Chapter 13: Chapter 12: Stone Circle

There is a Faulkie expression that states: “Drink hearty so long as the sun does not see you.” Considering that weather in the jarldoms could be anywhere between stormy, overcast, and foggy, the Faulk are always eager to party.

Some (small) part of Rael felt upset about not getting to even see Nize from the slave ship. They got a full experience of the Stone Circle however, when Rael and Azmond followed Jarl Feldon’s procession. They got off the ships, the captains played their bagpipes, and the skalds played their own instruments behind them as the crew followed. They were laughing and cheering as the locals passed them horns brimming with mead and baskets full of fruits. When they saw Azmond, their eyes widened and gave him a wide berth, whispering in the reverent tones of those seeing a living legend. This parade flowed from the docks down bridges across several more of the floating sections of the city, people joining the festivities until a massive crowd stood before the biggest longhouse Rael had ever seen. Norn’s Hall.

It was nestled between the weaves that held the baskets to the earth, on the highest point of the rocky hill. The longhouses in Feldon were flipped boats, no longer than twenty meters long and five meters wide. But this one was less a flipped boat and more an ark that never expected to touch the water. The rounded keel stretched a dozen meters high and was more than twice as long as any longhouse in Feldon, and nearly as thick as it was long. Norn’s Hall was almost bowl shaped, its planks so tightly bound together, only the barest shadows gave any hint as to where one piece of wood ended and another began.

Warriors in white crocodile leather slammed their fists against their armor and turned around to pull open the giant pair of doors. The scent of braised meats and sweet wines washed over the crowd, the sound of a riotous celebration inside dying down with the new arrivals.

“Presenting Jarl Feldon, Avenger of Lark, and Shieldmaiden Edith the Battlemaster!” Skald Pequit called into the longhouse.

Feldon and Edith passed the threshold, the crowd inside and out slamming their feet on the ground in an uproar. They walked easily towards the last empty table and sat down casually.

“Shaman Bak the Wise!” Pequit introduced, the shaman patted Rael’s back before he entered, giving them a gentle smile of encouragement. He nodded sagely at the clamoring crowd and sat at Feldon’s table.

 “Captain Derrol the Bloodsworn! Captain Ulric the Righteous! Captain Kip Morrisson!” Each name was welcomed with thunderous approval, though Kip’s seemed to be lacking compared to the others.

Rael’s heart beat so loudly in their chest that it drowned out the clamor around them. Every fiber of their being wanted to run away, be free from the expectant stares of scores of people. There must have been thousands of people. They felt a small hand wiggle into their clenched fist and entwine small fingers between their own. Az was beamed at Rael, and their worries melted away.

“Dragonward Rael Demonslayer and their ward, Azmond the Scaled!” The stunned pause inside the longhouse was swept up in the cheers coming from outside. The pair entered the longhouse and sat by the captains. The rest of the crew were given cursory introductions until everyone was settled at the table and the doors closed behind the skalds, sealing the excited crowd’s jubilations.

Meaty dishes laden with bread and grain were brought to the table, followed by flagons of mead. Whereas normal servants brought them all food, Azmond’s share was brought by a crone in long robes. The crew did not seem to recognize her, but Bak and Feldon kept their eyes on her. Her skin and body sagged with age, yet her eyes were clearer than river water. She ran her index and middle finger from the crown of Azmond’s head to between his brows and she smiled. The crone left a flagon of spiced milk for the Child of Dragons bowing to him and Rael in turn before walking away.

“Who was she?” Rael whispered to Bak, the shaman watching the woman shuffle into the crowd of servants.

“One of the Norns, Astrid. A devout follower of the dragons. Her servants are the ones who brought us our food.” Bak kept his voice below the din of the longhouse. “It seems you and the little one have another powerful ally.”

“An ally implies that we will have enemies.” Rael focused on the shaman as he pursed his lips and looked away.

“There will be some who are opposed to your presence here.” Bak explained, twirling his beard nervously. “They would question Azmond’s legitimacy, your competence, and Feldon’s motives for bringing you here. Especially after Bergin’s attack.” He nodded his head to Rael’s right, a man whose bald scalp was crisscrossed with scars with arms wreathed in blue tattoos swaggered towards Feldon’s table with a determined face. “Here it comes.”

Feldon’s table quieted as the man approached. He slammed his hand on the table right beside Rael and glared at Azmond. Rael’s fists were clenched but their instincts screamed at them to observe first and act calmly. More eyes were focused on Feldon’s table, the Jarls at the heads of each table subtly looking in their direction. The only exception was from one of the biggest tables. They all stared in Rael’s direction, sharing similar tattoos across their muscled bodies. The man did not speak, drilling his gaze into Azmond. The child cocked his head curiously.

“I’m afraid Az’s seat is occupied.” The man swung his body towards Rael, close enough for them to see the strings of meat stuck between his teeth.

“I’m no fool, girly.” His green eyes shone with sadistic glee. “The child of the dragons would not be so…small.”

“My name’s Azmond!” Said the child, responding to the man’s threatening movements with a smile and a hand offered out in friendship. “What’s yours?”

The warrior was taken aback, his scowl fading somewhat.

“It is only fair that we know your name, friend.” Rael’s smile was sickly sweet. “We came late and weren’t blessed with your entrance.”

“I am Captain Klai, serving under Jarl Erikar.” The captain said curtly, ignoring Azmond’s hand. “And—”

“Nice to meet you, Captain Klai.” The Dragonward interrupted, the small vein bulging in Klai’s forehead titillating Rael. “This may be a surprise, but Azmond is a child. That’s why he’s so small.”

Klai grimaced, his muscles tensing. Rael tensed as well, focusing on the hand closest to Azmond and Klai’s throat.

“I think what Captain Klai want to know is if those horns are fake.” Someone said from behind Klai. The captain froze and backed away. A tall woman stood there, her ice-blue eyes staring daggers into Klai.

“Jarl Moryn.” The captain nervously backed away.

“Jarl Moryn, how nice of you to say hello.” Feldon called from the head of the table.

“We can discuss pleasantries later, Jarl Feldon.” She waved a thin hand in Feldon’s direction, focusing instead on Rael and Azmond. “I’m interested in these two for the moment.” She got on her knees so she could look at them both on the same level. “May I touch his horns?” Moryn asked Rael.

“Azmond, are you okay with Jarl Moryn touching your horns?” Rael threw the question to Az himself. He rubbed his braid in thought for a few seconds before nodding slowly.

Moryn ran her delicate fingers across Azmond’s face, from the bottom of his chin and up his jawline and into his thick white hair. She frowned in concentration as she traced lines on his scalp until she found where his horns met his forehead. The skin near Azmond’s horns prickled, not unpleasantly, when her fingers traced around the horns a few times, the prickling following her touch gliding up to the tips of his horns. Moryn smiled curiously.

“Fascinating.” She whispered.

“Are they real?” Captain Klai kept his distance.

“As real as you and I.” Moryn stood up again, throwing back her long black hair. “No redness or swelling near the horns, no pain either. He is not the result of magic cobbling together animal and human. His structure is elegant, efficient, lacking the failures of either human or fae design.” The longhouse had quieted as Moryn made her observations. “He is a Child of Dragons!”

The hall erupted into discussion and a growing commotion echoed within the longhouse once more. Moryn, however, focused her gaze on Rael.

“You are Dragonward bearing the title Demonslayer.” Jarl Moryn narrowed her eyes. “What gives you the right?”

‘Bak did say my competence would be questioned.’ Rael hid their surprise. Just because someone supported Azmond didn’t mean that they would help Rael. In fact, they may want to steal Rael title for themselves. ‘Feldon really did save Az some hassle by having me be Dragonward. Politics…’

“There was a reason we were late, Jarl Moryn.” Feldon called. “We found Aspirant Greem’s settlement under threat of a troublesome demon. Dragonward Rael was the one who dealt the finishing blow.” The crew at the table nodded to Feldon’s words, stomping their feet under the table.

“Then Dragonward Rael and I are kin in name.” Moryn bore a flat smile as she turned to Rael. “I have slain three demons by myself. They’ve taken to crawling onto our beaches in the east.”

Rael could hear the unspoken barb. Only one, and with help? Their fists were itching to meet Moryn’s smug face, but they held themselves back. If this willowy woman could kill a demon, then it probably meant she was much stronger than she looked. The people at the table watched winced from the Jarl’s implied insult. Rael needed to redirect attention elsewhere.

“That sounds like a tale best accompanied by better mead.” Rael slammed their fist on the table thrice. “Where can I get some of the better drinks?!” They shouted loud enough for other tables to look their way. “Three carved sapphires! Three carved sapphires for the best swill worthy of Feldon’s mighty warriors!”

Moryn’s eyes widened at the sight of three sapphire hydrangeas Rael pulled from their knapsack. Her hands twitched as Rael passed the flowers before the awed faces of Feldon’s crew. Three servants brought over a few barrels, driving spigots into them until the fragrant honeyed mead flowed cleanly into the waiting mugs. Three flowers were given to them, the Norn’s servants marveling their delicate structures for but a moment before they scurried away.

“Fascinating.” Jarl Moryn noted. She caught sight of Rael’s satisfied gaze and smiled. “Perhaps we can discuss our adventures later.” Her straight hair snapped around like a whip when she turned back to her table. Captain Klai had already backed towards his own, shrinking under the attention of the large man at the head.

The feast continued for hours, a battalion of skalds taking turns to sing songs old and new as the candles burned smaller. Rael struggled not to shrink under the stares of thousands as Pequit sang of Rael and Azmond’s adventures, sitting impassively as Az basked in the attention. When the light started to fade outside and bellies were swollen with food and drink, the servants began setting up a table at the front.

When it was done, the loud conversations had died down into hushed whispers, which faded into quiet reverence as nine old Faulk hobbled and limped into a line at the table. Rael recognized one of them as Astrid, her diminutive frame seeming as large and as sturdy as an oak compared to most of her peers. Servants pulled out chairs. Nine ancient Faulk sat down in unison. The one in the middle, whose scars and missing arm spoke of a life of bloodshed, rang a small bell. The chime was heard clearly throughout the longhouse, likely either enchanted or faetouched. No doubt it was intended to bring the Faulk to silence, but respect and tradition rang louder than the bell ever could.

“Norn Iwen, voice of the farmer, the shepherd, the hunter. Attending.” A balding man sitting at the left end of the table rose his hand as he spoke.

“Norn Thurid, voice of the shipwright, the blacksmith, the crafter.” This time a woman at the right end of the table rose her hand, glaring at the man next to her for a moment before her face was hidden in a mask of impassivity. “Attending.”

“Norn Arngunn, voice of the singer, the storyteller, the skald.” Her voice was melodic and firm, contrasting her hand trembling from the rigors of age. “Attending.”

“Norn Jaxxon.” This one was curt, ignoring the glare his neighbor had sent his way. His perfectly maintained beard hardly moved as he continued. “Voice of the sailor, the navigator, and the captain. Attending.”

“Norn Laouig, voice of the scout, the traveler, the trader.” The old man was the shortest and the widest there. His voice was the softest, barely reaching the back of the hall. “Attending.”

“Norn Grima, voice of the builder, the planner, the strategist.” Her ink-stained hair cascaded over her head, hiding most of her body from sight save a sliver of her face and a raised hand. “Attending.”

“Norn Halbrand, voice of the warrior, the raider, the berserker.” Faded tattoos of serpentine dragons covered his body, meeting together on his cheeks, disappearing under a bushy gray mustache. Corded muscles flexed under his pale skin as he raised his hand. “Attending.”

“Norn Astrid, voice of the wilds, the fae, the shaman.” Astrid rose a hand elegantly. “Attending.”

“Norn Thorgrim,” the elderly man in the middle raised his hand early, a scowl etched on his features. “Voice of the cripple, the elderly, the survivor. Attending.”

Rael winced. Thorgrim seemed to have the most important position, but one that no warrior would want to see themselves occupying. There was something about his features and the way that he moved that seemed familiar to Rael, though they couldn’t put their finger on it. Rael didn’t have any time to ponder on that, Thorgrim continuing after the nine put down their hands.

“The Althing is now in session to discuss the Bergin Empire’s attack on Hightown Trygyve, the election of a new High Jarl, and any other new…developments.” His gaze flicked to Azmond for a moment, and he continued. “I expect you to all be aware of what happened. The Bergin Empire found Hightown, presented an ultimatum, and then attacked.” Some murmurs and subtle glances were thrown about the room, mostly aimed in Azmond’s direction. Norn Thorgrim grumbled, flicking the small bell in front of him. The people who were talking flinched, covering their ears. “We can discuss how they knew about a Child of Dragons before we did, later.”

“Norn Thorgrim!” A Jarl stood up at her table, pointing towards Feldon. “How can we be sure Feldon has not betrayed us for the Bergin Empire? It could be a—AUGH!”

Thorgrim was angrily flicking the bell several times, glaring at the Jarl. Once she sat back down, hands clasped over her ears as she groaned in pain, he stopped.

“Accusations without evidence are distractions, Jarl Kelly. Our sources tell us that Bergin did think there was a Scaled in Hightown. Whether it was through incompetence, caution, or fate that we did not know about Azmond the Scaled, it does not matter. We would not have given our enemies what they wanted either way.”

There were whispers of agreement that threatened to grow into a loud hubbub until Thorgrim held his hand in warning above the bell. At once, the hall returned to silence.

“We Norns have discussed who among the Jarls present is worthy of becoming the next Jarl. Normally, the previous High Jarl would have a list of candidates that we would narrow down, but Fraya was…neglectful in this aspect of her duties.” Thorgrim grumbled, motioning Grima to pass him something. From within her hair, she pulled out a paper, something rarely seen in the jarldoms, and passed it to him. He mumbled something about hating reading, unfolding the paper, and holding it aloft. “Of the hundred and twenty-six of you, we have chosen…eighteen as potential candidates.” He closed the paper and hid it. “Still too many. Telling you the candidates now would get your blood running too high. We will reconvene within the week with our final list of candidates, upon which we will also plan our offensive against Bergin. Anything to add?”

Thorgrim’s hand was achingly close to the bell. Nevertheless, someone stood up.

“Norns!” He saluted. “Since a few months ago, the talk of demon attacks has increased on the grapevine. It is no longer a rare event that occurs once every couple years, but one that plagues Faulkie villages every week!” More people stood in agreement. Another called out.

“Those of us who trade with the southerners have also heard tale of demon attacks there!”

The hall filled with questions and demands for explanations. With a wave of his hand, Thorgrim silenced them.

“We are aware.” Laouig said, his fellow Norns nodding their heads.

“Only thing we can do is kill ‘em quick.” Halbrand added.

“More will be discussed with the Jarls.” Thorgrim concluded. “Anything else?”

Faulk would stand and offer problems they faced. Sometimes it was solved on the spot, such as disagreements over land and loot. Others needed a more nuanced perspective, the Norns offering to see the issue for themselves. Eventually, none more stood, and all who were not Jarls were ushered out of the longhouse.

 

 

Night had fallen in the Stone Circle, but the city was still alive well into the night. Glowing stones enmeshed in the baskets made them look like giant jellyfish bobbing in the air, the smaller longhouses around the one atop the hill opening their houses eagerly for the thousands of Faulk all too willing to spend their gains and boast about what they’d witnessed within Norn’s Hall.

“What now?” Rael watched the stream of Faulk go in separate directions. Some headed to the open longhouses, others further downhill towards the sound of beating metal and chopping wood, and quite a few headed up the bridges back to their ships.

“Tofa’s gambling den is pretty good.” Kip rubbed his peach fuzz. “Or so my first mate’s been telling me. I wanna try Asa’s pleasure house, ‘n yer welcome t’ join. There’s men and women from all over.” Kip wiggled his eyebrows.

“Do they want to be there?” Rael asked pointedly.

“What d’you—Oh, right.” Kip flushed in embarrassment. “No slaves in Stone Circle. One of them big rules here. Though I suggest ya avoid Erikar or his men. They…are the kind of Faulk that shame the rest of us.”

“The top of the Garden Omrad is fantastic for musical practice.” Ulric pointed to the floating basket stuffed with vegetation. “Though it’s a bit easy to get lost inside.”

“Derrol, what do you suggest?” Rael had heard enough singing. When they turned to find him, he was sitting at the exit of the hall, by a pair of guards. “Derrol?”

“Hm?” He blinked a few times. “Sorry Rael. I need to wait for someone. Kip, why don’t you get your first mate to show you and Rael around?” The captain plastered on a smile that hid old pain.

“Are you okay, Derrol?” Azmond asked, grabbing at the man’s hand.

Derrol tousled his hair, the child giggling under the assault. “I’ll be fine. Just have to check up on an old man.”

Kip found his first mate, Yana, easily enough. She had one arm around a man twenty years her junior and another carrying a horn longer than her arm brimming with alcohol. It took some convincing to pry her away from the gentleman of the night, but with the promise of another horn full of ale, she was ready to go.

Ulfric split off from them on one of the bridges, pulling out his bagpipes from his bag as he climbed towards the peak of the giant basket overflowing with greenery. Rael wasn’t as confident as they appeared, gripping onto the ropes attached to the bridge in a white-knuckled grip despite their placid expression, squeezing tighter as the ale-soggy Yana swung the bridge with every step. It didn’t help that Azmond was playing along, peals of laughter tickling their ears with every movement of the bridge.

“Ya scared?” Kip’s mischievous grin irked Rael.

“Of your first mate sending us falling to our deaths? Yes.” Rael said with a huff, sending a glare to Yana, who was drunkenly marching onwards without a care in the world.

“Wouldn’t’a thunk someone who rigs ships to be scared o’ heights.” Kip said pointedly.

“The ships are in good condition.” Rael asserted, trying not to flinch at the sound of the groaning screech each wooden plank made with every step. “I’m not so sure about these bridges.”

When they finally reached the other side, they were back on the docks. It was silent at dusk, the dissonance of ringing bells, beating drums, and loud chatter replaced by whispers of ropes whining at the moors, subtle flaps of loose canvas, and a creaking omnipresence that surrounded them.

“Why the docks?” Rael asked.

“’Cause the dock Omrad connects to ev’ry other part of Stone Circle.”

“And they got the cheapest whores!” Yana laughed uproariously, swinging her horn around and spilling a cup’s worth on Rael. “Oops, sorry.”

Azmond tugged Rael’s wet shirt.

“What’s a whore?”

Rael’s stare threatened to burn a hole through Yana’s head. Thankfully, she had the decency to look ashamed. Or she was just flushed from the alcohol. She kneeled, her unfocused eyes working together to stare into Azmond’s soul. Her hands rested firmly on his shoulders; she responded in the sincerest voice she could muster.

“A whore is someone I can pay to put things in my butt.”

Azmond face contorted in disgust.

“Ew.”

Yana nodded and stood up, her eyes going in different directions as a low rumble emitted from her throat.

“Excuse me.” Yana apologized as she side-stepped the group and leaned over the edge of the platform. Rael was about to ask what she was doing before she retched a few times.

“This is where most trade happens.” Kip explained, ignoring the pained noises his first mate was making. “Not the best stuff, but prob’ly the most interesting.”

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“Also the most—Blaaaahgh…” Yana rose her head for a moment, interrupted by a sound that only a drowning crocodile could make. Her cheeks bulged and she retched.

“Cheap inns too, better ‘n sleeping in our ships.” Kip rubbed Yana’s back. She stood up again finger in the air to make a point.

“Don’t forget the—BLAUUGHAEEUGH.” The puke came all at once, erupting from her mouth in a sick spray. They watched the barf disappear into the darkness below. There was no noise for a few moments. Until they heard the sickening splat of Yana’s half-digested meal hitting the ground, and from the darkness came a sordid wail followed by a litany of curses.

The four of them looked at one another. The cursing was getting louder, a chorus of voices grumbling in anger heading towards the bridge.

“Maybe we should find one of those cheap inns.” Rael suggested.

They sprinted towards the inns, pulling a giggly Yana behind them. Thankfully, the four of them found a lonely tavern with some rooms available. When Rael fell on the cheap linen, Azmond jumping in after them, they couldn’t help but think to themselves how much the ratty sheets and doughy pillows reminded them of a home that rejected them.

Rael was almost pushed out of bed by Az the next morning. The boy was practically bouncing off the walls, all to excited about seeing more of Stone Circle. He dragged a bleary Rael out of their room, finding a similarly tired Kip pulled around by Yana. The enthusiastic first mate dropped her captain on a chair, his eyes blinking away the tiredness, and bounced over the Rael.

“Dragonward Rael!” Yana exclaimed as she thrust her arm onto Rael’s, her greeting shaking the sleep out of them. “An honor to meet you!” Rael opened their mouth to say they’d met before, but the woman’s smile only grew larger, her twinkling eyes framed by her crow’s feet. “Yes, yes, we’ve met. While I was very, very drunk.” Yana moved around constantly; her words accentuated by wild gesticulations. She clasped Rael’s shoulder and pulled them close. “Thanks for the mead, by the way. Century-old spirits, the secret to their distillation process lost with the fall of Sima.” She sighed. “What a tragedy.”

“From what I’ve heard of Sima, it seems their alcohol was the only thing they had going for them.” Rael noted. Yana paused, staring at the Dragonward.

“Too true!” Yana laughed uproariously, slapping Rael on the back.

“Mmrrpgh.” Kip groaned.

“As usual, your elegant words move me, Captain.” Yana sat by Kip, one of his bloodshot eyes glaring at her.

“You snore like ‘n overgrown toad.” Kip stretched and stood up, ignoring the rude gesture Yana sent his way. “The locals prob’ly have stalls set up.”

True to his word, stalls had been set up on every level of the Docks Omrad, the rich smells of cooking meat intermingling in the foggy air, overpowering the usual scent of sulfur and swamps. The four of them went from stall to stall, trying different foods for breakfast. Azmond homed in on the spiced meats cooking on sticks, hopping in place as the stall owners gladly passed their products to him.

On the first one, his sharp teeth tore right through the wood skewer, which didn’t seem to bother Azmond. Rael was too stunned to stop him from swallowing, and they managed to stop him from chomping off another bit of his skewer. Rael got their own skewer, showing Azmond how to tear meat off the skewer rather than eat it whole. When Azmond tried just the meat, his eyes lit up, realizing that the food was tastier than he thought. Once he’d finished, his trembling gray eyes shifted between Rael and the stall.

“We’ll try more, okay?” Rael pulled him in the direction of other stalls.

“Aye, there’s more than jus’ this food.” Kip said as he pointed to a busy stall.  “There’s fruit wrapped sofkee, cornbread, all sortsa stuff.”

Kip’s recommendations were good ones; Rael tried fish-oil fried duck, buttered cornbread, and some odd sweets that hung on strings to dry. Azmond tried it all, but it was clear that he preferred the skewered meats to anything else. Rael was surprised, considering that at his age, Rael would have preferred the sweets to anything else. Rael nibbled on some cornbread as they watched Az inhale his sixth skewer. They wondered if the amount of food he ate was normal or if he was constantly eating out of some fear he would be without food again.

‘I’d be an awful Dragonward if he hurts himself eating too much.’ Rael bit their knuckle, anxieties swelling within them.

“Slow down, Azmond.” Rael said softly. “The food isn’t going anywhere.”

“Mmm?” Azmond pulled a clean skewer from his mouth.

“Rael’s right, little guy!” Yana took his skewer, holding the last bit of spiced meat away from the Child of Dragons. “You have to learn to savor. It’s not about filling your stomach, but letting your tongue get to know the food.”

Azmond cocked his head curiously.

“You met him on a slave ship, right?” Yana asked Rael. “Do you think he ever had the luxury of a slow meal before?”

“Ah, ease off on the kid.” Kip scoffed. “He’s a growin’ boy.”

“You’re one to talk.” Yana laughed as she poked him in the side. “You chugged down two mugs of the mead Rael got us and called it a night. That mead was something they typically only serve the High Jarl.”

Rael froze. ‘That’s what I bought with the sapphires? Wasn’t it a bit much? Then again, I have no idea what the bouquet of sapphires is worth.’ Noticing Rael’s expression, Yana explained.

“Even if you’ve got few merits to your name, you’re the third living Dragonward in Faulk history. And you gave up some fae-touched jewelry for spirits. The servants of the Norn who represents the shamans would be obligated to bring you the best they have.”

“Which is why I’ve been payin’ fer everthin’.” Kip added, snapping the skewer out of Yana’s hands and passing it to Az. “What ya’ offer in trade is too much. Fae-touched animals or tools are worth oodles. Fae-touched jewelry? Southern kings would give entire iron mines away for one.”

“They think it brings luck.” Yana shrugged, miming chewing slowly to Azmond.

Azmond largely ignored the conversation, leisurely eating the skewer. As they climbed stairs and bridges up the Omrad, they stopped at fewer and fewer stalls, stomachs filled with a variety of foods. It was when they reached the top to look over the Stone Circle that Rael finished eating a large bird leg—called a turkey, apparently—that they’d shared with Azmond. From so high, they could see everything in the city, the people like ants moving below. Rael and Azmond had never seen so many people in one place, let alone so many buildings so close together. The fog that obscured the sky hung thick just beyond the menhirs that surrounded the city, a white blanket enveloping dense woodland and creeping swamps.

Harsh winds blew the unnatural fog around the menhirs, the flowing clouds breaking like water against stone on a riverbed. The same winds rocked the giant Omrads gently, wooden frames groaning somewhat, briefly sending a jolt of fear through Rael as an image of the giant structure breaking free from the hill to fly free formed in their mind. As quickly as the image came, Rael pushed it down, unclenching their hands from the woven rail.

“Quite a sight, innit?” Kip took a deep breath. “Too bad ya can’t smell the swamp from here.”

“You like that smell?” Rael’s nose scrunched.

“He’s a chinampa farmer, born and bred!” Yana declared, tousling an irritated Kip’s hair.

“Jus’ because I can ‘preciate the smell of life in motion don’t make me a chinampa farmer!” Kip exclaimed.

“Do you know how he joined a crew?” Yana turned to the other two with a shrewd smile.

“By Arafell, no…” Kip groaned, Azmond and Rael looking at him curiously.

“Back when I was but a crewwoman, Captain Lelan stopped by some chinampa farms near Feldon to pick up some supplies. Not used to the floating islands, the Captain was pulled in the water, attacked by a crocodile! It was about to do some death rolls, tearing Lelan limb from limb…That’s when a young boy, scarcely fourteen winters, jumped in and wrestled with the beast, digging his thumbs into its eyes until it let go!” Yana said, keeping focused on her audience as Kip stiffened.

“Cool!” Azmond exclaimed, turning his attention to Kip and pulling his shirt. “Did you really wrestle with a croc? How big was it? Was the captain okay? Were you okay?”

“Aye…it wasn’t too big, barely six feet long. Capn’s leg was shredded, but ‘t least he was able to keep it.” Kip smiled nervously, keeping his eyes away from Rael or Azmond.

“Why do you not sound proud of it?” Rael asked. “Weren’t you the one who told me I needed to brag more?”

“Yeah, Captain Kip, why?” Yana’s grin was unaffected by the withering glare Kip sent her way.

“’Cuz…I fainted at the sight of the injury.” Kip said abashedly.

“And because the captain offered you a place on the ship after you pulled him out of the water.” His first mate clarified.

“He was still bleeding all over the ground.” Kip murmured, blush coloring his cheeks. “Let’s jus’ find Ulric. He knows where to find more than just food, drink, and whores.”

“Yay!” Azmond threw his hands up. “No butt stuff!”

Rael glared at Kip and Yana, the former having the decency to look ashamed and the latter looking away innocently. The two walked in silence ahead of Rael and Azmond, Rael’s eyes boring in the back of their heads with ill intent. After a few minutes of walking down stairs and across platforms, the group made it to one of the bridges connecting the Port and Garden Omrads. The late morning crowd made it difficult to move, the bridges clustered with people. Some moved aside when they saw Azmond, a few even bowing their heads as he passed. Az watched them with curiosity, smiling and waving at all who recognized him. His casual demeanor surprised some people, causing them to straighten and wave back timidly.

Rael was more cautious, examining any signs of ill intent, holding Azmond closer to their side as the crowd thickened around them. Aside from those who’d noticed Azmond, Rael could hear the grumblings of discontent, comments about bad bridges and annoying passageways. A few raised voices sparked here and there, aggressors separated by a mire of people and left to stew in their anger.

When they finally reached the bridge, twenty minutes after entering the crowd, Rael pushed Azmond between themselves and Kip. Everybody crossing the bridge in the other direction would find Rael glaring at them if they stopped for too long at Az. They would whisper names under their breath, the titles of Dragonsward and Demonslayer either cowed them into looking away or inspired them to meet Rael’s stare head-on. An old part of Rael wanted to shirk under their gazes, to hide and become unseen. But everything they’d learned about the Faulk told Rael to stand tall and meet these expectant gawkers with their chin held high.

The group crossed the bridge onto a large veranda and made their way up the wooden walkway swirling around the outside of the Garden Omrad. Ruen’s instincts warned Rael that they were being followed by over a dozen people. They hid behind one another, pretending to look over the walkways or at the flowers along the path. But every now and then, they would focus on Azmond, their eyes lighting up with an intense reverence.

“Kip.”

“Yeah, the lil’ one has a few…fans.” Kip didn’t even turn his head backwards. “You didn’t notice it at Feldon ‘cuz we got used to him while you were…”

“A freaking skeleton.” Yana continued, jumping out of the way from Kip’s elbow.

“You’re exaggerating.” Rael rolled their eyes. The three of them shared a somber expression.

“Not really.” Kip said after a long pause. “You were in pretty bad shape. A lotta us thought y’were gonna die.”

Azmond nodded numbly, embracing Rael’s leg in a hug and digging his head into the side of their waist. Rael grimaced. They hated seeing Az like this. They peeled off the child from their thigh and brought him up on piggyback, almost buckling under his weight. He was heavier than he looked, heavier than Tipple, who was half a head taller than Az when Rael last carried him. The walk was uneasy, with their followers watching from far away. Azmond would run his hands through the vegetation that reached out from the Omrad and they would marvel over all that he’d touched. When he picked out bits and pieces of flowers and leaves, the fans would pull a sprig as well, holding it close to themselves. Eventually, the followers were satisfied, scurrying off with perceived relics or walking away, content at having witnessed Azmond. The group reached near the top of the Omrad when the soft sounds of a flute emanated from a tunnel that led inside. Kip listened to the tune for a while, swaying to the melody. He nodded and went in, beckoning the others to follow.

Dirt clung along the inside of the woven branches, held in place by roots and fibrous materials, letting ferns and root vegetables peak through the crisscrossing strips. The tunnel was lit by small blue lights dotting the branches, twisting and turning until darkness consumed it. The deeper inside they went, the less the morning light reached them, until only the soft blue lights and haunting melody guided them. They stopped when the melody jittered, a false note bringing the music to an end.

“Very close, Oro.” Ulric’s voice echoed throughout the tunnel. “Seelie songs are hard to learn and harder to master. You’ve made great progress.”

When the group turned a corner, the tunnel opened to a grassy clearing surrounded by fruit trees that clung to the walls. Their branches reached out, desperately growing over one another to catch a bit of the light in the opening above. The meager beam of light landed in the center of the clearing, illuminating the dew that settled on the grass that morning. Ulric was leaning on a branch, whittling away as he watched Oro reorient his fingers on his flute.

“Don’t understand how this’ll help me fight that damned deer.” Oro grumbled.

“Meeting a fae with force is how you lose.” Ulric shook his head with a sigh. “To understand something, you must first learn to speak its language. And understanding the motives, the thoughts, what it means with every word…assures a bloodless victory.”

“Faulks don’t seek bloodless victories.” Oro said haughtily.

“We seek absolute victory.” Ulric nodded. “And what better victory is there than making a reluctant enemy an ally?” Ulric’s half-lidded eyes closed. “We have visitors.”

He jumped down from the branch with a thump. Oro turned around, eyes widening when he recognized Rael and Azmond. Oro smiled nervously and waved, Az giggling and waving back. The young raider’s expression fell when Rael simply nodded in his direction. He tentatively stepped aside to let the group approach Ulric, pacing in place.

“Teachin’ my crew how to play flute?” Kip rose an eyebrow.

“Oro needs help with a fae. My experiences as a shaman’s apprentice make me knowledgeable in the subject.” Ulric stroked his goatee. “I don’t intend to poach a member of your crew.”

“Oro, why didn’t ya ask Bak?”

“Sorry, Captain.” Oro saluted. “Shaman Bak said that it was between me and the deer. He’s the one who recommended Ulric teach me Seelie music to try and communicate.” He squirmed nervously. “I still don’t know how I’m supposed to put ‘feeling’ into it.”

“Hmmm.” Kip squinted at Oro and Ulric. “Ach, fine. ‘S not like Ulric’s Prima.” He spat the name as he shrugged. “Rael and Az were wondering what else they could do at Stone Circle, ‘least ‘til the Jarls are done.”

Ulric closed his eyes as his fingers pulled at his moustache.

“You could learn from the shamans about alchemy, or from the best Faulk smiths about metallurgy. You could look at the ancient boulders that mark the Stone Circle, or even chance another look at a Dragonneedle. Considering you experience with fae, I would even consider going to the forests of the west to speak to the fae there.” He was twisting his moustache into knots, jaw moving as if ruminating the words that were to come from his mouth.

“But?” Rael could hear the unsaid word on the tip of Ulric’s tongue.

“You are involved now. Politically.” Ulric finally said, the words weighing on Rael’s spirit. “You will be challenged. And while Shieldmaiden Edith and Captain Derrol are incredible fighters, they are not so good at teaching. They rely on instincts from years of training under their parents, as most of the greatest Faulk warriors do. They teach you as their parents taught them: enthusiastically, brutally, but not clearly.”

“I have instincts.” Rael asserted.

“Not your instincts.” Ulric shook his head. “And your body knows it. It’s why you feel uncomfortable wielding an axe or a spear. Dragonward Bjorn was a giant of a man, with far greater reach than you. And while your frame is closer to that of Dragonward Ruen’s, you still move as if you had a different center of mass.”

Rael clenched their teeth. Ulric was right. Whenever they’d spar with Edith, they’d fall into familiar movements that would inevitably backfire when they’d lose their balance or send a blow too wide.

“Which is why we’ll go over the basics before you spar in public.” The captain waved Oro and Rael closer. Rael kneeled to let Azmond down and walked tentatively towards Ulric. The captain gently moved them at arm’s length away from each other. “Azmond, you may want to pay attention. Kip don’t wander off; you need a good handle on the fundamentals. Yana…do whatever you like.”

Kip rolled his eyes, sitting down next to an enraptured Azmond. Yana sat behind Azmond and began picking out fibers that he’d put in his hair when Rael wasn’t looking. She was hiding a devilish smile behind Azmond’s head. Ulric moved the limbs of the two youths into position until their legs were firmly on the ground, their right legs in front of their left. Their arms were pulled up parallel to each other and their chests, fists clenched. Ulric walked around them, his arm pushing against them to test their balance. When Oro and Rael were firm enough that his pushes did not move them, Ulric nodded.

“What is it that separates us from beasts?” Ulric asked as he prowled around them.

“…Two legs?” Oro’s answer was unsure, careful to keep from looking directly to Rael on his right.

“Technically, yes.” Ulric chuckled, a gleam in his eyes sparking as he twirled his blond moustache. “Though birds share that trait. But where they have wings, we have hands. Which means tools and weapons. In return, we can more easily be unbalanced. On the ground, we are vulnerable. Which is why your posture, or stance, is so important. The right stance could be the difference between victory and defeat, between glory and death.”

He slowly moved their feet closer together. When Ulric was satisfied, he pushed them on their shoulders, sending Rael and Oro stumbling backwards. Oro’s foot caught in a root, sending the young man tumbling to the ground. Rael caught him by the arm before he could fall flat, pulling him back up. Oro smiled nervously and nodded in appreciation.

         “We’ll go over stances in a bit.” The older captain ignored Kip’s yawn of boredom and continued. “We need to discuss the three options you have in combat. Attack, defense, and movement. There are entire schools of thought on how to best attack, how to best defend, or how to best move in a fight. Since neither of you are skalds or shamans, I’m going to skip that part and focus on the most important part.”

He stood in front of his students and got into a low stance. All at once, his body moved forwards, his fist exploding between the Rael and Oro.

“Notice how I put not just my arm into that swing, but my shoulder, back, and legs as well.” Rael was stunned. That was a haymaker that would have knocked them to the ground, proper position or not. “But do either of you see what’s wrong?”

Rael and Oro blinked a few times, looking over Ulric a few times. He was still in position, his fist hanging ominously between their heads, his wide back hunched over and head close to his body.

“Your sides are undefended.” Rael realized. “I could punch you in the liver, easy.”

Ulric chuckled ominously. “Maybe not as easy as you think, but yes. No matter how perfect my punch, if I miss, it’s an opening. You know that better than anyone, Rael.”

Rael sighed, phantom aches and pains tickling them from all the times they thought they’d landed a good hit on Derrol and Edith.

“That brings up another important point: where to hit.” Ulric got out of position and stepped back, pointing to his body parts as he called them out. “Chin, nose, groin and gut are good places to hit an enemy. A well-aimed strike could confuse an enemy or even stun them. Kidneys or liver work even better but are a bit harder to hit. If you’re aiming for deathblows, go for the head, the throat, and the heart.”

He moved behind Oro, articulating him into moving in different poses as he hovered his hand over the vulnerable spots. Ulric whispered in his ear as he moved him around, the young man’s movements becoming smoother and smoother. When he let go, Oro repeated the motions, his face stern in concentration. Ulric moved behind Rael, his hands hovering in the same spots.

“You’ve only fought to the death with beasts.” He whispered. “Like a true berserker, you’ve ripped into them without care for your safety, without any sense of moderation.” Ulric moved Rael’s limbs gently until they could replicate the stances. “It may have worked so far, but skilled fighters will be aiming for the places I’ve showed you.” His fingers pinched the nape of Rael’s neck. “They’d wait for you to make a mistake, or worse, tire. Then strike. You can’t rush in on wings of fury and expect to win.”

He stood back and watched as his students moved in tandem. “Get used to those poses. Spells can only take you so far before they start killing you. Victory is achieved in the first steps of battle. Speed, accuracy, power, all are dependent on a solid foundation. Quality of weapons, armor, and spells fall short before a seasoned warrior in full control of their body. Such a warrior could even use the environment around them as a tool against their enemies.”

He sent two arms thrusting into Rael and Oro’s chests, stumbling backwards again and tripping over the root. This time, both landed on the grass in a tangle of limbs. Azmond’s applause was drowned out by Kip’s hearty laughter. Rael ignored Oro’s repeated, almost panicked, apologies and sat up.

“Despite the talking, I'm sensing a familiarity to how Derrol and Edith teach.”

“Well,” Ulric’s gentle smile widened as he kneeled by the two. “I’m only Faulk.”

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