Valor and Violence

The harsh cries of seabirds mingled with the sounds of sailors grunting and shouting as they went about the business of tending to Ingrid’s longboat. The deck was a veritable mess of activity, the press of bodies so thick it was a miracle anyone could move at all.

Except for an almost perfect circle around five metres in diameter with Ferez and Ingrid in the centre. Even her own warriors could tell her mood was worse than usual, and were giving her a wide berth. Which begged the question: why was he alone out of the dozens of people around him stupid enough to be standing so close? Although, he had to admit, the answer to said question was novel, even by his standards.

“So,” Ferez said.

“So?” replied Ingrid.

“That was… something.”

“Just wait until you see it fully inflated. Hardened warriors have dropped to their knees and wept when laying eyes on it.”

“I don’t doubt that, it’s remarkable. How long have you had that tucked away?”

Ingrid shrugged, the sea air blowing through her long hair. For the first time in decades, she was wearing it loose, and it danced and rippled in the breeze. Ferez struggled to keep his mind present when all it wanted was to get lost in memories of his fingers running through its ripples.

“A few years,” she said, oblivious to his mental anguish. “Originally, it was supposed to help establish control over the other clans, but by the time it was finished, I already had them under my heel.”

“What have you been using it for since?”

A faint smile played about her lips.

“Fun, mostly.”

Ferez chuckled and leant against the longboat’s railing. Although, calling the Jarlessa of Jarls vessel a longboat was a bit like calling a tiger a cat. Technically correct, but failed to capture the gulf between it and the other ships in its class. It was as large as a Calandorian dreadnaught, festooned with heavy weaponry and even covered bunk areas for the raider crew. It was like a giant, floating pavilion of death and plunder.

She had brought him here after the war council to show him the weapon that would bring his plan to fruition. He prided himself on his general optimism and problem-solving skills, but until Ingrid had revealed the ace up her sleeve, he had been a little despondent about their chances in the coming battle. That feeling was long gone now, and his newly buoyed spirits were urging him to address the griffon in the room.

“You know, Ingrid. I’m really happy to see you again.”

The smile vanished, her lips turning down into a scowl as her expression hardened.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Ferez.”

The sharp edge to her tone cut him deeper than any blade, and he had been cut by quite a broad selection, and the heat rose in his chest.

“Alright, Ingrid. What is this? You’ve always been volatile, but since I came to you, you’ve been nothing but vitriolic and angry. Why? What did I do this time, hmm?”

“It’s not what you did. It’s what you didn’t do.”

“Oh, cut the ambiguous angst, Ingrid. We aren’t children. Just tell me, what did I do to make you hate me?”

She sighed and closed her eyes, tilting her face up to catch the wind and the sun’s rays for a moment before slowly opening them.

“Not here. In my cabin.”

She pushed off the railing and strode purposefully towards the largest of the bunk areas, the cabin reserved solely for her. Raiders scurried aside as she walked a straight line, every person, crate and potential trip hazard snatched aside so she needn’t deviate from her route. Ferez followed in her wake, equal parts relieved to finally be having the conversation, and terrified, because they were finally having the conversation.

She opened the door and directed him inside with a nod. He ducked through the door, resisting the urge to back in so his blind spot wasn’t vulnerable, and he flinched as she closed the door and pushed past him, taking a seat on her bed.

“Take a seat,” she said.

Ferez looked around the room. To call it sparse would be putting it lightly. There was a washbasin in one corner, the utilitarian bed, and nothing else. Certainly not a chair.

“Guess I’ll stand, then.”

She sniffed and looked away from him.

“Suit yourself.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them and Ferez resisted the urge to fidget. It only lasted for a few seconds, but it felt much, much longer. It felt like eighty-three years.

“You were going to explain why you are so angry at me?” Ferez offered.

Ingrid’s gaze snapped back to him, but instead of anger, she looked tired. Deflated.

“I did say that, didn’t I? Do you really have no inkling?”

“Unless I’m remembering wrong, you left me. Not the other way around.”

She winced like he had struck her, and he wished there was a spell in his extensive repertoire that could recall words once spoken. Alas, such magic didn’t exist, and he was left with the burgeoning shame and regret as the venom in his words filled the cabin like a virulent miasma.

“Ingrid, I’m sorry, I-”

“No. No, that’s fair. I did leave you, and then you never heard from me again.”

She fell silent again, staring at a patch of floor between them as her bottom lip trembled and her fingers dug into the edge of the mattress. All Ferez wanted to do in that moment was cross the room and wrap her in a crushing hug and kiss the top of her head and tell her everything was alright, forgotten and forgiven and they could move on as though nothing had been amiss for nearly a century. But instead, he asked, “Why?”

“I always planned on returning to you. I was to rebuild my clan and then take my leave. Return south. Return to your side. But it wasn’t that simple. My clan went from being the most powerful force in Skjar to a shadow of its former strength, as had the only clan that could previously match our power. Both clans had been gutted in the battle, but it was more than that. The two greatest powers in Skjar had bloodied each other, badly, and in an instant every unremarkable, insignificant Jarl and warlord in the nation had a very real chance to carve out a piece of the power and influence that had been collectively lost that day.”

“There was a power vacuum,” Ferez said, realisation dawning on him.

Ingrid nodded.

“The dead had barely cooled when the jackals arrived at our doorstep. My father fell not long after. The bards still sing of his heroic final stand against overwhelming numbers, but that didn’t help my people. With the Jarl dead and no male heir, we were suddenly the easier target of the two crippled clans. And the scavengers multiplied. For years we were at war against a never-ending stream of hopefuls looking to claim the prestige of driving the final nail into our coffin. I took charge and fought back, slaughtering men in their hundreds to protect what was left of us. And in doing so, I unwittingly built another name. One for myself and the clan. People no longer spoke of the crippled Clan Steinhaut, they spoke of the resurgent Clan Luftfaust. Warriors flocked to my banner, and I was in no position to turn them away. In the endless melee, a clan had seized effective control, Clan Stahlschrei. They saw my growing power as a threat and moved to stamp me out. It was the bloodiest battle fought on Skjar soil in an age. My forces eclipsed what even my father could marshal at the peak of his power, but we were still outnumbered. It wasn’t until I met Jarl Stahlschrei in battle and caved his head in that his clan broke and ran.”

“And that was how you became the Jarlessa of Jarls?”

She scoffed.

“That was the start of it. Instead of armies, my peers began sending delegates. Requesting alliances against this Jarl or another. Some I accepted, and crushed my foes. Others I rejected, and ensured the sender could not take revenge for the slight. In time, the clans began resolving disputes by simply asking for my judgement. It was safer than invoking an armed response and risking destruction. Without even realising what I was doing, I indulged them, tired as I was from the ceaseless wars. But that’s when someone called me Jarlessa of Jarls to my face, and I realised that, for better or worse, my clan and I were an integral part of the balance of power in Skjar.”

“But you never wanted to be Jarlessa, let alone the empress of the entire country.”

“You don’t understand, Ferez. You weren’t there to see the battles. It’s been three generations since I saw you last and the population of my country is half of what it was.”

Ferez stumbled a bit, staggering over to Ingrid and slowly lowering himself onto the bed.

“By the gods. The slaughter must have been…”

“We depopulated our own godsforsaken nation.” She barked out a dry laugh. “If that’s the best we could do, maybe I should have let us die out.”

She swayed slightly on the bed, her eyes misted over, the sad smile still on her face.

“Through it all, the one thing I wanted more than anything was for you to be by my side. To my clan, I was borderline divine, the Jarlessa who had saved them from destruction time and time again through steel and magic. To everyone else, I was rage and death, something either to run from, or seek to destroy for fame. I had not a single friend or confidant. And the only person I had ever actually loved, I had driven away. I am the most powerful person in Skjar. And I am completely alone.”

Ferez opened his mouth to speak, but words eluded him. What could he possibly say in response to all that? She saw him, with his mouth hanging open like a simpleton, and she smiled and patted his leg.

“It’s alright, Ferez. You don’t need to say anything. When everything had finally settled down, I sent agents out into the world to find you. Or bring me information on where you were, what you were doing. They came back with tales of the upstart new Pyrian High Mage, the warrior who had slaughtered his way to riches, power, and fame. I realised then that I had missed my chance. I was committed to my country, and you? You had everything you had ever wanted. You were out of my reach, forever more. I thought I had made my peace with that fact when, out of nowhere, you turn up in my forest. And I thought, did he really come back for me? After everything that transpired and the march of the years? Did you really love me that much after all?” She took a deep breath, her voice wavering with barely repressed emotion. “But you hadn’t come back for me. You came for my warriors. That was… difficult, to endure. But, even I must admit, I have been unfair to you. I hate this. I hate that I don’t have you and I hate that I can never have you. But sometimes that is life, is it not?”

She trailed off, back to staring at nothing. Ferez was sure that last question had been rhetorical, but he answered anyway.

“Fuck that.”

Ingrid’s focus snapped back to the moment, and she looked at him, eyebrows furrowed and the corners of her eyes scrunched up in confusion.

“What?”

“Fuck that. Fuck life. Fuck fate. If you still want me, I’ll abandon the college in a heartbeat and come to Skjar.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am serious. Ingrid, I thought you had abandoned me and moved on. That’s why I never came back. If I had known how you really felt? I would have returned to your side, and there isn’t a force on Telrus’ fertile soil that would have stopped me. And since I know that now, well. There still isn’t a force in this world that can stop me.”

Ingrid leaned away from him, shaking her head.

“No, I can’t ask that of you. You have everything.”

“Everything except you,” he said, reaching out and pulling her to him.

She stiffened but didn’t resist, and after the barest hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed so hard his spine felt like it would crack. And then she tilted her head up, her lips searching for his. When they found them, the threat of imminent lower limb paralysis vanished into the ether and in its place was a pure, ecstatic joy he hadn’t felt in over eight decades.