Blood of Gods: Fimbulwinter Rising

Prologue

Jarvis


1086

Jarvis brushed the hair from his eyes as they rode down the cobbled path. His scabbard slapped against his hip, the blade clean of blood despite many months of travel. His letter to Aquillan, King of Garink, was tucked in his boot, should anyone dare rob him. His warriors scouted ahead and scanned the trees for signs of danger. Only the branches swayed, in sync with the howling wind. A horse whickered, and Bode, his First-Sword, trotted over.


“My lord, we are close. The city is up ahead.”


Jarvis looked up and peered through the trees. Bode was right. The castle loomed over the oaks, bathed in moonlight. Soldiers patrolled the battlements, weapons glinting in the torchlight. The group trotted from the dark of the forest, and he gestured for his men to raise his banner. His flag swished in the air, a grey raven on a blue field. The soldiers atop the battlements gazed down, then yelled a command.


“Lord Jarvis!” He called. “King Aquillan was not expecting you so soon.”


“Plans change, Ser Hoster. Our journey has turned out better than we thought.”


A coldness suddenly crept through him, such as he had never known. The urge to flee washed over him, and his horse seemed of the same mind. She whickered, then tossed her head back, her mane brushing against Jarvis’s face.


His knuckles paled as he grasped the hilt of his sword, yet his hand seemed to have frozen to the hilt. Something’s off. He spurred his horse about and galloped ahead of his men. “Draw your swords! A fight is at hand!”


No more than a dozen swords hissed from their scabbards, yet it was a meagre comfort to him. The forest grew silent, and he waited with bated breath. Nothing came forward. The tension drained from him, and he drew closer to Sirania’s drawbridge.


“Keep a close watch behind. I don’t want an ambush.”


He turned about, and his men followed close behind. Jarvis spared a glance back, but froze. Eight pairs of deep yellow eyes gleamed from the forest’s darkness. Snarls reverberated from among the bushes as the first of the Fenrulfs stepped into the moonlight. Its lips pulled back and showed canines the size of daggers. Black fur rippled with veins. They stalked forward, muscles bunched.


Jarvis dismounted and dug the rim of his shield into the ground. Shields thudded beside his, and some of the tension drained, despite the advancing threat. Each soldier gripped a naked blade, their boots carving deep gouges in the dirt. Their skin caught the light, pale as milk.


The Fenrulfs bounded forward, froth dribbling into their fur. The horses scattered, but he kept his focus on the threat ahead.


"By Odin's Balls! They reek of home," Bode muttered. The men chuckled. He rested a hand on Jarvis's shoulder. "Let's show these bastards what we're made of.”


The Fenrulfs collided with the shield wall and jarred Jarvis’s arm. Two of the soldiers fell beneath the impact. The Fenrulfs leapt through the gap, teeth bared. A clawed paw raked along Jarvis’s shield rim, and he hacked at the Fenrulf with his short sword. Blood spurted , and its severed paw fell. The beast vanished amongst the chaos.


“These bastards will fear us!” Bode’s voice echoed throughout the glade. “We’ll end-”


A gurgled choke issued from behind Jarvis, and he turned to his First-Sword. Bode’s throat was a gaping hole, and his life source coated his armour. Jarvis stepped toward his First-Sword, then a large Fenrulf bounded through the battle. Its claws raked along Bode’s face and splattered Jarvis’s armour. He leapt into motion, his blade rising and falling. The Fenrulf issued a feeble howl, then fell still.