Heart of Flame

XX. The Artist

"I...suppose I can't argue with the Eternal Watcher?" Vridash said, a bit bemused. Thadash was still just staring at Áshildr as if she'd sprouted a second head and blinking like a warrior who'd been clubbed in the face. "Sorne, do you feel—"

Sorne sighed. "Not feeling ready at all, no," she said as she sat down on the couch opposite to the two orcs, next to Áshildr. She was worried, despite her confidence in Vridash's good humor. Their shaman was being very quiet, and she didn't know what to make of that. She'd made certain that they were sitting down when Áshildr happily delivered the news. "Vakr told me I would grow into it."

Thadash took a deep breath and then nodded a little. "You will," the shaman said.

"You grew into a fine njoshari," the archer said in agreement despite his surprise. "You will be a fine goth."

"She need not do it alone," Áshildr said pleasantly. "She will have our assistance. And that of Murdak War-Son, I assume."

Vridash nodded, a gleam growing in his eye. "I have heard tales that the giants are warriors with few equals. No doubt the priestess here could teach you a few tricks."

The giantess inclined her head with a smile. "War is an art. We are artists. You dance to its drumbeats, we paint in its colors."

"Rather a lot of reds in that particular palette," Thadash murmured thoughtfully as he turned his attention to Sorne. He studied her for a long moment, clearly still processing all of this.

"A veritable rainbow of crimson," Áshildr said, her grin fierce at that comment. Clearly she was one of those who found it a worthwhile art to pursue. "Fire-Heart also wished me to tell you that there is a faster way to return to Throkk."

Sorne fidgeted. "Is there any way I can convince you to use my name, Áshildr?" the human asked. She didn't like the way it felt like a title. "I'm not a noble."

The priestess laughed. "No, Fire-Heart, you are not some prince in a tower. You are Champion of Nessa, Vanguard of the Host, Servant of Heaven."

Thadash straightened up as Sorne groaned and tried to sink down further in her seat. "A faster way to Throkk?" he asked. Sorne had no doubt that he missed Murdak and their home fiercely. He was no doubt happy to hear of it, though that happiness would probably be replaced by deep worry when he heard exactly what was entailed."How?"

"Sailing," Áshildr explained. "There are winds that blow south fiercely at this time of year. They could carry us down the Jagged Coast to Throkk with unceasing speed, at a pace far outstripping any orc njoshari. It is a way of avoiding the khiirdu and I find the brisk sea air brings my thoughts clarity."

"It is called the Jagged Coast for a reason," Vridash said with wide eyes. "There are rocks, shoals, danger everywhere. There are even great wyrms in the sea that devour ships. There is a reason orcs do not sail it."

"I had not thought that the mighty orcs were frightened by a bit of brine and a few sea serpents," the giantess said with a grin.

"We are not," Thadash said firmly. He eyed Áshildr cautiously. "How are we to sail? The seas are frozen from here to the Strait of Glass."

"Well, for the first leg of the journey, we will not be sailing. We will be flying," she explained, looking even more pleased when both of them blanched. "Dálkr, Næmr, and I mean to carry you until we reach Wyrmstooth, on the coast to the west of Ghurga. I have already given a sending. Hjorr is readying a ship. He is a mariner without equal. Fire-Heart already agreed."

"Was Fire-Heart thinking when she agreed?" Vridash asked, narrowing his eyes at Sorne.

"It's three months this way, and fifteen months the way we came," Sorne said, shifting a little uncomfortably at the glare. "I thought that you would both rather be home at this point. I know there is danger, but Áshildr promised me that she knew what she was talking about."