I woke to an unfamiliar ceiling, my vision hazy, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Sunlight streamed through a nearby window, its warmth stinging my face as my senses slowly returned. With a quiet groan, I pushed myself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed. My limbs felt sluggish, and my mind swam in a fog of half-formed memories.
As I turned my gaze toward the outside world, the events of the previous day crept back to me—wounds, blood, battle. Most of all, him. Odin. The Allfather.
His voice still echoed in my mind, a constant refrain that refused to fade.
"Honor, once lost, is never easily regained."
It wasn't a dream. It couldn't have been. The weight of his presence had been too real, the wisdom in his words undeniable. He had been there, watching me, guiding me, deciding that it was not yet my time to enter his hall.
"By the gods..." I murmured, my breath catching. "He really was there."
A sharp pulse of pain shot through my side as I moved, dragging me back to reality. I exhaled slowly, planting my feet on the wooden floor. The house was quiet, empty. The hearth at the center had long since burned out, leaving behind only the scent of old smoke.
Outside, the city hummed with life. York stood bathed in morning light, its streets bustling with movement. The air was crisp and clean, untainted by storm clouds or rain. Despite the city's usual weariness, there was an undeniable energy—people talking, vendors calling out, the scent of fresh bread wafting through the streets. And yet, the scars of battle remained. Healers moved, tending to the wounded, their hurried footsteps echoing off the stone paths.
A dull pressure wrapped around my torso, the tightness of clothes pressing against my skin. I touched them absently, realizing they had been applied while I was unconscious. My mind churned, trying to piece things together. Then, it struck me—John. He had stayed with me, tending my wounds through the night.
"Ah…" My gaze landed on a nearby table where my armor sat, neatly arranged. "My armor."
But my axes… they were missing.
With slow movements, I reached for my light armor, pulling it over my head. The weight was familiar but felt heavier than usual. As I adjusted the straps, a wave of dizziness struck, forcing me to grip the edge of the table to steady myself. My knuckles whitened against the wood as I exhaled through gritted teeth.
"Mielda…" I muttered, my vision still blurred. "I left her there. Damn it… and the prisoners. I told them to wait at the cave."
I staggered toward the door and pushed it open. Warm air rushed to greet me, carrying the mixed scents of the city—baking bread, damp wood, and the tang of iron.
To my left, a frail man sat against the wall, his cloudy eyes unfocused as he extended a trembling hand for silver. His ribs pressed against his skin, hunger and hardship carved into his very being.
To my right, a city guard lounged in a wooden chair, a half-empty tankard of ale slipping from his grasp. His head lolled forward, threatening to drop fully into sleep.
Ahead, the front gates loomed, guarded by two men standing stiffly at attention. Above them, the city walls bristled with more bowmen than usual… because of Ernest.
"Curse that man."
A pang of hunger coiled in my stomach as the smell of freshly baked bread curled through the air. My throat felt dry, my body drained. But it could've been worse. I could've been hungry, parched, and dead, forever denied the halls of Valhalla.
"I need to get to the cave," I muttered, glancing around. My axes were still nowhere in sight. "Ugh..."
At that moment, a child turned the corner and nearly ran into me. Ela.
She clutched something in her small hands—my axes. And my gauntlet, the one that had been broken in battle, now whole again.
"Oh," she breathed, blinking up at me with wide green eyes. "You're awake, sir. Thank God."
She was small, barely reaching my waist, with golden hair that framed her features. Her dress was fine, far too elegant for the filth-covered streets—deep red wool embroidered with golden thread, the fabric thick enough to ward off the cold. A silver brooch fastened it at the shoulder, likely passed down through generations.
I eyed the items in her hands. "Those are my axes, little one?"
She nodded, lifting them toward me. "Yes, sir. I cleaned them. And I fixed your gauntlet."
I took them carefully, sliding my axes back into their sheaths. "You fixed my gauntlet?"
She grinned, tilting her head. "Well… the blacksmith did. But I brought it to him."
A quiet chuckle rumbled in my chest. "Then you have my thanks." My gaze softened as I studied her. "Tell me, what happened at the camp? I remember being there, but my mind is clouded. Like a snowstorm… nothing is clear."
Her small hands folded in front of her. "You fought Ragnar's men off and freed the prisoners," she said. "Then… you passed out."
I furrowed my brow. "And my horse? Mielda?"
Ela hesitated, shaking her head. "No. We didn't see any horse."
I inhaled sharply. "She wasn't there?"
"Was it important to you?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Not it. She," I corrected gently. "A horse is not just a beast of burden. Treat them well, and they will carry you through storms, through battle, through death itself. A loyal steed is worth more than a blade in war."
Ela lowered her head. "Sorry… she."
I nodded, rolling my shoulders, still feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. "I need to find her." My eyes flickered toward her once more. "Where is your mother? Freydis?"
"She went to a cave nearby," Ela answered. "One of our men came to the city and told us they were there. I think… you told them to wait there?"
So they had listened. Good.
I secured my gauntlet, flexing my fingers to test its fit. "I'll go check on them." I glanced at Ela, offering a nod. "Thank you for helping me."
She clasped her hands behind her back and smiled. "Thank you for saving my family." A flicker of admiration shone in her green eyes. "You're a hero sent from Odin."
I let out a short breath, shaking my head. "I'm not. But I appreciate it, little sparrow." I rested a hand atop her golden hair, ruffling it gently. "I'll see you soon."
Turning, I made my way toward the street, my steps uneven. A dull ache pulsed through my leg—likely from my fall from the rooftop. I hadn't noticed it before, not when the adrenaline had been coursing through my veins. It wasn't unbearable, but it slowed me. The real pain came from the dagger wound on my back, flaring with every movement.
I pushed through, leaving the city behind as my pace steadied. The road stretched before me, open and waiting. To my left, the River Ouse gleamed under the morning sun, a handful of boats rocking gently as fishermen cast their lines. To my right, the forest loomed, dark and endless—the direction I needed to go.
"Mielda..." Her name left my lips, heavy with worry. "She's too weak to be alone. How could I have left her like that? Curse it… be safe, Mielda."
My limp quickened into something closer to a hurried stride. As much as my body protested, I refused to slow.
After some time, the entrance to the cave came into view. Six horses stood hitched nearby, but none of them were Mielda. A sigh left me, half frustration, half relief. If the men had managed to bring their horses here, it meant they had escaped the camp successfully. At least there was that.
I moved toward the pond near the entrance, glancing up. A faint light flickered from within the cave, shadows shifting against the walls.
I took a breath and called out, "Hello. I'm… Valrik. Is Freydis there?"
A figure appeared at the entrance, then pressed against the rock wall, peering out cautiously. As the sunlight lit their face, I recognized her—Freydis. She looked tired, like she had just woken.
"Valrik," she called back. "Come up here!"
I shook my head. "I can't, friend. I have to get my horse back. I left her near the camp."
Freydis blinked, then nodded in understanding. "Your horse?" She rubbed her face before straightening. "I'll come. We'll ride there with my horse."
I studied her, frowning. "Are you sure, shieldmaiden? You look… pale. Tired."
"And you look like shit," she shot back. "Do I say it to your face, though? No."
A chuckle rumbled in my chest. "Fair enough, friend. Fair enough."
Before I could say more, another figure emerged from the cave entrance, stepping out into the light. I recognized him instantly—the man who had carried me, who had made sure I was treated.
He was older, likely in his fifties, with long white hair that reached past his shoulders. His belly was round, but his build remained strong. A well-worn shield rested on his back, and an axe hung at his hip. Black gloves covered his hands, and a thin scar ran from his right eyebrow down to his upper lip.
"I'll come as well," he said, his voice steady. "It'll be safer."
"You…" I exhaled, nodding. "I remember you. Thank you for helping me…"
I trailed off, waiting.
"Thrainar," he supplied. "Nice to meet you, Valrik."
"Likewise, drengr."
As they carefully made their way down the rocky path, I crossed my arms, watching. The rest of the men were likely still inside, wounded and exhausted. They needed rest. Time.
"How are the prisoners?" I asked once they reached me.
"They're getting better," Freydis said, brushing dust from her hands. "Ragnar's dog didn't treat them well enough. But I did."
Thrainar gave a firm nod. "It's thanks to you they're alive."
I met his gaze. "And it's thanks to you and Ela that I'm alive." A smirk tugged at my lips. "Without you, I'd be dinner for some pig by now."
Thrainar let out a deep chuckle. "I saw how you fought, drengr—as if Odin himself was beside you. You would've sent them all to Helheim before they touched you."
Freydis swung herself onto her horse, adjusting the reins. "Enough talking. It's still early. If we're lucky, we might find your horse."
I rolled my shoulders. "Hmm. Let's go."
ᚹᚨᛚᚺᚨᛚᛚᚨ-ᚺᛟᚾᛟᚱ-ᚱᛖᚲᛚᛁᛅᛗ