An Angel Called Eternity

To Bet on Losing Dogs - Svaltha II: To Ensnare an Eagle

Svaltha II: To Ensnare an Eagle

The Seventh Day of the Third Moon, 873 AD.
Isan's Passage, Hoarsoil Valleys, Scelopyrea.

She wasn't sure how long it had been when she came to. It might have been a few hours, could have been half a week, but regardless of how long she'd been in a trance she was still alive.

Alive, and not where she'd been when she'd first slipped into her trance.

There was a man next to her wearing some of the most bizarre looking armour she'd ever seen, with what looked like animal bones over steel. She curled her lip up in disdain and confusion.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The man bolted upright, apparently having been half-asleep, and looked at her as though she had grown three heads. He immediately jumped to his feet and cupped a hand around his mouth.

"BOSS, SHE'S UP!"

At that there was the sound of pattering feet, surprisingly light for a man in heavy armour, and a figure she'd seen before in fleeting visions appeared before her. She stifled a smirk before it had a chance to appear on her face. Perfect.

"Holy druid, I thank the Bloody One you're alright. We would have set off by now, but we did not wish to disturb you whilst you were communing with the Lord of Slaughter."

Svaltha rolled her eyes.
"You are Kætil, the son of Dyfed, are you not?"

He nodded at her respectfully, if in a manner that displayed more than a little egomania.
"Indeed I am, holy one. Tell me, do you wish to make for my father's warcamp?"

She huffed a little at the uneasy politeness in his tone.
"Put away the pleasantness and attempted deference, you're clearly not good at using it."

The boy blinked at her a few times, apparently surprised by either her informality or acerbic tone, perhaps both, before grinning at her.

"Well, that's certainly more my sort of interaction. Right, here's what we're going to do," the warrior cupped his hands to call out to his men spread out across the valley, "BOYS! GRAB UP YOUR KIT, GET THE WOUNDED ON HORSEBACK, AND MAKE READY TO HEAD FOR HOME!"

She winced a little at his volume, then took a moment to look around at what had once been the convoy she'd led. There was a pyre set up using the remaining intact pieces of the carriages and carts as well as all of the little shards of wood that had splintered away, and on top of it lay the bodies of seven humans and two Umbra. Guess they got them.

"Seven of your men died, then?"

Kætil nodded grimly at the pyre.
"They did. We had six die in the fighting and one more from his injuries afterwards. You see Krai over there?"

He pointed at one of his men who was being supported by two others. She nodded twice, gesturing for him to continue.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he's dead come the end of the day as well. A mighty swing from one of the Jotun broke just about every rib he had. A damn shame really, he's a fine mate to have at your back. Ah well, more's the pity I guess. Not much can be done unless he gets back to the warcamp, so we'll just have to hope for the best on that front."

She nodded at the warrior and gestured towards the two slain giants.
"Who got them?"

"Me, in the end." The young man gave her a toothy grin. "Sword through the skull of one, then me and the boys got the other one bleeding out until I could give it a mercy stroke."