Sylvia walked face first into a full suit of armour. Kvist stepped in front of her so suddenly, she had no time to stop herself. Stepping back only half a foot, Sylvia glared up at the sworn. Kvist was not much broader than her, but almost a head taller. Kvist met Sylvia’s furious gaze with a calm and empty smile.

“Sylvia. So we meet again.” Kvist’s voice was as light as a feather. “I do not believe we have introduced ourselves properly yet. I am Kvist Thoruns.”

She held out her gauntlet in greeting, but Sylvia merely glared at her. She would not risk letting her weapon go, to let her chance for revenge slip though her fingers. In her anger, it took her a moment to realise where she had heard the name before.

“Kvist Thoruns? You are the one who writes the letters.”

“You have heard them?”

“I have read them”, Sylvia confirmed.

Kvist’s eyebrows raised ever so little.

Yri came over to the two quarrelling women. Nudging Kvist, she chuckled. “Do not be surprised. Appearances are far from everything. Sylvia is a scribe.”

“I am impressed. You look young for a scribe”, Kvist said astounded.

“I am twenty”, Sylvia huffed.

Kvist’s eyebrows raised another millimetre. “You look so much younger.”

Sylvia did not reply. She clenched her teeth and made an attempt to round the other woman. Kvist took a step to the side and blocked Sylvia from her target once more.

“That explains why you were in the strategy meeting.”

“Let me go”, Sylvia demanded.

“I am not holding you”, Kvist retorted.

She had an infuriating smile. It lingered on her lips, but did not play out on the rest of her face.

“What do you want with the rat?”, Yri asked.

“I have a debt to settle”, Sylvia answered curtly.

Yri inspected Sylvia for a long moment, observing the anger in her stance, and the naked hatred in her eyes.

“Fair enough. If we do not need him, you can have him”, Yri determined. Having settled the matter, she clapped Sylvia on the shoulder and returned to her sister’s side.

“That is why you stopped me?”, Sylvia asked.

“Yes. He is still of value”, Kvist confirmed. Looking over her shoulder at the bound man, she added, “For now.”

The words sent a chill down Sylvia’s spine. There was a cold in Kvist’s voice which had not been there a moment ago. It was not a cold reminiscent of night or winter. It was cold like metal and stale blood.

Meeting Sylvia’s eyes, Kvist smiled her discomforting smile again. “Whatever debt you have to settle, it will have to wait.”

Sylvia noticed then how light Kvist’s eyes truly were. At first glance they appeared icy blue, but the colour was faded, like stratus clouds, wrapping the entirety of the blue sky in a washed and dreary white mist. It reminded Sylvia of fine rain, drizzling endlessly over the landscape. Kvist’s irises were so bright, it would not surprise her if the sworn could see in the dark.

Finally easing the hold on her sword, Sylvia sighed. “How long do you think I will have to wait?”

“I am not sure, but I promise to do what I can to make sure you get your time with this rat”, Kvist ensured. Placing one armour clad hand on Sylvia’s shoulder, she nodded for emphasis.

Sylvia was bemused by Kvist’s awkward behaviour. It seemed Kvist did not have a clear grasp of body language. “Thanks”, Sylvia said, nodding back.

Kvist returned to her post, watching over the line of bound Wolves with an empty gaze.

Sylvia took a seat near the teller’s counter. Placing the sword down on the table in front of her, she crossed her arms and legs, and waited.

Thorun and Yri were busy organizing groups for various tasks. One group was supposed to help Aimo load carts and remove looted metal. Another was placed under Bothilder’s command. He and Kaija were supposed to organise a gathering in the main square by evening.

“Tell the others to clean the streets. Let the locals help you dig graves and carry water. And take down those corpses from the wall.”

“I assume those are Joona and Axel. Tell me if you find their families. I want to speak with them”, Yri said, before sending the soldiers out.

Turning to the teller, Thorun softened her tone considerably. “Go outside and speak to a man with a walking cane. Inform him about the needs of the city as well as the available resources. He will see to it that there is a fair division.”

The teller nodded firmly, almost bowing, and left at once.

Thorun took one look at the group of women who huddled together behind the counter, and sighed. Yri stepped forward instead. She leaned onto the counter and smiled at them.

“You are free to go where you please. If you are hungry after the scare, do not hesitate to take some of the food with you. Gaia knows, you have been through enough in the past couple of weeks.”

The women thanked her, helped themselves to cabbage and grain from the nearby sacks, and left. Only one stayed behind, hesitantly eyeing the Wolves.

“Can we help you with anything?”, Yri wondered.

“I just…I do not have anyone left. Would you have me?”, the woman asked.

“Of what use might you be?”, Thorun questioned.

The woman lowered her head. “I am not sure. Will I have to fight?”

“Maybe”, Yri answered.

“Definitively”, Thorun reinforced.

“We can teach you”, Yri offered.

“But not before we are back home”, Thorun stated firmly. “If you have never held a sword before, you are safer here.”

The woman nodded. “I understand. Thank you, for everything.”

“Good luck to you”, Yri smiled. She handed the woman some cabbage and watched her leave. First when the door had closed behind her, did Yri turn back to her sister. “You really do not want our numbers to grow, do you?”

“I do not want dead weight on the road. We cannot afford it”, Thorun clarified.

“Speaking of the dead.” Turning to the line of Wolves they had captured, Yri pointed at one at a time, and made up a little rhyme. “One small rat hid in the cellar. One rat disturbed the teller. One little rat stole all the rings. One rat knows too many things.”

When she was done, Yri’s finger pointed at a man right next to Sylvia’s target. Kvist took a hold of the bindings around his legs, and yanked him out of the line. He shrieked and thrashed, but it did not help him. Kvist forced the man into a chair. Thorun pulled a dagger from her belt and approached.

“Please, Thorun, Honoured Thorun”, the Wolf tired. His breathing was hectic and uneven.

Thorun stopped right in front of him, and looked down at him with an expectant expression.

“Please, I will do anything you say, just please.”

Thorun shook her head, frowning deeply. “Please what?”, she asked.

Yri chuckled to herself. Taking a seat nearby, she draped one long leg over the other and rested her arbalest in her lap.

The Wolf looked between the sisters with glistening eyes.

“Tell you what, I have some questions. Maybe you can help me out?”, Thorun asked.

The man nodded at once. “Of course. Anything.”

“Traitor!”, one of the other Wolves called. He arched to get a look at Thorun, Yri, and his comrade. “Coward!”

Yri glared in his general direction. “One more word”, she warned.

The Wolf stared back at her with anger. “Fuck you, Whore!”

Getting out of her chair, Yri set her arbalest aside, walked across the room, and kicked the Wolf firmly in the side. He groaned at the impact. Yri placed her boot on his chin, and forced his head sideways against the ground. “Care to repeat that?”, she asked, with honey in her voice.

The Wolf remained silent.

Yri removed her foot and spat the man in the face. Then, she returned to her chair and pulled her weapon into her lap again. She played with the cranequin. “No manners”, she jested.

“How about you?”, Thorun asked the man sitting before her. “Do you have better manners?”

“Yes, My Lady”, he answered at once.

“Yes, Fri”, Thorun corrected sternly.

“Sorry! Sorry! Yes, Fri!”, the man repeated.

Sylvia could see him sweating all the way from across the room. His eyes were wide and panicked as Thorun walked around him, and out of sight. Sylvia swallowed hard.

“Just how did an infestation of rats make it this far south, and past such formidable high walls?”, Thorun wondered.

“We were ordered to travel south quickly. We rode day and night. They said we would not run into the Fri caravan, that Holms Fäste would be ours before the Fri even made it to Surtearv.”

Thorun hummed a little. “You did not answer the entire question”, she pressed.

“The entire—?”, the Wolf began.

Thorun pressed her dagger into his shoulder. He screamed and thrashed, but Kvist held him in place. Sylvia jerked in surprise at the sudden commotion. When Thorun eased the blade from the Wolf’s body, blood ran down his arm. Tears welled from his eyes.

“I detest repeating myself”, Thorun warned.

It did not seem like the Wolf heard her. He kept crying. “Please. Please, I am cooperating.”

Thorun rolled her eyes. “For Gaia’s sake, shut your mouth.”

Kvist clasped one metal clad hand over the Wolf’s mouth to shut him up.

Thorun walked back into view. The Wolf watched her wide eyed as she used his trousers to wipe the blood off her dagger.

Meeting his panicked eyes, Thorun repeated, “How does a plague of rats make it past such high walls?”

Kvist let go of the man and he gasped for air, before hurriedly speaking. “Trade. We said we would trade.”

“Who would trade with rats?”, Thorun questioned.

“They did not know. We took a Fri flag from Surtearv, said we were an early troop, securing the road”, the Wolf explained hurriedly.

Yri and Thorun exchanged a long look. “Plausible this year. That is clever”, Yri complimented. “They created the circumstances, and then used it to trick the locals. Whose idea was that?”

The Wolf stilled entirely, barely daring to breathe. His forehead was damp with sweat.

Yri raised an eyebrow. “Was it you, perhaps?”, she asked, pointing a bolt in his direction.

The Wolf’s eyes jumped between the sisters in panic. When Thorun came a step closer, he burst into tears. “It was Gramr! Please, I had no choice! I had to do it! They would have killed me! Please!”

Kvist sighed and put a hand over his mouth again.

Thorun looked to her sister. They said nothing, but there was an entire conversation in their gaze. Discussing wordlessly, they swiftly came to an agreement. Yri nodded. Thorun nodded as well. She stood back, and Kvist placed her other hand at the back of the Wolf’s head, before giving it a sharp twist, and breaking his neck. She let the limp body hit the ground.

Sylvia was conflicted about the method of interrogation as a matter of principle, but she felt no sympathy for the dead Wolf. She could imagine the horror he had caused all too well. Naive people let these bandits into their homes, hoping for protection and trade, and instead they were tricked, raped, murdered, and enslaved. Her fingers danced over the hilt of the looted sword.

“Well, that solves that mystery”, Yri said.

“That was almost too easy. He was rather talkative”, Thorun agreed, sheathing her dagger. “Kill the rest of them”, she ordered.

“Liege, may I have this one?”, Kvist asked, pointing to the Wolf Sylvia had targeted.

His head jerked up. He looked around, searching the room for a familiar face, a reason for being singled out.

“Sylvia has a bone to pick, it seems”, Yri added.

“Sure. Have at it”, Thorun shrugged.

After letting her sword fall over every other Wolf, Kvist took a hold of Sylvia's target and pulled him out of the line of corpses. Sylvia got to her feet then, fist curled around the hilt of her weapon.

“All yours”, Kvist offered, motioning at the last living Wolf.

He searched Sylvia's face with a mix of confusion and rage. “Who the fuck are you?!”, he demanded.

Sylvia refused to meet his eyes. She was afraid she would change her mind if she did.

“Help me hang him.”

It was not a question, and Kvist did not object. She repurposed a rope from one of the dead Wolves and began to tie a noose. Sylvia took the rope and tied it around the Wolf’s ankles instead. Grabbing the other end, she yanked him across the wooden floor, until she stood under a strutting beam. She threw the rope as high as she could. It took her three attempts, but eventually the rope crossed the beam and came down on the other side. Wrapping the loose end around her hands, she pulled with all her might, but she could not get the Wolf off the ground. Kvist stepped in and hoisted the Wolf up with ease. She fastened the loose end of the rope to a heavy barrel, before letting go.

The trading post was quiet now. Sylvia picked up her sword. It was far too heavy for her, but it would have to do. Coming to the Wolf’s side, she met his eyes. Fear danced in them now. Sylvia crouched down and leaned in close. The Wolf did not take his eyes off her.

“You killed Rebecca”, Sylvia whispered.

The Wolf spat at her.

Sylvia’s clenched her jaw. She had no more doubt, no more worry. If Wolves could hunt revenge, why not her? She was going make a little experiment out of this rat, and she was convinced that she would enjoy it. Wiping the spit off her shoulder, she met the Wolf’s eyes again. Her icy glare tore through him, and for a moment she could swear she saw his very soul jolt inside of his chest. She allowed all of her stowed up hatred to boil over and guide her body. Without another conscious thought, she stood, raised the sword, and cut the Wolf’s throat wide open.

The Wolf did not have time to scream. It was a different high-pitched shout which rang in Sylvia’s ears. It was Rebecca's scream she heard. And there was glass, shattering on a stone floor. The sound faded as suddenly as it had appeared. She could hear the Wolf’s strangled gurgle as blood spew across the floor. A strange tension enveloped Sylvia’s chest. She took a deep breath, fighting the constriction of her lungs. She watched the life drain out of the Wolf’s eyes, every single second of it. He did twitch like a pig. Then, he stilled, and hung limp like meat. Soon, the fountain of blood settled down. The blood ran straight down the Wolf’s face, filling his nostrils and drenching his hair before running out over the wooden planks under him. Sylvia blinked and the world blurred around her. She turned around, taking care not to stagger, and walked out of the warehouse.

The street was full of people. The light was harsh in Sylvia's eyes. She blinked and drew a slow breath. Nothing seemed real any more. She was watching a theatre scene unfold. Hurried feet and eager chatter. A barking dog in the distance. Her own skin was foreign to her. Only one thing was clear as day; pain. Claws were scathing along the inside of her ribs. Placing one hand against the wall for balance, she made her way around the corner, before the world fell into darkness around her.

Sylvia jerked when a hand came to rest on her shoulder.

“Alright there?”, Kvist asked.

Sylvia nodded a little. She noticed how erratic her breathing was. Her entire body felt heavy like led. Her mind was flooded with the echoes of Rebecca's scream, with the sight of her death, her soul leaving her eyes. Sylvia could smell the distinct metallic sweetness of blood, could taste dust on her tongue. She clenched a hand over her chest. The stabbing pain was still sharp inside of her. Gasping for breath, she opened her eyes and found herself back in Holms Fäste.

Kvist was kneeling at her side. It took Sylvia a moment to realise that Kvist was kneeling because she herself was lying down. She must have stumbled and fallen onto her back. She was not sure how much time had elapsed since she closed her eyes.

“Your soul is damaged, but not yet broken. Your eyes are still innocent. You should be careful, though”, Kvist said. “The pain will pass. It always does.”

Sylvia looked down at her hands, dotted with red. Her clothes were also sullied by Wolf blood. Sitting up, she leaned back against the side of the warehouse. It took a little while, but Kvist was right, the pain slowly ebbed away. A dull throb remained. Sylvia felt light-headed. When she made to move, Kvist offered a helping hand, but Sylvia did not want to be touched. She gathered herself up off the ground and dusted her clothes off. Looking through one of the windows, she saw the blood drenched corpse still dangling in the middle of the room. She could also see Yri walk over to the dead man.

Yri picked up the sword, which Sylvia had dropped in her hurry. After cleaning the edge on a rag, she placed it on a pile of various metal goods. Turning to her sister, she sighed. “I wonder what he did to her.”

“What makes a young woman slaughter a man like an animal?”, Thorun asked dryly.

“I hope you are wrong.”

“As do I”, Thorun agreed.

Sylvia turned away from the window. Kvist was still standing at her side, the cloudy eyes fixed on her. There was a trace of emotion in Kvist’s face. Concern.

“Do not tell them”, Sylvia requested.

Kvist gave no indication that she even heard it. “You should rest”, she said.

“If you can, please do not tell them”, Sylvia tried instead.

Kvist nodded. “Go get some rest. We will be back in camp by evening.”

“Thank you.”

Sylvia left Kvist behind in the alley. She took Rise and returned to camp. It was a strain to keep upright in the saddle, not to mention to steer the horse, but Rise knew to find her spot by the small tent near the centre of camp. Sliding out of the saddle, Sylvia did not bother hitching Rise. Sighing at her lonely tent, she dragged her feet to Aimo’s wagon instead. She found Balder exactly as she had left her, sleeping and drooling. Sylvia sank to the ground beside the archer. She lay in the dirt and stared up at the wide blue sky. She wondered. Had it been worth it? It was satisfying, certainly, but it hurt. She placed a hand over her chest and took several slow deep breaths. Her lungs voiced complaints, but performed their task. Sylvia closed her eyes, letting the visions of blood, fresh and old, blur together before her mind’s eye.

A loud thud startled Sylvia out of violent dreams. Glancing up, she saw Aimo standing at her side with a soft smile on his face. Sylvia sat up and rubbed her eyes. The sky had changed hue and the shadows of the tents stretched towards the trees. Balder was still sleeping with her head lulling to the side.

“What time is it? What is going on?”

“Nearing evening. This is your share of the loot, Young Fri”, Aimo answered, motioning toward two saddle bags that he had dropped.

Sylvia frowned. “Loot?”

“Yes. You made a significant contribution to the battle. I also added a little something as thanks for your medical assistance. I see I did not patch Balder up as well as I had hoped. Sadly, I am hardly a medicine man.”

Steadying himself with his walking cane, Aimo lowered himself into a seated position beside Sylvia and Balder. He huffed and shifted to find a comfortable position. Laying the cane down across his lap, he sighed in content.

“Besides, that is simply how it works. You die, your belongings become loot or inheritance. Your body becomes feed and compost. Your soul becomes memories. The world keeps turning.” Nudging the bags with his cane, he urged, “Go on.”

Untying the straps, Sylvia checked the contents of the heavy bags. There was a tent, clearly larger than her current one, a new tunic, and a pair of trousers, along with underwear. Furthermore, there was a metal spoon, her very own wooden bowl, and a tinderbox.

“I took the liberty of deciding what you might need”, Aimo teased. Leaning in, he lowered his voice. “I may have gathered your share first to ensure no one else tries to lay a claim to the finest items.” He winked at Sylvia and sat back, surveying the nearly empty camp.

“Thank you Aimo, truly.”

His lips curved into a bright smile. “Always for you, Young Fri.”

“Why do you do so much for me?”, Sylvia wondered.

“Give me a reason not to”, Aimo challenged.

Sylvia huffed a laugh. “Right. Can I ask one more favour?”

“What do you need?”

“Would you mind terribly if sit with you on your wagon for a day or two?”

Aimo placed a hand on her knee. “Of course not. You must be sore from riding so much, and working on those…what did you call them? Sticky fire?”

Sylvia did not correct him. He did not need to know why she was tired. She merely nodded and thanked him.