Joroboros
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[YF] Chapter 239: Jarl
🕑 Added 2024-10-25 12:04:25 +0000 UTCJarl Anoures stands alone on the bow of her massive longship. With a vicious smile, she stares up at me. The axes she dropped stand wedged in the timber to her sides. She may have discarded them in a way that I hope means she wants to talk and not that she thinks taking me on will be easy — though her chances would likely be better without them — but they are still by her side; it would only take a moment for her to grab them again.
I halt my approach. My widespread flames through the skies between the two navies condense back into the form of a falcon only large enough to obscure Leal’s position.
Should I even bother to hear her out? She’s a slaver. Nothing she can say will change my intent.
My sight trails to the ships halted far behind her. None move, and while I can see some agitation amongst the crews — obviously wanting to dive into battle — they remain at their post. The order amongst their ranks is far greater than what I’ve dealt with from Sylvan’s warriors, even after his acquisition of the Jarlship that is now cinders.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” the sudden shout is almost enough to startle me. Laced with presence, Jarl Anoures’ voice cuts through the air without resistance. “Get down here already. You may not have noticed, but I don’t exactly have wings.”
She flaps her arms twice and glances down at herself as if to check.
“Yeah, nah. Still nothing.” Again, her presence carries her voice across the waves. Those of her crew are clearly affected, flinching at each word, but Anoures either fails to notice, or care.
Behind her presence, the voice is anything but feminine. The gruff, croaky tone no different from any of the other heqet I’ve heard. Until now, I’ve thought the crews were all men, but that might not have been true. Well, that’s if there truly is any discerning difference between the two that is so common amongst the fleshy races.
Deciding there’s no harm in taking her invitation, I condense my form and sail towards her Jarlship. Anoures’ crews hold in form behind her, while the remnants of Sylvan’s forces linger, not yet engaging the warfare I know they love so much.
Does a Jarl’s voice carry that much weight that even those not in their direct command listen to them? They certainly didn’t act that way toward Sylvan until — with my power — he’d overwhelmed them.
Leal finally gets comfortable in the encasing flames that grip her like a physical cocoon, yet it seems the heqet can see right through; her eyes land on the ursu despite the massive swirl of flames protecting my friend. As I land on the deck, I keep her suspended behind me, wary of those axes besides Anoures.
With my Leal, this would have been fine. She has accepted being placed in more conservative positions while I rush ahead and burn everything, only coming forward when her specialities are needed. But it seems this alternate version is far more… active.
“Solvei,” she says. Her voice isn’t berating, but it is hard; showing obvious displeasure at being protected like this. “Don’t coddle.”
Slightly perturbed — and slightly regretting not having her change back — I allow her to drop to the deck alongside me. I keep myself between the Jarl and her, but it’s still closer than I’m comfortable.
The heqet warriors don’t so much as send a bloodthirsty glare our way from where they stand at the opposite side of the ship from us and Anoures. Stiff and straight, they truly are more disciplined than the rest of their race.
It is a relief to not immediately have been attacked upon landing, but that hardly improves Anoures’ image as a slaver. She is the third I’ve now met able to hold a conversation without devolving into aggressive strikes. It’s rather comforting that its the leaders that are the ones of their kind with some sense of civility… not that it leads to any fewer wards.
With how well she holds back her anger — enough that it is isn’t even apparent as she looks me up and down — I might have even been able to get along with her. Unfortunately, what she has done makes even the temporary camaraderie I had with Sylvan impossible.
“Who do I owe the gratitude of destroying my enemy?” While her words may indicate thankfulness, I know heqet well enough by now that the slight emphasis on gratitude means anything but. She’s displeased her fight was taken from her.
“Someone Sylvan was stupid enough to betray,” I answer.
“Oh?” Jarl Anoures seems genuinely surprised. “The upstart actually believed he could take me on after having cowered behind you so long? Well, I guess I too thought you would be just some fire mage from up north.” She glances of the decimated fleet behind me. “Did you really have to strip us of the best part of battle? We can’t have a proper war if you’ve gone and killed one side before our blood can spill.”
Her wistful gaze returns to my own. “I take it this Sylvan is dead? That’s too bad, I didn’t expect a good fight, but there was hope. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to back off? I’ll fight if you will, but one doesn’t become a Jarl without knowing when they are bested.”
Really, why does it have to be the slaver that is willing to back down. “No,” I say, firm and ready to fight the moment she moves. “Sylvan was a backstabbing bastard, but at least he didn’t rely on enslaving his own people.”
Her eyes widen for a moment, completely silent, before she laughs. An uncontrollable bursting fit of giggles overcomes her and she doubles over, hitting her head against the deck. I've never seen a heqet laugh. It’s honestly quite shocking, her large mouth snapping open and spittle flies everywhere while her throat swells.
“Is that what he told you?” Jarl Anoures croaks as she finally manages to get her breathing laughs under control. “Is that how he got you, an outsider as powerful as yourself, to fight for him?”
I stiffen at her words, knowing I’m not going to like what comes.
“Did you ever see those villages and forts after you took them? How they survived after falling under his banner?
I glanced to Leal, seeing if this version of her ever did, but she just shakes her head.
“Didn't think so.” Anoures guesses the answer from my glance. “You see, thralls are required amongst heqet Jarldoms. We are of a warrior race; not a single one wishes to be the one working the farms, raising cattle or building ships. We must know how to do it, but if we all had our way, not a single one of us would be making the food we eat or tending the young. Everyone would have axe in hand and ship underfoot. We would never leave the ocean besides to fight glorious wars or raid the northern coast.”
She casts her arm wide, gesturing to her crew and the many ships behind her. “Every heqet started life as a Thrall. I started as one, and have grown beyond. Our Jarldoms rarely last long. Soon some new power will come along and take my lands from me, or maybe there will be some of my steersman that will make for territory of their own. Thralls will be freed to become warriors, and the conquered warriors will fall to thralldom again. I imagine your Sylvan’s forces are no different.”
Despite what should be a shocking revelation, I can't help but feel unsurprised. It’s just like Sylvan to have hidden such details. He put on airs to appear like he didn’t need me, while still hiding details and feeding information that would assure that I continue to help him. The moment he believed he wielded enough strength to go on — the prestige of a Jarlship and a fleet thousands strong — he decided to dispose of us.
He never intended to take us toward the source of the Anatla beam, did he? Did he even know where it was? I’d trusted that he would eventually lead us there, but now I know how much his trust was worth.
I let out a groan of annoyance at all this time wasted. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the Anatla beam was, do you?” I’ve got little hope in the word of a slaver, but Leal and I are going to have to restart our search after this.
“You mean that pillar of multicoloured lights? Yeah, it was far to the south-west.” She points to the side completely tangent to the path of Sylvan’s conquest.
Yep, he was lying the entire time.
I’ll have to get a move on with my search. We’ve already wasted so much time for apparently no reason. I’m still not certain I believe this heqet’s words, and I can’t be sure until I go back and check one of the villages we liberated, but if she is telling the truth — which somehow seems far too apt to the heqet’s nature to be a full fabrication — then what should I do with her?
I’ve been so dedicated to killing her because she is a slaver, but if it is simply a part of the heqet’s nature, than can I really judge her? If she’s not going to attack first, then should I even waste any more of my time with her and her kin?
Before I can settle my mind and decide what I want to do, Jarl Anoures steps to the bulwark and glances over the side, her axes forgotten in the deck before me. Though, that’s not all that relieving considering the bulwark itself holds dozens of the weapons along its length.
“What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously, taking a step to put myself between her and Leal.
“The water,” she says. “I’ve never seen it so still.”
I cast my sight out over the fjord, and she’s right; the ocean waves have disappeared. Flat as ice, and just as still, the water doesn’t so much as move. Even the river flowing through what was once the Jarlship fort barely disturbs the waters as it gushes out into the wide sea.
“Is this strange?” I ask, turning to Leal.
She looks just as put off by the sight as Anoures, but the Jarl is the one to speak.
“Only once in my hundred years have I seen anything like it.” Her gaze twirls to the north-west, where the Titan Alps barely peek out over the horizon. We’re south enough now that the peaks are barely visible through the shroud of atmosphere.
For a moment, I believe this to be a ploy by the Jarl to escape her death with some weak distraction. But the shatter that follows removes that idea entirely.
Just like the green eye Anatla when it tried to break through the island, the shatter pierces every flicker of my body. It carries that same weight. Only now, the strike seems distant. Lacking the full width of presence as the first, yet no less intense.
“Fuck.” Anoures spits, before raising her voice and filling it with her presence. “Retreat. Scatter.”
The Jarlship jerks into motion immediately, but I barely notice. The crimson light of the Ember Moon flickers twice before dying out entirely. After so long, her bright protection returns to the dim orb it once was.
To the south east, where Anoures said it was, the Anatla beam returns. The sky lights up with multicoloured lights. Clouds swirl, revealing alternate realities as they blink and flicker between what is real and what isn’t. Skies burning of fire, or still and dark, or revealing the giant maw of a Titan so great it dwarfs every other I’ve seen. These alternates last mere moments, but they are real while they exist.
And again, the Titan Alps crumble.
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Hey guys, sorry i got this chap out so late. I wanted to get this up wednesday, and I've been trying to write it for the past 3 days, but i'm not home this week and have been really busy. I haven't been able to go over this chap with my usual edit sweep, so please let me know if there's any issues.
Comments
Jethro H
Has this got anything to do with Snek?? Also damn she got played....
Summer Coff
Uh oh. That's not good for Leal.
