War of Dawn - Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Frigid Commandant, Warmhearted Queen

Date: 1003 After Dawn, December 30th

A month and half has passed since Hilda offered to help Paula with her training towards becoming a fully-fledged member of that Wraith-hunting brigade she's a part of. Sparring with her has turned out to be far harder than Hilda had expected, though. For instance, true to her warning, Paula has been waking her up in the very early hours of the morning. More often than not, Hilda has found herself in dire need of several cups of coffee and it still tastes awful. She won't complain, since this was her idea, but it certainly doesn't do much to leave her in a good mood.

That is actually desirable, though, as Paula demanded that they fight without any sort of restraint: "that's how sparring goes with us," she said. And she wasn't kidding, as Paula fought with aggressiveness she usually reserves only to the Valnr. Their very first match ended with Hilda having a black eye and five new scars throughout her body – she gave back as much as she took, at least. Through stubbornness and several visits to Dr. Matu, they both endured the repeated bouts and results slowly started coming to bear. Just a couple of days ago, Paula came to Hilda, ecstatic, and said that Julius himself had commended her growth. He'd told her that she was "pretty much ready" to at least start accompanying him on hunts. Seeing her eyes beaming with joy almost took Hilda's thoughts away from how exhausted she has been feeling – almost.

Still, she has been keeping up with her own training and sparring with Owen. She did tell him about what's been going on when he started questioning the appearance of wounds on her overnight. Her performance with him has slowed down a wee bit but he saw the necessity of it in order to help a friend. At least with Julius' seal of approval, things should finally be falling into place for Paula, which means Hilda will be able to go back to her usual routine.

At least that was the plan. As she's leaving the training grounds and towards the underground lake to clean up for dinner, Hilda passes by Eliza's office and hears some loud chatter coming from inside. She stops in her tracks as she identifies one of the mumbling voices as Paula, who sounds quite agitated.

Worried about what might be going on, she inches close to the door and pushes it just slightly open.

"I am ready! Even Lord Julius has said so!" Paula says with quite the angry tone, standing right before Eliza.

The commandant sits unaffected, as stoic as ever, her hands crossed together above her desk. "That doesn't make any difference. It is my decision to make, not his, and I say 'no'. You'll just have to keep being patient."

"I have been patient! For months – years, even! I have studied, trained and worked my entire life for this, my lady! Do you know how hard it is to not be out there with you and the others?!" Paula yells, closing in and staring right into the blank eyes of Eliza's mask.

Her voice charred with previously unseen anger, every piece of her small body is stiffened and tense. From the door, Hilda can see her clenched hands, trembling by her side.

"I sincerely hope you didn't just ask me about my understanding on the hardships of life, Paula...!" Eliza grunts, her own patience starting to fade.

Her voice is calm and firm but every word that seeps out of it bears a note of danger, the calm before the storm. Despite the indifferent face in her mask, the heavy, tangible pressure that fills in the air around her warns Paula that she's walking on thin ice. Hilda herself, looking from as far as she is, feels as though she is being crushed under a dozen rocks.

Yet, Paula is not intimidated, her eyes ablaze with indignation and fixated on Eliza. "That is not what I meant, my lady. All I've ever done was so I could share in your burden! Even if it's not much, I can and want to do my part! And it breaks my heart that you, time and again, refuse to even let me try!"

"And, time and again, I have told you that this is for your safety!" Eliza says, her tone rising further.

"Eu não preciso de segurança...! Tudo que eu quero é estar lutando ao seu lado!" Paula yells at the top of her lungs, stomping the wooden floor.

Eliza slams her hand hard onto her table, so much so that Hilda hears it crack a little. "Não me importa o que você quer! Eu já disse 'não'!"

Neither Scion says anything following that outburst, standing immobile and staring straight into each other's eyes like wild animals trying to make the other to capitulate. The room grows so quiet, it would probably be possible to hear someone's breathing; none are doing so, though. Only the faint sound of the wind outside breaks the silence. Time feels like it's slowed down to a crawl and, at length, Paula exhales sharply and turns away from the commandant and towards the window. Eliza lets out a deep sigh and sits back on her chair, watching as the girl starts sniffling.

"My lady... Please, reconsider," Paula moans, pain and frustration bearing upon every line of her uncharacteristically frowning countenance. "I'm begging you..."

Eliza crosses her arms and looks at her for a moment, having already recovered her composure. She seems to be thinking, as her right hand's fingers tap away at her arm like mad. Hilda can't tell what is going on inside her head with that mask – hopefully her nicer side is speaking up.

Wishful thinking, as it turns out. Eliza's fingers stop and she answers, firm as a rock. "My decision is final."

Paula lets out a whimper as though she's just been gutted. It is a faint sound, like a needle dropping upon stone, and yet it pieces Hilda's ears like thunder. Paula's head shakes back and forth as her desires clash with harsh reality, and, in defeat, her tense arms loosen and drop to her sides. Her eyes set upon the floor as she stands dejected and with another wound in her heart. With nary another word of defiance, she opens a portal at her feet and fades away as tears begin to form in her dark eyes.

When she leaves, Eliza brings her right hand to her face and slouches on her red chair. With a rueful whisper, she speaks something Hilda doesn't quite hear – in truth, she isn't trying to hear. Both Eliza's whisper and the little voice inside her head, currently telling her to calm down before she makes a huge mistake, are overwhelmed by how outraged she feels. She's just witnessed the commandant spit on her friend's hard work and dedication and she will not simply let that slide – not even from her.

Hilda places her hand on the office door and slams it wide open, glaring at Eliza with bared teeth and venom in her eyes.

"How the hell could you do that to her?!" she snarls.

Eliza doesn't answer, or even acknowledge her presence, merely staring at the ceiling. Her indifference further annoys Hilda, who stomps over to her, fists clutched with such anger that bits of electricity run across them.

"Do you have any idea how much she's been working, all so she could do more for your ungrateful ass than just being an assistant?" Hilda continues yelling at Eliza, who still ignores her and massages her own temples.

Hilda slams her hands on her desk in rage, her electricity charring pieces of the wood. "Everyone can tell that Paula looks up to you so much – maybe more than any other person here. And, still, you didn't give a damn about her feelings! Why can't she have a chance to prove herself? She—"

Hilda is interrupted as the sleeping bear awakes. Before she even realizes what is happening, she finds herself being dragged from behind. Strings of silver light wrap around her arms, legs, chest and neck and tie her to a slab of jagged crimson stone that materializes out of thin air. The commandant takes her gaze off the ceiling and towards Hilda, an aura of power – boiling with anger – emanating like golden waves that dance around her body.

"Håll käften...!" Eliza explodes, Hilda being taken aback as she yells in Swedish. "Who in blazes do you think you are? You've been a part of this for mere months and your grasp on Paula's situation is so thin, it may well be nonexistent! How dare you come into my office and try to tell me what I should or shouldn't do!"

Eliza's voice blows through her mask and strikes Hilda with the force of an anvil. In normal circumstances, she'd be paralyzed with fear of the commandant's wrath. Any sane person would. Hilda is far too wrathful to be sane, however. She wants to yell back but the strings of Eliza's spell wrap like coiled snakes around her neck and only allow the slightest streak of air to even pass through.

Hilda struggles against her bindings, trying to move from side to side and grunting like mad as the jagged stone cuts at her back. Still, the spell doesn't even come close to breaking. Eliza steps out of her desk and stands right in front of the girl, looking deep into her glowering eyes. Hilda looks right back, her heart racing as though she's trying to intimidate a beast that is on the verge of bearing its teeth down on her.

The commandant does nothing, however. With a sharp huff through the nose, she rubs the bridge of her masked nose as the myriad energies around her fade away. Confusion dashes through Hilda's countenance, as Eliza cocks her head at her.

"I can appreciate you caring for your friend... But this matter is hardly any of your concern, Hilda," she speaks, once more returning to her usual firm and calm tone of voice. "And if you've the time to waste snooping on others, then I can think of better things for you to be doing."

Saying that, Eliza opens her hand and a white Comm. Crystal floats over from her desk.

"Alexandra? Your assistants are out on patrol duty, right? I'll be sending Hilda Solberg to replace them. Feel free to call Owen Kendrick in as well," she speaks into it before tossing it aside.

As Hilda glares, her eyes darting between her, the spell and the crystal, Eliza places her finger around the string holding her neck and yanks it off. The entire spell fades away into thousands white and red sparks that drop to the floor alongside Hilda. The girl takes in a deep, strained breath as her airways are released – she didn't notice back then but she might've fainted had that gone for a while longer. Eliza isn't willing to give her time to recover, however.

"Go clean up and head over to Alexandra's office. You and your partner'll be working as her assistants for as long as she requires – hopefully that will help cool that hot head of yours," Eliza commands her, waving at the office's window and causing it to open up. "And consider this your only warning: spy on me again and there will be grave consequences."

Hilda raises her head, fury returning to her weary frown, just in time to see Eliza moving her fingers around and casting a spell. A gust of wind hammers the side of her body and blows Hilda straight out the window, rolling and stumbling out of control across the dark tundra soil around Valarheim. She eventually stops, about a kilometer away from the keep and with a lot of dirt covering her body and clothes in brown smudges.

Seething, Hilda sinks her hands into the ground and pushes herself back upright. Common sense would have called what she just did – yelling at her boss, one of the strongest warriors in the world – incredibly stupid. Part of her is forced to agree, face the cuts and bruises the whole thing gave her. Still, another, larger, part doesn't agree or regret it… not when she knows how much that rejection must have hurt Paula.

"'Kimenbusshin'... Yeah, right. Fitta,"she grumbles to herself and walks back towards Valarheim, her feet sinking in the deep snow that's settled outside.

As she approaches the portcullis, Hilda spots some recent additions: a pair of ornaments, three bamboos pieces surrounded by pine branches and bound together with rope. Ryouma told her a few days ago that he'd left those here in celebration. As she's learned over the past couple of weeks, while the Corps can't really afford to stop for the holidays - the Valnr don't - the Scions still find small chances for some semblance of merriment.

The keep has been ever-so-slightly emptier nowadays, as a handful of Scions were given leave to visit their families and spend the New Year with them. But while it is business as usual for everyone else, the local atmosphere is different. The regal, albeit austere, interior of Valarheim now lies bolstered by a vibrant mosaic of colors, as silver strings of beads, garlands and multi-colored cloths hang across the gold-framed windows and red wallpaper. A contagiously festive air has settled in its corridors, seen reflected in the common smiles born in the faces of the Scions.

In fact, Valarheim has become something of a display case for different celebratory symbols from across the world over: polished wooden crosses from the Christians, Jewish menorahs, the seven symbols from those celebrating Kwanzaa, celebratory marble carvings of the gods from the Altrians and more.

Even those who do not celebrate the end of the year at this point still have the habit of bringing in traditional meals and drinks to be served on tomorrow. There’s no time for outright celebration, Vanessa told her, but the dinner of December thirty first is the closest people get to a short party.

Hilda, herself, hasn’t had the habit of indulging in New Years’ celebrations for a while now – folks at Litnir couldn’t afford big parties, so the day simply meant Gustaff’s bar was busier than usual. Still, Ryouma wouldn’t have it so, two days ago, he went and brought in a few things to her room. Hanging from the doorframe, a wreath-like ornament made of a piece of rope decorated with white and red slips of paper and, oddly enough, an orange. Furthermore, he also placed a pair of stacked, different sized rice cakes on her nightstand – again, an orange stands atop the two cakes.

She didn’t have any idea of what these meant at the time – and still doesn’t – but Ryouma refused to take “no” for an answer. He insisted all these, together with the ornaments by the portcullis, help beckon good fortune for the upcoming year. Considering all the times Hilda went to the infirmary these past months, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to indulge his superstitions.

Making a quick stop by her room, Hilda switches into some clean clothes. Taking a closer look at them, however, it’s pretty clear the work over these past months have taken their toll. So many rips, tears and stains across some of her favorite shirts. Penny-pinching is the way of life she’s had for years now but Scions do earn a decent salary from the Corps. Maybe it’s time for her to put some of it to use. Regardless, she does have a black gi with yellow details Ryouma gave her during the holidays, so it’ll do for now.

Without any more time to waste, Hilda runs back into the main hallway and dashes towards Alexandra’s office. It wouldn’t do to keep her waiting, lest Hilda annoy another superior officer today. She arrives just in time to see Owen walking up to the door as well, and he greets her with a suspicious look.

“Alright,” he sighs and crosses his arms, “what did you do?”

Hilda frowns and bites her lip, knowing he was wholly unconnected to her mess. “Ergh… Eliza was mean to Paula and I might have… yelled at her…”

Owen doesn’t actually answer at first, merely raising his eyebrows and giving a quick, amused nod as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. At length, he closes his eyes and throws his hands up in resignation.

“I don’t know whether I should be appalled or impressed…” he says. “I suppose I’ll take solace on the fact that you had your heart in the right place when you made such an unwise decision. Come on.”

Owen knocks on the office door and Alexandra is quick to invite them in. As soon as both Scions step through the door, they’re hit with the visual equivalent of a punch to the gut. Two empty desks belonging to Alexandra’s assistants, bearing several piles of hundreds of documents.

The general herself greets with them with her usual beaming smile. “Happy New Year to you, children. And thank you for agreeing to this – I have been somewhat swamped after my assistants got reassigned for the week.”

Owen turns his head to Hilda, narrowing his eyes at her, and the best she can do is mouth a quick “sorry” for him.

“It’s… no problem at all, Your Majesty,” he answers, doing his best to compose himself, before bowing to her.

Alexandra waves for him to stop it. “I suggest you not worry about formalities right now. Why don’t you two take a seat? There’s much to be done.”

“You’re not kidding...” Hilda gapes, distressed, at the thousands of files. “Is it always like this?”

“Oho, indeed,” the general answers with a dry laugh, bearing the somewhat blasé eyes of one who’s been doing this for many years. “While I take pride in the many fine warriors that serve in my brigade, their numbers mean so, so much paperwork.”

“Can’t you just pass this stuff on to someone else, though?” Hilda asks, in hopes of convincing Alexandra and getting them both off this mess.

The lady is quick to shake her head, though. “I can keep most of these under control, though it’s always best to delegate some chunks to others. I have replacements but they are on a mission right now; I will be counting on you two until they arrive.”

Urgh… hopefully it won’t be for very long, Hilda thinks as she sits down on the table closest to Alexandra. With a sharp breath, she braces herself to enter Paula’s shoes.

“Now, the pile furthest to the left is comprised of reports of from Scions of Sarfis working in the north region. Sort them out according to type and the given priority, highest ones at the top, then…”

As Alexandra passes on a long string of instructions, Owen and Hilda start getting to work. Patrols, Prana distortions, enclave sightings, enclave disposals, hostage rescues, necromancer infiltrations, communiques from the locals… there are just so many reports to go through. And this is only the first region of nine! Alexandra’s replacements are taking their sweet time with their mission, as one hour passes; then two. The constant back-and-forth between the unsorted piles and the sorted ones builds up into giving quite the workout for Hilda and Owen’s arms.

Alexandra herself is taking it all in stride, though. Poking her head over the pile of documents, Hilda sees her reading through the ones she’s been given at blinding speed – just about two seconds to comb through a whole page. Do generals also enjoy an intelligence boost, she wonders.

Regardless, she works far faster than the two Novitiates can keep up and starts alleviating some of their own workload as hers starts petering out. Pointing at some of their piles of unsorted documents, she conjures a small platform of light underneath and floats them to her table.

As she does, Hilda once again notices the glowing mark at the back of her right hand. Considering how she’s always been curious about it and could use something to break the monotony of all this, Hilda decides to take the chance to ask about it.

“Um, ma’am… if you don’t mind, can I ask what that mark on your hand is?”

“Hm? Ryouma hasn’t told you about it?” Alexandra answers back with slight amusement, still reading through her reports.

“Well, I didn’t want to gossip about you,” Hilda mumbles.

The general lets out a brief chuckle and steps over to her table, letting her take a closer look at the ten-pronged star marked in her skin. Hilda had originally expected it to be something like a tattoo but now she sees that it is anything but. Instead of the usual paints used for such a marking, the star is formed by several crisscrossing streams of silver energy that give it a faint glimmer.

“It is called the ‘Rune of Sarfis’,” Alexandra explains. “It represents the covenant firmed between the Vanhanen bloodline and Lady Sarfis.”

Hilda looks back at her with a confused frown. “But I haven’t seen it on Ragnar’s hand.”

“It does not manifest on the Vanhanen men. Perhaps it is due to Grand Scion Eliina being the first but, since her, every single Vanhanen woman was born with this rune on the right hand.” Alexandra punctuates this by pointing to the painting of her family.

Hilda comes closer and really does see a small mark depicted on the child's hand – it doesn't seem to glow like Alexandra's but maybe that's due to her not being a Scion.

“The mark gives us a few perks, once we know how to make use of it… but it also stands as a reminder that our fate has been decided since birth,” the general continues, her eyebrows frowning with slight regret.

“How so?”

Alexandra steps closer and caresses the cheeks of her daughter’s image, as if she were standing right there. “Vanhanen women are bound to Lady Sarfis. Thus, at one moment or another, we will be taken into the Corps. It happened to me, my mother, my grandmother and it will happen to my child as well.”

“And Her Highness Eveliina was never too taken with that arrangement,” Owen sighs from his table.

“You know the princess?” Hilda asks, surprised.

Owen props his chin on his hand, meeting Eveliina’s image with a nostalgic gaze. “Somewhat. As a child, I’ve accompanied my parents on visits to Dartham Palace. We played together on a few occasions.”

He quickly sets his attention back to the documents in front but Hilda stands up and waves his attention back to her.

“Hey, hold on there. Weren’t your parents Welsh knights? You never said anything about them working for the royals,” she exclaims.

“Not just any knights, Hilda,” Alexandra huffs. “Aberthol Kendrick and his wife, Eilir, were renowned as ‘the Sword and Shield of Britain’. I count them as dear friends and fine warriors since even before my marriage.”

“My parents and I were born in Wales, though I spent most of my childhood in our manor in the London outskirts due to their duties in the military. It was during one of our court appearances that they introduced me to Queen Alexandra and her family,” Owen adds, allowing himself to display a proud smile on his face.

Hilda also cracks a grin, setting her chin upon her crossed hands. “Aw, I wish I could’ve seen what kiddie blondie looked like.”

“Oh, he was such an adorable child.” Alexandra chuckles. “Always with this knightly attitude; it made for quite the contrast with his chubby, rose cheeks and baby-blonde hair.”

“Your Majesty, please!” Owen yelps, burying his head in the piles of paper as his fair skin turns beet red.

Hilda laughs and tosses a small ball of parchment at him, now thoroughly enjoying her task. “Come on, don’t be like that. Tell me how it was like growing high class, why don’t you!”

“Hmph, you’d best not expect me to say I was pampered.” Owen pops his head back out, still frowning with embarrassment. “My father eventually retired from the battlefield and began instructing the next generation of knights. I was ten at the time, the bare minimum, so I joined in as well.”

“Carrying on the family tradition, eh?” Hilda asks.

“Hm. Furthermore, my parents had long since been putting me through rigorous training, teaching the fundamentals of the longsword and chakrams, so the base was already there,” Owen answers while carrying another pile of freshly sorted documents to Alexandra’s table.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask about that…” Hilda puckers her lips with curiosity. “I’ve heard that chakrams are used in India, so how come you got them?”

“Aberthol,” Alexandra speaks up before Owen can do so, her eyes fixated upon her papers. “When he was starting his career, he spent a few years in a British garrison in India. They regularly cooperated with local warriors, so he took to learning some of their techniques.”

“And, thus, he passed them on to me. Were I not a Scion, I’d prefer the sword but with all the flexibility our spells afford us, I’ve taken a liking to these once more,” he says, spinning one of his chakrams in his index finger.

Hilda goes and carries yet another pile of documents for Alexandra. “Your dad sounds like a cool guy. He’s still training people?”

Upon her question, Owen immediately clutches his spinning his weapon. A dark cloud sets upon his and Alexandra’s faces and, just by looking at his pursed lips, Hilda can tell what’s coming.

“He would, were he still alive… He passed away three years ago, accompanying us, his apprentices, in a supposedly simple mission to eliminate a bandit encampment,” Owen says.

“Ah… Sorry for dredging up bad memories. I had no idea,” she answers with sympathy.

Owen shakes his head, summoning back his regular, focused, gaze and meeting her eyes with a slight smile. “Pay it no mind. Everything that could have gone wrong in that mission did… Most of us survived but the problem was—”

His story is interrupted when someone pounds at the door. After Alexandra tells the person to come in, a young Scion man rushes into the room. He salutes Alexandra and hands her a small missive before showing himself out. As she reads the paper, her eyebrows get progressively tenser and Hilda can see a spark of anger flickering in her deep blue eyes. After reading it all, she crushes the missive in her hands and lets out a sharp harrumph.

“What is the problem, Your Majesty?” Owen asks.

“We’ve just received information that the small fishing hamlet of Usoluk, in the northeastern region, was just found in ruins. Its denizens are, at first glance, all dead,” she answers with a grave tone to match her furrowing brow.

Owen stands up from her chair. “Was it the Valnr?”

“It has to be.” Hilda nods somberly. “No one who lives here would care enough to destroy a whole town and Bandits aren’t crazy enough to risk walking around. Did an Atrium appear there, ma’am?”

Alexandra runs her fingers across her chin, closing her eyes and thinking aloud. “The speed with which the hamlet fell, and the state of it as described in the missive, all point towards the Valnr. However, their presence wasn’t felt and no Atrium has emerged… Yet another of our foes’ recent trend of unusual activities. ”

“Do you think it’s the Valnr responsible for the explosion at Bathurst?” Owen asks.

“If it is, we’d like to help with whatever we can, ma’am,” Hilda steps closer, looking at the general with determined eyes.

Alexandra herself looks back at them, her bent eyebrows showing that she’s not too sure about doing that. The two young Scions stand firm, however, and show no hesitation. She seems to like that, letting out a short puff of air.

“I’m not about to send scouts into an uncertain situation… And, considering Ryouma and Vanessa’s praise of you two, I see no harm in letting you, at least, accompany me. That said, I reserve the right to order you to stand down if what we find appears too dangerous, understood?” she smiles and declares.

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Owen and Hilda salute and Alexandra nods in approval. “Good. Then grab your equipment and meet me in the Hall of Soldiers. Do not tarry, please.”

The two of them run off, leaving the general with a satisfied smile in her face. Both of them are developing as magnificently as Ryouma and Vanessa said – together, mirroring their patron Altr, they may well be truly fine Scions with some more years of experience.

Heh… I’m having a sense of déjà vu, she thinks.

Alexandra needs to be on her way as well but, before doing so, she makes a quick stop by her family’s portrait. She kisses her index and middle fingers and gently passes them over her husband’s lips and daughter’s cheek. A small ritual of hers, as what she does here is, above all, for their sake.

Things have been progressing nicely over these past decades: the Valnr haven’t been claiming territories, the Corps has more Outposts than in quite the while. More importantly, they have five generals – it has been centuries since this happened – that are progressively growing in strength. Fate willing, one of them will eventually catch the Altr’s gaze and break the seal of the soul. If that happens, and they can start dispelling Atriums, ultimate victory will be so very close.

After so long, the wind is starting to blow in their favor and Alexandra will be damned if she’ll let a newcomer Valnr Knight upset it all.