Chapter 1

They came in the early hours, when the sun had barely crested on the frozen peaks of the east, when the rooster had naught a chance to signal the coming dawn.

The winter winds never settled on Grünisveil, always moving and shifting. Yet Greta watched as the riders strode out of the winding path towards her home. They were astride mounts that could weather the worst of the winter season. Their size complemented their riders, who stood head and shoulders higher against the tallest Grünisveil native. Laden with heavy furs, weapons sheathed at their side, they were giants among men. Behind them trailed a cart pulled by a wooly yal, whose horns swerved majestically long.

Lonesome was her abode, the nearest neighbor had long since abandoned their own farm years past. What became of them, she does not know. Her constant company on these days where the constant whispers of the wind.

She tucked her furs closer, she breathed into her cold hands the moisture in the air clear and crisp. It was not winter at its peak and already the steady gust that wrought their small village could freeze a waterdrop before it even hits the ground.

Such was the cold here, hard and unforgiving.

She had only passed word the day before and was not expecting at all. She kept her gaze to the mounted riders, perhaps she could meet them halfway and be done with this.

What would be a better fate?

To die of hunger, with some measure of dignity and honor intact?

The empty house beckoned her inside. To go to bed. Sleep. Dream of times when she was not alone, when the fireplace was constantly alight not only by fire but of life. Dream of the days of warmth and family...

A strong gust broke her from her reverie.

Not that it would make any difference. She ran out of firewood three days past. It was nothing short of a miracle as to how she survived to this point. The moth eaten fur blanket was all that was of any value or use, that and the very clothes on her back. Everything else, she burned to keep the coldness at bay. Oh how she wished she could pry her eyes away from the riders, no one in the village ever wished for their coming. Even the memory of her sending word to them was like a dream. Watching outside of her own body. Even now, it was watching from somebody else’s eyes, a dream that she could wake out of at any time. A beautiful delusion of control.

When the riders have finally crested the top of the knoll, she took whatever meager belonging she has, and strode out to meet them.

At least the breeze weakened within the porch of her abode. Five steps into the snow, the cold seeped from every direction. Each step was a struggle, for she swayed to and fro as if a mere gust could bring her down. The riders where somewhat surprised even in the thickest of their clothing she could make out their brows, frozen with ice as they were shot up and broke the collecting frost. She could only imagine how she looked, the look of someone so desperate to eat boiled leather just to go on.

She unceremoniously got up through the back of the cart, the driver watched her all the way silent his eyes betraying no emotion nor thought. Sacks and baskets of this year’s harvest laid within. She gripped the cart, more for self-control for her mouth watered at the mere scent of smoked meat that laid within the great number of offerings.

One rider looked towards his companion, he replied with a shrug. And without a word they rode out, Greta did not look back to the lonesome house atop the knoll, that place had been long dead and whatever warmth within had turned to ash.

They made their way into town, the carter giving her a heavy fur cloak, a long winding piece. Greta zealously took it and wrapped it into her shoulders. It was so long that trails of it covered the surrounding seats beside her. She noticed others tucked beneath the seat in front of her. These were meant to be shared. The though sent a pang that she had to share such warmth. It was of better make and the warmth much lasting.

They stopped by the house of the baker.

Outside Greta could see shadows within for even in this winter morning deep inside their houses it might as well be the cover of darkness, some shouting an argument of sorts.

The rider was about to get down when the door burst open, the scent of baked bread made her stomach growl so loud that the driver had to turn around over the din of the howling wind. Greta meet his gaze and shrugged.

A tall girl, a good head and a half taller than Greta, strode out eyes puffy from what seemed to be a night of tears and morning as well, Her mother a comely woman with a girth to match watched from the door, Her father drooped down and had dried tears as well; The rider got down and took the girl by the arm there was some hesitation in the father. A hard stare from both riders made him reluctantly let go of the girl’s arm. She climbed the cart and sat beside Greta.

Kaja her name was if Greta remembered correctly, Greta covered her shoulders with the fur blanket, noticing that her dress was more likely five times more expensive and five times more likely to keep her warm.

They both made no attempts at conversation. As the hooves clattered once more Greta watched as the father stood still on the driveway watching as her daughter was being taken away from her like some ghost of a distant past, unable to move on.

The last house was the one that might bring the most trouble. Greta breathed in deep. For this was not going to end well she knew.

For this was the house of the swineherder. It had been months since she last laid eyes on Wendelgard but the fiery red head, no matter the cold would not be cooled off.

“No matter what happens, do not add to the problem,” was the first words she uttered to Kaja.

“W-what?” The girl stuttered, snot leaking down her nose, either from the cold or the crying she could not be certain. Her soft blue eyes were tinged red in the edges.

“Trouble comes our way and it would be best for all parties if they would cooperate. You know of Wendelagard, don’t you?”

“I-I ... Have heard of her.”

They stood on the drive way waiting. It was customary to be met out halfway outside. But the longer they stood the colder it got.

One rider got off his horse and walked towards the door.

BANG! BANG!

His banging against the hardwood was so loud that Greta half expected the entire house to go down.

Still nothing.

The rider stepped back and kicked. The door broke down and there was a scream. Some scuffle and not five heartbeats later the rider walked away with a luggage in his shoulder. A mess of red hair and futile fury, Wendelgard hammer her fist and unleashed a swearing unlike Greta had heard before.

Her face was flushed red but not because of whimpering cries but her apparent anger was so hot it might as well melt ice. Her cheeks threatened to be as red as her hair.

The Rhaikins would enjoy greatly taming the furious red head.

When she was being uncooperative, A punch to the gut sent her breakfast into the snow. On her knees, she was granted no clemency she was hoisted into the adjacent seat and with that the harvest of this cycle was finished and the fruits to be delivered atop Bleeding Rock Fort.

“That was utterly foolish,” Greta broke the silence.

Wendelgard’s red rimmed gaze landed on her and she met it with her own steel glare.

“Foolish? I am not so willing to kneel to these landthieves and suck their cock! Homeburners the lot of ‘em!”

Greta could not contain the scoff escaping her lips.

“Invaders? I agree. But their strength lies in more than just mere mindless violence. What good are Sword and spears against the winter cold? Hunger? Men could not eat steel. Should the time come when one unruly peasant refuse to pay tribute they need not fire to bring their abode down.” They were moving once more. From where they are, it seems they are more than half way and not far off to the eastern edge of town where the shadow of Bleeding Rock Hall loomed. Even from here, the lights could be seen swaying amidst the wind. Built atop a great many formations of red rocks that never ceased heating, it is said that long ago the very earth itself bled on the very spot, spewing red hot blood that burned everything in its path.

“Two or three visit from the Wyrfolk will solve that and they need not lift a finger!” Greta snapped. Her growling stomach adding to her annoyance. If only she got something to eat. Could they have not given them some food?

“No, they need not torch it down, they just don’t ever acknowledge you exist at all.” Greta went on, much in control of her tempers.

“We need them more than they need us and they know it.”

Refusal isn’t an option. It is death.

Greta hung her head down, trying to keep her eyes awake. Words echoed at the back of her head but their meaning lost. Kaja and Wendelmar exchanged words but Greta could not keep track of it. She licked her lips and once or twice nearly lost consciousness.

Before she knew it, they were hoisted atop the Rhaikin’s mighty and fearsome fort, the shadow of which can blot out the entire village at when times the sun peaks out of the clouds.

Ah! Yelped Kaja as she grabbed hold of Greta’s arm. Greta did not have the energy to bat away the frightened girl or be amazed at the mechanism as the platform they were on brought them up. She always saw this complicated contraption of the Rhaikins from a distance, never had she though back then that she would be on it one day. Wendelmar gripped the sides of the cart with wide eyes and Greta swore she saw sweat on the redhead’s brow.

As they ascended towards the maw of the Rock, the darker it grew up until they were swallowed within. Torches laid on the walls and horses stabled not far off into the side. Small circular windows were fixed high up and the winds whistled through them. Oft to one side, crates of food and produce were being stored and workers and warriors alike did their tasks barely taking notice of the newcomers.

“Come,” came the command from the riders, both now on foot.

As they sat, befuddled by all the commotion, the annoyed driver motioned them out of his cart. The two riders disembark and headed their horses in the stable. They stood by the girls as they waited to be let in.

The doors opened.The great big chunk of woods creaking on their hinges. Two servants or warriors for such was their stature that it was difficult to discern, brought the gates to open. Out came a lady. But not just a mere lady, from the moment Greta laid her eyes she knew it was a High Noble. Rhaikins were a good head taller than the tallest village folk, and this woman carried herself with the air and dignity of nobility. If her countenance did not spoke of it then her clothes did.

A simple and yet fine dress with intricate rosemalling of her people along with a gold necklace and earrings. Her jewelry was minuscule in the grand scheme but they sparkled like solitary stars in a dark night. A fine gold necklace fixed upon a bright green gem that matched well with the hue of her dress. Small earrings of the calmest blue gems decorated her ears.

Her cheekbones were defined, a sharp and strong chin and jaw and hair of gentle, soft gold along with eyes that could pierce a winterstom and colder than the winter winds themselves.

She swept them all up in a single gaze. Body, soul and the clothes on their flesh.

She saw it all in a single sweep of her ice-cold gaze.

At her shadow stood two of the most beautiful women Greta had ever laid eyes on. Such was their beauty that her hunger was struck away momentarily from her thoughts. The lady’s left was a girl with raven hair with bright green eyes that seemed to glow. Pink, full lips that the very sight of them made Greta even more hungry from some reason that confused her. She wore a simple dress, much that of a servant than of a lady of great beauty. Her clothing did not hide the womanly curves that made men hard with desire. Ample breasts that peaked, nearly testing the strength of the cloth that hid them.

Much more striking was her other company. Not as tall as the Rhaikin Noble but taller than Kaja by a few inches. But her skin was dark and smooth and had a luster to it. Hazel eyes that just could warm the soul of any that stares into them. She was an exotic lady, a foreigner from lands beyond the Greta’s knowledge.

“You are now the property of the master,” she said. Her voice was calm yet carried beneath it the power of a glacier and the threat of it too should you irk her ire. You will please them and serve them. Do this simple tasks and you will be rewarded abundantly as if you have arrived in the Tranquil halls of Valhalla itself.