Our hunting party was several days healing up from the wounds that the others had suffered during the worg attack. Still, we were not the only hunting party, and the meat we brought back made for good eating. What wasn’t eaten that first night was smoked and preserved, as rations against lean times, when there would not be enough hunters, or enough game, to sustain the tribe. That was as it always had been.

A week after our victory over the worgs, a messenger came to their camp, bearing the mark of one of the other tribes. I wasn’t invited to listen in to what the messenger had to say to the elders, naturally, but there are no secrets in a tribe like ours, so I found out soon enough. One of the other tribes, the Tribe of the Bear, was calling a Gathering, a meeting of all the tribes of the tundra. That meant one thing, and one thing only: war. There was no other reason for the tribes, some of them being bitter rivals, to meet unless there was a need to unite against a common foe.

When I asked my father, he spat at the ground, and told me that it was no doubt the work of Yorlunn Bloodaxe, leader of the Tribe of the Bear, wanting to stir up trouble with the nearby towns. He was a bloodthirsty one, who reveled in the slaughter of battle, and taking choice prizes for his own. There was a reason why the Tribe of the Elk did not spend more time in their company, after all.

Worse, at least for me, they were one of the more ‘traditional’ (one might say hidebound) tribes on the tundra. They were very clear on the place of a woman in the tribe, and it was basically ‘getting pregnant as often as possible’. The idea of a woman warrior was almost heretical to them. The thought of a woman using magic would send them into fits. Needless to say, this did not bode well for me, but I resolved to keep out of the way as much as I could.

Still, we gathered most of our warriors, leaving only a few to guard the camp and protect the women and children, and made our way to Indsamling, the only permanent structure used by the tribes of the frozen planes. Located near a hot spring oasis in the midst of the frozen lands, Indsamling was under the guard of a powerful creature. I did not know what kind of creature it was, but it was powerful enough to cow all the tribes into peaceful discourse while in its hall. The Great Pact between the tribes was clear on what would happen to those who broke the rules of Indsamling.

The first I saw of the great meeting spot of the tribes was a cloud of what I first thought to be smoke, but soon realized was steam, rising up in the distance. Soon, the snow gave way to bare rock, and vents issued forth steam and heat as we passed by them. It felt like it was spring, perhaps even summer, despite the fact that it was now in the midst of winter, when the winds bit harshest. Too soon, the furs most of the tribe wore against winter’s bite proved to be getting far warmer than they might like, but even the area near Indamling was no place to simply strip down and redress in the midst of the wild. Danger was always present on the tundra, even here.

Soon, however, the main building of Indsamling came into view. It was a great feast hall, set upon a small rise, allowing it to look over the surrounding tundra for miles around. From that distance, the walls did not look so much ‘made’ but ‘grown’, as they rose smoothly out of the rock to reach up, twice as tall as any other structure I had seen in this world. The roof made of tanned animal skins was the only thing that marked it as clearly ‘made’. But I knew, from others’ stories, that the building was indeed made by human hands, a testament that even the Tribes could build and make something beautiful, if they had a mind to.

As we approached the hall, the chief warriors of the tribe began to sing. Well, chant is more like it. It was the Battlesong of Tempus, the god of battles. Tradition had it that, upon a Gathering at Indsamling, each tribe announced its presence by singing the song, and those gathered would sing as well, with the tribes competing to see who could sing the loudest. It was a harmless competition, worth more as bragging rights than anything, but it was an important part of the tradition.

It was also a bit of political gamesmanship. Since each tribe sang as they arrived, and the tribes already at Indsamling sang as one to respond, then it was only the last tribe to arrive that was heard by all the other tribes. On the flip side, of course, the first tribe to arrive, the one that called the Gathering, would have their leader’s titles and victories spoken multiple times, ensuring that each tribe heard of his glories. The other leaders only had their titles named when they entered Indsamling, so those who came first and last to the meeting were in the positions of honor.

As it turned out, the Tribe of the Elk were the last to arrive, and as our assembled warriors crowded into the great feast hall, I took a moment to look over the gathered tribes. Naturally, it was mostly men making up the warriors of the tribes, but I saw a few women taking their place with the warriors, but they all were older and stronger-looking than I was. The only other women looked to be young, like me, probably women who had just Unlocked their Status, and were not yet matched. A marriage between two tribes could go a long way to healing a rift, after all.

A young man at the other side of the hall rose, and called out from his seat at the table, “WHO COMES BEFORE THE TRIBES OF THE OPEN TUNDRA, IN PEACE OR IN WAR? SPEAK NOW BEFORE YORLUNN OF THE TRIBE OF THE BEAR, THREE TIMES KILLER OF THE WINTER WOLF, SLAYER OF TWENTY-THREE KNIGHTS OF RIMECAIRN, CITY RAIDER AND BEAST SLAYER, HE WHO CLAIMED ARRYN OF THE WOODS AS HIS SLAVE CONSORT IN BATTLE AGAINST THE ELVES OF THE FROZEN SEA!” This was the traditional challenge, usually called out by relative of the current leader of the tribe. So, the youngster would probably be the son of Yorlunn.

Oglaf announced the traditional response. “THE TRIBE OF THE ELK COMES, UNDER THE BANNER OF STALFAR GREATSOUL, WARRIOR-PRIEST OF TEMPUS, TWICE KILLER OF THE FIRESCALE IN SINGLE COMBAT, BANE OF BAHKR BLOODLETTER, SLAYER OF OATHBREAKERS, DESTROYER OF THE GOBLIN HOLD OF NIGHT STALKER CAVERNS, WOLFRIDER OF THE NORTH!”

A big, powerfully built man stood from the center of the high table, and clapped his hands. “Well met, Sons of the Elk! Come, and be welcome at Indsamling, holding your hands as we hold ours, so we may speak of the future!” That had to be Yorlunn. Stalfar, leader of our tribe, went up to the table, and sat at the open seat prepared for him, along with the other clan leaders, while the rest of us made our way to the tables.

As I sat at the table, I was all too keenly aware of the eyes following me. I was a woman, and a young woman, but was sitting amongst the warriors. That made some of the more conservative idiots start whispering amongst themselves. Those people I didn’t mind. Their bigotry blinded them. It was looks like the one that I got from Yorlunn’s son that made my skin crawl. He looked at me like That Man had, in my old life. I knew what that look meant. But I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t weak like I was back then!

The Gathering was slated to last several days. After all, a war council could not simply be thrown together, especially when not everyone knew who the upcoming fight was to be about, much less getting on board to join forces. During that time, we were expected to mix and mingle with the members of the other tribes, since we would potentially be fighting side by side. I just hoped that I could keep away from the creepy guy, or at least only see him when others were around. I wasn’t going to back down, not again, but I didn’t want to leave myself vulnerable.

The first night, after the night meal was done, and warriors began drinking from the barrels of ale and mead, I did my best to remain sober, despite mingling with members of the tribes of the Wolf and the Eagle. I was young, but I still remembered lessons I had learned in my old life. Young woman getting drunk in the middle of a bunch of men was a bad idea, no matter how you sliced it. So, I had a mug in my hand the whole night, but only rarely refilled it.

The conversation around the fires outside was mostly pleasant. A lot of young warriors bragging about their prowess in battle, and sometimes their prowess in other areas, all of them competing for the attention of one of the few females there. Most of the young men understood, however, that I was not there to find a mate, or willing to do anything of the sort with them. Those that did not, thankfully, were not so deep into their cups, or full of their own importance, that they thought they could press their luck with me.

And that is when I heard the damn son of Yorlunn speaking behind me, his words slurred by drink. “Bah, you weaklings! What are you doing speaking with this wench like she’s a warrior of the tribes? Clearly, she’s just here to warm a bedroll for one of the Elk’s men. Or maybe they aren’t men enough to show her a woman’s place in the world? Perhaps I, Grold Yorlunnson, should teach you the true meaning of a woman’s worth! Tell me, whore, what is your name?” I ignored him, and continued speaking to the ranger I had been conversing with. Yorlunn’s whelp did not appreciate that. “Bitch! You answer when I speak to you!”

I felt, so much as heard, the warrior approaching behind me, and turned to face him. His eyes were filled with lust and anger, clearly wanting to ‘teach me my place’. And I was resolute in my decision that this simply was not going to be allowed. After all, I was not his servant, or part of his tribe.

I spat at his feet. “The only bitch here is you, fool! I am a Daughter of the Elk, Twice-souled, and blessed by the Frostmaiden! I am no man’s plaything, and I do not need to dirty myself by being in your presence much less listen to you prattle on like a spoiled child resenting that these better men can hold my attention, unlike a preening peacock like yourself!”

That may have been going a bit overboard. All right, it was definitely overboard. I had basically made it so he had to call me out, or be dishonored in front of all the tribes. If he ever wanted to succeed his father as chief of his tribe, he could not let that happen. But I doubt that thought ever entered his head. His stupid male pride wouldn’t let me, a mere woman, talk down to him like that.

Grold growled at me, and said, “If you were a man, and if we were anywhere but Indsamling, I would kill you where you stand for such insolence! I am a warrior of the sixth level, and you are, what, a newly unlocked whelpling? Have you even blooded yourself in battle before, bitch?”

I laughed in his face, and called loudly. “Then let it be known that Grold Yorlunnson fears to step into the ring of honor, under the rules of Indsamling! And not a tenday ago, I slew worgs upon the open tundra, alongside my hunting party, killing five, and an Alpha, without a single member of our party being lost!”

Grold roared in rage, and said, “FINE! To the Ring of Indsamling!”