At the edge of camp, Oskar and the sisters were already waiting. Sylvia squinted into the woods. On the road, a single horse was visible. The barding had a red mark which Sylvia could not decipher in the dimming light.

“A lone Wolf?”, Oskar asked.

“Bad survival instincts”, Yri remarked.

The rider came to a halt at the edge of the clearing. “I carry a message!”, he shouted.

Thorun nodded a little.

Kvist cupped her hands around her mouth and called back. “Come!”

Slowly, the rider neared camp. Kvist stopped him halfway and motioned him down from his horse. The Wolf did not hesitate to dismount. He walked into the light of the lanterns with his head held high. Oskar took a step forward, but the Wolf waved a hand in dismissal. “I will speak to Thorun Fri”, he declared.

“Who are you?”, Thorun demanded.

“My name has no relevance.”

“He speaks the truth”, Yri chuckled.

The messenger slimmed his eyes. “It has come to Gramr’s attention that you are making a claim for the Crown. Gra—”

“Who? Me?”, Thorun interrupted.

Visibly irritated, the messenger continued, “He encourages you to lay down your weapons and return home. He will lead the Crown. He was given authority by the late king himself.”

Thorun drew a sword, lobbing the man’s head right off.

“What did you do that for?!”, Oskar shouted.

“Gramr as an heir? He is delusional.”

“That is no reason to kill the messenger”, Oskar chided.

“One Wolf less is always an improvement”, Thorun answered easily.

Yri sighed audibly. “We better ready for battle. I doubt they will take this as an invitation to break bread.”

“Arm yourselves! Wolves are coming!”, Kvist shouted.

The soldiers sprung into action, re-saddling horses and putting on armour. It was a hurried scramble. Yri crouched down next to the dead Wolf and searched the body. Finding no weapon nor jewellery, she shook her head.

“I wonder if he knew he was sent to die”, Kaija thought aloud.

“Probably not. Wolves are an arrogant bunch. But I bet that whoever sent him knew it”, Yri said.

Oskar made an uncomfortable noise.

“Feeling squeamish?”, Thorun mocked.

Oskar straightened his back and shook his head. “I am bewildered, though. I expected some opposition, but not like this. Why would they believe you are the one seeking the throne?”

“How did he even know about our campaign at all?”, Sylvia wondered. “We have only been on the road for a few weeks.”

“Never underestimate the speed at which rumours can travel. He was bound to hear about it”, Afi said.

“For once, I agree with the rat”, Yri said. “What I want to know is how this pest has made it all the way down here again.”

“I doubt the Wolves ever left. I would assume there are many small troops all over mid and south Sev as we speak.”

“Why? Tell me what you know”, Thorun demanded.

“Gramr seeks revenge against you. You are known as a merciless killer, and Yri is seen as a traitor. I doubt Gramr even cares about the throne. It would not surprise me if he only wants it because he found out that you do.”

“What the fuck is his problem? Is he trying to compensate for short statue or something?”, Thorun spat.

“You have never met him?”, Afi asked in surprise.

“If I had, he would not be alive.”

Afi frowned in bewilderment.

“So you do not know why the Wolves are after you?”, Oskar inquired.

“I know I bruised some egos in Lesa, but no, I do not see why he would care after all these years. Merciless murderer, indeed. He is one to speak. What a resentful fool.”

“I believe this discussion can wait. What is important right now is to focus on our defences”, Yri got them back on track.

“You are right, of course”, Oskar concurred.

“Reconvene here”, Thorun ordered.

They scattered to prepare for battle, and then met up again in full armour. Despite the haste of their preparations, the camp was far from ready when the sound of hooves echoed between the trees. Yri cursed and began pulling back the string of her arbalest.

“How did they get that close without us noticing?”, Oskar questioned.

Theodorus shrugged. “I could not tell you. I have not heard a thing.”

“They are not here yet”, Afi stated. “It is a trick.”

Thorun pointed her sword at him. “How do I know you are not the one trying to trick me?”

“He is not!”, Sylvia shouted.

“Stay out of it”, Yri ordered.

Sylvia looked between Afi and Thorun. Their eyes were locked, both displaying determination. Afi was a picture of calm, but Sylvia could feel his fear crawling over her skin.

“I am sworn to protect Sylvia. The best way to do that is to help you. I tell you, they are not here yet. They knew you would not simply leave, but they also could not afford to tip you off by coming too close. They probably hoped you would move camp for the night. It would make you an easy target on the road. They are trying to unnerve you, to make you prepare with more speed than care. The sound will also mask their actual arrival. The idea is to tempt you to strengthen your defences in the direction from which you think they will come. Once they encircle you, they will be able to find weak spots in your lines.”

Thorun came closer to Afi, never breaking eye contact. “Lie to me.”

“I am not lying. We have used this tactic before”, Afi insisted.

“I said, lie to me”, Thorun repeated.

Afi drew a slow breath. “I trust you.”

Thorun huffed in amusement. “You will stay at my side. You are my shield for this battle.”

“Yes, Fri”, Afi nodded.

“Do not be foolish”, Yri complained.

“Arm him. Spread the defences evenly. Get ready”, Thorun ordered.

“Thorun!”

Thorun glared at Yri. “What?”

Yri clenched her jaw and turned away. “Spread out! Rely on your eyes! We will see them coming!”

“Oskar. Get your best defensive fighter”, Thorun ordered.

Tone stepped forward.

“Take Sylvia and go to the baker’s tent. Keep her and the cooks safe. Aimo and the wagoners will join you shortly. Protect them with your life.”

Tone looked to Oskar for a confirmation before he nodded to Thorun. Taking Sylvia’s elbow, he led her further into camp.

Afi was glad to see Sylvia escorted to safety, or relative safety at least. He readied for battle. One of the wagoners provided him with armour, helmet, and sword. Knowing well that he was better on foot, he did not bother saddling Rise. He picked up a buckler and joined Thorun near the source of the disruptive sound still emitting form the woods. The Fri and Nordborg soldiers gathered behind Aimo’s wagons, protecting the choke points which the gaps between the wagons presented.

“You were right. They should have been here already”, Thorun commented.

Afi merely nodded.

Balder ran over to them. “Wolves spotted among the trees to the north.”

Theodorus appeared from behind a wagon and added, “West too.”

Thorun raised an eyebrow at Afi.

“That should be them now”, he confirmed.

“Stay sharp!”, Yri shouted.

“Do you reckon they will attack from the opposite side?”, Thorun asked.

“No. They are probably closing in from everywhere. They will try to find a weak spot and concentrate on it as they charge. A handful in the line-up will make the call and the rest will follow them at a moment’s notice.”

Theodorus whistled. “Clever. Unpredictability is a great intimidation tactic, especially if you can break the enemy ranks early on.”

“Can we identify these leaders?”, Thorun asked.

“Not unless you happen to know them.”

“Great”, Oskar sighed.

“Yri, go south. I will stay here. Oskar, pick a side. Kvist will take the opposite”, Thorun ordered.

“Does it matter which?”, Oskar wondered.

“I take east”, Kvist determined, shoving him toward the west.

A shower of arrows preceded the assault. The lookouts standing on top of the wagons had shields, but it was not enough. Some managed to jump down in time while others toppled down from the heights. Balder and the rangers under her command answered the volley. Wolves spewed forth from between the trees on foot and on horseback. They came from the north, from the south, from west and east. The spread of enemies closing in on them left no option to shift guards or focus on any direction. Only in the last moments before they came into striking distance, did the Wolves concentrate their effort on specific openings. Thorun, Yri, Kvist, and Oskar did their best to match the effort, but the Wolves tore through their defence with speed. Battle spread throughout the camp in a matter of seconds.

Frida pulled Sylvia behind herself. She firmed her grip on her knife. The other cooks and wagoners were armed as well, but much like Sylvia, few of them knew how to make efficient use of the equipment. All Sylvia had was the dagger at her belt and a few balls of sticky fire. Tone drew his sword and stood by the entrance to the baker’s tent. Aimo stood ready as well, both hands on his cane. When Wolves reached the centre of camp, Tone and Aimo clashed with the assailants. Frida pulled the opposite side of the tent open and the lot of them scattered.

It was not long ago that Afi rode alongside his pack. Now he was fighting tooth and nail to push the Wolves back. Sword and buckler raised, he made sure to stay between Thorun and the influx of enemies. It surprised him a little that Thorun showed no hesitance when fighting alongside him. She focused on what was in front of her, not once doubting that he was at her back. For tonight, he was her shield. Pride lifted his head.

Before long, the bandits figured out that Oskar was to the west and congregated there. Spotting the coordinated movement from the top of a wagon, Balder let out a high pitched yelp. Thorun raised her head and saw Balder swirl a pattern into the air with her hand.

“Bastards”, Thorun spat. She took off in a dash, pushing through the crowd.

Afi stayed at her heel. In mid run, there was no way to shield Thorun. Afi resorted to tackling a Wolf who got in the way. He kept going, leaving the man to the mercy of whoever was close by. Reaching the western side of camp, Thorun began cutting a path through the ranks, bringing down Wolves to her left and right. The Fri followed her without hesitation, striking into the heart of the gathering like a spear.

Afi could see why these women inspired nightmares. The otherworldly calls, followed by swift action. Their accuracy with ranged weapons. The dim eyes, and the fearless determination in their every step. And then there was Thorun. She was a sight to behold. She was strong and swift, and she never stopped moving. In one flowing pattern, she maintained her momentum, pressing ever deeper into the heart of the pack. It did not go past Afi that they were soon surrounded by Wolves. Having no time for doubt, he focused on keeping Thorun's back clear.

Realizing his predicament as well, Oskar soon backed away from the wagons. He was among his soldiers, but without a dedicated shield. The danger of this error soon made itself known. The Wolves surrounded his group.

“Oskar!”, Thorun shouted.

Afi turned his head and spotted the swordsman who took position to lunge for Oskar. Before he could inform Thorun, she shoved him away. Afi broke through the lines.

“Right side!”, he shouted.

Oskar spun around just in time to parry. He forced his assailant back a couple of steps with a firm shove of his shield. Afi got a clear view of the Wolf then. A cold shower ran down his back. The helmet was obscuring most of the Wolf’s face, but there was no mistaking him. It was Björn. He was wearing his favourite plate armour, proudly presenting the Wolf emblem which was imprinted on the chest.

Björn’s eyes met Afi’s and went wide in surprise. Shock turned to anger in a split second and Björn roared. “Traitor!”

Forgetting all about Oskar, Björn launched himself at Afi. Afi shielded his hand and pushed Björn’s sword to the side, but the force of impact still caused him to stagger back. Oskar was preoccupied defending himself again. Thorun chose to protect their king-to-be over the former Wolf. Afi lost more ground. Björn attacked over and over, but there was nothing Afi could do except defend. Fear gripped his soul. He had seen Björn in battle. A decapitation or a stab in the chest was not to his taste. He went for arms and legs, rendering his foes defenceless. What happened to them afterwards was none of his concern. He did not bother walking through a battlefield to kill off whoever still squirmed. Let them bleed out. Let them linger in the knowledge that a Wolf had taken their life. Their fear would feed Gramr. Afi tired and failed not to imagine what lay ahead of him.

Sylvia felt fear dig its claws into her chest. She had been scared of the battle, but now she was terrified. She was dying. No, not her. Afi. Afi was dying. Sylvia looked around wildly. She could not see him in the tumult of swords and fires. She closed her eyes and focused on the sensation, the sharp pain tearing at her skin. She stumbled back, back, away from death.

“Traitor!”, Björn roared.

Sylvia gasped. She pulled free from Frida’s grip and hurried for the edge of camp.

Frida yelled after her. “Where are you going?!”

Sylvia ran as fast as she could, ducking past fighters who were locked in their own struggles. She saw Afi loosing ground to Björn. The fear clasped down on her soul. Frida caught up with her and yelled something. The world blurred around the edges, but Sylvia knew what she had to do. The fear pooled out into her hand and a clarity of mind as she had never experienced it before overcame her. Everything slowed down. Björn raised his sword again, slowly bringing it to the highest point of its swing. Afi held his buckler up in answer. He drew his left leg back for stability and braced for the impact. Frida gasped in shock. Sylvia strode over to the battling men.

Björn screamed in pain. A flame lashed over his back. He abandoned his attack and whirled around. He threw himself onto the ground, but the fire stayed with him, seeping in under his clothes. Another Wolf yelled in pain. Fire erupted on his head and ran down his face. More fires flared up. Bewildered and horrified, the Wolves turned on their heels, but the fire only spread further. The organised assault turned into a scramble for escape.

Afi placed a foot on Björn’s back. Björn was thrashing under him, screaming in agony. Sticky fire was bubbling on his skin and the flames shot up from under his armour. Afi hovered his sword over the opening between helmet and backplate. His hands trembled. Thorun placed a hand on the pommel of his sword and pressed it down into Björn’s neck. Afi pulled the sword back out at an angle and Björn stopped struggling. He lay limp in the dirt. Afi removed his foot and relaxed his shoulders. The boiling sap spluttered and hissed as it came in contact with blood.

Instead of relief, complete anguish washed over Afi. It took him a moment to realise it was not his own. He was not the one who was injured. He looked up and found Sylvia sitting on the ground nearby. She cried out in pain. The residue from the sticky fire had set her hand on fire. She pressed it against the ground and covered it in dirt to extinguished the flames, but the sap was still boiling. Sylvia’s face contorted in pain. She curled together on the ground.

“Water!”, Afi called.

Bloody knife still in hand, Frida ran to fetch some.

Sylvia whined. Of course. Water. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. The woods. The moss. The mushrooms. Sylvia licked her lips. It had been delicious. What really tingled on her lips was not the flavour of chanterelle and butter, though. It was the memory of a kiss. Frida’s lips were soft and comforting, just as Klara’s had always been. It felt good. Exhaling hard, Sylvia wiggled her index finger in the dirt in an attempt to write the word. Water. It conjured around her hand, drenching the dirt and turning it into a thick wet mud. Sylvia exhaled in relief. She pulled her hand up and wiped the sap off. Her skin was torn. Patches had burned away across her palm and fingers. Blood welled up.

Afi took her wrist and inspected the damage. She felt his horror creeping in on her. It made for a nauseating mix with her own worry and hurt. Uncomfortable, she pulled away, and Afi’s shock turned to sadness. Sylvia sighed tiredly.

Frida returned with water, but it was no longer of much use.

Afi looked to Thorun. She was still in battle, running the Wolves off. “Move her to safety”, he requested.

“Of course”, Frida nodded. “Go.”

Taking a hold of Sylvia’s arm, Frida forced her up. Pulling her back to the centre of camp, Frida let her collapse near the baker’s tent. Tone came to their side at once.

“Are you alright?”

“I will live”, Sylvia answered.

Her voice was strained. She was still breathing hard and sweating. Frida cleaned the mud off her skin as softly as she could manage, but the pain made Sylvia tremble all over.