---Aphrodite POV

The multitude of eager faces, be they with rosy red cheeks, whiskery, full beard, wild or in braids glow from the torches surrounding the challenge circle. Pushing and shoving occur as more arrivals seek a better vantage point to witness the spectacle of their Jarl defending his right to rule from the younger challenger.

Weaving and dodging through the crowd the clan’s pliers of food, drink and gambling energetically meet the erstwhile demands of the impromptu, although ever-increasing throng of spectators. There didn’t seem to be sympathy for either combatant, the interest fixating on the event, the glory of the combat and the promise of blood.

Assessing each, Jarl Solveig Bloodaxe; is not my friend, although willing to listen and seek advantage, as any leader should, yet his real motives and prejudices are not far below the surface of his ruling visage. Therefore, if not now, certainly in the future he would need to dispose of me or any in conflict with his rule, for example, Arnora, who as a female would not be permitted any leadership aspirations and probably demonstrates that understanding now by promoting, possibly demanding Valmund challenge.

What of Valmund? Younger than Bloodaxe, Arnora manipulates or cajoles him into a challenge against a stronger and more competent opponent. Their discussions are endless while Hrut organises around them acknowledging occasional direction and instruction from his mother.

The reason for the patience of the Jarl unfolds before all. A regal Frost Giantess, pure fine snow-white skin and smouldering yellow eyes, approaches. Her passage through the sea of spectators is a wonder, like a falling tree her presence clearing a path. Each step forward results in Frost Giants of different ages and sizes scrambling and shoving to make way.

I observe and cannot reconcile the attitude of the Jarl toward women and the respect keenly given to his wife until she speaks, clear, confident and with finality.

“While I am your Jarl’s wife I am also, Grimhild Sigurddotta and I swear to all present any dishonour or deceit will be avenged.”

To differing degrees the crowd nods, many with eyes closed, acknowledging their agreement. An absolute silence returns at the same time.

She then spares a glance for one of the Jarl’s Housecarls who hastily fetches an armed chair for her to gracefully float down upon, her voluminous gown of azure blue settling about her. She imperiously flicks back the gown’s hood to reveal her matching white pearl earrings, which like globules of opulence dance before the backdrop of her braided blue-white hair, the alternating colours mesmerising.

An unknown consent permits the chatter of the crowd to gradually return.

The Jarl smiles warmly and surrounds her cheeks with his calloused warrior’s hands kissing her lightly, she leans forward to affirm their union. I am left confused by his apparent behavioural contradiction. My “questioning face” lasts long enough for her to spot and narrow her yellow eyes in my direction. The unblinking stare between us is broken as the Jarl takes a step forward to enter the challenge circle. I recognise in this Giantess a formidable force of will and inner strength while the illusion of safety and respect surrounds her, and I wonder if alone, can she retain this staunchness.

I analyse Jarl Solveig as he prepares, testing the sharpness of his weapon, last moment leather strap adjustments to his steel chest plate by his Housecarls.

A deep rumbling voice breaks me from introspect and observation with a start, Nasim.

“High Priestess … ahh, apologies for not announcing myself, the Jarl’s wife is respected because, as my clan answers to Jarl Solveig, so does Jarl Solveig answer to Jarl Sigurd the Great, who defeated a Fire Giant clan, which bordered his Steading and therefore is now greatly feared.”

Recovering without acknowledging my surprise I reply, “What would happen if the Jarl is defeated?”

“You mean killed don’t you High Priestess? The challenger, if possible, will be slain by the Jarl in the contest, if not then at a suitable time later on, ideally by accident.” He smiles at my incredulous look and continues. “She would be able to claim the new Jarl as her consort and if in her eyes he proves worthy, marry him. This would renew the subjugation agreement between the two clans. A Jarl binds his clan when he enters into an agreement, hence our lack of a Jarl prevents us from any agreements beyond the one with Jarl Solveig.” His tone saddening towards the end.

“Why were you permitted to be blessed by Zeus?”

“I took the same chance as the Jarl’s own clan and so my entire clan took the same opportunity when you made yourself available, hopeful Zeus’ blessing would triumph over the Jarl’s tyranny.”

“You wish for the Jarl’s death?”

“As a loyal subject of Jarl Solveig, I of course wish him the best of fortune.” His show of white teeth while grinning matches the false sincerity within his voice.

“Although if he should fall, I would eagerly discuss certain matters with the new Jarl who is now accepting an earring from his potential bride?”

“How does the earing mean anything?” I ask.

“A personal gift before a challenge can represent a declaration, he is her champion for example, although usually there is an exchange, so she wears his earing, the intention more intimate. Curiously, no exchange.”

I know the earing contains two magic spirits, so perhaps leveraging an accepted ritual to empower Valmund and mask the true purpose, after all her earing clearly feminine jewellery. Nasim mentioned the wife of the Jarl; if he died, she would have the first claim on Valmund and perhaps this gesture is a rejection of such etiquette. Zeus’ Ruling Aspect perhaps overreaching and Arnora is its puppet.

Then an amazing spectacle began.

Valmund screamed from the top of his lungs. “Mighty Zeus grant me your blessing and favour in this combat, endow me with your strength, grant my weapon deadly purpose and speed to dispatch my foe!”

The audience gathers in a breath, the followers of Zeus the most apprehensive, eyes alert wishing to witness his power, willing for it to manifest now. Their combining wills, manifesting and swirling compelling me to lead them in a silent chant, casting [Worship Zeus] to gather their offering. Their worship transforms into pure magic, filling my being.

“With me Nasim.” Croaking out the words to him before dashing off towards Zeus’ Temple. In the Temple, I act as a conduit passing the holy magic to where I didn’t know. Now I bloat and fear overloading my capacity.

Another burst washes over me, accompanied by loud cheering and exaltation and I spare a moment to glance over my shoulder.

Valmund sends a lightning streak into the sky, running the length of his axe, expending [Lightning Strike] Realm Magic in a display! His axe glows! The steady stream of worship increases and as my first paw contacts the Temple stone floor, as lightning grounds, when striking the land, so too the built-up worshipper's magic drains from me to my relief.

[Aphrodite, Priestess of Zeus has entered the Temple Dungeon of Zeus, link to Quest Dungeon of Azizos severed.]

I take a moment to collect myself, death missing me by the narrowest of margins and to separate from Azizos a joy.

Raising my head, I need to cast [Far Sight] to bring my view of the challenge as close as a challenge circle boundary seat.

The Jarl rocks back caught off guard. Valmund races around to flank him. I imagine Valmund’s triumphant face as he now commences his overhead strike, a death strike and quick victory. Instead, Valmund is bent over, the Jarl’s Axe shaft drawing back from its snap jab behind him. The Jarl accepts the race is lost and prepares instead for his opponent to stop and strike, launching his own attack first, achieving complete surprise.

The Jarl’s body smoothly flows to change direction to position himself over Valmund’s neck, his axe sweeping down to its target. The magic flow stops as the audience takes in a breath, a cloud of anguish gathering above it. Arnora’s face shows no concern, blank, although her half-open eyes gaze directly at Valmund. She must be utilising [Mindspeech].

Valmund’s head, certain to be forfeit at the neck until the Jarl’s axe swing clangs to a resounding stop. Valmund straightens, his axe’s shaft standing like a tree, the ground buttressing it, the head of his axe, catching the Jarl’s axe shaft, behind its head. Steadying, Valmund strives to stand, lifting and raising the Jarl’s weapon as he does. Eyes wide, neck veins throbbing and face reddening the Jarl realises beyond belief that Valmund continues to rise, regardless of his strength and mass opposing the youth.

The Jarl lifts his axe free, to begin a short sweep to keep his opponent off balance. Instead, his eyes widen further as his opponent’s axe head stabs swiftly up at his chin. He stumbles backwards to avoid the intended humiliation, dragging his axe back with him. Steadying his feet, he is sent to his left as his axe suffers a blow from his fast-reacting challenger’s axe, the dangling weapon an easy alternative target.

Rolling left, following his axe the Jarl narrowly avoids Valmund’s counter sweep, unknown to the Jarl trailing parallel to his spine slicing air instead of flesh. The Jarl sets his stance in time to deflect Valmund’s high follow up sweep. Valmund’s backhand sweep finds an opening, slicing low, the steel chain parting, failing to deflect and protect the Jarl’s upper thigh. Valmund doesn’t stop to assess or curse, scampering away. The Jarl ignores the pain, sweeping his axe back, although catching it as his youthful target is now too far away in his ready stance, ominous and mirthless.

I read their faces and interpret their plots, pains and agonies. The Jarl not expecting his challenger to stand a chance. The challenger expects an easier contest. Both pausing and reassessing, begrudgingly gaining a level of respect for each other. On the sideline, Arnora sheds tears while striking her right fist into her left palm and as if in answer Valmund shakes his head in denial. I suspect she is urging him to use his magic, [Zap] perhaps, quick, simple easily drawn to steel armour.

Valmund circles his opponent, while the Jarl backs up to the edge of the challenge circle, his back to his wife and his two seconds as well as me. He decides to restrict the mobility advantage of his opponent and trust in his body mass and strength to remain in the circle. Perhaps foolish, although he would live, if he lost by being ejected from the challenge circle.

They trade swipes, feints, parrying and blows and each time before Valmund fatigues he retreats and subtly inspects his grazes and flesh wounds. I know full well he heals them, while the Jarl isn’t as fortunate. Valmund decides upon a defensive battle of attrition.

After several clashes and exchanges dried crusted blood covers the Jarl’s many nicks and cuts, a fresh wound to his upper arm still oozing while he heaves in large breaths. Valmund’s sweat clears the blood from his healed wounds, the truth finally dawning on the Jarl, his head shaking in disbelief, the tell and confirmation soon following as he charges with his axe high. Valmund’s eyes open wide, and his mouth drops all the while dashing away from the Jarl’s line of charge. The Jarl adjusts his line to no avail, Valmund’s [Dash] enables him to outflank his opponent.

There is no sign of glee on Valmund’s face. Single-minded grim determination is more apt. His strike isn’t grandiose, aiming for the Jarl’s trailing left heel. His [Sharpen] axe parts the fine leather of the Jarl’s boot’s upper, slices underneath the paired, front and back steel plate greaves the Jarl wears to bite into his ankle’s flesh and then bone. The Jarl rolls away, his foot and elegantly crafted boot remaining behind.

Incapacitated, prone on the stamped ground of the challenge circle the Jarl clenches his teeth refusing to scream as his lifeblood squirts from his decapitated lower leg. Valmund approaches him.

The Jarl throws his axe from the circle. “I yield!” he screams.

“I accept,” replies Valmund, while waving for the Jarl’s seconds to attend him. One rushes to him with bandages trying to stem the flow of blood, the cloth blood-red in several heartbeats, although the loss of blood slows. The Jarl’s skin turns pallid and ashen, a thin layer of sweat coating it. The sweet scent of smoke drifts across the scene adding a final gravitas to the challenge, the Jarl now moaning in pain, grinding his teeth on a leather strap gifted to him by his second.

The other second returns, his axe head coated in ashes and red glowing heat. They decide to apply the axe to the wound with the bandages in place. I cast [Soul Sight] and observe his spirit hover slightly, a separate duplicate or outline within, around and outside his actual body. His Housecarls apply the glowing axe head to cauterize the wound, a single scream and then silence. His spirit breaks free of his body and flies towards me, eyes glowing, one remaining foot and clenching hands stretching before him.

As he advances, he descends, the land laying its claim upon him. His spirit disappears to be reborn anew, his faith in Zeus false.

“His hostile spirit would not have reached you High Priestess, the moment he stepped upon sacred ground, I Gudmund, bound defender spirit of this Temple would have annihilated him or been vanquished myself trying.”

The ghostly spirit form of a Frost Giant floats beside me. I am amazed he can converse with me and stammer before I clear my throat and try again.

“How are you bound?”

“Adept Arnora bound my presence to the Temple, once my brother Valmund conquered my spirit when drawn to him.”

“You don’t mind your present existence?”

“The alternative, never to remember my former existence, be reborn or reincarnated and begin anew, never.”

His ghostly head shakes from side to side in support of his conviction.

“I can gain form or presence when the Temple harvests sufficient magic from worshippers and engage in conversation, although my brother can converse with me at any time as you do.”

Another joins us.

“Hail High Priestess, I am told my name is Valgard, the name I held while in the land of the living. Unlike Gudmund I have no memories of my former life, this upset the Adept Arnora who bound me to defend the Temple, although I couldn’t understand why or offer any sympathy.”

Yelling and jubilation echo in my ears. I cancel my [Soul Sight] and observe the faithful celebrating Valmund’s victory. A clear circle surrounds the Jarl’s wife to denote the sole exception. She sits silently and with her back to me, so I can’t discern her emotions if any.

Both spirit’s presences are very real and stand beside me still.

“If you draw her into the Temple, I or Valgard could try to destroy her spirit and possess her body, a wonderous experience I would think.”

“You wouldn’t want for a male body?”

“Preferable of course, although once a spirit you learn to appreciate the living and male or female is no longer an obstacle …”

I nod.

Jarl Valmund is chanted by a multitude of voices, most if not all worshippers of Zeus. Thunderous and cheerful, the valley echoes back.

Grimhild Sigurddotta stands, fluffing down her gown. A subtle signal to those around her to make way and remarkably they do! I observe her in fascination, perhaps misjudging her power and influence. Her husband is dead and yet she commands acquiescence if not compliance of those nearby. She steps slowly, never wavering, making a beeline towards the new Jarl as if hovering on-air, regal.

The parting crowd permits my view of their meeting, the new Jarl and the new widow, as those initially fleeing her presence don’t swamp in behind her, her path declared sacred by some consensus. She holds her dress just so and bows! She bows! What is her game? The Jarl reaches out his hand to gently grasp hers and usher her into a standing position. Arnora hangs off his left arm, eyes narrow and piercing. Why? Arnora would have no interest in the Jarl, he is younger, and her worship of Zeus as an Adept, senior to his. Perhaps the exchange of earrings is not simply a tactic to win the challenge.

Silence rules the challenge circle and the surroundings as the audience holds its collective breath.

“My Lord, I wish to congratulate you on your victory, skilful for one so young and such patience, remarkable and truly worthy of great fame.”

“I am … well somewhat surprised you present yourself given the death of your former husband.” Valmund’s face is serious and his voice even.

Her voice is high and honey-sweet. “Don’t worry your face so, I am the contract wife of the Jarl and so if one falls, I am honour bound to court the next.”

Arnora, chews on her bottom lip, I suspect she wishes to intervene, possibly reject the courtship? Such an odd reaction.

“What the consequence if I find you, erm undesirable,” hastily continuing, “or you find me unsuitable?”

“Well.” She pushes her hood back, to reveal loose blue and white hair, slowly running her fingers through, to spread and puff up her long locks.

I wonder when she untied her braids, although I imagine her present ‘look’ softer, more accommodating perhaps. Arnora’s arms are straight by her sides, and I am sure her hands are curling and uncurling into fists.

“We are of similar age I would guess, certainly you are younger than my former husband to be and one, I may add, who seems to wield his weapon with significant skill.” Her head turns submissively, and I catch sight of a sly smile escaping her lips, a finger resting briefly on her bottom lip. I wouldn’t doubt her eyes straying to his loins!

Valmund opens his mouth and then closes it, wordless. In this duel, he is at a loss. I notice Arnora gather herself. Her hand clasping her necklace and her eyes burning into the side of Valmund’s head. His eyes brighten for a moment, she is using Mindspeech.

His voice is firm and demanding. “While certainly encouraging, the consequences Grimhild Sigurddotta?”

Her body crumples slightly. “If we don’t marry, then the agreement is cancelled, and my father would most likely act depending upon your respect or disrespect of my person.” Tossing her hair back, her voice sultry and encouraging, she says, “I assure you Jarl Valmund we are a long way from there.”

I internally swear, that my position behind her means I miss most of Grimhild’s message; the portion words don’t convey, the portion inciting Arnora to go to extraordinary lengths to protect Valmund … well I am not certain what he is to her.

“What if I reject your courtship here and now on the basis, I don’t wish to join to another’s wife, who may carry an heir of the former Jarl or perhaps hides an heir at his former Steading?”

These are Arnora’s words, put into Valmund’s mind. She wishes to slice and dismember this courtship before it starts.

Her arms fly to her face, I assume her hands cover her face as her chest hitches.

Between well-timed sobs, she utters her reply. “Our marriage solely a convenience of peace I assure you and I offer myself for inspection if you doubt my sincerity.”

Arnora thrusts herself between Valmund and Grimhild and using her hand, clasps the potential bride by her chin to raise her face and meet eye to eye. “Yes, now, so we can end this farce!”

Grimhild draws her head back, Arnora picking up on the hint and releasing her prize.

“I sense some hostility within you and would nominate your High Priestess as my witness.” Grimhild’s head favours the left, perhaps avoiding Arnora and petitioning Valmund directly.

Arnora raises her voice. “With all due respect to the High Priestess, her anatomy and experience may prohibit her from rendering an accurate judgement.” I register Arnora’s pleading eyes, begging me to decline on the basis she provides. I can’t say I’m not intrigued, although I have only my Greek Anatomy knowledge to assist. I take the opportunity to leap from the Temple and follow in Grimhild’s steps until I am before Arnora and Grimhild and standing beside Grimhild.

[Aphrodite, Priestess of Zeus has exited the Temple of Zeus, link to Quest Dungeon of Azizos re-established.]

I lower my voice. “Perhaps Nasim’s wife under my supervision would be appropriate?”

A cloud of doom descends upon Grimhild’s face. My suggestion of a Stone Giant perhaps an insult?

Her head snaps towards me, her teeth set, and she spits out, “Never!”

Nasim’s name must indicate he is a Stone Giant as I am certain Grimhild wouldn’t know him. Arnora stifles a chuckle behind her hand.