Winds of Fate Read online

  Chapter Eight

  In which the hero benefits from a few surprising twists of fate.

  “Signu, wait!” I heard a masculine voice cry just when I thought that spear would pierce my ribcage.

  “Ragnar, you’d better have a good reason for not letting me kill this coward!” The girl’s voice quivered with pent-up emotions, but I couldn’t say which exactly they were—a thirst for blood or frustration that she wasn’t being allowed to take the kill.

  “I’m not sure I’d jump to that conclusion,” another masculine voice responded. “Not everyone who runs is a coward.”

  “So, why can’t I run him through?” The blood-thirsty girl was persistent.

  I opened one eye and tried to look around. The second stayed shut, although I wasn’t sure why.

  It turned out that I was surrounded by riders sitting astride terrifying horses. Well, sort of horses. The eye sockets in the skulls of the awful creatures gleamed with a greenish-yellow flame, functioning almost as headlights to illuminate the path ahead. That was probably what I’d seen when they were still a ways off. The light was incredibly bright, and the area where I stood was bathed in an eerie luminescent glow.

  The riders themselves (I could only see maybe half of them, with the rest on either side and behind me) were just as picturesque as their steeds. They were deathly pale, and they behaved and dressed like warriors. Clad in iron from head to toe, the only difference between the men and the women was that the former wore armor and the latter were covered in full-body chainmail.

  “He has the mark of Father Ratei,” another of the riders announced solemnly. “Look carefully, Signu—you really can’t see it? And it’s not just the mark. He’s the first to swear allegiance to the Lord of Mortal Blades.”

  “And he’s the first member of the Legion reborn,” said the person who saved my life. He was a warrior with an enormous sword strapped to his back and snow-white hair tied back behind his head, even though his face was as young as everyone else there. He was sitting on one of the awful steeds right in front of me and next to Signu, who still had her spear raised. “The prophecies were true—change is coming to the world.”

  He jumped down lightly and walked over to me. I opened my second eye, realizing that nobody was going to be killing me just then. Once he got to me, he looked me over appraisingly. I can’t say I was happy to feel his eyes on me, and I realized I was being weighed and could be found wanting. The consequences would be dire if that was his conclusion. Still, I had a chance to prove my worth, and so, I decided to see if there was any way I could tip the scales in my favor.

  I held my arms out to either side and slowly rotated, in the process noting that there was indeed a ring of riders surrounding me.

  “Would you like me to do a dance as well?” I asked the white-haired warrior, who was still looking at me implacably.

  “He can hold his own,” said one of the other warriors, laughing.

  “Insolent scoundrel,” muttered the familiar voice of the blonde beauty with the spear—Signu, who hadn’t been allowed to kill me. “Sure, insolent,” agreed a woman behind me, “but he grabbed the chance to look around and see what’s going on behind him. This one is more warrior than farmer, that’s for sure.”

  “Trina, sometimes I don’t know where you come up with these things,” noted a man in one of the rows farther back. “Would Father Ratei put his hand on a land-tiller? He only ever cared about swordsmen, and they’re the only ones he ever respected. Well, pretty much.”

  The white-haired leader held up his hand, and the chatter ceased.

  “Who are you?” he asked me.

  “Hagen from Tronje, a free laird,” I repeated.

  “‘Laird’ is a title where you’re from? Or does it have something to do with your rank as a warrior?”

  Whoops. The only person curious enough to ask that question was a piece of code? How am I supposed to explain to him that a laird is a low-ranking nobleman in Scotland? Then I’ll have to explain to him where Scotland is…

  “It’s a noble title,” I answered, hoping not to broach the topic of Scotland or get into where exactly Tronje was. “But I’m my father’s third son, and so all I have besides my title is my sword and a few other belongings...plus, my ability to use my sword.”

  The beauty with the spear snorted, still frustrated that I’d wriggled away from her.

  “I didn’t notice any of that when you were running away like a rabbit.”

  “A timely retreat is no act of cowardice,” I countered. “Just about anyone can fight and die. Choosing your battle and death is for the brave, and living to fight another day is for the wise. I wouldn’t exactly call myself wise, but I do know that I’m in no hurry to die.”

  Most of the riders nodded in appreciation, but the blonde with the spear just crinkled her nose—Yes, we’ve seen your type. It looked like I hit the right nerve.

  The white-haired warrior smiled and introduced himself, which surprised me.

  “I’m Ragnar, one of the einherjar, and close warrior to Father Ratei, my lord and yours. Before you, are all that is left of the first brigade of the great Vitar, God of Warriors. Six einherjar and six valkyries—the last of those who remember the great battles of the past. It is my pleasure to greet the first in all these centuries to accept the mark of our father. He is, indeed, our father, as we are his children. Each of us was once among the best warriors in our tribes, and each of us was faced with a decision after death in battle: go into the afterlife or serve the god faithfully and eternally. Here we are in our everlasting life and battle.”

  “But didn’t the gods leave ages ago?” I asked with a shrug. “Why are you still here?”

  “Yes, they left,” agreed Ragnar. “They couldn’t take us with them, but nobody freed us of our oath of allegiance. If we can’t serve them in other worlds, we’ll wait for them in this one. Many of us lost faith in their return and disappeared from this world. Many, but not all. We await them, and we are here. And now you’re here as well, living proof that the long centuries of waiting have not been in vain. What do you know about the god’s return? Where did you make your oath of allegiance?”

  The other warriors climbed down off their steeds, the sight of which still sent a shiver down my spine, and encircled me. Only Signu stubbornly remained astride her horse and did her best to show that she had no intention of listening to or caring the least bit about me. Principled. I can respect that.

  “There isn’t much to say,” I answered, shrugging again. “I found Vitar’s temple and swore my allegiance to him there, seeing as how he’s much more my type of god than any of the others. I’m a warrior, and he favors them—what’s there to think about?”

  The einherjar and valkyries again murmured their approval.

  “Understood.” Ragnar nodded. “What do you know about his return to this world? That’s what’s most important.”

  “Nothing much,” I said, treading carefully. You can’t just go around spilling the beans to everyone you meet.

  “If you swore your allegiance to him and the omens and prophecies speak the truth, his return is near at hand…but you have to do something for it to happen. What do you have to do?” Ragnar raised his voice slightly and stared closely at me.

  “There’s a quest I’m doing,” I answered without looking away. “It doesn’t have anything to do with his return, but a lot could change by the time I complete it. Father Ratei could even be back by then. But I won’t give you any details about the quest; it’s not my secret to tell.”

  “And if I ask you to give them?” Ragnar put his hand on my shoulder.

  “I still won’t.” I gripped the hilt of my sword and stuck my jaw out aggressively.

  “Well done,” Ragnar replied, clapping me on the shoulder. “You did everything a true warrior should do. Skald Skeggy, is he lying?”

  “No, hofðing,” answered a curly-haired young man with an open face. “Neither in word nor in thought. He’s being clever, b
ut he’s not lying. There really is a quest, and he really has a secret. But he’s not lying.”

  “Skeggy can always tell when you’re lying; that’s his talent. Wear any mask you like and speak as profoundly as you like, but he’ll still plumb the depths of your thoughts and bring to life the truth of your words,” explained Ragnar. “So, it appears the hour is at hand.”

  The expression I saw spread over the faces of the warriors was the same enraptured smile you might see on the face of a child who got the present he or she was hoping for on Christmas morning or on their birthday. They shoved each other happily, raising their hands to the sky, and even Signu got down off her horse.

  “Hagen, what were you doing here?” asked Ragnar. “There aren’t any human settlements closer than half a day’s walk away, and it’s dangerous out here—especially at night.”

  “I had things to do,” I answered evasively.

  “He was probably here to see Hilda,” announced Skeggy loudly. “There’s nobody else nearby.”

  “Well, that makes sense,” Signu said, twisting her face in disgust. “A normal woman wouldn’t give him a second thought, so he picked what he could get. Hilda never was much of a beauty, even back then, and now she looks more like an earthworm than a woman! I saw her a couple times recently.”

  “You watch yourself, you walking piece of iron!” An echo of a voice reached us from the direction of the copse.

  “Wha-a-at?” Signu had grabbed her sword and was about to explode, clearly ready for a quick chat with Hilda under the shadow of the trees.

  Ragnar stopped her by placing his hand on her arm.

  “That clears some things up for me. So, you’re helping Hilda, who, as I recall, was one of the favorites of our lord’s wife. I imagine you have quite the load on your shoulders, warrior.”

  “You imagine correctly,” I said with a sigh. “The farther I go, the heavier it gets, too, and I only have two shoulders.”

  “Difficult roads harden the warriors they don’t break,” noted Ragnar. “Those are the only two outcomes.”

  “To the contrary. You can always just find different roads,” I replied.

  “That’s true, but I don’t imagine you will be looking for those other roads.”

  “You’re also not alone,” said Skeggy, jumping into the conversation. “I can see that you have met several people in your journey who helped and will continue to help you. Of course, there are also those who would stand in your way.”

  “Skeggy, as always, you talk about everything and nothing at all,” said a Valkyrie named Freidis, laughing. “We used to have someone like that who predicted the weather. ‘It may be sunny tomorrow,’ she’d say, ‘but there may be rain. Everything is in the hands of the god.’ Sometimes she even got it right.”

  “I’m no soothsayer,” said Ragnar, “but I know this—it was your good fortune to meet us, as our roads are now intertwined. Our fate depends on yours, and so, to give you every chance of success that we can, I, Ragnar Olaffson, give you, Hagen of Tronje, my word that we will aid you when and where it is needed. When you call me, I will fight fairly and even die for you.”

  Ragnar pulled out a small knife, made a cut across his hand, and watched as a few drops of blood dripped onto the ground.

  One after another, the einherjar and valkyries made similar cuts on their hands and gave me their word as well. I stood there taken aback. The whole thing was great, but how was I supposed to use them? I couldn’t very well drag an admittedly fantastic combat group of Level 100+ warriors around with me. What would I do in cities and villages? They’d burn me as a wizard as soon as they caught a glimpse of those horses. Well, that or they’d stone me. But I wasn’t sure how I could summon them if they weren’t with me all the time.

  Signu was the last to swear to me, and her mask of angry aloofness had long since gone. I expected an action but didn’t get one, presumably because the situation was so unusual. I doubted that any of my fellow players had ever succeeded in getting away from the group of warriors, not to mention making friends with them.

  “You can call for us at any moment,” Ragnar announced grandly. “Just be aware that our power is limited—we can only fight during the daytime for ten minutes. However, if you summon us somewhere sheltered from the sun or at night, we will fight to the death—yours, ours, or the enemy’s. Ah, and we can only help you here in the North. Our path does not lie toward the South, West, or East. You can also summon just one of us by naming whoever you need.”

  Right, like I’m going to remember everyone’s names.

  “But how do I summon you?” I asked Ragnar. “Is there some kind of spell, or do I just shout something out loud?”

  “No need to shout,” Ragnar replied with a smile. “Here.”

  He handed me a small silver horn. I took it and turned it over in my hands.

  Wild Hunt Horn

  A unique item, the only one of its kind.

  Can be used to call the remains of the first brigade of Vitar, the God of War.

  Limitations:

  The brigade can only be summoned once a day.

  The horn only works in the Northern Lands.

  Cannot be stolen, lost, or broken.

  Does not disappear from the holder’s inventory after dying.

  I was surprised to see the note about how unique it was; I didn’t even know there were such things in the game.

  You unlocked Connoisseur of Rarities.

  To get it, collect another four of the nine unique items in Fayroll that were created by the Departed Gods.

  Reward:

  Title: Collector

  +2 to intellect

  +5% chance of getting hidden and elite quests

  To see similar messages, go to the Action section of the attribute window.

  Yeah, right. I didn’t imagine that was an action anyone would ever be doing. The likelihood of picking up five completely unique items I didn’t imagine it was possible to buy was incredibly low. Still, I knew I could get a pretty penny for the horn.

  But I wasn’t about to sell it, at least not yet. Twelve warriors ready to save my skin for conscience’s sake rather than out of fear was manna from heaven.

  “Well, I’m glad we met. I think it was fate that brought us together.” Ragnar placed his hand on my shoulder.

  “I think it was good fortune as well. There are always plenty of enemies out there, and you can never have enough friends,” I answered, bowing my head as I did.

  “Well said,” cut in Skeggy, squeezing his eyes shut in appreciation.

  Great, another von Richter…

  “Where were you going, Laird Hagen?” asked Ragnar. “Our horses are fast and do not tire, so perhaps we can take you somewhere?”

  “I wanted to get to Hexburg,” I said frankly. “But you were hunting in the opposite direction if I remember correctly.”

  “The Lord of the Burial Mounds isn’t going anywhere,” Ragnar answered evenly. “And we won’t all take you where you’re going. Skeggy or Signu will be fine on their own.”

  “Me?” Signu pointed a finger at her chainmail indignantly. “Why me? Ragnar!”

  “Wait a second,” I said, waving my hands. “You’re going to hunt the Lord of the Burial Mounds?”

  “Yes,” said Ragnar with a nod of his head. “I’ve heard rumors that he hasn’t been speaking as deferentially about us and our lord as he should. We need to teach him a lesson. He’s immortal, so we can’t kill him outright, but reincarnation is unpleasant and painful for him. He’ll change his tack.”

  “Take me with you!”

  “Wait, why do you care about him?” asked Orm, one of the einherjar, in surprise.

  I remembered the living lie detector next to me and told him the truth.

  “I have a quest from the Hexburg blacksmith to collect grave iron. There’s plenty of it there since you get it from all the skeletons living in the burial mounds. You’ll have to take out the skeletons to get to him, and I can grab their iron.
Plus, I’m intrigued. When else am I going to get the chance to see the death of the Lord of the Burial Mounds?”

  Ragnar glanced quickly at Skeggy, who nodded.

  Exactly. If you don’t have to lie, it’s always better to tell the truth. Or at least keep your mouth shut.

  “In that case, you’d be more than welcome.” Ragnar nodded and pointed me in the direction of his horse.

  I had two impressions after riding the skeleton horses: it was incredibly fast and incredibly uncomfortable. Throwing convention to the wind, I grabbed hold of Ragnar’s sides and concentrated on making sure I didn’t fall off. I had no doubt that nobody would have noticed a thing if I had, given the speed we were traveling at. The fall would probably have killed me, too.

  We covered the distance between the burial mounds and Hilda’s copse, one that took me several hours to walk, in a little less than half an hour, scaring away everything in our path. I noticed shadows running away from the light streaming from the horses’ eyes. So, I was right about walking around here alone this late. It’s as bad as Moscow, and probably just as dangerous.

  The column dismounted near the burial mounds, casually dispatching a few especially nimble skeletons that jumped out of the ground to greet us, placing their spears in special holders strapped to their saddles, and pulling out swords with shining blades. Multicolored shields with some kind of circular figures in the middle rounded out the picture.

  “Gudrun, protect our friend and make sure nothing happens to him,” Ragnar said to one of the valkyries. I looked over to see a tall, beautiful woman with a long, straw-colored braid of hair streaming behind her. She nodded to Ragnar.

  “I can loot the skeletons?” I asked her. She nodded again, just as silently.

  “Don’t expect her to say anything,” Skeggy whispered to me. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say anything. I wasn’t sure she could even talk.”

  Gudrun glared at him darkly, giving the einherjar a kick to show her disapproval of his commentary.

  “Okay, okay,” Skeggy mewled, heading back to the main brigade. The group was walking toward the gap between the mounds, clearing out the skeletons that got in their way.