“You are to come on the raid tonight,” Solveig said with authority, still in her relaxed position by the entrance.
“There’s a better chance of you coming on my cock than me joining you on the raid,” he retorted. He tried to sound nonchalant, but he couldn’t hide his indignance at the tone she’d used.
“The group leaves after supper,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Meet us at the outpost promptly at seven. This is not a request. This is an order from your direct superior. You will be there, or your life will be forfeit,” she said steadily.
He glared at her. “How dare you give me orders. I—”
“I dare because I have command of this army. Unless you are a reigning monarch, anyone who comes into my camp is under my leadership. This includes you. I have direct orders from the Queens of Asgard to send whomever I deem necessary on these raids. Congratulations on being necessary for the first time in your life.”
Solveig could almost see the steam spilling from his ears, and she almost cracked a smile. She didn’t balk when he started towards her.
If Maddock had been a Giant of old, Solveig would’ve treated the situation much differently.
After Ragnarök, when Yggdrasil re-formed, a piece of each realm and its people had melded into one world, most of the races acclimated, but the Giants were not able to find the space they needed to thrive.
Their mountainous size could not be sustained in this new world. With every generation since the fall of the gods, the Giants diminished in size until they stood only head and shoulders above the other races.
“I am a prince of Jotunheim. You have no authority over me!” he bellowed. Solveig did not react, which appeared to provoke him further. He stepped into her space, too close for a casual conversation. His hot breath coated her face, no doubt in an attempt to get a rise out of her. It would not be so easy.
“You think you’ll be able to force me, you bit—”
Solveig interrupted him again, though not with her words.
He must have forgotten he was butt naked. Solveig had calmly flicked the dagger loose from its hiding place at her wrist and into herhand, placing it on a very sensitive, now soft, part of him. He froze. She pressed it just a little harder. Maddock winced.
“You will be at the outpost at seven sharp this evening. If you are even one second late, your balls are mine. And if you fail to show, your life is forfeit. Am I clear?” She peered into his black eyes. They were murderous, but he hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d pulled the dagger.
He gave her a barely perceptible nod and backed away. Solveig stared at him for one extra moment before exiting the tent. Giving her back to the Giant was a risk, but she was certain she’d successfully leashed him for the moment.
Atfiveminutestoseven, Maddock had yet to arrive. Solveig tucked her timepiece back into her pocket with care. It had been crafted for her by Queen Koa’s personal inventor as one of the first to exist within the magical realms.
The most promising of the mortals had once worked in the Asgardian courts, where they created such wonderful items for other races. Her timepiece was a piece of pure black obsidian save for the gold arrows pointing to numbers encircling the face of the clock, as the inventor had called it.
She’d said the obsidian acted as a power source, connecting with the sun, so the time would always be correct. Solveig didn’t understand how it worked, but she treasured the object and began to rely on it. Soon clocks appeared all over the realm lands and were adopted as common practice by all races, as with other Midgard inventions.
Solveig checked the time again, smiling as she counted down the seconds. Eagerness began to brew as she thought of executing—or atthe very least castrating—Maddock. She used those precious seconds to imagine how she would do it.
A classic beheading was always a good choice, but she didn’t want to bestow him that honour. Maybe an arrow through the neck? She’d have to put in the effort to work on her archery skill—she had yet to master that weapon.
Just as she was counting down from ten, she heard heavy footsteps and Maddock came into view.
“Damn it,” she muttered to herself. Now she could enjoy executing him only in her imagination.
The other soldiers gathered around as Maddock strolled leisurely to their group. She gave him her back for the second time that day and addressed her warriors.
“I will not insult you by speaking flowery words to disguise the danger we face tonight. Some of you have carried out raids before. For some, this is your first. Despite the gods having ignored our prayers for millennia, I pray to them still to protect us. If you die tonight, you die with honour. Your ancestors will greet you with pride in Valhalla.”
Solveig paused, allowing space for the nervous energy to grow and fuel their determination. Some gripped the rune-stone pendants that hung from their necks. Her own stone was cold against her skin.
“You have each been given your assignment. Commander, since you arrived last, you will be in charge of protecting our horses. Guard them with your life.” Maddock gaped, outraged at the menial task he’d been given, but Solveig paid him no mind.
Raising her dagger to her palm, she sliced down the same scar she always used to offer her blood to a spell. Though none of them could feel their magic, this ritual was grounded in their history, and even the motions of it were comforting after all these years.
Solveig bowed her head and raised her bleeding fist across her chest. The others followed suit. “May Tyr guide your sword, may Frigg light your way, and may Thor bring you home safely.”
She used the blood that dripped from her hand to draw the Algiz rune of protection on thirteen of her companions’ foreheads.
Maddock refused, muttering, “Bloody witchcraft,” under his breath.
