It was nearly morning when the tired soldiers took off their armour. Afi had ensured Thorun that a second assault was most unlikely. The sisters still stationed extra lookouts and guards, but they elected to stay and rest at their current location instead of retreating to Adersta. At least cleanup was a quick process out here in the woods. The dead were lined up neatly near camp, and the Wolf corpses chucked to the side. There was no need to burn or bury them. By the time the rot set in, the caravan would be long gone.

Oskar stood by his fallen. He may not remember the name of every last soldier under his command, but he knew their faces well enough. He had trained and broken bread with these men and women. He remembered the games and competitions. The young lad lying at his feet was a promising swordsman, the son of a smith. This had been his first taste of battle. At least he died with clear eyes. It was hardly a comfort, but it would have to do for his letter. Glancing along the line of dead, Oskar exhaled hard. The Fri were truly an impressive force. The peculiar layout of their camp had helped greatly, and the fire balls were a weapon akin to magic. Still, he had a feeling he would be writing a lot of letters before his quest was complete.

“What is on your mind?”, Tone asked softly.

“So many died. I never lost this many in one night.”

“We were at a considerable disadvantage”, Tone reasoned.

“Do you think it would have been at all possible to avoid this?”, Oskar asked.

“I do not know.”

“It was not”, Thorun stated.

Oskar turned around to the sisters. “We could have attempted diplomacy.”

Thorun crossed her arms over her chest. “To what end? The message was an insult.”

“But it was just words. You escalated this conflict.”

“It was escalated years ago”, Thorun said.

“I still think we could have tried”, Oskar argued.

“No. Thorun is right”, Afi interjected. “The message was not an attempt at negotiation. If you would have agreed to discuss the situation, it would have been an assassination attempt.”

“So you are saying the only way to avoid this battle would have been retreat?”

“No. Then it would have been an ambush. I am saying there was no way to avoid it. Gramr is single minded in his pursuits. As long as the sisters live, the Wolves will attack. Since you are in an alliance, I suppose the same goes for you.”

Oskar shook his head. “Insanity. Complete insanity.”

Afi watched as more Wolves were thrown aside. Among them was Björn. He had been stripped out of his armour. The metal had value. His body did not. Even now, the crescent moon on his chest ensured he could not be mistaken for anything other than a proud Wolf.

Noticing the bothered look in Afi’s eyes, Oskar offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “You fought well today. How many did you get?”

Yri scoffed aloud. “How many”, she repeated with venom in her voice. She nodded toward Afi. “Answer. How many did you kill?”

Afi shrugged.

Looking back at Oskar, Yri chastised, “If you keep count of your kills, you are even stupider than you look. You cannot build glory on death. Every kill ends a life which is unique and irreplaceable.”

“I am sorry”, Oskar apologised. He blinked at Yri in bafflement. “I did not think you would care for Wolf lives”, he added carefully.

“I do not”, Yri stated grimly. “Others may. He was one”, she added, nodding to Afi again.

Oskar’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh. I did not realise. I guess that explains why you know so much about them.” He shook his head. “I merely wanted to check how you are feeling. I saw your hesitance before, and thought that you may not have killed before. I apologise for my inconsiderate words.”

Afi shrugged again. He balled his hands into fists and pressed his lips into a thin line. He did not take his eyes off Björn’s corpse, but after a few deep breaths, he finally spoke. “This is exactly the outcome I fought for, but I cannot find any joy in it.”

Yri rounded Oskar and came to stand at Afi’s side. She placed a hand on his arm. Afi looked down at her, surprised and curious.

“Good. Do not take pride in the death of others, Wolf or not. Do not let it define you or guide your future actions. A victory is to be celebrated and the dead to be honoured, but never enjoy the kill, never indulge in the spilling of blood. That being said, be strong. Become the strength which will protect this land from those who find joy in murder and kill for sport.” Yri squeezed Afi’s arm and then removed her hand. “You should go and care for your liege. Sylvia is injured.”

Afi nodded. He began to untie the scabbard from his belt.

“Keep it”, Thorun said. “All of it. You earned it. See it as your cut from this battle.”

A hint of a smile flickered over Afi’s face. “Thank you”, he said flatly. He bowed, and left.

When the sisters had left as well, Tone gave a thoughtful hum. “That was not very elegant.”

Oskar nodded. “I know. I feel terrible. Tone, I am not sure I can do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at me stumbling about. I can fight, but I am not much of a leader, am I? Not even the Wolves would speak with me. What if you all got the wrong man?”

Tone smiled softly. “I know I have the right man.”

Oskar chuckled. “That is sweet, but it does not reassure me.”

Clearing his throat, Tone firmed his voice. “Your father was a wise man. He would not have asked this of you had he not know it to be right.”

“I hope you are right.”

“Feeling insecure, Your Highness?”, Theodorus teased. He strolled over to them from the edge of the woods.

“There you are. Report”, Oskar ordered.

“I took out most of their archers. If my count is accurate, they only have two rangers left, so I doubt we have to worry about any surprises. Also, it would seem that Afi knows his stuff. The Wolves are licking their wounds. They are scattered all over the place. Some smaller groups are forming around mid-level commanders, but I doubt they will be able to organise any decent assault anytime soon. We will be by Brofäste before they can pose a threat again.”

Oskar nodded approvingly.

“Good work”, Tone offered.

“Do you want me to take out those commanders?”, Theodorus asked. He played with the little piece of metal under his tongue.

“No. Enough people have died today. I would like you to check on the scribe, erm…”

“Sylvia”, Theodorus helped along.

“It seems she was injured during the battle. She is evidently very valuable to the sisters. Thorun made a point of protecting her. Make sure she is okay.”

“Right away”, Theodorus nodded.

“And let me know if you find out what makes her so special”, Oskar added.

Nodding again, Theodorus took his leave. He stepped over a dead sworn and walked back into camp. He was glad to have another excuse to speak with Sylvia. She was fascinating. Her aura was strong, far too strong for someone with a broken soul. He had never seen anything like it. And the weirdest part was her keen soul sense. She was not just clever. She could feel him. He had never even met her before. It made no sense. He would love to figure out how how she did it. Reaching Sylvia's tent, he paused and tugged down his face guard. Most people found it easier to communicate with him when they could see his lips. Why, he had yet to figure out.

“Excuse me, Sylvia?”, he spoke loudly.

“Come”, Afi responded from within.

Theodorus pulled the tent flap aside and smiled. “Oskar said you were injured.”

“A little”, Sylvia confirmed.

“May I? I might be able to help.”

Sylvia scooted to the side on her bedroll to make space for him. Ducking into the tent, Theodorus took a seat right beside her. When Sylvia untied her bandage, he could see that she had packed stonemoss and a silverwood leaf on the wound. It was a good way to stave off any potential infections. Theodorus was impressed.

Sylvia peeled the moss off and presented her palm. The bleeding had stopped now, and scabs were forming, but much of the lower skin layers were exposed.

“Looks painful”, Theodorus commented.

“It still burns.”

Theodorus took Sylvia's wrist and lifted her hand to his face to get a better look. Sylvia noticed he was only mildly focused on her injury. Most of him coaxed her soul even now. Theodorus lowered her hand into his lap.

“I will need a bowl.”

Afi handed him one and he pulled a little vial from under his cloak. Dribbling some oil from it, he stashed it back under his clothes. Then, he added a bit of some cream from a small container, and a thicker fluid, reminiscent of honey. While mixing the three together with his finger, he kept his gaze on Sylvia's hand. She felt curiosity climbing up her arm. It was not her own and it certainly was not Afi’s. Afi was apprehensive, and distinctly mistrustful.

“Afi. Get me something to eat”, Sylvia instructed.

Afi grumbled, but followed the order. As soon as he had left the tent, Theodorus’s gaze wandered up to Sylvia's face. “Wanted to get me alone, Fri?”, he teased.

“I am hungry”, Sylvia lied.

Theodorus scooped the ointment up and began spreading it over her injury. Sylvia sighed in relief. She had expected it to sting, but to the contrary, it greatly eased the pain. A sweet scent wafted up to her, masking the smell of burned flesh. “What is that?”

“Medicine”, Theodorus answered cryptically. “What caused this?”, he asked.

“Sticky fire.”

“The same thing that scattered the Wolves?”

Sylvia nodded.

“Some sort of weapon?”, Theodorus inquired.

“Something along those lines. A little mix of mine that burns well and sticks to everything. Guess I made it a little too effective”, Sylvia chuckled.

“You know alchemy?”

Sylvia considered this for a moment. She had not thought that she did, but there was no more adequate description for her weapon than alchemic. “Bits and pieces”, she agreed. “As do you, it seems”, she prodded.

Theodorus smiled, but gave her no further information. When he had spread the ointment all over Sylvia's palm and fingers, he placed the silverwood leaf back in her palm and bandaged her hand anew. He let his fingers linger on her skin. There was something sinister about his touch. Sylvia felt her soul ache. She felt observed, examined, almost naked. Theodorus leaned in a little and inhaled deeply. Sylvia’s head suddenly felt awfully heavy. Afi returned before Sylvia could question Theodorus about his motives.

Seeing Theodorus hovering unnecessarily close to Sylvia, and feeling her discomfort crawl over his skin, Afi crossed his arms over his chest. “Done?”, he demanded.

“Yes”, Theodorus confirmed. “All patched up.”

He rose to his feet and smiled broadly. Afi stepped aside demonstratively and he left. Sylvia was sitting still, looking down at her bandaged hand.

“Are you alright?”, Afi asked.

“Much better”, Sylvia nodded. “But tired.”

Afi put the plate of roots and meat down beside her. Sylvia ate slowly. After a carrot and half a potato, she stopped. She lay down instead and sighed.

“You need to eat”, Afi urged.

Sylvia mumbled an incoherent answer. Then she was asleep. Afi draped a blanket over her. While she seemed more tired than hungry, Afi was definitely more hungry than tired. Hoping that Sylvia might eat some more once she woke up, he left the plate. He headed back to the baker’s tent in the hopes of a second serving. His armour clinked lightly when he walked, and for every step, the weight of his sword made itself known. He never enjoyed fighting, but it did feel good to have familiar accoutrements again. He felt far more capable of fulfilling his oath to Sylvia now, than he had just a few hours ago.

When he reached the baker’s tent, Frida came up to him at once. “Is she alright?”

“I think so. She is sleeping.”

“She must have lost some blood. Did she eat?”, Frida worried.

“A little”, Afi nodded.

Frida exhaled uneasily. “Right.”

“I was hoping for a meal.”

“Of course”, Frida said. She gathered him a plate and added an extra scoop of sauce on top.

Accepting the plate with both hands, Afi smiled. “Thank you.”

Frida shook her head. “Afi, after tonight, you do not need to ask any more. If anyone gives you trouble, you tell me.”

“Thank you”, Afi repeated.

Frida smiled and nodded to him before turning to serve the others.

Unwilling to stray too far from Sylvia, Afi sat down by the fire closest to their tent. He indulged in the food and the generous amount of flavourful sauce. Between the mushrooms and this, he had eaten better in the past couple of hours than on any day since leaving Safeharbour. It was a shame the enjoyment had to be dulled by battle.

“Hooo-hi-hoohoo-ha!”, Yri called. Her voice rang through the surrounding woods like the wind itself.

Afi looked up. Silence fell around camp. Most people drew closer to the centre, whether they could get a glimpse of Yri or not. Afi saw her shadow, thrown against the side of a tent. She raised a hand, presenting an oblong item.

“This was a cruel night, but let it not go to waste! Show our new allies from the north how we give thanks to those who lay down their lives here! Gather and drink with your fellows!”

The Fri roared with enthusiasm and the Nordborg soldiers caught on quickly as well. Soon, bottles of spirit both clear and dark were being passed around camp. Each soldier took one mouthful from whatever beverage came their way. While bottles emptied at an alarming rate, Yri set to song. She lamented the drought in flowing verse. Afi was astounded at the sound of her voice. It was clear and strong, like the song of a blackbird. It reminded him of home, of the beautiful voices of Gramr’s women. He closed his eyes and listened, letting the sadness of Yri’s song seep through him. First when Yri quieted again did he look up. Another voice sang in Yri’s stead, and many more joined in. Once the Fri had finished their tune, Ida and Una treated them to an unfamiliar song in thanks.

Yri came to Afi’s side and held out a bottle with clear spirit inside. Hesitantly, Afi accepted the bottle. He held it under his nose, sniffing the contents.

“If I intended to kill you, I would slit your throat”, Yri said flatly.

Afi huffed a laugh. “Fair enough.” He took a big gulp and handed the flask back.

Yri sat down beside him and deflated tiredly. “Afi, I believe I owe you an apology. You have proven yourself more than once.”

Baffled, Afi shook his head. “I, ehm, did not expect that. Thank you”, he finally managed.

“I hate Wolves. I believe that is self-evident”, Yri said. She glanced sideways at Afi. “And I hate you, because you are a Wolf. You carry that disgusting mark on your skin like a trophy.” She took another swing from the bottle and handed it over. “But you are also a sworn. Not just any, either. You are Afi Sylvias, a sworn in the inner circle. I guess I have to get over myself at some point.”

Afi bowed his head and took the bottle again. “Thank you.”

“You repeat yourself.”

Taking a swing, Afi passed the spirit back. He tried to think of something else to say. “Gramr must be serious about stopping you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The man Sylvia burned. He was blood.”

“You mean he was related to Gramr?”, Yri asked.

“In a manner of speaking”, Afi nodded.

“Is that why you hesitated to kill him?”

Afi tensed at the accusation. “I did not hesitate.”

“Oh no?”, Yri questioned. “Are you calling Thorun a liar?”

“I would never accuse a Fri of dishonesty. I do value my life.”

Yri snorted in amusement.

“My difficulties killing him had nothing to do with hesitance”, Afi defended.

“I see. What was your bond, then?”

“I was married to his sister”, Afi admitted.

Yri raised an eyebrow that.

“It was not my choice”, Afi added.

“So you broke your oath”, Yri concluded.

Afi nodded. “Both of them.”

“Both?”, Yri wondered.

“The oath to my family and the oath to my wife. They are both gone. I can feel it.”

“Yikes”, Yri grumbled. She brought the bottle up again for another swing.

Afi rubbed a hand over his chest. “It is for the best.”

“Agreed”, Yri nodded. “The pain will pass”, she offered.

“I barely even noticed it in the midst of it all”, Afi admitted.

“Good for you.”

Glancing at Yri, Afi wondered, “May I be so impolite to ask you a personal question?”

Yri seemed taken aback at this, but after a moment she handed the bottle over again and shrugged. “You can ask. I do not promise to answer.”

“Is it true that you were…I, uh, have heard many stories and I wondered which ones are true. Why do you hate Wolves so much?”

“What stories are those?”, Yri returned the question.

Afi took another gulp for courage and once more passed the flask back. He was uncomfortable when he spoke, but he spoke nonetheless. “One is that you are an heir to the city of Söderborg, that you were the reason the city fell. Another is that you saved the people of Söderborg when the fires broke out. Most say you were a Wolf whore in Lesa, though. Some say you rebelled. Others say Thorun came for you. Some claim you lay waste to the city. Others say Thorun did. I take it you offended blood of Gramr while you were there.”

Yri drew a circle in the air with her finger, prompting him to continue. She brought the bottle to her lips again, her eyes fixed on Afi while he spoke.

“I have heard stories about you beheading your owner. I have also heard of you and Thorun raiding brothels all along Isbäcken, killing any customers you found inside, be they men or women. I heard you hung the owners from signposts. I have even heard claims that you are hollow.”

“All true”, Yri confirmed. “Except for the hollow part, of course. Though, there were certainly those who gave up part of themselves in order to endure life in Lesa. They call it education when they force you to dance to their tune, but it is nothing other than an enduring torture. Your culture is stripped from you along with your clothes. You are lain bare for the consumption of beasts masquerading as men. That sort of thing will dim a soul. It is easier if you rip out a piece, shielding the rest behind a veil.”

“I am sorry”, Afi whispered.

“What is your reason?”, Yri asked.

“What?”

“Why are your eyes dim?”, Yri asked crudely. “It is not much, but I can tell. I have seen it often enough. What broke you?”

Afi eyed his boots. He wrung his hands together. “I was…” He took a deep breath. “My daughter was raped”, he said instead.

“And what did you do about it?”, Yri asked.

Afi swallowed hard. “Not much.”

“Then we share much”, Yri sighed.

They spent the rest of the evening in silence, passing the bottle between them until it was empty.