Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (85 page)

How they could manage to remain in the tent for such a long period of time was beyond him. He imagined that, if the snow were to get severe
enough, they would be buried beneath it. Even if that did happen, they could always break themselves out, either with magic or swords,  but the idea still didn’t sit well with him.

As his conscience began to fade, ever so slowly allowing him to drift into the realm of dreams and where things
at times seemed much more simple and others far too complex, he thought but for a moment of Virgin and how he would be sitting up all alone.

Shortly thereafter, his mind clicked off and he was asleep.

What seemed like but a few moments later, something brushed up alongside the tent and stirred him from sleep.

“Huh?” Odin asked.

“I didn’t say anything,” Virgin replied.

“You touched me.”

“No I didn’t.”

Odin bolted into an upright position.

“What?” the Halfling asked.

His hand burst into white fire so quickly he could hardly believe his eyes.

“What’s going on?” Virgin frowned, his eyes straying to the tent—where, obviously, the fabric could be seen bulging inward. “Oh shit.”

His eyes still hardly able to focus due to the fact that he
’d been in such a deep sleep, Odin found it hard to believe that something outside had forced the tent to warp inward, so much that when he reached out and pressed his hand against the object he could immediately recoiled. He eventually bumped into Virgin, who merely shrugged him off before the tent expanded back into place.

“What… the fuck,” Odin said.

Outside, one of the horses grunted, then let out a scream.

Virgin was out of his bedroll before Odin could even begin to reach for his swords. Dagger drawn, light reflecting off its metal and back into his eyes, Virgin threw himself forward and out into the open air.

“Wait!” Odin cried, grabbing his swords.

Once out of the tent and nearly face-down in the snow, he pushed himself to his feet, turned, then cast three orbs of light into the surrounding area.

A creature he had not seen in some five years stood directly before one of the horses, opposing form tall and claws extended around the horse’s neck. Its eyes gleaming in the light reflecting from the orbs of magic, its snout wet and covered in blood, it turned its attention on Odin and offered a snarl that chilled his bones despite the snow that fell around him. Monstrous wouldn’t have even begun to describe the creature, as it stood some seven or eight feet tall and had a set of teeth that could have easily severed the horse’s, and while covered in blood that ebbed from the slight cuts upon the horse’s neck, it held a barbaric stature Odin couldn’t help but compare to something humanlike.

To the side, the horse
’s companion thrust its head back and forth, desperate to free itself from the rope that held it in place as yet another of the creatures appeared from the woods behind them.

“Get back!” Virgin screamed. “Get back!”

The Halfling lashed out at the first creature who had its hands around his horse’s neck and slashed the air in front of it, managing to disengage the creature before it could do any further harm to the equine. Virgin then thrust his dagger into the creature’s jawline, then brought it back down on one of the claws that came soaring toward him before it could strike him alongside the head.

The creature screamed.

Odin drew both of his swords.

He cut his horse
’s bonds away and watched it flee into the night.

Come back!
he thought, willing his thoughts into the creature’s head in a fruitless attempt to try and bring it back.

When he found his magic would do
nothing to summon his beast of burden, he flipped both his swords in his hands and prepared for the next creature to come at him.

On all fours, the brunt of its weight distributed into five equally-long fingers, the creature raised its head and snarled, bearing sharp teeth.

“Odin,” Virgin said. “A little help here.”

Odin thrust his hand forward, gathered the snow falling through the air,
then fired it into the face of the creature hovering over Virgin.

The werewolf, stunned, stumbled back into one of the trees, disrupting a branch above it.

“Get away from here,” Odin said, jabbing his father’s silver-bladed sword in its direction. “I said get away!”

The creature screamed.

He screamed back.

When the creature lunged forward, he ducked and slashed his sword above him.

At first he couldn’t imagine what he had done, as he smelled the scent of burning flesh akin to a fireball he could have thrust onto the creature. However, as he turned, and as the creature who had attempted to attack him collapsed into the snow bloodied and bleeding, Odin looked down at his sword and saw steam rising from its surface.

No.

It couldn’t be. Those were just legends.

When the creature lifted itself from the ground, Odin saw, quite visibly, the telltale signs of singed flesh and hair falling from the creature
’s torso.

“It is true,” Virgin whispered. “They
’re vulnerable to silver.”

The werewolf turned and tore into the night.

Behind them, the other werewolf whom Virgin had slashed with his dagger disappeared into the darkness.

Virgin
’s horse lunged back on its hind legs and kicked the air before them.

Odin lunged, tackling his companion to the ground.

Just above them, the horse’s hooves lashed the air and kicked blood up onto the snow.

“Thanks,” the older Halfling grunted, managing to smile.

“My horse is gone,” Odin said. “The man who gave them to us—“

“There isn
’t anything we can do,” Virgin sighed. “Come on. We need to get out of here. Now.”

Little trouble managed to encounter them come their escapade through the night’s blizzard. Eyes alight with unease, hand pressed forward and trailing several magicked orbs of light across their path, Odin searched in vain for the horse he’d specifically bought for this trip, but to no avail. He also found, quite contentedly and securely, no trace of blood, though he could easily tell that the stupid creature had backtracked more than a few times in its rash attempt to escape the campsite.

“We
’ll probably never find him,” Virgin said, securing an arm around Odin’s abdomen to hold him in place. “Stop trying.”

“I
’m keeping the lights up,” Odin replied. “Just to ward them away.”

“You think your magic will keep them from coming back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. The lights
were
out when I slashed the one with my sword.”

“Clever thinking on your part.”

“I didn’t know the rumors were true.”

“There aren
’t many silver-coated swords to go around these days, are there?”

Apparently not,
Odin thought, but thought it best to say nothing.

While they continued on
ward into the night, Odin found himself longing for Ornala and the safety of his shared quarter with the king. At least there, within the royal chambers, there was no fear of werewolves, of bandits, of weather so horrible and desperate it imposed upon any who traveled in it a sense of death. He briefly considered the idea that within a few days, he could be within that place, on the bed that had so rightfully become his and with dogs he considered as much his own as they were with kings, but in those sentiments, he began to wonder—and, ultimately, fear—just what the king would feel about Virgin.

Will you despise me,
he thought.
Or will you even care?

He knew nothing of Ournul
’s affiliations with men queer, knew not what he thought or considered them to be or even if he knew men of that persuasion. If he tried to consider it, Odin imagined his king kind, for it was said throughout all the land that Ournul would take the time and care to be the best person possible, but that did not mean he was without his vices. There was a reason the need for knights had arisen within the past hundred years, and for that it seemed he could hold a plaintive judgment to those things he considered unnecessary, but did that mean he would turn his own champion away?

If anything, he
’ll just want us to remain apart.

As he and Virgin had discussed before, there was a high likelihood that the king would want their relationship to stay silent—discreet,
nondescript, and kept out of the overall picture. Their time together would have to be spent behind closed doors or, at the very least, within the company of others, as to not draw attention to the fact that they were merely more than just friends.

With a short sigh, Odin trailed the orbs of light forward and strung them together like beads, willing them to travel the side of the road like some exotic caterpillar making its way
across a leaf in spring.

“How long do you think it
’ll be until we hit Dwaydor?” Virgin asked.

“Tomorrow,” Odin said. “Maybe in the afternoon.”

They had no problems with werewolves, bandits, or even the weather come the following morning and throughout the day. Into the afternoon, which waned across time as the sun fell over the horizon, the telltale signs
of Dwaydor began to loom in the distance, beckoning upon them a stature of conquest that meant they were more than halfway toward their goal. Sheer, absolute, and resembling something of a sphere even from so far away, it extended into the sky and seemed to dazzle them with images of lust and sleep in a place where the conditions would be much greater than they had existed in for the last few weeks.

“Well,” Odin said, extending a finger. “That
’s it.”

“The stadium city,” Virgin nodded, tightening his hold on the reins just below Odin
’s abdomen.  “It’s quite a marvel, isn’t it?”

While Odin had never considered it something of the s
ort, he could easily pour over its intensity and what history had melded it into what it was today. Even Virgin, who’d never been so far north, could appreciate everything it entailed, and did so by raising a hand and trailing his finger along the highest parts of the city—where, possibly, men stood watching the horizon, maybe even conversing about the two men who shared one horse making their way toward them.

We
’ll sure be a sight.

At the thought, his
eyes began to water.

After such a long time—after so many days, weeks, months and almost a year—he would finally be returning to the place where they
’d scattered his father’s ashes.

If only I had the strength to do so.

Odin bowed his head.

Behind him
, Virgin tightened his hold around his abdomen.

Whether or not his companion could sense his unrest he couldn
’t be sure, but in that moment, he didn’t care. The fact that Virgin did so was enough to ease his mind and settle his heart.

“Hail, travelers!” one of the guards called, raising his hand and gesturing his companions to raise their bows. “Who might you be?”

“I am Odin Karussa, the king
’s champion!” Odin called back, drawing his sword to flash the black blade before his audience’s eyes. “I have returned from my mission and seek entry into Dwaydor.”

“Your entry will be granted, but be warned—you will be watched.”

“Of course,” Virgin chuckled, sliding his hand away from Odin’s stomach and onto the reins when Odin slid his sword back into his sheath. “There is no freedom within the land of men.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Odin asked.

When Virgin didn’t respond, Odin decided it was for the better to keep his mouth shut and instead allowed his companion to lead their horse into the city as the gate was raised and the town was revealed to them in full. Though hardly any people were out and about at this hour of the morning, much less with the current weather conditions, there were some making their way through the streets, brushing snow from the path to keep those frail and uneasy from slipping and hurting themselves.

“It
’s so,” Odin began, then stopped before he could finish.

He would have said
‘different,’ had he the slightest misconception. However, it appeared as though it had not changed since the last time he’d been here—more peaceful, yes, and more wholesome, but not in any way different.

“Not what you expected?” Virgin asked.

“Not particularly,” Odin replied.

“I guess you should take the reins now.”

“All right,” Odin said, reaching down to take the leather straps from Virgin’s hands.

“Odin?” a voice asked.

Odin looked up.

Directly in front of them, no more than a few feet away, stood a young man Odin had never imagined seeing again for a very, very long time.