Chapter Twenty-Two Elvine #3
He speaks true, the spear confirmed in response to Elvine’s touch. And I sense no trace of delusion in his mind.
“Yes,” Gruinskard said in response to Elvine’s widening gaze.
“I was there for all of it, girl. The founding of the Verungyr and the crowning of the Sister Queens, one of whom happened to be my mother. From an early age I displayed a gift for two things: fighting and listening. Traits my mother made full use of when I grew old enough to stop being an annoyance. When she passed, her successor made use of me too. She was also the first to notice that I did not age as others do. So, for many years I was kept in the shadows, a silent asset set to watch for threats from within and without, my name never spoken except in whispers, and then only by the queens. In time came the War of Chains, when they decreed the end of slavery in the Realm of Ascarlia. Soon after, the Albermaine-ish took advantage of the chaos to steal the Fjord Geld from us and ushered in the Age of Discord. It was during this time that I was finally permitted to step from the shadows, for my prowess as a battle leader demanded I have a name and a title. And so, I became the Tielwald, and remained so ever since, at least until my great-granddaughter cast me aside like a sack of gnawed bones.”
“How?” Elvine asked, peering at the ancient soul before her. “How was it done?”
“A question I’ve tried to answer many times.
Various Sisters Lore researched it but came up with nothing save a clutch of old unlikely legends that spoke of the Altvar choosing one soul in every thousand years to stand immune to the violence of time.
” Gruinskard grunted out a mirthless laugh.
“Nonsense of course, for I am not immune to the depredations of age. Over four hundred years upon this earth and I feel every one of them. But, if the story told by this new friend of yours is true, it seems Velgard does not.”
“If the Vortigurn truly is Velgard…”
Elvine paused as the ship gave an abrupt shift, the deck pitching and the prow wandering from its course.
Worried they may have struck a reef, she leaned over the rail, but saw only churned water.
In fact, this portion of the narrow fjord appeared more disturbed than usual.
Water spun in separate eddies as several currents converged.
“Seems we’ve come to a fork in this road,” Kahlvik said, striding forward to gesture at a gap between two mountains a few hundred paces off the port bow. “It brings cold, slow-flowing water from the north which creates a violent change in the current. Nothing a bit of extra wind won’t fix.”
At his order, the sail was unfurled to its full and the Ohlnir began a rapid if uncomfortable passage. For a time it was almost like being back on the open ocean, the deck heaving and the figurehead bowing amid repeated splashes.
“Whirlpool ahead!” came the shout from the lookout whereupon Kahlvik barked out a command for the helmsman to steer hard to port.
The sudden, acute pitch of the Ohlnir’s deck as she veered clear of the obstacle sent Elvine into an untidy tumble.
Rebounding from the rail, she careened for several feet before finding herself enveloped by Varnyr’s arms. The impact jarred the spear from her grasp, sending it clattering across the boards.
“A moment, Spear Maiden,” the Nihlvarian said.
He appeared to have no difficulty keeping his footing, holding her feet clear of the deck until it settled.
Thus embraced, Elvine found herself distracted by the curious fact that she felt simultaneously alarmed and entirely comfortable.
“Seems we’re past the worst,” he observed a few moments later, setting her down.
Heart beating faster than it should, and aware of another flush creeping over her cheeks, Elvine turned away and went in pursuit of the spear.
To her annoyance, it had contrived to find a gap between the water barrel and a large coil of rope, forcing her to strain to reach it.
“Allow me,” Varnyr said, hefting the rope aside as if it weighed little more than she did.
“Thank you,” Elvine replied, immensely aggravated by the mouse-like squeak that emerged from her lips.
This is ridiculous, she admonished herself, stooping to grasp the spear.
Should not the Spear Maiden of Olversahl be above such childish nonsense…
All thought fled when her hand closed on the haft and the spirit yelled a loud, emphatic warning.
They’re here!
Elvine’s gaze immediately snapped to the prow. The Ohlnir was now level with the adjoining fjord, a shadowed, steep-sided notch from which emerged a massive Nihlvarian warship coming on at full sail.
“To arms!” she shouted, her voice no longer remotely mouse-like.
Boots already pounded the deck, the sound joined by the whistle of many arrows.
They rose from the approaching ship in a dark swarm, arcing high before plunging towards the Ohlnir’s deck.
Elvine’s view darkened as Varnyr dragged her down, his frame covering her as the shafts descended in a deadly rain.