The. Wolf. Falls
The screeching of ravens functioned a lot like roosters. If they were awake, she should be too, so as the sun rose so too did she. From wolf pelts and deerskin she wriggled out of her mattress with a mess of tangled black hair. Sluggishly she made her way to her vanity and used a bone comb to meticulously run it through her mane, taming the strands into something more manageable. Once she was content with her handiwork she dressed herself in a black jerkin that had already been laid out for her. Some inked leather leggings followed, then a white fox pelt that strung along her collar. Last was her belt and scabbard where her rimeglass dagger would settle within.
She looked at herself in the mirror, offering the reflections a mean scowl before opening the door and stepping out of her quarters to greet Nika. He leaned against the opposite wall in his usual garments, always awake before her— a trait that both angered and impressed her in equal parts.
”Do ye’ even fuckin’ sleep?” Brig quipped before elbowing her pact knight in the ribs.
"What, in this keep?" he chuckled in answer. Nika had long since given up dodging Brigitte's unique form of greeting, and beneath his dull brown gambeson he was sure he had a permanent little round bruise as her bony limbs somehow always managed to get through the padding.
He pushed off the wall and held his hand out towards Brig, offering her a bread roll once freshly baked in the castle's kitchen, now already swiftly cooling. "Here. And g'morning to you too."
Brigitte took the bread and walked past him. It was a morning routine if there ever was one, and some carbs before making her rounds was par for the course. She looked over her shoulder, stopping to wait for Nika to follow as the bread roll was shoved down into her mouth. It seemed as if she was trying to say something with buttered bread half-swallowed down her throat, but muffled gibberish came out. Her knight just shook his head in amusement.
She coughed, no milk or honeyed frost berry juice to wash it down before finally the struggle to speak would yield results. ”Morning t’ you as well. Let’s check on the wolves so we can get outside and start sparring ‘eh?”
Always so eager to start the day; and people thought Nika was the bigger workaholic out of the two of them.
"Aye. 'S colder this morning than the last so they might still be in the kennels."
Eager was a strong word. The mornings were the most anxiety inducing part of the day, so all the better to get it over with faster. There were wolves to feed, knights to greet and inspect, and sometimes she’d be requested to serve some formality to a local noble— or worse, a non-local noble. Nevertheless she was dressed and awake to jump at whatever responsibility was hoisted upon her, as was expected of Kurt’s daughter.
”Wonder where pa is anyway? Said he was going to be gone early, checking on something urgent… didn’t even specify where or what exactly.” The briefest glimpse of curiosity caught her expression, furrowing her brows and tightening at her lips. But just as swiftly as that curiosity came, it was gone!
”Not my fuckin’ business, to the kennels.” Brig snorted and continued leading them on their way down the hall, offering a curt nod to a few house guards that manned the entryways as she did.
Fenris Keep wasn’t excessively large. It was built for function rather than extravagance, with more space outside than in. The dining hall was the largest area, with long tables for all of Kurt’s trusted knights to eat together and build bonds amongst themselves. When they passed it on the way out there weren’t too many eating breakfast today; that didn’t raise any flags, but what did was the quietness of the keep. Brig and Nika were early risers but there were soldiers stationed to man the keep from the latest hours of the night into the morning, and far fewer of them were here today.
They descended the main stairway towards the entry hall of the keep, and once they reached it a familiar but irritating voice chimed out at them. Just loud enough for the two to hear, but measured enough to not come across as a shout.
“Leaving so soon?”
Brunwick, the mage from the west her father had been meeting with as of recently was inside the keep? Without her father here, and much more frighteningly, with fewer guards stationed in the keep? He stood still, leaned in the shadows against a wooden post that supported one of the decks perched against the front windows. The bald-headed man remained still as ice itself, a facetiously warm expression on his face as he stared at the daughter of the lord and her pact knight.
“Your father is missing so early, on the day he and I had planned to meet... that’s quite curious don’t you think?” Brunwick’s smile remained, but the words coming out of his mouth did not match the mirth he wore with practice.
”I guess it is my business,” The remnants of her last thought before going about her daily routine spilled out without warning before Brig took a moment to compose herself. She did not return the man’s warmth with her own - that fire was met with the young Fenris woman’s icy deadpan. ”Lord Brunwick, what d’ I have the pleasure of seeing you so early for?”
“I'm here for your father, not you. Though I hoped you might know where he is?” The mage’s question was a simple one, but it was one that Brigitte did not have the answer to.
”Faeswhere, or maybe he’s meeting with the knights clearing out an ice wyrm nest? If I knew I’d tell you. But I don’t...” Brig looked at Nika, and her eyes would tell the whole story of how the woman felt; concern about why this man was here being the obvious tell.
Nika was about as happy to see Brunwick as Brig was, but when she caught his eye he hoped to impart some reassurance to her, rather than worsen her anxiety. Assuming coincidence was quite a dangerous thing, but so too was jumping to conclusions especially with as... dainty-hearted as the noble mages tended to be. A few wrong words too many and they could cry conspiracy. They both knew that.
Now that she had acknowledged him in front of their 'esteemed' company, Nika briefly placed a hand on her shoulder before he stepped forward a little in front of the heiress. He was armed of course, an axe tucked behind his belt laying across the small of his back beneath a round shield like most northmen wore, but it was not an aggressive movement. And when Nika spoke up, he did try to put the visiting man into something of a better mood by giving him a small, forced smile.
"He'll be back before your usual meetin' time," Nika promised. He had no idea why Brunwick was already here either, but it was possible the man really had just shown up early and was just pissed that the whole of Tempestua didn't run on his time and now he had to wait. "...d'you need help getting to the audience chamber?"
Brunwick’s face remained artificially warm, at first, but as Nika’s mouth opened that glow of heat in his cheeks vanished. His own expression flattened into a stone-faced glare upon Nika, though after a few long moments Nika’s assurance seemed to have some effect upon the man as his head dipped into a nod.
“The audience chamber, yes, we’ll all remain there until he returns. The archmagus along the northern border sent me to deliver a message with haste, and I will not return unt—“ For once, Brunwick would be the one cut off, which only happened due to the next person entering the Keep. It wasn’t Kurt, nor a simple guard; it was the head mage knight that escorted his coach throughout the north roads to this meeting.
“Sir, there’s been an—“ In that instant, before the knight’s words could finish leaving his mouth, a small glowing circle began to form at the center of his stomach. The smell of simmering flesh filled the room, and then the sound of it, which silenced the knight as he gripped where it glowed in agony. “Gyaaaah!” He yelped out as Brunwick’s most minor magic began to take effect.
“Never interrupt me,” Brunwick snapped at the man like the barking of a dog, baring his teeth before looking at Brig and Nika. “Shall we?”
His hand flowed out from his robe to gesture for them to lead him, not daring to move until they did, and not paying any mind to whatever urgent matters the knight might have wished to tell him.
Brig looked at the helpless knight on the ground, balled up and groaning along the floorboards of her home. It was the best part of her morning so far, so much so that the corner of her lip twitched upward. Then she’d look to Nika and silently thank him with a nod of her head. She found her friend's gaze lingering on the mage knight, fading grimace obvious on his face before he glanced back at her and returned the gesture.
She looked back towards the stairs and said quietly to herself, ”Wolves ‘re going to be miffed, but let’s go.” and took the lead of escorting the unwelcome company up the stairs. In her mind she didn’t know if something was awry. But if there was, maybe she’d get the excuse to off this prissy bald man or die trying.
The audience chamber wasn’t too far from the entrance, being located on the singular room of the Keep’s third floor. It was larger than the bedrooms of both Brigitte and her father, with a large planning table holding a map of Tempestua with little flags and stone carved miniatures on top of it. Decades ago it was used for planning war, but recently it was just marking local problems for the north and movements of regiments that were dispersed to handle them. The largest chair at the table’s end was for Kurt; Brig sat at the one right beside it with nicks and scratches from a knife along the woodwork of the table in front of the seat.
”So now we wait... he’s been gone since before sunup, but it could be a while yet.” Brig said, then began to do what she always did. She plucked the rimeglass knife from its sheathe and began to carve little scrapes and slashes into the table's side.
“So long as he’s here before nightfall. If it comes to that, nobody here will be happy.” Brunwick sat at the direct opposite chair to where Kurt would be with his hands interlocked in front of him.
Nika had taken his position standing behind Brig's seat, though he stood with his arms crossed rather than at any sort of attention. When he'd asked if Brunwick needed help getting to the room it hadn't been an offer to keep him company the whole time. Even the rather friendly knight couldn't pretend to be enthusiastic about spending the morning cooped up chaperoning the guy, so he didn't try. If Brunwick wasn't there he might have dropped into the chair next to Brigitte and traded a few jokes at the man's expense, but alas.
"M'sure someone's already sent a messenger," he said, hoping that what he said was true.
The three lapsed in silence, only their soft breathing filling that still room. It was embraced by a quiet if tense peace that would be broken as soon as the lord of the castle arrived. At some point Brig's thoughts drifted, and she looked at Brunwick with a smile - though surprisingly, it was not forced. She thought back to a conversation with her father a few days earlier about a mercenary they'd heard stories of, one that was able to mysteriously render mages inert before dispatching them with ease. The visual of a nameless mercenary dashing towards the bald-headed man and cutting him into ribbons filled her mind and kept her brain busy as she continued to fiddle with the wooden pieces she carved from the table, chewing on her tongue.
A little more than an hour would go by until Kurt came storming into the room with a fiery leer aimed directly at Brunwick the moment he entered. There was no exchange of words until the man clanked over to his seat, dripping in frosted chain mail and plate before heavily plummeting into the chair with a large ice wyrm’s skull mounted at its back. The Black Wolf of the North took a few deep breaths to settle his anger before he ended up saying something stupid, and then he leaned forward to rest his elbows upon the wooden surface.
“Brunwick, you know ‘ts not polite to show up to sum’uns house uninvited. Less so to do so at th’ crack of dawn.”
Brunwick’s entire posture changed at that statement, loosening up in his seat and flapping his hand flamboyantly to dismiss the lord’s accusation. “You know I would not do so without reason Lord Fenris, not even if I wanted to.”
He lifted a sleeve of his robe and within it a faint purple glow would shimmer. Out a small letter would float slowly enough that Brunwick could pluck it from the air. The missive would then be tapped three times to change its color, dispelling the enchantment etched upon the parchment to decrypt its contents. Then released it, allowing the parchment to fly just as slowly to the opposite end of the table so that Kurt could take it next.
The disgruntled northman caught the letter and in one swift motion ripped it open so that he could begin to read it, his patience already thin. Brig watched her father’s eyes as he did. He was great at concealing his emotions, but sometimes there were tells; a tremble of his lip, a quirk of the brow— but this time there was nothing. Kurt simply frowned and went to toss the letter back to Brunwick. “Not happening, even if I had a say-so, something like that would be against everything we believe in.”
Curiosity tugged at the two younger people in the room, but they wisely did not speak up. Brunwick mirrored Kurt's frown as the letter turned to ember, then ashes in front of him, as he himself did not know what the letter contained merely how urgent it was to deliver as instructed by his superiors. The mage wouldn’t muddle the room with questions though. His job was done now, so returning to warmer temperatures was his priority.
“They likely know the answer already, to whatever it was that they said.” Brunwick’s words were immediately followed by him rising from his seat, and awaiting the Lord’s words to dismiss him. He commanded that much respect, even from a mage.
“Let th’ archmage know if I receive another letter like this, I’ll respond in person next time.” Kurt’s words weren’t so much a threat, but rather a promise for a more confrontational answer to Brunwick’s superior if they tried to push their agenda on him once again.
“I’m sure he will be delighted to see you, it’s been nearly a decade since the two of you sat and talked face to face.” With that, Brunwick turned to leave.
"All that drama just t'deliver a letter," Nika murmured into Brig's ear, satisfied with the faint curl of her lip before he straightened up properly again. Brunwick looked to Brig and Nika with a hostile expression, apparently having heard the comment, squinting his golden eyes before making his way out.
“Typical dogblooded fucks, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before they send Lord Lumi up here,” he muttered under his own breath.
The Luxun mage had stepped towards the closed door and set his hand upon the ivory knob, however he froze the moment his fingertips wrapped along the round surface. His eyes went wide with fear as he turned to look towards Kurt and shouted, “get out now!”
The ivory of the doorknob ruptured in the man’s hand not even a moment later, sending bloodied fingers outward as the mage recoiled back in pain. The door then swung open, pushed inward from someone on the other side. Two faces familiar to the Fenris and Nika walked in, their arms brandished, and behind them five figures cloaked in black and green that followed. One of the men that all of the northmen knew was Jord, a short-statured son of the vassal lord Surt— someone Nika was very familiar with. The other was even more of a surprise than the sudden appearance of these people: Jord's elder brother, Jorg. A man whom they had all thought was deceased.
Bewildered by their arrival, especially of Jorg's apparent return from the grave, a tense pause overcame the Fenris and the audience chamber itself as the two groups just stared at each other. Then Nika made to approach the brothers, confusion plain on his face. "What in the–"
"Right, I think it's time to set th’ signal?” The elder Surt brother chimed out, cutting Nika off, and suddenly a very bright light would begin to fill the room from its singular window.
Fire.
So much of it that whatever cold slipped through the cracks of the castle vanished and the most excruciating heat of an inferno crashing through glass and incinerating wood could only be trumped by the cacophony of sounds barraging their ears. Kurt was the closest to the window, and he could not reach for the sword at his belt swiftly enough to subdue some of the attack— it was difficult to tell if it was even magic causing it, though up on the third floor it was easy to assume. Black covered the walls, the table turned to splinters, and Brig swas ent tumbling as her father instead dove for her and absorbed as much of the force and fire as he could.
”Check for survivors downstairs, go quickly! Ye’ blackcloaks better be worth the coin we spent!” Jord barked as he stepped into the room and looked down to the shocked and mortified Brunwick sprawled on the ground, smiling down at the wounded man before bringing the short spear over him threateningly. ”Sorry baldy, orders ‘re no survivors.”
Further into the audience chamber the other three people that had been in the room were huddled on the floor. Nika, furthest from the blast but unprotected save his light armor and the small wooden shield on his back, had been thrown to the ground by the force of the flames. His ears rang and his body felt much too warm, but he did not lay there long. Singed, cut by debris, and with little embers clinging to his back, Nika was the first to recover - and he scrambled over to crouch by the Fenris family's side. "Brig! Lord Fenris!"
He pulled Kurt up. The northern lord's blistering, crackling skin stretched as leather and fur fell loose from his back and his body was slowly lifted from his daughter. The ambient heat the man was giving off was worrying, but the Black Wolf was awake and aware as he got his own feet under him. The same was not true for his daughter. Nika's heart stuttered in his chest.
"Brig! She's- is she-?"
"She breathes."
The northman tore his eyes from Brigitte's still form, the distant gaze of his anger magnified to something Nika had never seen before. His pupils dilated as he stared at the two Surt sons with contempt that could melt the Heavenspeak itself.
"You have t’ take her and get out of here. There should be horses outside," he said, and at long last did the wolf draw his long rimeglass sword from the scabbard at his side, gripping it with as much strength as he could muster. "Can't trust nobody."
Maybe Nika's head was still a little foggy from the blast, but he couldn't quite grasp what Kurt meant. Flee the keep? But it was full of enough warriors to handle any sort of attack... It was the sound of his lord's weapon being drawn that brought the knight back to full awareness, sharpening his senses once more. It was some of those very same warriors that had some hand in this attack in the first place.
When Kurt made no further movement, Nika stood and rounded on the two men whom he called shield brothers, even during the rough patches. It was just in time to see Jord's spear come swiftly down through the noble mage’s chest, killing him in an instant. Nika hadn't liked Brunwick, one could even say he actively disliked the man just like most of Stonecrown's population, but upon witnessing the scene Nika almost felt his stomach flip. Because it wasn't just Brunwick; they'd hurt Brigitte and Lord Fenris, too. Whatever questions he had for Lord-Uncle Surt's sons died in his throat, replaced by just the one.
"What in th'fuck, Jord! Do you know what you've just done?!" he snapped, angrily seizing the haft of the spear from where he stood between the Fenris and the Surt. It was still stuck in Brunwick's corpse as Jord hadn't released it, making for a macabre tug of war as the spear head squelched in the mage's torso that the red headed man eventually won.
“Claiming what ‘s rightfully ours, mageblood.” Jord raised a smile to Nika as his bone and steel spear then pointed to the pact knight. It was a clear challenge, but Jorg would raise one of his small hand axes to stop his brother’s spear. ”Focus on th’ prize brother, or we’re both dead.”
The blackcloaked men had surrounded the room, blocking both the smoldering window and the blown out doorway. But the two northmen traitors set their gaze on, not even Kurt, but the unconscious daughter of his. ”Fenris ends tonight Old Wolf.”
It was after those words spoken by Jorg that the two men made to dash past the knight and directly at the leaders of Fenris. The hand axes of one brother swiped downward at Kurt as he leapt into the air, while the smaller brother stayed low and began to charge forward with his spear. The spear head flashed as it was thrust at the defenseless heiress of the north, but it did not meet flesh. There was a clang and a scraping noise as the broad side of Nika's own axe intercepted the blow. With a twist he forced Jord's spear down and stepped in to swing the axe head at the man, but the extra space afforded to him by the spear let him back step away.
At the same time Kurt, wounded and breathing heavily, ripped the fur and tattered leather from his body and leaned towards the brother wielding axes. Steel met steel as it sparked along his breastplate, not quite strong enough to split the lord’s armor. With his feet planted Jorg brought his weapons down across any part of Kurt that he could reach, but even in this state the more experienced warrior parried them with his sword.
Nika had fetched the weakened shield from his back as he fended off Jord, gritting his teeth harder with each jab of the man's spear against the wood or lucky cut on his armor. He swung his axe once more with a heavy chop aimed to shatter the spear's shaft when it next closed in on him, but the reinforced bone only cracked, it did not break.
"You've gone mad! If you think either of you are gettin'–!"
"Oh come off of it ya bastard!"
Jord flicked the spear head down and back up in one swift motion, catching the rim of Nika's shield and knocking it from his grasp. When he pulled the weapon back in for another go he suddenly found his vision full of splinters. The pact knight had caught the edge of his shield and flung it right for Jord's face where it broke on impact, making the man's head snap to the side. When he looked back at Nika it was with a bloody cut on his temple and glare full of daggers.
He charged with a low roar, aiming to run Nika through. Chest, stomach, it didn't matter so long as he got one good stab in. The spear head glanced off of the axe raised in defense, instead running sharp along Nika's arm straight into his bicep, forcing him back with a stagger. Nika bit back a gasp of pain as the weapon was wrenched back out of the wound, and though Jord's eyes glinted with delight at drawing Nika's blood he heeded his older brother's words, using the opening not to try and finish the pact knight off but to whirl around and strike at the distracted Lord Fenris.
The spear did land its mark this time, punching through the chain skirt around the man’s hips and slashing through skin and flesh beneath it as it sank deep enough into his body for the head to snap off in. Kurt didn’t even flinch as crimson sputtered onto the interlinked iron, turning his attention to Jord.
The lord of the north’s downward flash of rimeglass roared against the wind like a sonic boom, and the moment the crystalline blue blade made contact with the fur of the younger brother’s shoulder— you would hear the explosion of bone and muscle a moment before the rupture of leather opened up to cleave the boy’s right arm clean from his body. The empty space where his sleeve once connected to his torso barely held on as his spear landed on the ground.
”Jord!” the elder brother cried out as rage filled his mind and he spun with both axes to flash against the lord’s open side, one axe aimed for the ribs and the other for his neck. The lord caught the one at his neck within a blackened metal gauntlet, but the one at his ribs was particularly vicious, catching the thin interconnection between leather and breastplate and opening up a deep and grisly wound that painted more of the lord’s armor red. All the while the cloaked men pressed in slowly, ever closer, waiting for their opportunity.
The room was stuffy, the air thick with the scent of blood and smoke. It was far from silent given the sounds of battle in the enclosed space and the scrambling outside of it, but even injured the wolf lord's firm voice cut through the din.
“Leave now, Nika! Or Fenris dies with us all here!” Kurt shouted the command, pointing his unarmed hand at the pact knight. He could see the hesitation in the young man's eyes as Nika looked between Brigitte and her father.
"Not without you!"
Just then Jorg spun around, swinging the double axes to slash at the pact knight. Only his learned instinct saved Nika from being cleaved in the gut as he brought his own weapon up to catch Jorg's, the sharpened sides biting into the handle. Nika winced at the strain on his wounded arm, and unable to compete with Jorg's power he landed hard on the ground on his back, the elder Surt coming down on top of him.
Kurt, wounded as he was, confused and betrayed, mustered the last of his strength and at that moment his eyes changed... the sclera vanishing as the pupils consumed the vast majority of his eyes. It almost seemed as if two black voids had taken his vision, and in this transformation the lord seemed to not be himself. His breathing was slower and heavier, the grip on his sword gained strength once again, no longer labored as he stood tall. It was his primal will to survive, taking hold of his body, even at the brink of death it seemed as if a second wind brought the lord right back into his prime.
Normally it was an awe-inspiring sight, but this was the moment that the blackcoats had been waiting for. Two of the shrouded figures brandished silver blades and somehow vanished into thin air before appearing behind the lord and rapidly began to stab through the opened leather plate. But he would not be hindered as he looked to the unwounded traitor, extending his blade forward before speaking a single word as red mist hissed out between the man’s lips.
“Vaknan.”
And suddenly the lord closed the distance between himself and Jorg, the tip of his rimeglass sword brightening as it was plunged into the side of the elder brother. Easily it split the man’s thin armor and penetrated into his stomach, before the lord twisted the blade and loosed it to turn on the blackcloak assailants that flocked with their knives drawn to carve pieces off of the lord Fenris.
On the ground Nika felt the sickening warmth of blood splash over him. Jorg's blood, Kurt's blood, as the former was tossed off of him. He tipped his head as he pushed himself to sit, getting a glimpse of Jord, slumped over his severed arm but rousing not far away. Then he looked to Brigitte, still unconscious but thankfully untouched save for the splotches of red that decorated her the same way it did him. Though she was alright for now, his still heart thundered in his chest. They were outnumbered, and with Brig out cold and Lord Fenris already pushed to manifest his will like this, then...
Nika hastened to collect Brig in his arms, diving over to her even before he heard Kurt bark at him once more. "Go!"
The knight held his charge close to his chest as he surged to his feet, pushing through the crowd of cloaks while most focused on Lord Fenris. Some made an effort to grab them in order to keep the young Fenris from escaping, but it did little other than tear Nika's short mantle. Though it was blocked by more of the hooded men he bolted for the door, his expression steeled.
One of the blackcoats reached out to stop him, but with one hand he reached out for them at the same time. The tips of Nika's fingers brushed the figure's arm, the pulse of a dull red glow the only warning before Nika's seldom used aura swelled and the man's limb spurted blood, gouges in his cloak betraying the harm done underneath. The pact knight felt something simultaneously loosen and lock in his chest, but he didn't pause. He barreled past the other confounded guard as the first crumpled to the ground, re-securing his hold on Brig as he sprinted from the chamber as fast as his legs would carry them.
Can't trust nobody. Horses outside. Go. He repeated Kurt's words as he flew through the castle, trying not to dwell on the scene he'd left behind. Wake up Brig…!
Within the short time the group spent within the chamber, the keep had been emptied. Tables where a few people had sat to eat were left abandoned, the courtyard outside silent; there was only one sign of what had happened to everyone, and it was pools of blood that spilled on table tops and onto the ground beneath them. It was an eerie sight and an even eerier feeling that there were not even enemies around to be seen. There was no troop of invaders or remnant blackcoats left outside the chamber door to keep watch, which meant that once they made it outside they should, hopefully, be free.
The large double doors of the keep's entrance swung open, and the quiet sight of snow capped walls was welcome after all of the red filled scenes. Nika did not slow as he entered the fortified area between the outer walls and the castle itself. There were a number of unfamiliar horses and stagecoaches parked there, unrecognizable as they weren’t quite luxurious enough to be from the West and certainly not in the style of the North. That they'd made their way to Stonecrown without so much as a rumor being spread, let alone into the castle yard itself was telling. At least there were plenty of horses to take, including Kurt's own, still saddled due to his hasty return.
The fact that the animal, a large black stallion with layers of weaved twill and fur pelts draped over its body, still lived was not as much of a relief as it might have been in different circumstances. Whoever had roped the traitorous northmen in and attacked them clearly did not expect Kurt to make it out and reclaim his steed. It made Nika's gut twist to think about it. Only when he reached the horse did he pause to catch his breath, standing with Brig pressed between him and it as his shallow pants formed fog in the air. The animal looked down at them, eyes deep and dark.
Nika made to slip around the stallion, his eyes darting between the other animals and the area at large. The small lodging of fellow knights and some of their families stood on the grounds, but even these stood empty, their windows and doors broken in. Perhaps if circumstances were different they could be searched for clues or survivors, but the silence was worrying.
The pact knight shifted Brigitte in his unwounded arm, loathe to let her go even for a moment lest some unseen assassin swoop in. He took the reins of a dun-colored horse with a spare saddlebag, leading it into the shadow of the wall. They needed to flee before someone saw them, Nika knew that, but guilt was beginning to build up. He cast his gaze up the castle wall to where the audience chamber would be, barely visible from where he was. He could see the blackened stone of the burst of fire, but there was no sign of Kurt. Inside the ruined window was dark...
A chill ran up Nika's spine. The faceless hood of one of the blackcloaks stared out of the opening down at him.
"Nika!"
The man ripped his attention from the blown out opening, turning quickly towards the source of the deep, scratchy voice. It was another knight, with a brown beard and his hair braided on both sides of his head.
"Asgeir," Nika breathed. He knew this man. A warrior through and through, with a soft spot for the plump blonde woman who ran the castle's kitchen staff. Asgeir hustled over to them, one of his hands spread wide to gesture to the empty yard.
"What in the blazes happened? I can't find another soul here, like everyone's been Eldnapped."
"Lord Fenris... he was- ‘e's been betrayed," Nika managed, squeezing his eyes shut. "And he's still up there! We've got to find more help, 'else..."
He stopped, blinking his pale red eyes open again.
"What, boy?" Asgeir asked, but Nika took a step away from him. Where had Asgeir come from? One of the houses? He hadn't asked after Brigitte though he'd definitely seen her, didn't look the least bit worried about Lord Fenris... Nika met Asgeir's eyes, the latter's expression hardening when he realized he'd been found out.
The older man lunged forward, drawing a dagger from his belt which he thrust at Brigitte's still form. It caught the edge of Nika's gambeson instead, cutting a strip down the padding as the knight twisted away. He raised his leg to kick Asgeir in the gut, drawing a grunt, and ducked into the line of coaches cursing himself. The gathered horses began to spook when Asgeir stomped after him, meaning the turncoat didn't get far. The black stallion let out a low scream as Nika and Brig passed it, its hind legs shooting out and its hooves cracking against their pursuer. He flew backwards, landing on the ground with a wet thud.
He did not rise, but at that point a few of the cloaks had begun making their way out of the keep. Nika had skidded to a halt when he heard Kurt's steed move, and when he caught sight of the mysterious blackcoats again his breath stuttered. Lord Fenris hadn't been able to hold them longer?
He couldn't entertain that line of thought. The Black Wolf had given Nika the order to run, and if it would save Brig's life then he would run; he couldn't waste time regretting leaving his lord behind. He threw the woman in question over the shoulders of her father's horse, and himself into its saddle afterward. Blessedly it did not buck him, and with a kick to spur it into motion it began to run. Nika moved it close enough to snatch the reins of the horse he’d prepared, and with a jerk and an angry whinny it sprinted with them as they picked up speed. The castle’s gates were open, but ahead he could see someone -A northman? A mage knight? It was hard to tell- pushing at the heavy wood to start closing them again.
"Faster, Nakki...!"
They blitzed out of the castle grounds before they could be trapped inside, hoofbeats thundering on the cobbled road. Behind them, a blaze began to catch.
It was the rapid vibration and fresh cold wind of the north that eventually stirred Brig from the concussed state she was in. That sense of throbbing remained in her head, along with the ringing in her ears, but what ached the most was her skin— that was rapidly heated not all that long ago. The cold had never felt so painful, and with the speed that Nakki traveled it was like freshly burned skin over running water. The raven-haired woman hissed as she twisted and turned, before looking up to Nika with squinted bloodshot eyes. ”What happened, where are we?..”
So focused was he on getting out of Stonecrown that Nika almost didn't hear her words over the pulsing in his ears. He glanced down at her, eyes wide and watery, and without much warning he folded himself over her and collect her in a tight hug. It was an awkward position, one that was liable to make them slip from the horse’s back, but the stallion slowed. By now they were out of the city, not far enough to be truly safe but where a moment’s respite would not put them back into immediate danger.
"Brig! Thank goodness... took y'long enough...!"
It wasn’t an answer to her question, though the look on Nika’s face warmed her heart for a moment, looking around would only frighten the woman more. The galloping of her father’s horse away from Stonecrown, the smell of smoke, just to look back towards the distant city they fled from and see the flicker of flame burning through her old home. It tightened in her lungs like the burning fumes that were no longer there, and then she choked as fear and confusion twisted too tightly. She wriggled out of Nika's grasp as her stomach upended, causing that bread she ate to be vomited off the side of the horse.
”Where’s Pa?” Brigitte quietly muttered out loud knowing that only Nika would hear her. After asking that question she would shift along the side of her father’s horse until she was sitting properly like Nika.
He had rested a hand on her back while she heaved, and afterwards was silent for long enough that Brigitte could tell she would not like whatever next came out of his mouth.
"He's... Back there. In the keep. Still fighting, last I saw.”
Back there? In the fire? Brig’s own eyes widened as her head turned to stare back at the blaze overcoming the top half of the Fenris keep. She swallowed, still tasting like stomach acid and fresh bread— what about the bakers, what about the hounds? The overload of questions that would not get answers sent tension in a violent assault across Brig’s body. She felt hot, cold, uncomfortable and angry all at the same time. She reached up, reciprocated Nika’s hand with her own on his. But it squeezed so tightly.
“And why aren’t we there?” She asked with narrowing eyes.
He'd known the question was coming, but still Nika felt the words of his reply stick in his throat. He would not make excuses though. He met Brig's eyes and delivered the truth.
"T'make sure you were safe. There was a blast and you wouldn't wake, your p- Lord Fenris protected you."
Here Nika paused, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath to keep the most of his composure.
"It's all fucked, Brig. I dunno what... His own knights tried to kill you, t’kill him," he said, loath to admit out loud that they might have succeeded.
The last words spoken by Nika twisted that invisible knife in Brig’s stomach a little more, but her stomach was empty. They would just have to run, for now, but her father had allies— which ones could be trusted would need to be carefully contemplated upon. But a betrayal like this would have taken years to plan, allies for years to be turned like this doesn’t happen overnight. There were so many thoughts swirling in Brig’s head but the day was still young, and their journey had just begun.
“...we’ll make for Blackpebble, th’ leadership there fought with pa. Keen Eye Keegan, never met him before but I’m sure... I hope that he could offer us some help.” Unsureness was all over her face, painting the once hard and confident woman in a paler more insecure light than she’d ever worn before. There was anger too, and it wouldn’t pass, but it wouldn’t be directed upon Nika. He'd taken her out of there; if he was involved she’d already be dead.
“Thank you... Nika…” She said, voice weakening as she passed out again, this time allowing the adrenaline to subside as her heartbeat slowed and her body came to rest, giving her the energy for whatever might’ve come to pass when they reached their destination.
Blackpebble was more lively than the last time the pair had made a trip there to pick up supplies for their annual wyrm hunt. Travelers from every region, dwarves working their furnaces and mills, northmen carrying freshly tanned hides and ivory, it was a stark contrast from what was unknowingly going on at Stonecrown. In the furthest corner of the hustle and bustle, was a rather large inn with a massive boulder etched with dwarvish runes at its entrance.
“Th’ Stone’s Throw, supposedly it’s been here since before the town was built, that rock ‘s why the town is called Blackpebble.” An inconsequential fact, but some trivia could add levity to their circumstances.
“Before we go and talk t’ Lord Keagen, there’s a mercenary my pa was telling me about that might be here. Sellsword loyalty ‘s bought, so we don’t have t’ question whether or not they’re working with traitors ‘r not.” Brig harrumphs before sliding off the side of her father’s horse and dusting snow and ice from her personage.
"Sure, but s'not like you've got the 'crown treasury in your pocket," Nika reminded her.
They guided the black and dun horses to a lead at the tavern’s side. Brig gave the stallion a few pets before they headed through the stone and wooden door leading inside.
There were tables of shifty looking men and women playing cards, bars stools filled with drunkards barking about hunts and mercenary work, all amplified by the steady rambunctious clamor of string instruments from a bard singing in the corner. Brig pulled the fox fur from her neck further up to conceal the bottom of her face before making her way with Nika at her side to the familiar face at the bar. The half-dwarven man serving ale and food stopped as two people of repute approached him looking like they’d gone through hell.
”Didn’t think I’d ‘ave to look at ye’re ugly mugs for a while, Lady Wolf and young knight.” The owner of the Stone’s Throw, Maeki chirped out in a warm and welcoming tone, smiling at the two before stroking through his long red beard and leaned towards the two.
”Ale on th’ house or ye’ looking for something in particular t’day?” His hands cupped over the elbows that rested along the countertop as his head tilted to the side.
”When you’re freed up Maeki, we need t’ talk in private. It’s urgent but you’ve done nothing wrong, tend t’ your patrons first.” Brigitte’s tone was deathly serious and her dark eyes widened, but her lips remained flat and stiff.
”If ye’ can wait for this last pack of mercenaries ta’ clear out, I’ll bring the two of ye’ into th’ back room. Should I ward th’ door?” The half-dwarven man’s tone remained warm, but his own face mirrored that seriousness offered to him, glancing to the door they walked through and then to the many faces of the tavern before returning his sight to Brig and Nika.
”A ward would put me at ease, but if you trust everyone here ‘ts not necessary. Just come grab us when you’re ready, we’re looking for a mercenary anyway... the one who’s known for hunting mages.”
Ah, that mercenary, Nika thought. Despite his Luxun features, he didn't bat an eye. It was a good idea, if they could get the man on board. He had to wonder what Kurt might have been planning though, if he'd been keeping tabs on someone like that. | . | 
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1x Thank
