II

The horse made a low sound as Ronn brushed his hair, he always had more affinity with animals than with people, animals did not attack simply because they could do so, instead they did so only for the purpose of survival, and animals didn't care that he was a bastard, poor, dirty, and scarred. As a child, he had understood this when the butcher had released his dog to attack Ronn, after seeing him steal a single sausage.

He absently touched the scar on the back of his left hand, where the scary man had beaten him with a fireplace poker. Ronn had only had time to scream in pain and run, taking with him the fruit of the robbery. It had been one of the many occasions when he was denied food for days, as a form of punishment for doing something supposedly wrong, like existing.

The butcher then lets go of the tabby dog, which at the time would be bigger than him if it was on its hind legs. Ronn had run two whole streets until the dog reached him in a dead-end street, he had not tried to attack the animal, he knew that it was not his fault what the owner ordered it to do and even though he was shaking with hunger, exhaustion and fear, he had noticed that the beast was extremely thin and with beat marks.

He didn't think twice before splitting the stolen sausage in two and throwing a piece at the dog, who was approaching dangerously, the animal had smelled the meat and eaten it immediately, Ronn had finally fallen to his knees and ate his share the same way the dog had just done.

He offered his good hand to the ground so that the animal could smell it and when he did, Ronn carefully caressed its nose.

Footsteps drew Ronn's attention back to the present, he smelled the strong acrid scent of the herb she chewed even before she came to him, he hated it when she came to him, would rather have her just scream from wherever she was what he should do, because coming to him meant that he should have to look at her and doing that was simply hateful.

"Dame Gwendoline." He said dryly before even turning to her.

Instead of hearing an answer, he felt a claw touching his back, then he jumped back into the horse's stall and put it between them, acting casually, as if he'd just moved the spot he brushed the animal.

He did not look at her but knew she watched him with something like malice in the eyes. He didn't know exactly what it was, but to be honest, would rather not know.

"Skiderik, you must take firewood into the room of the Great Sêlkior, now." Said as she turns and lefts the stable.

"Aye dame." He replied drily, without turning to look in her direction.

Ronn set things aside and got dressed before collecting firewood and entering the back of the tavern, going up the stairs, toward the bedrooms, the travellers' were to the right, so he went left. Ronn very rarely would go upstairs, only to take the wood to his father's room, the only one in the tavern with a fireplace.

He entered the room, murmuring an apology, and crossed it to get down on his knees and start his work. Until he heard the door behind him closing.

Ronn glanced over his shoulder and froze at the sight of Gwendoline locking the door. Since he was not allowed to speak, unless it was to acknowledge the presence of a superior or answer something that was asked of him, he turned back to the fireplace and worked as fast as he could.

His hands were sweating cold as he scooped out ashes with his cupped hands and set the wood. He heard the rustling of her dress around the room as he thanked Odin20 for finishing his task and stood up, ready to leave. He hadn't even taken the time to clean his hands, turned and murmured a request to leave.

Silence swallowed him and made him tense, he dared a look beyond his own feet and gasped in surprise and disgust at seeing Gwendoline standing, wearing only the smock21. What the hell!

She smiled maliciously and understanding crossed Ronn's mind, she didn't ... She wanted ...? HELA22, NO!

Ronn had immediately rushed toward the door, tossing the ash-bucket and untying the rope as fast as he could, heard her grunt and head toward him as he ran free into the hall, he didn't dare to look back. She obviously didn't scream, she couldn't and Ronn was immensely relieved by this.

Returning to the stable, his heart thundered in his eardrums, the disgust he felt for what had just happened was so big that he felt sick. Gwendoline is a thirty-five years old hateful woman, she is shorter than him, plump and had hair similar to Elsea's, but her's fell almost to her knees in a huge braid, her nails were like claws of cernunnos. She was a woman who spat hate and humiliation in every word, invented various excuses to see him punished as a child, hated his mere existence, proof that her husband had preferred a concubine to warm his bed.

But of all the things he hated, the worst (until a few moments ago) was her repulsive habit of chewing a sour-smelling herb, from which over the years her teeth had darkened in a yellowish-green hue, making her look disturbing.

Ronn feared that she would return to the stable and order him back to the room to finish what he imagined she wanted to have started, Ronn was a virgin, obviously, no one would want anything with a bastard. However, having his own habit of walking through alleys and roofs, more than once had caught couples in the heat of the moment, it was not an honorable thing to do, just one more on his list of things that wouldn't make him an honest man, where at the top was "bastard son of a prostitute."

For this reason, seeing her in underwear (a sight he desperately wanted to forget), made him immediately understand what she had in mind. And he would rather be punished with a week of starvation and 300 whipping than allow her to steal one the last remains of his dignity.

With that in mind, he finishes his day's work picked up his cloak and left the stable.

The market was his favourite part of the city, he had learned many of the things he knew there, there was every kind of smell, every quality of products, and there were people speaking languages he had never heard of.

He didn't always leave with his cloak, the people of the city merely recognized him, there were not many bastards since the great majority were abandoned as a baby on the mountain.

But when he wore his cloak, he blended perfectly with the travellers, being able to come and go freely, without being stopped by the swordsmen or cooed by the boys who had persecuted him since childhood (although he had learned to avoid them).

As he passed a cloth salesman, he heard a single sentence that made him immediately turn his attention to the conversation.

"People said it was Ræv fe from the mist, they died in a matter of days! All plants and animals. The bearded man had tanned skin, he had certainly come from afar, his distinct accent only proving it."

Ron had heard something like that months ago, he remembered. He walked a little more slowly in order to hear more of the conversation.

"...Some huntsman said there was a small village in a valley to the west a few weeks ago. It was deserted, however, the soil was the same grey colour as the forests and pastures. In fact, he had to go north to hunt.

"So was he travelling east?" The other man questioned

A third one snorted, clearly sceptical.

"If whatever this thing really exists, you mean. After all, neither of us or anyone close to us ever saw anything like that. It's always someone who heard it from someone else...By Odin..."

At one point he looked fearful, Ronn would say. Almost as if he wished it wasn't true.

The men changed the subject, so Ronn kept walking around the market. In other conversations, he learned that Sêlkior Rurik would arrive the following week and the wedding would be at dusk.

Katarine. Ronn frowned, over the last few weeks he had still watched her from a distance, she looked completely different from the young lady who used to talk to him. Now, she often humiliated servants and boasted like a peacock to her "friends." He sighed wearily, thinking of his plan. No, he would not give up, she deserved it, they all deserved it.

***

Ronn stirred once more on the mezzanine, the day had barely dawned and he still had not slept, the wood creaked under his weight. Finally, he got up, it was the big day! He crept into the stable without waking up the animals and thought about advancing his tasks, then, he shrugged, it wasn't like he intended to return to that place again.

Re-dug all the items he had accumulated and put them in a bag. The day before, he had put away all his belongings and hidden them in a tree in the forest, which consisted of two or three changes of clothing and all the money he had collected in his last robberies. Then he put on his cloak and hid the bag under his arm, before sneaking out.

The city was already busier than ever, he could feel the strong smell of food baking on all sides, people coming and going in haste, taking the last steps before the wedding, which would be held in the central square of the city, since the announcement of the wedding had mobilized several towns and villages nearby.

Ronn knew exactly where he could see the whole ceremony, there were four little towers circling the central square, tall enough to hide him in the shadows if he stayed in the east tower at the sunset.

After checking the square, he turned to Katarine's house, he knew that this was the most critical and more likely to go wrong part of his plan, because he would have to go into the house, sabotage her dress, the mead barrels, ceremonial torch and, finally, the sword under which the groom would take the oath of wisdom and loyalty.

Fortuitously, he had chosen well the time to invade, because it was still dark he easily passed through an open window, and went to the barrels in the kitchen, depositing some of the squid paint from the boiling seas inside each one. It didn't take much, he knew the ink was completely diluted, leaving all the drink a deep purple colour with an extremely bitter taste.

It took a while to find the sword, which was sheathed and stored inside Katarine's parents' room. He crawled in, very intent on producing no noise, unsheathed the finest sword he ever saw in his life, which had a patterned blade, with references to Odin, Thor24 and Frigga25.

He bathed the top half of the blade in a substance that would only react when in contact with the light, corroding the metal in a few minutes, causing the sword to split (a bad omen a wedding), and he knew that on the day of marriage, the sword could only be drawn by the groom at the time of the ceremony.

Next to the sword was a torch. He picked up the powder of a special kind of rock and carefully filled the cloth with it when they lit up the torch the flame would be black.

At last, he went to Katarine's room, because she was the bride there was the risk of her being awake. At the sight of her sleeping, his breath was cut from his lungs, the beauty of a Valkyrie, he focused, her dress lying close to her bed, it was precious, there were red beads sewn into patterns along with the cords. He touched the soft fabric while taking a type of powder, this one different from the first, that would react with water and change colour, becoming red like blood.

It wasn't harmful, he didn't the courage to hurt her a tenth of what she had hurt him. When the powder would change colour, it would seem that she had bleeding from every pore.

He left the house through the same window he entered it and went to the place where the swordsmen trained, they would be the ones in charge of security that day, he intended to know more about their formations.

Glossary:

20. Odin: Considered the chief god of the clan of the gods, he is also known as the "Father of All," the god of wisdom, war, and death;

21. Smock: Long traditional blouses made of linen or wool, worn under women's clothing;

22. Hela: Goddess of the kingdom of the dead;

23. Mead: Fermented alcoholic beverage;

24. Thor: God of thunder and battle;

25. Frigga: Goddess of fertility, love, and union;

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