The Halvarsaga

Oh, Wulfric. He's learned a lot since coming north, but apparently he hasn't learned enough to treat anything that Skaldi describes nonspecifically as 'tea' with suspicion. Anyway – this is a relatively quiet chapter, particularly as I'm not even sure anything that he saw was actually there or whether he saw it because that tea put him into a suggestive state where Skaldi's words were able to shape his visions, but it's what it needs to be, after the intensity of the raid chapters and the tragedy at the end. It's a good point at which to push the cultural and theological difficulties that Wulfric has been trying to ignore so far, as he finally gets a free moment to think about things – and a crisis to push him, in the form of Skaldi's trial by mushrooms. And of course it's his quiet time alone with Halvard that cements his reinvigorated faith. The quiet progression of the relationship between the two of them is really quite nice to read.

I am, however, a bit puzzled by the man that Ingmar's raiders left behind in the ruins of Rovngalad. If he was wounded in the attack, why didn't he go home with the rest? Did he seek death rather than a life stuck at home? Because of course he must have known that he'd be killed if he stayed and waited for the vikings (I'm using the term correctly for once! how exciting!) to come home. In which case, why offer information? I suppose there's no reason not to, but there's no reason to, either, if all he sought was a belated death on the battlefield. There's no explanation of who he is or why he's here, really, and I think that makes it very obvious that he's literally just there to provide a bit of exposition before being conveniently murdered to shift him out of the way.
'Out to pasture' implies pretty much the exact opposite of going out on a raid'n'trade, to coin an absolutely terrible word that will now become my default explanation of what the word 'viking' means. When you put something out to pasture, you remove it from active service, and the raiders were most definitely actively serving down there in Kalos.
'That jarl's tunic' is a really awkward way of phrasing it – honestly, just saying 'Halvard's tunic' would be less grating; the sentence can definitely stand the repetition. Or alternatively, you could have 'in his tunic', since I think it's clear through implication that it's Halvard's tunic, rather than Svein's.

Chapter 13

Halvard watched his men drill on the beach, his face drawn. The northern warriors twirled blunted weapons and beat them against the metal rims of their shields as they clashed and danced apart. Further down the stretch of sand, Torvald barked orders for the men to form a shield wall and just as quickly break apart. The jarl sketched plans for the assault on Yeavenguut in the sand with a narrow branch but wiped them away just as quickly. He grunted a curse, hurled the stick into the water of the fjord, and drew his sword.


Wulfric finished drilling with Aesgir and found Halvard angrily hacking a training dummy to pieces. “I thought we were supposed to be using practice weapons today,” Wulfric remarked as he took a swig from a waterskin. Halvard just grunted again before lopping off the wooden simulacrum’s head in a casual, backhanded blow. “It’s the chain between the towers, isn’t it?” Wulfric continued. “It’s got me puzzled too. I’ve never heard of anything like it in Kalos. I’ll give Donatus Builder the credit he’s due, it’s an ingenious feat of engineering.” Wulfric had to revert to Kalosian to say it, as he did not quite have the right words in the language of the northerners to get the phrasing right, and by now Halvard had learned enough Kalosian to catch his meaning.


“A curse on the family of Donatus Builder,” Halvard growled, driving his blade through the chest piece of the decapitated mannequin. “May they suffer for ten generations.”


Wulfric said nothing. He had an acute sympathy for King Ingmar’s captive southerner, who in truth had only done what Wulfric had, just for a different master. Still, his chain presented a thorny problem. “Truly, I don’t think getting past the chain in the first place will be the most pressing of our problems,” Wulfric said. “If Ingmar is wise, and I fear that he is, he won’t raise the chain when he hears of our approach. He and his warriors are behind their walls and have little enough to fear from what we can bring to bear. No, it’s far more sensible for him to wait until we’ve committed ourselves to the attack and raise the chain behind us. He and his men could pick us off in the harbor and on the shore at their leisure.”


Halvard finally sheathed his sword and nodded. “I’ve had the same thought. However, I have not told you everything. If you’re to help me, it’s time you know everything I do.” He signaled to Torvald down the beach, and the jarl’s brother adjourned his training session to join Halvard. When he had gotten close enough to speak to in confidence, Halvard said quietly, “It’s time that Wulfric saw the tunnel.”


The three of them made their way out past the Rovngalad pastures and into the forest beyond. The sun was low in the sky when they finally reached the foothills of the mountains, and yet Halvard and Torvald continued onward. Finally, after making their way down a concealed trail, Halvard pointed to a deep cave carved in the mountain’s base. “What is this?” Wulfric asked.


“Our back door to Yeavenguut,” Torvald said.


“Surely you’re joking!”


“Not a bit,” Halvard replied. “Rovngalad’s two greatest assets are Uthald and Jarn. Ingmar is rightfully afraid of what Uthald can do, but he also knows that there’s no way we can load Jarn onto a longship. To him, Jarn is a protector, and no threat to Ingmar provided he stays behind his walls.”


“Which means,” Torvald chuckled, “that he likely has no plan for when Jarn suddenly shows up at his gates.” He sat down on a nearby boulder with a groan. “Halvard and I have always known that we didn’t stand a chance against the Usurper without both of our companions. Jarn and I have been digging this tunnel for years, and earlier this year we broke through to Yeavenguut. We concealed the passage again, so it’s nearly impossible for Ingmar to know what we’ve done.”


“Who knows about this?”


“Aside from the three of us? Ragnhildr, obviously. And I had to bring Ulfi in to construct some supports for the tunnel. Ivarr and a few of the other men helped a little here and there.” Torvald shrugged. “But we’ve kept this secret close. Only the people Halvard and I trust implicitly are brought here. We have no idea who could be an agent of Ingmar’s, and if he were to find out…”


“So when you took those trips up into the mountains, you were digging this?”


“Usually. Other times I just left to train. I needed a believable cover, so if it was known that I went off on my own to strengthen myself and my pokemon, and was seen to be doing so, I was more likely to be believed.”


Wulfric was dumbfounded. “But a tunnel from here to Yeavenguut… that must have taken…”


“Most of a decade,” Torvald said. “Yes.”


Halvard folded his arms and stared into the darkness of the tunnel. “When we attack, Torvald will lead a band through the tunnel and attack Ingmar from the rear. We’ll use Jarn to breach the walls of Yeavenguut, and hopefully that’s enough for us to land our warriors.”


“So you’re hoping that if we manage to breach the city, we would be able to take it over, and then the chain wouldn’t be a concern.”


“That’s only if the chain is lowered so that we can get into the fjord in the first place,” Halvard said. “We can’t be sure that’s the case. And even then, that’s assuming that Ingmar hasn’t lain a trap for us in the city itself. His raid here was a deliberate provocation. He wants us to come to him, so I have to think he’s plotting something.”


Torvald stood and put a hand on Halvard’s shoulder. “You’re overthinking this, brother. Ingmar doesn’t understand what it means to bring down the fury of Rovngalad.” He smiled that predatory northern grin Wulfric had seen so many times and began to walk back up the trail. Halvard watched him go and shook his head.


“You don’t think it will be so simple,” Wulfric said. It was not a question.


“Of course not. Ingmar has some sort of plan to catch us unawares. The tunnel is one thing, and maybe it will be enough to turn the tide in our favor, but I can’t lead my people to their deaths if I’m not sure. We need more power.”


“Well, short of divine intervention, I’m not entirely sure what would be more powerful than a Gyarados and an Aggron.”


“Divine intervention…” Halvard kicked a branch into the cave before sitting down on a nearby boulder. “Tell me Wulfric, what do you think of our gods, now that you’ve seen them for yourself?”


“Well, I still don’t think they’re gods, for one thing.” When Halvard rolled his eyes, Wulfric continued. “But their power is undeniable. They may not be divine, but they are certainly forces of nature.”


Halvard nodded. “And what of your god? Is He not also a powerful force of nature?”


“With Arceus, it’s different.” Wulfric tried to distill centuries of theological philosophy into language Halvard could comprehend. “Arceus doesn’t just exert tremendous power over the world, He is the world. He shaped it, crafted it and exists as an intimate part of it.”


“Says who?”


“What?”


“I mean, who told you this? And who told them? And so on and so forth, back to the beginning of the whole thing. Obviously no one was around to watch Arceus make the world, so how do they what's true and what isn't?”


“Faith, Halvard. It’s a matter of faith.”


“If you say so. But doesn’t Skaldi also have faith in his gods? What makes you any more right?”


“Arceus is a universal force! I’ll grant that Skaldi’s idols are tremendously powerful pokemon we can’t begin to understand, but that doesn’t make them gods.”


“Easy, Wulfric. I don’t mean to upset you.” Halvard held up a finger. “But humor me for a moment more. You just said that the gods of the north are merely powerful pokemon. Does it not stand to reason that they could be tamed the way any pokemon could?”


“I’m not sure I like where this theological argument is going.” Wulfric pursed his lips. “And while I suppose what you say is true, it would be nearly impossible!”


Halvard shrugged. “That’s what everyone said about taming a Gyarados, until I came along. They just weren’t looking at it the right way.” He waved his hand. “You can go back to the village if you like. I’m going to stay here a while. The change of scenery will do me some good.”



***



Several days later, while Wulfric was saying his evening prayers by the water, he heard someone approach behind him. Wulfric turned slowly, one hand going unconsciously to the dagger Torvald insisted he wear on his belt. Ulfi raised one hand in a sheepish wave and came to sit next to the monk. “I’m sorry,” the boat builder said after a moment. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. But I’ve watched you say those prayers of yours for a while now, but I’ve never been close enough to listen to what you’re saying. I suppose I just wanted to know.”


“You did?”


Ulfi nodded. “When you’re praying, your face changes. You look so calm, so peaceful. It’s not like when Skaldi does it. His prayers are… feverish. He gets that look in his eyes, you know the one I mean.”


Wulfric nodded. “I think I’ve rather had my fill of Skaldi’s prayers.”


“I see the peace your prayers bring you… and I want to learn to have that for myself.” Ulfi hung his head. “My wife and my son are gone. I have faith in Jarl Halvard, and I’ll fight for him until my dying breath. I have my work, my boats, and that’s all well and good. But I don’t have peace, not like you do. Could you show me?”


Wulfric blinked. “I… I suppose I could teach you the prayers.” He clicked his tongue at Dismas, and the Chatot flapped off his shoulder to stand on the sand before the two men. “Just try to repeat what Dismas says. He knows the responses to the prayers, but we pray in Kalosian. Once I’ve finished, I’ll try and translate the prayers into your language so you know what we’re saying.”


Ulfi nodded, and when Chatot said the responsorial to Wulfric’s prayers, the boat builder gave his best attempts to speak the strange foreign words. His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to replicate the sounds, but they were clumsy on his tongue. When Wulfric had worked through his litany of prayers, he sat in the sand with Ulfi for another hour until the sun finally set behind the hills to the west, coaching the man on the proper responses to the translated prayers.


Wulfric had only prayed in Kalosian, even after his language lessons with Halvard had concluded. The only interest the jarl had shown in Wulfric's beliefs had been purely academic and theoretical, and a man who had no faith in the gods of his homeland was unlikely to convert to a foreign one. The Kalosian prayers had been Wulfric’s connection back to his homeland, but now that he had a willing acolyte, it was time to bring them to the northmen.


After the first evening, Wulfric settled into a routine. He and Dismas would rise early and say their prayers in Kalosian, and then join the rest of the northmen for training and working in the fields. Then, when evening set in, he and Ulfi would meet at the boat builder’s workshop for another round of prayers, this time in the language of the northmen. Ulfi, who had some skill in writing, also began to transcribe the prayers in the northerner’s runic script on bark that was stripped from the timbers used to make and repair the longships. Wulfric had not even thought of this, but when Ulfi had proudly presented him with the northern translation of the Lord’s Prayer, Wulfric felt his heart swell and knew that this would make spreading the Word of Arceus to the north easier by an order of magnitude.


Ulfi took to the teachings of Arceus with the zeal only a convert could have, and he was an able pupil. He listened attentively to the stories Wulfric told him of the saints and Shepherds of the past, and took interest especially in the accounts of the early Arcean converts in Tohjo and Kalos when the Arcean Shepherds began to spread out of Sinnoh. It was one night several weeks after beginning their evening prayers that Ulfi turned to Wulfric. “You have spoken of a ritual that converts to your faith must undergo to dedicate themselves to your god.”


“Baptism, yes.”


“I would like to be baptized.”


“Are you sure?” Wulfric pressed. “Ulfi, once you do this, there is no going back. If you are baptized, you give your soul to Arceus.”


“I would like to be baptized,” Ulfi said again. “I have found something in Arceus that I never had in the gods of my ancestors. When I leave this world, I want to go to Arceus’s embrace, not the Cold Halls. If what you tell me is true, that there are no Cold Halls and the Bringer of Death has no kingdom, that we all go to Him when we die, then I have nothing holding me to my old faith.”


The boat builder stared out at the lapping waves of the fjord. “You say that only the baptized can go into Arceus’s hall and that all the pagans must wait outside the gates. My wife and son are out there, but they never knew they had to be baptized. Could I intercede with Arceus on their behalf?”


“I… I don’t know, Ulfi. No one does.”


“Well, all the same, I have to try. I can hold the gate for my family in the next life the way I hold the gate for my brothers in arms in this one. Wulfric, I have made my choice in this. I would like for you to baptize me.”


And so the next night, they proceeded again to the shore. Ulfi stood in his nicest tunic at the water’s edge, and followed wordlessly as Wulfric led him into the sea. Uthald drifted lazily some ways off and rose out of the water a fraction to see what the two humans were up to. They waded until they were waist deep before Wulfric turned to face Ulfi. “Do you, Ulfi Angradsson, renounce the  pagan idols of the north and dedicate your body and soul to Arceus, Lord of Light, King of the Most High?”


“I do.”


“Do you pledge to serve Him, to carry His word in your heart, and to bring light to the world and banish the shadow?”


“I do.”


“Lord Arceus, Your humble servant comes before you to be filled with Your light. May You work through him and make him an instrument of Your glory!” Wulfric dipped his hand into the sea, reached up, and placed his thumb on Ulfi’s forehead. He drew the four-pronged ring of Arceus on the boat builder’s brow and rested his hand on Ulfi’s shoulder. The northman nodded gravely and lowered himself into the cold water. Wulfric watched as his pale face disappeared beneath the waves and remained there for several heartbeats. Then, Wulfric jerked Ulfi’s shoulder up, and the northman burst from the sea with a triumphant roar. The water dripped from his hair and beard, but he seemed impervious to the cold.


Wulfric couldn’t help but smile. “In Your name we pray.”


“Hail to You, Lord of Light!” Ulfi said, completing the rite. Then, his face split into a wide grin, and he pulled Wulfric into a brief but tight embrace. “Thank you, my friend.” They went back to shore, and Ulfi poured them both a generous helping of mead. They toasted Ulfi’s conversion and drank deeply.


As they sat on the sand waiting for their clothes to dry, Wulfric saw something move in the shadows near the village. He peered into the darkness and saw Skaldi crouching there, his brow furrowed. After their shared encounter on the cliffs where Wulfric had stood in defiance of the northern gods, the northern priest’s attitude towards him had changed. It was no less terse, and certainly Skaldi’s faith in his gods would not be swayed, but when he looked at Wulfric now, the monk saw something verging on respect in Skaldi's gaze. Where Skaldi had prostrated himself, Wulfric had stood unwavering. And although he had stood in defiance of the northern gods, the only thing Skaldi held in higher esteem than his gods was an unyielding and defiant will.


At the very least, he had not tried to interfere with the ceremony, though Wulfric was sure that had he wished to, he could have stopped the whole thing. As far as positive signs go, it wasn’t much, but it was enough.



***



Finally, the day to launch the invasion came.


The sea was calm, and a favorable wind blew from the south. Wulfric stood on the docks with Halvard and his siblings, watching the gray morning mist clear. Finally Ragnhildr broke the silence. “This may be the last time we all stand here together.”


Torvald nodded grimly. “Could be. But there are worse ways to die.”


“It’s not enough,” Halvard said. “All this, all of our warriors, it’s not enough. We’ll all fight to our last breath, but the Usurper will wipe us out.”


“Don’t talk like that!” Torvald snapped. “We have to strike now! It’s only a matter of time before Ingmar finds the tunnel or comes for Rovngalad again. Ingmar can build a hundred fortresses, forge a thousand chains. I’ll break them until he breaks me!” Torvald shoved Halvard. “What is wrong with you Halvard? Why do you have so little faith in the strength of Rovngalad?”


Halvard stared into his brother’s eyes. “You didn’t see our father die. Neither of you. I did. He was like you, Torvald. He fought and he fought, breaking everything Ingmar could put against him. But in the end, he broke too. Our father, our uncle, and all their allies, they were shattered and thrown to feed Ingmar’s pokemon. He left us with Rovngalad because he knew he could crush at any time. And he still can. We need more power.”


“We can’t get any more power,” Torvald hissed.


“We can,” Halvard replied. “I can. You two launch the invasion. Fight until Ingmar breaks you, if that’s what you wish. But Ingmar will not fall until I can bring the power of the Storm Bringer to bear on him.”


Torvald and Ragnhildr were shocked into silence for a moment as what Halvard said sunk in. “You can’t be serious,” Ragnhildr said. “You can’t tame a god!”


“Of course I can,” Halvard replied. His voice was even, devoid of any bluster or bravado, just a simple statement of fact. “I am the Fool of Rovngalad. I am the jarl, the son of Sigurd, and the rightful heir to the throne of the north. Taming a god is the least of what I can do.”


“I’m coming with you,” Wulfric said, surprising even himself.


Halvard smiled his signature half smile and placed a hand on Wulfric’s shoulder. “Not this time. It’s just going to be me and Uthald. I can’t even bring Steinarr.”


“Take Dismas,” Wulfric said. “I may not be able to go and protect you, but Dismas can.” The Chatot hopped from Wulfric’s shoulder to Halvard’s.

The jarl shook his head. “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”


“No.”


Halvard ran a hand through Steinarr’s leafy mane. “So be it. Steinarr will have to look after you until I get back.” The Gogoat rested his heat against Halvard’s side and closed his eyes.


“You’re really going to do this.” Ragnhildr shook her head. “You’re a damned fool, Halvard.” She turned to Torvald. “Assemble the warriors. We’ll sail on the tide, and you should be leaving.” The two of them strode off the dock, leaving Halvard and Wulfric alone with their pokemon. Steinarr trotted over to Wulfric and regarded him silently. Wulfric placed a hand on the grass aligned’s brow and tried to manage a smile.


“Halvard, are you sure about this?”


“I am.”


“Aren’t you afraid to die?”


The jarl smiled again. “Die? Who the hell do you think I am?” He took Wulfric’s hand in his. “I’m coming back, and I’m going to bring down the wrath of the gods on everything Ingmar has built. Once I’m king, we’ll start building the world we’ve dreamed of. I swear it, Wulfric.” He whistled, and Uthald surged through the water to meet him. Halvard jumped from the docks and grabbed onto the Gyarados’s crowned head as it swam by. “I’ll see you in Yeavenguut!” he roared as they whirled around and out of the fjord.


“Wrath of the gods!” Dismas crowed from Halvard’s shoulder.


Wulfric raised his hand to wave goodbye, but Halvard was already looking west. The monk trudged off the docks and passed Torvald making the final preparations for his subterranean assault. “That bastard is dead already,” Torvald growled. “He’s just too stupid to realize it.”

Chapter 14

The northerners’ faces were grim as they readied their weapons on a rocky shore several miles south of Yeavenguut. Ragnhildr and Torvald had known of the place from their childhoods in Yeavenguut and had chosen to rendezvous there before the invasion. The longships had sailed up the coast for several days, taking a circuitous route to stay out of sight of any coastal settlements or fishing boats, and to give Torvald’s subterranean raiders time to reach Ingmar’s lands. Ragnhildr had decided it was too dangerous to risk a fire, so the warriors sat huddled under their cloaks. Somewhere outside the small encampment, a branch snapped. Aesgir and Helga, the sentries on duty, immediately had arrows nocked on their bows.


“Stand down,” Torvald said, stepping from the shadows. His face was streaked with grime and he reeked of torch smoke. Ragnhildr stood and passed Torvald a skin full of ale. The warrior drank it down in a few long gulps. He nodded to the assembled warriors and folded his arms. “My force is encamped around the tunnel mouth now. None of Ingmar’s sentries are in the area, and I don’t think I was followed. We’ll strike at dusk tomorrow.”


Wulfric knew that the delay was to give the warriors time to rest, but he saw the look that passed between Ragnhildr and Torvald. Against all hope, they still were waiting for Halvard to come over the horizon, though whether triumphant over the Storm Bringer or realizing the folly of his plan, Wulfric couldn’t be sure. In the days since leaving Rovngalad, he had come to doubt the jarl’s aims himself. But if there was any man in the world who could subdue and tame a creature revered as a god, it would be Halvard.


Still, Wulfric had to admit that the odds were terribly long.


Torvald stayed only long enough deliver his message, eat a strip of dried meat and clap a few of the warriors on the shoulder before returning to his own war band. Wulfric sat against Steinarr’s flank, watching Aesgir’s Sharpedo, Gunnar and Gunhild, drift idly in the dark water of the cove. Their red eyes glowed just above the water level. Svein came and sat down beside Wulfric, and the boy was quiet for a time. Finally, he turned to the monk. “Are you afraid?”


“I’m terrified. I always knew this was coming, but I thought I would be by your uncle’s side. With him not here, I can’t help but feel…”


“Like something important is missing. I know what you mean.” Svein reached up and stroked Steinarr’s horns. “Do you think he’s dead?”


The blunt question took Wulfric aback. Certainly, all of the northerners had been wondering, but none of them dared to speak it aloud. Wulfric took a shaky breath. “Svein, I’m not naïve enough to think that I would know somehow if Halvard had died. And I know that it’s likely he… that he won’t return from this. But I have to have faith that he’ll come back to us. If he doesn’t, I doubt any of us will live much longer anyway, but the world will feel far emptier without him in it.”


Svein inclined his head. “Wulfric, I’ll keep you safe. I swear it.”


Wulfric couldn’t help but smile a little. The boy was barely half his age, the smallest in the shield wall. And yet, he could see the warrior the boy was sure to become, if he lived long enough. Svein had the hard lines of Torvald’s face, but in his eyes Wulfric could see Halvard’s fire. “And I you, as far as it is within my power. We’ll stand together.”


Some time later, Ulfi came to pray. The monk and the boat builder knelt on the sand and bowed their heads. They recited several of the prayers Wulfric had taught Ulfi, going through them four times for each of the points on the Arcean ring. When they finished the litany, Ulfi shook his head. “It’s not the same without Dismas, is it?”


“No, it isn’t. For as long as I can remember, Dismas and I have always said our prayers together. And now I’m not sure if we’ll ever pray together again.”


Ulfi stared down at his hands. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. They have Uthald, and I’ve never seen a finer family of warriors than the children of Sigurd. He may not be of our flock, but I have to believe that Our Lord is guiding him. He is striking down a pagan idol, after all.”


“Prayer can only do so much, Ulfi. Things will go as Arceus wills it, but He cannot answer every prayer. Our actions are our own, and while they may be guided by His hand, it is our choices that define us. Halvard has chosen his course, and what will be, will be”



***



The fjords of Rovngalad were lined with rolling hills and pastures, well-suited for the grazing of Mareep herds. The fjords of Yeavenguut, by contrast, were hemmed in by stark, sheer cliffs of gray stone, worn smooth by centuries of the sea crashing against their base. As the Rovngalad longships rounded the inlet that led to Yeavenguut, Wulfric saw the imposing towers that guarded the mouth of the fjord once again. As he and Halvard had predicted, Donatus Builder’s chain was well below the surface, and to all appearances the harbor was open for the taking.


Ulfi, sitting next to Wulfric on the oar bench, growled low in his throat. “Steady on, boys. Keep your heads clear.”


As they entered the fjord, Wulfric could make out the sails of a small fleet of longships bobbing in the harbor. They flew the colors of several of the other jarls who were loyal to Ingmar. The Usurper had rallied his vassals to come to his aid, swelling his ranks to far outnumber the fighting men and women of Rovngalad.


It was all exactly as Halvard had predicted.


Though their fleet was outnumbered, it was known to all that Rovngalad had the swiftest and most maneuverable ships, and that their longboats were less likely than anything short of a sluggish Kalosian barge to capsize. The boat building techniques of Ulfi’s late father were one of Rovngalad’s closest-guarded secrets, imparted to Ulfi when he learned the trade and refined his father’s designs, and then shared them with a handful of trusted friends only hours before they had sailed north to Yeavenguut to ensure the trade was not forgotten.


Outnumbered they might be, but they were far from outclassed.


A horn bellowed from the walls of Ingmar’s fortress, and archers in the Usurper’s longships nocked arrows to their bows. “Wall!” Ragnhildr shouted, and the warriors of Rovngalad raised their shields above their heads as the first volley was launched. Most of the arrows fell harmlessly into the harbor, though several thudded against the invaders’ shields. The horn blasted out over the evening air several more times, and Wulfric heard the clatter of metal behind him.


He turned to watch as the long, thick chain rose slightly from beneath the waves, sealing off their retreat. Ragnhildr banged her axe against the rim of her shield. “All right! No turning back now! Let’s show them what we’re made of!” She threw back her head and roared, echoed an instant later by every warrior on the longships.


Aesgir bounded to the prow of his boat and climbed the snarling bowsprit. He sucked in a deep breath and howled, signaling to Gunnar and Gunhild to burst from the depths. The Sharpedo sliced across the surface of the water and reached the enemy longships before the Usurper’s supporters had time to figure out what was happening. The sleek water aligned burst from beneath the waves and flailed across the deck, gnashing their teeth as they thrashed to and fro. Before the sailors could respond, the Sharpedo had jumped back overboard and vanished beneath the waves.


The cheers of the Rovngalad warriors were cut short by the thudding of a large drum from somewhere on the shore. The steady one-two beat continued, though Ingmar’s ships made no move to advance. Ulfi growled again, scanning the waves. “There!” the shipwright shouted, pointing to a wake moving across the surface.


“Archers!” Ragnhildr shouted. “Prepare to fire!”


The sea surged around the Rovngalad longships as three more wakes cut across the harbor. A deep and somehow familiar roar shook the timbers of Wulfric’s ship as whatever lurked in the depths drew closer. Just before they passed below the ships, all four creatures burst from beneath the waves. Ulfi shouted a curse and Ragnhildr screamed for the archers to launch their missiles. Only Helga came to her senses enough to loose her bow, but the arrow splashed uselessly into the waves.


The four Gyarados Ingmar had summoned roared in unison. “Row!” Ragnhildr cried. “Row as fast as you can! Make for the shore!”


Aesgir whistled to his Sharpedo, and the two water aligned angled back towards the longships rowing in formation. He flashed a series of hand signals, and an instant later Gunnar and Gunnhild shot off in different directions. Gunnar leapt at the deck of one of the Usurper’s ships again, clamping down on the head and torso of a man as he passed overhead. The man flailed as his crewmates tried to beat the Sharpedo off, but when Gunnar finally thrashed his way back into the water, he had carried the upper half of the warrior with him.


Gunhild shot across the waves, angling towards the nearest Gyarados. She launched herself out of the water and tackled the leviathan, her jaws gnashing furiously as she tried to sink her fangs into its armored scales. The Gyarados whipped back and forth and managed to send Gunhild tumbling through the churning waves, but the Sharpedo had the taste of blood in her mouth. As soon as she oriented herself, she was carving back through the waves to renew her assault.


Another Gyarados swam alongside the ship at the very edge of the formation. The archers on deck pelted the serpent with arrows, though the volleys seemed to do little but agitate the monster. With a sinuous contortion of its body, it raised its tail from the water and brought it down in the center of the longship, splintering the vessel and sending the northmen aboard screaming into the sea.


Though Ivarr had gone with Torvald’s war band through the tunnel, his Beartic had sailed with the fleet. Dagmar leapt from the sinking vessel and used his heavy claws to gouge deep cuts across the Gyarados’s left eye. The beast reared up and screamed, desperately trying to shake the Beartic free. But Dagmar held firm, clutching one of the Gyarados’s spines with one claw while the other drew long, bloody rents along the soft tissue of its face. As the Gyarados bucked and thrashed, Wulfric saw the dull gleam of sharpened metal rods driven into the serpent’s back. He whirled around, trying to catch glimpses of the other three in the chaos.


“Ragnhildr!” he shouted, shoving his way down the longship. “Ragnhildr, I have a plan!”


Ragnhildr launched a flaming arrow from her bow at Ingmar’s ships, but fell short. “What are you talking about?”


“Look at the Gyarados! See the spars on their backs? Ingmar has driven them mad with pain and rage. He’s trapped them here and set them on us, but he doesn’t control them, not like Halvard and Uthald. They’re attacking anything they see, and we’re just the closest targets. But to them, one ship is just the same as any other.”


Ragnhildr’s eyes widened as she realized what Wulfric was proposing. “We can play Ingmar’s hand against himself, provided we turn them in the right direction!”


“Exactly. Can you and Sigrund—”


Ragnhildr cut him off with a wave of her hand and whistled to her Noivern. The black and purple dragon touched down lightly on the stern of the longship, clutching the prow with her claws. Ragnhildr scrambled to climb onto Sigrund’s back and braced herself in the leather straps fixed there. “You and Ulfi have command of the fleet,” she said. “Or what’s left of it, anyway. Get them to shore, Wulfric!”


The monk nodded and watched as Ragnhildr and Sigrund shot off into the sky. The Noivern swooped down at the closest Gyarados and unleashed a horrific scream. Wulfric clapped his hands over his ears and saw rivulets of blood dripping from the Gyarados’s eyes as it raged against the sheer pressure of the sound. Abruptly, Sigrund left off the auditory assault and darted across the waves, the Gyarados in pursuit. The air aligned flitted between the four sea monsters, harrying them with bursts of concussive sound and pulses of indigo light, all the while shepherding them closer to Ingmar’s ships. Aesgir had seen their gambit, and now signaled to his Sharpedo to hem in the Gyarados from the sides in much the same way the Houndour of Rovngalad kept the Mareep from straying from their flocks.


“Onward!” Ulfi bellowed. “Put your backs into it! We’ll break through them yet!”


The remaining four boats of the Rovngalad fleet advanced as Ingmar’s men deployed their own water aligned. Sharpedo, Carvanha, and a handful of Dragalgae flitted through the dark, churning waters of the harbor even as the smaller force of aqueous Rovngalad pokemon swam out to meet them. Dagmar snarled as he slashed at a pack of Carvanha that shot past him. The snarls turned into a drawn-out bellow of pain as a Sharpedo clamped down on his shoulder, only to be tackled aside by Gunnar. The two sharks tumbled through the water, a mass of teeth and trails of blood. Hjodtr, Ulfi’s Druddigon, barreled to the front of the longship and unleashed a blast of purple and white light at a Dragalgae rising from the depths. The beast screamed as it dove to safety, its frilled appendages flailing.


The Gyarados had been driven back towards Ingmar’s ships, and the Usurper’s fleet was beginning to give ground. They had seen the destructive power of the water aligned, and did not want to see the Gyarados’ wrath turned on them. Ragnhildr did not give them a choice.


She drove the Gyarados onward, whipping them into a frenzy of pain and anger. The serpents thrashed through the waves, their scaled coils smashing everything in their path. The enemy fleet was in turmoil as the rowers hastened to move around the beasts. Ragnhildr and Sigrund looped back towards the Rovngalad ships. “Now!” Ragnhildr screamed as she passed overhead. “Break through the lines! Get to the shore!”


The warriors of Rovngalad worked their oars, their shoulders rising and falling as they powered their ships onward. No one was entirely sure who first started it, but soon, every warrior on all four remaining ships was screaming a wordless battle cry, defiance and rage and pain all rolled into one sound that filled the air and drowned out even the roars of the Gyarados. When they reached the ranks of the enemy, the archers returned to their posts and began launching volleys of arrows at the Usurper’s men. Their pokemon companions clashed across the gaps in between ships, with several nimble war aligned trying to jump the gap. A pair of Gurdurr attempted to leap from the nearest ship to Wulfric’s boat. Steinarr caught the first one on his horns and tossed it into the churning sea, while Hjodtr simply clawed the second one open and tipped its bleeding form overboard.


And then, suddenly, they were through.


The warriors drove the ships up onto the beach, and several of the Rovngalad war aligned dragged them up still further, the metal rams Ulfi had affixed under the prows gleaming in the last light of day. Several of Ingmar’s ships had broken ranks and had made it to the shore as well, hemming in the Rovngalad war band on two sides. Another force advanced from before the gates of Ingmar’s citadel.


Skaldi drew his axes and rolled his shoulders. “It seems we’re surrounded.”


“A pity,” Ulfi said as he signaled for the shield wall to form up.


“For them, aye,” Helga replied as she fell into step beside the boat builder.


Ulfi glanced over his shoulder at Wulfric. “Get up on Steinarr, he’ll keep you safe. Play Halvard’s part. I may be strong, but I’m no strategist. I need you to call the shots.”


Wulfric nodded and clambered into Steinarr’s saddle. He put his hands on the Gogoat’s horns like he had seen Halvard do, and he felt Steinarr go rigid beneath him for an instant before relaxing again. He was about to give the order for Steinarr to advance, but the Gogoat seemed to instinctively know what Wulfric had intended, and set off at a trot.


Ingmar’s men regarded the warriors of Rovngalad warily, unwilling to commit to the engagement. Wulfric saw Svein standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Helga and Aesgir in the shield wall, his face grim. The boy caught Wulfric’s gaze and nodded.


As the standoff continued and the Gyarados raged in the harbor, a thundering crash echoed from the west. A Talonflame shot into the sky, her wings bathed in flame as she dove towards the stone ramparts of Yeavenguut. The warriors of Rovngalad cheered as Branna swooped and danced through the air, gracefully avoiding the arrows of the Usurper’s archers. “Charge!” Ulfi shouted, and the shield wall raced forward to meet the enemy.



***



Torvald burst from his concealed position outside Yeavenguut’s eastern gate as Branna whirled over the walls and whistled to Jarn. The Aggron rose up from small pit he had dug and lurched forward down the slope. Torvald saw the other members of his war band and their pokemon rising up from their hiding places and racing towards the gates. To any watchers along the wall, it would seem as though an invading force had simply appeared out of nowhere, an army of ghosts.


As Torvald made his way down from the rise, he met up with Ivarr, and the two warriors fell into step. The war band that had traversed the tunnel between Rovngalad and Yeavenguut had spent days in the suffocating dark with little else to do but plan their assault on the fortified gates of Ingmar’s citadel. They no longer needed to speak to coordinate their movements, having talked through them so many times on their eight day march through the tunnel. A shield wall had already begun to form at the base of the palisade, and Torvald could faintly hear the guards atop the ramparts shouting to each other, scrambling to find a way to combat the Aggron that was even now lumbering towards their fortification. Jets of flame shot down from the wall as the defenders of Yeavenguut and their fire aligned tried to drive the beast back. The stone aligned that the Rovngalad warriors had brought with them fired back with a volley of jagged rocks, making the fire aligned flinch away.


“Jarn!” Torvald barked. “Strike the gates down!” Skerast darted about his head until he held out his arms. The Doublade shot into his hands, the purple tails at the end of the blades wrapping around Torvald’s wrists and forearms. Torvald gritted his teeth as the prickling sensation that happened every time he and Skerast became one passed.


Torvald jumped up onto Jarn’s rear leg and from there onto the Aggron’s shoulder. “Men of Yeavenguut!” he shouted. “Hear my words! I am Torvald the Red! Run to your king and tell him that I am coming for him!” His arm twitched of its own volition as Skerast took control of his body. The left blade jerked up and swatted an incoming arrow from the sky, and Torvald bared his teeth in a predatory grin. “No walls can stop me! No gates will stand in my way! Tell Ingmar that I will have his head!” He jumped down from his perch on Jarn’s shoulder and nodded up to his behemoth. “Jarn, charge!”


The Aggron grunted and lowered his crested head, the metal plates that lined his body grinding together. Jarn took a few lumbering steps forward before building up speed and crashing into the heavy wooden gates. The metal braces groaned, but the gate held. “Again!” Torvald roared.


Stones and arrows rained down from the walls of Yeavenguut, but the shield wall held firm, protecting the warriors and their war and pestilence aligned partners. The thick hides and carapaces of the stone and earth aligned pokemon allowed them to shrug off the missiles. Fire rained down from above, but Jarn was undeterred. Torvald had trained Jarn and Branna together for years, ensuring Jarn was accustomed to the intense heat of a fire aligned’s flames, and it seemed that the arduous training had paid off. The Aggron barely flinched as the fire aligned of Yeavenguut tried to drive him back. He repeatedly threw his weight against the gates, making them give a little more each time.


Torvald stalked back and forth in front of the shield wall, letting Skerast do as it willed. His arms rose and fell, knocking rocks from the air and slashing arrows out of the sky. When he and Skerast bound themselves together, Torvald felt a remarkable clarity, where the noise and confusion of the world fell away, and he concerned himself with nothing beyond the next motion of his blades. Skerast seemed to hum in his hands, but it was not a hum that he could hear. He felt it in his bones, a deep reverberation that was like a second heartbeat.


Skerast felt things differently than Torvald did, experienced the world in a way that was utterly alien to him, but years of being bonded had allowed Torvald some insight. At that moment, Skerast hungered for blood, and in his twinned consciousness, Torvald did too.


Jarn threw himself against the gates once more, and there was a long groan followed by a thunderous crack as the wooden beams that held the gate split at last. The doors flew open as Jarn allowed his momentum to carry him through into the passage beyond the gates. A group of would-be defenders fled before the steel aligned, unwilling to pit their blades against the monster that had destroyed their supposedly unbreachable gate. Jarn roared, sending them scattering into Yeavenguut.


Torvald stalked forward, Skerast’s blades glinting in moonlight. The Doublade vibrated in his hands. “Yes,” Torvald snarled. “Time to feast.”



***



The corpses of the fallen, both human and pokemon, were strewn across the plain before the southern gates of Yeavenguut. A portion of Ingmar’s forces retreated to the citadel when it became clear that the eastern gate had been breached, but the warriors of Rovngalad were still outnumbered. Wulfric sat astride Steinarr’s back as the Gogoat galloped along the fringes of the enemy forces. Pokemon fought bitterly in the space just before the Rovngalad shield wall. Dagmar grappled with a Pangoro, forcing the dark aligned to the ground and tearing out its throat. Geirr and Talvar bounded back and forth between the enemy’s shields and the defensive bulwark of the Rovngalad warriors, dark red hellfire dripping from their maws. Helga’s Bisharp held a formation with a handful of others of its line, their metal appendages glinting under the light of the stars. Hjodtr sported several fresh wounds, but the dragon still stood strong, his claws red with blood. Somewhere overhead, Ragnhildr and Sigrund battled against Ingmar’s air aligned.


Occasionally the shield wall would part to allow Skaldi’s Breloom to unleash a barrage of explosive seeds against the enemy shields, but the men of Yeavenguut refused to give ground. Wulfric directed Steinarr back towards the Rovngalad formation with a brief shift of his weight. The Gogoat bounded across the trampled grass, nimbly dodging a Conkledurr. Wulfric signaled to Ulfi, and the boat builder shifted his position to the back of the formation. “We need to go on the offensive,” Wulfric said. “Torvald won’t last long without reinforcements.”


Ulfi nodded. “One desperate charge then? Hit them hard before they know what’s coming?”


“I suppose Steinarr and I will have to lead it, won’t I?”


“It’s what Steinarr was born to do.” Ulfi smiled in a way that was probably supposed to be encouraging. “Go with Arceus, Wulfric. Let His grace be your shield.”


Wulfric reached up with his free hand and touched the iron ring around his neck. The grace of Arceus was all well and good, but he wasn’t about to set aside his wood and iron shield either. “Ready the men.”


“Aye, we’re ready.”


Wulfric took a deep breath. “Men of Rovngalad!” he cried, praying his voice wouldn’t crack. “No more of these games! On to Yeavenguut!”


The warriors answered with a cheer as Steinarr galloped forward and launched himself over the top of the shield wall with a single bound of his muscular legs. They landed with a jolt that Wulfric felt in his teeth while Geirr, Talvar and the other Houndour raced to their side. Helga’s Bisharp made a chittering noise, and soon a rough formation of Pawniard and Bisharp darted in front of them. Wulfric drew his sword and gulped.


Oh Arceus, I’m really doing this, this is actually happening, Arceus have mercy…


He heard his comrades in arms behind him screaming a wordless battle cry, and before he knew it, he was screaming too, hoping against hope that somewhere far across the sea, Halvard was listening. They met the enemy lines with crash of steel on steel, and Steinarr took command. The Gogoat bucked and tossed his horned head, hurling enemies from his path and crushing the wooden shields of his foes. Wulfric held on as tightly as he could, trying not to be thrown off by his rampaging steed.


From above came a high pitched whine that quickly grew in intensity before culminating in a deafening thunderclap. All combatants on the field below were momentarily stunned as two dark shapes flitted in front of the moon. Even with the light against him, Wulfric could vaguely make out the shapes of two Noivern. “Keep fighting!” Ragnhildr screamed down from above, the words sounding oddly muted to Wulfric’s ears, as though coming through several layers of cloth. Sigrund lunged out in front of the moon as well, winging her way higher. A pulse of indigo and white light shot from her mouth, sweeping across the midnight sky and momentarily driving the enemy dragons back.


The warriors on the ground shook off their temporary deafness and resumed their clash. By now, the fighting had worn on for some time, and fatigue was beginning to show on both sides. But the warriors of Rovngalad fought with a desperation Ingmar’s men lacked, knowing that they had nowhere to retreat to. Behind them were four rampaging and pain-maddened Gyarados and a blocked harbor, and before them a citadel full of enemies. Breaking ranks to flee to the tunnel to be hunted down in the dark was no better alternative than dying beneath the moon.


And so Ingmar’s forces continued to lose ground, and lose men. “We have them on the run!” Ulfi boomed. “One more press! One more charge! Onward!”


In the air above, Sigrund hissed and screamed as she fought back the enemy Noivern. Though she was clearly stronger, she was tiring and Ingmar’s dragons had the advantage of numbers. Sigrund’s sonic pulses were growing weaker and her movements sluggish, though she still managed to beat her foes back and protect Ragnhildr clinging to her back. With one last defiant scream, she unleashed another pulse, sending the two other dragons wheeling higher into the upper air.


They tucked their wings into their flanks and dove, their ears quivering as they prepared another attack. Sigrund tried to repel them again, but could not muster the strength. The two Noivern released deafening sonic blasts simultaneously, catching Sigrund in the middle. The sound drowned out Ragnhildr and Sigrund’s screams of agony as their eardrums burst and blood welled in their eyes.


Sigrund fell, her wings hanging limply at her sides as she plummeted. The straps that held Ragnhildr to the dragon’s back had broken, and the woman tumbled through the air behind the Noivern. For the briefest instant, she fell in front of the moon, her golden hair shining around her head like the halo of an Arcean saint.


But she continued to fall, crashing to earth with a plume of dust. “No,” Wulfric gasped. It didn’t seem possible that the fiery woman who had only moments before commanded the full strength of Rovngalad could be struck down so easily.


“Mother!” Svein screamed from within the shield wall, shoving at his comrades to fight his way clear and run to Ragnhildr’s side. Ulfi grabbed the boy and dragged him back into the formation.


“No one could have survived a fall like that,” the boat builder said. “We’ll grieve for her later, but if you leave the wall now, you put us all in danger.” Svein nodded and wiped his tears away. Ulfi nodded. “Don’t worry, lad. We’ll make them pay. Helga! Take those bastards down!”


The warrior woman nodded and fell back to the center of the shield wall, her comrades filling the gap she left. She nocked an arrow to her bow and scanned the sky, waiting for Ingmar’s Noivern to pass in front of the moon. Now that Sigrund had fallen, there was no need to worry about accidentally striking her. Helga drew her arm back and let out a breath, releasing her bowstring with a loud twang. The arrow flew straight and true, burying itself in the breast of one of the Noivern. The beast screamed as it fell, but when it hit the ground, it stopped struggling. The other dragon shrieked in panic and fled to the safety of Yeavenguut, and Helga cursed as its shadow moved out of range.


Ulfi maneuvered himself to the rear of the shield wall and signaled to Wulfric. “We need to finish this. Give the order to move on.”


“Charge!” Wulfric shouted. “For Ragnhildr!”


The warriors of Rovngalad roared in answer and began to hammer at the remnants of Yeavenguut’s defenders. They were near the gates now, and many of Ingmar’s men had been falling back through the heavy doors. Wulfric suspected that once the Rovngalad warriors drew close enough, the gates would close, leaving those that remained to fight to the bitter end with the invaders.


When they were within range of the citadel’s archers, arrows began to rain down from the walls. The warriors of both war bands ducked beneath their shields. When the hail of arrows relented, Ulfi and Wulfric ordered another charge, hoping to strike down the last of Ingmar’s forces before they could rally again. Steinarr lunged into the fray, his horns goring and tossing aside human and pokemon alike. Dagmar snarled as he tore screaming men limb from limb. Skaldi whirled through the enemy ranks, his axes rising and falling and thudding against wood and bone. Soon, the arrows began again, but it was too late to save the last defenders of the gates of Yeavenguut.


The warriors of Rovngalad retreated to just outside the range of the archers’ bows to rest for a spell while Dagmar, Hjodtr and a handful of the surviving war aligned dragged the largest of the longships up from the beach. Helga, Aesgir and the other Rovngalad archers stood with their bows trained on the gates, ready to shoot down any who tried to break through their lines. Ulfi made his way over to Wulfric, favoring his left side. “So Ragnhildr is gone?”


“I’m afraid so. Ulfi, what’s wrong with you?”


The boat builder removed his hand from his side, and it came away slick with blood. “One of the bastards got me good,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m holding it together for the men, but I won’t last long.” He let out a low groan of pain.


“We need to try and stop the bleeding! We can sew you up and—”


“No,” Ulfi said. “It’s too late. I can feel the darkness coming. Trying to save me would be a waste of time.”


Wulfric slid from Steinarr’s saddle and took Ulfi’s broad, calloused hands in his own. “Please, let us try to help you. I was too late for Ragnhildr but you… I can’t lose you too.”


Ulfi forced a smile. “I’m going to join our god, Wulfric. I can almost hear Him calling to me. I’m going to be with my wife and son.” His face contorted in pain. “But I’ll hold the gate for you, one last time.”


The pokemon returned, bearing the overturned longboat on their shoulders. The large iron prow Ulfi and Ivarr had affixed it with shone dully in the moonlight. Torvald had breached the gates of Rovngalad with Jarn, but the southern invasion force would have no such help. Ulfi had designed the ram to sit below the water level, keeping it a secret from any ships that the Usurper pitted against them until they were able to land. They had planned to carry the ship on their shoulders, shielding the attackers from arrows while they battered down the gates.


Ulfi shooed the war aligned away from the boat, taking the weight up onto his shoulders with a grimace. His veins in his arms and throat pulsed with the effort. Dagmar and Hjodtr remained behind, helping him bear the load. “I don’t have long,” he growled to the dragon and the ice aligned. “We’ll have to make this quick.”


“This is suicide!” Wulfric cried.


“This is dying with honor,” Ulfi replied. “Men of Rovngalad, on many raids I have held the gates for you! Allow me the privilege one last time!”


The northmen cheered his valor and willingness to face death, but Wulfric could only stare in mute shock as Ulfi charged towards the gates, heedless of his mortal wound. He slammed the heavy prow against the doors, and a tremendous boom resounded through the night air. “Arceus,” Ulfi hissed as he slammed the ship against the gate once more. “Soon I will stand before Your gates and join You in Your glowing halls.” Another boom, another searing pain in his side. “As I held the gates in this world, I swear to You, Lord of Light, I shall hold the gates in the next.” He bit down on his lip to stifle a cry of pain. “My wife and son, and the countless northmen who came before them never had the chance to accept Your grace. Can You truly bar them from Your glowing halls just for that? I will break the gates down if I have to. I will not spend eternity without my family.” It was taking all of his focus to stand. His arms trembled under the weight of the longship. It wouldn’t be long now.


“Put your backs into it!” Ulfi shouted at the two pokemon behind him. If they didn’t break the doors down before he ran out of time… well, that didn’t bear thinking about. He could feel the wooden slabs giving more and more each time they struck. Every fiber of Ulfi’s being screamed with agony, and his shirt was soaked through with blood.


“Oh great Arceus,” he rasped. “You are my shepherd, under Your gaze I shall not want. May You guide us to pastures green, and lead us to lie by still waters.” Of all the prayers Wulfric had taught him, that had been his favorite. It reminded him of home. “Guide me to Your embrace, Arceus.” The doors shuddered one final time before bursting open. Ulfi stumbled forward, shrugging the longship off his shoulders. A handful of Ingmar’s warriors waited for him in the narrow passage between the gates and the city itself. The shield wall parted, and archers fired. Three arrows struck Ulfi, and he fell to his knees. “Take me into Your light, Lord of All.”


Dimly, he heard someone call out his name, and then everything faded.


Wulfric saw Ulfi fall. “No,” the monk gasped. Beside him, Skaldi unleashed a wailing, inhuman scream. The northern priest snatched a crystal vial from beneath his armor and held it under his nose, inhaling the brown spores within. Skaldi’s breathing grew ragged, and an instant later the priest sprinted forward, his Breloom a pace behind. When they reached the gates, Skaldi blew past Hjodtr and Dagmar, vaulting off the splintered door and leaping at the enemy formation. His axes glinted in the torchlight as he descended, another scream ripping from his lungs.


Using his axe’s hooked blade, he dragged the first warrior out of formation and used his second weapon to cave in the man’s skull. His Breloom darted forward, jabbing with lightning-quick blows as his master danced through the chaos, bathing in the blood of the Usurper’s warriors. Hjodtr stirred himself and charged roaring into the fray, heedless of the spears and blades of Ingmar’s men. The dragon was soon bleeding from many fresh wounds as he tore warriors apart with his claws.


Skaldi’s howling was drowned out by the screams of dying men as the priest and the pokemon butchered them. Wulfric could only watch in mute horror as one of the Usurper’s warriors brought his axe down on Hjodtr’s thick skull, stunning the dragon long enough for his comrade to drive a sword into the small, vulnerable triangle of skin on the Druddigon’s neck. Hjodtr opened his fanged maw to roar one more time, but no sound emerged. In a final, battle-maddened act, his claws shot out, pulling his killers into a deadly embrace, puncturing their armor and likely several organs.


In a matter of minutes, the bloodbath was over. Skaldi and his Breloom stood over the corpses of their foes, the priest up to his elbows in blood. His rapid breathing slowed as the spore-induced trance wore off, and he licked a spatter of fresh blood from his lips. “Yveltal,” he rasped. “I offer this feast to you. And before the night is out, I shall offer you far more.”


The remnants of the Rovngalad force hurried to the gate to join Skaldi. Their numbers had been winnowed since they had landed on the beach several hours ago, and they were all exhausted. Crashes and screams sounded from deeper within Yeavenguut, and several buildings were burning. Distantly, Wulfric could hear Jarn’s grating roar. He slowly became aware that the northmen were looking to him for orders. Steinarr was tense beneath him, straining to rejoin the fighting.


He pointed to several of the most exhausted warriors. “You remain here with the wounded to guard our retreat. The gate is as defensible a position as any. If things get bad, fall back down to the beach.” He glanced at Ulfi’s body. “Take him back with you, if you can.” Wulfric turned to the rest of the beleaguered warriors. “The rest of you are with me. We will carry on and join up with Torvald. And from there, we take the fight to the Usurper.” He held his sword aloft, tried to channel an inner reservoir of energy he was not sure he possessed. “Onward, warriors of Rovngalad!”

Chapter 15

Halvard squinted against the wind and spray as a rocky island came into view in the south. He had expected to feel nervous, but now that the Storm Bringer’s lair was in sight, all he felt was a strange kind of resignation. Everything in his life had built up to this moment, and success or failure teetered on the edge of a blade. Halvard had never put much stock in fate or the whims of the gods, and he wasn’t about to start now. Whether or not he died here was entirely in his hands. One misstep was all it would take for him to meet an untimely end.


But he had danced on the precipice of life and death many times. This was nothing new.


Uthald rumbled beneath him, a vibration Halvard felt in the soles of his boots and up through his clenched teeth. A fork of lightning split the overcast sky, throwing the crags on the shore into sharp relief for a handful of heartbeats. “Arceus have mercy,” Dismas chirped on Halvard’s shoulder.


“Wulfric’s god can’t help us now,” the jarl said. “Where we’re going, there’s only one god that matters.”


Uthald adjusted his course and slowly swam up a narrow inlet that reached to nearly the center of the island. Like the fjords back in Rovngalad, the inlet ran deep, with a sharp drop-off only a few feet from the shore. Uthald drew as close to the drop-off as he could, and Halvard jumped down from his perch on the leviathan’s skull, splashing to the shore. He took Dismas from his shoulder and set the air aligned down on a nearby boulder. “We’ve come this far together, lads. But the next steps are ones I ought to take alone.” He met each of their eyes in turn, Dismas’s wide and inquisitive, Uthald’s resolute and cold as flint. “But I need you both ready to fight. Can I count on you?”


Uthald growled low in his throat, and Dismas puffed up his feathers. “That’s my boys.” Halvard slung one of the stone-tipped spears he had made over his shoulder, leaving the rest in a bundle near Dismas’s stone. They had stopped on the forested shores of northern Kalos the previous day, where Halvard had hewn the spears from the sturdy branches he found there, affixing them with stone heads he had carried from Rovngalad. He had seen what happened to metal in a thunderstorm, and did not want his fight with the Storm Bringer to end before it had even begun.


Halvard carefully picked his way across the island, keeping his eye on the large crater in the center. Lightning continued to streak across the sky, followed by percussive booms of thunder. Fortunately, the rain was only a fine mist, not enough to make the rocks treacherous. Soon Halvard crested the rise of the central crater and saw the Storm Bringer in all of its glory. The massive bird raised its head and held Halvard’s gaze for a long moment.


The beast screamed in anger and indignation, spreading its golden and black wings and beating them furiously. Halvard cringed as its feathers rattled together in mimicry of the thunder above, and the gale from the wingbeats was enough to make him stagger back a pace. “Storm Bringer!” he roared as loudly as he could. “I have need of your power!”


The god screamed again, shooting into the sky. Lightning crackled around it, creating a halo of white and blue light. Bolts scorched the ground near Halvard, and he felt the heat even from several feet away. The stone cracked under the lightning’s fury, leaving smaller craters. Halvard began to wish he’d thought of a better plan.


Well, too late for that now.


He threw back his head and roared again, a wordless shout of defiance. Zapdos swooped toward him, and Halvard took off at a sprint, vaulting down the rocks. “Come on, you oversized Fletchinder!” he called. “Hit me with your best shot!” Halvard had a moment of sudden inspiration, and he jumped at a rocky spar just before him. He grabbed on with one hand and pulled himself up to the shelf before running to the highest point he could reach. “Hey!” the jarl shouted, waving his arms. “Over here!”


The Storm Bringer whirled about in the air, finally spying Halvard. As it swooped towards him, Halvard settled his stance and let out a breath. As soon as Zapdos came within range, he hurled his spear, striking the god in its flank, just below the wing joint. The god of thunder howled as the missile found its mark, breaking off its dive and winging up into the air. The lightning around it shone brighter, and Halvard felt his hair stand on end. The wooden spear embedded in the Storm Bringer’s side burst into tiny shards as the heat from the lightning causing it to explode.


Halvard jumped from his precipice and took off running again, but not before taking a heartbeat to check that he had actually wounded the god. A spot of crimson blood stained the Storm Bringer’s golden feathers, and Halvard couldn’t help but feeling a flush of triumph. The gods might be monstrosities powerful beyond his comprehension, but they weren’t invulnerable. And that was all he needed to know.


He raced towards the inlet where Uthald and Dismas waited. “Get ready!” he called. “It’s coming!” He reached down and scooped up another spear “And it’s angry!”


Zapdos shot out over their heads, glowing like a second sun. The Storm Bringer soared out over the ocean before looping back around. Thunder filled the air, echoing the god’s furious cry. Uthald shifted his coils and reared up, a white light gathering in his maw. The Storm Bringer unleashed a column of lightning at the Gyarados, but the water aligned answered with a blast of pure energy. The two attacks met and detonated with a boom that drowned out even the thunder. Dismas’s feathers bristled as the smoke from the explosion cleared.


Uthald slipped beneath the waves and into the safety of the depths to recover from the attack while Zapdos flew forward drunkenly, listing too far to the left. Halvard turned to Dismas. “Uthald won’t be able to save us for a little while. Looks like it’s just you and me.”


Dismas fluttered his wings and launched into the sky. “Once more to break the shields! Once more and forward!” he screamed as he ascended. “Once more to fight and conquer!”


Halvard couldn’t help but admire the Chatot’s spirit. He ran back up the rise and waved his arms. “Zapdos! I’m not finished with you yet!”


The Storm Bringer whirled towards his voice and shrieked. Halvard hurled the second spear, a near miss. Zapdos unleashed all of the lightning it had gathered in its feathers, and Halvard barely managed to dive for cover. The exploding stones threw him from his feet and sent him stumbling and off-balance. The Storm Bringer was no longer glowing, and Dismas saw his opportunity to strike.


Stiffening the feathers in his wings, he ascended in a flurry of wingbeats and began to attack the god. Zapdos merely turned in the air and swatted the Chatot away with a contemptuous flick of its wingtips, making Dismas scream in indignation. The Chatot managed to right himself, but Halvard lost him among the roiling storm clouds. He fetched his third spear and climbed to another rise. “Uthald!" he shouted. "Any time you want to get back up here, I’d certainly appreciate it!”


This time, he waited to cast his spear. He couldn’t afford any more misses; once this one was gone, he would have only three left. He ducked into the shadow of a rock formation, out of the Storm Bringer’s line of sight. The god of thunder soared up, scanning the ground for the interlopers, but it saw no sign of them. Halvard watched as the giant thunder aligned cruised lower, lower, until finally it landed on the ground just beneath Halvard’s vantage point, surveying the rocky crags with its startlingly blue eyes.


Halvard leapt from his hiding place and attacked the beast from above, managing to score a slash just above the Storm Bringer’s left eye. Half-blinded, the Zapdos screamed and tried to find Halvard, but the jarl was careful to stay on its left. The bird lunged, and Halvard dropped his spear in his haste to get away, the weapon clattering down the rocks. At that moment, Uthald surged up from the depth, sinking his teeth into the Storm Bringer’s right leg. Disoriented and in pain, the Storm Bringer did not even think to lash out with lightning, instead beating at Uthald with its wings until the Gyarados let go and slithered back into the sea. Halvard cringed when he saw that the sea serpent’s coils had knocked two of the remaining spears into the depths. Zapdos shot back up into the sky, making the heavens shake with its pain and anger.


A lesser pokemon would have fled to nurse its wounds, but the Storm Bringer was a proud and haughty god, and it would not let an indignity such as this go unpunished. The interlopers had come into its territory, and had gone so far as to wound it. It channeled the power flowing through its veins and rained lightning down on the island. Halvard snatched up the final spear as he ran for cover, sliding over the rain-slick stones as he tried to avoid the Storm Bringer’s one-eyed gaze. When the god of thunder passed overhead, Uthald unleashed another blast of white light at its undefended back. The beam went wide, only singeing Zapdos’s right wing. Halvard clenched his teeth as he watched Uthald slip back into the darkness beneath the waves to gather his strength again. Until the Gyarados returned, he was on his own with nothing but a single spear and his wits.


It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.


He flitted from shadow to shadow while the god of thunder whirled overhead, flashes of brilliant light punctuated by echoing booms. Halvard couldn’t afford to stay in any one place too long, not with the Storm Bringer’s lightning striking everything in sight. It was safer to keep moving, so move he did. As he ran from hiding place to hiding place, he slid on the rocks and tumbled into a crevice. He heard the spear snap, but could see that he was still holding the end with the stone head. Small blessings. Halvard was reasonably sure the Storm Bringer could not see him, but he wasn’t about to wager his life on it. The jarl tried to extricate himself and felt a searing pain in his right arm, and only barely managed to bite back a scream.


He could move a few of his fingers, so the arm was not broken, but it was at the very least dislocated. With his spear-throwing arm injured, he would need a new plan. Working as quickly as he could, he climbed out of the crevice, his left hand still clutching the final spear. It was useless to him now, impossible to throw straight, or even with any accuracy. But he felt better having a weapon in his hand.


He tried pushing his shoulder back into its socket, but he couldn’t manage it on his own, not with the rhythm of battle hammering in his ears and his body numb with cold. Halvard crept along the rocky shore to the inlet, where he could see Uthald rising to the surface. Zapdos had spotted the Gyarados too, and was beginning to glow as it summoned another blast of lightning. “Uthald, no!” Halvard screamed, knowing it would give away his position, knowing that he didn’t care. “Stay down, damn it! Stay down!”


But if the Gyarados heard him, Uthald gave no sign. The serpent burst from the waves with a roar, and the lightning around the Storm Bringer grew blinding. Halvard turned to avert his eyes from what was inevitably going to follow.


A boom louder even than the Storm Bringer’s thunder made Halvard stagger back. The blinding flash of lightning never came, and so there was no agonized roar of a dying Gyarados, no stench of charred flesh. The boom sounded again, and this time Halvard raised his eyes skyward. The Storm Bringer was wheeling about in the air, disoriented and confused.


A small dot of green fluttered around the Storm Bringer, and then the sound came again, nearly knocking the god of thunder from the sky. “Dismas!” Halvard gasped, nearly crying from relief. “Dismas, you’ve saved us all!” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Keep it up, you mad bastard! We’ll win this yet!”


He sprinted down to the water’s edge while the Chatot continued to harry the Storm Bringer, keeping it dazed and unable to focus. “It’s time to finish this,” he panted to Uthald. “I have a plan, and you aren’t going to like it.” The Gyarados rumbled deep in his throat, large eyes narrowing to slits. “But I need you to trust me.” The jarl extended his hand, palm out. “All right?” Uthald inched forward, putting his head against Halvard’s hand. Halvard pressed his fingertips against Uthald’s scales. “Thank you.”


He was sure that by now all of the warriors of Rovngalad had written him off as dead, and if they were not themselves dead already, they soon would be, crushed under Ingmar’s superior military might. He had the power to change their fates, to save all of them. He could subdue a god, reclaim his birthright, avenge Runa, save Wulfric, save Svein, save Ragnhildr and Torvald and everyone else. He was the Fool of Rovngalad. He was the rightful king of the north. He would be the first man to tame a god. He had to.


Wulfric was counting on him.


Halvard clutched the broken spear in his left hand. “All right, Uthald. Are you ready to help me pierce the heavens?”


In the air above, Dismas sparred with a god. The Chatot beat his wings furiously, trying to keep up with the Storm Bringer. He fired off a constant barrage of explosive sound, a technique that Ragnhildr and Sigrund had taken pains to teach him. Each burst sent him tumbling head-over-tail feathers through the air, barely giving him time to fill his lungs before he had to fire off the next blast. The Storm Bringer’s confusion was quickly giving way to anger once again, and Dismas was getting fatigued.


A three note whistle pierced the air, a sound Dismas knew well. It was the tune the shepherds of Rovngalad used to call in the Mareep from the pasture, that Torvald used to summon Dismas and Branna back from an aerial sparring session. That song was a call for pokemon to return, to come back to the sheltering arms of the humans who cared for them. Dismas folded his wings to his sides and dove.


He shot through the air towards the inlet where Halvard and Uthald waited, and the Storm Bringer followed. Dismas spread his wings to increase drag and alight softly on Uthald’s crown, where he had expected Halvard to be. The Chatot had barely managed to find his footing before Uthald lurched forward, swinging his coils around and whipping his tail towards the Storm Bringer.


Halvard pressed himself against his partner’s tail fin, letting go when it reached terminal velocity and allowing himself to be flung through the air towards the god of thunder. He opened his mouth and screamed as he raised the broken spear in his left hand. Lightning flashed and thunder crashed as he flew through the air, straight at the Storm Bringer.

Chapter 16

King Ingmar’s warriors fled before the strength of Rovngalad. The invaders pursued the defenders through the streets of Yeavenguut, breaking through the hastily constructed barricades and routing their enemies. Their prowess on the battlefield lived up to their boasting, for they truly were the finest warriors in the north.


And they were losing.


The Usurper’s men were making them bleed for every inch of ground they took. The defenders of Yeavenguut were content to cut their losses and retreat towards the center of the citadel, luring the Rovngalad invaders in to try and break them against more fortified positions. Ingmar had reserves, and the strength of the Rovngalad warriors was dwindling. They had been fighting all through the night, and their numbers had thinned. The men of Yeavenguut weren’t the only ones lying dead in the streets.


Torvald knew that he was being baited into a trap, but he didn’t care. He and Skerast had been bound together for hours, and his bloodlust had risen to match the spirit aligned’s. Even if he wanted to stop now, he would not have been able to. So he would continue on to the center of Yeavenguut, to the Usurper, and he would rise to meet whatever tricks Ingmar would throw at him. He would cast down the man who had killed his father and uncle in his brother’s stead. And if he could not… well, there were worse ways to die.


Sometime during the night, a light rain had begun to fall, and the raindrops traced paths in the blood that coated Torvald’s face and arms. Behind him, Ivarr grunted as he drove the point of his sword through the leather armor of an enemy warrior, and then again as he kicked the man off his blade. Jarn bellowed as he charged into a line of fire aligned, his armor bearing a multitude of new pits and scars. The defenders had forced Torvald’s band south and west through the city, obviously intending to wear down his strength by making him take a circuitous route to Ingmar's position at the center. This was one of the largest groups of defenders yet, and already they had claimed two of Torvald’s men. Torvald gritted his teeth and prepared to jump into the fray again, but before he could, the air was filled with the sound of rattling metal.


A pack of Pawniard and Bisharp burst from a nearby street and sprinted towards the enemy warriors. The steel aligned fell upon them and began to claw away at the defenders of Yeavenguut. There was a long, echoing roar as a Beartic crashed through the wooden wall of a small hut and continued onward, plowing into the Yeavenguut warriors’ hastily formed shield wall. “Dagmar!” Ivarr cried, running to aid his partner.


The invaders from the southern gate arrived shortly after their pokemon partners, and with their aid, Torvald and his men soon beat the Yeavenguut defenders into a hasty retreat. Torvald signaled for his men to stand at ease, and they all reached for their water skins. They had been replenishing their water from Yeavenguut’s stocks when they could find it, but as the night had worn on, Ingmar’s men had been destroying any water barrels they passed to deny the invaders.


Wulfric swung off Steinarr’s back and limped wearily over to Torvald. “What are your losses?” the monk asked.
His face looked even more pale and drawn than usual.

Torvald scanned his men. “More than I’d like. Is my sister with you?” Wulfric hid his eyes and Torvald sucked in a breath. “No. I don’t believe it.”


“I watched her fall, Torvald.”


“Damn it all! And Ulfi? Is he—”


“He died getting us through the gates.”


Torvald cursed and paced back and forth, Skerast humming in his hands. “Ingmar’s going to pay.” He stopped and turned towards the center of Yeavenguut. “We’ve got enough between us to keep pressing forward, don’t we? Enough of this circling around, enough dancing to Ingmar’s tune. I say we make our own path to Ingmar’s hall. Between Jarn and Dagmar, we can break through the buildings and take them by surprise.”


Wulfric looked at the exhausted war bands. “It’s a risky move, but we won’t hold out for much longer. One way or another, we have to end this soon.” He looked up at the sky. “Dawn is coming. We can hold our ground here until then and give everyone a chance to rest for a spell.”


Torvald’s hands tightened around Skerast’s hilts. He wanted to run ahead, to kill, but even through his battle-madness, he could see the wisdom in Wulfric’s words. He nodded and gave the order to establish a defensive formation and for the men to rest. Many of them sagged against the remains of buildings or looked for their friends and comrades from the other invasion group. Occasionally there were gasps, growls of anger or small choked sobs when someone learned of the death of a comrade, but the northerners held fast to their stoicism and kept their grief private.


When the dark clouds above their heads lightened with the promise of dawn, Torvald gave the signal to advance. Jarn lashed out with his heavy tail, destroying a craftsman’s workshop and trudging forward through the wreckage. Dagmar barreled ahead, throwing his weight against wooden houses and reducing them to shattered timbers. Wulfric and Steinarr galloped alongside the large pokemon while Ivarr and Torvald ran after their pokemon partners. The rest of the remaining warriors followed in a mass just behind, shields raised and ready to form into a wall should they meet opposition.


They made no attempt to hide their charge, and soon a sizable force of defenders had marshaled before them, hoping to hold them back. Torvald and Ivarr smashed into the enemy line, and Skaldi sprinted past Steinarr, once again under the sway of his Breloom’s psychotropic spores. The priest howled a long, keening battle cry as his axes rose and fell, flashing in the morning light. Behind Wulfric, the remaining warriors of Rovngalad fell into a shield wall before charging.


Steinarr bounded forward, tossing his crowned head and flinging enemy war aligned aside. Torvald danced and twirled through the chaos, spreading the bloodstains that covered his upper body. Shields cracked and splintered, spears broke and swords clanged. Wulfric had long since given up the pretense of giving Steinarr commands; the Gogoat was bred for warfare and knew better than Wulfric how to navigate a battlefield. But he could feel Steinarr’s breathing getting ragged, and the thick leaves that made up the grass aligned’s mane were growing waxy and limp. The drawn-out battles of the previous night had begun to take their toll on Steinarr, just as they had taken their toll on the men. If Ingmar’s plan had been to wear their forces down before leading them into a trap, he had succeeded.


After coming this far, there was no other course but to play right into Ingmar’s hands. Wulfric didn’t like it, and he could only pray that they had some trick left, one last gambit that Ingmar couldn’t predict.


They broke through the line of Yeavenguut fighters, driving a wedge through the shield wall and flanking the enemy from behind. The rest of the battle was brief and bloody, and casualties on the Rovngalad side were light. Torvald paced anxiously as they dispatched their injured foes. But soon they were off again, Jarn and Dagmar cutting straight to the heart of Yeavenguut, where Ingmar’s stone hall stood.


They burst into the wide central market plaza of the citadel, the stalls abandoned and the morning air quiet and still but for the panting of the warriors and the low grunts of Jarn and Dagmar. The heavy door to Ingmar’s hall scraped open, and a cohort of the largest warriors Wulfric had yet seen trooped out, forming a defensive line. Before they locked their shields together, a crowd of war and fire aligned passed through and took up position in front of their masters.


The two forces glowered at each other for several heartbeats, each waiting for the other to make a move. Wulfric saw Torvald twitch, saw him make the decision to sprint forward and cut them all down, but before he could act on it, the Usurper himself emerged.


Ingmar was flanked by several more hulking bodyguards, and Agmundr, his red-robed priest, stood at the king’s left hand. A scarred Zangoose with graying fur stood at his right while an Aegislash drifted behind his head. Ingmar’s mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “I’ll admit that I’m impressed you made it this far, Torvald the Red. Bringing along your pet monster was a clever trick. Though I’m a bit disappointed your brother isn’t here. Did we kill him already? Or was he too much of a coward to face me himself?”


Torvald ground his teeth together and tightened his grip around Skerast’s hilts. “I’ll kill you,” he rasped. “I’ll rip your head from your shoulders!”


“I’d like to see you try,” Ingmar sneered. “Crush them!” he ordered his men. “Show them what happens when you stand against the king!”


Wulfric raised his sword. “Onward, warriors of Rovngalad!” The surviving invaders shouted out in answer and took off over the packed earth of the square.


“Onward!” Ivarr shouted. “For Halvard!”


“For Ragnhildr!” Skaldi shrieked. “For Ulfi, and all of our dead! Make them pay!”


Dagmar was the first to reach the enemy. With one massive claw, he lifted up and hurled a Pyroar against the stone walls of Ingmar’s keep while using his other paw to fend off a Gurdurr. Jarn guarded their eastern flank, using his stony bulk to deter any that tried to outmaneuver the invaders. Branna soared through the air with the few remaining air aligned of Rovngalad, battering away enemy air and spirit aligned that tried to attack from above. Bisharp and Pawniard traded blows while larger war aligned struggled to subdue each other. Steinarr vaulted over the enemy line with Wulfric clinging to his back, driving into the guards from behind and forcing a gap that Svein, Geirr and Talvar rushed to fill.


Torvald ignored them all, sprinting forward and vaulting off an enemy shield to land solidly on the far side of the shield wall. Before Ingmar’s bodyguards could even draw their blades, Torvald had cut all four of them down and sprang at the Usurper. Ingmar’s Zangoose leapt in front of its master, catching Skerast’s blades on its claws and stalling Torvald for just long enough for Ingmar to bind himself to his Aegislash. When Torvald came in for another strike, the Usurper caught the blow on his shield and sent Torvald staggering back a pace with a well-timed shove.


Torvald growled low in his throat as he charged in again. He no longer thought, only acted. Skerast’s humming had intensified, becoming a buzzing mantra in the back of his mind, endlessly repeating die die die die die die. The Doublade’s lust for blood and death was an echo of Torvald’s own. He could no longer say where the spirit aligned ended and he began. Their minds were one, and they moved as one being. He wanted to feel Ingmar’s blood on his face like he had never wanted anything else in his life. He hungered for it. He needed it.


Ingmar was a skilled swordsman, but Torvald was by far the superior fighter. Had Torvald been fresh, the bout would have been over in seconds. But he had been fighting since nightfall the previous day with almost no rest, and the strain had begun to take its toll. His movements were slower than they ought to be, his strikes just a fraction of a second too late to capitalize on the openings Ingmar unwittingly left him. The king’s Zangoose pounced, and Torvald’s left arm lashed out to strike the beast down. The Zangoose managed to parry the blow and avoid being disemboweled, but it was a near thing. He attacked Ingmar with his right hand, forcing the king to be on the defensive. When Ingmar raised his shield and lowered his sword, Torvald whirled on his Zangoose and drove his left blade into the beast’s chest and tore upwards, killing it before it could cry out in pain. Ingmar snarled in anger and pressed his assault.


The Usurper managed to hold Torvald on the steps of his hall, but the fight was pushing him to his limits. The tales of Torvald’s prowess had been no exaggeration, and despite Ingmar’s best efforts to exhaust the man before it got to this point, Torvald had proven to have an iron will and indomitable constitution. Even if he somehow managed to dispatch Torvald, there was still the matter of the rest of his force. If he didn’t do something to thin their numbers, he would be overwhelmed.


“Archers!” Ingmar shouted. “Fire!”


Arrows began to fly from the warehouses and watchtowers around the market square. “Form up!” Wulfric shouted, and the Rovngalad forces pulled in tight. But Wulfric saw that they were spread too thin, their losses too great to prevent an attack from all sides. “Jarn!” he cried. “Take the rear!” The Aggron shifted his ponderous bulk to stand at the back of the formation, the arrows bouncing harmlessly off his armored plating. With their backs protected, the remaining invaders clustered together, holding shields above their heads to keep the rain of arrows off them.


Ingmar sent up another signal, for Wulfric heard frenzied series of wingbeats overhead. Next to him, Aesgir cursed under his breath. “That damn Noivern is back,” the warrior hissed.


“Helga!” Wulfric barked. “Keep it off us!”


The woman nodded and unslung her bow, notching one of her few remaining arrows to the string and drawing it back. The warriors around her moved their shields aside just enough for her to scan the sky. She pulled her bow taut as the Noivern soared over the market square, but before she could loose the missile, Branna screamed by overhead, her wings cloaked in flames.


The Talonflame swooped at the dragon and its rider, diverting the Noivern’s attention and making its sonic attack go wide. The Noivern tried to target Branna, but the fire aligned was too quick, nimbly dodging out of the way. When it seemed like the dragon had focused enough to aim accordingly, Helga fired on it from below, forcing the Noivern to avoid an arrow.


Wulfric knew that the strategy would only buy them a little time and wouldn’t last long once Helga’s quiver ran out, but try as he might, he couldn’t think of a way for them to get off the defensive and try to gain the upper hand. He reached up and pushed his rain-soaked hair off his face and muttered a prayer to Arceus for guidance.


Torvald and Ingmar continued to trade blows, their blades clanging off each other with the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. Each time Skerast struck, the pounding rhythm in Torvald’s head grew louder and more insistent.


die die die die die die die die die die die die die die


Ingmar’s Aegislash hummed too, and Torvald did not doubt that the Usurper was hearing his own spirit aligned’s voice. Ingmar’s breathing was becoming more ragged and his pupils dilated as he gave himself over to the influence of the blade, but neither could score a decisive blow. In Torvald’s exhausted state, they were too evenly matched. Skerast poured all of its energy into it master's limbs, but Ingmar’s Aegislash was doing the same. With a lesser opponent, Torvald could have ended things already, but though Ingmar had risen to his position by poison and plotting, he had held it by the strength of his sword arm.


Torvald brought both of his blades to bear, only to have his first strike caught on Ingmar’s shield and the second parried by the Usurper’s blade. He quickly adjusted to keep the king from exploiting the opening he had left and prepared to strike again. The growl in the back of Torvald’s throat was building into a full-on roar.


DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE


Torvald threw the force of his body weight behind his next strike to knock Ingmar’s shield out of the way and prepared to drive his second blade into the Usurper’s chest. But before he could plunge the blade home, a loud roar split the morning air and echoed off the crags surrounding Yeavenguut. Ingmar used the distraction to knock Torvald’s blade away and recover. “What the hell was that?” the king barked.


His Noivern rider swooped low. “Sire, it’s another Gyarados! It’s leapt the harbor chain and attacking the captive ones!”


Wulfric’s eyes widened. “It’s Uthald! It has to be!”


A flash of lightning split the sky followed by a percussive burst of thunder. The rain began to fall even harder, hammering against the warriors’ shields. Lightning split the sky directly above Yeavenguut, and a glowing form shot over the citadel before looping back around. In the harbor, the new Gyarados roared again, and the Noivern rider watched in shock as it sank its fangs into the throat of one of Ingmar’s captive leviathans, piercing the thick scales of the bound Gyarados’s neck. The new Gyarados hurled the bleeding form of Ingmar’s serpent away and reared up out of the water, a glowing orb of white energy appearing in its fanged maw. It unleashed the attack, sweeping it across the fjord and catching the three remaining water aligned and the scattered remnants of Uthald’s fleet in the beam. The three sea serpents collapsed into the water with smoking burns, and the fleet was reduced to charred timbers.


Above the citadel, the glowing form swooped and dove. Lightning rained down from the roiling clouds, razing the streets of Yeavenguut. A piercing shriek rose over the thunder. Ingmar’s Noivern rider soared out to meet the apparition, and a bolt of brilliant light descended from the thunderheads. When Wulfric could see again, the dragon had vanished, leaving only the scent of charred flesh behind.


“This is the wrath of the gods,” Skaldi whispered beside the monk.


The radiant being descended, its feathers clattering with each beat of its mighty wings. Lightning rained down, striking the towers of Ingmar’s keep and blasting the stones away. The Usurper slashed his blade through the air. “Archers, fire!”


“Hold!” The voice from the heavens echoed louder than the thunderclaps, and Wulfric clutched the four-pronged ring around his neck. The archers raised their eyes skyward, fearful of divine retribution. “Rovngalad!” the voice boomed again. “Be not afraid!”


A figure leapt from the Storm Bringer’s back, dropping the short distance to the ground. The man whistled two notes, and the god alighted on the ground, its wings held up and ready to shoot back into the sky. The flashing lightning hid the man’s features as he strode across the market square, pausing only to yank a sword from the corpse of a fallen warrior. He twirled the blade experimentally in his hands and turned towards Ingmar.


“Who are you?” the king snarled.


“I am the Fool of Rovngalad,” Halvard said as he advanced. “I am the son of Sigurd the Strong and the rightful heir of King Harald. I am the servant of my people. I am chosen by our gods.” The Storm Bringer threw back its head and screamed, one again making lightning flash across the sky. When the din quieted, Halvard pointed his sword at Ingmar. “I am the true king of the north.”


A wordless scream of rage ripped from Ingmar’s throat as he shoved Torvald aside and raced down the steps of his keep. The jarl calmly sidestepped Ingmar’s wild swing, and with a flick of his wrist that was almost casual, he slashed across Ingmar’s unprotected hamstring. The Usurper fell to his knees in the dirt and struggled to rise, but his leg would not bear his weight. “You insolent bastard,” the king spat. “I should have killed you when you were a boy. Showing mercy was a mistake.”


“For once, you and I agree.” Halvard plunged his blade into Ingmar’s chest and stepped back. “Now!”


The Storm Bringer rose into the air, lightning crackling along its wings. It raised its beak skyward and a pillar of light descended, consuming Ingmar. The Usurper’s final agonized scream was lost in the percussive boom of thunder. All the remained of King Ingmar the Usurper was a pile of ash, a mangled and twitching Aegislash and a charred circlet of metal.


Halvard raised the remains of the crown and set the battered circlet on his brow. He turned to face the remaining defenders of Yeavenguut. “Throw down your weapons, or I’ll kill you where you stand.” No one was foolish enough to defy him.


For the first time in hours, Skerast’s tassels unwound from Torvald’s arms, and the blood-soaked warrior sank to his knees. “How?” he murmured. “Halvard… this is impossible.”


The warriors of Rovngalad all but collapsed with relief. Ivarr threw his arms around Dagmar’s torso, and the Beartic picked up his master and swung him about in a circle. Aesgir and Helga danced in the rain, and Skaldi muttered prayers to Yveltal under his breath. Svein was weeping, his face buried in Geirr’s neck. Wulfric shoved his way through the ranks of the shield wall to Halvard’s side. “I knew you’d come back.”


Halvard pulled Wulfric into a rough embrace. “I promised, didn’t I?”


“You did the impossible. You tamed a god!”


Halvard looked up at the Storm Bringer soaring above the ruined citadel. “Tamed might not be the right word. But we reached an understanding in the end.”


“Blasphemy!” Ingmar’s red priest screamed from the gateway of the keep. “This is blasphemy! Heresy!” He ran down the steps just as the king had only moments ago. He held a long knife in his hand, poised to plunge it into Halvard’s heart.


Wulfric acted entirely on instinct, shoving Halvard out of the way and raising his sword. Agmundr ran himself up onto the blade, not realizing he had impaled himself until the sword was protruding from his back. Wulfric held his arms out rigid, keeping himself well out of Agmundr’s reach while the priest flailed with his dagger. Wulfric’s eyes widened as he realized what he had done, and he nearly dropped the weapon. Agmundr rasped as the knife fell from his grip and his body slid off Wulfric’s sword to fall in a heap on the ground.


Wulfric had killed.


Throughout the entire battle, he had only raised his blade to defend himself, to fend off a blow. He was certain that he had not been directly responsible for any death throughout the entire battle for Yeavenguut. And yet here he stood, having killed a man without a second thought. He let the sword clatter to the ground and fumbled for the ring around his neck.


The Storm Bringer dropped out of the sky again, landing only a few feet away from Wulfric. The beast lowered its head and screamed, and Wulfric realized that the Storm Bringer was missing an eye. “Back!” the echoing voice from the heavens boomed. The Storm Bringer bristled, its feathers puffing up as it scanned the clouds. “Back!” the voice repeated. A bundle of green and white feathers tumbled out of the sky and fluttered over Wulfric’s head. “Back!” Dismas squawked a third time and alighted on Wulfric’s shoulder.


Halvard stepped between Wulfric and the Storm Bringer and raised a hand. “Easy,” he told the Zapdos. “Wulfric is an ally. He saved my life.” Wulfric doubted the Storm Bringer understood Halvard’s words, but his tone seemed to placate the beast. It straightened up, smoothed down its feathers and began to preen.


Dismas was preening too, looking rather smug about standing up to a god. Wulfric gathered the Chatot into his arms and held him close. “Thank Arceus you’re safe.”


“Indomitable!” the Chatot chirped. “Invincible!”


Torvald managed to climb to his feet and limped across the square. He laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder and nodded slowly. Then he turned to the assembled warriors of Rovngalad and Yeavenguut. “Hail, King Halvard! King of the north!”


“Hail, King Halvard!”


“Halvard the Thunderer!”


“Halvard the Golden!”


Wulfric raised his fist in the air. “Hail, King Halvard!”

Chapter 17

The funeral for the fallen warriors had been an extravagant affair. Large rafts were lashed together and soaked with oil and pitch, and the bodies of the warriors and their fallen pokemon were laid atop them and set adrift in the fjord. Archers on the shore lit bundles of rags affixed to their arrowheads and launched their flaming missiles. The rafts ignited with a roar and drifted out towards the open ocean, leaving nothing but ash. The surviving warriors on shore beat their swords and axes against their shields in a final salute to their fallen comrades.

Ulfi’s body was spared the funeral pyre on Wulfric’s request, and the monk took the boat builder out into the woods near Yeavenguut to bury him according to the Arcean rite. He dug the pit himself the evening following Halvard’s victory over Ingmar, his tired muscles protesting. When the grave was half-dug, Halvard appeared, moving silently between the trees. The king held a shovel over his shoulder, and he silently fell in beside Wulfric, digging at a steady tempo. Neither man said a word until the pit was several feet deep and long enough to hold Ulfi’s body. Together they lowered the boat builder down and laid his sword and shield over Ulfi’s body. Halvard folded a carved wooden Druddigon into the fallen warrior's hand. Hjodtr had been immolated on the pyre with the other pokemon, but it didn’t seem right to send Ulfi off without some memento of his stalwart companion.

Wulfric stood over the grave and clutched the iron ring hanging around his neck. Halvard stepped back and raised an eyebrow. The monk took a deep breath and pressed his hands together in supplication.

“Arceus on high,
In Your light we are born
Your providence guides our lives
And at Your command we return to dust.
Lord Arceus, those that die live on in Your presence,
Their lives changed but not ended.
We pray in the name of our flock that have gone before us
And for all of the dead known to You alone.
In company with You, Lord of All;
May they rejoice in Your Kingdom,
Where all tears are wiped away.
Unite us together again in one family,
To sing Your praise forever and ever.
In Your name we pray.”

Wulfric wiped away his tears and felt Halvard’s hand on his shoulder. The king nodded and picked up his shovel again. In silence, they filled in the grave. Halvard found a wide, flat stone to set above it. Using a hammer and chisel, he carved Ulfi’s name in the northerner’s runic script and set the stone in the earth. When that was done, Halvard turned and returned to Yeavenguut as quietly as he had appeared.

The days following the fall of Yeavenguut were tumultuous. Of the seven jarls Ingmar had called to aid him, four bent the knee and swore fealty to Halvard. The three that refused were quickly executed and more compliant successors were found among their followers. Halvard had also attempted to execute Donatus Builder, but Wulfric had managed to dissuade him. Donatus had only done what he had to do so that he could survive, and it was not his fault he had landed on the opposite side of the conflict. Besides, Wulfric had argued, the north could use a man with his skills, not only to rebuild Yeavenguut and Rovngalad but also to mimic the Kalosian building styles and bring the north into the modern era.

Torvald had agreed, and after much deliberation, Halvard had allowed the man to live. However, he used the Storm Bringer’s power to destroy the towers holding the chain and forbade Donatus from ever designing something of its ilk again.

When Halvard’s power was secured and oaths of allegiance had been taken from all present, a feast was thrown in honor of the new king. Helga and Aesgir each had some musical skill and were attempting to write the sagas of the Battle of Yeavenguut. Helga strummed a stringed instrument that reminded Wulfric of a lute and tried to spin together some prose while Aesgir set the tempo on a hand drum.

“…and when we hear the dragon’s roar,
The Golden King is here
The thunder’s crash shakes the fjord…”

Halvard sat at the high table they had dragged out onto the beach, raising his drinking horn with every toast, but Wulfric saw that he rarely let the mead pass his lips. The monk shuffled along the fringes of the crowd until he caught Halvard’s eye. The king motioned to the empty chair next to him, recently vacated by Torvald. Wulfric pushed through the revelers and sank down next to Halvard. The king sighed and poured Wulfric a generous portion of mead. “Drink up. One of us ought to.”

Wulfric took the proffered horn and frowned. “Why aren’t you celebrating? I thought this was everything you ever wanted.”

“Is it really?” Halvard glanced over his shoulder to where Zapdos was devouring an offering of several Mareep and smirked. “I told you long ago that I’m just a simple farmer. Now that I’m here wearing the crown, I think I only went down this path was because I felt I had to, because it was my birthright and it was expected of me. All I ever really wanted to was to work the land. But now…” He reached up and tapped a finger against his battered crown. “Now I have more land than I know what to do with. It’s an odd problem to have.”

“Everything is as Arceus wills.”

“Do you really believe that, Wulfric?”

Wulfric nearly replied that of course he did, but he caught himself. “I… I don’t know. Not anymore. I have to believe it, but after everything we’ve been through, I have to wonder why Arceus would will any of this to happen. How could He let so many die so senselessly?”

Halvard took a deep draught of mead, draining his horn in one long pull. He slammed the empty horn down on the table and refilled it. “Now you see why I don’t put any stock in fate? If fate exists, then it’s simply cruel. It’s so much easier to think that all of this is just…” Halvard waved his hand lazily through the air. “Random.”

“As you say, your majesty.”

“Don’t call me that.” Halvard gestured out at the assembled warriors. “They can call me that if they think it’s proper. But you? You of all people know better than to put me on a pedestal. I’m just a man like any other.”

“A man like any other?” Wulfric cried. “For Arceus’s sake, Halvard! You fought a god and won! You triumphed over the heavens themselves! And regardless of how you feel about it, you led your people to victory and reclaimed your birthright. I can count on one hand all the men in history more deserving of honor and glory than you!” He raised his drinking horn and tapped it against Halvard’s. “So don’t be so maudlin! Ragnhildr and Ulfi fought and died for you to be here.” He pointed out at the revelers. “For you to have this honor and this burden. Those are your people, and they need a king. You were never just a simple farmer, Halvard. You’re their king now, whether you want it or not. It’s time you acted like one.”

Halvard’s face flashed with raw fury at Wulfric’s impudence, but as soon as he worked himself up, he deflated with a laugh. “You’re right, damn it. Of course you are.” He reached over and clasped Wulfric’s hand. “What would I do without you?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten this far, that’s certain.”

Halvard stood so quickly he knocked his chair backwards. The king raised his drinking horn and all the revelers fell silent. “Raise your cups to a new era!” Halvard boomed. “To the future of the north!”

“Aye!” the northerners cheered. Zapdos spread its wings and rattled its feathers, its triumphant shriek splitting the night air like a thunderclap.

Two days after the feast, Halvard dismissed the Storm Bringer. He walked alone to the rise where Zapdos had made its roost and spoke to it for some time. The one-eyed bird inclined its head to Halvard, and the king raised his hand to the side of the Storm Bringer’s beak. After a moment, Halvard stepped back, and the Storm Bringer shot into the sky. Thunder cracked and lightning flashed as the Storm Bringer vanished into the clouds and flew south.

Halvard returned to the city gates, where the warriors of Rovngalad had gathered. The king smiled. “My arrangement with the Storm Bringer was always a temporary one. I bested it in battle, and so it lent me its power. I accomplished what I needed to do, and our arrangement was concluded.”

“But what if the other jarls try to overthrow you?” Ivarr asked. “Without the Storm Bringer they—”

Halvard shook his head. “If they think that just because I no longer have a god at my beck and call that I am without protection, they are forgetting that I was able to defeat that god. I have a strong protector right here.” The gathered warriors all looked out at Uthald drifting lazily in the fjord, his cobalt and gold scales shining. Halvard followed their gaze and chuckled. “Uthald is certainly formidable, but he’s not exactly who I meant.” He held out his arm and Dismas fluttered from Wulfric’s shoulder to Halvard. “Should my enemies try to best me, they had best be prepared to weather the wrath of Dismas Godsbane.” Halvard returned Dismas to Wulfric and turned to Torvald. “Brother, I have given this some thought, and it does not seem right for me to claim Yeavenguut.”

“But you’re the king!” Skaldi cried. “It is yours by right!”

Halvard shrugged. “Yeavenguut has always been the seat of the king of the north. But it does not have to remain so. Torvald was the one who breached Yeavenguut’s walls and took the citadel. By right of conquest, it ought to go to him. Besides,” Halvard smiled. “Rovngalad is my home. I will have my seat of power there, where I know the land best. Torvald, you were always going to be jarl when I ascended. So why not be jarl of Yeavenguut?”

Torvald raised an eyebrow, and Wulfric struggled to hide his discomfort. Halvard had either made a calculated move or a desperate gamble, and it all hinged on whether or not Torvald decided to take it as a slight. On the one hand, Torvald could choose to be honored that Halvard was turning Yeavenguut over to him, the seat of power in the north for generations immemorial. And yet, it could also be seen as an insult, for even though Yeavenguut held great historical significance, between the Rovngalad invasion and the Storm Bringer’s wrath, Yeavenguut was in ruins, while Rovngalad was already largely rebuilt following Ingmar’s attack while they had raided in the south.

Or he might just decide he would rather have both Yeavenguut and Rovngalad.

Torvald was the superior swordsman, and Skerast drifted in the air behind his head. If he had a mind to, he could cut Halvard down before any of Halvard’s men could stop him. The king had sent away the Storm Bringer, leaving him defenseless should his brother feel he deserved more. Torvald’s fingers twitched and Wulfric tensed. But Torvald the Red smiled his carnivorous smile and extended his arm to Halvard.

“Jarl of Yeavenguut… I like the sound of that.”

Halvard clasped Torvald’s forearm and pulled him into an embrace. “Hail, Torvald, jarl of Yeavenguut!”

“Hail, Halvard, king of the north!”

Wulfric sighed and saw Ivarr and Aesgir remove their hands from their weapons, and Skaldi visibly relaxed. Wulfric wasn’t sure which side the warriors would have come down on had Torvald acted, and if he was honest with himself, he preferred to keep it that way. The last thing they needed now was another war.

Finally, the day came for them to return to Rovngalad. Roughly half of the surviving invaders elected to stay behind in Yeavenguut to help Torvald rebuild and keep Ingmar’s old allies in line. The forces of Rovngalad said their farewells on the docks of Yeavenguut. Torvald presented Halvard with a new crown of burnished gold, melted down and reforged from treasure taken from Ingmar’s vault.

Branna, perched on Torvald’s shoulder, turned her imperious stare on Dismas and chirped something. The Chatot puffed out his feathers and preened. “Indomitable!” he squawked.

Beside the new jarl, Ivarr said his goodbyes to his comrades. He had been the first to volunteer to remain with Torvald, and Wulfric knew he would make a fine lieutenant and right hand man in the jarl’s court. He embraced Wulfric warmly and leaned down to whisper in Wulfric’s ear. “Seems a shame to let Ulfi’s workshop sit empty, doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“He taught you his secrets, didn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but I could never—”

“The old bastard had faith in you, Wulfric. He trusted you. And Rovngalad needs a boat builder.” Ivarr winked and let him go. “Think it over, at least.”

Wulfric boarded Halvard’s longship and joined the king at the prow. The sails unfurled as the rowers went to their places and took up their oars to guide them out of the fjord. Uthald rose up from the waves, his coils glinting as he moved through the water. Wulfric stroked Dismas’s feathers and turned to Halvard. “What did happen between you and the Storm Bringer?”

Halvard stared westward, his new crown shining in the midday sun. “We fought,” he said. “And in the end, I won. That’s all there is to it.”

“That’s all there is to it?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you the whole story one day. Once I’ve embellished things enough to make myself look properly heroic.” Halvard smiled when Dismas crowed in indignation. “I assure you, Dismas, nothing will be at your expense. Without you, I never would have carried the day.” He winked at Wulfric.

“But really,” Wulfric pressed. “You just let the Storm Bringer go on its merry way? What if the other jarls don’t take kindly to you usurping the Usurper?”

Halvard tapped a finger to his lips. “There may be some things I didn’t share about my arrangement with the Storm Bringer. Something like a provision that should I ever call upon its aid again, it is bound by honor to assist me. I can’t say for certain whether the Storm Bringer will uphold our bargain, but perhaps if I arrive again with Uthald and Dismas in tow, it can be persuaded to see things my way.” The king chuckled. “Should it come to that, we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

“You can be infuriating, you do know that?”

“One of the perks of being a king, I suppose.”

Wulfric sighed. “So what’s next?”

“I do recall making you a promise,” Halvard said. “To unite the north and south. But something tells me that won’t be as simple as walking up to the gates of your Kalosian king and demanding a treaty. No, I think this will require time and careful planning.” He turned to Wulfric. “And I trust you will help me?”

“Of course. I made a promise too.”

Halvard looked out at the open ocean and smiled. “We’ll get to the south someday, Wulfric.” Uthald swam in front of them as they passed through the opening of the fjord, his cobalt scales gleaming. “But for now, the north is enough, don’t you think?”

Wulfric nodded, feeling a deep ache in his heart for the rolling pastures of Rovngalad. For home. “Yes. For now, the north is enough.”