Chapter 4 Solveig
Without breaking her train of thought, Solveig glanced up as Latham entered the tent. He appeared a little worse for wear. She figured he was just as exhausted with the endless raids as she was. As they all were.
With a raid every six months for fifty years, they’d lost a hundred soldiers. No matter what strategy she implemented or how careful they were, one was always taken and never seen again. Others died in the process for the cause.
A cause Solveig barely believed in anymore.
It had taken decades to settle into a new normal before the fight to get their magic back began. A fight that had so far been fruitless.
The raids began under the guise of stealing provisions from the mortals.
In reality, they were planting spies and attempting to gain information by way of prisoners. They were not always successful in capturing someone and even less so in acquiring anyone who would have vital information. Or even vaguely useful information.
Given the mortals’ short lifespan, each new generation brought them further from the information they so desperately needed. Only after capturing and interrogating the daughter of a Midgard ruler had they discovered that their magic was still inside them, suppressed somehow but not gone entirely.
With this new knowledge, the Queens of Asgard aligned with the King of Jotunheim in hopes that the magical races would have more success if they worked together. Jotunheim was intent on the raids, despite very little success, and insisted they continue.
Solveig gritted her teeth. She had tried to advise her mothers not to include the Giants in their alliance with the Trifold.
She may have been more successful if the Trifold was still as strong as it once was.
But Alfheim had largely kept to themselves since the war, while Idavoll pulled away from Asgard and Vanaheim entirely.
Unrest was a poison spreading through the lands, killing the roots of trust so it could no longer grow.
Unfortunately, with the mortals and their new weapons infiltrating each city, town, and village across the realms, they had no choice but to join forces with the Giants and Dwarven across the seas.
“We should have volunteers. It’s the only fair way,” Gerrie argued as Latham joined their table.
“Last time we asked for volunteers they only did so at the promise of extra grain for their families. I won’t take advantage of those less fortunate,” Solveig replied.
Though they tried to keep their camp equal, it was a tough balancing act.
Poverty still found its way in through the spilling of blood. It always came down to blood.
“What if we didn’t compensate anyone?” Gerrie offered.
“Last time we did that, no one volunteered.”
“A draw?” she suggested.
“And have luck determine the fate of our people? No.” Solveig couldn’t afford to believe in luck.
“One person from each battalion?”
“I need fourteen soldiers with me. There are only six battalions residing in camp.”
“Have the soldiers play cards and whoever loses has to go,” Gerrie suggested casually.
Solveig rolled her eyes. Gerrie was one of her best soldiers and trusted advisors. She was brash and held no devotion to any one realm, loyal only to Solveig and absolutely ferocious with her spear. Solveig had once witnessed her take out ten warriors without breaking a sweat.
Gerrie would have no problem choosing who would go on this raid—which was why she was not in charge.
Apathy did not make for good leadership.
“Technically we only need twelve more soldiers,” Latham added quietly. Solveig prepared herself as their gazes locked for longer than necessary.
“No,” she finally said, dismissing him.
“Gerrie and I are two of your best fighters,” he insisted before she could move on. “We can fight off anyone who tries to take us and stand a better chance of capturing someone useful to interrogate.” Exasperation bled in every word.
She was tired of having this same fight every time they had to select the “raid party.” Solveig hated when he and Gerrie called it that.
“If I give you an order you disagree with, will you follow it?” Solveig asked.
Latham’s silence ws the confirmation she needed.
“That’s exactly why I can’t risk bringing you. And, as we’ve discussed before, if I’m the one taken, you are my replacement. We can’t afford for both of us to go.”
She was as tired of this argument as he was. It always ended the same way. Latham insisted he go with her, she refused, he stormed off, and Gerrie made some joke about Latham’s inability to perform.
Solveig was about to shut him down—again—when he brightened as if an idea had crossed his mind.
“I’ll fight you for it,” he whispered.
“What?”
“I’ll fight you for it,” he said more clearly. “In the training ring. If I can land a blow, you have to take me with you.”
His voice rang with confidence. Latham knew her well, knew she had a hard time backing down from a challenge. She was honestly surprised it had taken him this long to suggest it. A smug smile crossed his lips, apparently thinking quite highly of himself, and Solveig scoffed.
“What’s that for?” he asked, frowning.
“You haven’t landed a blow in two decades. I doubt you were playing the long game to lull me into a sense of false security,” Solveig replied with a shake of her head.
“Who says I haven’t?” he asked indignantly. This time it was Gerrie who scoffed.
“Lath, come on. If you could land a blow we both know you would’ve done it already,” Gerrie said, smirking. He balled his hands into fists, face reddening.
Solveig took her time before answering, assessing how earnest he was. Very, by the looks of it.
“If you manage to draw blood, you come on this raid. If you can’t after fifteen minutes, you are banned from going on this and any future raids. No more discussions, no more arguments.” Maybe this would finally put a stop to his insistence.
“If that’s the case, then I’ll agree with one caveat. If I draw blood within fifteen minutes, I go on this and every future raid with you,” he countered defiantly.
Solveig tilted her head, taking his measure. He sat a little straighter in his chair as she narrowed her eyes. One. Two. Three.
“Deal.”