Sylvia felt a dull pain pulsing through her head. She sighed and opened her eyes only to face a wall of polished wood. Frowning, she turned her head. She was in an unfamiliar space, in an unfamiliar bed. It was impossibly soft and wonderfully warm. The roof, walls, and floor were all dressed in the same smooth maple. The furniture was equally fine, if sparse. There was a small table, two chairs, three chests with locks, and a lantern which hung on a hook. There was a single window. Sylvia could hear raindrops tapping the glass, and chatter from outside. She sat up in the bed and looked around in bewilderment. She noticed now that the roof was rounded. The table and the chairs were screwed to the floor, as were the chests. She was inside a wagon.

“Aimo?”

Getting up, she peered out the window. Sure enough, she was in the Fri camp. It was early morning and everyone was busy packing up. After pulling her boots on and gathering up her blanket, she opened the door. She eased down the two steps. Once she had solid ground under her feet, she slung the folded blanket over her shoulder and stretched.

Aimo was sitting on his stool nearby, eating bread and cheese. “Good morning. Good to see you up”, he greeted.

“What happened?”, Sylvia asked.

Before Aimo could answer, Afi came stumbling around the corner. He was drenched and covered in mud. Sylvia reached out for him, stroking a few damp strands of hair from his forehead. “What happened?”

“Are you okay?”, Afi asked.

“I am fine, but you are not. What happened?”, Sylvia insisted.

“I am glad”, Afi smiled.

The bags under his eyes made his smile look strained, but she did not doubt that it was genuine. Feeling just how cold he was, she inspected his face closely. There was a bruise on his right cheek.

“Afi, tell me what happened”, she insisted. “Were you out here all night?”

Afi merely shrugged.

“Yri forced him to”, Aimo explained.

Sylvia’s eyes went wide. “Why?”

Aimo met her gaze and raised his eyebrows. “Are you really asking?”

Sylvia sighed and shook her head. “I will have to talk to her.”

“No”, Afi said at once. “It is fine. Really.”

Sylvia was about to protest when his stomach gave a loud rumble. “When did you last eat?”, she asked instead.

“Under the silverwood tree”, Afi admitted.

“How long ago was that?”, Sylvia pried.

Afi waved it off. “It is okay.”

Sylvia ran her hands down his arms and looked at his hands. At least he still had all of his fingers. “The horses?”, she wondered.

“They are fine”, Afi answered, pointing over his shoulder.

Sylvia turned the corner to see Natta and Rise. The white mare was covered in mud, but unharmed. She also spotted a wooden sled cobbled out of what looked like their barn door and a few sticks. It was creative, she had to give Afi that.

“Wash Rise and yourself. Then meet me by the baker’s tent”, Sylvia instructed.

Afi bowed his head. “Yes, Liege.”

Sylvia watched him take Rise’s reins and lead her away. Once he was out of earshot, she turned to Aimo. “Could you not have stopped this?”

“Not without raising a lot of questions”, Aimo shrugged.

Sylvia sighed deeply. Shaking her head, she protested, “He did nothing wrong.”

“I fail to see how that is relevant”, Aimo said. “As loyal as he may be to you, he is still a Wolf. That will never change”

“Do you think he could sit with you at least? He is exhausted. He missed two nights.”

Aimo gave her a long look.

“Forget I asked”, Sylvia grumbled.

“Now now, there is no need for that. I have no gripe with your sworn, Young Fri. Personally, I would let him, but I will not have my morality questioned”, Aimo defended.

Sylvia looked to the sled lying in the mud. No, it would not do as mode of transport, either. Being tied to it despite not being severely wounded would only disgrace Afi further.

“We should make it to Fristad not much past noon”, Aimo offered.

Nodding, Sylvia forced a smile. “I hope so. Thank you.”

“Have you looked in the mirror yet?”, Aimo asked.

“Mirror?”, Sylvia returned the question.

Aimo nodded. “There is one inside the wagon.”

Curious, Sylvia climbed back inside. She found a small mirror mounted on the wall. Peering into it, she realised at once why Aimo had pushed her to look. Her eyes had dimmed. It was slight. There was no grey in her iris, but the youthful clarity she used to have was gone. It was no wonder, really. If anything, she had been surprised that it did not happen back in Holms Fäste. Straightening her back, she sighed. She figured it made her fit in with the rest of the Fri. She had seen very few faces around camp with clear eyes. It was a natural development for any adult. No one got through life without bruising their soul. Still, it was a little early for her to dim. She hoped the Fri, with all their destain for formality, would have the manners not to comment on it.

Leaving the wagon, she found Aimo in discussion with some of his wagoners. Taking Natta’s reins, she led the horse past the ring of wagons. When she saw that Afi had yet to reach the Baker’s tent, she went to check on him instead. She found Afi sitting in the grass by a few horses and a barrel of water. Rag in hand, he hung his head. When Sylvia came closer, he scrambled to his feet and wet the rag anew. He was breathing hard, and barely stable on his feet.

“Stop that”, Sylvia scolded.

Afi let his arms fall to his sides. He met Sylvia’s gaze with a carefully blank expression.

“You are hurt after all”, Sylvia determined.

“I am not”, Afi protested.

“Sit”, Sylvia said softly. When Afi hesitated, she firmed her voice. “I said sit, Sworn.”

Sinking back into the grass, Afi let her inspect the cut he had gained when defending her from the troublesome sworn. Mud had crept under his sleeve and the edge of his wound was red and warm. Sylvia cleaned it, and then placed stonemoss and a silverwood leaf on it. She tied a bandage to keep everything in place. “Go eat now”, she instructed.

“What about Rise?”, Afi asked.

“Go. And bring me my breakfast as well”, Sylvia ordered firmly.

Clambering to his feet again, Afi did as he was told. Sylvia wrung the rag out and began to clean Rise in the meantime. Afi may be right in thinking it unwise to confront Yri about her rash decisions, but let her be damned if she treated Afi the same way. If anyone had a problem with her tending to her horses herself, they could take it up with her personally.

Sylvia kept an eye on Afi as they rode along the coast. He was staring into empty space. His head hung and his shoulders slouched. He ate like a horse in the morning. Luckily, Frida did not share Yri’s anger. She gave Afi plenty of lentils and porridge, along with a big mug of beer. Despite that, he looked about ready to fall out of his saddle. The only thing giving Sylvia hope was the silhouette of Fristad on the horizon. This last day of riding would soon be over.

The salty air was not burning in Sylvia’s eyes as aggressively any more. She watched the city in the distance slowly creep closer. She had never seen a settlement so large. It covered the entire bay, stretching its arms along the water. Several smaller settlements dotted the land around the city. Most were but a couple of houses clustered between plenty of farmland. When the caravan passed by these farming communities, entire families came out of their homes despite the rain, to cheer and wave at them. Many soldiers happily returned the gesture. Sylvia was surprised by the enthusiasm. She had read about the return of armed forces, about parades and people throwing flowers, but this was not an organised event. People simply saw them trotting through the rain and began to shout. One young boy marched alongside them of almost half an hour before stopping at the edge of a field and staring wide eyed at every horse and cart.

The closer they came to the city, the smaller the fields became, and the more houses fragmented the landscape. Some of them were large, long and broad like stables, and the stables were even larger still, but all of it was dwarfed by the architecture of the city itself. Fristad consisted of many small districts, wrapping around a common centre in two distinct layers, like flower petals around pistil and stamen. Each district was protected by a wall. It was easy to see why Fristad had never been conquered.

The outer walls were long, but low, and built entirely out of cut stone. The gate they passed formed a perfect arch. At its apex, a gull rested its wings, unbothered by the commotion. The first ring of districts consisted of many small farms. There were only a handful of animals, leaving as much space as possible for arable between the dainty houses. The crops grew richly here despite ample shade from the walls. The fields were irrigated with long slopes of slow-running water. Some fields were entirely under water, with thick bundles of reed growing in them. A smooth paved road led past the farms and through the second row of defence.

The middle walls were a little higher, and much older. They were also exceedingly thick. An entire wagon could stand under the gate without an edge sticking out. In contrast to the outermost walls, this line of defence showed signs of wear. The stones were uneven, and parts had been repaired with a mix of gravel and clay. In the second ring stood many large houses. The area was dense and riddled with small alleys and odd corners. The main road was lined with people, pushing at each other to get a better view of the caravan. Others were hanging out of windows or sitting on rooftops.

The innermost wall was high and imposing. It was awfully thin, but undoubtedly sturdy. The construction alternated metal and cut stone. The beams of metal were thick, and green from corrosion. The gate was broad and entirely made of metal, much like the one in Holms Fäste. Behind it, a large square opened up. The caravan filed into the square with practised efficiency. To their left and right, huge stables stretched, and before them three broad roads cut the city centre into uneven triangles.

Aimo lined his wagons up along the slender wall. Each wagon was manoeuvred into place with precision, leaving but a few centimetres between the wheels. Most of the riders dismounted and handed their horses over to a small army of stablehands. Afi perked up a little in all the excitement. Sylvia tried to steer Natta out of the way, but she kept finding herself in someone’s path. To her great relief, Yri waved her across the square. Trotting over to where Yri, Bothilder, and Kaija stood, Sylvia dismounted.

“Welcome to Fristad”, Yri grinned, spreading her arms out demonstratively.

“I have never seen a city this huge”, Sylvia admitted. “And never heard one so loud.”

Kaija smiled broadly. “Biggest and loudest in the entire south!” She leaned in and whispered, “Almost.”

“I look forward to showing you around”, Yri added. “For now, give your horses to the stables. They will be well cared for.”

“I am not sure I can afford a box”, Sylvia said.

Yri waved a hand. “You need not worry about a thing. These are the army stables. You are Fri. You do not pay.”

“Oh, in that case, I will”, Sylvia agreed. She ran a hand through Natta’s mane. “Where do you reckon I could set up my tent?”

“Tent?”, Yri laughed. “No no, Sylvia, you are going to stay at the harbour, just like the other youngsters. Talk to Frida. She can introduce you. Her mother runs the inn.” With that, Yri thought the conversation finished, and turned her attention to her sworn.

Looking back at Afi, Sylvia shrugged. They led their horses into the giant stable. There were rows and rows of boxes. Some were occupied, others not, but each and every one had been recently cleaned and prepared. A stablehand short of Sylvia’s age came sprinting up to them at once.

“May I take your horses?”, she asked eagerly.

Nodding, Sylvia untied the saddle bags from Natta and handed over the reins. Afi did the same with Rise and they watched the woman walk away with both steeds. Curious, Sylvia followed a few paces to see the stablehand stop in the third row of boxes. She immediately began to unsaddle Natta. She worked quickly, heaving the saddle down and placing it aside on a stand, before leading Natta into a box and freeing him from the bridle. Then, she pulled a brush from her pocket and began grooming the horse.

Sylvia smiled. “I think they will be just fine here.”

Afi nodded in agreement. He followed his liege back out of the stables, making sure to place himself between her and any wagons or horses. He may not have weapon or armour, but he was still going to shield Sylvia from any possible danger or discomfort. The unfamiliar bustle of the city was visibly unnerving her.

Finding Frida in the organised chaos was not an easy task, but eventually a familiar ruffle of brown hair became visible by one of the big roads.

Frida’s face lit up when she spotted Sylvia. “There you are! Yri said you will be coming with me to the inn?”

“She told me the same thing”, Sylvia said.

“Then we are in agreement. Come along”, Frida waved.

She led them along the middle road. On either side of them, tall houses loomed. Some of them were built entirely out of wood, but the further they walked, the more stone buildings there were. Whereas the stone used in Surtearv had been a familiar dark grey, these facades were bright beige, or mellow yellow. A few houses looked like they had been built out of sand. Sylvia ogled each and every building.

“Have you been to Fristad before?”, Frida inquired.

“Never”, Sylvia answered. She noticed the amused smile of Frida’s face and added, “I was never out of eyeshot from Nyberg before. The mountain was always in view.”

Frida looked to Afi in question and he shook his head. “I would not have been welcome.”

“True enough”, Frida agreed. “Have you ever been to the lair?”

“Lair?”, Sylvia wondered.

“The Wolf lair, Safeharbour”, Frida explained “Not so safe, though”, she added.

Afi just nodded a little and then let his gaze fall to the road, watching each stone carefully as he tread over it.

“Is it bigger or smaller than Fristad? Tell me the truth”, Frida requested.

Afi shrugged. “A bit bigger, but not as elegant”, he offered.

Frida clicked her tongue. “Typical. Oh well, we will have them beat before long.”

As they walked on, the harbour became visible among the houses. Several masts peeked up over the roofs, and a distinct fishy smell wafted along the road. The road suddenly split in front of a massive building. It was lower than most, only two stories high, but there were windows peeking out from the roof, and the base suggested a deep cellar. What the house lacked in height, it made up for in all other dimensions. On either side of the main building, a wing jutted out, hugging a yard in front. In the yard, a handful of people were talking eagerly, catching up after many weeks apart.

The massive wooden door of the inn stood wide open, and inside a bar greeted them. The space reminded Sylvia of the town hall in Nyberg, except city sized. There was a broad fireplace at the far end, big enough to heat the entire hall, and the entirety of the space was littered with tables and chairs, most of them occupied. On some tables lay board games, dice, and cards. Others were cluttered by plates and pitchers. The wall opposite the fireplace was dominated by a long counter. Behind it stood two men and an older woman.

“I am back!”, Frida called.

The woman behind the bar spun around and smiled broadly. “There you are! And with no new scars, I hope.”

Frida’s mother was as short as Sylvia, but far broader. Her round face was wrinkled and gentle, but her eyes were clear and keen. Her long grey hair was tightly braided.

“Only one”, Frida answered cheerfully. Her mother gave her a stern look and she waved a hand, laughing. “I was cooking. I did not fight, I swear.”

“Good. And who are these new faces then?”

“This is Sylvia Fri. She is a survivor from Nyberg. She will need accommodations”, Frida introduced.

“Sylvia. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Ritva”, Frida’s mother smiled.

Coming closer, Sylvia noticed the clothes Ritva wore were the polar opposite of Frida’s simple garments. Ritva wore a fine blue tunic with intricate stitchings, depicting ships and waves. Her earlobes had elongated over the years from the weight of two heavy gold earrings, which matched the broad ring on her left hand. Sylvia had only seen such fine clothes in drawings. She wondered if Ritva was noble. But then, why would she be working at an inn?

“Ritva”, she repeated politely. She bowed her head, just in case.

“Such manners”, Ritva smiled. She touched her broad chin with the tip of her finger and hummed in thought. “I still have a nice room with view over the harbour. It is a coin a day.”

“Thank you, but I am afraid I do not really have any money to spare”, Sylvia apologised.

“I see. The other side, then. Free of charge for Fri. I do not think that I still have space for two on the city side, though”, Ritva contemplated.

“Oh, there is no need”, Frida interjected. “He is just a Wolf.”

Ritva’s eyes snapped to Afi. Her gaze suddenly became biting and cold. “What?!”, she demanded, anger seeping into her voice.

Frida huffed a laugh and leaned against the bar. “Believe it or not. He is her sworn, her shield, but he is also a Wolf. Thorun spared his life for Sylvia’s sake. It was quite the shock.”

Ritva’s eyes found Sylvia instead. She made no attempt to hide her dissatisfaction. “Why in Gaia’s soul would you take a Wolf under oath?”

“He saved my life. A life for a life”, Sylvia stated firmly.

Taken aback, Ritva glanced between the two of them a few times, before sighing and shaking her head. “Even so, I cannot provide for a Wolf. You understand that, right?”

Sylvia nodded.

“He can sleep on your floor like a good dog”, Frida joked.

“One person, one bed”, Ritva agreed.

“That is fine”, Sylvia said half-heartedly.

Ritva reached under the counter and placed a small iron key onto the bar. “Here. The room is up the stairs, to the right, and to the right again. Second door”, she instructed, motioning toward the broad stairs in the back.

Taking the key, Sylvia smiled politely. “Thank you so much.”

“Always for the Fri”, Ritva smiled back.

“You can always eat here”, Frida added, nodding to both Sylvia and Afi. “Though, if you come across some money, we would appreciate a contribution similar to the stated prices.”

“Of course. Thank you again for your generosity”, Sylvia said before taking her leave.

Walking up the stairs, Sylvia and Afi found a long corridor. At either end, the corridor branched into two. Taking a right and another right, Sylvia walked up to the second door from the crossing and tried the key. The door gave a gentle squeak as it swung open. The room was small and modest, but clean. There was a single bed and a chest, as well as a bedpan and a washing bowl. Crossing the room, Sylvia pulled the curtain aside. She could see the broad street below, but not much else. The opposing building was a massive construct of three levels, built entirely out of a sandy yellow stone.

Afi placed the saddle bags down with a huff. He stretched and then joined Sylvia, peering over her shoulder. “Not too bad of a view”, he jested.

“I wonder what the harbour is like”, Sylvia said. She leaned as far as she could to the right, glancing along the street, but all she saw were more houses.

“We can go have a look if you want”, Afi suggested.

“Yes!”, Sylvia agreed happily. Turning from the window, she let the curtain fall back and the light softened in an instant.

Afi snapped his fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He walked to the saddle bags and dug around among the clothes. “I found a doll. No knife, though. Sorry.”

Taking the crude doll out, he turned to Sylvia and found her standing frozen in the middle of the room. Her eyes were wide, and fixed on the doll.

“Sylvia?”

She walked over to him and hugged him tight, hiding her face against him. Hugging back, Afi could not help but smile a little. Sylvia’s gratitude washed over him. He had done something very right. When Sylvia peeled from him, he handed the doll over, and Sylvia hugged it to her chest.

“Thank you”, she whispered.

“You are welcome.”

Sylvia sat down on the bed and inspected the doll closely. It was a simple thing. It was nothing more than brown cloth, some hay for filling, a bit of string, and two wooden buttons. Their mother had made it when she was young. She gave it to Maja when she was still a baby. Maja gave it to Sylvia when she was born, and Sylvia passed it on to Alice, carefully placing it down on the bed when her mother slept after the birth. She could still remember the way Alice looked at her back then, those curious dark eyes staring at her in wonderment.

“She looked so ugly. Like a raisin”, Sylvia chuckled.

“Who?”, Afi wondered. He took a seat beside her on the bed, looking at the little doll that had caused such a strong reaction.

Sylvia shook her head. “Alice. My sister.”

Afi’s expression changed. He turned his head. He couldn’t face Sylvia when he asked, “The young one?”

Sylvia nodded and he let his gaze fall to the floor. Sylvia shifted closer and leaned against him. She stroked over the little doll’s head, moving the threads which formed its short hair. They sat there for a long moment, sharing the silence.

Sylvia noticed Afi becoming heavier. She nudged him and his head snapped up. He inhaled sharply and shook his head. “Sorry.”

“You should sleep”, Sylvia said. She placed the doll on the windowsill and began searching for the blanket.

“I thought you wanted to go to the harbour?”, Afi asked.

“You are going to collapse. You need to sleep. The harbour is not going anywhere”, Sylvia insisted. Pulling the blanket out of the bags, she handed it over and gave him a stern look.

Giving in, Afi unfolded the blanket and lay it out on the floor.

“What are you doing?”, Sylvia questioned.

“Sleeping?”

“Take the bed.”

“That is not right”, Afi protested.

Sylvia crossed her arms over her chest. “Take the bed, Sworn”, she ordered.

Nodding slowly, Afi did as he was told. Untying his boots and folding his tunic over the foot end of the bed, he lay down and wrapped the blanket around himself. He took another long look at Sylvia before closing his eyes.

Sylvia turned her attention to their bags instead. In slow and quiet movements, she unpacked and transferred their belongings into the chest. The moss and sticky fire remained in the saddle bags. She did not want the plant material to spread all over her textiles. Looking around the room and nodding in satisfaction, she pulled the curtain aside again and sat down on the windowsill. She watched and listened to the hustle and bustle in the road below. She was here at last. Fristad.

What now?