The Rift

The palomino stallion's bright coat was almost luminous in the twilight, the rhythm of hooves drowned out in the drumming of the rain. Heavy droplets resounded on the steel helm of the rider, running over the full-face plate and spilling onto the chestplate beneath, catching in the etched spirals and patterns worked lovingly into the polished metal.

Seeing the grey walled fortress up ahead, the rider reined in the stallion and dismounted. Tethering the horse to a tree, she paused. Breathed deeply. Overhead, the clouds rumbled like a sabrecat in its lair. The air tasted of leafmould and smoke. The Nord's lungs hungered for the crisp clean tang of snow. The Rift was too wet, too green for her liking. Still, she savoured the moment, as she did every time.

It was important, this moment of peace. It could be the last she ever had. Or so she told herself, trying to shake the feeling that that could never be true, that she was destined for more. It was naïve, she knew, and thinking like that could easily get her killed, but the thought was there. It made her reckless, and she knew it.

She kissed the stallion's velvet nose and marched up to the forts entryway. It was in poor condition, only a few wooden barricades blocking her passage. These were easily splintered by the claymore slung across her back.

"Sorry Eorlund…" She muttered, knowing what the old smith would say about her use of the skyforge steel for such a purpose.

Maintaining her grip on the heavy sword, she strode into the midst of the courtyard. The sibilant hiss of several blades being drawn heralded her arrival. The Nord pushed up the face-plate of her helm and did her best to project her voice.

"Haadvun Stonefist, by order of Jarl Leila Lawgiver you are under arrest. Put down your weapons now, or-"

She sidestepped as a flight of arrows zipped down from the battlements.

"-Or not…" She re-adjusted her helmet, and turned in time to parry a blow from a crude iron battle axe. Her steel sang as it arced around and flicked toward the axe-wielder's throat.

First blood would have been shed, but for a sudden blow to the small of her back that sent the warrior staggering. A second bandit had pitched in, this time a Breton armed with a mace. He yelled in glee, and clumsily swung forward again. Despite his enthusiasm, the mace was slow, and the Nord was able to regain her balance before plunging her greatsword through his chest.

The cheap hide armour split like a berry, but the weight of his body dragged her blade down and the Nord had to yank sharply to free it. In the instant that the gap between her chestplate and pauldron was exposed, a lucky arrow bit into the web of muscle under her left arm.

Her oath of pain became a snarl of rage as four more bandits charged at once, and that kept her busy a while longer. The clash of blades was almost drowned out by the storm that was fast approaching its crescendo. The blood mingled with the rain and sank into the earth. They did not last long.

The rest of the gang were ranged along the walls armed with bows, the impact of which clattered harmlessly off the warrior's plate armour. They were not important. Her target would be inside the tower.

Along a walkway and onto the walls, dispatching one archer with her blade and another with a swift kick over the battlements. The first tremor of lightning split the sky, as if the Nine themselves wished to join battle.

The door to the tower was aged oak, barred with iron, and the woman knew in an instant that she was not getting in that way. Frustrated, she smashed the hilt of the greatsword against the lock, but it held, and even if lockpicking were her forte, she still wouldn't have tried it under the hail of arrows that continued to clatter onto the stonework beside her. One ricocheted from her chestplate, adding to the latticework of scars in the steel.

The tower was partially damaged up one side, jagged masonry precariously jutting over the courtyard. Muttering obscenities under her breath, the Nord sheathed her sword and began to climb.

Haadvun scrabbled frantically with the key to the loot chest. It had to be here, it had to… One tiny vial that could get him out of here alive. Invisibility potions were costly, but… The sound of his men screaming outside made his pulse race even harder.

Just as the lock clicked open a scraping sound behind him sent Haadvun's hand flying to the weapon beside him. Through the window climbed a figure, momentarily silhouetted against a shard of lightning. Without hesitation the bandit chief swung his warhammer.

The Nord woman half-managed to duck, evading the heavy hammer head but still cuffed by the handle shaft, which sent her head thudding into the stone wall. As she fell, her armoured boot collided with her enemy's knee, sending him stumbling back.

The warrior swore as she realised the face-plate of her helm was damaged, the warped steel obscuring her vision. She tugged it free as she climbed to her feet, shaking out a tangle of thick red hair. A streak of crimson welled up over her brow where the steel had caved inward, threatening to run into her eyes and blind her. The sword was back in her hands now. Blood from the previous struggle was already being washed away by the rain, leaving the bare steel clean and bright as fresh fallen snow.

Haadvun eyed her warily, shifting from foot to foot and keeping his grip on the warhammer.

"How many are you?" He nodded toward the window, indicating the trail of chaos that had scattered his men.

"Just me. You can yield now if you like. The Jarl wants to see your face behind bars, but I don't much care if it's attached to your body or not. I'll get paid either way."