Chapter 43 Calder
CALDER
Nightwall Keep, Skalor
The team gathers in the foothills of the Core Mountain range and within sight of Nightwall Keep.
Before leaving Coldheart Keep, Calder debriefed everyone involved in the mission.
Almost everyone seems to agree with his directive.
With fierce resolve, Thora rolls up Argnier’s internal map to the Keep, stuffing it into her belt. While he tasked Gunni with ruling Kadrgataness in his stead, Thora would act as his true Second on this quest.
A role the Iss Drengr takes with utmost seriousness, as he doesn’t expect to outlive this battle.
Edmund talks with Slode outside the war tent. After learning of Gullveig's effect on his only child, the old Salt Warrior still has yet to leave him alone.
If they could all harness their guilt about failing their children, they could manifest enough seidr to destroy Makt.
Argnier hasn’t spoken a word since disembarking from Kaldrgataness, opting to chew on the end of his pipe until it becomes a gnarled stem.
Only one companion has a problem with his plan.
“Are you sure about all of this?” Sigvid paces around Thora and Calder, who huddle around the war table.
Although he has not directly conveyed his annoyance at being overlooked in the planning, his actions and mutterings speak volumes.
He fumes because I did not choose him as my Second to save his wife and daughter.
“Stealth can aid us much more effectively.” Sigvid continues his absurd argument.
Calder’s lips twitch as a smile jeopardizes the fragile peace they established.
Sigvid continues. “Task me and a few experienced Drengr to enter through the undercroft. We can break in, kill the fuckers, and leave.” He gestures to one of his men. “Kollskegg! He and I have killed many in this way.”
The Drengr makes strained eye contact with Thora, who shakes her head in response. For once, her wild curls are tamed into a single braid.
“Pops,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “we will follow Calder’s plan. He and Argnier have strong knowledge of Nightwall Keep and Lavinia. You need to accept he is the superior general for this battle.”
Sigvid continues puffing his pipe as if it is his sole source of breath. “Flying on a creature seems unsafe, too far off the ground. I cannot see the ground. No control.” He mutters under his breath.
“Lord Commander,” Calder interjects, “Crystal has no reason to harm us. She will be the fastest way into the Keep to save Queen Avina and Princess Aura.”
Sigvid pats his hands on his thighs, growling as he tilts his head to take in his destination: the highest tower.
“You’re next in this battle, Lady Commander.” Calder pats Thora's back, redirecting attention from Sigvid’s growing paranoia.
She rallies the Drengr and his sad contingent of Kaldrgataness soldiers to march toward Nightwall Keep. For this plan to succeed, they must draw out Lavinia’s guards and maintain the siege.
“Argnier, maintain the rallying point.” He embraces the man who has stepped up for him in a way no one else has.
“You get to have all the fun while I watch the tent, huh?” Argnier nods toward the canvas filled with what Healers they could spare. “Did you at least bring some mead barrels with us?”
“Once we take the Keep, you can drink your fill of Lavinia’s stash, friend.” He claps a hand on his shoulder.
Argnier turns away only to whip back around and grip Calder’s arm. “Wait,” he sighs, “don’t fuck up this rescue. The Norn have Aura destined for more than this shit.”
His words strike far too deeply into Calder’s psyche.
Soon, only Crystal and her two hooded soldiers remain, awaiting his command. Time ticks by like grass growing on a moor. Sigvid paces as he fills his pipe bowl with trembling hands.
The King may fear the distance between the wyvern’s flight and the ground, but Calder knows his true fear lies in arriving at an empty tower.
At last, the beacon of Nightwall Keep, meant to summon the Jarls of Skalor to defend the seat of the country, ignites–the signal for their entrance into the battle.
“All right, boys, are you prepared?” Crystal rubs her hands together with a wry smile.
Sigvid twists his neck to glower at the castle, grumbling under his breath about his father’s death atop the highest garden back in the Ridge Province.
Calder massages his temples. He never anticipated that a fear of heights in a thousand scenarios would somehow hinder this mission.
“Aura was unsure on her first ride. By the second, she was giggling.” Crystal crosses her arms in apparent offense at Sigvid’s apprehension.
“Aura, rode… Fine, I will fly.” His voice wavers on the last word. He stuffs his pipe away and moves toward Crystal, who has transformed into the terrifying form of the white Wicked Wyvern of Skalor.
“Amazing.” Sigvid's jaw drops slightly.
“Ready to see the battle from above?” Crystal’s laughter shakes the ground beneath their feet.
Sigvid nods his head while continuing to move slowly forward. Calder smirks, shoving him more than patting him on the back. They take their positions along Crystal’s scaly back, each gripping her thick hide.
Her massive wings extend outward, their force stirring the dirt around her powerful legs. She soars upward in a burst of speed, gliding above the evergreen canopy toward the smoking castle in the distance.
Spreading along the ground before them are Thora’s forces assaulting Nightwall Keep. From the looks of it, she has Lavinia well under control.
Here’s to slaying their targets before Makt can unleash an army of undead drauger.
Crystal dives through the air, narrowly avoiding a barrage of arrows from the parapets.
She hovers above their tower, landing hard on the thatched roof.
Her talons dig into the support, easily peeling away the cone top until it flutters to the ground like a feather.
She lowers as far as she can, allowing the men to leap into the circular room.
Queen Avina presses against the wall, her stunned face filled with pure terror at the sight of the Wyvern. Her hands clutch something around her neck, and suddenly, she vanishes.
Dammit!
“Did you see her?” Calder shouts over the roaring sounds of the bloodshed below, and Crystal’s snarls as arrows rebound off her scales.
“Avina!” Sigvid pivots around, searching until he lunges for the only door in the makeshift cell. “My little Queen,” he tightly embraces the air until she materializes beside the door frame. He strokes her hair while she sobs into his shoulder, gripping his thick hide armor.
“I am here, my love.” He clutches her as if someone might steal her away again. “I am so sorry, little one. For everything.” The Beast loses himself in his wife while Calder considers the space devoid of his princess.
“I will return for the King and Queen!” Crystal takes flight, blue flames erupting from her mouth as she dives toward the archers.
When he turns, Avina shoves her pendant at Sigvid. “They took Aura! Please save her before Makt takes her as a vessel!” Even from afar, there is no mistaking the Treland Sacred Stone now lying in the King’s hand.
Sigvid focuses on the nautilus shell in his palm, and something wars across his features. His jaw clenches, and the undeniable desire behind his gaze is unmistakable–the need to seize additional power and dismantle Lavinia’s army.
Yet, instead of accepting the might of Treland’s seidr, his gaze flicks between the love of his life and Calder. His weight shifts as he murmurs to himself.
Avina brushes her lips against his knuckles, and his shoulders slump in defeat.
He extends his fist, clutching the Stone.
“Take it, Avardsson! You need all the help you can get. I will remain here with my little Queen until Crystal returns.” He grips Calder’s shoulder with a powerful grasp and an ache behind his intense gaze.
“Save my daughter.”
With a grunt of agreement, Calder slips the stone around his neck. He doesn’t wait to reassure them of Aura’s fate. The familiarity of the castle carries his boots out the door as he descends the spiral staircase.
Shouts and hurried footsteps echo from the heart of the Keep. The Royal Guards are undoubtedly preparing for Thora’s troops to breach the gate.
Calder races through the corridors, heading to the throne room where his mother will undoubtedly be, safeguarding her literal seat of power.
As he nears, four lone soldiers stand in his way of the massive door.
He grips the handle of Makt's Great Axe, channeling the extra seidr from the Treland Sacred Stone. Ice encases his skin in a protective layer as jagged shards jut out from his armor. A whoosh of snow from his seidr engulfs the corridor as he charges at the foolish men.
He cleaves the head of the first man in one swing and decapitates the second without a glance.
Blood and bone matter splatter as he roars at the last two.
The final image they see before he extinguishes their souls to the Abyss is the might of the Iss Drengr.
Their fragile flesh slices to ribbons at the entrance of the throne room.
Trudging through the bloodied corpses, he bursts through the door with an icy blast.
Inside are his parents and the Princess.
Aura’s head pivots at his entrance.
The sight of the rusty manacles encircling her wrists and ankles somehow infuriates him more. After everything Lavinia has put Aura through, the Princess still meets his gaze confidently—a strange calm in a situation that leaves her life hanging by a thread.
Your inner strength is everything I have ever wanted at my side.
Fury coils through his muscles as he observes her vulnerability. She is positioned between Lavinia in form-fitting armor, her hair pulled back, and an ethereal Makt resembling a Salt Warrior with braided hair and leather armor.
Thora and Edmund stumble in behind him, accompanied by a small group of Drengr flanking them.