Rise of the Valkyrie - Utgar

[TheAverageFan]

Originally Posted by The Grim Reaper's Friend

So if you see something you want to critic, please do so.

~TGRF.

Hmm, well there is one thing.

~TAF

[TGRF]

Originally Posted by TheAverageFan

Hmm, well there is one thing.

~TAF

Despite that...

Chapter Five

Spoiler Alert!

“I do,” Utgar repeated.

There was complete silence. Guards and prisoners alike stared at him in shock. The guards were the first to recollect themselves.

“You—” one of them said. He started towards Utgar, hand on his whip.

But Utgar had no intention of submitting. Runa needed to see this. She needed to know that there was still hope.

The guard loosed his whip, and swung it at Utgar, a snarl on his face. Utgar dropped to the ground, and a moment later heard the whip slice through the air where he had been. However, he was now in a very bad situation. The soldiers were armed with small crossbows, and wouldn’t hesitate to use them if they thought he stood a chance against them. Utgar needed a shield.

Utgar got his legs under himself, and sprang towards the closest thing which would work: the advancing guard.

The guard had not expected Utgar to jump at him. He stood still, his whip still outstretched, his face registering nothing but surprise. And then Utgar collided with him, and they both went down.

As they struggled, Utgar could hear the other guards approaching, running across the hard stones of the Volcarren. He quickly wrapped one arm around the guard’s throat from behind, and with his free hand, yanked the guard’s sword from its scabbard. Then he stood, holding the gasping guard in front of him.

The advancing soldiers paused, wary. They might be immortal, but death still hurt. At least Utgar assumed as much, based on their hesitation.

He risked a glance at Runa. She hadn’t moved, but was watching him. Her eyes were dry now, her mouth slightly open.

And then everything changed. A soldier, unseen and unheard by Utgar or Runa, dropped from above on silent wings. Utgar heard him strike the ground behind him, but before he could turn around, powerful armored arms circled around his throat.

Utgar instantly felt his air supply cut off. He tried to stab behind him with the sword he held, but the soldier behind him had circled his free arm, and prevented him from moving his arm back. The next instant, the soldier leaned backwards, bringing Utgar with him, and they both fell to the ground. The sword clattered out of Utgar’s grasp.

He scrabbled at the soldier’s arms with his hands, trying to pry them off of his throat, but it was no use. They were like slabs of unyielding stone.

Utgar thought he heard Runa utter a cry and begin to move forwards, but his vision was failing too fast. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think, except for a red panic welling up inside his head. He couldn’t—

Utgar came to a few moments later, his hands, feet, and wings bound. He was being dragged across stone, a soldier on either side of him, his feet bumping and scraping on the rough rocks.

A shape loomed up out of the darkness of the night, and a moment later Utgar recognized it as one of the tents the guards used to sleep in and store food. Soldiers were positioned at the front, their armor glinting in the light of a single lantern somewhere outside of Utgar’s vision. He was dragged between the two soldiers, into the tent.

The tent was bare except for a rough wooden table and a few chairs. Utgar was thrust into one of the chairs. The guards circled behind him, and Utgar felt the ropes around his wings loosen momentarily, and then tighten again, this time secured to the back of the chair. Then the guards left, leaving Utgar alone.

What was going on? Where was Runa? Utgar strained his neck, trying to see the whole tent. It was completely bare. There was nothing on the walls, nothing on the ground, just nothing. Not even a light. The unseen lantern shed a weak orange light through the thick walls of the tent, but it was only just enough to see by. Everything was in shadow.

Runa. He had to get back to Runa. He had raised her for twelve years on the hope that they could get out; he couldn’t let that hope fail now. Somehow, he had to free himself and reach her. Was she in a tent like he was? Surely they wouldn’t have put her back in the pit with the other prisoners?

Utgar’s thoughts were interrupted as a kyrie entered the tent. He wore armor, but his was polished and adorned with several ribbons (the cloth of which was badly frayed, likely courtesy of the Volcarren winds). Utgar guessed he must be a commander of some sort.

The commander pulled up a chair and sat opposite Utgar. For a space, the two kyrie sat in silence, watching each other. Then the commander sat back.

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

Utgar blinked in surprise. That was an odd question to ask, given the circumstances.

“You have a daughter,” the commander said. “You just saw how Orm deals with rebels. What were you thinking, defying my men like that?”

What was he thinking? He had been trying to repair some of the damage to his daughter. “Why do you care?” Utgar asked, warily.

“Never mind that,” the commander said. He watched Utgar for a minute, then appeared to change his mind. “I know what it’s like,” he said, “for a child to grow up without their father. I would never wish that on anyone, and I doubt you wish that for your daughter. So I ask you again, what were you thinking?”

Utgar was silent.

“You can’t escape,” the commander said. “You know that, right? Even if you got out, where would you go? Orm has forts surrounding this cursed Wasteland. Before you reached them, you would run out of food or water or both. The storms would tear the skin from your bones without shelter. You must know this.”

Utgar nodded slowly.

“Then why?” the commander asked. “Why resist? Why fight when you can never escape?”

Utgar leaned forward as best he could, tied to the chair as he was. “Because,” he said, looking the commander in the eye, “we can escape.”

Vara had escaped. Utgar knew it, for if she had died, the soldiers would have been sure to show her body as proof that escape was impossible. And yet they had never done so. They had made up stories that they had slain her in the Wasteland, but with no proof, Utgar didn’t believe them. No, Vara had escaped, proving that it was possible.

The commander got up. “I can see you won’t change,” he said, a hint of sorrow in his voice. “I had hoped you would though. I have no sympathy for your people, but I had wished your daughter would not have to finish her years without a father.” He then turned and exited the tent.

Utgar sighed. He hated admitting it, but the commander had a point. He never should have stood up to the guards. What had he expected? To defeat them all and somehow escape with Runa into the night? If he was ever going to escape, he needed to have a plan. But now, any chance he might have had was gone. The soldiers would likely execute him in the morning; that’s what they did with rebels. And the commander’s words would come true: Runa would grow up without a father.

Unless Utgar escaped before the night was out.

~TGRF.

[TGRF]

Chapter Six

Spoiler Alert!

The night was more than half over before Utgar finally managed to free himself. The soldiers had tied him tightly, but after hours of stretching and contracting his wings, and wriggling his arms, the bonds finally became loose enough for him to pull his hands free. He immediately untied his feet, and then, reaching behind him, struggled with the ropes tying his wings to the chair. Soon, they too were on the floor.

Getting out of the tent was easy enough. Utgar knew there were guards stationed at the front, but there was no floor to the tent, meaning Utgar simply had to lift up one side, and carefully slide himself beneath it. He did so, the sharp stones of the Volcarren grinding painfully against his wind-toughened skin.

The familiar blast of sand and ash greeted Utgar as he stood outside the tent. The wind had picked up since the sun had set. Good. That might muffle sound.

Utgar glanced around the corner of the tent. Sure enough, two guards were stationed at the front, standing still, oblivious that they were being observed by the prisoner they were supposed to be guarding. Directly across from them, two guards stood at attention, guarding another tent.

It was as good a place to start looking as any. If Runa was here, she would certainly be under guard. It was only logical for the soldiers to assume that she was a rebel too, and besides, she was insurance against Utgar in their eyes.

The tents were situated on a rise of ground – one of the only rises for miles in the bleak emptiness of the Volcarren. Utgar slid down the slight slope, and then skirted the edge. If he could come up behind the tent Runa was in, he would never be seen.

Utgar’s plan worked perfectly. He clambered up the bank, lifted the edge of the tent, and slid under it. He found himself in a tent almost identical to his own, down to the rickety chairs and table, empty walls, and same weak lantern light. The only difference was that Runa was sitting in a chair, bound to it as Utgar had been, her head sunk on her chest in fitful slumber.

Utgar went to her and placed a hand over her mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered as she woke with a start. He removed his hand and began untying her.

“We’re leaving,” he whispered as he worked. “We’re escaping, Runa. We’ll steal into these tents and get what food and water we can, and then we’ll go east, the same way your mother went. We’ll find her, Runa.”

Utgar didn’t care about the difficulties they would face. Vara had faced them, and prevailed. They would find a way too.

A stifled sob made Utgar look up.

“I can’t,” Runa whispered back, tears in her eyes. “With my wings, I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” Utgar said.

More tears leaked down Runa’s face. “No,” she whispered, “I can’t. I never could.”

Utgar looked up at her again, and saw that her eyes were wide, her lips trembling. She was afraid. It wasn’t about her wings at all.

“Yes,” Utgar said, standing. “You can escape. No one can stop you. Not the soldiers, and not Orm.”

Runa shivered at the name.

“He is a Valkyrie, Runa,” Utgar said. “Nothing more. He is not a god or a demon. He is a kyrie, and he can be beaten, just like his soldiers. He doesn’t control our lives, although he would like to. Don’t let him, Runa.”

Runa shook her head slowly, automatically. “But the… the lightning,” she breathed.

Utgar gently took her by both shoulders. She looked up at him. “I don’t care,” he said. “Okay? I don’t care. Your mother escaped. She was brave, when everyone else told her it couldn’t be done. She did it anyway. She gave us a chance. We have to be brave now. For her. Can you do that?”

Tears leaked down Runa’s cheeks, but she nodded, mutely. Utgar pulled her to her feet. “Then let’s get out of here,” he said.

Together, they moved to the side of the tent. Utgar lifted it enough for Runa to slide under, and then he slid after her.

Then Utgar stood, and found himself in the midst of two soldiers, both of whom were staring at him with shocked expressions.

“They’ve escaped!” one of them bellowed at the top of his lungs before Utgar could swing his fist into his jaw. He went down quickly, howling and clutching his face.

“Run!” Utgar shouted, motioning Runa down the rise.

But fate was not with them that night. Two soldiers landed on the edge of the rise, falling from the night sky on silent wings. More guards joined the first, hemming Utgar in.

“Don’t fight,” Runa cried, as Utgar clenched his fists. “Please, don’t.” She pulled on one of his arms. “It will only make things worse.”

Utgar glanced at her, and her tattered, broken wings. Her eyes were wide with fear.

Utgar lowered his fists and sank to his knees on the hard ground.

The soldiers were on him instantly, pinning his arms and legs and wings to the ground.

“I told you that you couldn’t escape,” came a familiar voice from above.

Someone removed their hand from Utgar’s head, and he was allowed to look up. The commander was standing over him.

“I didn’t expect to be proven right so quickly,” he observed dispassionately. He squatted down, so that Utgar could see him clearly.

“Look,” he said, “I’ll give you one last chance. You’ve done a lot of damage, and Orm won’t let you off easily, but you can still come out of this in one piece. I hope you have the sense to see that.”

Utgar was silent.

“Go to Orm,” the commander said. “I can take you there myself. Go to him, and beg for his mercy. Promise you’ll do whatever he says. If he likes what he hears, he will let you live.”

Utgar was about to say something he probably would have regretted later, but Runa’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Do it,” she said. “Please, father, do it. I don’t want to lose you.”

Utgar was silent, but a desperate frustration was growing within him. He couldn’t back down.

“Please,” Runa said, turning now to the commander, “please don’t kill him.”

“I can no longer make that decision,” the commander said. “It rests with Orm now.”

There was a moment of silence. “Then take me to him,” Runa said.

Utgar coughed out a mouthful of sand.

“Take me to him,” Runa repeated.

“You mean to ask for your father’s life?” the commander asked. “To beg Orm for mercy as well?”

Runa faltered. “Y-Yes,” she said.

“Runa, no!” Utgar choked out.

“Yes, father!” Runa said, suddenly turning on him. “I’m tired of this. I want to escape to, but I don’t want to die, and I don’t want you to die. If there’s something I can do to keep that from happening, I will do it.”

“We don’t have to beg Orm for anything!” Utgar snarled from the ground. “I’ve tasted of his mercy, and I want none of it!”

“Please,” Runa said, and Utgar felt her hand on his arm. The soldiers must have let her go. “Please. I can’t lose you like I lost mother.”

Utgar turned his head against the hard rocks until he could see her. “You didn’t lose your mother,” he said. “She’s out there, waiting for us.”

But Runa gave him a look, filled with sorrow, but also acceptance. “No,” she said. “She’s not.”

Utgar stared at Runa for a moment, his mind blank. Then he closed his eyes.

Above him, the voice of the commander rang out: “Take them to Orm.”

~TGRF.

[TGRF]

Chapter Seven

Spoiler Alert!

The following night, Utgar was to be found in a dark cell, his feet bound by a long chain to a ring in the middle of the floor.

True to his word, the commander had taken both Utgar and Runa to Orm’s citadel. The black fortress – what of it Utgar had been able to make out against the dying sun as it came into view – was massive, chiseled into and out of an old volcano.

Utgar had not been allowed to see much of the interior. The guards had quickly moved both him and Runa through a door, and down a maze of narrow passages, until they came to a circular room, which seemed to be a guard room. A single dark hallway connected to the guard room, and branching off of the hallway at regular intervals were small cells. It was in one of these that Utgar now sat, the commander’s promise still ringing in his ears that he would see Orm the following day.

Runa had been placed in a different cell; which one, Utgar could not be sure. His own cell was already occupied by a young kyrie; Utgar guessed him to be in his mid-twenties. He was scarred and burned like every other prisoner Utgar had seen, but his injuries were so extensive that Utgar had winced in pain the first time he saw him.

The kyrie’s skin was tough, leathery, and scarred from the wind. What there was of it. In places it was raw and bright red, sometimes just scabbed over, sometimes still fresh and bloody. Sand and dust coated the kyrie’s body, stuck to his skin in patches of dried blood. The kyrie’s eyes were swollen shut, the lids red and caked with sand. And ever since Utgar had been chained to the floor, the kyrie hadn’t stopped shaking and shivering, the chain connected to his ankle rattling against the floor incessantly.

Once the guard was gone, Utgar crawled over to the kyrie. “What happened?” he asked. It seemed pointless to ask if the kyrie was all right.

The kyrie coughed out a mouthful of bloodied sand. “Escaped,” he whispered. His voice rasped over his throat. He sounded as if he hadn’t had a drink for days.

“You escaped?” Utgar echoed.

The prisoner nodded weakly. “Got away,” he said. “Escaped in a dust storm. Worst idea ever.” He waved a scarred hand at his battered body.

“How did they find you?” Utgar asked.

The kyrie laughed weakly. The laugh turned to a horrible cough. “They didn’t,” he said, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “I found them.”

“What?”

“I was out for five days,” the kyrie said. “It rained the first two, but then it was bone dry. I had no food, and no water. I kept walking north – people said the coast was that way. Never saw anything. Just more rock and more rock. Nothing, nothing but flat, unending…” he shivered once more. “Couldn’t take it,” he said with a cough which shook his whole body. “There’s no cover out there. Nothing. First it was too hot, then it was too cold, and I could do nothing about it. Fifth day a dust storm came up. Nothing I could do. The sand… it went everywhere. I was blinded within a minute. Such pain in my eyes… couldn’t breathe… couldn’t stand in the wind… sand and bits of rock flying at me like crossbow bolts… I thought I would die. I wanted to die.”

“But,” Utgar said, “what about escaping?”

The kyrie really did laugh this time. “Escaping?” he echoed. “Escaping?” His voice was louder, rasping horribly through his ragged throat. “I did escape. Look what happened to me. What’s the point, of dragging yourself out there, if by the time you, by some miracle, make it out, you look like me? Let me tell you something—” he turned around to face Utgar “—they said they won’t even get a chance to execute me. I’ll die within the day. They say my eyes are both infected, as well as where the wind tore up my skin. I assume you’re here because you tried to escape too,” he added, turning back. “I’ll give you some advice: never try it again. You ever wonder why the guards don’t put walls around the camp? Because they don’t need to. They know that anyone who gets out there will come back to them in a day, or die.”

He was silent then, and Utgar retreated to the far corner, still unable to take his eyes from the kyrie’s mutilated skin.

Had he spoken the truth? Is that what really awaited Utgar? Or had he simply been unlucky? No, Utgar decided, dust storms came every few days, as did rain. In fact, the prisoner had been quite lucky to not encounter a storm until his fifth day. If anything, the odds had been in his favor.

Utgar finally tore his eyes away from the bloody mass of the prisoner. If that was the result of luck, he hated to see what happened when someone was unlucky. He remembered the words of the commander. He had tried to warn him.

Utgar looked again at the prisoner, and he finally had to admit it: escape was impossible. Vara had done it, somehow, but Utgar didn’t know how. He couldn’t put Runa through what that prisoner had suffered. He could never do that. Maybe his best chance was to beg Orm for mercy, and simply try to make Runa’s life as comfortable as it could be when they were both prisoners and slaves.

The door swung open. Utgar backed up against the wall as two guards came in and walked straight to the wounded prisoner. One held a small vial, and knelt at the prisoner’s side. The other guard kept his eyes on Utgar.

The guard with the vial dipped her finger into it, and gingerly touched the prisoner’s burned skin. She barely brushed it with the tip of her finger, but the skin instantly turned darker, scabbing over. Sand fell from it in sheets and began to form a pile beneath the prisoner. The guard dipped her finger into the vial once more, and lightly brushed the prisoner’s eyes. Instantly, their swelling subsided, and they returned to their normal color.

“What – Why have you done this?” the prisoner asked, blinking his eyes experimentally.

The guard watching Utgar turned to the prisoner. “Because,” he said, “no one escapes Orm’s wrath. He has decreed that you will be executed. You don’t get to die here quietly, where no one can see you.”

“But,” the prisoner spluttered, “but… that’s wellspring water! It must be!”

Utgar glanced quickly at the vial.

The guard laughed. “Yes,” he said, “it is. But you need more than that to live forever. That amount wouldn’t do anything but heal, even if you drank it outright.”

“What – I – Wait!” The prisoner cried.

The guard with the vial stood. “You’ll be executed in the morning,” she said coldly, wiping her fingers on her armor. They turned to leave.

Utgar watched the guard slip the vial into a pocket. A spark of hope suddenly ignited within Utgar. They couldn’t escape. But there was another way.

~TGRF.

[TGRF]

Chapter Eight

Spoiler Alert!

They couldn’t escape. Utgar knew that now. To escape was to sentence Runa to torture far worse than what Orm could invent. But to stay a prisoner was to sentence her to a longer torture, one which would last her entire life, and slowly drain any hope of happiness from her. Utgar could do neither. There was, therefore, only one thing left to do:

Utgar had to take Orm’s wellspring.

It was the only way. All of Orm’s power came from the wellspring. If Utgar had that same power, then he stood a chance. They all would.

Utgar had never considered taking the wellspring for good reason. Orm was no god, but he might as well have been one compared to Utgar. Trying to take the wellspring was suicide, plain and simple. But there was the smallest of chances that Utgar and Runa could come out of it free, truly free, and liberate their people. The smallest of chances were the best odds Utgar had ever had.

The next morning, when the guards came to take away the prisoner who had been healed, Utgar was ready. He had taken the long chain around his ankle (the other prisoner had refused to help), and coiled it around his arm.

When the door opened, Utgar hid behind it. Both guards walked inside. There was half a second where they looked blankly at the floor, realizing that Utgar was not there. And then Utgar threw the chain around their necks, and pulled.

The two guards hit the floor hard. One hit his head, and went limp for a moment. Utgar quickly wrapped his arms around the throat of the other guard and squeezed with all of his might. The guard struggled, grappling at Utgar’s arms, but it only took a few seconds for him to stop struggling.

Utgar had no time to make sure he was actually unconscious. The first guard, who had hit his head, was grasping for his sword. Utgar punched his arm away, and grabbed the hilt of the blade. He yanked it from the guard’s scabbard, hesitated for only a moment, and then plunged it straight into the guard’s chest. The soldier hadn’t thought to wear any armor inside Orm’s citadel.

Utgar yanked the blade out, and drove it into the chest of the second, similarly unarmored, guard. Then he stood, bloodied blade in hand, watching. Both guards gasped for air for a moment, and then, one after the other, disappeared. Everything went with them, including, unfortunately, the sword that Utgar held. Not even the blood was left, which had soaked the stones of the cell. The floor was left dry.

“Why,” choked the prisoner from behind Utgar, “why did you do that? They weren’t going to execute you.”

Utgar shot him a disgusted glance. “I’m not letting them decide anything about my fate any longer,” he said. “If I die, I’ll do it on my terms, not theirs. Are you with me, or will you sit there and wait for them?”

The prisoner hesitated. He glanced at the cell door, which was still ajar, unlocked. “I have nothing to lose,” he muttered, and got to his feet.

Quietly, Utgar opened the door and glanced down the hall. He could see the guard room, but no guards. Had those two been the only ones?

Silently, Utgar and the prisoner crept down the hall. A quick glance confirmed it: the room was empty. Utgar permitted himself a smile. Orm’s confidence would be his downfall.

“Keys,” the prisoner noted, pointing to a ring of keys hanging from a peg on the wall. Utgar grabbed them quickly, carefully closed the door to the guard room, and then sprinted for the hall, and the other cells, keys in hand.

The first cell was empty. The second cell held a single woman.

“Who are you?” she cried when she saw Utgar. “What do you want?”

Utgar came forward and knelt beside her. “It’s all right,” he said. “My name is Utgar. I’m here to free you.”

“Free?” The woman blinked at the word. “Is… Is Orm…?”

Utgar shook his head. “I’m going to take the wellspring,” he said, “but I can’t do it alone. I need you.”

But the woman shrank away. “You can’t beat Orm,” she whispered. “You can never beat Orm.”

“But—”

“Go. I want no part of this. I won’t bring more suffering upon myself.”

Utgar didn’t have time to try and convince her. So, leaving her door open, he moved onto the next cell. This one held another woman, along with a young boy, who didn’t look much older than Runa.

“I’m here to free you,” Utgar said, coming forwards as they looked up at him fearfully. “I mean to take Orm’s wellspring, but we have to move quickly.”

The woman and her son were silent for a moment. They glanced at each other, and then at Utgar.

“It was you we heard just now?” the boy asked. “Taking down the guards?”

Utgar nodded.

A slow grin slid onto the boy’s face. “Lead the way,” he said, standing up.

His mother tried to pull him back down. “Taelord, no.”

But the boy turned on her. “I’m not going to sit here, mother. Not any more. Father died believing we can be free, and I won’t let him die in vain. I won’t.”

His mother dropped her hand.

“I need you too,” Utgar said. “Please. I can’t do this alone.”

The woman looked between Utgar and her son. Finally she stood. “As you wish,” she said, resignedly. “I’m sure Orm would have executed us eventually anyway. Perhaps this way will be faster.”

With his new recruits, Utgar went to the next door. And so it went. Some prisoners were too afraid and refused to join Utgar, rather wishing instead to stay put and plead for Orm’s mercy. But most joined him. It made sense. The only people who would be in these cells would be those who were too dangerous to simply be dealt with at the prison camps they had come from. In a way, Orm’s soldiers had handpicked the best warriors Utgar could have asked for.

The final cell contained Runa. Utgar flew to her the moment he saw her, and they embraced, for a long time unaware of the cold stone beneath them or Utgar’s recruits watching from the door. But finally Runa broke free.

Utgar held up a hand before she could speak.

“I know you’re afraid,” he said, “and you are right to be so. I am afraid too. We all are. But we can’t let our fear enslave us any longer. That’s just what Orm wants. He wants us to choose between death at his hands or death at the hands of his soldiers. He doesn’t want us to realize that there’s another choice. If we’re brave, we can be free.”

Runa gave Utgar a doubting look. “Orm is a Valkyrie,” she said pointedly. “I had thought… I don’t know what I thought. But I saw what he can do that one night. We can’t defeat that. No one can. He can give us life,” she said, looking into Utgar’s eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “I don’t want to die.”

“You will,” someone said. Utgar looked behind him. The boy, Taelord, had moved into the cell. He crossed to Runa and knelt in front of her. “You will die,” he said. “If you remain here.”

Runa looked at him in confusion.

“You were always going to die,” Taelord continued (Utgar wanted to stop him, but didn’t know how to). “If you escaped, either Orm or his soldiers would track you down, or the Wasteland would claim you. If you stayed where you were, Orm’s soldiers would eventually wear you down until you simply couldn’t take any more.

“But this way,” the boy said, a gleam in his eye, “there’s a chance you won’t die. There’s a chance you’ll live forever, and never die.”

“There’s a chance I’ll be incinerated the moment I step outside of this cell,” Runa added.

Taelord promptly got up and walked through the cell door. He stopped in the hall and looked back at Runa. “No lightning bolt yet,” he said. He came back to the door. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Orm could blast us into nothingness if he gets the chance. But it’s not guaranteed he’ll get that chance. What is guaranteed is that if you beg him for mercy, and go back to your old life, you will die, and when you do, you will be weak, sick, in pain, and broken. If I’m going to die, I’m going to do it fighting for freedom.”

Runa was watching the boy with uncertainty.

“Remember the old tales?” Utgar asked, turning to her. “Remember Migol and his warriors?”

Runa nodded slowly, still looking at Taelord.

“We’re no different from them,” Utgar said. “They knew that the odds were against them. But that didn’t matter. The Empire had kept the power of the wellsprings for themselves instead of sharing it with all, and that was wrong. Migol was the only one brave enough to do something about it.”

“He also failed,” Runa pointed out quietly. “And his descendants got sentenced to live here for all eternity.”

“Yes,” Utgar said, “he failed. But he knew something, something the others didn’t.”

Runa glanced at him.

“He knew,” Utgar said, “that if you want to change something, you have to fight for it. If you want a better life, you’ve got to reach for it.” He stood, and offered his hand to Runa.

She looked at his hand for a long while. But then, slowly but decidedly, she reached up, and took it. Utgar pulled her to her feet, and turned to the prisoners assembled behind him.

“And now,” he said, “we take the wellspring.”

~TGRF.

[TGRF]

Chapter Nine

Spoiler Alert!

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Utgar turned. The mother of Taelord stood behind him, regarding him with a furrowed face.

Utgar turned to her. “I know what I must do,” he said. “I know there is only one thing I can do. Orm will kill us all either way,” he added, coming closer. “Either we die here now, or there later. But this way we have a chance at freedom. Real freedom.”

She still looked doubtful.

“What’s your name?” Utgar asked.

“Angva,” she said.

“Well, Angva,” Utgar said, “I can’t promise you that we’ll succeed. You know that. It’s much more likely that we’ll fail. But I can promise you something you’ve never had before: a chance. For both you and your son, I can promise you hope.”

Angva glanced at her son, who stood next to Runa. “You can’t promise me the one thing I need above all else,” she said. “You can’t promise my son’s safety.”

Utgar was silent. She was right.

“But,” she said, looking back at Taelord, “I know I’ll never convince him to stay behind.” She looked Utgar in the eye. “His life is in your hands. Safeguard it as you would your daughter’s.”

Utgar bowed his head. “Of course.”

Angva turned, and melted into the other assembled warriors.

Now came the hard part. They had to, somehow, get to the wellspring chamber and barricade themselves inside long enough to drink of its waters. Then, when Orm came, as he surely would, they would be ready.

Fortunately, there was a map of the citadel in the guard room. From it, Utgar was able to tell that the wellspring was close by. Their best chance at reaching it would be to go through a straight narrow hall. The wellspring would be dead ahead.

At first the hall was empty. Utgar and his warriors, which consisted of at least ten men, five women, and Taelord and Runa, stealthily crept down the narrow hall. Up ahead, quite close, they could see a thick door set in a stone wall. Beyond that door was the wellspring. But between them and the door was a circular hall, surrounding the wellspring chamber on the outside. Patrols regularly walked down this hall.

The last fifty paces of the hallway to the heavy doors were well lit. Utgar knew they would have no hope of hiding in the shadows. They would need to time it just right. If they could get to the doors just as the guards passed, then they should be able to all get in and barricade the doors before they could be stopped. From there, the wellspring would be theirs. Utgar doubted very much Orm would permit any guards inside the wellspring chamber.

Utgar counted the time it took for each patrol to pass. He double checked the time. Then he waited.

“Now!” he hissed when the last patrol passed by. As one, they ran down the hall, crouched and stepping softly. They got all the way through the hall and had almost reached the door before they ran into a patrol. Utgar had miscounted.

The guards drew their swords, but were instantly tackled to the ground by five prisoners. The guards were soon relieved of their weapons, and their bodies were dragged into the hall out of sight. Then, knowing that he had little time, Utgar pushed on the heavy doors.

They opened far too easily. Utgar had a glimpse of a dark circular room, with a faint white light in the middle which did nothing to illuminate its surroundings. And then two guards rushed at him from the darkness.

Utgar ducked the first blow. The second sliced cleanly into his left arm, and Utgar dropped to one knee, his whole side searing with fiery pain. But then the prisoners behind him flooded into the room, and more guards appeared from the darkness, brandishing weapons and in full armor.

The guards were heavily outnumbered, but they fought as though they were the gods of old. Encased in plated armor from head to foot, there was little the prisoners could do against them. The soldiers swung their swords and axes, wounding many, several laughing maniacally the whole time. But then the tide turned.

With a feral yell, Utgar saw Taelord jump, wings partially unfurled, over a pair of fighting kyrie, and land on a soldier’s head. The soldier waved his sword wildly, but Taelord ducked, yanked the soldier’s helmet off, and dug both of his thumbs towards the soldier’s eyes. The soldier, distracted, went down quickly as two other prisoners leapt at him.

From there, the guards began to fall. The prisoners, realizing that numbers were on their side, fought with a ferocity which Utgar had only heard of in the old stories. For a moment he saw the warriors of Migol, fighting the great Valhallian Empire for the right to taste of the wellsprings. He smiled to himself. The old stories were not dead.

Soon, the battle was over. Every time a guard was slain, their body, complete with clothes, armor, and weapons, would vanish. Utgar knew it took the wellspring at least a few days to spit them back out, sometimes much longer. If they didn’t have the wellspring by then, they never would.

Utgar’s warriors, though victorious, had not fared well. Nearly all had been injured in some way, and a good portion were now limping or holding various cuts on their arms or sides. But they didn’t care. Utgar could see a fire in their eyes, a fire which could only be put there by the hope of freedom. Utgar looked for Runa, and found her, hanging back near the wall. Although she had not participated in the battle, due to her wings, the same determination was in her face. They were close now.

The weapons stolen from the soldiers had disappeared when they had, but it didn’t matter. Utgar approached the faint white light in the middle of the circular room, and looked down into the depths of the wellspring.

It was perfectly clear, allowing Utgar to easily see the rocky bottom. Stretched over the wellspring was a dais of stone, a simple circle carved into it directly above the middle of the wellspring. Utgar didn’t know what that was for, but he was concerned with only one thing right now: drinking the water.

He stooped down, feeling his heart beating an excited rhythm against his chest. The other warriors seemed to have gone silent behind him. Utgar looked up, and saw Runa nearby, watching him, her face lit with the dim glow from the wellspring.

So this is how freedom starts, Utgar thought. And he reached out a cupped hand towards the water’s edge.

His hand ran into something solid. Utgar blinked. There was nothing there. Just air. He pushed, but he could very clearly feel a barrier of some sorts, as if there was a solid wall between him and the wellspring. It felt slippery and smooth, but very, very solid. Utgar’s heart sank.

Other kyrie tried to reach the wellspring. None could. It was surrounded on all sides by an invisible barrier. They couldn’t reach it.

Magic, Utgar thought.

And then the door opened. A kyrie with a gray beard, wearing full plate armor and a dark gray cloak, strode inside, quickly followed by a stream of equally well-armored soldiers.

The old kyrie looked about the assembled prisoners with piercing stormy eyes.

“Get away from my wellspring,” said Orm.

~TGRF.