Army of the Cursed - War of the Last Day #1 [EXCERPT]

3. A Rascal's Respect

"What about you?" Engrid tilted her head, her narrow eyes betraying her doubt. "Your father said you could come at last?"

"Yes, he did." Recalling his last conversation with his father, Halgrim wasn't really sure if that was a lie. His father was talking to his mother about the coastal bandits who became bolder by the day. "We must strike them at their den. This will deter the likes of them from coming near our lands," he said while having dinner with Halgrim and his mother. When Halgrim asked if he could be part of that attack, his mother protested, so Halgrim waited. Outside the house, he found his father feeding his horse, so Halgrim repeated his request. "A lot might happen until the next raid comes," his father answered. "So who knows? You might be part of it."

Well, that was not exactly a promise, was it?

"If you are sure he did, then let's go." Engrid nudged her horse to move. "We need to hurry."

"Wait." Halgrim caught up with her on horseback. "What do you mean by if you are sure?"

"Don't get me wrong. But I never imagined your father would allow you to join the band this soon."

"This soon? I will be eighteen at the end of next summer."

She turned to him, the right side of her mouth quirking upward. "It's not only about age. Not everybody grows at the same pace, you know."

The lean Skandivian girl must be hinting at Halgrim's frame, which was slim like his mother's, yet tall like his father's (No man in Skandivia would describe Halgrim's father as a tall fellow, though. To the Sons of Giants, Halgrim's father's height was just not bad). He might get his arms thicker and shoulders broader over the years, but no way would he grow three more inches to be as tall as Engrid's towering uncle.

"It's not only about size either," Halgrim said. "Did you already forget my duel with Obinson last week?" The youth was twice as huge as Halgrim yet Halgrim had managed to win thanks to his swift strikes.

"Obinson is slow and stupid," she scoffed. "I can beat him too."

Slow and stupid, yet he has been part of the band for almost two years. "You should have seen me spar with Da a few days ago. I was so fast I—"

Engrid shushed him. "We need to stop talking and start flying to the valley. Unless you want to miss all the fun."

She spurred her horse into a gallop, and so did he. "No, you won't," he teased her. "You can never outrun a Bermanian."

"Says the Bermanian with a Skandivian name," she snorted. Truth be told, Engrid was too good for a Skandivian horse rider. Or perhaps it was Halgrim himself who was too bad for a Bermanian, if he was a true one in the first place. Born and raised here in Skandivia, sometimes he felt he belonged to neither of the two countries.

Shortly after they crossed the bridge, Engrid pulled the reins of her horse. "What is that?"

Only when she stopped did Halgrim notice the company emerging from the north. A dozen men marching on their feet led by four horsemen. From his spot, he couldn't recognize any familiar faces.

"I don't feel good about this," Halgrim muttered when the horsemen of that mysterious band hurried toward him and Engrid, leaving their fellows behind. "Engrid, find Da and your uncle and bring them back to the village. I will hinder those men until you return with the whole band."

"Hinder them on your own? How will you do that?"

Halgrim had no clue, and still those dubious horsemen were getting closer. "Just go now. We must split before it's too late."