Chapter 15

The sound of pen over paper drifted into the air as Ludmila nibbled on a piece of jerky. She was taking notes while Gudrun explained another strange aspect of Frost Giant culture. She ate not because she was hungry – the Ring of Sustenance saw to that – but because it felt strange to attend a long, sitting discussion without accompaniment. As much as she differed from the other nobles, it was one of the few things that could be said to be the same.

She had long run out of tea and biscuits, ate dinner the previous night and was now down to preserved foods. Paper, she had aplenty, and it was piled neatly about her as she learned more and more about Gudrun’s people. Two days had passed since she met the Frost Giant Shaman, and in those days they spent most of their time discussing the culture, traditions and practices of both their peoples. As someone who was presumably going to be performing a diplomatic role during expeditions, she couldn’t let the rare opportunity slip by.

When Gudrun slept, Ludmila reviewed her notes. She wasn’t certain whether talking for so long was something Gudrun usually did, but the Giant did not show any discomfort or restlessness as they conversed. It did not seem as if Gudrun was about to run out of topics to cover, either.

A voice at the door interrupted the Shaman’s ongoing explanation.

“Gudrun?”

“I’m here.”

The slab blocking the entrance was shifted aside, and what appeared to be a Frost Giant adolescent stepped in. She stopped and stared when she noticed Ludmila.

“You might pick a fight like that, Aslaug,” Gudrun said.

“I-I’m sorry,” Aslaug replied. “The others wanted to know what was going on. It’s been days, and you haven’t sent word.”

Gudrun glanced towards Ludmila before rising to her feet to address the girl.

“The warband has not returned,” she said. “Sigurd is dead.”

“What! How–” the girl turned her wide blue eyes to Ludmila, “are you saying…”

The Frost Giant Shaman nodded.

“Then…then what about mother?” Aslaug asked.

Gudrun wordlessly shook her head. The girl bit her lip, and a tear rolled down her cheek. Seemingly unable to contain herself, she fled from the building.

“I apologize for her display,” Gudrun said after she replaced the door. “The girl is still yet young.”

“I don’t mind,” Ludmila said. “Who is she?”

“One of Sigurd’s daughters,” Gudrun replied.

Ludmila frowned at the strange distinction.

“I thought Sigurd was your husband?”

“He was,” Gudrun nodded. “He also had a daughter by Brynhild.”

“…your best friend.”

“Three is a sacred number,” Gudrun muttered, “or so they said. I was Sigurd’s wife, and Brynhild was his concubine…no, she was more like his other wife.”

“I’m not sure what to think about that…”

Short of rare, special provisions, the Faith of the Six highly encouraged monogamy amongst their followers. As with the incident involving Momon, the very idea of infidelity made feelings of hostility rise within her.

“Neither did I,” Gudrun smirked. “But it happened anyway. We were rivals for his attention, but the three of us grew up close. In hindsight, it was not as bad as it could have been.”

“So this is a common practice?”

“It is commonly practised amongst the strong. Strength is greatly admired and coveted, so I guess I should be thankful that it was just Brynhild and not scores of strange women sharing the same roof as some other men might have. I take it that it is not the same for your people?”

She couldn’t say that it wasn’t. Her faith’s emphasis on cultivating the potential of humanity made the appeal of a strong partner a matter of course. It was not simply strength, however: accomplishments were valued depending on one’s vocation. Be it a Blacksmith, a Priest, or a Farmer, standing at the pinnacle of one’s craft made them an attractive prospect for others in the same field.

The idea of her sharing someone with Clara rose unbidden in her mind, and she violently shoved it away.

“It is,” Ludmila replied, “to an extent. It would depend on cultural and religious practices. There are a number of Human nations, and how things are done may vary greatly. Personally, I might just stab someone if they did that to me.”

For the first time in Ludmila’s recollection, Gudrun laughed. Her voice boomed off of the walls, and the door rattled against its frame.

“I have done exactly that in the past,” she said, “if I suspected that he had lain with some lonely huntress out in the wilderness. It appears that jealousy is another thing we have in common. You do not have a husband, then?”

“Er...no,” Ludmila replied. “By the customs of my faith, I am not yet considered an adult.”

The conversation had taken a strange turn. Why was she discussing marriage with a Demihuman in a hut in the middle of nowhere?

“Not yet of age?” Gudrun raised a brow, “That is surprising, considering what you’ve accomplished. Your strength must be a rarity amongst your people.”

“It probably is,” Ludmila said. “I don’t feel that it’s my doing, however. I have inherited much from both my father and my mother. The way of my people has some similarities to your own, but our matches are not solely by caste. Bloodlines are cultivated between members of the same vocation.”

“I see,” Gudrun nodded. “But that is the way of the world, is it not? Strength breeds strength. Also, you are too humble by far – if you speak with Frost Giants, not boasting when the opportunity presents itself would be considered rude. Your parents must surely do so if they have a child such as yourself.”

Ludmila felt a lonely smile creep its way onto her face.

“I’m not sure that they would,” she said. “Humility is a virtue in my family’s culture; boasting and complaining are frowned upon. I would be satisfied if they were simply proud of me.”

“They’re not?”

“Everything I accomplished happened after their deaths,” Ludmila told her, “so I may never know.”

“I see,” Gudrun said a bit too jovially. “Tell me of their fate.”

Yet another strange turn. Was it simply their way? They clearly grieved the passing of friends and family, but how they addressed death was unlike anything she knew. They welcomed – no, celebrated those who met a worthy end.

“My mother died when I was half my current age,” Ludmila said. “A tribal champion appeared at the borders of our territory, seeking a challenge. My mother and her patrol fought the champion and its warband. In the end, the warband was destroyed, but only half of the patrol returned.”

“Mm. A good fate – how about your father?”

“He was called to war half a year ago by our former liege. It was an annual conflict with the Baharuth Empire – the Human nation to the east of these mountains. This year, however, they were fighting against the Sorcerer King. Our army was shattered. My father and both of my brothers, along with many of our best fighting men were slain.”

Gudrun nodded at her words, then furrowed a brow partway through Ludmila’s account.

“The Sorcerer King?” She asked, “The same ruler of the Sorcerous Kingdom who you now serve?”

“The same,” Ludmila nodded. “The territory that was taken as a result included my family’s land as well.”

“Hm…so did some valorous deed by your sire or brothers earn this Sorcerer King’s recognition? So outstanding that you were not enslaved?”

Ludmila couldn’t help but frown at the Giant’s odd interpretation of the outcome, but Gudrun’s question gave rise to a number of her own. What did the Sorcerer King think of the duchy’s nobles? How did he view the deaths of their loved ones in the Battle of Katze Plains? She had never once spoken to the Sorcerer King, nor had she ever seen him in person. By the accounts of the citizens, he walked the streets of E-Rantel occasionally, but the majority of Ludmila’s time was spent in her distant demesne.

“…that’s not how it works with our people.” Ludmila said patiently, “The subjects of a territory – nobles included – come with that territory. When ours was annexed, we became subjects of the new owner of that territory through formal procedures. This way, battles can be fought in designated locations and the productivity of the land is not lost through destructive conquest. It does not always mean that devastation can be avoided in a protracted war, but it is the ideal.”

“Interesting…so if my tribe challenged another tribe to a war and won, the other tribe would lose their territory.”

“If the outcome was clear, yes, it might be a simple way to frame it.”

“In the past few days,” Gudrun said, “you made it sound as if contests of strength were not practised in your nation.”

Gudrun’s tendency to turn the conversation towards the Frost Giants’ way of seeing the world should have not come as a surprise after exchanging information for so long, yet it somehow still did. If they were integrated into the Sorcerous Kingdom, or at least entered into amicable relations with them, Ludmila wondered where they might find a place for themselves.

“Our nation was indeed founded through a contest of strength,” Ludmila replied, “and the Demihumans living there have also submitted themselves to the Sorcerer King’s strength. In my time so far as a noble of the Sorcerous Kingdom, however, this strength has been used to provide security and uphold order. When it comes to foreign relations, other forms of diplomacy and trade are preferred.”

“This is strange to me.”

“I have a Frost Dragon vassal that often says the same.”

“Truly? Well, this is no surprise – it is the strong who rule our world.”

『H-hello?』

Lord Mare’s voice popped into her head, and Ludmila nearly jumped out of her seat. She held up a hand to Gudrun, unsure if she would understand what she meant, then turned to face a nearby wall.

『Good evening, Lord Mare.』

『Oh! You’re alive. I was just wondering…』

『Was there something you required of me, my lord?』

『N-no, I was just curious. The diviners couldn’t locate your guild tag for recovery.』

Ludmila furrowed her brow at his words.

『That’s strange…I don’t think I’ve done anything on my end. Oh – you may be pleased to know that I’ve been learning about the Frost Giants for the last few days. There’s going to be quite a bit to go over after this.』

『Really? That’s great! Come back when you’re done, I guess.』

『Will you be informing the expedition?』

『Hm…no, I don’t think I will. They’re still out doing recovery work, so I’ll let them continue until everyone else is accounted for.』

『I see. Was there anything else I can help you with?』

『No, just checking in.』

『Thank you for your kind concern, my lord. Have a good evening.』

『Un.』

The Message spell ended, and Ludmila returned to her seat.

“Apologies for the interruption,” she said. “A superior just contacted me via spell.”

“A spell?” Gudrun raised an eyebrow, “Hmm…I’ve not heard of such a spell before.”

“Perhaps you will have the opportunity to learn in the future,” Ludmila told her. “You may even have spells of your own that none of the tribes in our nation possess.”

“It may be interesting to see what the Shamans of other tribes use…”

Gudrun’s voice trailed off. Her gaze went past Ludmila’s shoulder.

“Hiiiieeee!”

Ludmila turned to see Ilyshn’ish, in her Snow Elf appearance, scurrying out of the building.

“Wait – what in the world are you doing here?”

Ilyshn’ish froze in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes went up fearfully to Gudrun, then back to Ludmila.

“Ehm…Lady Shalltear sent me to find you,” Ilyshn’ish said. “She said you went missing. Your scent was coming out of this hut, so…”

“But Lord Mare contacted me just now?”

“What?! Do you know how long I’ve been flying around for?”

“Flying?”

Gudrun’s question elicited a frightened squeak out of Ilyshn’ish. The Frost Dragon moved to hide behind Ludmila’s shoulder.

“Ah, allow me to introduce you,” Ludmila turned to address Gudrun. “This is Ilyshn’ish=Verilyn, the Frost Dragon vassal I mentioned before.”

“It is a Draconic name,” Gudrun leaned forward curiously, “but she looks a bit small for a Dragon.”

“She’s a Bard that has learned to weave Spellsong to assume alternate appearances.”

Gudrun leaned back again, stroking her chin.

“Frost Dragon…Bard...hoh, this is quite a surprise. To think that the Frost Dragon that you spoke of was Fimbulvetr. You must be a mighty huntress indeed.”

“I’d rather you not call me that,” Ilyshn’ish huffed. “It makes everyone think I’m some sort of horrible monster.”

“Fimbulvetr…” Ludmila awkwardly mouthed the word, “What does it mean?”

“The great, terrible winter,” Gudrun explained. “The long winter that kills all lesser beings, assailing them from every direction. The winter that comes before the end of all things, after which even the Giants, Dragons and gods will meet their fate.”

It felt like a good name for a Frost Dragon. At least she thought so.

“It’s a baseless name!” Ilyshn’ish complained, “What did I do to deserve it?”

“It does fit, in a way,” Gudrun said. “Especially for those that named you. You have a reputation for culling away the weak and the foolish. How many hundreds of Frost Giants have met their end at your claws?”

“Hundreds?” Ludmila looked over her shoulder.

“I-It just adds up!” Ilyshn’ish said, “A couple here and there over a few decades…a-anyways, Lady Shalltear told me to contact her when I found you, so I’ll be going to do that…”

Ilyshn’ish started to slink away towards the exit again.

“Shouldn’t you have a few Message scrolls?” Ludmila said, “For that matter, why didn’t you just contact me?”

“I…dammit! Why didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t Lady Shalltear think of that? All this time looking for you…”

The Frost Dragon muttered darkly to herself as she reached into her Infinite Haversack. She retrieved a scroll, which was subsequently consumed in a burst of azure flame. A few moments later, Ilyshn’ish looked back towards them.

“Lady Shalltear is coming,” she said.

“Right now?” Ludmila asked.

In response, the black portal of a Gate spell opened several metres away. Lady Shalltear appeared, adorned in her crimson plate armour, Pipette Lance gleaming in her hand. Ludmila lowered her head at her liege’s entrance, and Ilyshn’ish followed suit.

“Lady Shalltear,” Ludmila said. “You honour us with your presence.”

“You have become a very difficult person to find,” Lady Shalltear said.

“I think Lord Mare mentioned something to that effect,” Ludmila replied, “but I’m not sure why that is.”

“…you spoke to Mare?”

“Yes, my lady. He contacted me with a Message spell not fifteen minutes ago.”

A complicated expression clouded Lady Shalltear’s face. Given Ilyshn’ish’s reaction, Ludmila decided that it would be wise to stay silent.

“I-Is that so,” Lady Shalltear visibly worked to recover her mental balance. “So you’ve been here all this time, sitting with…”

“She is called Gudrun, my lady.”

“Gudrun…? Next, you’re going to tell me that there’s a Sigurd here too.”

“You knew?”

They frowned at one another for a long moment. Ludmila cleared her throat to make a proper introduction.

“Gudrun,” she looked up at the Frost Giant, “I have the pleasure of introducing you to…Gudrun?”

The Frost Giant across from them appeared deaf to her words. She stared down with wide eyes towards Lady Shalltear.

“You’re…are you a Valkyrie?” Gudrun breathed.

“I am,” Lady Shalltear peered up at her, “but how do you know this?”

“Our lore – our lays and sagas – they describe your appearance.”

Lady Shalltear looked at Ludmila. Ludmila could only shake her head unknowingly.

“Is that so?” Her liege turned her attention back to Gudrun, “I would hear you recite what you know.”

Gudrun rose to her feet, licking her lips nervously. Focused as she was on their customs and everyday practices, Ludmila had not yet covered the Frost Giants’ lore and mythology. Gudrun’s recognition of Lady Shalltear came as a complete surprise. The Giant’s voice had a tentative quality to it that was unlike any used in the past few days. The segment that followed came out in reverent tones.

High under helms | on heaven’s field;

Their byrnies all | with blood were red,

And from their spears | bright rays shone forth.

“「Charm Species」.”

“Lady Shall–”

“Quiet.”

Ludmila stilled her voice. A deadly edge had entered Lady Shalltear’s demeanour, something she had witnessed only once before. It was when they started planning for the transportation network, and they discussed the strange language used in her notes.

Lady Shalltear’s metallic heels sounded over the ice as she walked up to Gudrun.

“Now, Gudrun,” she said, “you will tell me how your people came to possess this lore.”