Fingers notched an arrow as Úlfr slowly ascended the grassy hill that overlooked the valley. As he reached the steep incline of the crest of the hill, he was forced to push his stomach against the ground as he barely managed to peek his eyes over the ridge with narrowed eyes. He leaned against his shoulder, bow at the ready, as he observed the ravine below.
Tucked between a lush forest and sprawling fields was a village hidden behind the hill. Unlike the typical metal buildings of Niðavellir, this village had kept its wooden frame buildings that were typical of the time when the dvergar were enslaved by the Jötnar. It was mostly forgotten in this part of the countryside, only remembered when or trade was necessary during the winter months when they could not subside on their harvest due to poor crop or natural disaster.
Or, in this case, when it was because bandits decided to take notice.
Úlfr noted the wide opened doors of the buildings that creaked in the wind and strewn items discarded on the ground. The village’s pastures were littered with dead animals that emanated a stench of rot where crows would peck at bloated carcasses. An unnatural silence hung in the air when it would have been typical that the village center should have been at its busiest. Based on how fresh the carcasses were, the place was recently deserted, with the villager’s eviction less than peaceful. Blood and drag marks left deep gouge marks in the mud. This was no invasion from a neighboring country. This was simply the work of bandits.
Reports from travelers and pilgrims were slow to reach the capital that bandits had made an issue for the locals. But most issues this far outside in the country would be nothing more than a nascence. The military had more important matters to worry about. But it was obvious that the issue might have reached a tipping point if the Kingdom of Niðavellir finally decided to send a small squadron out on a several day trek into the countryside to deal with the problem.
He watched a moment more before he determined that the village was empty. Slowly, Úlfr shimmied down from the crest of the hill and descended back down to his squad who stood waiting for his report. Carefully, he strung his bow over his shoulder and approached his commanding officer, Bēowulf, who sat within her Gullinbursti. Her arms hung over the crest of the machine that acted as a waist-guard to the individual inside and her gaze kept to the ground. As Úlfr approached her, he was able to see the bored expression over Bēowulf’s face. Similar to him, she wanted to be anywhere else but here. But that seemed her perpetual mood, based on his brief time spent with her, in that she wanted to be anywhere else at any given moment besides where she was. The scowl on her face was enough to say that much.
Úlfr stood at attention. When her gaze finally met his he had to suppress the nausea that swept over him. Her heterochromia eyes and stark black markings which curled over her left cheek had always created an intense gaze that turned him into a leaf in the wind. A sore weakness considering that he was supposed to be a soldier.
“Well?” she snapped impatiently.
Úlfr cleared his throat as the rest of his squad mates chuckled. “The village is empty. All the animals are dead and there are no signs of any other life.”
“Did you go inside?”
He paused. “P-Pardon?”
“Inside the village.” Bēowulf motioned with her head towards the direction of the village.
“N… No…”
“Then how can you be sure that there’s no one there?”
Unsure how to reply, he simply stared at her. The other members of the squad began to snicker at the exchange. Whispers filled the gaps of silence. “Well… I… Um…” It was difficult for him to keep himself from fidgeting as he remained at attention. His eyes avoided her gaze.
Before he was able to provide a reason, Bēowulf waved her hand to silence him.
“Whatever.” She gave a deep sigh with a roll of her eyes. “I doubt if they’re still in the village they’ll be able to take on a single Gullinbursti.” She pointed back up the hill. “Go back up there with Tørres to keep a lookout and provide us cover.” Then she pointed to the foot of the hill. A winding road twisted around the base into the village. “The rest of us will march straight in. Gullinbursti in front. The rest in back. Standard formation.”
“Just walk in?” Svend stepped beside Úlfr and stared incredulously up at Bēowulf. Her hands went to her hips as she stared up at their commander with a testy gaze. “What if they have their own Gullinbursti? It could be an ambush.”
Úlfr was expecting Svend to be taken seriously. But a bored shrug was met as a reply. “Then it will be more fun.” Before any further complaint was made, Bēowulf leaned back and strode away within her Gullinbursti.
Úlfr turned towards Svend with an exacerbated expression, and she turned with a shake of her head. Fun was the last thing he wanted to experience in this place.
“First time working with Bēowulf?” Tørres clapped Úlfr on the back as he strode beside him. There was a smile marked on his face as he noted Úlfr’s expression. He gestured towards the steep hill they were meant to climb. The rest of the squad split away as Úlfr followed Tørres back up the hill.
“This is my first mission.” Úlfr tried to keep his embarrassment hidden. It wasn’t easy to admit how fresh off the training grounds he was, but it must have been obvious to everyone on the team as they made their way out here in the countryside. He had succumbed to the paradox of being a fresh recruit: Either doing things to the letter of the law or screwing up spectacularly in ways that should have been otherwise simple. No one had made any comment pointing out the obvious. But no one needed to announce that a hen was a hen.
“Someone back home must hate your guts if they put you in our squad for your first mission.” Tørres stifled a laughter. “How much do you know about her?”
Úlfr thinned his lips. “Not a lot.” They slowed their ascent as they made it to the crest of the hill. Tørres peeked his eyes over the ridge to look at the village below. Quiet, just as Úlfr had left it. Carefully, Úlfr readied his bow as he peeked his eyes over the crest noting that not much had changed in the few minutes that had transpired since he left. Both soldiers laid in wait for the rest of their squad to round the large hill.
“You must have heard something.” Tørres pressed. “Anything?”
Úlfr tried to maintain his concentration on the village below. Eventually he shook his head, his gaze never breaking from the sleeping village.
“For starters, you must know she is the God-Princess of Niðavellir.” Tørres began in the same tone someone would have as though they were reading the menu at a pub.
“What?” Úlfr broke his gaze from the village to stare at Tørres. “Are you serious?”
Tørres looked at Úlfr with a disbelieved stare. “Do you live in a cave?” Úlfr looked away slightly embarrassed. That wasn’t far from the truth before he had come to the capital to become a soldier. When he didn’t reply, Tørres continued: “I wouldn’t suggest calling her ‘Princess’, she’d probably cut your throat. And I’d stay clear from her on the battlefield. Her temper is worse than the King’s.” There was a pause as he stared back towards the village. “I hope you know about him.”
That need not be explained.
Though Úlfr came from a remote village near the borders of Niðavellir, not too dissimilar to the village they were spying on now, he had only come to the capital in attempt to stake his own claim to fortune through the military—as many others had before him. It was known, even from word of mouth in his small town, that the King had a horrific temper. Villagers that had gone to the capital to seek an audience with the King Fáfnir had different accounts of the man, but most regaled to Úlfr that he was not a man to be trifled with. From what he could tell in the years of Fáfnir’s reign was that a good audience was an audience when the God-Queen was present beside him to temper his mood. But, more often than not, he usually sat in his audience chamber with his brother and sister beside him. And, based on his neighbors’ accounts, those were not ‘good days’.
It was considered lucky that he never needed to speak directly to the King and had only been in his presence when Fáfnir had deigned to inspect his military. But, even from those few times that Úlfr had seen him, it felt more akin to being forced to stand naked in front of a rabid wolf.
To hear that Bēowulf had a temper to match the King’s was disconcerting.
“And you trust her!?” was the first thing out of Úlfr’s mouth upon this revelation.
“With my life.” Tørres smiled.
The reply was ludicrous.
It was difficult to believe that anyone could trust a spawn of a man whom was riddled with rumors about his ill temperament. He knew some of the stories (gossip, really): One story went that he would slaughter maids for no good reason besides wanting to inspect their insides. Another had it where he would smash everything in his room because he became too bored of the simple life of being a King. One even told was that he had broken the neck of a soldier who had talked back to him in front of his platoon. All Úlfr knew for certain was that the end of his conquests on other realms was because his violence was satiated by God. Whether or not that was true, he really did not care. He was more grateful that his village had been left alone during those troubling years. And Úlfr wasn’t going to ask Bēowulf to verify the claim.
With his thoughts distracting him, he tried to refocus back on the mission. Slowly, he peeked his head back over the crest of the hill and spotted the rest of his squad make their way towards the village. They marched in an orderly fashion down the road and the village remained eerily quiet. As they approached the village, relief swelled over Úlfr as the intel he had provided to Bēowulf remained true, so far. If the bandits were meaning to ambush them then they would be at a disadvantage now due to how the buildings were faced. Besides, if what Tørres had said was true, then surely Bēowulf would have no issue dealing with some bandits.
A sigh left his lips as he turned towards Tørres with a smile. But before he was able to open his lips to offer a quip, he felt something hard hit the back of his head.
The last thing he saw was Tørres getting punched in the face as his blood splattered over the grass below.
Then there was darkness.
“It looks like Úlfr was correct.” Halla walked out of one of the abandoned houses with a shrug. “No one is here.”
“They must have left recently.” Bēowulf replied. She sat still within her Gullinbursti with her arms crossed over her chest. Eyes kept a hard stare on the ground where fresh boot tracks in the mud were clearly visible. “I wish they’d just come out and make the job easier. I don’t want to chase them across the valley.” She pursed her lips in annoyance at the thought of having to spend more time than necessary out here. It was better than being cooped up in the castle or barracks, but she already missed indoor plumbing. She thrust her hand into the air to signal to Tørres and Úlfr to come rejoin the rest of their squad. “Let us see if we can’t figure out where they scuttled off to. Quickly. I want to go home.”
Not really. But she wasn’t going to voice that.
The rest of the squad broke off as they searched for anything that remained to give a clue where the bandits had run off to or if there were any survivors. Which was already unlikely seeing as how no one rushed to greet them as they entered the village. Bēowulf kept within her Gullinbursti as she traced her eyes over the fields and rolling hills that dotted the landscape around the village. Idyllic in appearance, tainted by the festering rot in fields.
She shook her head in disappointment.
Then her lips creased into a heavier frown as time continued to pass by.
Where the hell is Úlfr and Tørres?
She looked back up the hill with narrowed eyes.
Everything was silent. Even if she wouldn’t have blamed Tørres for scampering off to take a nap somewhere in the nearby forest, she knew that Úlfr would have been at her side like a dog. New recruits would often seek to please their masters, and Bēowulf knew that Úlfr was no different. His only difference was that he did much less groveling beneath her heel than other new recruits often did. A perplexing difference since she was an alleged ‘Princess’ and many believed that her title meant anything. Which it might have had to others. But, for her, it meant nothing.
Gaze kept hard upon the crest of the hill for any signs of life. She was not one to signal to her soldiers more than once, and those that ignored her or did not pay attention were often left behind. But something told her this was different. When the silence kept, everything slowly began to slot into place.
A grin reached her lips.
“They’re still here.” Bēowulf spoke loudly. The rest of her squad paused their search as they careened their head towards Bēowulf who’s eyes kept on the hill. Instantly, everyone began to ready themselves for a fight, but Bēowulf held up a hand for them to relax. She shook her head, her smile maintained. “We know you’re still here,” she yelled towards the hill. “Let’s stop with the game and talk.”
There was a pause. Then, slowly, several people came into view atop the hill. Several bandits stood in varying styles of armor as they presented themselves to her. Their leader was more finely dressed compared to the others, but only barely. All of them looked rough around the edges, unkept, and barely disciplined as they beside one another. Their leader, upon setting eyes upon Bēowulf, chuffed and gestured to her. He said something to the other bandits that stood beside her that she could not hear. But she had a feeling she already knew what was being said.
“Look here, lads.” The leader of the group gestured to Bēowulf. “It seems the princess has come out to play hero of the day.” They all laughed with their leader as he mockingly gestured to her. “Did Daddy send you here?”
The rest of her squad stared nervously at Bēowulf.
A flash of anger flared over her face. It wasn’t like she could hide what was obviously painted on her face. The stark markings under her left eye made her heritage apparent, and anyone who didn’t live in a cave knew who she was at a glance. Both a blessing and a curse.
She’d be sure to kill him first.
“My Daddy told me I shouldn’t talk to strangers.” Bēowulf shrugged, she grinned. “How about you come down here and introduce yourself. I promise I don’t bite.” As if to make a point, she let go of the arm-handle attachments of her Gullinbursti and raised them up in a mock surrender. “Maybe if you’re nice I can introduce you to my Mommy. I’m sure God would love to see your head served on a platter for dinner.”
“Bwah-ha-ha-ha!” The leader gave a boisterous laughter. He pointed a finger at Bēowulf as he looked at his companions. “Looks like the Lord Princess does have a sense of humor.”
Bēowulf had to suppress a laughter. Humor was the last thing on her mind. But if they wanted to think her threats were jokes then that was fine to her. It made the fear all the sweeter. He’d probably look good screaming for mercy.
“Say… Since you’re up there. You wouldn’t happen to have found some of my soldiers. Did you?” Bēowulf leaned over the crest of the Gullinbursti. Her expression bored and her body relaxed.
“Ah, they were yours?” The bandit leader’s grin grew wider. He made a gesture with his hand and one of his underlings parted from him back behind the hill. After a moment, the same bandit returned with Tørres and Úlfr being dragged on the ground over the hill for Bēowulf to see. Their faces were badly beaten and swollen, and their hands were tied with thick rope. It looked bad, but they would most likely survive the way back to the nearest checkpoint.
“Give them back.” Bēowulf commanded. “They’re mine.”
“We found them first.” The leader replied with a laugh. “You left them on the side of the road.”
“Well…” Bēowulf reached for the hand attachment of her Gullinbursti. “I’ll take them—”
“Ah…!” the leader wagged a finger. “One wrong move from that Gullinbursti and we’ll be sure to cut the pretty goods open. We wouldn’t want to ruin the princess’s toys… now would we?”
Princess. Princess. Princess.
Every time that damned title was spoken, she could feel the rage inside of her bubble closer to the surface of her skin. Fingers dug into her palms as she balled her hand into a fist. Imaginations ran rampant of the idea of his blood smeared all over her gloves. It was able to ground her enough to prevent her from running up the hill in a blind rage. The rest of her squad stood idly by and watched this entire encounter with a nervous stare. The leader most likely thought she was becoming frustrated by the appeared helplessness of the situation. But it was far from the truth.
“How about this.” Bēowulf’s voice was dangerously calm. “You give them back to me, and I won’t kill you all.” Her squad could deal with the weaklings. But the leader was her prey. “How’s that sound?”
“Not a chance in Hel.” The leader gave another laughter. “You royals hide behind seiðjárn and let the small folk do all the work. How about you be a good pup and come get them yourself?”
“I’ll do you one better.” Rage was broiling inside her. “How about I beat the shit out of you?”
“You!?”
All the bandits began to laugh at such audacious statement. Bēowulf’s squad, however, looked on in horror.
“I bet you couldn’t land a single hit on me!” The leader slapped his knee as he could barely contain himself. “I bet you’ve never seen a real fight before. I’d almost feel bad…” But his voice trailed away and he looked lost in thought, now considering Bēowulf’s offer.
Did he need more bait?
“I’ll even throw in a little bet.” Bēowulf continued. “If I win, I get my soldiers back. But you?” She paused; a small scoff escaped her lips. “If you last a minute, I’ll give your group a head-start on fleeing. How does that sound?”
The bandits laughed again. All of them thought that this was just a joke. But she was being completely serious in this endeavor. And her squad knew it. None of them thought to protest her ridiculous bet because they all knew better not to.
“If that is what the princess wants.” The leader shrugged his shoulders as he looked to the rest of his group with a smile. “I guess that is what she’ll get.” Cheers filled the silence. All of the bandits raised their hands and hollered in joy as they watched their leader stride down the hill towards Bēowulf. The rest of her squad stared with an expression more fit for a funeral.
Bliss replaced the perpetual scowl on Bēowulf’s face. Suddenly, she felt drugged on pleasure at this opportunity.
A shrill laughter left her lips.
“Perfect.”
She leapt from the Gullinbursti and approached the small clearing between the foot of the hill and the village. The rest of the bandits followed their leader down the hill with Úlfr and Tørres in tow, whilst the rest of her squad kept stuck to the village. Each of their faces were pale as they shifted uncomfortably. The bandits were either unaware of stupid as they continued to celebrate being given the opportunity to watch the poor princess be beaten to a pulp by their leader.
As Bēowulf stood at the opposite side of the clearing, she pulled her scabbard from her belt and tossed it to the side. She stretched her neck side to side and raised her palms up showing her empty hands. There was no expectation for the other bandits to play fair, but it would make the challenge of the kill all the more enjoyable.
“I’ll be sure to enjoy the winnings of the day.” The leader began as he stood a great distance from Bēowulf. He cracked his knuckles as he stared down Bēowulf’s body as a hungry animal did to its meal. “I’ve always wondered what a God tastes like—”
“Blah-blah-blah!” Bēowulf began to flap her hand open and closed as she interrupted his monologuing. How many times had she heard that before? The leader drew back with a bewildered expression as anger flashed over his eyes. “How about you figure that out whilst I shove my boot down your throat.” Bēowulf smirked.
She thought how nice his brains would look smeared over the heel of her boot. The crunch of his skull as it caved in from her foot stomping on it. How his blood would look smeared over the leather. Her heart raced as she pictured his body broken and bloody. Then she imagined the look on the other bandits’ face as fear would overcome them. Beautiful. Sweet. Savory.
“I’d like to see you try, you little whore.” He spat on the ground as a final insult.
Now that was more like it.
She took a step forward. Her breath was heavy as she her grin widened. Eyes were crazed with bloodlust as she continued to picture the beautiful things she was about to do to his body. He must have noticed the wild expression in her eyes as it appeared realization finally dawned upon him that it was he whom entered the lion’s den and she was no mere sheep to be butchered.
The anticipation of the kill was sending her into a frenzy.
No longer could she wait.
Before he was able to retract any statement. Before he was able to make any comment that she was insane. Before he was able to take a step towards her to begin his own assault… She had already made it halfway across the clearing with both her hands balled tight into fists. By the time the leader arrived to any conclusion that this was a horrible idea, her right arm pulled back as she stopped hard in front of him. Horror pulled tight over his face as his mouth drew open with a mixture of fear and confusion.
In his final moments, he had come to the realization that every rumor about her was true.
Her smile would be something he would never forget.
The sound of his face caving in was as delightful as she imagined.
Úlfr could not pry his eyes away from the gruesome sight. Neither could the rest of the bandits that stood beside him. Silence fell over everyone as the cheers tapered into nothing but the sounds of flesh. All they could do was watch slack-jawed as the ‘Princess’ turned the man into something unrecognizable.
Tørres, who sat beside Úlfr, had his eyes closed shut. It was probably something that Úlfr should have mimicked instead watching the horrific scene play out. But Úlfr could not pry his eyes away from the gore. He could not close his eyes. He only sat and stared as the blood splattered across the grass and the sounds of bone being crushed filled the silence in the air. It was sickening and wet. Something that no human should have enjoyed doing to a body. Not even a God. And yet, it all unraveled before his eyes as though it were Divinity.
And Úlfr soaked it all in.
Enraptured by the display of violence, Úlfr didn’t even notice that the rest of his squad had slowly encroached towards the bandits who still stood by as they Bēowulf peel their leader’s face off. When the bandits had realized they were at a disadvantage, they hardly thought to threaten the prisoners laid at their feet. As quickly as their moral had left them, they dropped their weapons and ran in fear that the same violence would be conducted against them. Úlfr doubted that any of his squad mates had it in them to do violence as Bēowulf did, but he could not blame their reaction. If it had been him placed in their shoes, he would have done the same thing.
The rest of his squad ignored him in favor for chasing down the bandits that had fled Bēowulf’s ire. Now, he was at the mercy of the insane God-Princess who stood in the blood-soaked grass trembling in pleasure as she stared down at the gore. That leader was now completely unrecognizable at her feet. Her body seemed almost unnatural as she swayed there saturated in blood. Moments passed as she stood there soaking in the pleasure of the kill. And when she turned to stare at Úlfr, he almost had wished the bandits had killed him at the top of that hill.
Their eyes met.
Fear overcame him.
But his gaze never broke away as she slowly strode towards him. For a time, she stood in front of him and stared down at the his trussed up body. He felt powerless in the face of death, and the fear was obvious in his eyes as he stared up at Bēowulf and held the eye contact. The eye that matched her father’s gaze was more horrifying than the red one which had the eye of God.
He had to wonder what could have occurred during her conception to create such a vile creature.
Slowly, she squat down to be eye level to Úlfr. The mirth that was once on her face had disappeared into a vacant expression, but the crazed look in her eyes kept. The resemblance to the King was uncanny, and he felt a fool for not realizing sooner that she was his spawn.
He was horrified.
A blood-soaked hand raised to lay upon his shoulder. He didn’t dare to break eye contact.
And she smiled at this bravery. Or was it stupidity?
“If you’re scared…” As though to share in a dark secret, she leaned forward, her voice turning into a whisper. “It’s okay if to scream. I won’t think you’re a coward.”
Úlfr began to tremble beneath her touch. Her smile was horrifying. Her eyes had the mark of madness. It was if Fáfnir himself was beside him, judging the value of keeping him dead or alive. Breaths became suddenly labored as his heart hammered in his chest.
Much to his own surprise, and Bēowulf’s, he simply sat still and stared at her. Maybe it was the unquantifiable amount of fear that he was in. Perhaps it was shock. But all he could do was sit there and stare at her with his own vacant expression.
“Good boy.” Satisfied, Bēowulf patted his swollen cheek with a smile. “I think you’ll fit in perfectly.” She smiled softly at him as her hand caressed his cheek. Eventually, she stood at her full height and sauntered away.
Tørres and Úlfr sat in complete silence.
Time seemed to sway strangely after the altercation. He was unsure how long he sat there transfixed on his own fear before he regained the ability to speak. Each word felt strange in his mouth.
“Y…You…” Úlfr swallowed hard to keep the vomit down. “She… I….”
“You see what I mean?” Tørres’s eyes were still closed shut. “Call her Princess and—”
“IthinkI’minlove.”
Tørres was quiet as he slowly registered the words that exited Úlfr’s mouth. When the words finally did register, Tørres craned his neck towards his companion with a dumbfounded stare.
“What!?”
“I…” Úlfr took a deep breath. His body felt suddenly faint. “I’m in… I…” As if everything finally registered in his mind at once, Úlfr’s body crumbled to the side against Tørres. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his lids closed shut as he passed out.
Ironically, it was a normal occurrence for a new recruit who witnessed Bēowulf’s perchance for violence.
But, for Tørres, the reasoning behind it was just as insane as the God-Princess’s temperament that was displayed. And all the soldier could do was shamefully shake his head as he shrugged Úlfr’s body off him.
He supposed there was a first for everything.