Chapter 11
—Broan—
Kaelthar wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Broan had about enough by the time they cleared the Elvish mountains and arrived at the Goldmere.
The diplomat wanted to share everything about Viking culture with him, where they came from, and who Broan’s family was.
Apparently, Broan had a sister and a brother, too.
Even the soldier from Trinity who accompanied them seemed to be at her wits' end with the constant stories Kaelthar bolstered.
Her name was Ithril. She moved with grace, but something feral lurked beneath it.
A warrior in her own right. Her jaw stayed tight most of the time, her hand clutching her bow as she walked.
Broan couldn’t blame her. What Elvish soldier wanted to be stuck guiding Vikings back to the freezing mountains?
She wore her long, black hair in a tight knot, not a strand out of place.
Her copper-toned skin caught the sun like burnished metal, and her round amber eyes never stopped scanning.
“We didn’t come from Alistile. Our blood’s Skalavian. Fun Viking fact,” Kaelthar said proudly, staring at the waters. “You know those seas are plagued by raiders. Brutish bastards in their pillaging. Eyes painted black. Best pray you’re not caught by one.”
“This will help us form an alliance…how?” Broan crossed his arms, staring dully at Kaelthar.
Kaelthar laughed and said, “You’d best remember your blood, Broan. The jarl has no use for kin who know nothing of their own.”
He motioned for Broan to create a bridge across the river.
Broan wondered why a bridge had never been built before.
If they were to become allies, they’d need to consider something permanent.
He was getting rather tired of pulling up the land to cross rivers.
In fact, Broan often wondered if the river divided them for a reason.
Even with Kaelthar’s help, the Vikings did not rally for the Elvish, and he certainly never heard them talk about Viking affairs in Trinity. So, why did they not like each other?
Broan huffed as he placed his hands in the dirt.
The earth trembled beneath them. Kaelthar stepped back, eyes wide as the river exploded, and the earth shot up to connect the base of the Elvish Mountains with the land leading to the Whiteridge Mountains.
Instinctively, Broan crafted a few openings for water to continue its stream.
Ithril scanned the area for threats as they waited.
“You think dear old dad will cut me slack for being kidnapped? Or is he as rough around the edges as you say?” Broan started across the river as a small village came into view, tucked low at the base of the mountains.
Kaelthar ran his hand down his thick, graying beard. “Hard to tell.”
As they neared the mountains, only a handful of homes were scattered across the rocky slope, their walls braced with fieldstone and lined with rough plank siding.
Exposed beams crisscrossed the structures, weathered but sturdy.
Thick chimneys rose from each straw-thatched roof, smoke curling into the cold sky.
Woodsmoke and meat coated the air, along with the faintest hint of ale.
That was a smell Broan intended to follow.
“The inn is this way,” Kaelthar said, pointing to a quaint building with little life around it. People went there to sleep. Broan wanted to drink.
Ithril disappeared into the inn without saying much. Broan would have preferred to go on this journey with her alone, and Kaelthar could have stayed cozy with the queen for all he cared. At least they would get to their destination without the ear bleed.
“I’m going to eat and drink,” he said dully.
Kaelthar grabbed Broan by the arm. “The Meadstead’s not for us. We pass through, nothing more, lad.”
Broan lit his hands with a faint copper glow. “Piss off, Chatterbox. I’m hungry.” He ripped himself from Kaelthar.
The councilman only sighed and slumped, “I’ll fetch Ithril in case it turns foul.”
Broan walked away, annoyed. He didn’t need Ithril if things turned foul. Broan was strong with his own magic. If Kaelthar couldn’t see that, he could fuck off, too.
As he entered the Meadstead, an immediate wave of comforting heat from the fireplace greeted him.
He hadn’t realized how biting the newfound chill was until he abandoned it.
Ale scorched his nostrils, a welcomed burn.
His lips curled as men and women bustled loudly around the room.
Long tables and benches were draped with fur and occupied by a group of people, sitting, drinking, and singing.
Some towered over the others but didn’t meet the same stature as Broan or Kaelthar. Half-bred?
Animal hides lined the walls, stitched together in rough patterns that spoke more of warmth than anything else, and antlers adorned the fireplace. Everything about this place screamed survived comfort, the kind only a mountain town could know through brutal winters and tight-knit seasons.
At the bar, a broad-shouldered barkeep wiped at the counter with a soaked cloth, barely keeping pace as mugs sloshed over the mead and laughter.
The place smelled of roasted meat, pine smoke, and a sweat that only too much ale could bring.
Broan closed the door behind him, shutting out the cold.
As he did, the entire room turned and bellowed in unison, “Ho there!”
Finally. A group of people Broan could rally with. He let out a deep chuckle and approached the barkeep. “What’s the best thing you got?”
“EitrAle’ll put a fire in your belly,” said the barkeep.
“But frost on your beard!” Another man laughed, bumping into a mug and spilling the contents all over the bar. The barkeep reached for another rag, wiping yet again.
Broan laid a coin on the table, one that Tristian had given him. The barkeep looked at it, brows raised to his hairline. “Elvish coin? This could buy the whole Meadstead.”
“Well,” Broan laughed. “Looks like I’m buying a round for everyone tonight.” The room erupted in cheers as the barkeep served a drink to Broan. He chugged it, the ale barely settled before he wiped at his lips and belched. “Another.”
He drank more than he ate, which was nothing. He clinked mugs with another in the room and sang loudly with his new companions, buying another round for everyone as they resumed their merry dance. Kaelthar entered soon after, crossing his arms.
The Viking councilman approached Broan, muttering something, but Broan could barely hear over the laughter and chants.
At one point, he told Kaelthar to loosen the fuck up, buying a third round for good measure.
Certainly, Broan deserved a night like this.
He survived two battles against the King of River Storm, fighting monsters that could rip his fucking throat out.
If Kaelthar couldn’t see that, well… Broan stumbled a little, nearly hitting a group of hooded figures in the corner.
“Apologies,” he grumbled and then laughed.
When he turned back to the crowd, Kaelthar was singing. The EitrAle certainly had magic to it.
“I gotta piss,” Broan slurred and stumbled outside.
He found a corner to stand in and stared off into the distance.
The ale did what it was meant to do. Warmth danced alongside the frost, and a haze of images blended in weird patterns.
Broan belched, composed himself, and turned to see three men in front of him.
He leaned toward them, hoping to get a better look in the clearing. “Hey, fellas.”
Their faces were hidden under hoods. They were in the Meadstead earlier; he remembered that much from their dark cloaks and particularly human nature compared to the others, who had Viking in them somewhere.
“Guardian of River Storm,” said one man, voice firm and low.
Broan sobered as much as he could, standing straight.
He only had a knife with him, but he counted…
one…two…five…six? Six swords in front of him.
He wiped his face again to clear the doubles and realized there were only three.
Broan needed to sober up faster, otherwise he’d destroy the village with magic to deter these men.
“Who are you?” Broan asked. His tongue turned to lead. He should have eaten before the fourth pint.
“Soldiers to the true king of the realm,” said another. “What’s your business here?”
“I don’t think I would share that with King Vaerin’s puppets.” Broan pulled his knife from his belt. “Are we expecting trouble?”
The soldiers shifted, closing in, grips tightening on their swords. Another answered—familiar, though Broan couldn’t place it. “No trouble if you come with us.”
Broan exhaled. “Trouble, then.” He pushed off the wall and moved out of the corner. He could fight three men.
The soldiers lurched forward. Broan snatched one of them by the arm, disarming him immediately.
Too easy. He shifted his knee into the man’s face and pushed as he retrieved the sword that had fallen.
His fingers gripped the handle just as he spun to block another flying toward him.
As he held the force of metal against his own, the other soldier moved in.
Broan kicked the man who held him in place, forcing him back, but it was too late.
His new foe sliced his sword into Broan’s arm, and he fell back, grimacing from the pain.
The soldier who cut him wrapped his arm around Broan’s neck, squeezing tightly.
Broan flailed his arms in the air, hoping to find hold of anything that could allow him to break free.
Stars dangled in his vision. He dropped his weapon, grabbed the soldier’s hands, and dug into his skin.
Broan broke the flesh on the man’s hand. Blood surfaced, but the soldier refused to let go. Broan realized he should have listened to Kaelthar, even if he was promised safe passage aside from a moose or two.
The grounded soldier had regained his footing and was barreling toward them. Broan summoned the stone beneath his feet, jamming a large rock between him and his captor. He palmed his knife, turned, and threw it into the man’s gut.
Broan dove, twisting into a clumsy barrel roll as the ground rushed up.
The world turned sideways until his arm flung out and his fingers caught the sword buried in the snow, blocking the last soldier once again.
His arm throbbed. He could barely hold the soldier back.
Broan couldn’t remember any River Storm soldiers with such strength aside from himself.
This was unnatural. Uncanny. Almost as if he were fighting against the king himself.
The soldier could knock him into the cold, wet snow if he wanted to. Broan bared his teeth. “What are you fucking waiting for?”
“Let go,” the man said. Broan realized it was the man whose voice he recognized.
Before he could decide how he wanted to handle that information, Ithril’s boot kicked the soldier backward. He stumbled, and his hood fell from his head. Ithril pulled her bow, already nocked with an arrow.
“Stop!” Broan said, pushing Ithril’s arm and forcing her arrow into the dirt.
“What the hell?” she growled.
Broan didn’t respond to the Elvish soldier. If the fight hadn’t fully sobered him from the ale, seeing the River Storm soldier standing in front of him certainly did. He scoffed. “She’ll be relieved to know you’re alive. Maybe not so relieved to know you’re doing the king’s bidding.”
Kienna’s brother crouched like a cornered beast, muscles coiled, and eyes locked forward. Broan folded his arms, and Jacob finally eased, looking around him to see his comrades incapacitated. Broan hadn’t killed them. He blamed the ale for that.
Ithril lowered her bow and tightened her jaw. “Want to explain to me why he’s still standing?”
“That’s Kienna’s brother.”
“Kalyra?”
Broan rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Tightstrings. We can’t kill him.”
Ithril peered out of the corner of her eye, bouncing between Jacob and Broan. “So, you’ll let him go, and he can share intel with River Storm?”
Broan looked at Jacob, one brow cocked. “He wouldn’t sell me out.”
“Why not?” Jacob asked.
It was cute how he tried to look tough. Broan sighed. He knew Jacob and how much he loved his sister. “Whatever I’m doing will affect Kienna.”
Jacob flinched at her name. “I’ve already mourned her.”
Broan glanced at Ithril, who tightened her grip around her bow. He placed his hand on hers and lowered it once again. “The fuck you mourning for?”
Jacob’s fists tightened, and then Ithril had her bow up again. Jacob only shook his head. “King Vaerin will kill for this. Pure darkness is coming, and he wants her back.”
“What are you doing in the mountains?” Ithril asked. Her voice carried a growling bite that Broan found attractive.
He shot her a sideways grin.
Jacob shook his head. “Let’s call it. I never saw you, and I was never here.” He nodded toward the other soldiers. “I’ll handle them.”
Broan sighed, edging closer to Jacob. “You could use a drink.”