By afternoon, the trees had thinned, and they could see the Njord River in the valley below them. Just on the other side of the river was a town fortified behind a stone wall. The stone was darker than the white stone of Volpes Manor, but she could still make out a faint shimmer from the stones, likely stardust. In the middle of the wall closest to the river were two large wooden doors standing open with guards posted at either side. A monumental stone bridge spanned the width of the river, giving them a way to cross.
“Be careful. The people of the Peaks do not take kindly to others of the realm,” Draven said, guiding his horse toward the bridge.
“I am always careful. Besides, your demeanor does not exactly scream ‘friendly,’” she pointed out, trotting beside him with a smirk.
“Ah yes, you are the epitome of safe and cautious. How could I forget?” he jested. As they approached the guarded entrance to Asynjur, Draven lowered his voice and leaned close to her, whispering, “For once, listen to me, and let me do the talking.”
She scoffed, then rolled her eyes, but decided to trust him. She had never visited Skyforge Peaks, although she had read about their history and culture ad nauseum during her tutelage. They were a proud people, steeped in tradition. They believed all should learn to fight and defend themselves, so both women and men trained to be warriors starting at the age of ten. They were unmatched in skills with a blade and axe, able to cut down ten men to one. They were also incredibly loyal, living in communal villages where everyone supported each other, raised each other’s children, and defended their loved ones.
But perhaps the most mythical of legends surrounding the people of the Peaks was the unique bond between Drakari and Drengr. The Drakari had been loyal only to their constellation, Rage, but the Drengr gained favor with the Drakari and foughtwith them, creating a unique alliance. Although Drakari had not been seen in years, there were stories of winged beasts flying in the night through the realm, still protecting the Peaks.
Draven approached the massive double doors slowly, bringing his horse to a halt before the first guard. He waited as the guard, holding a spear, walked over to him and stood in front of their horses.
“What is your business?” the guard asked, narrowing his eyes on Draven, then on Astraia. His accent was thick as he spoke the common Astradeon tongue. His arm flexed as he held his spear, angling it toward Draven.
“Vér s?kjum frænda,” Draven replied, gesturing to the town.
Astraia gaped at him, eyes wide in astonishment. He spoke the native language of the Skyforge people, one that was not readily learned by even the most accomplished scholars in the Celestial Court.
“Hverr maðr?” the guard asked, taken aback.
“Bjorn,” Draven replied nonchalantly.
“Ah. Ja. Hann gengr til drykkjusalunnar.” The guard laughed, and the other guard behind him snickered. He lowered his spear and gestured for them to pass. “Ver á braut þína.”
“Takk. Langt megi yðar reykja.” Draven nudged his horse forward, Astraia following close behind.
“Heilsa þér.” The guard nodded to them as they passed.
As they crossed through the gate, she rode up next to him and punched him in the upper arm, giving him a start.
“What was that for?” he asked, rubbing his arm and looking at her, bewildered.
“You could have told me youspoketheir language,” she snapped, glaring at him.
“You did not ask.” He shrugged, trotting ahead of her.
She huffed, gritting her teeth. “So what exactly did you both say?”
“I simply told him we were looking for a friend who called himself the Bear. He told me the man lingers in the mead halls. That is all. Satisfied?” He kept riding without looking at her.
She huffed, gripping her reins tightly. “This discussion is not over, bounty hunter.”
As she contemplated spearing him with an arrow in his back, she looked around at the town as they rode down the cobblestone path. The architecture was vastly different from any other town she had seen before. The wooden homes and shops were all constructed of massive beams of wood, their roofs pointed at a sharp angle. Affixed to the top of the gables were intricate carvings of Drakari heads, some with teeth and others breathing fire.
At the center of the town was a larger building, at least two stories tall and just as long as the massive merchant ships that delivered goods between the Hollow City and Tenebris. Smoke billowed from a chimney at the center of the roof, and a cacophony of laughter and shouting could be heard coming from inside.
Draven walked his horse up to the large building and dismounted, hitching his horse to a nearby post and Astraia did the same. Turning to the bounty hunter, she clenched her fists and forced her bonds down, which threatened to flare in response to her irritation.
“Before I go another step with you, I need answers,” she spat, tensing her shoulders.
He sighed, turning back around to face her and crossed his arms, chuckling. His indifference only vexed her further.
She saw red.
Stomping over to him, she unsheathed her dagger and thrust it under his chin, the point nearly breaking skin.
He quirked his brow and smirked.
