“There aren’t any torches down there!” called one of the guards as I reached the heavy trapdoor.

“I don’t need one,” I replied.

The cellar access had no chain or lock to secure it, and I guessed it was more a formality than an actual attempt to hold the prisoners. They knew they would be freed in due course, so there was no need for an attempted escape. I knelt down, listening intently. They were all laughing about the boys they had killed and how many more would fall to their blades before the war was done. Others were plotting the means of spending their spoils, what crop of land they would steal and settle. Their utter disdain for the suffering they were causing set my rage meter to max. I flung the door back and it crashed against the floor, killing the mutterings dead. Taking each step down with an unhurried gait, I reached the bottom in near darkness. With my growing Night Eyes skill, I saw enough of the room to make out nearly two dozen figures. The barbarians were fearsome enough, but the ogres were on a different level. Pot-bellied and enormous, the shortest would’ve stood over nine feet tall. Their abysmal hygiene fought with the ingrained smell of stored fish in an effort to make me gag.

“You here to let us go?” asked one of the barbarians.

I stared at him for a while, his pupils heavily dilated as if he’d been hitting the bag in the pub toilets. It wasn’t cocaine at play here, just the darkness that surrounded us all. To him, I must’ve been little more than a vague outline. To me, he was stood in an early twilight. My burgeoning plan was about to begin, and I pulled up his information.

“What a disappointment you are to Gundar, god of the War Halls,” I growled, studying the faces of the barbarians.

“What do you know of our gods, boy?” asked their leader.

“I know more than you can imagine, Sigeræd Ludinsson.”

His glare turned to shock as he took a pace backwards. The other warriors started to mutter, except for the ogres who seemed content to pick their noses or bellybuttons for treats. “Who told you my name?” Sigeræd demanded.

“Gundar gave them to me as he sat on his throne, enraged by what you have become. Skuf Æiriksson, Grom Rockcleaver, Yngvar Selkorsson, all of you are doomed to walk in darkness, never feeling the warmth of the hall’s fires. Your ancestors weep.”

“You dare speak of my ancestors!” he roared, launching himself at me.

I activated my Holy Shield as he neared. Sigeræd’s charging form hit the golden sphere, and the energy of his expulsion sent him reeling back into the arms of his men. The entire cellar was almost day bright from the illumination I threw off.

Counting down the short window of remaining time, I scoffed at the cowering men and left without saying another word.

The first seed had been planted.

**********

Marcus had been taken out of the infirmary and placed in the outer camp. I was a little nervous about the story of his recovery spreading further and what the soldiers would think of me. Their smiles and grateful looks assuaged some of my worry.

Now we were all stood dockside, waiting as a pair of ships sailed towards us.

Sigeræd was eyeing me warily. His men regarded me with outright fear. My little ploy was starting to produce the first shoots from the fertile soil of their minds. The ogres had exhausted their supply of boogers and instead were scratching themselves in places best not mentioned. Even though these things were our prisoners, I couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between the two forces. The barbarians and their vassals were warriors born. Thomas and his contingent looked almost ridiculous ‘guarding’ them.

“Sun, remember what we discussed?” I whispered as the first ship neared the jetty.

The wake from the vessel slapped against the pilings beneath our feet. I noted Daulf immediately as he chuckled pitilessly from the bow. He clung on to the carved lady, an intimidating figure. The skin of his body was mostly a single tattoo, such were the volume of battles he’d won. A bear’s head topped his iron helm, while the rest of the black pelt hung around his shoulders.

Name – Dhaulf Bearbane (Level 12) (Boss)

Description – Warlord of the barbarian and ogre forces. A teenage Dhaulf saw his fjord burned to the ground and his people slaughtered. That burning rage shaped him into the hateful figure you see today.

Weakness – Poison. Disease.

Immunities - None

Thomas’s soldiers caught the thrown ropes and looped them around the dock ties before backing away hastily. Daulf and the others burst out laughing and jumped down leisurely from the gunwale. He clocked Sun instantly, which wasn’t unexpected. I could feel the hatred emanating from every pore as they stared at each other.

“Remember the plan,” I whispered. “His time will come.”

“Ho, Commander Thomas,” called Dhaulf, the sarcasm dripping. “I see my men have been well cared for.”

“I trust the same can be said of ours?” replied Thomas.

“Not really,” said Dhaulf, disdainfully.

Dawnstar soldiers were flung from the ship, crashing to the dock in a pained heap. They were a mass of injuries, most of which had been inflicted after the fighting.

Thomas made to retaliate until I held him back. “Just wait.”

The second ship pulled up along the opposite side of the dock and more of Thomas’s soldiers tied it off, while others helped their friends to stagger to safety. Dhaulf was alternating his malicious gaze between myself and Sun. There was an underlying pensiveness to his outward demeanour. Our presence had thrown him, and I planned to capitalise on that.

As soon as the injured were behind our lines, I grabbed the mortally wounded barbarian nearby and marched him to the water’s edge. I nodded to Sun to begin.

“I challenge you to single combat, Dhaulf Cowardsbane,” she declared. “I have spoken to the gods and have risen to become the most powerful Völva of all time. Gundar himself has tasked me with ending your tyranny.”

My expectations of either a furious rampage or outright hilarity were well founded when Dhaulf roared with laughter. The prisoners on our side didn’t join in, their looks of fear giving pause to the men surrounding the warlord.

“Sun has made me a chosen brother, Dhaulf Weakwilled!” I declared, triggering my single target Fated skill on the dying man. The crimson life essence swirled in the afternoon air and I made a show of acceptance as it flowed into me. I let the corpse fall into the water, never breaking eye contact with my enemy whose smile was long gone.

“Gundar has forsaken you, Dhaulf,” Sun mocked. “If you agree to fight me here and now, his wrath might not reach out to your people and your vessels.”

His face darkened as the simmering fury erupted. “We are thousands strong! Why would I waste a breath on you when I can take this pathetic port at my leisure?”

“Then I speak to your people,” Sun continued, turning to the others. “You are better than this. The humans have ever been our friends. I can promise that relationship will continue if you end this evil. If you end Dhaulf. Or bring him to me, and I’ll end him the old way. The barbarian way.”

“Enough!” Dhaulf roared. “I take Ishalon today! Your blood will stain the stones for a century to come. And you,” he pointed at Sun, “Wolfbitch. Your parents will suffer a thousand wounds for your insult before I take their heads.”

The words triggered a gong in my head as a whole other piece of my friend’s life fell into place. She wasn’t an orphan after all.

Sun tensed, ready to launch herself into battle. My heart skipped a beat as the whole plan teetered on the brink of collapse. One push and the entire armada would likely descend on us within the hour. The multitude of arrows nocked to our rear might kill a few of the barbarians and ogres, but not enough to stop them from reaching the open sea to summon their full strength.

“Sun! Don’t! Not like this.”

“Listen to your pet, Wolfbitch. I’ll see you in combat soon enough, mark my words. And the rest of you!” he boomed, addressing the Dawnstar forces. “Today, you die in agony. Make peace with whatever gods you worship, for you’ll meet them soon enough.” The warlord spun away, barking orders at his men.

I locked eyes with Sigeræd as he joined them, the warning carried in my unflinching gaze. I needed him to spread the story of my powers, to sow dissent.

“Gundar will make you suffer,” Sun called out, having regained her composure. “His eagle will mark you. The ocean will become your tomb! Bring Dhaulf to me, and I will sate our god’s wrath with my axes. Defy me, and you will all die before nightfall!”

“It is you who will be dead,” Dhaulf snapped, spitting onto the dock.

Their oars cut into the water, propelling them away from the jetties. Sun was shaking at my side. I could well imagine the conflict that was tearing her apart. If Dhaulf sent word back to wherever he held the captives ordering her parent’s torture and execution, nothing I was preparing to do would make a jot of difference. My hope was that his hubris would be his undoing; the need to kill us all the only thing on his mind. The certainty that he could send word in the morning that if we were successful, would never come.

“We’ll get them back,” I promised.

“I appreciate your words, but I would like to be alone for a while. You can find me on your… well, you know.”

I nodded as her dot on my minimap retreated towards the wall.

“That was intense,” said Thomas with a shudder of pent up adrenaline. “How do you know it will work?”

“I don’t, but I’m going to give it a bloody good try. Prepare your forces in case I should fail. Explain to the marshal that no matter what, the fate of Ishalon will be decided by tomorrow morning. We need everyone that can wield a sword in readiness.”

“As you will, Mark,” Thomas replied. “Do you need anything from me and mine?”

I shrugged. “Thoughts and prayers might help.” It seemed to work on social media, anyway.

The second seed had been planted. It rowed away across a becalmed sea.