Freedom Pt. 02: Blood

Blood

----

"Mercy through blood!"

The shouts of armored reavers on fourteen longships roared through the air as they made their quick approach towards the hapless town along the icy shoreline. A warning bell was being rung from within, but Kjartan knew it would make no difference if its inhabitants were aware of their impending demise or not.

Just as it made no difference to the prince of terror who he was, in fact, attacking this day. All souls would retire to the ether in time, and Kjartan's actions merely ensured that some reached it sooner than others.

Kjartan walked confidently towards the bow of his flagship, the Mercy, with his two slave wenches in tow. He held heavy chains which were affixed to the thick metallic collars around their necks, the only clothing deemed worthy for them. He wanted to see his troops make landfall from the bow of his massive vessel, the smaller boats of his armada sailing far quicker unto slaughter.

He smiled deviously when he looked out over the bow. The poor inhabitants of the town had created a make-shift palisade of sorts for their protection, anything and everything their town could muster in short notice. Wheelbarrows, boxes, barrels of mead. Thirty or forty men held bows or spears beyond that wall, thirty or forty men who would soon be sent immediately to the ether.

Their women, on the other hand...

He turned to Sigurd, his second-in-command, just beside him. "Are we in range?" The scarred, terrifying reaver nodded once with a crooked smile. His reply showed no emotion.

"Yes, Wanderer."

Kjartan the Wanderer grinned and turned to the ballista to his left, the weapon having already been loaded with shot.

Ballistae were interesting weapons. They were quite large - almost crossbow-like in appearance - and were typically erected at a battle site by well-trained engineers rather than towed with an army. They could fire bolts capable of traveling five-hundred yards, and their massive projectiles could skewer several men of an opposing army if they stood close enough together. Realistically, of course, one would wait to fire their ballistae until the enemy drew closer, to provide a more accurate shot.

But there could be no hopes of such an accurate shot onboard a vessel at sea. The crashing waves against the hull would refuse it, and the rocking deck would be impossible to counteract. But Kjartan's siege weapons weren't firing standard shot today, and they never did. They served a less-accurate purpose, redesigned to instead hurl stones at the far-off fortifications of their enemies.

Or - if there were no fortifications, as was the case today - they flung heads instead. Severed heads from slaves captured in previous raids; putrefied, but not quite decomposed enough that a man unaccustomed to seeing one wouldn't fall into an immediate dread spiral.

"Show them their fate!" Kjartan bellowed, raising his hand which was not holding slave's chains to order the assault. Claws released sinew, and two heads were flung through the air towards the town's defenders. The men on the ballistae immediately started to work the machine's cranks to fire another.

Horns to the fore, port side. The two left-most longboats had already come ashore, the twenty men on each vessel jumping overboard to wade the final thirty feet through ice-cold water. Kjartan heard the reaver's cries as they charged wildly towards the hapless inhabitants of the town.

--

Hilde scrambled to her feet at the sounds of the warning bells. The diminutive sorceress with eighteen years of age was not yet decent, having slept late due to raucous events of the night before. Her friend, Evette, glanced to Hilde with worried eyes.

"Fire?" Evette asked nervously. Hilde shook her head in silent reply, being all too familiar with the smell of flame or smoke, what with being a fire evocation sorceress and all. She heard the cries of men outside, steel clanging against steel.

She quickly gathered her belongings, equipping her green jacket, pulling her black travel cloak over her short blonde hair, then pulling her green travel pants into their proper position with some effort. She slid her boots on, then grabbed her pack on the floor.

"It sounds like combat. I'm going out there," Hilde said, showing more surprise than fear. The young sorceress had not yet seen combat, but she was so very confident in her own abilities, having trained at the magical College of Villjord for the past four years.

"Wait! If it's combat, we need to run!" Evette exclaimed worriedly, she too throwing off whatever clothes were available on the floor. Hilde put a hand on the door, but paused to glance back at her friend.

"You need to run. I am a sorceress," Hilde declared emotionally. Evette frowned, but nodded after a moment's hesitation.

"Okay. Go with luck, Hilde."

Hilde nodded. "Thank you," she replied quickly. "Run to the hills, Evette."

Hilde pushed the door of the longhouse open. She quickly rounded corner, eyes widening in shock when she saw what was causing the commotion. A massive, black-flagged vessel was seemingly pointed straight at her, while a dozen smaller ships were coming ashore to its left and right. The big ship had smaller ones on its sides which were being lowered into the water, each packed with men.

"Mercy through blood!"

Hilde noticed a quickly-erected wall had been constructed near the small dock of town, men behind it fighting for their lives against a screaming foe they surely could not defeat. The men at the wall were not defended on their right flank, where twenty-some odd men with horned helms were charging towards them, axes overhead as they screamed.

She decided that's where she was needed most. Hilde bounded towards the screaming men, clutching air betwixt her fingers as she ran at them.

Hilde was furious. How dare Isbryggans attack their own, she thought. A small flame was produced within the palm of her hand, and she outstretched her arm as she neared the first armored man.

Hilde had learned at the College of Villjord that the fire magic she was so naturally attuned to was extremely proficient at dealing with armored foes. Where her foe's steel would normally deflect the blade of a sword or the stray arrow, fire magic would instead cook their bodies alive within the furnace of their clothes. She flung a fireball at the nearest horned target, the man surprised by the sudden threat.

Hilde stepped back, placing a hand on the ground and casting a quick hex before she feigned a methodical retreat. With her powers now known to the reavers, she would likely receive the men's attention, hopefully protecting the citizens of Dystval just long enough.

The first armored man screamed as the flame consumed him, dropping to his knees and clutching his helm in agony. Half a dozen behind him now charged the short, blonde sorceress with axe overhead, screaming of blood. Hilde took another step back, then placed both of her wrists together to blast her next foe with a wide shot of burning fury. She grimaced when her nose picked up the smell of burning flesh and hair, and continued stepping backwards.

One of the reavers bounded over the trap she had laid, a pillar of fire shooting up from the ice beneath him, rending flesh to ash. She had hoped to ensnare more of them with the spell, but continued flinging balls of fire at the ruthless invaders.

--

Kjartan held the chains of his slaves as his boat came ashore, then tugged at them before leaping over the side of the small vessel. He had seen the flames of a sorceress minutes ago, a small, blonde-haired girl making short work of several of his men.

He had seen her spells catch half the town alight. Kjartan's pride demanded her.

"Sigurd! Get word to them!" Kjartan shouted over the cacophony of combat, pointing his axe head at the sorceress. "I will take her, and want her alive!" Sigurd nodded, then bounded towards the now-dozen reavers who had turned their attention to the little girl.

Kjartan tugged on the chains twice, ordering his naked wenches to stand wordlessly. They rose to their feet without delay. Kjartan had to make haste, in hopes of adding another sorceress to his beautiful collection.

He scanned the battlefield once, just to ensure he was in the clear to do so. His men had broken through the palisade minutes ago already, and had begun entering the wooden longhouses of the town. That was the only problem with reavers, Kjartan knew; once they saw the opportunity for loot and plunder, they were incredibly difficult to control. Coin, or a new bed-slave, were far more valuable to a reaver than combat itself, even if it was their creed.

His men had begun to retreat from the blonde fire sorceress, Sigurd's shrill cries on the air even audible to Kjartan from here. He turned to his first wench, unshackling her from her collar. Kjartan looked sternly into her eyes as he fixed the collar to his belt.

"You may speak. Can you block that fire magic?" Kjartan asked of his wench. She brought a hand to her now naked neck on instinct, rubbing the irritated flesh. She nodded.

"Yes, master," she croaked after a moment's hesitation. Kjartan nodded and dropped the other chain, boring his dreadful stare into his other woman.

"Stay there," he commanded with a stern finger. She nodded meekly, falling to her knees. Kjartan turned to his unshackled wench, gripping her by the shoulder and walked towards the fire mage, who had now, through her spells, melted half the snow between her and him.

He tossed the naked woman in his hand forward, gently. She outstretched both of her hands and soon a glimmering, translucent half-circle of flowing air appeared before her. A magical ward, Kjartan knew.

"Forward," Kjartan commanded coldly, staying one step behind her. His wench nodded, and slowly walked towards the fire mage who was now panting for air, her sight dancing over the many gawking reavers surrounding her.

--

Hilde panted before the eyes of a dozen armored men. She leaned against the slats of a wooden longhouse, finally realizing that she was completely out of her element in this small window of reflection. Hilde had slain many as they attacked, yet their numbers were endless, and...

And the town was in flame behind her. The attackers had already begun pillaging the longhouse, the cries of women taken forcing Hilde to wince. She couldn't let that happen to her. She would rather die here in combat.

A naked, red-haired woman strode towards her from the pack, casting an abjuration spell that Hilde was somewhat familiar with from the College. Behind her was a towering, scarred man that would have made a demon tremble, a battleaxe slung over his shoulder as he trudged forward heavily with a grin.

Hilde flung a fireball at the man, its power dissipating instantaneously when it hit the ward shielding him. Hilde pressed her wrists together, attempting to conjure one stronger. She did, miraculously, which too failed to pierce the magical shield of the naked woman.

Hilde panted for breath, falling to her knees. She'd used more magic in ten minutes today than she'd used in the past year, and her willpower had been shred to dust. Her entire being was exhausted from the effort.

"Wait, wait!" she cried weakly in the Isbryggan tongue, raising her arms skyward. This was it, Hilde knew. A beautiful lifetime of adventure and love cut short by a savage for a reason she did not understand.

The giant strode forward, grinning as he raised his battleaxe high, then smashed the butt of it over her head with a simple, single swing.

--

Hilde came to hours later, laying on her side atop cold, wooden slats. Her entire body was shivering, and her neck felt incredibly tense. Her head throbbed where she had been struck.

She shot up from the floor, remembering what had happened. Oh gods, where had they taken her? Hilde looked down, finding herself completely naked except for a large, metal collar strapped tightly around her neck. She quickly shifted as she heard heavy footsteps approaching her.

"My men call me Kjartan the Wanderer, but that is not what you will call me," the man explained with a grin, looking over her quivering, naked form. Hilde did not make a move but glare with an intense hatred towards him, and the man's grin grew wider.

He strode towards her, menacingly towering over her quivering form.

"Speak Isbryggan?" he asked coldly. Hilde frowned, but nodded her head meekly.

"Ye-" Hilde muttered, Kjartan smacking her across the face with a mailed fist, forcing her to tumble to the wooden flooring. She brought a hand to her throbbing cheek.

"Rule one. You do not speak unless I say you can. From now on I am 'Master', and you are nothing. Understood?"

Hilde grimaced, refusing to beleive the situation she was suddenly thrown in to. She extended her fingers, attempting to cast a spell that wouldn't come. Not even the faintest warmth emanated from her hand, and Hilde knew she had been cut off from her magic. Somehow.

"Fuck yo-" she replied, another hard smack across her face. Hilde panted for air on her hands and knees, staring down at the floor in resignation.

"You are nothing. Understood?" Hilde nodded, without looking up at him.

"You may speak. Say it, slave." hilde continued staring towards the floor, gasping for air. The sorceress was awash with disobedience, not truly understanding her plight.

"It, slav-" she said, her words cut off by a kick to the stomach, which forced her flat with the ground.

"You are nothing. Say it."

Hilde clenched her hands, arms outstretched from her prostrate body. She wasn't nothing. She was Hilde, the best damned evoker that had lived in Villjord for a generation. And she had to live. She had to get through this, to end this man's miserable existence someday. With only one option left to the girl, she obeyed.

"I am... nothing," she whimpered, eyes cast on the floor.

"Look at me," a booming voice said from above her. Hilde rose to her hands and knees, then tilted her head towards him. Kjartan was pointing to the left wall, ten and a hundred knife etchings covering its surface. "You are one of those markings, slave. I have owned many, and I have thrown many away. You will not be thrown away, if you are obedient."

Hilde nodded, a tear falling down her cheek.

"Say it," Kjartan commanded. Hilde cried.

"I will... not be... thrown away... if I'm obedient."

Kjartan grinned, crouching beside her as he caressed her supple ass with a mailed hand for an excruciatingly long moment before continuing. "Get on your knees, slave."

Hilde did as she was told.

"This is how I want you at all times, unless I command otherwise. When I go somewhere, you follow me on all fours like a dog unless I command otherwise. When we fuck, you are on all fours like a dog unless I command otherwise."

Her ears rang at the last statement, the girl's mind instantly refusing to sleep with the man... if she had a choice in the matter. Though, Hilde figured that was the reason why Kjartan had kept her for himself, and not thrown her to the reavers like any other girl.

Hilde nodded.

"Your name is now 'Three'. Say it."

"My name is... my name..." Hilde stammered, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Kjartan raised a fist in anger. "Three! My name is Three!" she exclaimed. The fist lowered, and the brute's grin returned. He grabbed a chain from the wall, strapping it to her collar.

"Good. Let's go give you the mark, shall we?" the man bellowed ominously.

--

Hilde was soon thrown to her face atop the cold, wooden slats of her cell, a soul-crushing burning sensation tearing into her on her left cheek.

She had, just earlier, been dragged before the hard raiders of Kjartan's host on the deck of the massive vessel, and forced to kneel before the great Wanderer as he dipped a branding iron into a furnace. Hilde had been forced to do it naked, having been stripped of her clothes before she had reawoken onboard the vessel. She had forced herself to glare at Kjartan as he laughed at her trembling form, hoping to preserve some shred of dignity in this hellish place.

A hundred eyes had been on her nude form as Kjartan then brought the iron to her face, laughing maniacally as Hilde screamed for his mercy, then cried for his blood. Kjartan had found gleeful irony in the fact that he was burning the skin of a fire evoker with his sigil, a pair of crossed battleaxes now permanently scarring the young woman directly beneath her left eye.

Hilde was then ridiculed, spat on by dozens, and then led here. Led to a cold, miserable room in chains, with nothing but her sobbing to keep her company. She clutched her left cheek as she cried, wondering if she would ever see freedom again as she laid feebly on her side.

"You're stronger than this, Hilde," she tried to reassure herself with a waivering and brittle voice. "You are..."

--

Talos and his party returned south in high spirits, wondering what good they could do now that held the only two working farcasters in existence. Silvia and Vex seemed the most excited, explaining endlessly what good instantaneous communication between two colleges of magic would do for research and study. Talos himself didn't particularly care what was to be done with them; he was glad to have had the distraction for a while.

The party made their way towards the Empire the only way they could, with the coast to their right, and a tall mountain chain to their left. This small jutting of flat land along Isbrygga's western coast would lead them to Seagard, and beyond that, back to the Empire proper.

Talos daydreamt of his near future as they traveled. He would soon get to show Casiama the famed city of mages, and bask in the infinite sunsets over an endless sea with her. He could gaze in appreciation upon her perfect smile, stroke her hair lovingly as she enjoyed the Lady's beautiful gifts.

Yeah. That will work just fine.

Shit. He was reminded of Alanna again, and dreaded the reunion once more. It's not that he was afraid of her, per say...

He turned towards Silvia, who was conversing with Sigismund just behind him as they trudged through the snow. "Sil," Talos said, getting her attention, "is there any way to teach someone to... detect when they're being enchanted?"

Silvia nodded, removing the cloth mask from her face with a smile. "I thought you said you could already do that?" Talos tilted his head towards the elven princess a hundred yards in front of them.

"It's more for-"

His heart skipped a beat, seeing his lover waving him forward as she scouted the path ahead. He trudged up the snowbank towards her. Casiama's gaze was fixed in the distance, small plumes of black smoke rising far, far ahead, barely a sliver each to the man's eye.

"What's up, Cass?"

Casiama shook her head. She raised a hand to her brow to catch the glare. "Black smoke. A lot of it." Talos squinted, but shrugged after a moment. It barely looked like anything to him. "I think it's an entire town aflame," the elf continued in a whisper.

Talos placed a hand on her shoulder, her pointed ears drooping ever so slightly to his touch. "Okay. Let's check it out." Talos waved the rest of the party forward, who had been waiting behind the hill for confirmation. They made haste towards pillars of smoke.

--

Casiama held the string of her bow to her cheek, scanning the ruined longhouses of the small settlement as she tread ever so softly atop the ground. She knew an attack had befallen the town recently as some of the ruined buildings were still aflame, and her ears had picked up the screams and sobs of a destitute population when she had been three miles away. Her friends stepped behind her, swords and magics at the ready. They wouldn't need them today.