Chapter 7

  Glitvall played with the brown braid of hair that he had pulled from behind his back. “I… had not expected so much. And those creatures you describe, which are that strong… we’ve faced one, but to know there are more… that is disheartening.”

  “And I still don’t know what killed Baxter and me the one time we basically defeated the army,” Francis said. “I wanted to try and do it again, but Stenson was adamant that I forget that for now. The knowledge we could make it that far was enough and acquiring the skills to survive that battle was more important.”

  A grunt came from the warchief as he shrugged. “That is his call. I might choose a different path but I see the wisdom in it. Stenson is looking at the larger picture. You are very lucky that he has taken a liken to you and mapped out your growth so well.”

  “So well? In what way?” Francis asked.

  “You like it when you get a new skill, don’t you?” Glitvall asked, grinning.

  “Yah,” Francis replied. “Who doesn’t?”

  “But how many deaths did you need to gain some of them? Two hundred? Four hundred? A thousand?” the warchief replied. “Yet even with that kind of obstacle before you, Stenson kept you motivated, using your own natural desire to get stronger and save your brother to keep enduring it. He also had you switch up methods, giving you a break, acquiring growth and knowledge before returning you to the grind as you called it.”

  Francis knew Glitvall was right and hearing the way the warchief described Stenson’s plans made him appreciate the general even more. There were moments he had wanted to quit or try something different, and yet, Steonson had done just that, directing him in new ways and down other paths, always focused on something else before giving out another goal.

  “So what, you’re going to do the same?”

  “In some ways,” Glitvall replied. “In other ways, no. I’m a bit disappointed you haven’t learned any crafting skills yet.”

  “What’s the point?” Francis huffed. “I mean, it’s not like I have the time to make and use something.”

  “That’s because you are focused on the short term and not the long term,” Glitvall stated. “You mentioned Stenson said you should try and learn something, or even find the comfort of another. Tell me, did you ever do that?”

  Francis smiled, the memory of the waitress he had gotten to know. “Once.”

  “I can see from how your face has lit up that it was worth it,” Glitvall said. “Perhaps you can find one, two, or ten here who will provide you warmth on a cold night. Trust me, many will offer themselves to you when they learn of your strength.”

  “Yeah, I’m not a huge fan of those,” Francis replied.

  The warchief winked at him. “A wise man finds a woman worthy of a chase and earns her honor. To hear you are that kind of man is another mark of the quality you possess that few do. Now, let me discuss a few final things before I send you to a tent for the evening. Tomorrow I will show you the battlefield and let you cross it.”

  “Uh… by myself?”

  “Is that a problem?” Glitvall asked. “You told me that you spent many lives fighting an army by yourself. Why would this one be different?”

  “Oh… I… it just caught me off guard,” Francis replied. “I guess you and Stenson are more alike than I had thought.”

  “Some might take that as an insult, but I see it as a compliment,” Glitvall stated. “You need to see what we face firsthand. You also need to try to fight them on your own. The way my people fight isn’t like your kind and the foes we face are a lot… tougher and resilient than the weak beastkin you slew.”

  “Even the rhinokins?” Francis asked.

  Glitvall shrugged. “Those sound similar but different. Fighting in snow and ice isn’t like the battlefield you are used to. Besides, you’ll get to see if those swords are worth keeping. Something tells me you’re going to be spending a lot of time learning how to use an axe sooner than you realize.”

  Choosing not to groan, Francis nodded.

  I guess it’s better than having a Mace skill that’s so low.

  “What about the armor and weapons Kerhi uses?” Francis asked. “Can I get something like that as well?”

  The warchief tsked his tongue. “That is a question for the shamans. I am certain you could convince them to train you after a few of those loops, as you call them.”

  “So then what?” Francis asked. “Tomorrow I’ll see the battlefield, try to learn what I can and then return to you?”

  “Correct,” Glitvall replied, rising to his feet. “Going forward, you will find that I may ask you to do things differently than you have before. I’m also certain that you will, at times, not tell me everything and simply bash your head against our enemies. I need you to remember that at some point, I will want you to meet our High Shaman Vornak. I promise you that our gods might not be like the other one you experienced in Reevortort.”

  “So he wouldn’t have me stabbed from behind?” Francis asked.

  “No, he would rip your head off while you watched,” Glitvall stated. “Similar to what I did but a little bit slower.”

  Yeah… because I still can’t recall seeing how fast that happened.

  Stretching, Francis began putting on the furs that he had taken off, and once finished, was led by the warchief to the covering over the opening.

  “Be safe, Francis,” Glitvall said, holding out his massive hand. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

  Stepping out of the tent, Francis felt the cold even through his layer of furs. Two guards stood outside, neither of whom seemed affected by the temperature.

  “Take him to a guest house in my pavilion,” Glitvall ordered. “Secure a little extra wood for him.”

  Both warriors nodded and one motioned with their hand for Francis. “Come, I shall take you to your den.”

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  Francis followed the barbarian, feeling the size difference immediately, as both warriors were at least a foot taller. Fires illuminated the camp, with a few large bonfires further down casting a substantial amount of light. Around them were shapes of barbarians, some dancing, others standing still like statues.

  The cold wind blew and the scent of burning pine was stronger than it had been upon his arrival.

  Francis was thankful the trip didn’t take long. He could feel the cold seeping into his body. A small square structure, covered in furs like the tent the warchief and the clan leaders had been in, was where he was dropped off. Inside a fire was already going in a fireplace built from stone.

  The temperature difference between the harsh reality outside those walls and where Francis stood was going to be one of his first tests he knew would need overcoming.

  How long will it take to learn some kind of resistance… or whatever it is where the cold doesn’t affect me?

  He scanned the small space, maybe twelve feet squared, and saw he had a bed, a simple desk and a bowl of near the fireplace. Fur rugs lined the floor and Francis wondered what kind of luxury this might be considered compared to the rest of the barbarians in this land.

  His nose detected a sweet scent, and Francis followed it, finding out that the bowl was actually filled with a thick stew of some kind. Grains and a few chunks of meat that looked ready to be consumed made his stomach growl. Nearby was a towel and in it was a single spoon.

  “I guess Glitvall is giving me my last meal,” Francis joked to himself, scooping up a spoonful and putting the entire bite in his mouth. It was warm, and felt hearty. Some spice was there, adding heat that gradually grew as he chewed the cooked grains. They had a weird texture, almost like dough that had been cooked.

  Holding the bowl in one hand, Francis devoured the remainder of the offered meal as he walked to where the bed was and sat on it. Once finished eating, he touched the fur blankets, surprised at how soft they felt.

  Knowing that he would soon be facing something he never imagined, Francis considered going outside and testing himself in the darkness. He knew that most likely his ability to evade guards would fail, the snow would give him away, plus his size would stand out.

  Setting the empty bowl on the floor, Francis started to undress, about to take his shirt off when a loud cough came from outside his tent.

  “Francis Lancaster. May I enter?” a female voice called out.

  Sitting there on the bed, with only a single chair in the room, half undressed, Francis tried to consider what was about to happen. He smiled knowing what Michael would be hoping for, but instead, put his shirt back on.

  “One moment please,” he called out, trying to hurry up and get his outfit back in order. When he had on enough covering, Francis said, “You can enter.”

  That sounded stupid.

  The hanging set of furs pulled aside and Kerhi appeared in the doorway, stomping her feet once before entering.

  “Forgive me for coming so late,” she said, standing at the entrance to his new accommodations. “I waited until word reached me that you and the Warchief were finished. It appears I barely reached you first.”

  “Reached me first?” Francis asked.

  “Yes,” Kerhi replied, grinning. “Outside is Jarl Keara. No doubt she has many questions for you. She did not look pleased that my people reached me first.”

  Francis felt weird, knowing that suddenly he had two women waiting to meet him and not sure of the intentions of either.

  “So what can I do for you, Kerhi?” Francis asked.

  She stood there, and after saying nothing, he motioned to the chair. “Sorry, please sit.”

  “Thank you. I am honored to share your tent.”

  His cheeks felt a little warmer as the tall woman took the chair he had offered. With nowhere else to sit, he moved back to his bed and plopped down.

  They sat there for a few moments, staring at each other, until she spoke up. “You… are an interesting man, Francis,” Kerhi said, her words very slow and deliberate. “Unlike so many of your kingdom you act like one who has seen battle and death, yet the shadow that often shrouds their minds isn’t there. Even when facing all of the clan leaders and our Warchief, you did not flinch.”

  She paused, her lips dancing as she clenched her teeth together. “And then you somehow knew not only Dravik’s name, but that he was going to dishonor himself. Tell me are you a shaman of some kind or an oracle? Your actions seem impossible to explain any other way.”

  “Is it that hard to believe that I’m just well prepared and trained in your ways?” Francis asked, keeping his face neutral.

  “It is. I spoke with some of the others… those who know what Glitvall looks like in your kingdom would only tell you if the need was great. Very few outside of your King and General would know the test that is given to all who enter that tent. For you to know who he is… either means you are here because the need is that great and the King broke a promise, or that you have some other way… a divination of some kind.”

  Kerhi stood, took her chair and moved closer to him, sitting just a foot away.

  “Has Nyrla spoken to you? Or perhaps Velra?” she asked.

  Shaking his head, Francis wondered what kind of religious beliefs the barbarians had. He knew they were a bit more fanatical or devoted, depending upon how one looked at it. Unlike many of his people back home, the gods were more of a being you prayed to only in times of desperation or when hoping for some kind of luck. Their lack of involvement and the price it cost to be granted an audience with anyone of importance made that connection impossible for all but the top of the kingdom.

  “None of your gods or goddesses spoke with me,” Francis replied. “I would tell you if they did.”

  A frown appeared on Kerha’s face. “Then tell me… why do you look at me like you know me?”

  Francis coughed and shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Your eyes… your speech. How you look but don’t stare,” Kerhi replied. “There is no fear, no mocking, nothing that most have when they see me. Even my own people often look at me differently. Some might consider me… a threat. Others might consider me an opportunity. You just… look at me in a way I haven’t experienced before.”

  Fuck… how do I handle this?

  His mind raced. Part of him was intrigued and the other wondered how obvious his signs must have been for Kerhi to notice. Francis was sure he didn't look at her any differently than he did Captain Vella.

  Which means she’s accustomed to being treated in a certain way.

  “You’re alone, aren’t you?” Francis said.

  She frowned, shifting a little bit on her chair. “That is not an honorable question to ask. We do not know each other well enough for such a question.”

  Holding up his hand, Francis kept his palm out. “I don’t mean it as an offensive thing. Simply that the way I look at you is different because everyone keeps you at bay. Even your own group of Shamans.”

  Kerhi’s eyes widened, then she leaned forward. “How do you know that?!”

  Sighing, Francis sat back a little. “Because other than my brother, I’m also alone.”

  ?