Chapter 150 150: The Diligent Farmer, the Shieldmaiden
On Mount Aardeklove, the cave still held a faint lingering smell of blood. Dovahkiin Victor Corion worked like a diligent old farmer, steadily harvesting materials, because a sufficient stock of Dragon Shout Potion would be an important stage prop for a long time to come.
Even with Vigi helping, the boy still spent most of the day processing all the materials before clearing the rest out of the cave.
Then he sent Vigi out again to lure in another batch of sirens. As the saying went, "Since we're already here, we might as well gather a bit more!"
Thus Svanrige, who had hurried up from below after hearing the news, along with the archdruid Ermion, also known as Mousesack, became the second fortunate audience to experience the soul-shaking roar coming from the mountain.
Ermion, Mousesack to some, was King Bran's friend and adviser, loyal to the realm rather than to any one person.
When Victor arrived two days earlier, Ermion had not been on An Skellig, but on Ard Skellig instead, so the two had not crossed paths.
By the time he returned, the latest news awaiting him was that a Dragonborn had come to the isles, had tamed Black King with nothing more than a look, and had even volunteered to take part in the trial to prove his valor.
He knew Black King well. That hot-tempered little beast usually required careful communication before it would allow itself to be ridden, yet someone had apparently convinced it with a glance alone. That could only be called astonishing. Could Dragonborn somehow be a branch of druidism?
But now that he had heard the roar for himself, he stroked his long gray-streaked beard and his expression grew much more serious.
"Incredible. I sense no magic at all, yet the effect that shakes the soul is absolutely real.
Could Dragonborn truly exist in this world? Could Dragon Shouts truly be a real power? This is certainly something that deserves closer attention."
Svanrige said nothing. He only stared in the direction the sound had come from.
Ermion continued, "Very interesting. I think there's a strong chance the Path of Warriors won't be able to stop this visitor from the far east. I'm going back to speak with your father. Will you come with me?"
The king's son shook his head. "No. I'll stay here a little longer."
Without another word, the archdruid patted his shoulder, turned, mounted his horse, and rode away.
The druids of the isles were quite different from the stereotypical image people on the Continent had of druids. They not only concerned themselves with environmental protection and ecological balance, they also used their abilities to serve as magical advisers to the heads of the great clans.
Here, they held political authority similar to that of sorcerers on the Continent. And although islanders hated sorcerers just as much as mainlanders did, they held druids in high esteem.
For a long time, druids had traveled constantly among the various clans of the isles, serving as a buffer in their endless disputes.
…
After hearing the tremendous roar that morning, Angoulême felt her worries ease. The Dragon Shout plan Vic had mentioned the night before clearly seemed to be proceeding smoothly, so that afternoon she dragged Dandelion out for a stroll around Urialla Harbor.
Though Dandelion had arrived on the island even earlier, and like them had also been sold to King Bran by Sukrus, Victor and Angoulême counted as a warrior and a warrior's attendant, so they had been treated as guests from the moment they arrived.
The bard, on the other hand, had been treated more like contract labor. Not a slave, certainly, but he still had to serve the king for a time as a display of proper respect.
Of course, after The Return of the Dragonborn, the Dragonborn's friend received an upgrade in treatment. Now he was as free as air.
So he was not especially familiar with the harbor either, and he found many of its amusing sights, including the notice board, absolutely fascinating.
"Ha! Look at this notice, this is great. Do you think anyone would actually answer it?"
Need a Man
Looking to take in a handsome unmarried man to keep me warm at night. He must be fair-haired, well-proportioned, with a thick beard, fresh breath and of considerable lustiness.
, Jastrid
Angoulême shot Dandelion a cold glance. "Tch. I don't know whether anyone will answer it, but I do know you don't qualify."
Then she jabbed at two other notices. "Can't you read something useful? These are the ones that actually matter."
Old Warrior Looking to Join a Raid
Young ones,
Eighty years I've walked the earth. My arms are weak, my legs trembling. I fear I'll know the shame of dying in my bed. Let me join a raid so I can die with dignity. I can still row when the waves're low. I've got silver and can pay my part of the boat expenses.
, Jogvan
Request from the Druids
Sons and daughters of Skellige,
When you catch a shark, it is unbecoming to take only the fins and drop the rest into the sea. Such wastefulness is an insult to both gods and nature. The body of every killed creature, whether weasel or whale, has to be used in its entirety, to the last bone and tendon.
, Ermion
After reading them, Dandelion only looked baffled. "What's the point of these two? I find them dreadfully dull. The one asking for a man is far more entertaining, unless you and Victor are planning to become fishermen."
Angoulême shook her head, too lazy to explain what those notices revealed about Skellige values and druidic beliefs, let alone the fact that Ermion was the archdruid. Whatever the powerful had been paying attention to lately was exactly the kind of thing worth underlining and remembering for the test later. Though to be fair, she only had these ideas because Victor had drilled them into her.
"I'm gathering intelligence. I can't slack off. When the boss gets back from the trial, he's going to quiz me."
At the mention of the boy, the smile on the bard's face immediately faded quite a bit. "You really are that confident? It never crossed your mind that he might fail?"
"Relax, he can't fail." Angoulême waved a hand, utterly at ease. "I've followed him all the way from Vergen to here. In his world, the word failure doesn't exist. He always has a plan.
Even if something goes wrong, even if he takes a hit, he's got a backup plan. So as long as you follow behind him, there's never any confusion, never any need to hesitate."
Seeing that her smile came from the heart, the bard patted his cheeks. "…That's good. When Geralt fell, I was really worried about you. But now it looks like the two of you are getting along just fine."
"Of course we are. I'm the Phantom Troupe's top enforcer. When it comes to fighting, I'm indispensable. The boss values me a lot, let me tell you…"
…
"Well done, Vigi! What would I do without you? I'm almost starting to think I won't be able to do without you ever again."
Inside the cave, the Skelliger shyly pulled off his leather cap and scratched at his short hair. He was not used to hearing such blunt praise from anyone.
Victor's praise was not entirely a joke either. Vigi's fighting ability really was steady and solid. In terms of sheer toughness, he far surpassed Angoulême. As for swordsmanship? Victor himself still did not count as a true master, so a lot of it still came down to performance in the moment.
During that second sweep just now, one particularly sturdy siren had managed not to pass out immediately even after being hit by the Dragon Shout. She still had enough strength left to lunge at Victor. Fortunately, Vigi intercepted her in time, and then the two of them quickly hacked her into pieces together.
Victor was growing more and more satisfied with this rash, straightforward Skelliger. He was an extremely qualified follower, loyal and brave, and most importantly, unlike Angoulême, that old hand, he had not yet learned how to smile pleasantly while mocking him.
He was still at that pure stage where the leader was great, brilliant, and always right, and he followed with sincere devotion and heartfelt gratitude. If there was one flaw, it was that no matter how broad-minded he was, he was still a man.
…
And no matter how much she acted like one, she was still a woman.
After spending a full and productive afternoon gathering information and shopping in the market, Angoulême had not expected anything unexpected to happen.
"You bastard, liar, dog-fucking asshole! How dare you show your face in Urialla Harbor, and with a little tart on your arm!"
The moment the shieldmaiden came charging through the crowd, swinging her sword hilt like a bison on the rampage, Angoulême instantly understood what was happening.
But she still could not react as quickly as Dandelion. The instant he heard the voice, he did not even look back. He turned and ran, agilely leaping over a basket of fresh fish and a heap of seaweed before vanishing into the sea of people.
So the shieldmaiden turned her head toward the girl instead, snorting with fury, while Angoulême found herself with her back pressed against the hard wall of a nearby shop.
Judging by her clothes, the shieldmaiden belonged to Clan Tuirseach. In a place as martial as Skellige, it was hardly strange for bold and battle-hardened women to emerge. They were known as shieldmaidens, or shield bearers.
And women of that sort tended to be broad-shouldered, broad-armed, loud-voiced, and mighty, every bit the equal of men, like the one in front of her whose arms were probably no thinner than Dandelion's thighs. That was why the nobleman Aryan had once joked with Victor about marrying into the shieldmaidens.
Angoulême saw the longsword at the woman's waist and the clothing that resembled an Craite attire. She drew a deep breath and stepped back a few paces to make room, but never let her eyes leave her.
The shieldmaiden drew her steel sword. "You flat-chested little slut from Clan an Craite, I am Heli. My sword is four feet two inches long, forged from meteorite steel, and its name is Starbreaker."
Angoulême knew she had misunderstood, almost certainly one of Dandelion's girlfriends. But the woman had opened by calling her a little slut, and that jabbed at certain old memories in a way that made her very unhappy. And when Angoulême was unhappy, she liked making the other person even unhappier.
So the girl lazily drew her own weapon. "You big-ass bitch from Clan Tuirseach, I'm Angoulême. My sword is four feet long, forged from black steel mixed with dimeritium, no worse than yours, and its name is… its name is…"
She choked.
Because she had never had the habit of naming her weapons. On the spur of the moment she realized she could not possibly say Flea-Repelling Sword out loud. It sounded like she was calling the other woman a flea. Sword Against the Catriona Plague sounded even stupider, and she lacked the sudden wit to come up with anything better on the spot.
The woman across from her instantly flew into a rage. "Are you looking down on me? You won't even say your sword's name!"
Then, high above them, an eagle cried out. Catherine was circling overhead. Angoulême felt a flash of inspiration.
"Golden Eagle!"
…
As Victor counted his gains, he was thoroughly satisfied. After harvesting three waves in succession, the nearby waters would likely enjoy a long stretch of peace.
Glancing at the late hour, the boy said, "We're staying here again tonight."
A journey that should have taken three days had already been slowed on the first day by the season's first snowfall, making travel difficult. They had only just managed to reach the campsite before dark, and then on the second day they had hunted sirens from dawn until now.
Even if they pushed onward now, they probably would not make it to the next campsite before nightfall. It would only exhaust them further. Better to rest early today and conserve their strength. With seven days of activity ahead, knowing when to work and when to rest was important too.
He wondered what Angoulême was doing now. Most likely gathering information. Though with his Dragonborn status, much of that information would probably turn out to be useless, still, the right mindset had to be cultivated. Otherwise, if the day came when they had to part ways, the girl would have no ability to survive independently.
After setting up the alchemy workshop again, Victor decided to make the evening more comfortable. The surroundings were relatively safe tonight, and now that he knew Vigi better, he felt at ease doing so. On top of the warm cave and the delicious flatbread soup, he added a bottle of strong liquor, and swapped out the bedding and blankets for fine bear pelts.
…
…The two women charged at each other again, steel striking steel in a shower of sparks. Angoulême had the upper hand over Heli. Though the shieldmaiden was a trained fighter, the girl had better talent, and she had never been lazy about practice either.
Still, having the upper hand was not the same as winning easily. Their blades continued to clash again and again, and the fight remained fierce.
Before long, Dandelion's voice rang out from the side. "Stop! Both of you, stop! Don't fight anymore!"
It turned out he had not run very far. When he realized Heli had not come after him, he immediately thought Angoulême might be in danger and rushed back to rescue her.
But neither of the women paid him the slightest attention. From the moment the fight had begun, Dandelion had already ceased to matter to Heli. If she won, she would win honor. If she lost, the loss would still be honorable. Only quitting halfway was unacceptable.
"Please stop fighting! Stop! Don't fight over me, all right? This is all my fault!"
And as far as Angoulême was concerned, there was only one ending to this. She was going to kick this big-ass bitch flat on the ground and then tell her that Dandelion had absolutely nothing to do with her.
Normally, when Dandelion traveled with men and something like this happened, everyone simply ran in different directions, and the women rarely bothered his male companions. But today Angoulême had been at his side, and she was wild by nature. Instead of explaining, she had simply thrown herself into the fight, which happened to fit Skellige customs perfectly.
The bard felt trapped and miserable. He did not have enough force to break them up, and his words meant nothing to either of them. The truth was that he had no real relationship with Heli at all. He had only written her a love letter, something entirely innocent.
More and more people gathered to watch the fight. Some elders even pointed things out to the children, using the two fighters as examples of which moves were well used and which were of limited value.
Duels like this rarely ended in death. Usually the winner was decided by minor injuries, which made them a form of entertainment suitable for all ages in the isles.
After fighting for some time, Angoulême finally caught an opening. She knocked Heli's sword aside and left her center wide open. And after this stretch of fighting, the girl had begun to feel a bit of mutual respect for her opponent.
So she did not take things too far. She gave up on insisting on kicking the woman's backside and instead clenched her right hand into a fist and drove it hard into the left side of Heli's face, sending her flying.
Seeing Heli down on one hand in a defeated posture, Angoulême smiled in satisfaction. She was just about to tell her that she had absolutely no damned relationship with the bard and that she had misunderstood, when Heli beat her to it and shouted at the top of her lungs, loud enough for near and far alike to hear:
"I lost, Angoulême, you won! But let me warn you, Dandelion is a complete bastard! He didn't just write love letters to me, he wrote them to several of my sisters too! A man like that is not worthy of a brave lady like you! I rushed out here because I wanted to teach him a lesson too! Be more careful with him from now on, that's all I have to say!"
When the echo of her words finally faded, the shieldmaiden Heli picked up her sword and plunged into the crowd without looking back, leaving Angoulême standing there dumbfounded.
She blinked and had the odd feeling that even though she had won, she had somehow lost something very important.
As absurd as this ending felt to her, to the crowd around them it was a complete performance, and this was exactly where thunderous applause and cheers belonged, the rightful due of the victor.
And so, bathing in applause, Angoulême suddenly understood why Victor always said he wanted to beat up Dandelion. This guy really was asking for it. He did not hurt people on purpose, but somehow he managed to drag you into trouble without you even noticing.
At least the bard had shown some loyalty and had known enough to come back and try to stop them. The girl let out a sigh and was about to go meet up with him when she suddenly sensed two people approaching from behind. There was no malice in them, but their presence was extremely strong.
She turned around. The first thing she saw was a girl with brown eyes and red hair. She had a strong build and wore the clothing of Clan an Craite. Compared to Angoulême's imitation, the other woman's outfit was the real thing, and the stitching pattern on the shoulder shawl marked her as a direct member of the line. Angoulême only noticed that because of the lessons Victor had given her on the ship.
"I'm Cerys an Craite, from Ard Skellig. Hello there, brave lady." After introducing herself, she stepped aside to make room for her companion.
Her companion was even stronger than she was, wearing a helmet with broken bull horns, silver-blue armor, and a bearskin shawl. It was the garb of a shieldmaiden of Clan Heymaey, and the gold necklace set with gemstones marked her as a priestess of Freya as well. "Svani an Hindar, from Hindarsfjall."
Cerys continued, "We watched the whole thing from the side. We thought it was great fun. We never expected a casual outing would lead us to someone this interesting. We'd both like to get to know you. Want to come to a tavern and have a drink with us?"
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