An Angel Called Eternity

To Bet on Losing Dogs - Svaltha IV: Leave Our Masks

Svaltha IV: Leave Our Masks

The Twentieth Day of the Seventh Moon, 873 AD.
River Isanar, The Frozen Trails, Scelopyrea.

Krakevasil, but this was hopeless.

She was supposed to be a druid, and indeed in title she was, but druids weren't supposed to act like this. Druids didn't fawn over lovers that were barely kept secret, nor did they swoon at the heroic actions of another. Okay, in fairness to her she'd done less swooning at heroics and more at acts of unspeakable violence and brutality, but the annoyance held all the same.

She was in far too deep with Kætil, and the worst part was that she didn't want it to stop.

She had to admit, however begrudgingly, that the last few moons had been fun. Hell, ever since that ambush along the frozen trails things had been fun. No more stuffy bastards in robes making her recite a whole bunch of old tales for uncaring ears, no more nights spent learning how to scheme as the southerners did. No. She was able to do everything her way now, the northern way, and that way happened to include a whole load of fighting.

It made sense really. She'd been chosen specifically to get close to the son of the Great Jaerl, to become a trusted advisor to the young man. Which she had.

It just so happened that he'd managed to get close to her as well.

If the druids hadn't foreseen this sort of thing happening she'd be very surprised. There were so many layers to their plots and schemes that surely they had to know the two of them would end up desiring one another, especially given their proclivities to fighting and the shared enjoyment that came from knocking each other into the dirt.

There had been markedly less sparring between the two of them as of late, but true to Kætil's word they'd been on the warpath the whole time. She wasn't really meant to be fighting against the forces of the Eyvindottir given that she was a druid and was thus meant to stay out of secular issues, but none of her superiors had yet admonished her or even so much as mentioned it, so she took that to mean she was fine to continue. How could she turn down the prospect of yet another skirmish to fight in, yet another face to savour as it contorted in its last moments. Her god would surely never forgive her for excusing herself from such beauteous combat.

"You ready for the next one, Sval?"

She grinned at Kætil as he walked over to her, helmet under his arm and sword across his back.

"Course I fuckin' am. How's about you chieftain? Reckon you can keep up?"

He snorted at her.
"Can I keep up? Funny, I seem to recall I won last time. And the time before."

She shrugged at him, unwilling to give in to his baiting.
"One time's a fluke, the second is luck. You've got no chance of beating me a third time, since that would take skill."

He rumbled out a low laugh at that.
"Oh, it is fucking on. Careful you don't get yourself hurt now. I hear there's some Shieldmaidens amongst the enemy this time. You don't think you're outmatched, do you?"

She chuckled at his teasing tone.
"I'm many things Kætil, but never outmatched."

Kætil smiled at her, clapping her on the shoulder, but she couldn't miss the concern he tried to keep out of his voice when next he spoke.

"Of course you aren't! Still, be careful out there. Those boar spears are especially lethal to those in light armour."

 She nodded at him.
"And their bear spears are designed to pierce the heavy mail and scale of a huscarl. Keep your shield handy, Kætil. We both may end up needing it if there really are Shieldmaidens amongst the foemen this time."