After a moment, Aravon rolled up the map of Rivergate, stuffed it into his pack, and lay down. He had the next watch, between midnight and the third hour of the morning, in just over two hours. He needed sleep if he was to make it through the next days and reach Rivergate in any shape to fight.
Worries continued to whirl in his mind; he couldn’t shut out his concerns over the battle to come and his lack of plans. Yet, as Rangvaldr’s words echoed in his thoughts, he closed his eyes.
Swordsman, hear my prayer and guide my path. The way ahead is dark and dangerous, and I have but my earthly eyes and ears to navigate it. Strengthen my arms and lead my feet aright, for the sake of my comrades, my friends, and loved ones.
A simple soldier’s prayer, lacking the eloquence of the Lecterns that held noonday services in the Master’s Temple in Icespire. Yet those words seemed to lighten Aravon’s burden. The problem of Rivergate remained, but a part of him, deep down, took comfort in knowing that someone had heard him. If not the Swordsman, then Rangvaldr, at the very least, knew the difficulty he wrestled with.
True to the Seiomenn’s words, as Aravon finished his silent prayer, he felt the weight indeed lifting from his shoulders.
Chapter Ten
“What do you think, Captain?” Skathi’s voice cut into the late-night darkness.
Aravon shot a glance over at the Agrotora. Even after their second full day in the saddle and too few hours of rest, she appeared calm, almost at ease perched on a fallen log a few feet to his right. She held her short horsebow in one hand, an arrow resting lightly on the string. Doubtless she knew as well as he that there was little chance of being assaulted here, deep in the Princelands. Yet relaxed or no, she could nock, draw, and fire that arrow in less time than it would take Aravon to stand. That was enough to fill anyone with an unassailably calm confidence.
“About what?” he asked.
“Rivergate.” Long seconds passed before she continued. “And what’s waiting for us there.”
Aravon’s jaw muscles clenched. Rangvaldr’s words the previous night had helped him sleep, but another day spent riding had brought all the worries crashing back down atop him. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words through the entire day. The others seemed to have sensed his mood. Their meager dinner around the pitiful campfire had been a quiet affair. Even the usually-energetic Snarl seemed subdued, curling up around Aravon’s feet as if to offer the comfort of his presence.
After a moment, Aravon sighed. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.” Skathi didn’t typically go out of her way to speak to him—to any of them—except on matters relevant to the mission. Much as it felt uncomfortable for a Captain to admit he was clueless how to win an impending battle, opening up to her might be the only way to get her to open up to him in turn. “Try as I might, I can’t figure out what to do.”
Skathi nodded sagely. “Standelfr’s going to be a pain to get across. Then there’s the matter of all the Eirdkilrs and Jokull camped inside Rivergate’s outer wall.”
Aravon drew in a deep breath. “That’s exactly what’s got me worried.” He no longer needed to look at the Duke’s map to see the image of the garrison; he’d studied it so thoroughly every inch of the streets were burned into his mind. “Rivergate Bridge was our best way in, but Commander Rheamus had no choice but to bring it down. Without the bridge, we’re going to have to assault the outer walls just like the enemy did.”
The archer grunted acknowledgement. “And with just two hundred of us, we’ve got about as much chance of success as Noll’s got with Princess Ranisia.”
Aravon couldn’t help chuckling. Princess Ranisia, wife of Prince Toran, was considered the most beautiful woman in the Princelands. Noll, on the other hand, was a damned good scout…but he was still Noll.
“Well, maybe our odds aren’t that bad,” Aravon shot back.
The night was dark, the moonlight obscured by the canopy of the beech tree under which he and Skathi sat watch, but he would swear he saw a smile tugging at her lips.
“Is that what’s got you gloomy?” Skathi asked. “Or is it…” She trailed off, then gave a dismissive wave.
“What, Skathi?” Curiosity burned within him. “Is it what?”
The archer drew in a deep breath and, after a long moment, said, “Your father.”
Her words drove a dagger of ice into Aravon’s gut.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” Skathi said quickly. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing what the Duke said to you when he followed you out of the party, back at Camp Marshal. I just thought…” She ducked her head. “I was worried, we all are, that maybe your attention’s divided.”
Aravon’s spine stiffened. “You’re all worried?” Acid surged in his throat. “Everyone else knows?”
Skathi nodded. “Somehow Noll found out, and you know how he tends to run his mouth.”
Aravon clenched his jaw, his fists curling tight.
“But when he told us, it wasn’t because he was trying to gossip about you or anything. He was just making sure we all know so we could…” Her eyes dropped away. “…help pick up the slack, I guess.”
Aravon’s jaw fell slack—not only at his surprise to hear Skathi actually defending Noll, but at the concern in her tone. “You all…worried about me?”
“Yeah.” Skathi nodded. “You’re our Captain, after all. If your head isn’t on straight, we all end up dead.” She shrugged. “Rather fond of staying alive, most of us are. Which means we want to make sure your head is on right before we head into battle.”
Aravon’s eyes burned, and he found his throat strangely thick. Hearing this—not only from the usually close-mouthed Skathi, and about his men—brought a sudden upsurge of emotions within him. He was fiercely loyal to those under his command, but it always felt odd to hear his soldiers expressing the same devotion to him.
“It’s not that,” Aravon said. “Or, at least, it’s not just that.” He swallowed to clear his throat. “Yes, the Duke’s news of my father has me worried. Or, it did until we set out on our mission. Then there was no time for worries about home. But what’s got me concerned is the fact that, like you said, we’ve got an icicle’s chance in the fiery hell that we’re pulling this off.”
“Sounds kind of like Anvil and Gallows Garrison,” Skathi offered. “And Bjornstadt, for that matter.”
“I know, and that’s the only thing that’s keeping me from turning tail and riding in the opposite direction.” Aravon clenched and relaxed his fists. “I can trust that Mylena’s looking after my father, but…” He hesitated a long moment, finally blowing out his breath. “I’m worried that you’ll all end up like Draian.”
Skathi stiffened on her seat beside him, her expression growing tense. She’d only known the Mender for a few weeks, yet, like Aravon and all the others, she had grown fond of the man. Though Skathi hadn’t said anything, Draian’s death had hit her hard.
“Commander Rosaia has a saying.” Skathi spoke in a quiet voice. “Once the arrow’s left your string, all you can do is pray you aimed true.”
Aravon cocked his head. “The wisdom of the Agrotorae.”
Skathi shrugged again. “We’re the arrow, Captain. We’ve left the string, so there’s no going back. All we can do now is aim true.” She chuckled. “Not the best saying, as arrows don’t really have a mind of their own, but—”
“No, Skathi.” Aravon shot her a grateful nod. “It’s just what I needed to hear.”
He sat back, and he felt the tension draining from his shoulders. The worries about Rivergate remained—he still had to figure out the way to deal with the Eirdkilrs and Jokull surrounding the inner keep, impossible odds under the best of circumstances, and these were far from perfect—but he felt better knowing his men not only trusted him to lead, they cared about him enough to worry. For a commander, that was the greatest feeling in the world.
“There’s no chance you’ve had a brilliant idea on how to pull this off, is there?” A
ravon shot her a sly grin. “It’d make my day a whole lot easier if one of you happened to solve it for me.”
“Nah.” Skathi shook her head, setting her braided red hair whipping around her face. “Clever shite like that’s something I leave to the lot of you. Me?” She ran an affectionate hand across her bow. “I just care about picking my targets. Simple archer’s work.”
“You’re anything but simple, Skathi.” Aravon fixed her with a piercing gaze. “Skill at arms aside, you’re as fierce and courageous a soldier as I’ve ever marched with. And, I suspect, a lot like my Mylena, deep down.”
“How so?” Skathi’s voice held a strange note of curiosity.
“You should have seen her when we first met.” Aravon smiled, warmth flooding him at the long-ago memory. “Cooler than a Frozen Sea glacier, elegant as a duchess, and with a tongue sharp enough to kill every barbarian between here and the Sawtooth Mountains. I can honestly say there were days I’d rather stand up to an Eirdkilr charge than face her down. Stronger than a tidal wave and twice as devastating if you got on her bad side.”
Skathi chuckled. “The woman of your dreams, eh?”
“Every damned day.” Aravon nodded, his voice ringing with sincerity. “Beneath that icy exterior she presented to the world, there was a beautiful, wonderful, caring, loving woman. Took me a long time to find my way through her walls, but when I did, I fell in love with her even more.”
Skathi said nothing, her expression inscrutable, and her fingers toyed with the smooth wood of her horsebow.
“What I’ve seen of you, Skathi,” Aravon said, “that’s what made me think of Mylena. When the day comes that you find the right someone to open up to, to let them in, I think you’ll find exactly what I did. Her vulnerable, tender, emotional side didn’t make her weaker. Instead, they made her even stronger. Letting people in can be hard, but it’s worth it.”
For long moments, Skathi held her tongue. “Until it’s not,” she said in a quiet voice. “Sometimes vulnerable is just that.”
Aravon sensed a deep well of hidden meaning in her words. Something had happened in her life to cause her to erect those defensive walls around her heart and mind. But, like Belthar, she seemed unwilling to fully open up. But what she’d shown of herself, even that tiny glimpse, was enough. For now. He had to prove that he was someone she could trust, and he’d do that by letting her speak her mind when she was ready.
“Fair enough.” He shrugged and leaned back against his tree trunk. “But just so you know, it might be worth giving someone a chance. I won’t say who or when—that’s up to you—but none of us can get through this on our own. Only way we survive is together.”
“Thank you, Captain.” The words sounded strained, yet they echoed with a hint of relief. “And just so you know, none of us think what happened with Draian is on you. All’s shite in love and battle, a friend of mine used to say. Let it weigh on you too long, and it might drag you down.”
Aravon swallowed and found his throat too thick to speak. Instead, he reached down and scratched at the scruff of Snarl’s neck. The little Enfield gave a delighted whine and turned his gleaming yellow eyes up toward Aravon. Trust radiated within the fox-creature’s gaze, and he leaned against Aravon, his weight and the warmth of his body comforting.
Again, Aravon felt his shoulders lifting, his breath coming easier. Skathi’s words had lightened the burden weighing on him. He still had an impossible mission ahead, but he didn’t have to carry the weight of command alone. His men cared about him as much as he cared about them.
“Shared burdens grow lighter,” his father had always said. If he wanted to get through this mission, he’d have to do it with their help. He had to share his burden and trust his men wouldn’t think him weak because of it.
Chapter Eleven
“Damn,” Noll swore, shaking his head, “and here was me hoping you’d have this all figured out neat and tidy by the time we reached Rivergate.”
Colborn drove an elbow into the little scout’s ribs. Noll’s armor absorbed the blow, but the impact sent him staggering into Belthar—and rebounding off the solid wall that was the big man.
“What Frog Face here means to say,” Colborn growled at Noll, “is that we understand.” He shot a warning glare, and Noll threw up his hands defensively. “The Duke knew how impossible this was when he asked us to do it, so none of us are expecting a miracle here. But we all know you’ll do your damnedest to pull it off. That’s all any of us can do.”
Aravon’s heart soared as six heads nodded in agreement, even the sarcastic Noll. In that moment, it seemed the pre-dawn light grew a little brighter, the murky fog permeating the Oldcrest forest a little thinner. The exhaustion from two days spent in the saddle diminished in the faces of his men’s confidence in him.
“Some puzzles demand many minds to solve,” Zaharis signed. “Especially when those minds are as useless as Noll’s.”
“Say that again, Secret Keeper, and I’ll show you useless.” Noll shook a fist at the pale-skinned Zaharis—an empty threat, everyone around him knew. Zaharis could take the scout apart before Noll threw a second punch. Yet, after a moment, a hint of a smile cracked Noll’s scowl. He dished out a hefty dose of ribbing, especially aimed at Belthar—it seemed he could swallow his fair share as well.
“Thank you.” Aravon nodded, meeting the gaze of each of his company in turn. “I guess it’s going to take some getting used to this new company. In the Legion, there was a strict chain of command. I’ve grown so accustomed to carrying the burden of leadership that I forgot who I was leading. Not just Legionnaires following orders, but men and women capable of great things in their own rights.” He placed a hand over his heart. “By the Swordsman, I swear I won’t forget that again. I may bear the title of Captain, but you are not my subordinates. We are equals in this mission.”
“Aye,” Belthar rumbled. A flush of color had risen to his cheeks. “Last thing I ever expected from a Legionnaire Captain, so I won’t say I mind hearing it.”
Aravon knew the Legion’s disdain for the Princelander regulars—even those who served under Duke Dyrund. “You’ve more than proven yourself, Belthar.” His eyes roamed across the six faces before him. “All of you have.”
“As have you, Captain,” Colborn put in. All around him, even Rangvaldr, added assenting nods.
“Thank you, Colborn.” Aravon smiled at the half-Fehlan lieutenant. “So I guess it’s time we stop worrying about trying to prove ourselves to each other. Instead, what say we turn our attention to proving to the Eirdkilrs that we’re a force to be feared?”
“Damn straight!” Skathi raised her bow. “Let’s show those bastards what happens when they mess with us!”
“Aye!” Belthar and Noll echoed. Zaharis and Colborn simply smiled, and even Rangvaldr added his assent.
“Together,” Aravon said with a grin. “The seven of us against three thousand enemies. Odds are about fair, don’t you think?”
All around him chuckled, and Aravon felt his spirits lift even more. At that moment, he didn’t care that he had no solution to their problem at Rivergate—what mattered was that he would work it out, with his small company of warriors to share the burden every step of the way.
“That brings to mind a favorite legend of my people.” Rangvaldr spoke up. “The saga of Gunnarsdottir, slayer of the Farbjodr.”
Noll groaned and opened his mouth to protest. “Not another bloody sto—”
Belthar silenced the little scout by clamping a huge hand over his mouth. Noll tried and failed to squirm free of the big man’s grip.
Rangvaldr shot Belthar an appreciative nod. “While it would take hours to sing the full saga in all its glory, I will save that privilege for another time. And a less…boorish audience.” A sly smile tugged at his lips, and his eyes pierced Noll.
The little scout shot back something, doubtless crude and insulting, muffled beneath Belthar’s huge fingers. Yet he cringed, his squirming falling still when Belthar fixe
d him with a warning scowl. Perhaps the little scout knew better than to push someone with hands large and strong enough to crush his skull. When Belthar finally removed his hands, Noll remained silent, though he shot a sullen glare at Belthar.
Rangvaldr drew himself up and folded his arms across his chest, and once again Aravon was struck by the air of wisdom that emanated from the Seiomenn. Rangvaldr’s rich voice rang clear as he told his tale.
“It is said the Farbjodr was a creature of the vast wilds south of the Sawtooth Mountains. A thing of nightmares, with the tail of a serpent, the fangs of a greatwolf, and a hide hard as stone. A monster from the darkest hell, it was whispered, bringer of death, bane of the Tauld clan long, long ago.”
An instinctive shiver ran down Aravon’s spine. The timbre and cadence of Rangvaldr’s voice echoed with the fervency of an experienced storyteller, and he could almost picture the creature in his mind.
“The mightiest warriors of the Tauld sought to defeat the Farbjodr, yet though every farmstead, village, and town sent their bravest sons against the beast, they could not slay it.” Rangvaldr’s eyes sparkled as he lost himself in the marvel of his story.
Everyone, even the cynical Noll, leaned forward, expressions rapt, as they were drawn into the tale by the Seiomenn’s resonant voice.
“A thousand warriors stood shoulder to shoulder, a wall of bronze and wood, yet the Farbjodr roared in derision and threw itself against the shield wall. Hundreds died beneath those rending claws and snarling teeth. For a day and a night they fought, the proud sons of Fehl against the solitary creature of nightmare. But when night fell, the Farbjodr stood alone on the battlefield. The Tauld broke, their courage sapped in the face of a creature that could not be slain. The Farbjodr’s howls pursued them home. The sounds of snapping bone and tearing flesh echoed through the night as the Farbjodr feasted on the fallen.”
Aravon’s heart hammered a beat. He had little trouble imagining the deep-rooted, visceral fear of such a beast. It was the same terror every new Legionnaire felt their first time in the shield wall, and it never truly fled no matter how many times they faced an Eirdkilr charge.
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