Waging War Against the Heavens (Alvis and xanaphia)

Alvis Alendran

Alvis Alendran

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Canada
It was a good day to be a mercenary. Well, most days were good to be a mercenary in this land. A veritable horde of cities, and most of them wanting to make war with one another. And having a group of foreign warriors that stood nearly a foot taller than the average local didn't hurt either. The only downside was how blasted hot it was in these lands compared to back home. Throkell turned to look at the few remaining preparations being made by his men. A few of them had made some concessions to local fashion, donning kilts instead of the heavy trousers of back home, and here and there were bronze guards for arm and lower leg. But most of them had the more familiar iron scales, with a rare few affording the chain mail that had saved them so many times. He turned back to the city, and examined the walls.

They were higher than he was used to, and stone, not wood. That ruled out burning a section down as a distraction. Which meant they were going over them, one way or another. He had bare a hundred men under his command over all, a scarce company, not even a proper ship full. But he'd seen how these Greek fought, and he and his men were not afraid of them. They advanced, keeping low and fast, closing the gap to the walls. The city had been at peace for too long, too secure in their dominance of the region through politics and planning. It was time to make a mess, and get what they were after.

It was not a normal raid for them, not by any stretch of the imagination. They were noramlly hired to break up an enemy line, or to make raids on farms and storehouses to get food. To attack a temple within a city, it was all but madness. And yet Thorkell's Jarl had accepted the contract from some noble of the same city. Their task was direct, but the money was apparently very good. Good enough to risk a significant portion of their fighting men. It might have been too bold for most, but the Jarl had entrusted Thorkell with the job, trusting in his sense of timing, his sense of daring, knowing that he woudl get the job done, no matter the cost. He nodded to several of his men, who unspooled lines of rope, and made their cast.

Three pronged hooks flew up, thrown by strong arms, falling onto the top of the wall. With sharp tugs, they made a firm contact, and men started to climb the ropes, heading for their appointed places. Ten ropes, each one supporting a team of ten. It didn't take long, and soon a company of warriors stood on the walls. A sentry came into sight, and promptly died with an arrow in his throat. Thorkell nodded to his archers, and moved on. Ten archers, one to each team, all had arrows nocked and ready as they prowled along the walls. The temple they sought was close to the wall, far enough that it was a free standing building. Not far enough to prevent a strong man from jumping to it.

Boots landing hard, Thorkell pointed to the edge of the roof closest to the wall, and more ropes were laid out, these ones spiked directly into the rock. Each man rappelled down to the ground, and stepped away, readying their weapons. Thorkell was the last one down, swinging his large shield to the fore. It was larger than average for a man of his people. A full four feet across, it looked more at home among the Greek hoplon shields. Backed by oak in the same way, this one was faced with iron, save for the boss, which had set Thorkell apart from other easily. The boss was chiseled stone. He pulled his axe free, a heavy weapon that most would be uncomfortable swinging in a single hand. With a grin, he touched the pendant around his neck, a silver hammer, and took a deep breath.
"Boys, let's go to work!" He called. With a roar that shattered the quiet city air, they charged.
 
Rippling against her invading hands, the water from the basin was cool on her face as Althaea rinsed off his olive skin. Flicking her slender hand several times to remove the excess water, as she washed the proceedings of the day from her skin. Shoulder length golden hair was pulled behind her head into a loose braid as she readied herself for bed. A loose linen dress of white and blue draped over her curves, neither hiding nor highlighting them. If she could be called beautiful, it was a modest beauty, that would shunned by the temple of Aphrodite.

Her chambers were modest, but comfortable, befitting a priestess of her stature. Far greater than anything she would have when she was a slave. But that was a lifetime ago, before she was purchased by the temple to be a priestess. That a slave could rise to a position of power within Athens was quite unusual. That a female slave might do so was nothing short of miraculous.

Althaea was singular in her position. A woman, yes, but a woman who was consulted before each martial expedition. Armies did not move without her blessing, a woman who had never walked within a mile of killed fields, and yet an oracle of wisdom, and war. Her voice carried the authority of Athena, and men of power listened when she spoke. It was the extent of power a woman could wield in this society, but she wielded it judiciously.

Like the city before her, Athena was silent tonight, but it did not matter to Althaea. The gods did not speak to mortal upon their command, Rather, it was for the mortal to seek out the voices of divinity. For Althaea, it manifested in ripple in the water, as Athena called to her. Fingers traced the surface, just breaking the clear tension.

Screams broke the silence of twilight. Immediately, she stiffened, focusing on the sound, seeking it meaning. Raiders, here? Madness. Madness and death for them. Still, it was worrisome, that they might actually do some damage to the temple before they were put down like dogs. That they might actually penetrate the sanctuary deeper enough to get to the priestesses, and her. Tossing open her chest of linen dresses and robes, seeking the hard bronze dagger at the bottom. She knew what she had to do, if it came to it. Her virtue with the symbol of her devotion to Athena, and she would rather die than be parted from it.

Ripples in the water, the liquid in the basin trembling with the quaking of the temple. Moving in time with the assailants moving through the temple, and yet it demanded her attention. Slipping her dagger under the sheet on the bed she dipped her fingers into the water, watching as it splashed against her hands. Green eyes grew dark as they saw beyond the sights of mortals, of things to come. Things set into motion by the attack upon the temple, and her roles in the coming events.

“I understand, Athena.”
 
The temple wasn't well guarded. Thorkell burst through the main doors, his men fanning out. There was gold here, there was always gold in temples. He saw a priestess shriek, and raise a warding hand before one of his men, Ragnar, rammed a sword through her chest. Temple staff ran about erratically, men chasing them with laughter echoing in the chamber. Axes and sword flashed in the dim light, holy women and men falling dead with each stroke. Others were busily stuffing whatever riches they could find into carry bags, before tossing full ones to other men in exchange for empties. It was a well planned raid. And now it was time to get the hell out of the city. Thorkel turned to go, but saw a priestess cowering in the corner, and he approached her. She whimpered as he drew near.

"Please...don't kill me..." She pleaded, not meeting his eyes.
"Can you give me a reason not to?" He askd her. His gruff voice did terrible things to the Greek language, but it was the best he could do. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes.
"The...the Seer girl! She claims to see the future!" The woman claimed suddenly. Thorkell smiled. Now that...that was something more valuable.
"Where is she?"
"Her...her chamber is in the back!" Thorkell smiled, and nodded.
"My thinks. May Hel greet you fondly." As she looked confused at his words for a moment, he swung his axe forward, splitting her head in half. "Let's go lads! Mop up, and get moving!" he bellowed. There was the sound of splintering wood as some of the closed doors were smashed open by heavy axes. Thorkell, saw the furthest door, one untouched, and felt an odd pulling on his mind, and strode towards it. His own axe would likely do the job of bringing the door down in a pinch, but he opted for an even less subtle response, adn lunged at the door, his shield leading, al his strength and weight behind it. The door wasn't meant to hold anything close to that much force at bay, and exploded inwards, shards of wood making it most of the way across the room. He swept his eyes around the room quickly, taking stock of all within. Very little, save for a woman.

He aimed his axe at her.
"You're coming with me. Now." He ordered as best he could, still hating the sound of the local language, but he knew that his jarl would likely offer him a kings ransom for bringing back a seer, so long as it was legitimate. Else, it was a mild liability, but it was a chance worth taking.
 
Even with what she knew was coming, there was little Althaea could do to prepare herself. Just outside her door the screams of her fellow priests and priestesses and the destruction of the temple filled the air. Still, her choices were allow herself to be captured, and see to the future that her visions prophesied, or try to fight, and surely die. No, it was no choice. Enough blood was spilt, this night.

Even as she knew the door would soon be forced open, she couldn’t help flinching at the sound, eyes meeting the man who burst into her room. Her sanctuary. His ax spoke loud enough, coated in the blood of her fellow believers but still he offered his mangled impression of her language. She didn’t resist following him, but she wasn’t going to do it silently.

“You’re a fool if you think Athena will stand by and watch her temple get desecrated by barbarians,” Althaea scowled, refusing to cower before him. If he had merely wanted to kill her, she would be dead already. He must have found out what she was, whatever that was worth to him. Why he thought she would use her gift to help the enemies of her Goddess she couldn’t begin to say.

Moving through the temple, Althaea was shocked at the carnage before her. These were not warriors. These were devotees to wisdom, men and women who served something greater than themselves. Despite all the times that her words had sent men to their deaths, this was the first time Althaea was forced to confront the bloodshed of battle.

Something gripped her as she moved along her captor. “Wait…” She called, used to men listening when she spoke, and heeding to her advice. The hoplites were gathering now, outside the temple, ready to end the barbarians that had laid waste to the temple. Why she even spoke up, she wasn’t sure. She should be glad to see these men put down like the foreign dogs they were. It was a fair price for them to pay, for the death they had wrought this day, against those who couldn’t even defend themselves. And yet, the vision she had seen playing out before her, it would never come to be if they didn’t make it out, alive. “The defenders amass, and if you leave the way you came, you will not leave at all.”
 
Thorkell didn't hesitate as he kept moving, even hearing her shout to halt. He didn't acknowledge her directly, but he did register what she was saying. They'd come in the front doors, and if the city had any standing military power ready to go, then there would likely be an unwelcome surprise for them outside. Especially laden down with loot. He held up a hand, and waved over one of the smaller of their number.
"Scout. I need a view of our exit." He ordered. The other man was off at a dead run, jumping to one of the windows on the temple, and kicking it out, climbing back to the roof of the structure without slowing. The raiders assembled quickly, sensing that their leader was suspecting something amiss, and that usually meant that they were going to need to be ready to act on his orders quickly.

The scout returned a few minutes later.
"They're out there. Three score at least, and mroe coming all the time. We could break them, but I don't know if we could do it in time." The scout said quickly in his native tongue. Thorkell nodded. About what he'd figured. It seemed this 'Seer' might actually be something. Then again, she was from the city, it was entirely possible that she would have a good idea about the response time of the local forces. Not enough to make a proper call.

"Thorkell! What are we doing?" One of the men called.
"We're moving. What are those jars by the wall?" Thorkell asked one of the men.
"Oil. Too heavy to carry back home."
"Fine. Stuff the caps, light them. We'll burn our way out of here."
"And if it spreads to some of the city?"
"So be it. The distraction will be helpful. Ulrik, Ivar, look after our new guest." He waved an axe back to Althaea, and two warriors came up into flanking positions on her, ready to make sure she kept pace with the others. Thorkell noted that they had five jars ready, the heavy clay jars stuffed with cloth torn from the dead around them, and ready to be lit ablaze at a moment's notice.

They charged through the doors, the men bearing the jars leading the charge, sworn oaths bellowed in their native tongue making the Greek soldiers flinch a moment. Not much, but it was noticable to Thorkell, who was looking for it. He'd heard about these men, soldiers for a part of the year, but their main livelyhood was from another trade. While it gave them a larger pool of warriors, none of them would be up to the same level as men that fought and killed for their entire lives, and made their living from such an act. The jars shattered against the upraised shields of the Greeks, the oil spattering far and wide, before the flaming cloth touched off the oil. Fire surged into the enemy lines, and screaming became the new dominant sound in the air. One of the structures near the temple was starting to burn from the oil, and shouts of alarm were rising quickly. Packed in as close as they were, the citizens would have to act quickly to prevent the city from suffering badly under the effects of the fire.

The raiders didn't pause at the burning Greeks, those who had been fortunate enough to escape the flames were backing away quickly, having no desire to become a victim. The raiders ran to their newly planned exit. Ropes, cast to the wall, linking them to the top, and began to climb. Ten at a time, they mounted the walls, all of them fanning out to make sure that no last minute arrivals from the Greeks woudl cut them off. They were running short of time before the entire city was roused to fight them, and no matter how fierce they were, they would fall. Not one man present feared his death, but all of them wanted to return with their plunder, and fight on again ni a battle more glorious than this. Thorkell and those guarding Althaea were the last to go.
"Tie her off, and haul her up." Thorkell barked, and a rope was thrown around her wiast, before men started hauling her up the wall without hesitation. So far, so good.
 
The stench of burning flesh nearly had her retching. Suddenly guilt passed through her, as her country burned as they tried to come to her defense. Had she not said anything, those men might have lived. Some would have died in the ensuing fight, but it wouldn’t have been as bad as burning to death. It was the first time in her life she was forced to come face to face with the consequences of her visions.

Bloodshed, violence, death. It was her entire life, a far removed from her as it usually was. Surely she was meant for more, more than a harbinger of death and destruction? Yet, never once in her visions had she seen peace.

She watched the men scale the walls, moving in a unison borne of vast experience. It might have been fascinating, if she weren’t watching them take off with every bit of precious from her temple, and escaping justice for the deaths of her companions. The man who had taken her, the one she determined to be the leader gave a command to the men guarding her. He spoke it in the guttural tones of his native tongue, and while she did not understand the words, she had an idea. Context narrowed down what he might have been saying, and as the rope cinched around her waist there was little doubt. She was hoisted up over the wall with little trouble, as she didn’t bother resisting much. There might come a time when she could break away from her captors, and she might need to take them by surprise. All the better to comply with them, so they won’t expect a sudden burst of rebellion.

She was lead back to the ship, thinner that the triremes she was used to seeing, and bearing the emblem of their heathen god. She was loaded in, along with the rest of the loot, in a way that made her feel as if she was little more than an object to these men. Though, she supposed being view as an object is what spared her life in the first place, so perhaps brooding upon that fact was pointless. Still they might have had their plans for her, but it didn’t stop her from having her own plans.

She met the gaze of the leader as he boarded last, refusing to coward before his physical advantage. After all, she had the grace of Athena on her side. “Where are you taking me?”
 
The quick march to the ship was without further incident. The Athenians had their own problems to cope with now, chasing after raiders that had taken wealth and a Seer ranked a very distant second to preventing the city from burning to the ground. The men boarded quickly, stowing the loot in the center, providing another layer of ballast to keep the ship in good balance. The ship was not new, and had been patched more than once. Still very swift and reliable, but not safe to take on the open ocean. The warband was stuck here. Still, they backed oars, and got the ship moving, heading west for a time before swinging back around to the east. Enough to throw off any real pursuit.

Thorkell heard the question, and faced her. The language was still obnoxious to his ears, too fluid, too soft. It lacked strength. But it was what he had to endure to communicate with the denizens of this land.
"I am taking you to my Jarl. You are a spoil of war now, and he will decide what is to be done with you." He said as best he could, his accent still carving the language apart. With a little luck, his Jarl would enforce her learning a proper language, that they might all speak the Donsk Tunga. "we should be there by morning." He turned from her, dismissing her importance in that gesture.

"Canute! Start counting the take. The Jarl will want details of what we have." Thorkell barked. A more slender man moved to start picking through the bags, taking stock. He withdrew a shield, one of the wide hoplon shields that the Greeks favoured, this one covered with inlaid silver script, dedicating the craftsmanship to Athena. He ran a hand along the script.
"Great Athena, I thank you for your blessings, past and present. I thank you for the help you've graciously given. I thank you for your love and your interest in me - your humble servant..." Canute spoke, but unlike the broken language that Thorkell had for Greek, Canute had nearly flawless pronunciation.
"Sounds of weakness of to me." A man muttered.
"It can be rededicated. The silver can be changed." Canute countered, and returned to the counting. The men seemed to be largely ignoring Altheae, though two men kept reasonably close to her, making sure she didn't jump overboard.
 
Althaea rested amidst the ill-gotten loot, arms wrapped around her knees. Her dress had gotten wet as she was loading in the boat, and was sticking to her skin along her legs. She wasn’t terribly cold, but cool enough to be uncomfortable. The thin sandals she wore were soaked and she deigned to take them off for the time being. After all, she was stuck here for some time.

As exhausted as she was -they had captured her as she was getting ready to sleep, after all- she knew sleep wouldn’t come for her. Not tonight, as she leaned against the hull in damp clothes, surround by foreign men. Marauders, who had killed everyone else who occupied the temple she called home.

Heathens, she cursed, wishing Athena would strike them down. Were it not for their heathen God’s protection, Althaea was quite certain it would have already happened. Desecrating the sanctuary in Athena’s favored city? Her holiest of holies? And now, they held her, Athena’s favored daughter, stashed among the silver and silk.

A prize, to be ransomed back to Athens. She wondered briefly if she would be ransomed, if she were worth what the barbarians thought they could get for her. She thought it was odd that for the second time in her life, she would be paid for. She wondered if she were worth more now, or if that was even a laudable goal to aspire to.

The man reading off the shield caught her attention, surprised to hear such a close approximation of her tongue among these brutes. An impotent rage filled her as one filthy savage spoke of weakness.

“Weakness?” She snarled now, feeling that someone should come to Her Goddess’ defense, “Odd words to come from the lips of men who strike in the dead of night, under the cover of darkness. Hiding behind fire to flee from their foes.” It was not wise, perhaps, to incite them so. Still, she had worth, monetary worth in the moment, worth that was not devalued by a smart mouth. And if they deemed her rebellious attitude more troublesome than the profit she offered? There would be vengeance, from the heavens in her honor.

“I am the like the phoenix, a herald of death and destruction, and if you kill me, the war with will rise from my ashes with consume the entire world in fire. Your Gods will perish before Zeus and his children like the titans before them.”
 
Thorkell turned at her words, mouth open to make a statement, but he paused as Canute waved him back. The smaller man felt taht he was the equal to this task, more than equal really.
"Ware yourself seer. My kind live for blood battle and war. Should any of the men deign to speak your language and know that your death would bring about a war to end all wars, they would wring the life from you with their bare hands and no regrets. And as for your Gods...well, tales among your people are rife with their defeats, their failings, and their internal division. They are not ones to ready themselves for war as you speak of. They have no great army to call upon to fight for them, no preparations for the final battle. And if they must do battle with our Gods, who have been making these preparations, who have the Einherjar, who will stand united agaisnt a foe with no divisions...I dare say it bodes ill for your Gods. I advise you Seer, to learn to keep your temper to yourself. Thorkell may be willing to endure it, but our Jarl is not a man who shows patience to people like yourself. You will help him, or prove useful. Else he will kill you and reap the benefits of this war you speak of." Canute told her calmly, no real malice in his voice, but a firm tone that spoke of a kind of unshakable faith and loyalty. Fanatic was not the right term, but a true believer was no less dangerous in his own way.

The waves were beginning to pick up, but the crew knew their business, cutting through them with an expertise born from years of doing exactly this. The men fo the North were regarded in many circles as perhaps the greatest sailors the world had seen, perhaps that they ever would see. It was not a long trip to the island that they were living on, and from there they would be able to plan their next move.
 
Althaea opened her mouth to speak, but closed it just as quickly. She wasn’t so eager to end her existence this way, without justice for her fallen friends. So she stayed silent for the rest of the trip, watching the interactions between the warriors, and trying to get a sense for their language. So far as she could tell, their words did contain nearly enough vowels.

Althaea figured she must have dozed off here and there. Not enough to get any real rest, just enough to feel disoriented when she opened her eyes once more, and found herself on a boat, rocking against the waves. What else was there to do? Talk with the men who had captured her, who looked down on her culture and her faith? She supposed she could debate theology with the one who actually spoke passable Greek, but she realized she was at a disadvantage. She knew next to nothing about their gods.

It was dawn as they reached their island, pink and gold light illumination their foreign home. The island was quite lush, vibrant green trees populating the landscape, and rocky cliffs surrounded the island on most sides. Emerging from the center of the isle was a massive stone outcropping, too small to truly be called a mountain, too large to be called a hill. It was immensely defensible, with it’s single access point forcing any trouble to funnel there, where they could be sunk long before they could land. Althaea knew it meant there would be no rescue for her. She would be ransomed, or she would be killed.

Once they landed, the men got to work unloading their loot, and she was among the last removed from the ship. Like before, she wasn’t bound, the warriors who guard her confident they could handle the slender woman, if she caused them any trouble. No, Althaea had no energy for resistance this day, following along dutifully as she was lead to their Jarl.
 
The longship came close to a landing site, and of all things, it looked like there had been a stone pier built on it. The ship came to a halt easily, and the men were in ready motion. As they moved off, there was a loud rattling as a huge chain came up, and went tight just above the waterline. A harbour chain. Nothing was getting past that without coming to a dead stop. These Northmen had not been here long enough to have established all of this, some of it had to have been put in place by someone else. As they moved up a set of cared stone steps, there were stakes set up. On them were skulls, each of them still wearing the helmet from a hoplite. Here adn there were the broken remnants of a shield, showing that this place had not been surrendered, but fought over fiercely.

The top of the steps gave way to a more open area. There had been a small complex of buildings, but now ony two stood. One looked as though it had been a temple to the Greek Pantheon, though now large fires burned before it in bronze bowls. The other structure looked as though it had been built here by the new owners. Thatching on the roof, and carved symbols on the wooden doors were written in the runic script of the Northmen. All of the men were heading for that destination, and pushed the doors open. There were more men within, many of them seeming to be working on honing straight edged swords or axes. When they reached the middle of the hall, activity had stopped, and all eyes were on the raiders and the woman among them.

On a raised dais sat a man. He was not the largest in the hall, but he sat in an oversized throne, and idly toyed with a horn that was chased with silver. When he looked at Althaea, his eyes flashed with a moment of curiosity. His eyes were a very light brown, so much so they almost seemed gold. The man stood up, and spread his arms.

"My brothers! I welcome you all back to our home, and see you return laden with plunder and glory. Though I must as your raid leader what my standing orders are on prisoners?" His voice wasn't loud, but it carried easily, filling the room. Thorkell stepped forward.
"To bring none back my jarl." Thorkell responded.
"Ah, good, then I did convey my wishes. And yet this woman stands before us!"
"Yes my jarl-"
"Was she simply so desirable that you had to bring her back?"
"No my jarl-"
"Then why have you violated my orders? Answer me quickly and effectively now, else I will have you stripped of rank and beaten within an inch of your life. The woman will be passed from warrior to warrior until she can no longer draw breath."
"She was claimed to be a Seer! And the city did lay claim to one! Taking such from them is a heavy blow, but if we could turn such to our advantage..." Thorkell left the implication hang in the air. The jarl was silent.

"You presume very much Thorkell. Very much indeed." The jarl said in a softer, quiet tone. "And rightly so. So be it. The Seer will prove herself before the day is out, or she will pray to whatever god she feels might grant her mercy. For we certainly shall not."

Canute nodded as teh jarl finished speaking, and looked to Althaea.
"The jarl is in a generous mood. If you manage to prove your talents he has decided not to have the men rape you to death." He informed with with a light tone in Greek. Canute seemed unbothered by the whole thing.
 
Althaea watched the interaction between the Jarl and the raider leader. Without the benefit of language, it was hard to know exactly what was happening before her, but she could not deny the aura of authority exuded by him. She could tell, by gestures and gazes, that they referred to her, but to what end, she could not say. Canute filled in the details to her.

“Raped to death? She whispered, trembling as the words spilled from her lips. She didn’t want to die, but she did not fear it either. She knew there was a place in Elysium for her, among the favored of the gods. Still, such manner of slow, torturous death made her seize up in dread. No, she had hoped to end this life with her virtue intact. “Your people murdered my fellow priests and priestesses in swift blows. Why do I have to be different?”

Canute shrugged, “It is the Jarl’s orders. You yet have a chance to spare yourself.”

“The sight does not work this way. I am a servant of the gods, they do not answer to me!” Althaea insisted, desperation rising in her voice. She could hear the snickers of the men around. They didn’t have to speak her language to understand that her tone and body language indicated fear.

“You said you were favored by your gods before, yes?” Canute reminded her.

“I did, yes-”

“Well then, if your gods cannot save you from this fate, perhaps you aren’t as beloved as you believe.” Althaea stiffened at this remark, as it cut to the heart of the matter. Have faith in her gods. It wasn’t that she was a faithless woman, quite the opposite in actuality. It was much more that she had developed a sense of independence, and did not want to rely on the Gods more than was necessary. But this was not something she could do on her own. Truly, her only choice was to put her life in Athena’s hands.

Closing her mouth without a word, she merely nodded. She was quiet in thought for a while before she spoke again, “Tell your Jarl that I require a basin of fresh water, and I will tell his future.”

Canute relayed her message to the Jarl, who replied in their guttural language, and motioned for some men to do his bidding. Before long, a basin was brought before Althaea and she began to focus on the ripples, watching them for signs from Athena. Althaea’s eyes grew shaded as she read the future foretold by the rippling water, watching the visions play out before her. She blinked a few times as her vision returned, and took a deep breath, before speaking to Canute.

“This is for his ears alone. There is a traitor in his midst. A traitor who will make an attempt on his life before the sun rises tomorrow.”
 
Canute frowned as she finished her statement. It wasn't completely impossible, there were several men that had been sranded here with them that were not part of their usual warband. Some of them chafed at being stuck here, some of them may very well harbour the idea of siezing control from the Jarl. It was a fools errand, any of the members of the core band knew that, the jarl was all but unassailable. He didn't hold his position through hereditary title, but through force of will and arms. But if this was what she wished to tell him, then Canute would oblige her. He left her side and crossed to the Jarl.

"My Jarl, she-" He started, but the jarl raised a hand to forestall any further words.
"I heard her Canute. I know the tongue. I will not lower myself to speak it, but I understand it just fine. Clear the hall for this night. Order the guards away. I will wait for this moment alone." The jarl breathed.
"But...jarl-"
"On second thought have the seer remain. She and I will await the coming of this moment. And should it not come to pass, then I will start her punishment myself." Canute nodded. It was an act of almost unmitigated insanity. And he believed that the jarl knew what he was doing.

Canute stood at the front of the hall, and cleared his throat. The seer performing her task had drawn a lot of attention, and they were all waiting to see if there was to be some amusement to be had.
"But the order of the jarl, the hall must empty. Any who enter without his first leaving will be slain out of hand. Clear the building." Canute called. Eyes turned to the jarl, who nodded. Men lifted horns of mean, and gripped food as they left, all exiting in a swift fashion. Canute was on his way out when he stopped beside Althaea. "He orders you to stay. He knows your tongue, and can understand you. If your vision proves false, then he intends to begin your punishment himself. Be watchful seer. And good luck." Canute finished the journey out of hte building, shutting the heavy doors.

A pervasive silence filled the hall, only the sound of the fires breaking the moment. The jarl hadn't moved from where he sat, one arm on the throne, his head leaning on his hand.
"Well then seer. Eat something. It may be your last meal afterall." The jarl said in a passable Greek, though he still mangled the softer sounds. All around there were trays of meat, bread and cheese, barrels of ale mead and water were in abundance. The men seemed to be doing well enough to afford feasting on a regular basis.
 
Fate was as fickle as it was cruel, and even by merely warning the Jarl of his, did Althaea threaten to alter it. And then she watched as the men left, until she was alone with the Jarl, and Canute’s words. She watched the Jarl, hoping to get a better understanding of the man. There was an easy confidence about him, seemingly unperturbed by what she had told him.

Lifetime around nobles and highborn informed Althaea as to how to behave around the Jarl. They might have sought her out for her wisdom, and connection to the Gods, but underneath the veneer of veneration was a contempt, for the woman, and the former slave. She could sense a similar derision from the Jarl, and while her gender might have something to do with it, she was sure being Greek did little to help it. Even if she proved her abilities, what could she expect form the man, or his men? Seeing the future was not the same as seeing into a man’s heart.

"Well then seer. Eat something. It may be your last meal afterall."

With a solemn nod, Althaea took stock of the offerings available to her. If the raid on the temple left any doubt in her mind, she could tell that they were quite accomplished raiders. She might have refused out of pride, if she weren’t already so hungry and tired form her ordeal. And like he said, it may very well be her last meal. So she piled food upon a plate, and even helped herself to a mug of mead. She didn’t drink often, but if he was determined to have her violated, she didn’t want to be sober for it.

“If you had doubts about my abilities, why didn’t you ask the leader, who brought me here? He can tell you how I used my gifts to prevent the deaths of many of his men, as they carried me form the temple. I saw your fate, but the sight cannot account for the changeable nature of man. By isolating yourself so, you might have deterred him from taking action this night. “ She tried explaining, in between bites of food and drinks of mead. She helped herself to a second glass before continuing.

“Do not take my reticence as fear of death, Jarl. I will face the inevitability of my demise with eyes wide open. If I am to die, it is surely the will of Olympus, and far be it from me to refuse the Gods. By all means, if my visions fail to pass, cleave my head from my body or pierce my heart upon a sword. But there is no dignity in being raped to death. It is beneath warriors, such as yourselves.”
 
The jarl listened to her as she spoke, adn it became clear to him that she might have some of the spirit that he could admire, but she did not know as much as she might think.
"Thorkell knows nothing of the Sight. And anything he might say would be tainted by his desire to preserve his own honour. And if you Sight cannot be counted on, it's of no use to me." The jarl drawled out lazily, eyes tracking along th ehall, picking out the places a man who wanted him dead might come from. There were not many. Further words from her required reponses. Beneath his warriors. The jarl actually leaned his head back adn laughed, a great booming sound that filled the hall, but the mirth in it was not one made to cultivate comfort. "You know nothing of my people. We take what we please, when we please, from whom we please. Your gift will keep you useful, and thus alive. Shoudl you prove false, well, they've carried you this far. If you to simply die by a blade then it would have been done already. They will need some...compensation for your transportation."

The jarl looked to one side, the faint sound of wood creaking catching his ear. He dismissed it, he'd been hearing it for days. The hall was newly built, and still shifted and settled as only a new building could.
"Tell me then seer. Your gift. Divine it may be, but was it passed through your bloodline, or only yourself?" He asked her. Another creaking sound from the oher side fo the hall than the last. This one heavier, but only faintly so. The jarl didn't react to it, but his attention was now split between the two points in the building, and his nerves began to tighten, preparing hismelf for sudden action if he needed it.
 
Althaea stiffened as the Jarl burst into laughter at her. She would find no mercy from this man, and there wasn’t anything she could do to make her last hours on earth any easier. At this point only the Gods could save her. He mocked her requests for a quicker death, suggesting that her body and virtue should be payment to her kidnappers.
“Your men take me against my will, and I have to compensate them for the ordeal? That seems just and reasonable,” Althaea remarked, unable to hide her disdain. The comment made her thirst for another cup of mead, and as she still up to refill her cup, she thought she heard something. She froze, and glanced over at the Jarl, and from his expression he heard it too, his eyes searching for the source of the sound. Still he didn’t show tension at the sound, and continued speaking with her.

"Tell me then seer. Your gift. Divine it may be, but was it passed through your bloodline, or only yourself?"

Before she could speak, another creak, louder this time. Did this mean something? She could see the strain in his form, ready to jump in action at the next target to present itself. Whether he believed in her gift or not, the Jarl wasn’t taking any chances. If there was someone waiting to ambush Jarl, perhaps they would take the chance if they thought the Jarl was distracted. So she answered his question loudly, attempting to cover the sound of movement, and encourage the assailant to make his move.

“Well, my mother was a slave, in the pleasure houses. If she were a seer as well, I am sure she would have put it to use to rather let herself waste away there. And my father could be anyone, but the sight is extreme rare in men. So unless my father is Teiresias I doubt he had it either.” As she spoke she heard it again, the moaning of the boards. Either the traitor was getting closer, or her death was.
 
"Hm, divine only. A shame really. You would have been far more useful if it was a bloodline trait." The jarl lamented. It didn't take a genius to know that while a bloodline trait would keep her alive, it would only be in the strictest sense. She was answering with volume, adn the jarl had to admit it made it harder to hear any further advances from the likely coming attacker. He heard a faint whislting sound, and stood quickly. A throwing axe hammered into the throne where his head had been. It had been a good shot.

A man came charging out of the shadows, raking a sword free of the scabbard. The jarl didn't seem to react, only clenching one hand into a fist.
"Your rule ends here!" The man screamed out in barely coherent Norse, but the jarl only stepped forward. His open hand swpet up, slapping into the flat of the sword, pushing it aside and hammering his fist into the chest of the man. There was a cracking sound, ribs breaking right through the mail armour he wore. The jarl shot his hand out, gripping the neck of the man and hauling him up off the floor one handed. The attacker struggled, trying to get free, the jarl in too close for the sword.
"Asmund Asgersson. I took your men into my crew, and led you to glory, and this is how I am repaid?" The jarl hissed. Asmund struggled a moment before the jarl clenched his fingers, adn ripped his hand away. A handful of bloody flesh was in his hand, and Asmund fell, clutching at his neck, his throat missing far too much flesh to be able to function. "Ingavain curse you, and strike you from his eye. Thunir damn your cowardice, and my the Choosers never find your spirit. May it wander, lost and alone until the last battle, and may fortune favour me, that I might see you again then, so I can wipe the stain of your existence from the world." The Jarl took a steadying breath, and then walked smoothly to the front doors, throwing them open.

"The seer is a truth. Asmund betrayed us, someone dump his corpse. Thorkell! You will be rewarded. Lodge the seer. And be sure she is not unduly damaged." The jarl ordered. Thorkell sighed, in relief and annoyance. He'd rather hoped that the jarl might take spossession of the seer himself. As long as he was to be caring for her, it was unlikely that he would be leading further raids into the Greek lands. Shaking his head, he moved intot he hall, seeing the seer had been busy taking her fill. He smirked at that, and stepped close to her.
"The jarl has placed you in my care." He told her as best he could. He had the hope she might have a gift with languages, because he did not, and the Greek was not easy for him to manage.
 
Althaea cringed at the Jarl lamented the nature of her gifts, the implications in his meaning clear to the seer. He would have bred her, like cattle if that were the case. Before she could express her revulsion to the idea, the moonlight caught on the glint of a fast moving object.

She could not hold back the shriek that left her lips as the axe become lodged in the throne, slinking back into the corner as the would be assassin made his move. She watched as the Jarl defended against the attack unarmed, and ripped the man’s throat out. Language was not needed for her to know what he said to the dying man. The specifics were lost to the foreign tongue, but the hatred came through clearly, cursing the man in his death throes.

Althaea eye were stuck on the pool of blood forming under the man, as his body stopped twitching. Shaky hand brought her third mug of mead to her lips, needing the alcohol to burn off the memory of the gruesome death. Still, it was a good thing, wasn’t it? She would live, and her virtue would remain hers, for the time being. The Jarl spoke to his men, and the once who took her -Thorkell, she believe he was called- approach her, as others scraped the dead man off the floor.

"The jarl has placed you in my care."

Her eyes met his, as he spoke barely manageable Greek. She nodded, already feeling the three drinks swimming in her head.

“May I rest now?”
 
Thorkell sighed, but nodded.
"Aye. Come." He was short, but not overly so. He led her from the hall, making sure to keep an eye on her. he didn't want any of the more alcohol fueled members of the band to get any ideas. That was a disaster waiting to happen and he'd rather avoid it compeltely if he could. Many of the warriors slept in the hall, either by design or by passing out from alcohol consumption. Thorkell was not one of them. It had taken some time, adn the use of some of the wreckage from the island, but he'd made himself a fairly effective house here.

Stone walls that had likely at some point been for a temple out building, but had fallen on hard times and a great deal of neglect. Shoring up the walls had been the hardest part, and laying a roof back on it had taken the aid of several of his companions. But it was his, a place of his own. The jarl had acknowledged it to be his as well, making him a landowner, even if that land extended no farther than the walls of his house, it was still his. He pushed the door open, the wood slab dragging onthe floor. There were no proper hinges that would fit the door, and the few smiths among their number were occupied with maintaining the war host, and had no time for trivialities, no matter the price offered. The house had three rooms, one large on, adn two smaller ones. Thorkell had one room largely empty, and if he was to be keeping the seer safe here, he would ask the jarl for bedding and the like to make sure that she could remain comfortable. Until then, he would offer what scant comfort there was to her. He pointed at one of the rooms.

"In there. You'll find a pallet. Sleep, rest, whatever you wish. You'll be safe within these walls." Thorkell told her as best he could.
 
Althaea followed Thorkell quietly, not so eager to get the attention of any of the men here. Just because she was valuable to the Jarl now, didn’t mean she was all that safe. Thorkell seemed to think so as well, as he turned every so often to check that she was still right behind him. He led her to a stone building fashioned into a makeshift residence. It was a bit cozy, if not terribly extravagant. But he offered her a room of her own, and she was certainly in no position to turn it down.

Her room was bare, save a straw mattress on the floor. It was a far cry from her accommodations at the temple, reminding her of how she lived when she was still a girl, and a slave. To think she thought she was past that life. That her gift would protect her from ever going back to that life. Ironic, that her gift of sight is what made a slave of her now.

Still, as Thorkell told her, she was safe inside these walls. At least, she wanted to believe she was. She settled down onto the straw, exhausted form the event of the past couple days. Even uncomfortable bedding couldn’t prevent her from sleeping this night.

In her dreams, Athena spoke to her. This was not, however, a prophetic dream. “Your trials have just begun, my child. If you are to survive among the barbarians, you must speak their language.”

Althaea awoke with a headache. No doubt from the mead she had imbibed the day before. It wasn’t so bad, mostly a mild throbbing that worsened as the morning sun hit her eyes. Cool water would cure much of the ache.

Cautiously and quietly, she stepped into the main room of the dwelling. She considered whether she should wake Thorkell. She hadn’t exactly been instructed on whether she was truly a prisoner or if she was allowed to move about freely. Thorkell had said she was under his care. Was that to protect her from the other men, or was it supervision?
 
Rest was not easy in the chair of the main room in his home. But the fire burned brightly, and he had slept in worse places on the campaign trail. Still, he knew that he had to at least maintain a basic level of awareness, and be effective in such. For all he knew the seer might take her chances and kill him while he slept. While she wouldn't make it far, he would still be dead, and that would be poor comfort.

It was a raiders doze that he remained in, resting, but not truly sleeping, the kind that you used when you had to be ready to act at a moments notice. The footsteps in the room were light, hesitant, which were fine thigns really. If the seer wasn't a pervasive sound in the house that would make it easier for him to bear. Still, if she was awake, it meant that he should likely find out what the next plan of the jarl was. Thorkell opened his eyes. He wasn't fully rested from the doze, but he was fresh enough to face the day without a qualm.

he tracked her movements easily enough before he rose slowly to his feet, stiff from sleeping in a sitting position.
"Why I agreed to be saddled with your care I've no idea. We need to eat." Thorkell muttered, mostly to himself, before looking at Althaea. "I'll b escorting you to the hall for food. There should be something there for us, adn the Jarl will likely want to speak to you again." He said this last in his best broken Greek.
 
Althaea frowned at the first line he spoke. She almost responded, Perhaps you shouldn’t have captured me then, before she recognized that it wasn’t in Greek. Obviously not meant for her, given he spoke it in his native tongue. She wasn’t sure yet if she should reveal to him the gift given to her by her goddess. She knew all about the power of knowledge, it was the basis of her authority, after all.

She nodded in response to his Greek, finding him harder to understand in her native tongue than in his. Perhaps she should tell him about her newest gift, just to make communication easier. But it was difficult to know how much she could trust the man.

“I wanted to ask,” She started in Greek, “What is my status, among your people. Am I a prisoner? Must you accompany me wherever I go, or am I free to move about as it pleases me?”

“I mean, it’s not like I can do any of the men here any real harm. I am but a woman, who has never once wielded a weapon in her life. I certainly can’t escape, I can’t swim to another shore, nor can I row a boat by my lonesome. It’s not like I would try to kill myself. If I wanted to die, I would have forced your hand when you came at me. So, I don’t see any reason why I should require an escort, unless the men here would have some less than noble intentions towards me.” She reasoned with Thorkell, as they made their way to the Jarl’s hall.

All around her, she heard random bits of conversation in the foreign tongue. Trading, making requests, for armors and weapons to be repaired and maintained. Some spoke about her, commenting on her looks and whether she would be made available to the men. She tried not to show the distaste on her face, lest she reveal her knowledge of their tongue. Regardless of the bits of conversation she picked up, they arrived at the Jarl’s Hall without incident.
 
Thorkell parsed through her words, the language still not easy. But while some of the words didn't process well, he was able to decipher the meaning of them.
"You are...a captive. What rights or privileges you have are dependent on the jarl. And how useful you prove to be." He explained. "As for their intentions for you..." he looked around at the warriors wandering about, more than one eye on her. "...there are precious few women here. And if you give them the chance they will likely take what they can from. Do not expect sympathy should you place yourself in peril." He spoke as they walked, reaching the hall. He pushed the doors open, and all eyes within turned to him.

The Jarl was still on his throne, or at least was back on it. It was hard to say. But no matter, he was there and his presence was something of a calming force for the hall, the men subdued in their activity. There was food on the long table in the middle of the hall, adn thorkell made for it. Until the Jarl actually called on them, he intended to ignore his leader. Less likely to cause problems that way
 
Althaea watched Thorkell struggle with understanding as she spoke. Dammit, maybe she should just admit her gift to him. It would make these little interactions easier. Besides, at this rate the only people she could reasonably hold a conversation with would be Canute or the Jarl. Still they communicated well enough. He explained her position, as a captive, whose rights and privileges were at the whim of the Jarl. That Thorkell was there for her protection, to an extent. At the very least, she should expect to be raped if she tried to move about without him.

It might just be easier to confess her gift before the Jarl, to proven her worth in the eyes of her gods. Perhaps the men would be less likely to hurt her, or threaten her purity if she proved that the gods did indeed intervene on her behalf. Or, as Canute had told her before, she would be killed to bring about the war her death foretold.

She stiffened as all the eyes within the great hall fell upon Thorkell, and her. Mere interest, nothing more. Still, she felt the eyes that followed along, and drank her form. Heard in their tongue, the things they would do to her. She tried to ignore it, follow Thorkell along in getting some food this morning, but this gift from her Goddess began to feel a curse, as fear pooled in the pit of her stomach. Nevertheless, she served herself a small amount of food, and more mead. Hopefully the harsh life as a slave could be dulled through alcohol.
 
Thorkell actually had to smile as he watched her drinking. She seemed able to put away a fair amount of liquor. That would actually win her a little bit of respect from him and the other men in the settlement. She was no Shield Maiden, that much was certain, but there was no mistaking that she had strength in her, a kind that made her someone to pay attention to. Some might not recognize it, denounce her as a weak and soft creature, and while that may have a grain of truth, there was more there. And a part of Thorkell wanted to see how far that strength would carry her, if it would be enough to keep her from breaking.

"Thorkell." The word from the jarl carried enough force of personality to silence the noise from the hall, and all eyes turned to the leader. the jarl lounged on his throne, one hand idly toying with a horn of mead, his head resting on his other fist. He seemed barely awake, or very disinterested to say the least.
"Yes, my jarl?" Thorkell answered
"Bring the seer before me. She and I will have words." Thorkell swallowed, not sure exactly what the jarl intended. He didn't drag her, only a hand on her shoulder, with a firm, but insistant pressure to herd Althaea towards the jarl. When they were before the throne, the jarl spoke again. "We are tasked once more. The farms that surround Athens are to be dealt with. How will the city react, and how quickly will they act on our assault?"
 
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