Chapter 9

  Francis noticed that the sky had one color and it was a dull grey. The breakfast he had been offered was sweetened grains, similar in texture but with something he couldn’t figure out that made it thicker. Less than an hour after the sun had appeared, Glitvall had arrived with four guards and three other barbarians that Francis recognized from inside the Warchief’s tent.

  With barely any words, they had set out, and the differences between the sections of the camp were just like the ones in his kingdom.

  The pavilion section had better paths, neat and straight. Upon leaving the section where the clan leaders and other important individuals were, the group soon found itself in the area where forges and healing tents were set up. The sound of metal being hammered was a steady rhythm, almost as if they were playing a song on instruments.

  As they moved, Francis studied the various barbarians, noting the tattoos some of them had. Many bore animals, weapons, or runes. A few were distinct. One barbarian passed Francis’ group, barely moving to the side of the wider path, shirtless, his entire chest covered in blue, green, red, and black ink. Scars had ruined some of the tattoos, but the image that Francis believed had to be the god, Korvald, holding two swords and calling down an ice storm.

  The scent of metal, ore, and smoke gave way to the smell of smoke and sweat as the group moved into the commons. The sound of thousands of barbarians living in cramped quarters quieted slightly as Francis’ group moved down a muddy and nasty path. Word had spread, and men and women lined both sides, eyes all fixed upon the small man with white hair.

  None joked about Francis’s size as they had the first time he had come. It appeared that the presence of the Warchief muted those kinds of words, or at least for now.

  Eventually, the tents faded, and a section of ice, snow, and death announced itself. Spiked logs, half-buried in snow, created a wall of defense around the camp. Frozen chunks of various beastkin were impaled upon them. Spread out between the different rows of spiked logs were fires that smoked, sending up the scent of burning pine and adding a black cloud to the already grey sky.

  Past them, hedged between the two ice walls, was a section of land that was covered in red.

  It’s like someone went out there and used red paint on the ground.

  A mile away through the mist and smoke, on the other side of the walls of ice was the camp for the beastkin.

  “It’s rather hard to see,” Francis said, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. “It almost blends in with the snow.”

  “You have no idea,” Glitvall replied, before holding up a fist and stopping the group. “Out there is an army that is nothing like I ever imagined. Before they came, I’ve faced creatures that would crush most men with a single strike, yet those beasts were nothing compared to some of the ones on that side. I–”

  Glitvall’s head turned, his words stopping and Francis tried to see around the large man what had made him stop.

  “Kerhi… You should not do that,” the warchief said. “Someone might mistake you for them.”

  Francis finally saw the barbarian shaman. She almost seemed to rise from the ground near the warchief’s side.

  She was there? I didn’t sense her at all.

  His Battle Sense had picked up many things, but her presence hadn’t been one of them.

  Kerhi chuckled and shrugged. It was then that Francis noticed the hides she wore started to shift colors, no longer matching the dirty snow and ice.

  “What kind of pelts are those?” Francis asked.

  “A trophy from some of our foes,” Glitvall said, still frowning at the shaman who had appeared. “I had not planned on sharing that information, waiting to see if you were able to notice them.”

  “Do you mind if I join him on this hunt?” Kerhi asked.

  Glitvall’s frown grew, and the large barbarian turned to face Francis. “That decision is up to you.”

  “She knows,” Francis said, waiting to see how the warchief would react.

  “Then I see no point in holding her back,” Glitvall replied, not seeming surprised at all. “She will be a good partner to learn about what is out there and desires to feast upon your flesh.”

  The warchief clapped his hands and those gathered moved back, leaving Francis and Kerhi standing at the line of logs, which served as a small barrier before a desolate, cold battlefield before them.

  “So… when can I get some weapons like yours?” Francis asked, pointing at the gloves and boots he had personally experienced.

  “Prove yourself worthy and you can earn a pair, though they are custom-made,” Kerhi replied, checking the straps once. “You will need to find a way to acquire pelts like mine if you hope to survive what we are about to do.”

  “And that is?”

  “Sneak as close as possible,” Kerhi said, as she bent her head to the side, a popping noise coming from her neck. “I would ruin the fun, but since you told me what you did, I believe you’ll do better by learning things the hard way.”

  Francis pulled his swords free, watching as the dull light from the sky reflected off them. “I don’t suppose you have anything I could put on these to help stop the way the sun shows them?”

  She chuckled and nodded, pointing at a pile of ash he had passed a little bit ago on his way here. “You could, but there’s no point now. They have already seen it and will be on alert.”

  Francis was about to ask her how that was possible and then stopped.

  Everything about this place is going to be different than what I’ve faced before. I need to remember that… focus on learning and growing.

  “Well then, when do we set out?” he asked.

  “I’m ready when you are,” Kerhi replied. “Just know that when I vanish from your sight, I am still there. Unless I need to, I won’t speak or help out. I’m only here to help if I must.”

  “And on the off chance I survive?”

  She chuckled and stepped closer to the snow that was off the path. “We shall cross that frozen stream if we get there. Good luck, Francis.”

  He watched as her body seemed to shimmer, and she pulled a thin piece of cloth he hadn’t noticed up over her face. Kerhi vanished as she bent down.

  Battle Sense was desperately trying to find her, and Francis knew he would be able to do so if he spent time and she didn’t move much, but it was as if she had truly vanished. His nose couldn’t detect anything over the scent of the burning pine and he realized suddenly why so much was always being burnt.

  “The smoke hides your scent,” Francis whispered.

  A chuckle came from off to his left, helping him to get a better fix on where Kerhi was most likely at, but she was gone from his detection almost immediately.

  This is going to suck…

  Taking a deep breath, Francis closed his eyes, shutting out everything for a moment.

  Michael… We need another moment by the stream. You’re going to laugh so hard when I tell you about all this.

  With his mind cleared and focused, Francis moved along the path that weaved between the barrier of spiked logs. No scent but the burning wood came; the pieces of flesh that had been impaled were frozen solid.

  His eyes tried to watch the ground ahead of him, looking for patterns of anything that seemed out of place. Like the practice he had done at night, there was a sense that something had to be out here, even if he couldn’t immediately see it.

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  Far across the bloody ice and snow was a camp with no smoke that shimmered as if it were a mirage. He could see large shapes moving but was unable to determine what exactly they were. This enemy seemed to be less than a third of the size of the one his kingdom faced if what Francis thought he could make out was true.

  I guess there might be fewer beasts who can handle the cold like this, but still… how hard must it be to–

  Movement in the air cut off his thoughts, and Francis saw two shapes he recognized gliding across the sky between the two mountains of ice.

  Black birds… casters!

  He remembered the tent with the birds and those feathers that almost killed them on the first day. Stenson had said they hadn’t seen those beasts in a while, yet two were up above.

  A half mile or so of open space ended along the walls of ice, and he considered the path he was on.

  It would be better to limit the sides I can be attacked.

  Now about a hundred yards from the last set of spiked logs, Francis made his way slowly toward the towering wall of ice. He was careful with each step, making sure his padded hide boots had a firm grip as he moved across the snow and ice.

  His steps let out a crunch almost every time, causing him to frown.

  Slower… I need to focus on being quieter.

  His Stealth skill hadn’t risen in what felt like ages and Francis knew he hadn’t felt the need to train it. Why worry about that when he could just rush headfirst into the enemy before him. Now he felt a twinge of remorse at overlooking what was obviously an important ability, finding himself on terrain that was far less forgiving than a forest floor.

  Francis began to walk more slowly, transferring his weight at what felt like a snail's pace, grimacing each time the snow crunched.

  Minutes passed and what should have taken him no time at all to reach the ice wall instead took almost twenty minutes as Francis crept along.

  [ Stealth Increased - 12 ]

  After almost thirty steps without making a sound, he got a notification that he had been hoping for. The smile he allowed himself messed up his next step, causing a crunch to echo off the wall of ice.

  He frowned, his eyes glancing everywhere, trying to pick up something that might announce the presence of a beastkin. Chunks of frozen flesh were packed against the deep blue wall of ice, and yet there wasn’t as much as he had thought. Different colors of fur, most of them a variation of white or some kind of grey, could still be seen on a few of the pieces.

  But why aren’t there bones? Or more flesh? I’ll need to ask if the barbarians are bringing them back or if the beastkin are hauling them off.

  It was then that Francis froze mid-step.

  He couldn’t smell anything but the faint hint of the smoke that drifted through the pass with the wind. He wasn’t sweating, the cold keeping him that, and to his knowledge, there wasn’t a scent he was giving off.

  Yet something tickled his nose. It was there.

  Francis was certain that if Nerhi was close, she had to be behind him, most likely not leading. Yet his Battle Sense was telling him that about eight steps before him, something was off to his right.

  The ground looked misshapen as it did everywhere. Streaks of blood that had been frozen, small holes in the ice where something had struck it with enough force to create a pocket. Still, his mind screamed that he wasn’t alone.

  With both swords ready, Francis did his best to try and look like he didn’t have a clue that an ambush was most likely about to be sprung.

  He kept his head turning, his eyes always scanning as he moved. Two steps later, Francis barely saw the shape that appeared from nowhere materialize before him like Kerhi had.

  He brought his sword up, preparing to parry whatever it was that came, only to realize it wasn’t alone. There were three others, all coming at him from his front, right, and back sides.

  Grinning, Francis met the ambush head-on, ready to learn what kind of beasts had come to claim his life.

  Four cat-like creatures with fur that soon looked like the shimmering white ones that Kerhi and Glitvall had worn sliced at him with curved claws. A pair attacked from the front, while the other two came at him from the back and side.

  Each one was slightly smaller than him, but the speed at which they moved was remarkable. Their attack hadn’t made a sound, unlike his steps.

  [ Iron Wall ]

  [ Guarded Stance ]

  Cuts came across his left side as Francis turned, deflecting the strike that had been aimed at his hamstring. He felt pain from the gash that the one on his right side landed on his quad. His left sword parried the attack aimed at his face, but Francis couldn’t do anything about the claws that tore through his hides, shredding them as if they were paper. His Thick Skin helped to minimize how deep they had sliced him, but their claws still did damage.

  Blood flowed as all four retreated, reangling themselves to have a better position as Francis backed himself up to the ice wall.

  Warrior’s Resolve had ignited with the first cut. Francis felt the thrill of battle overtaking him as four new foes all seemed to vanish again.

  He could sense two of them, the scent of his own blood giving away their position. Part of him wanted to attack, but the other part knew that doing so would mean exposing his back and making it harder for him to defend himself.

  Knowing they could potentially wait him out, knowing he might bleed to death, Francis made his choice.

  Lowering his sword into a less defensive position, he began moving toward the barbarian camp. His ploy worked as two steps into his change of direction, the four shapes appeared, all attacking in unison. Dashing toward the one between him and the camp, Francis attacked.

  [ Riposte ]

  [ Quick Attack ]

  [ Flurry ]

  His right blade sliced down the arm of the beast, the blade Stenson had given him, removing a foot of the appendage before it was yanked back.

  Francis’s left blade caught the one that had sliced his claw in the chest. Surprisingly, the blow pierced deeper than he had expected, and the cat let out a scream. With his blade stuck inside the one, the two closest to the beastkin camp swiped with both claws, carving flesh from his side and legs.

  He ignored the pain, his skill muting it to a dull throb, turning his focus upon them as they continued their onslaught.

  [ Riposte ]

  [ Quick Attack ]

  [ Flurry ]

  [ Power Strike ]

  Warrior’s Resolve roared inside him with every gash they had made, and Francis’s sword cut itself free from the beastkin he had run through. Before the closest one could react, its head had been removed. The fourth and only uninjured one tried to disengage, jumping backward as Francis’s sword came at it, but they had all underestimated his true strength and potential.

  With a single step, Francis was on the beast as it tried to vanish into the battlefield. His Battle Sense knew where it was, specks of its headless allies' blood having marked it. The gifts from Stenson and Baxter made short work of the beast, ending its life with two attacks.

  Spinning, Francis turned to see the fourth one racing off across the field, holding it’s stump as blood dripped to the ice and snow.

  He started to turn and chase it, until a voice called out.

  “Don’t!” Kerhi said.

  Stopping his pursuit, Francis carefully retraced his steps to where he had killed the three beastkin. A shape appeared from the wall of ice and Kerhi lowered the veil she had been wearing.

  “It’s a trap, isn’t it?” Francis asked.

  She nodded, a small smile growing larger. “You would have found yourself surrounded before you realized it by more of these Frostfang Lynxkin. And as impressive as you just were, I don’t think you’d have lasted that long.”

  “And these are what those furs are made from?” Francis asked, pointing a bloody sword at one.

  “They are. Now tell me. Are you going to continue searching for what else is out here or are you planning on taking these back?”

  Francis was torn. Part of him wanted to keep pushing forward and see what else was out there. His injuries were not life-threatening at the moment, and the cold was helping his blood to clot. His other option was to return to camp with three corpses and see how long he might last this loop.

  After a moment, he smiled, having made up his mind.

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