Eytherghymn

Eytherghymn
Forest's Edge

Down below the cliffs, in an encampment concealed by the tall, robust pine trees of the Eytherghmymn, a score of rough-looking men and women, clad in chainmail and leather were waking up. Some tended horses, cooked breakfast over an open fire, or sharpened weapons in preparation for the day. Several heads turned as the raven descended into camp towards the most extravagant-looking tent in the center. A tall and lean, athletic male stepped out, dressed to the hilt in a ruffled poet’s blouse and black leather pants, with a smug grin across his broad, graying features as though he expected to spend the day sweeping screaming maidens off the deck of a burning ship. The glint in his eyes said he would have likely been the one to set the ship aflame.

The raven landed on the rogue’s shoulder and immediately began chittering in his ear, in a secret language only he understood. Eddie Clarke listened closely, his grin widening. Raising a hand to stroke the bird and offer it a morsel of food, he turned his head and nodded to his bodyguard, Bjorn, who folded his massive arms, muscles tensing like iron bands. A towering, giant of a man, the barbarian had been fiercely loyal to Eddie ever since the rogue had sprung him from the Imperial Prison some three years ago.

"Tell them to break camp and make ready,” Eddie commanded. “That caravan bound for Arn will soon be on the move, and by noon today, we're all going to be one hell of a lot richer!"

Outside Blood Fang Caves
Crimson Blades Encampment

The Drakryvon always slept with one eye open, for the sole reason there wasn't really anyone who was not out to make a quick coin, herself included. One could say it was human nature, but, well, these were dark times. Her journey on horseback through Gorgon's Pass yesterday had dumped her onto the legendary Road of Mirrors, under the blistering summer heat. Weary and sunburned, she found her only reprieve in a tankard of honeyed mead, and the sweet, cool, starlit night. So, when the morning light crested the west mountains, causing her to squint, Siv realized only just before both eyes fell shut that she had not slept a wink. The intermittent crackle of dying embers of the fire in the mercenary encampment faded, until she slumped against the wooden marker behind her and slipped into unconsciousness.

In the flicker of torchlight burning dim inside the temple, she could see three outlines of the bandits who had chased her from her family's tent. She held her breath as the biggest man, standing between his comrades, searched for her, his eyes like a hawk's seeking prey in the gloom. Columns of dry stone cast long, crimped shadows along the floor, offering stretches of darkness through which she could-

"There!" she heard one of the bandits shout, his voice reverberating in the open space. "She's headed for the statue. Get her!"

She felt every bone in her body jar as she slammed into the crook of the stone statue's shoulder. Drakrelib, hear my plea, she silently begged, her gaze falling on the dragon's giant bloodstone eye with swirls like scarlet flames set in a black jewel.

"Grandfather of the White Flame, Master of the Black Flame," she whispered quickly, clasping her hands, "I invoke thee; By the power of the ancients, and the blood of my ancestors, hear m-"

She let out a startled shriek as she was yanked by the hair and jerked back, being forced to stare up at her captor.

"Here she is!" he yelled, and dragged her struggling form over the hump of the statue's shoulder. The bandit leader turned her around and roughly pushed her up against the statue, digging studded leathers into her exposed flesh. He stroked her cheek almost tenderly, in a gesture of mock affection.

Glancing down, Siv saw the bloody gouge in his armor where she had stabbed him with her father's knife during her escape, and dared to meet his eyes in one final look of defiance.

"Well, looky here, boys, we got ourselves a real spitfire," he cooed as his men surrounded him. He drew his right arm across his chest, and Siv flinched before the blow connected, his backhand sending a hot stinging pain down her jaw. She braced for another swing when he raised his arm again, but he only grabbed her by the throat and sneered. "I'm gonna show you what I do to break little bitches like you..."

Fighting tears welling up at the corners of her eyes, she clutched at tufts of grass sprouting between cracks in the stonework floor and bit her lip, even as the taste of copper grazed her tongue. Her heart pounded angrily to the discordant tune of desecration, but she refused to cry out. It was all she could do to drown out the animal sounds of the bandit's grunts and the two pairs of eager eyes watching hungrily, like those of dogs awaiting the last scraps of their master's meal. Somehow, in the corner of her eye, she saw the dragon looking down, unseeing; and yet, there shone a glimmer of empathy in those sightless flames.

With her last ounce of resolve, she shut her eyes and uttered two words in a single prayer, "Take me."

A voice, strong with a sonorous timbre, suddenly filled her head. Not this day. Opening her eyes again to the great jewel, she saw the dragon's eye begin to glow...

"You awake?"

The gruff sound of Captain Kefir's voice mentally jolted Siv out of sleep, but she merely inhaled sharply, glancing up from under fiery strands at the leader of the Crimson Blades and nodding in acknowledgement. "Aye."

"One of my scouts returned from the north passage this morning," he said, crouching in front of her. The Blades Captain was a lean, lion of a man with sun-bronzed skin and a hungry gaze that always seemed to be searching for his next prize, be it coin or his next kill with the iron rapier at his hip.

She followed Kefir's gaze over her shoulder to the array of tents and bedrolls where men and horses stirred under the approaching dawn.

"He gave me a funny look when I told him what you asked for last night, but he did manage to bring back this. Here."

Siv looked down to his outstretched hand in which he had a torn piece of tanned hide. Taking it rather gingerly, she rubbed the stiff material between her fingers, held it to her nose and sniffed.

"Tenche hide," she announced at length, and turned the scrap over to reveal a smudge of violet on the skin, "Worn by the lower ranks. It's stained wi' goblin's blood."

"What about it?" he asked, puzzled. "Orcs kill those little bastards all the time."

"Only for fun, Captain, never in combat. Goblins are to orcs what mages are to yer Legionnaires, and they're rarely seen on the frontline of battle."

"Nevermind that. Right now, our only priority is pushing into the north tunnels to wipe these guys clean out of their cradles. Besides, I thought you were going to use that Drakryvon... mind thing, or something."

The Drakryvon turned briefly and spat before shooting him a dirty look. ""Utlän!" she swore, rolling her eyes. "Do ye want my help or not?"

"Yeah, sure. Excuse me," he answered quickly, and cleared his throat. "Go ahead."

Returning her attention to the item in question, she closed her eyes, allowing the distractions of her surroundings to fall away. The clans of the midwest were well-known for what was considered witchcraft by some, while scholars across the land tried their best to explain away the mysticism with science and logic. The Drakryvon, believed blessed with the innate gift of psychometry, saw everything in existence as interwoven threads in the tapestry of life. From but a single thread, their master sages could retell entire stories, capturing moments in vivid detail as though reliving their own past. Sadly, the wise woman of Siv's tribe had passed long before she was born, and such positions of duty bestowed upon someone by his or her people were not easily replaced. Still, when all the world was quiet, and she easily shed the worries and cares of the day, freely giving herself to that wanting stillness, she, herself, could almost reach out and grasp those binding threads.

Blood. Dark blue and violet intermingling in sprays of death. Shadows, slithering like black serpents along the cavern walls. An incorporeal white light slashing through creature and darkness alike. The glimmer of a lone, crystalline rotating eye inside a metallic husk moving toward her on segmented limbs.

Siv's eyes shot open to find Kefir staring down at her, expectantly.

"Something else killed those goblins, Captain," she started to answer the unspoken question no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but he merely cut her short with a curt nod.

"Thank you, that's all I wanted to know."

The Drakryvon warrior shook her head. "Your funeral, utlän," she muttered, but he'd already walked away.

Siv rose from her post and lingered behind to put a little distance between herself and Kefir before slinging her broadsword across her back and heading toward camp. The only woman among an established, unspoken hierarchy, she knew she had already made an impression as one of the Captain's new favorites, and the mercenaries' equal distrust for barbaric tribes showed in the way they stared at her, their voices dropping to whispers when she walked by. And Kefir thinks I should jump at the chance to lead this lot into battle. Bunch o' bairns, they won't last a week. She passed a row of tethered horses, the sweet smells of hay and manure intermingling in the air, to where a white mare stood patiently at the end of the block, tail swishing at a persistent fly.

"Good girl, Athdara," she murmured, stroking her stiff mane as she produced a dull green apple from her purse.

Athdara snorted softly and nosed her hand, exposing large brown teeth as she pulled back her lips to ensnare the treat. With her free hand, Siv pulled a bristle brush from her bag and calmly began brushing out the horse's hair. The resounding, intermittent whack of an ax striking wood reached her ears, and every now and then she glanced over her shoulder at a black cloaked figure with its back to her splitting logs into firewood.

In the dim light, the act itself would seem no more than an early morning chore but for the dozen piles of cuts scattered around the chopping block. She had not seen anyone else at the block the night before, save a couple men who gathered leftover bark and twigs to use for kindling. What kind of fighter spends his morning at the ax instead of readying for battle?

The loner appeared disinclined toward ceasing the tiresome task, however. Siv had returned her attention to Athdara when she heard the sound of tramping boots, and three burly men pushing a rickety cart between them passed her. One of them nodded in the woodcutter's direction as they approached, stopping at one of the piles a fair distance away from him.

"Oy, were taking this early," the shortest of the trio called out.

He momentarily looked up from his work, and Siv caught a glimpse of the steel slotted heaume concealing the man's face. The cutter merely acknowledged the other men with a broad shrug and drew back for another swing.

"See, I told you it would be the same guy," muttered one of the two taller men as he bent to grab an armful of wood. "He was here yesterday, too, an' he's still wearing that helmet. Ain't no one else been at that block since Rev dropped off that wood we got two days ago."

"Eh, Rev, didn't Kefir tell ya to cut this yourself?" asked the third man, sounding doubtful.

"You don't get paid to ask questions, Dekard," Rev retorted, Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few long green leaves, stuck them between his teeth and set to chewing while the other two men loaded the fresh cuts onto the cart.

As they finished clearing their pile, Siv spotted the Blades Captain emerging from one of the larger brown flap tents on the opposite side of the encampment.

"Stiff up, here comes the captain," Rev mumbled, hastily biting off half his chew and stuffing the rest into his pocket.

Upon his arrival, Kefir met the shorter man with a raised brow. "There a problem here?"

"No, no problem, no problem. Just getting the last of this here firewood. " Rev gestured with his thumb toward the full cart.

"That so?" the captain asked, his fierce gaze passing between all three men and their load.

"Yep, we'll just get this over to the main camp." Rev started to walk away, and motioned for the others to follow.

"Hold up." Kefir stopped him, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You sure you gave me back all the extra coin you had from that unwanted wood you picked up the other day?"

Rev waved him away and laughed nervously. "Oh yeah, of course. That was all they had, ya know. Bastard gouged the shit outta me."

Kefir looked unconvinced, but after a second or two, he relented. "All right, just get that where it belongs. We'll be moving out soon, and nobody wants to be out playing Fetch after a fight. Unless, you'd like to volunteer?"

"Gotcha, Captain," Rev answered, and hurried past, his comrades with their cart in tow. Once he was out of Kefir's line of sight, he hocked a sloppy brown mess onto the ground near the horses.

Siv met the Blades Captain's eyes from across the footpath as he strode away, exasperation tensing his tanned features. Not my problem, she thought, certain Kefir would see the words in her steely expression. She finished brushing her mare and treated her to the last apple from her purse. Only as she turned to leave did she notice the stranger at the chopping block had not once looked up from his task.

By the time she reached the center of camp, several men had already gathered near the barricade. Splintered boards cobbled with thick nails, iron posts and logs of varying lengths lined the walls erected outside the caves, and, Siv noticed, the sole entrance, a makeshift gate of rusted bars, lay much too close to their encampment. And, just what does the captain think to do, lose the orcs inside that maze?

The men, oblivious of their proximity, seemed restless and eager to fight. Already, a brawl had broken out between two of a dozen mercenaries, and most were either jeering them on, though a few tried to break up the fisticuffs, until one of the brawlers, a wiry man, dodged his larger opponent's blow and ended the exchange with a swift knee to the groin. The Drakryvon just shook her head and searched for Kefir among the uneven rows of dusty crimson uniforms dividing the Legion's lackeys from the hired mercenaries. Only the Blades looked at ease in muted conversations or sharpening their weapons, silent but for the sound of whetstone scraping steel.

Siv sighted the captain near the front, engaged discussion with a late arrival. Kefir seemed generally familiar with yet another darkly clad, hooded man, even appearing to go so far as to point out his mismatched attire, a set of scratched and dented black armor. The Blades' brightly colored uniforms were typically easy to pick out in small, tight skirmishes, and If he belonged to their guild, she could not readily tell, for she saw no color or designation aside from a red linen wrap at the top of a simple halberd strapped to his back. Regardless, the captain dismissed the man toward his own hirelings and cleared his throat, summoning attention from the entire camp.

"Alright, listen up!" Kefir barked, silencing those still yammering in the crowd as several stragglers took their seats on top of felled logs.

When the only noise Siv could hear was the occasional whinny of a horse from across camp, the captain spoke, pacing side to side wih his hands clasped behind his back.

"For those of you who don't know, we've been at a six-month standoff with the local force some of you ass-kissers like to call the 'Orc Army'. But, today, we're making our final push at the north passage, and with a little luck, the tunnels beyond will lead us straight to their stronghold where we rip those scumbags right out of their cradles.

"Once we reach the passage," he continued, "you'll divide into two strike teams. Victor," he gestured toward the hooded newcomer, "You and I will lead the Blades."

Kefir halted and stared directly across the group at her. Siv turned to spit on the ground, and matched his stare with equal contempt. Ye needed to know what I thought of your barefaced attempt at convincing me to lead these idiots into battle? There, ye have it, she wanted to say, but held her tongue.

Each man looked to one another, murmurs of confusion and indecision cropping up among them, but only Siv dared shun the captain's smolder, crossing her arms and looking away in defiance. Her gaze fell opposite on two narrow black slots regarding her at length before the figure canted his massive helm toward their group. Glancing sidelong, she noticed all eyes had settled on them, being the only two people standing at the rear. Her expression soured, and she tilted her head forward to glare upward at the Blades Captain.

Kefir's angry look turned smug as a man's who had just broken his champion war steed.

"Ych," she muttered, but the captain neither noticed nor cared.

"You, and you," he announced, motioning first toward the helmeted figure, and then Siv. "You're both in charge of the mercs. First group to bring me the orc leader's head will receive a bonus when this mission is over.

"Drakryvon," he said, pointing directly at her. "Come see me for your stipend after we break camp. The rest of you get paid when every last one of those brutes is dead."