "Maybe not, but I am mighty curious about why you and so many other mercenaries got hired to guard a simple slave caravan. Also, it true ye crossed blades with Arngrim and lived to tell the tale? If so, how'd you end up workin' this bloomin' job?"

Rollo gave him a disbelieving glance. "You know why."

"'Haps I do, sir, but truth be told, the memory's not wot it was," Smits answered.

Rollo rolled his eyes, sighing. "By the gods… I'm here because of The Silver Saviors."

"Those nutters?" Smits chuckled. "I know they're in the biz of freein' slaves, but surely even they won't hit a Lundberg's Bondservant Company caravan. That'd bring the Sherriff of Gerabellum down on 'em, and nobody crosses The Iron Lady."

"They do dare to cross Sheriff Agatha. They're getting bolder," Rollo's flatly answered. "And yes, they have started hitting Sir Reginald's slave shipments. No one yet knows how they're hiding them, but Sheriff Agatha has her suspicions."

"A'right," Smits muttered. "So, about ye? Sir Reginald didn't hire a big shot just fer this."

"No," Rollo agreed. "He did not. I'm here to bring in The Silver Saviors' leader, The Scarlet Swordsman."

"You'll never get him. He'll get you," one of the children in the cart shouted.

Rollo ignored her, but Smits gave the girl a nasty sneer. "Oi, don't be makin' me use the whip, ye imp!"

Then Smits turned back to Rollo.

"So, the Silver Necklaces are comin' fer us?" he asked.

Rollo did not need to ask what Snits was referring to. He knew the Silver Saviors' nickname well. It was in reference to the matching braided silver bead necklaces they all wore. It wasn't real silver, of course. The Saviors were a group of outlaw commoners. They salvaged tin from broken household objects, like kettles and pitchers, cutting them into tiny pieces which became their necklace's beads. The trinkets were never worn in public, of course, but only mission.

Rollo spotted one of the other horse riders turn from the fancy, gold-plated covered carriage at the front of the procession and approach him.

"Rollo, sir," the guard said. "Sir Reginald calls."

The big spearman took off, leaving Smits and the children behind.

"Wait, ye never said if ye fought Arngrim! THE Arngrim!" the coachman called.

Rollo blocked him out as his black-spotted gray mare trotted through the caravan towards the fancy carriage.

An important-looking man hung his head out the window, awaiting the mercenary's arrival. He was a plump fellow in black and red noble attire, a powdered wig, a monocle, and a blonde hooked mustache. When the carriage rocked upon hitting a bump in the road, Sir Reginald gave his coachman a dirty look.

"Careful, you ingrate!" his gruff, booming voice echoed through the wilderness.

He shook his head as though the driver could help it, but brightened when he spotted Rollo coming up.

"Ah, there you are," Sir Reginald called out.

Rollo the Spearman gave his employer a sideways glance as he rode up beside the window of the carriage.

"You called, Milord?" Rollo inquired.

"Ay, the scouts have returned," Reginald said. "They spotted nothing ahead, but if you would be good enough to remain here to protect me for the remainder of this venture, it would be much appreciated.

"As you wish," Rollo answered plainly.

"Good, good," Reginald straightened his feathered hat. "Hopefully, we pass unhindered."

"I wouldn't count on it," Rollo bluntly replied. "Not with the way The Silver Saviors have been hitting your interests."

A rumble came from within Reginald's throat. "Remember, you shall receive double the oth I've promised if you bring The Scarlet Swordsman in alive. I want to personally see that man in the racks."

"I doubt he would talk," Rollo thought.

"Oh, it would be most delicious to see his entire operation upended by his own confessions," Reginald vindictiveness ran deep. "And to get my business back in order while I still have one."

"Indeed, Milord," Rollo indulged him.

With that, neither man said anymore. Sir Reginald retreated back into the comfort and safety of his personal travel carriage while Rollo kept a sharp eye out.

Within the next half-hour, the terrain started to become considerably less level, but only off the trade road. Grassy knolls littered the ground on either side of the path while the path remained level.

Rollo eyed those lumps. "Had it been this way before. 'Tis been too long."

The leaves seemed to become thicker, completely concealing the woods beyond the path, which Rollo did not like. His only comfort was that the fauna seemed calm. Nothing had spooked birds into the air or deer across the path, all of which were signs of humanity, especially a large number of them. Rollo looked around, eyeing as much of the convoy as he could from his position.

As Rollo watched, many unseen eyes watched him and the other slave handlers as they passed. Many men and women dressed in earthy tones and wearing matching braided bead necklaces lied perfectly still beyond the trees. Their clothes were wrapped in vines and leaves, allowing them to blend in better. None of them made a sound, an art they had all mastered.

A young man stood behind a large tree, leaning against it. His short blonde hair and boyish fair features were both non-indicative of his persona, The Scarlet Swordsman. He wore mostly red living up to his moniker, from his hooded shirt to his bright crimson boots. Only his gray workpants and leather-studded chainmail were not. At the moment, his hood was down, leaving his face exposed. A two-grip longsword hung from his belt.

"They've brought a lot of mercenaries this time, Boss."

The Scarlet Swordsman glanced over at the person beside him, hidden behind another tree. She was a red-headed woman with short hair, dressed in short tan dress and clutching a matching pair of daggers. She glanced over him, nodding. The boss nodded back and took another gander at the slave caravan. Around them, the other members of the Silver Saviors were either standing with their backs to the trees on the ground behind their manmade camouflage.

"Of course, they did," The Scarlet Swordsman quietly replied. "They know we'll be here."

With that, he pulled the crimson hood up, fully donning his moniker for the mission.

"Alright," The Scarlet Swordsman said. "Let's see if they're close to the chokepoint yet. Claire."

"Yes, sir," Claire cupped her hands around mouth.

She squawked out an almost perfect impression of a Eurasian blackbird, followed by a second call. From further up the trade route, they heard two chirps in return. The hooded swordsman and Claire shared a look as their bodies tensed. That was the signal all was ready.

"Show time, Boss," Claire whispered.

"Give the signal," he ordered quietly.

Claire gripped her throat with her fingers to adjust her pitch. Then she cut loose with a pinging call that was indistinguishable from a bearded reedling. It rang out thrice, reaching across the ranks of the hidden rebels. Soon, more pings were moving through the forest, carrying the message to the chokepoint.

The pings traveled to a bush where an old woman hid with two girls in their late teens. They all tensed when they heard the signal. The old woman's long gray hair was tied back in a bun. She lied on her back holding a bow with a notched arrow. She wore a brown dress with a red shawl that was hidden under cloak of leaves. The beauty of her youth was completely gone, and her pale wrinkled face was set into a resolute stare, knowing that was her cue.

The elder rolled over onto her side, cupping a hand around her mouth before letting loose with three reedling calls of her own. With the die cast, she regarded the two youngsters with her.

"Ingrid, Gloria, be ready," the elderly woman's voice was barely a whisper.

"Ay, Grandma Bedelia," her young companions mouthed back.

The girls lied on their sides, clutching melee weapons. They were both short in stature for their ages. The girl closer to Bedelia was Ingrid. She had black skin with white hair tied in pigtails. There seemed to be a pinkish gleam behind her amber eyes, hinting at something supernatural about her. She wore black and gray leather-mail and clutched an ax that looked too big for her to use, yet she had no problem holding it up.

The other girl was Gloria. She had a fair complexion like the old woman, with shoulder length faded brown hair. A similar pink glow shined behind her brown eyes. She wore a tan tunic and brown tights. She gripped her cutlass tightly. It was also too big for her, looking to have been made for a man, not a girl no more than five feet in height. She wielded it as readily as Ingrid did her ax.


Rollo heard the distinct of pinging of several bearded reedlings. He thought nothing of it, knowing they sometimes came into the woods from the Common Reeds. One pinged out a mating call and was answered by many further up. A final call answered from far ahead. His eyes were on the thickly clustered leaves on both sides of the road.

Had they been this thick and impenetrable to the naked eye the last time he'd come this way? He couldn't recall. He happened to glance behind again at the wrong moment.

Cuuuuuur-

The groaning crackle ahead of them brought Rollo's attention forward again. The others heard it, too, and the other riders drew the reins, slowing their horses. The equines snorted unhappily.

"What is that Hellish noise?" Rollo muttered.

Cuuuuuuuuuuuur-rack!

In answer to his question, two large trees on either side of the road both came falling down. An echoing 'boom' sounded through the wilderness as they slammed into the earth, blocking way ahead. The horses reared up and tried to bolt while their masters fought to get them under control again.

It was for naut. Before the horses could be calmed, the grassy knolls peppering the landscape on either side of the road began to move. Rollo saw in the corner of his eye one of them fold back revealing armed men and women who sprang out from under them. As his horse whinnied and reared one last time, the Spearman realized they were surrounded. Those mounds had been but blankets with a layer of topsoil and grass covering them.

Rollo spotted their matching braided bead necklaces right away as they attacked.

"The rebels! They've come!" Rollo shouted. "Protect Sir Reginald! Get him out of here!"

"Ye-ah!" any riders who had their steeds back under control spurred their horses into actions, riding to intercept the Silver Saviors.

Arrows hailed from the trees, felling many of the riders and even their horses. With a second, the traders engaged the rebels in close quarters. Horses reared up, keeping spear wielders at a distance, but that did not save many of them, as other Saviors swung down from the trees from ropes, kicking or ramming many more riders off their horses. Swords and shields clashed. All at once, the air was filled with the deafening noise of war consolidated into one small strip of path within the wilderness.


As soon as the first wave of the ambush began, The Scarlet Swordsman spoke aloud for the first time:

"Now the fun begins. Cut 'em down!"

Claire smirked as she followed him out.

Above, watchers in the trees pulled out knives, cutting ropes hidden among the branches in a single flick of the wrist, sending those thick clusters of leaves Rollo had found so odd falling like a curtain, revealing they were nets overgrown with flora. As soon the nets were down, the second wave of rebels charged out.

The Scarlet Swordsman and Claire sprinted out, screaming for battle as they did. The hooded warrior entered the fray, singling out a particularly well-armored horseman right away. The man had a double-sided ax and a tall rectangular shield. By letting his horse turn itself around and rear up defensively, he was able to keep moving enough to start chopping heads left and right. Everyone else, he bashed away with his shield when he was blocking swords and spears.

"Hey, Boss!" one of the rebels shouted.

Their leader looked and a pair of men stood hunched down not far from the horseman with their hands held low and cupped together. The crimson avenger grinned, knowing what his comrades had to mind. He sheathed his sword, keeping a close eye on the horseman to ensure he was still distracted as he ran up. The two looking to boost him maneuvered around to keep close to the rider that was mowing their comrades down.

As soon as the scarlet warrior reached his boosters, he threw himself forward, shoulder first, and stepped onto their hands. His men pushed him up, flinging him into the air toward the horseback ax-wielder. Their target looked over just in time to see the airborne assault coming and raised his shield, but the whole weight of the Scarlet Swordsman was centered into his shoulder, so when he collided with his enemy, he sent the both of them to the ground beside the horse.

As soon as they were down, someone grabbed the horse's reins and started leading it away, even though it fought them. And its rider never got the chance to get back up, as he pounced by at least four Silver Saviors who plunged knives into his back and sides. The scarlet rebel was helped back to his feet by the very men who had flung him.

"Thank you both," he said, and pointed his sword at the fray. "Onward!"

He flipped his sword over, turning it level and high alongside his right temple as he charged forward, followed by the others. One of the men in black came at him with twin long daggers. The Scarlet warrior disarmed the man in a single stroke without breaking pace, slashing him across the stomach as he pressed on. It was like that with every opponent the man in the red hood faced. His fights were over quickly as he tore his way through the battlefield on foot to liberate those who would be sold as slaves.


"Now, girls!" Bedelia shouted.

The old archer popped up behind the bush with surprising speed for her age with two arrows notched in her bow. She loosed them, hitting two horsemen at once right before Ingrid burst through the bush screaming. Gloria jumped out from behind a tree, catching a mercenary off-guard. The man never knew what happened before the blade punctured clean through him and burst out his chest. Gloria kicked the man off her sword like he was straw as she stepped out into the open. She stared after Ingrid running straight into the fight without thinking, shaking her head.

"Dimwit," she muttered.

In her peripherals, Gloria saw a mercenary with a claymore running toward her. She used her short stature to easily duck under his stroke and then tackle into the large man. He was shocked when running into the girl was like hitting a wall and he was sent sprawling across the ground. When he came to rest, he rolled over as Gloria approached, cutlass pointed at him.

"What… what are you?" he begged.

"Not all human," Gloria answered, before jumping in and removing his head.

When Ingrid burst from the bush, she ran screaming at a group of men dressed in black trying to secure the slave wagons to escape with them. She raised her oversized ax as though it were weightless, drawing it to the side in preparation to start chopping bodies.

The men in black turned to see a five-foot petite girl with exotically dark skin running at them as though she were going to take them all on by herself.

"That's Kalstad heritance. She'll be worth a bundle. Get 'er!" one of them pointed out.

Many of them smirked, pulling out their weapons from their long jackets, intending to subdue Ingrid and add her to their wares. A particularly big, bearded man in black took out an iron bow, thinking he could block her ax while the others overwhelmed her. He charged Ingrid while the other men in black circled around to snare her. When she closed in on him, Ingrid tensed, drawing her ax back further to swing at the big man in black across his middle. The man confidently held up his bow upright to block her.

Ka-chunk! The big man had but a split second to register that Ingrid's ax had cleaved clean through his pole weapon before that massive ax tore through his middle at the waist.

The other slave traders stopped dead, gawking as his upper body fell one way, and his lower body and legs fell the other. However, unlike them, Ingrid ran right past where the big man had fallen without breaking stride. Some of the men in black were still rooted in shock, while others went on the offensive, and a third portion either out of cowardice or a drop of wisdom, just turned and ran for it.

Ingrid plowed over the first several black-coated men to get in her way, sending them in pieces bouncing and rolling over the earth or beneath the hooves of panicking horses before she slowed again. Several opponents jumped at her from all around her with spears extended. Ingrid quickly pulled her ax back and then swung in a full arc with all her might, chopping the heads off the pole weapons.

The men in black backed away, looking at their ruined spears in silence. Some did the smart thing in also retreating, while others threw their ruined spears down and tackled Ingrid as one. For a moment, the dogpile held and they seemed to have her where they wanted. Then with a mighty roar, Ingrid grabbed the arm of one of these men with the offending hands and threw him over her head, slamming him into his own compadres. With the newfound freedom, Ingrid punched another in the face, knocking him out cold, before grabbing another man by the leg and hurled him around in another complete circle, knocking back every other long-coated attacker.

Her living cudgel moaned and slumped to the ground, unconscious. Ingrid smirked, feeling pretty proud. Her smug satisfaction as cut off when something rammed her from behind, knocking her down. Ingrid rolled over to see another man standing over her with his ax raised.

Schwoof!

An arrow plunged into his eye, and he fell dead beside Ingrid.

"Fool girls!" Bedelia jogged up to them. "I always tell ye both, watch yer asses, or the dogs'll be chompin' 'em!"

The elder notched another pair of arrows, and loosed them, dropping a pair of warriors who were about to kill one of their comrades. Gloria ran up and offered her hand to Ingrid, who took it, pouting.

"Having fun, I see?" Gloria jested.

"Only just beginning," Ingrid dusted herself off and grabbed her ax.

"Maybe you won't just run without thinking next time?" Gloria chided.

Ingrid again pouted at her.

"Hey, you coulda helped! You just let those lechers touch me!" she whined.

Gloria snorted with a roll of her eyes. "Sure, sure, you seemed to be in so much trouble here."

"Hey, I'm delicate!" Ingrid insisted.

"Enough chatterin', more fightin," Bedelia scolded them, and then shot a shot a man off his horse while only looking at him through her peripherals.

"Don't get your knickerbockers in a twist, Granny," Ingrid shot back. "We're coming, we're coming!"

Gloria and Bedelia said nothing as a mercenary crept up behind Ingrid. They didn't need to. The white-haired girl ducked under his swing, grabbed one of his legs, and stood back up whipping it out from underneath him with ease. He yelped as he flopped onto his back at her feet. Then Ingrid dropped into another crouch, punching him in the face and knocking him out.

Gloria smirked, and then stabbed her cutlass straight behind her, skewering another opportunist through the stomach. Then she turned facing him fully, and dug her feet in. With a grunt of effort, the petite fighter threw him over her head, sending him flying through the air where he eventually collided with a horseback rider and knocked him off the saddle.

"Alright, enough play," Bedelia said. "Come along girls. We got wagons to bust enough."

"Coming, Grandma," Gloria and Ingrid both answered.

They began following her toward the now unguarded cages. They were stopped when a group of men in black and armed mercenaries ran in and blocked them. However, these new combatants had seen what they'd done to their comrades and gave the pint-sized powerhouses uncertain, almost fearful looks. Bedelia backed up, taking her place behind her granddaughters in formation, notching two more arrows and aiming for the men on the ends, knowing the girls would both go straight for the middle.

"Just what the Hel are you?" these new attackers shouted.

"No, not Hel," Ingrid corrected. "Half-Nidavellir… Hmm?"

Ingrid scratched her chin as she considered how to say it. "Half-Nidavellirese? Nidavellirian? Nida…"

"We're half-dwarven," Gloria blunted stated. Then her eyes flared with anger as she looked up the slave traders. "Now get out of our way if you like breathing. No Valkyrie's coming for slimy slave traders."

Instead of scaring them off, the men in black took great offense to that, and they took a step towards the girls.

"Oh, that showed 'em," Bedelia deadpanned.

"Oh, no, Gloria, you've made them mad," Ingrid's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Whatever shall two dainty pure maidens like us do?"

Gloria and Bedelia looked at her incredulously.

"Pure maiden?" they both balked.

Ingrid looked offended and just stuck her tongue out at them, seemingly ignoring the men, who began charging at them. Then both girls turned to their enemy and began cutting a path through them to get to the wagons. A pair of arrows whizzed back them, catching the men on the outer most edges of the enemy's formation.


The slaves in their cages huddled together, trying not to get hit with a stray blade or arrow. They could only look out through the bars as the commotion started, watching as the world exploded into bedlam and dust clouds around them. Many watched while in prayer, hoping their rescuers would be successful. Others looked on in frustration at being unable to help or use the confusion to flee. Except, when the chance presented itself, one did take the initiative. When one of the men in black fell back against the bars, a young woman reached through the bars and wrapped her arms around his head.

"Ag! Let go, wench… ugh…" As she applied pressure, the man's air was cut off.

He was not able to thrash against her long, as one of the Silver Saviors ran in and slashed him across the stomach, spilling its contents. The caged woman let the dying man drop to the ground, a vindicative smile on her face. The Silver Savior she'd assisted was also a woman, a beautiful light golden blonde with almost snow-like skin and cornflower blue eyes. She was wearing a green poncho covered in leaves over her regular clothes.

"Thanks for the assistance. The name's Thalia," she held up a pilfered key-ring. "We're going to get you all out of here."

She looked back and called over some of her associates. About three ran over and covered her as she began fitting keys into the lock, trying to find the correct one.


Reginald glanced out the window of his private carriage, eyes wide and full of terror.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" he cried.

He dared to poke his head fully out the window to shout to the driver.

"Driver! Get us turned around! We must flee!" when the driver failed to respond or begin turning them around, Reginald called again. "Driver?"

When he leaned his body out the window to look toward the front of the carriage, Reginald's mouth dropped open in a big gasp when saw the man slumped over with three arrows sticking out his chest and the horses panicking. They whinnied and reared up before taking off, turning away from downed trees blocking their way. They passed onto the grass, and galloped into the battle in a dead panic, running over friend and foe alike. The driver fell from the front seat and over the side of the carriage.

"Guards! Guards! Help me!" Reginald pled, looking for anyone who would help him.

He spotted his armed guard, but each of them were busy defending themselves from armed attackers in raggedy clothes mobbing them and most of them had been de-horsed.

"Rollo!" Reginald shouted.

The spear-wielding mercenary turned at the sound of his name and saw his employer helplessly being carried away by a wild horse team. Rollo tried to break away from the fight, but there were people and other horseback riders all fighting around him, trapping him in. Still, Rollo pushed his horse onward, and they began forcing their way through, slowly but surely.

Reginald screamed as the carriage shook violently from running over any poor soul who got in the way of the panicked horse team. He was thrown back onto his cushioned seat as the entire carriage continued to shake with a vengeful turbulence as its fat occupant flailed helplessly trying to get his bearings. Reginald slipped onto the floor of the cabin. Through sheer willpower, he managed to get himself turned over onto his hands and knees.

Reginald reached up and crawled onto the seat again before grabbing the windowsill with both hands. He pulled him up so he could see what was happening. When he looked out, the horses were heading right for a small trail just off the main road.

"Oh, no!" the thought of ending up wrecking in the middle of the wilderness did not appeal to the businessman.

"Rollo! Rollo, dear boy! Where are you, damn you!" Reginald again screamed. "I need you!"

But the spear-wielding mercenary was nowhere to be seen.

"Incompetent fool! Never good help when you need it!" Reginald cursed.

He looked down and saw how quickly the grassy earth was passing beneath him. Another look at the approaching trail, and he threw open the door of his carriage. He cautiously stepped out onto the little ramp of steps, clinging to the doorframe with both hands. It occurred to him that he had no idea how to make this kind of jump, although he had seen warriors do it before.

With the path into the wilderness upon them, Reginald took a breath, and made the leap. He let out of a brief scream as he flew through the air, arms flailing wildly before he crashed into the overgrown grass on his side and was sent rolling sideways on his round belly over lumpy ground.

He finally came to rest on his back, and just lied there in an utter daze as his carriage thundered off into the great wild unknown. As soon as he could, Reginald took in a big breath of air, gasping like a fish and staring with wide eyes straight up into the overcast sky. When he attempted to sit up, a great pain shot up his side, forcing him back down into the grass. The noble clutched his throbbing left side with his right hand, grimacing as he squeezed his eyes shut and his face reddened. He let out a wheezing groan that turned into a dull cry of pain. He had almost curled up on instinct, but doing that hurt well, so he stuck lying there with his limbs spread out.

He took shuddering breaths as he waited for the pain to subdue. When it slowly began to fade, he tried something else. He pulled over onto his other side and began crawling his way across the ground slowly. Pain continued to burn his side, but it was bearable like this.

He inched his way forward until he came upon a pair of booted feet. Reginald slowly looked up, shaking in pain and fear at the sight of three persons, each wearing the braided necklace of the Silver Saviors, standing over him and smiling with wicked glee. Two men and a woman. The man in the middle, who seemed to be the leader of three, was a rough-looking young man with a dark cowlick. He had his arms crossed as he smiled crookedly down the injured slave trader.

"Well, well, wut 'ave we got 'ere, Rusty?" he asked.

The one Reginald presumed to be Rusty was a stocky, short man with shaggy sandy blonde hair that was kept out of his face with a brown headband. He also had a very wide face.

"Dunno, looks like Humpty-Dumpty t' me," Rusty said with a chuckle. "Sir Reginald 'ere sat on his tall wall an' took a great fall."

Reginald held up his hand pitifully. "Wait, please…"

This plea seemed to incense the girl, a well-tanned teen with short black hair held up with a headband. Her bright green eyes widened with fury, and she kicked him in his bad side. Reginald grunted painfully as she pushed him onto his back with her foot. She whipped out a nasty-looking curved dagger with many pointed ends along its edges.

"Oi, fat man from Lassen," she growled from between grinding teeth. "I wonder 'ow many 'ave begged you fer mercy and was denied."

"Wait. Just wait," Reginald's voice was a hoarse whisper. "I can make you all very rich."

The cowlicked leader let out a sarcastic "Oh!" before sharing another nasty smile with his compatriots.

The girl held up her dagger. "I say we bleed 'im like a stuck pig."

She drew her dagger up to her other elbow, preparing to drop down and cut him good. However, their leader grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She looked at him with a mix of confusion and anger.

"Eh? Barren!" she protested.

The leader, who Reginald now knew to be Barren, just looked at her, giving an authoritative shake of his head. He let go of her wrist, but held out his arm in front of her to block any attempt on their new captive. She fumed at him.

"But it's him!" she cried, pointing at Reginald with the dagger furiously. "It's 'im! He's the one that's sold me t' that horrible place!"

The one called Rusty glared harshly at Reginald, looking like he was about to take her side.

"Sold you? Where?" Reginald blurted.

The girl slowly looked down at the wounded noble at their feet, shaking with almost controllable rage now.

"You…"

"Not now, Betty! Not here!" Barren ordered.

"But Barren…" Dusty protested.

Barren practically jabbed a stern finger in Dusty's face, giving him a firm look as well. Betty looked at Barren sullenly, but he pointed at the battle raging not far off.

"Not yet. Stow it fer now," Barren ordered. "The Boss will want to 'ave words of 'is own. Now help me drag this sweaty dobber out o' sight."

Reginald could do nothing but lie there helplessly as they gathered around him and bent down, taking him under the arms and shoulders to move him.


"Alright, Claire, we'll cut you a path and cover you," The Scarlet Swordsman pulled his blade from another slain enemy.

Claire looked over at him from where she stood over a mercenary she'd just stabbed in the back, and now lied facedown in the dirt.

"Just get to the wagons and start picking locks," her leader instructed.

Claire nodded, and the hooded man called over as many of the others as he could. About ten more Silver Saviors ran to their side. Their hooded leader gestured to the slave wagons, and they understood without instruction.

"On my mark, everyone! Go!" The Scarlet Swordsman shouted.

Claire hung back as the others charged ahead of her. Then she took off, following them as they engaged a rank of mercenaries and black-coated guards who were trying to block them from getting to the wagons. However, despite their superior numbers, the Silver Savior crew began pushing through. Claire could not help but watch the swordsman in red nimbly cleave his way through one enemy after another, barely stopping as he cut them down.

"So talented," she thought almost dreamily.

There! One opened when The Scarlet Swordsman dropped into a crouch, tripping up a heavy warrior that had tried charging him. Then he sprang up tackling three more men with his full weight, knocking them and himself to the ground. The gap in the slavers' ranks had been opened.

Claire ran for it, leaning into her sprint. She began weaving around any other combatants in the battlefield who happened to wander into her path while fighting someone else. She stayed low and tried to avoid notice. She darted through the narrow gap in the slave trader's ranks.

Claire reached into her pockets for her lockpick as she neared the first slave wagon she came to. She climbed up onto the outside of the cage to get up the lock, stopping only to put a finger to her lips to keep the captive within quiet.

"We're here to help," she kept her voice down as she fit the pick into the key-slot.

Claire tried to work quietly but carefully at the lock while also listening for what might be coming up behind her.

"Miss, look out!" one of the slaves-to-be warned.

The redheaded knife-fighter dropped from the cage just in time to avoid the bite of a blade. Her attacker's sword banged against the bars of the wagon. Claire looked up at her assailant from her hunkered position and saw he was heavily armored in a complete suit of armor. Instead of trying to fight him, she rolled under the wagon when his next stroke came down.

He bent down to stab under the wagon to get at her, but he never got the chance. The swordsman in red tackled him from the side, slamming armored warrior into the side the slave wagon. The hooded rebel leader then grabbed the man's helmeted head and banged it against the bars. The armored warrior cried out from the deafening metal clanging right in his ears and pushed back against his opponent. With his eyes focused on the hooded man as he wrestled with him, he did not notice Claire come out from under the wagon. She crept up behind him and stabbed one of her daggers through the gap between his armor plates along the sides of his body.

The armored mercenary let out a garbled cry. The crimson rebel used the distraction to break free and drive his sword through the gap in his visor. Their opponent stood, twitching for a moment, and then fell to the earth, dead. The red swordsman nodded to the wagon and Claire hopped back to up continue her work as he turned away, standing vigil while she worked the lock.

"Third wave!" The Scarlet Swordsman shouted, and put his fingers to lips, whistling loudly.

"Third wave!" others repeated, and more whistles broke out through the air.


"By the gods! By the gods! Get you! Out o' me way!" Smits shouted.

As the sleazy coachman tried to steer his slave wagon off the trail to flee the battle, there was a mob of black-coated traders, mercenaries, and Silver Saviors in his way. The children in the cage either clung to the bars or to each other as Smits forced the horse team in motion. The beasts of burden were able to turn out of line only to be stopped by the warring mob in front of them.

"Go! Go!" Smits snapped the reins over and over.

The horses reared up, knickered, stomped, and kicked, but they did not take off into a mad gallop like he wanted. They kept trying to work their way around through the fighting, much to the increasing irritation of their driver.

"What's the matter, big nose? Can't make 'em run like ye would, ye big coward."

Smits looked back at a sandy blonde boy smiling gloatingly at him. The driver sneered and snapped the whip toward the cage, but the boy broke into a laugh. Smits tried whipping the horses again, but they still wouldn't do it.

"Those are Lassen-trained Spotted Buckners!" the boy behind him jeered. "Ye'll ne'er crack the whip at 'em hard enough to make those horses run over a crowd! They're bred and trained to keep their heads better than other horses!"

"Shut up! Shut up!" Smits shouted again.

He cracked the whip against the cage several times, but the boy's laughter only grew louder. By now, Smits's face was turning red from his anger and fear. Had he the time, he'd have jumped out and gotten into the cage to beat the boy. Smits tore himself away from the defiant child and continued to try steering the horse team through the battle, cracking the whip at anyone who got too near.

"Ye get back, well ya! Move out o' me way! Comin' through!" the gaunt coachman hollered.

Then a series of loud whistles broke through the air, over even the sounds of the battling factions. Smits looked around in confusion.

"Wot's all this, then?" he asked.

Behind him, the boy's smug satisfaction was interrupted when something landed on the cage roof, making the whole thing shake violently. Many of the children cried out and huddled closer together yet, not knowing what else had come to torment them.

Smits cried out as the slave carriage briefly rocked like a ship in stormy waters, nearly causing him to fall off. He turned to see what had caused it and let out a moaning gasp at the sight of a man standing on the roof of the cage. He was a tall, scruffy man with graying dark hair covered by a purple bandana. He was a green-eyed man with rugged features that were beginning to show their age. He wore light gray work pants, a matching long-sleeved shirt with a darker gray vest with pockets along the front holding knives of all sorts. Most importantly, about his neck was that damnable beaded necklace. He carried a bow and wore a half-empty quiver across his back.

"Oh, gods above!" Smits cried out.

The man took a step towards him, but Smits wasn't going to let him come close. The crooked driver lashed the whip at him, but the scruffy man caught the stroke with his arm, causing the thong to wrap around his forearm. The man grabbed the whip and with one of his muscular arms and was able to yank the instrument from Smits's grip easily. The skinny driver screamed again, leaning as far forward on the driver's seat as he could.

"Hlin! Save me!" Smits begged the sky.

He screamed again when the scruffy man crouched down, getting in his face, flashing a toothy smile.

"Hi, I'm Maximillian! Maxi to my friends, so I guess you can call me, 'Sir'," he said.

Maximillian when hopped into the driver's seat, squeezing himself in next to Smits and snatching the reins.

"Excuse me, sir!" Maximillian gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm late for an appointment and I'm going to need a lift to get there on time."

The rat-like driver pitifully raised his arms to protect himself.

"You are gonna free us?" the sandy blonde boy from before asked.

Maximillian looked back, seeing him gripping the bars at the front of the cage just behind him. The man smiled with genuine warmth at the boy and nodded, holding up the braided necklace of The Silver Saviors he wore for them to see.

"We are. We're the good guys, kids. Now hang tight, we're makin' a run for it!" Maximillian faced forward again, snapping the reins. "Hiya!"

The horse team took off faster than Smits was able to get them as Maximillian steered through a break in the fight. The wagon passed onto the grass as it sped up even more, bouncing back and forth as it crossed the rougher terrain. Behind them, more commandeered slave wagons turned off the trader route, and fell in line. Others were turning around altogether, doubling back from up ahead.

Smits continued to cower the bandanaed hijacker tried to wiggle in the seat, finding it impossible to get comfortable. Finally, Maximillian turned to Smits again with the same faux-pleasantness from before.

"I apologize, but it's kinda cramped up here. You're gonna need to get out, sir."

Smits let out one final bloodcurdling scream as he shoved off the slave wagon altogether by the large fellow. The children behind the bars laughed and jeered as they watched him flail through the air before vanishing into the battling masses around them.

"Much better!" Maximillian sat comfortably and made a sharp right, heading for the trees, seemingly.

"Um, Mr…" the boy called, looking on the incoming tree line in fear.

Maximillian held up one of his hands to calm him.

"Just watch, kids," he said.

Then he put his fingers to the corners of his lips, and a piercing whistle cut through the air. On cue, the leaves and branches parted, and even a whole tree seemed to slide to the side, revealing a hidden path. The wagon bearing the children was the first to cross onto it, and off the battlefield.


"Alright, everybody out!" The Scarlet Swordsman instructed.

Claire ran off to unlock the next wagon, leaving behind one of the others to assist the escaping bondservants. Their leader turned, watching their backs. Claire had already opened three of the wagons, which were emptied of their captives. As the escaping prisoners began to climb out, their rescuers directed them to the woods.

"Run single file! Do not separate!" The Scarlet Swordsman ordered. "We'll cover you! Just run! You'll be guided once in the trees!"

The escapees took off as best they could for people who had been confined to sitting positions in low cages for days, making slower strides than they would have liked. The Scarlet Swordsman and the other Silver Saviors backed up forming ranks which to cover them.

"Do not let them escape!" one of the men in black shouted.

Mercenaries changed the rebels, intended to break through and recapture the bondservants. The red-hooded leader turned towards the trees and shouted with a hand cupped around his mouth. "Archers!"

Arrows sailed out from the trees, flying over the escaping captives and the rebels covering them. Any mercenaries who had shields stopped, dropping to their knees and holding the protective plating up at an angle to intercept the darts. Those who had no such protection took the full brunt of haling arrows and died.

As soon as the volley was over, the Silver Saviors backed up, closing the gap in their ranks which the slaves had fled between. Now they had to hold off the mercenaries.


Rollo lowered his shield. Several arrows were sticking out of it. He was alive, but his horse was not so lucky. It lied dead beside him. He scowled at the Scarlet Swordsman and the other Silver Saviors covering the escape of Sir Reginald's wares. He picked himself up from where he had fallen after jumping off his horse to ensure one of his legs did not get pinned under it.

As the massive mercenary surveyed scene, he knew the battle was lost. It didn't seem to matter how many Silver Saviors he killed. Too many of the black-coated traders and their hired blades were dead. Worse yet, they had already made off with many of the slaves.

"There goes my fee," Rollo thought angrily. He eyed The Scarlet Swordsman. "Unless I bring him in."

"Get them!" Rollo barked at the surviving mercs.

They stood and charged again. Rollo hung back, wanting to see how the highway robbers would counter this. The other Silver Saviors began to charge as well, but their leader raised an arm to make them stop.

"I have these guys. You get the rest of the captives out, now," he ordered.

"Ay, sire!" one of the others complied as they all turned and left him.

The Scarlet Swordsman tossed his sword up, making it flip 360 degrees before catching it again as he walked towards the charging mercenaries.

"He's going to take them alone?" Rollo thought, smirking. "Fine. I'll still collect the bounty after my men have had 'accidents'."

The first man ran up, bearing a shield and mace. The red hood feigned a strike from the upper right, but instead jumped left, striking his opponent at the base of the neck, severing the bone. The red swordsman quickly moved on to his next opponent without pause.

The rebel swordsman jumped into the air, kicking the next man's shield to the side, making him stumble. The hooded rebel landed in front of the man and cut his throat. The remaining mercs ran in as a mob. Rollo grinned from his place hanging back, knowing they'd finish him quickly. His smile faded as the Scarlet Swordsman proceeded to nimbly avoid every strike while never missing with his own. Not ten seconds passed, and the hooded man stood over all the mercs who had survived the arrow volley, which had become a short-lived victory as they shed their mortal coils in the glass. Now there was just Rollo.

The spearman gaped at what he had just done.

"I thought all those things I heard about him were just tall tales. He's the real deal," Rollo thought.

A determined smile graced his features. "Finally, a challenge."

Rollo briskly walked toward his mark, and the legendary swordsman approached him as well. The Spearman moved to the right, and the rebel matched his movements, staying parallel to him and unwilling to let him past.

"Fine by me," Rollo thought.

Rollo stopped when they got close to each other, holding his shield out and his spear back. The swordsman kept coming, making quick back and forth movements as if to strike. Rollo watched him, trying to anticipate his movements, waiting for the move which wasn't a juke.

The swordsman jumped in with a two-handed thrust aimed at Rollo's face. The mercenary jumped back and to one side, narrowly avoiding taking a fatal kiss from the blade's tip. Instead of retreating, the swordsman ran past him, slashing at Rollo as he did. The Spearman barely threw his shield up in time to deflect it. Rollo fell back another step as his opponent jogged away before doubling back at him.

The swordsman sped up and leapt into the air with his blade drawn back level to his eyes. He thrust out at Rollo again, throwing his full weight into the blow. The spearman again caught the stroke with his shield, but the other man's weight backed him up even more.

"I have not been able to attack once," Rollo's anger burned at being made a fool of.

The swordsman pressed the attack again, weapon held level at his side. Rollo backed away, giving himself space to counterpart, but the rebel leader kept right in pace with him. The swordsman gripped his sword in both hands and thrust straightforward. Rollo raised his shield, but then at the last second, his opponent dropped down on one knee, striking at one of Rollo's legs.

The spearman swung his shield down, barely catching the blow. Without pause, the swordsman jumped to his feet and unleased a cross slice towards Rollo's head. The spearman parried it with his spear, but his opponent brought his sword back around swiftly, stabbing at Rollo's face again.

Rollo knocked the blade to the side, and swung his spear across in the arc, hoping to catch him by the throat. The hooded rebel ducked backwards like one playing limbo, evading Rollo's stroke. Instead of springing back up, the swordsman spun around in place, throwing himself into another low stance and stabbed at Rollo's legs again. The bigger man sprinted to the side to avoid it. By now, the mercenary was beginning to feel a measure of fear for the fabled freedom fighter.

"He's almost killed me four times now," Rollo realized.

The spearman doubled back and thrust at him, aiming for the heart. The hooded man parried the blow straight up from below. The swordsman swiftly flipped his sword forward and jabbed at Rollo. The bigger man saw the stroke coming and leaned back, avoiding it.

Rollo desperately knocked the sword away with his spear. The rebel swung back in, cutting across the middle in arc, but Rollo fell back and to the side opposite of where the Scarlet Swordsman's blade went. With the swordsman turned away him, Rollo thrust out with his spear, which was parried by a sweeping cross swing. The swordsman's hilt was faced towards Rollo, so the crimson fighter swung his blade up from below. The spearman saw the upswing coming and side-stepped.

Both opponents backed off, studying each other.

The Scarlet Swordsman gripped his sword in both hands and came at Rollo taking hopping steps. He swung it down from the right diagonally, which Rollo deflected with his spear. The swordsman brought it across horizontally from the other side and Rollo's shield took the brunt. He jabbed his spear straight out at his enemy, but the scarlet fighter leaned to the side, raising one foot high and stomped down on the pole's body before Rollo could pull it back, snapping it in two.

Rollo stumbled back, staring in shock at the now useless weapon in his hand. He looked at hooded man with a mix and anger and fear before charging him, shield first. The Swordsman swept one foot back, going off to the side instead of facing the bigger man's weight head one. He used Rollo's own forward momentum to push him on past.

When Rollo reoriented himself, he spun around, grabbing his backup sword from its scabbard and charged the scarlet warrior, alternating between horizontal and vertical strokes. The red-hooded man caught his latest cross cut and spun in closer to Rollo, loosing a sideways swing at his head which was deflected the mercenary's sword. The Scarlet Swordsman broke off, doubled back, and threw his whole body into another high swing aimed at his opponent's head. Rollo ducked and dropped to one of his knees, taking a stab at one of crimson avenger's ankles, but the rebel's sword swept down and across, knocking Rollo's blade back.

The hooded man kept moving forward and kneed the mercenary in the chest just below the throat. Rollo coughed, clutching his chest as he was slammed onto his back. He was only able to cough once more before being stabbed. Rollo looked up at the blade protruding from his chest with eyes that were glazing over. Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth as his head fell back and eyes rolled up.

When he was sure the mercenary was dead, The Scarlet Swordsman looked around. He saw that nearly every man hired the guard caravan was neither dead and turning the grass red or fleeing into the wilderness with jeering Silver Saviors catcalling after them. He turned his attention to the cages and saw they all were either empty or gone. While he'd distracted Rollo, his Silver Saviors had finished the job.

He heard footsteps and whipped around defensively.

"Whoa, easy there, big guy. It's just me, you're lovely gal, Claire," the redhead winked at him.

"Claire," he greeted with a nod.

She smiled impishly as she sauntered up him with her thumbs shoved into the sides of her belt. She looked on the scene with him and then wrapped her arms around his neck lovingly.

"You did it again, hero boy," her voice was sultry as she cupped his chin in her hand, turning his head to face her.

She looked up at him as she rested her head against his chest. The Swordsman's lips turned up into a wry half-grin.

"Hero boy? Is that all I get? That guy coulda killed me, you know?" he said in jest.

"Aw, poor baby. Here, let Claire kiss it better."

The pair locked lips, getting some playful whistles from the sidelines. When they broke the kiss, Claire rested her head against him with her eyes shut a moment. Her lover grinned and looked on their work. His heart warmed at the sight of the exodus.

"We won, Lucien," Claire said to him. "Even with the odds against us today, we still won."

The Scarlet Swordsman, Lucien, grinned under his hood.

"We did, didn't we?" he answered. "It was all thanks to everyone here."

Then, Lucien reached into one of his pockets. He kept Claire in the corner of his vision as he did so. She had not opened her eyes yet, contented simply to hold and be held by him at the moment. Lucien pulled the object out, holding it tightly in his fist. He raised it to his eyes and opened his gloved hand, revealing a strand of silver hair braided to keep it together. Under his hood, his eyes filled with sorrow as he looked at the only remaining piece of his dear friend long passed.

"We did it, Platina," he internally spoke to the hair as though it were her. "We saved many more today. There are countless here today who won't be victims like you and my sister were."

Lucien closed his hand, clutching the memento tight as a wave of bittersweetness hit him. He slowly lowered his hand, and carefully put it back in his pocket. Lucien then looked up at the sky as the clouds began to part and the beams of sunlight broke through.

"Platina, wherever you are, I promise I will keep battering the slave trade until it breaks, or I die trying," he silently reiterated the vow he'd made many times before. "I'll keep rescuing the victims until there are either no more to save, or 'til my body gives out. So, rest easy, please."

Claire's eyes opened as she remembered something. She looked at Lucien and caught him staring off into the distance.

"There's someone the fellas would like you to meet," Claire said.

"Hmm?" he absently mumbled.

She grinned devilishly. "We caught a straggler you'll just love to chat with."

"Who?"

"Sir Reginald Lundberg, owner and proprietor of Lundberg's Bondservant Company," Claire joylessly said.

Lucien was suddenly in a mood to match her tone. "I see."


"Whoa! Where's the coin go, Mr. Maximillian?"

"Dunno," Maximillian held out his arms, letting the freed children gather around and look for the vanished coin in his sleeves, but it seemed to have just gone missing from both his hands.

He smirked and pointed to a girl with pigtails. "Oh, there it is!"

He reached behind her ear, 'pulling' the coin out. That got cheers and claps from the kids.

"How'd you do that, Mister?" a dark-haired boy asked.

"Ah-ah-ah! A good magician never reveals his secrets!" Maximillian answered as he flipped the coin between his fingers, thumb to pinky, and back again.

While he entertained the orphan children they'd rescued, the adults rested, either on blankets laid out on the ground or against trees. Families who'd been dragged into bondage together huddled close, almost unbelieving they weren't still heading for the slave market to be parted on buyers' whims. In one corner, an old man sat with his daughter and grandson under a tree. Only the child ate some bread supplied to them, as he'd started to become weak in their cage. Both his grandfather and mother were relieved to seeing him looking a lot better while eating and were profusely thanking their rescuers.

Some of the other former captives also watched Maximillian's act, hearts warmed by the man's attempts to keep the children cheery. Some of the stronger liberated had taken up arms and stood with the Silver Saviors keeping watch while they waited for the rest of their group to return. Any way they found to thank their liberators, they did it, no matter how small the gesture.

The commandeered slave wagons were not around. As soon as they freed their captive passengers out in the woods, the rebels filled the caged with logs and rocks to keep the depth of the tracks consistent, and drove those bondage wagons off to abandon them at another place. The ex-bonders were lead in the opposite direction of the carts and their footprints erased leaving no trail to follow.

In the present, as they awaited The Scarlet Swordsman in the hidden hollow, sky above them was aglow with purple rays of sunlight, igniting the overcast sky. It was the twilight hour, and the sun was hanging low enough to bathe the Midgard in its glow under the clouds as it began passing beneath the horizon. It was getting dark where they waited. Almost dim enough to need a campfire to keep the things of the night away. In fact, some of the Silver Saviors worked with the freed slaves to get some prepared if Lucien and the others took long enough rejoining them.

Near the base of one of the slopes sat Sir Reginald Lundberg, lucky to be alive, though feeling anything but. He was tied to a tree and struggling to breath. The trio that had collected him off the field only did rudimentary work to mend to his broken ribs before tying him to the trunk.

Betty, the woman who'd wanted to gut him the instant she found him stalked around nearby, like a wolf circling her prey. Her hateful eyes were on Reginald the whole time. He watched the pacing woman walk both and forth in front of him. He was somewhere between still fearing for his life and being in enough pain to beg her to end it.

Rusty walked up and tapped Betty on the arm to get her attention. As the two exchanged a conversation Reginald could not hear, he shifted trying to get more comfortable. Finally, the girl stormed away, leaving a Rusty shaking his head after her. The stocky thief gave the slave trader one more hard look before walking away as well.

"Now toss the apple so it passes in front of that tree, Geoffrey," Maximillian instructed.

The boy in question wound up his arm in preparation to give the red fruit a good throw. Maximillian balanced the tip of his knife on his finger, but then gripped it between his pointer and thumb, also winding up to a throw. Geoffrey was off to the side and the other children had retreated behind Maximillian to watch his next trick from safety.

Then Geoffrey pitched the apple, throwing it in a curved arc. Maximillian's knife arm jerked forward, sending the weapon spinning through the air where it intercepted the apple, cutting it into two halves before imbedding itself in the tree. The children clapped. Maximillian confidently crossed his arms, grinning at the sound of youthful cheers. Underneath, he was beginning to tire.

"Alright, Lucien, anytime you wanted to get yer ass back here would be fine by me," Maximillian thought.

Then four chirps of a rock pipit rang out, signaling the return of their remaining members.

"Thank the gods," Maximillian breathed.

When all turned to watch them arrive, Betty came up beside Maximillian while he retrieved his knife. When he saw her approaching, he smiled. "Evening, Bright Eyes."

"Papa," she sounded troubled.

"Hey, Bright Eyes," Maximillian responded.

Betty looked at him with emerald eyes which matched his own as she nodded toward Reginald. Maximillian mouthed "I know, be patient, please," as he nodded.

"It's hard. After what he did to… to…" she trailed off.

"It's over, Betty. I found you," Maximillian put his hands on his daughter's shoulder. "They can't hurt you anymore."

"But we couldn't find Mama," Betty's voice strained.

Maximillian's voice died. He looked away, grief stricken in his moment of silence. He fought to gather himself so he could console his daughter.

"I know. It's all wrong," he said. "But look."

Maximillian turned Betty around and directed her gaze around the hollow at every man, woman, and child they had recovered from the jaws of servitude.

"We're making a difference for people like us now," he encouraged. "So many families today won't have to go through what we did."

A tear streamed down Betty's face. "This should have never happened at all, though. I just wanna gut 'im."

Maximillian knew exactly how she felt. In fact, he also wanted to, even more than she did. He briefly cast a cold eye on Reginald some yards away. He spoke to Betty again, softly:

"It wouldn't make it better."

"I know. Nothing will," Betty whispered sadly.

Maximillian had nothing to say to that. He just held her shoulder gently, hoping that just knowing he was there helped.

Lucien and the others returning Silver Saviors came down the trail on the slope into the rendezvous point. Behind him, second in line, was Claire as always, followed by Bedelia walking along hunched with her arms crossed behind her back like the unassuming old woman they all know she wasn't. On either side of her, the half-dwarven girls Gloria and Ingrid walked flanking her. Twenty more of Lucien's men brought up the rear, guiding the last of the liberated.

Lucien paused halfway down the incline, taking in the sight of another successful mission. The would-be bondservants were unharmed. However, they had lost many Silver Saviors that day thanks to certain heavy hitters the slave traders had hired.

"'Tis the Scarlet Swordsman! He's real," one of the rescued slaves muttered.

All around, the liberated murmured amongst themselves and stared up at him as though they were beholding one of the Aesir walking among them. The attention and sheer reverence honestly made Lucien uncomfortable, and he was glad to still have his face hidden under the hood.

"There must a hundred this time," Lucien mumbled.

"Yep. A hundred less enslaved for life, beloved," Claire agreed.

"Boss! Welcome back!" Barren called, walking up to the front of the crowd.

"Hail, my friend," Lucien smiled and approached him.

They shared a forearm shake while the others filtered into the hollow, taking up positions around their leader.

"We sure showed 'em, eh?" Barren boasted.

"Showed 'em? That was a close shave today," Bedelia warned.

"It wasn't that bad," Ingrid shrugged. "I could use a challenge every now and again."

"Ingrid," Lucien scolded, beating Bedelia to it. "No talk like that in front of them."

He nodded towards the liberated. Ingrid swallowed uncomfortable, and glanced at Bedelia, who simply nodding, giving the half-dwarf a firm look.

"Whatever," Ingrid stalked off.

"Don't you 'whatever' me, girl! You still live in my house," Bedelia chastised her. "As long as you and yer cousin are under my roof, ye'll respect me."

"Sure, sure, Grandma," Ingrid quietly called back.

Bedelia scoffed and turned toward Gloria.

"Your cousin is gonna get herself killed if she's not more careful," Bedelia sternly muttered.

"I know, Grandma," Gloria confessed. "I know."

"Bedelia's also right about us cutting it close today," Lucien spoke up.

Claire, Barren, Bedelia, and Gloria listened as he spoke.

"Today, the Lundberg company was a lot more prepared than before," Lucien's tone was troubled. "It's only going to get worse after this, and we're going to step up our training."

"What Lundberg company?" Claire scoffed. "We have the man prisoner here."

"They'll be another to take his place," Lucien insisted.

"We'll worry about training tomorrow," Barren put an arm around Lucien's shoulders and guided him into the center of the hollow where all eyes could see him. "Right now, we just have to get these people to Gerabellum, so we can get them sorted."

"Ay," Lucien answered.

Barren's arm dropped from his shoulders as Lucien stepped away, taking centerstage before the liberated. Lucien kept his hood up as he addressed the crowd. They preemptively gave him a cheer just seeing him in the flesh.

"Good people," Lucien raised his voice for all to hear within the trees. "Here in this late hour of the day, we The Silver Saviors of the common folk return to you what should have never been taken: your freedom. Your right to daily wages for your work, to own a little corner of the land as your own, to leave for far off pastures if you wish or must, and mostly importantly…"

He paused, organizing the words in his mind. "The right to love and wed, to raise your children freely, and to give them a legacy not of bondage under a master's whims. A future of their own to pave when they leave through your front door to strike out on their own."

Around him, the crowd clapped while giving a few subdued cheers. Lucien held up his hands to quiet them.

"But the journey only just begins," he continued. "This hollow is the mouth of a secret path which leads to the old abandoned Gerabellum mines. Worry not, it is quite safe. We have cleared, secured, and maintained the route routinely."

"The old Gerabellum mines?" an elderly man in the crowd balked. "Those lead right into the Gerabellum capital where they was gonna sell us!"

"Ay, 'tis true," Lucien concurred. "But worry not. We have danced in this banquet many times. The underbelly of Gerabellum is a web of many threads. We have hidden many, many people we've saved from enslavement since we began. We have moved all of them in and out of the city through the years. Whether starting them on the path to getting their old lives back or beginning anew. We will discuss these matters in full and make arrangements once in the city."

Lucien then pointed south. "But now, we must begin this journey. These woods are not safe after nightfall. Men, prepare the torches and break out the ashes. I want Helms of Awe smeared on every forehead for safe night travel. And as for him…"

The hooded figured turned toward Reginald, still tied to the tree. The fat noble gulped. In the dark, there was only a black void under Lucien's hood where his mouth and chin would be visible during the day, making him seem a specter of death.

"…Bring him," Lucien ordered.