by Jack Wright
Elaria
Ashes of Verdenheld
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Prologue
“A damn fine kill!” Hera declared triumphantly, prodding the dead deer with her crude wooden staff.
“I told you I had it.” Ulfric gloated, pushing his greatsword back into its massive sheath on his back.
“I think I had more than enough reason to doubt you.” Hera chuckled. “Most deer aren’t stupid enough to get killed with that clunky thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, blame the deer.”
Ulfric and Hera had always been in competition, friendly of course. Most of the time. Things were far more entertaining when they meant obtaining bragging rights.
“Get these Ragnar?” Ulfric asked his brother.
Ragnar nodded with a grunt, moving over to the deer. That was as close to an answer as they could get out of their brother. Adoptive brother, that is. Their father had found him abandoned in the wilderness and took him in, assuming he had been left there for his disability.
Ragnar heaved a deer over his shoulders and stood upright, his hulking frame effortlessly supporting the carcass.
Hera and Ulfric took either end of the second carcass, hauling it up between them. They headed back across the tundra, the brittle brown grass crunching under their feet. The wilderness of Norskar was an eerily quiet place, not a bird in the sky, not a breeze to be felt. It was awful, but it was home.
“We’ll be eating well tonight.” Ulfric said cheerfully. “Maybe we ought to keep one of them for ourselves.”
“You know we can’t do that.” Hera warned. “Proceeds go to the chief to be doled out.”
“I know, I know, I’m joking.”
They started back towards their village, a small, isolated place at the foot of the Bjeranvald Mountains. Built within a shallow valley, it was well sheltered from the chaotic climate and hidden from the hateful eyes of the city dwellers in Spearpoint and Askelhold nearby.
“I wish we could do this more often.” Hera sighed. “It’s nice, just the three of us. Just like old times.”
“Old times?” Ulfric chuckled. “I don’t think you remember the old times like I do.”
“I remember showing you up all the time.” She smirked.
“Really? I just remember everyone sucking up to you because they didn’t want to be incinerated.”
Hera giggled, a judgemental look on her face. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
Ulfric knew everyone in the village were scared of Hera, he could see it in the way they looked at her, always staring anxiously. There weren’t many mages in the chiefdoms, nowhere near as much as in Verdenheld. Hera was by no means a master of the arcane, but her power was well beyond that of the village shamans. That scared people.
“You’re right though.” Ulfric said. “We don’t get to spend enough time together nowadays. Maybe we should make this a weekly thing?”
“What, like a ‘same day, same time’ sorta thing?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fun. Once a week, just the three of us against the world.”
“Just like old times.” Hera chuckled, sarcastic yet in agreement all the same. “You remember that time we dressed up old Harald’s dog as a jorgheist?”
“Didn’t the fright kill him?”
“What?! You and I remember this a lot differently.” Hera laughed uneasily. She was remembering that right. Wasn’t she?
“Yeah, he had a heart attack. We ran away and hid in the attic for three days.”
Hera’s eyes widened in realisation. “Wait, we did that because he died?!” She gasped, a look on her face as if her life was flashing before her eyes.
Ulfric grinned amusedly at Hera’s distress. “Why did you think we did it?”
“I don’t know, I just assumed we were in trouble for dressing up the dog! I swear they said he died in his sleep.”
“Yeah, to save him the embarrassment! No Nord wants to get scared to death.”
“Stars, we’re murderers!” Hera cried.
“I like to think the dog’s the real killer. Besides, I’m sure he would’ve croaked any time soon.”
“I can’t believe this.” Hera stammered. “I killed a frail old man.”
“Ah, forget about it. It’s been twenty years, everyone else…”
Ulfric trailed off and slowed down. Over the barren hills ahead of them was a rising pillar of thick black smoke within the mountains, towering over the surrounding tundra.
“A forest fire?” Hera guessed by the thickness of the smoke.
“No, it’s too slim.” Ulfric stammered panickedly.
“You don’t think…”
Ulfric was already off, sprinting up the hill ahead. Hera nudged Ragnar and knocked him out of his blissful ignorance. He turned slowly to her with a confused sigh.
“Come on, big guy!” Hera urged, as she set off running after him.
Ragnar groaned and dumped his deer on the ground annoyedly, taking off after them in a heavy jog.
Ulfric stumbled onto the hilltop, looking on fearfully. The shallow valley ahead was aglow with blazing orange flame, the village of Kalmansa smouldering in its midst.
“No…” Ulfric gasped falling to his knees in the dry tundra grass.
He clenched his trembling fists and ground them into the dirt, gritting his teeth as his eyes welled up with tears. He looked up at the village, scorched and desolate, the buildings black and crumbling. With the brittle, arid grass still burning at the village’s edge, it was clearly recent. Whoever was responsible must have still been there.
Hera skidded onto the hilltop, Ragnar still plodding behind her. She looked for herself upon the village in shock, her breath short and her mouth ajar. Personally, Hera had little attachment to their home. Since their parents passed away, she’d had nothing left but Ulfric and Ragnar. She had no friends, not even an acquaintance. Nobody would talk to her, they’d all just keep their distance, afraid that she’d kill them or something.
Ulfric however, was the village blacksmith and he knew everyone in the village like family.
“Stars… what happened?” She gasped, as Ulfric staggered up from the ground.
Hera approached Ulfric slowly. His breath was heavy, his fists clenched and arms tense. Tears rolled down his cheeks and saturated his slender black beard. She wanted to hug him and tell him everything was okay, like she would when they were young. As she reached out softly for his shoulder, he thundered off without a word, down towards the village.
“Ulfric, no!” Hera yelled after him, fearing that he would throw his life away.
Ulfric kept going, possessed by rage. Hera watched him go and sighed begrudgingly. What happened here didn’t upset her, but seeing Ulfric upset did. He was all she had apart from the walking slab of lovable meat standing beside her.
“You spoiling for a fight to, big guy?” She muttered to Ragnar.
Ragnar looked up from watching a burrowing worm and shrugged carelessly, the poor guy had no grasp of the situation.
“Yep, me to. I guess we’d best go after him.” She said, starting off running after Ulfric.
The three of them barrelled down into the valley towards the shattered gates of the village. As Ulfric approached, he could hear the fading screams of the few expiring survivors, of all the kind and friendly people he had come to know so well. The pain it brought him worked only to fuel his rage, growing ever greater as his drew closer.
Ulfric reac
hed the gates and looked on, beholding the horrors before him. The village was in ruin, the buildings crumbling and black, the ground thick with rubble and soot. A choking swarm of ash and embers polluted the air. The whole place was strewn with charcoal husks once neighbours, now burnt to the point of being indistinguishable.
Out from one of the burning houses burst a group of men, soldiers all, laughing and jeering. They wore battered iron armour and chainmail over a red uniform, the kind of armour worn only in the Kingdoms. They bore the symbol of a black eagle against a red and white checkered background, sigil of House Verden, the ruling house of the Kingdom of Verdenheld.
Ulfric knew this would be the work of one of the Kingdoms. They had always spat on the chiefdoms as savages and barbarians. This time, they had gone one step too far. For that, he would make them pay.
The three men were startled, immediately drawing their swords and getting ready for a fight. As Ulfric summoned up his rage and grasped the sword on his back, Ragnar moved to help only to be stopped by Hera’s outstretched arm.
“Let him have this one. There’s plenty more where they came from.”
Ragnar relented with a nasally grunt. Hera knew Ulfric needed this and that there would be plenty more soldiers for her to burn soon enough.
Ulfric drew his greatsword from its runic leather sheath on his back. The massive iron blade was somewhat crude but had never proved to be anything less than effective. He held the sword firm in both hands and marched towards his prey. He could see the fear in their eyes, yet their numbers gave them confidence. The herd had to be thinned.
Two of them turned to one another and each nodded, as if Ulfric couldn’t see them. Simultaneously, they lunged at him, both swiping sluggishly downwards. Ulfric moved his sword on its side and effortlessly parried both blades. The Kingdoms were fools to equip such poor soldiers so well.
Ulfric knocked one assailant back with a thrust of his crossguard. Utilising the space made by moving the soldier back, Ulfric swung his sword around and brought it high above his head. He brought down his sword above the remaining soldier, who foolishly attempted to block the strike. The force of the swing easily knocked aside the soldier’s sword and the greatsword slammed into his left shoulder, between his worthless armour, splitting the man’s chest in two with a brutal crunch. Showered with a visceral spray of gore, Ulfric slid his sword out of the wound and let the man fall to the ground. Turning his attention to the third man, who was lingering in the back, Ulfric advanced towards him.
Suddenly, the second man ran at him from the side and attempted to make a swing at his arm. Ulfric threw his sword to the ground and grabbed the soldier’s wrist. With a swift motion, he pulled his hunting dagger from its sheath and jammed it into the man’s unprotected side. The soldier shrieked hysterically as Ulfric buried the dagger deep and twisted it hard.
As Ulfric yanked his dagger out from the soldier’s abdomen, who dropped to his knees and fell flat, he turned to the third soldier once again. The man was frozen in fear. Before him was a Nord warrior soaked head to toe in the blood of his fellow soldiers. The soldier turned and ran, stumbling clumsily through the thick ash.
Hera watched with amusement as the last man fled. She reached onto her back and brought forth her staff, a simple wooden shaft carved with arcane runes. She thrust it forward with a fiery red flash, unleashing a ball of crackling red flame. The fireball streaked across the barren wastes and struck the escaping soldier in the back, setting him completely ablaze in a shimmering flare of fire.
Ulfric watched for a moment in pleasure as the man writhed and screamed, his flesh melting from his bones and his armour turning molten and searing his skin. His bloodcurdling wails slowly faded, until eventually he fell silent and joined the faceless husks he had created.
He knew he shouldn’t have enjoyed that. Normally, he would never wish such agony on someone else. This was different though, these men deserved it, for all the women and children they had mercilessly slaughtered.
“What now, brother?” Hera asked, more than ready to continue on the path of vengeance.
Ulfric picked up his sword, tears rolling down his blood spattered face. “Now… now we make every single man in this village pay. We butcher them like animals, just as they did our people.”
Ulfric, Hera and Ragnar carved a bloody path through the ruins of their village, slaughtering soldier after soldier with neither mercy nor remorse.
The last soldier fell at Ulfric’s feet clutching the stump of his leg. Ulfric’s clothes were saturated with blood and his sword was oozing with gore, he had shown no mercy for they had deserved none.
Ulfric crouched down and grabbed the barely conscious soldier by his hair, pulling up his head to look him in the eyes. The soldier’s face was wet with blood and tears, his face screwed up in agony.
“Why did you come here?” Ulfric hissed.
The soldier only stuttered and mumbled, the pain too much for him.
“Tell me!” Ulfric roared impatiently. “Unless you want to lose the other one.”
“I-I’m sorry! We- we were just… just doing our jobs…” The soldier stammered, his voice shaky and hoarse.
“Who sent you?”
“Th- The King… h-he-”
Ulfric had heard enough. He dropped the soldier to the ground and turned away, leaving him to succumb to his wounds.
Hera sat on the scorched steps to their clan house, or what remained of it. She didn’t know what to think of what had transpired here. Her concern was less about what happened here and more about what it was doing to Ulfric. Normally he was cool and calm, sure he shared the common hatred of the Kingdoms, but he would never hurt someone unless he truly had to. Today, a different side of Ulfric had come out, a broken man driven by rage and vengeance. Those men deserved death, but the sheer brutality of Ulfric’s kills was… unnerving.
Hera looked up as Ulfric returned from his interrogation with a grim look on his face, wiping the blood from his blade with a rag. He was drenched with blood and cloaked in dirt, his messy black hair was sweaty and dishevelled and his furious brown eyes were tired and tortured.
“So?” Hera asked as Ulfric approached. “He tell you what you needed to know?”
Ulfric sheathed his sword and slumped exhaustedly onto the steps beside her. He took a moment to breathe and gather himself, before turning to Hera. Unlike him and Ragnar, she had not a spot of blood on her. Her silky blonde hair was pristine and golden, her pale skin spotless and her glistening red eyes hung on his words attentively.
“The attack was ordered by the King of Verdenheld himself.” Ulfric muttered. “Because of the accident, no doubt.”
The accident. Not long ago, one of the village’s hunters accidentally shot and killed one of the King’s sons while he was on the road to Northhaven. Accidental as it had been, Verdenheld did not deal in accidents.
Hera sighed heavily. “What bothers me, is that Verdenheld sent a small army halfway across Norskar, without a word from the Kingdom of Norskar.”
“Because that bastard High King would rather lick Verdenheld’s boots than aid his fellow Nords.” Ulfric spat. “Norskar hates us just as much as Verdenheld, they think we’re savages, that we’re below them because we refuse to conform to their hideous ideals.”
“So… what are we going to do about it?”
Ulfric grinned, for the first time in a while now. It was a dark smile, somewhat unnerving, contorted by a lust for vengeance. He stood up before Hera and Ragnar.
“What are we going to do? We’ll rise up, take a stand against the tyrants they call Kings, do what the rest fear to do. These Kingdoms think they can walk all over us, that we’re nothing but dirt beneath their boots. We’ll free the world from their tyranny, do away with their broken ideals of greed and inequality. We’ll burn it all down.”
Hera jumped up alongside him, a smile on her face. “I’m in. Let’s show those stuck up pricks who they’re messing with!”
Ragnar grunted i
n what could only be assumed to be agreement. The big guy never knew what was going on, but he was loyal to his brother and sister until the very end. Ulfric knew he could count on that.
Ulfric bent down and scraped a handful of ash from the steps. He looked at it for a moment before unsheathing his sword, reminding himself of the life he once had. He wiped the ash down the blade, like a sort of baptism.
“So, brother. What’s the plan?”
“First, we go to Askelhold. We’re going to ask the High King to do something about this invasion of his lands.”
“Ulfric, you already know the answer. There’s no way the King will bat an eye to this.”
“I know. We’re doing it to make a point.” A dark smile grew across Ulfric’s face again. “We’ll show the world the true extent of the corruption these Kingdoms breed. We’ll rally the downtrodden against them… and then we’ll set their world ablaze.”
Chapter One - Erisian
Erisian heaved open her eyes, blinded by the sunlight beaming through her window.
Sunlight! She sprang out of bed in a panic. She could hear the training already underway outside, the clashing and slashing of sword against board. She flung open her drawers, erratically throwing her clothes and armour onto her bed. She threw on her patchwork beige shirt and scruffy brown pants, moving gradually over to the chest in the corner of the room. As she strapped her first leather bracer to her arm, she kicked open the chest where her sword lay waiting for her.
“Where in the stars’ light my daughter?!” Bellowed a voice from outside.
That wasn’t good, she thought. She picked up the sword and buckled it around her waist. This wasn’t the first time she’d been late for training, but it was becoming a more common occurrence. This ought to buy her another lecture on responsibility.
She flung her chestpiece over her head and wriggled through it, squeezing her slender arms through the sleeves with ease. Flinging the door open, she stumbled into the hallway of the longhouse, hurriedly yanking tight all of the straps on her armour. She didn’t actually need the armour for training, but she liked to get into the role. It helped when she was imagining herself fighting monsters rather than training dummies.
