Inside his tent, far from the grumbling of waking men and the bite of the morning wind, Ivar sat cross-legged upon a folded fur with his eyes closed and his hands resting lightly upon his knees. The air within was cold enough that each breath should have misted before him, yet none did. The warmth of his body remained sealed beneath his skin, guided inward rather than wasted to the air. Outside, dawn had already become grey and bitter across the place, but inside the small tent, there was only silence.
He drew in a slow breath and opened his eyes. Then gradually, his lips curled into a faint smirk.
He finally found it, the node within his consciousness that connected him to his beast companions and allowed him to see through their eyes whenever he slept. Now he only needed to master it, so he could enter their consciousness at will instead of waiting for sleep to take him. And now that he knew where it lay, he knew it was only a matter of time.
Ivar tilted his head slightly and looked toward his beast companions, who were sleeping soundly not far from him. Ever since they had taken in his blood essence, they had grown quickly over the past month, but so had their appetite. He could only shake his head at the thought that food enough for two grown men now vanished into the bellies of his beasts.
For now, he gritted his teeth and let them have it. But not for long. Soon enough, he would send them out to hunt for themselves, as there were already too many mouths to feed. As for their own safety, he had no need to worry. A fortnight or a moon from now, they would already be able to take care of themselves, otherwise, his blood essence would have been for nothing.
He cracked his neck, and once he felt the stiffness loosen, he rose to his feet. Sitting in the same position for so long had left his muscles tight and his limbs faintly numb. Oh how he missed the middle and upper realms of cultivation, where stiff muscles and numbed limbs were nothing more than sensations of the past. He could only sighed and stretch himself slowly, working the stiffness out from his shoulders down through his arms, back, hips, and all the way to his feet.
Once he was done, he decided to get breakfast, having felt his stomach grumble earlier. He reached for the clothes hanging at the side of the tent and dressed himself piece by piece. First the inner layers, then the heavier furs above them, fastening each tie and strap with practiced ease. When he was finished, he took up his sword and fastened it at his waist. He cast one last glance around the dim tent and at his beasts, who were still sleeping, then lifted the entrance flap and stepped outside into the bitter cold morning air.
He had just taken a few steps when Asgeir, his half-brother, called out to him.
"Ivar!"
Ivar paused and looked toward his half-brother, who was hurrying toward him. He waited until the boy came close before replying. "What? I was just about t' head t' Freya an' yer ma's tent fer food."
Asgeir nodded. "Aye. They asked me t' call ye while the food's still hot. But Ulf also sent me t' tell ye they've finished questionin' the prisoners ye wanted answers from. Only… they seem t' have a problem understandin' what they're sayin'. Every prisoner gives a different answer, no matter how much Ulf an' the others beat 'em."
Ivar sighed. It seemed he would have to handle the interrogation himself. He had let his band do it so they could learn the work and spare him from doing such things in the future. Clearly, they still had a long way to go. He looked at Asgeir, who was frowning at him, and smiled. Reaching out, he rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Come. We eat first, then I'll do the questionin' meself."
They had only walked a few steps when he noticed Asgeir still wearing the frown in his face, so he asked, "Ye still mad at me fer not lettin' ye join the fightin'?"
Asgeir looked at him, a frown still tugging at his face. He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Aye. We trained fer this, and in the end ye did not let me an' Eirik join the fightin'. Ye're not our pa. Ye shouldn't have a say in whether we fight or not."
He paused, then added, "An' what's more, we were born in the same winter and named in the same winter, yet ye seem bigger than us. Ye even command the band an' half the clan now. I just don't understand why ye're better than us."
Ivar, his arm still resting across Asgeir's shoulder, came to a stop. Asgeir had little choice but to stop as well, unable to slip free from his hold.
Ivar looked straight into the boy's eyes, and when he saw the fear slowly beginning to build there, he smiled faintly. "When ye can fully draw yer bow, that's when I'll let ye join the fightin'. But fer now…" He shook his head before continuing. "As fer sayin' I shouldn't have a say in whether ye an' Eirik fight or not… of course I have a say."
He leaned a little closer, making the boy flinch. "Me strength gives me the right t' decide when ye fight, and when ye don't, until ye can survive on yer own. Whether ye like it or not, that's how the world works. Ye can train harder, work harder, and try t' beat me so ye can gain yer freedom before then…"
His smile widened. "But I doubt it."
Then he straightened and went on more calmly. "Me strength, an' me ability t' bring in game when others can't, is why I lead the band an' half the clan now, Asgeir. When ye grow older and become strong, ye can do the same. Build yer own band. Maybe even a clan o' yer own. But fer now, ye listen t' me, all right? When I think ye're ready, then ye can join all the fightin' we'll have in the future."
Asgeir blinked and drew in a breath before replying. "When? What'll make ye think me an' Eirik are ready?"
Ivar smacked the boy on the head the moment he heard the question.
"Ow!" Asgeir grabbed the spot where he had been struck.
"Were ye even listenin'? Until ye can fully draw yer bow. Then I'll let ye join the fightin', at least from afar. Ye have me word." Ivar ruffled Asgeir's hair before adding, "Now come on. Me hungry."
Ivar walked forward and led the way. When he noticed Asgeir falling in behind him without another complaint, he couldn't help but smirk slightly. The psychological lessons he had been drilling into his half-siblings were slowly beginning to bear fruit. Restraint over impulse, patience over blind rage, discipline over reckless pride, and the sense to listen before acting. Traits sorely lacking among most of the free folk. Of course, some qualities would need more time to take root, but he had at least set them upon a path that might keep them from becoming fools. Or so he hoped.
They arrived at the makeshift kitchen, where Freya and Ylva were busy handing out food to the still-groggy bandsmen, women and children. He looked back and said, "Ye can go do yer exercise now, Asgeir. Don't ye dare finish only half of it, I'll know if ye and Eirik are skimpin' when I check yer progress later." He paused for a moment before adding. "An' don't forget t' feed me cats after yer done."
When Asgeir nodded, Ivar smiled faintly and gave a nod in return before turning away. He went straight toward Freya and Ylva. Once he reached them, he picked up a wooden bowl set nearby and said, "Good mornin'. Gimme a big portion o' the meat, Freya. Me starvin'."
Freya snorted as she took the wooden bowl from him, ladled a heavy portion into it, and shoved it back into his hands. "Big portion, he says, as if ye ever ask fer a small one."
Ivar ignored her, took the bowl, and glanced around the stirring camp. "Where're the rest o' the band?"
Ylva answered while tearing strips of smoked meat into another pot. "Gone huntin'. Ate not long ago an' left soon after. They shouldn't be back till evenin'. We've near no meat left, and we told 'em they'd best bring one down if they don't want t' be eatin' leaves an' roots."
Freya jerked her chin toward the far side of camp. "Ulf stayed behind though. Guardin' the prisoners ye wanted kept alive."
Ivar nodded, satisfied that his band could carry out their duties without him needing to dictate every little thing to them. Before they had left the hollow, he had already laid out what was to be done, and what was not during their travels, and he was pleased to see that most of it was being followed.
Like this, for instance; where everyone eats the same food and eats in the same place whenever possible, much like a mess hall from his first life. True, it carried the risk of everyone being poisoned at once, but he had done it so he could keep track of exactly how much food they had each day.
Without another word, he crouched near one of the low fires and began eating. The stew was hot, thick, and salty enough to wake the dead. He ate quickly and thoroughly, scraping the bowl clean before wiping the last of it away with his own tongue.
When he was done, he rose from his crouch, walked back toward Freya, and handed her the bowl. "Good stew. Would've been better, though, if we had bread."
"Aye. We haven't gone raiding south since yer father. Maybe we'll eat bread again soon, if we actually reach the south and don't die from yer wish t' 'see beyond the snow,'" Freya said dryly.
"Ye joined me of yer own accord, though." Ivar raised an eyebrow at her.
Freya crouched and fed more wood into the fire before replying. "Aye, aye. And now our lives are in yer hands. Just sayin', whatever ye decide an' do now affects all of us. So don't do anythin' that'll harm ye or harm us from now on."
"She's right, Ivar. That crow ye took in will be trouble later if ye don't dispose of him," Ylva added from beside her.
Ivar drew in a breath and shook his head. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doin'. Just trust me on this."
They had advised him to kill the crow then and there the moment they learned he had spared the man. Ivar understood their hatred for the crows, but he needed the man alive until he learned everything the fellow knew. After that, only fate could tell or maybe… the crow might even prove useful. So, for now, he could only ignore their advice.
"Hope so…" Freya muttered quietly, though it was still loud enough for him to hear.
He gave them a nod, turned, and was about to head toward where the prisoners were being kept when Ylva called after him. "Ivar! We're runnin' out o' salt. We couldn't trade with the Frostbornes or the Howlers, seeing as they're gone. Where're we gettin' more now?"
Ivar did not turn back. He only rubbed his forehead after hearing the new problem. It seemed he would have to head for the sea at last and make salt himself. After a moment, he replied, "I'll find a way."
Then he finally walked off.
—-------
Ivar arrived where the prisoners had been tied and gathered and saw Ulf lying in one corner with his eyes closed. He walked over and nudged him with his foot.
Ulf woke up at once, snatching up his axe and starting to swing at whoever had nudged him, but he managed to stop in time when he saw it was only Ivar. "Ye finally came. I had Asgeir go t' yer tent, but it seemed he didn't?"
"He did," Ivar replied, glancing around at the prisoners, who were still sleeping. The aftermath of the night before was plain to see, blood everywhere, along with the crude tools they had used to extract information. Brutal, but he hoped it was effective. Then he added, "I had t' take a detour fer food first, as I was hungry before comin' here. Sorry 'bout that. So what've ye found out from 'em?"
Ulf set his axe down and stood up. Then he let out a sigh. "They're not givin' the same answers. One of 'em says they had camped near the Fist o' the First Men. Others say they had camped somewhere in the Frostfangs. We couldn't get a clear answer, no matter how much we pummelled 'em."
Ivar put one of his hands on his chin and considered the information for a moment before speaking. "These men must not be close to Jorund, then. He's been at war with Sylas for years now. Maybe he keeps movin', never stayin' in one place long enough to be pinned down."
Ulf scratched his head, then gestured toward the prisoners. "That's what I thought too, but can we really trust what they're sayin', even after we've pummelled 'em like this? Maybe they're still lyin'?"
Ivar looked back at the prisoners. Some had broken bones; others bore deep wounds on their thighs and arms. A few even groaned in their sleep, and he was certain many of them had suffered internal injuries as well. If that wasn't enough to force the truth out of them, he didn't know what would be. Still, he would handle the questioning himself once they woke up, in case his men had missed something.
He walked over to a stone nearby, sat down, and said to Ulf, "Tell me everythin' ye got from 'em."
Ulf nodded, walked over, and sat down beside him before he began. "They said Jorund's got scores of men with him now, and these lot are just a few of 'em. Many clans have already been subdued and chosen t' follow him, includin' the Nightrunners and some o' the cave-dwellers' clans. They also said they've been attackin' any clans that refuse t' join him, in case they side with Sylas instead. The Frostbornes and the Howlers were just a few o' 'em..."
Ivar listened as Ulf went on with his account, and he couldn't help but feel that the land they lived in had grown more chaotic because of these two ambitious men. They called themselves Magnars, yet what they did, and what they would do, was far from what a true Magnar should be. Of course, that was only based on his own understanding of what a Magnar ought to be. Perhaps, to them, a Magnar was simply one who ruled through killing and domination. He could only shake his head inwardly at such fools.
He found himself thinking of the aftermath of a war between the two. Would the population here be halved by the fighting? It seemed that this was how the numbers in this harsh land were kept in check, never more than what the land could sustain, as if there were always a man-made form of natural selection taking place from time to time.
No wonder they couldn't conquer the Wall and instead lived beyond it. Ivar sighed as he noticed Ulf had finished speaking, then asked, "What 'bout information on Sylas?"
Ulf shook his head. "These men don't know anythin' about Sylas. All they know is that he's Jorund's enemy. Seems they only joined Jorund's band for the sake o' fightin' and loot."
Ivar nodded at that. It made sense, these men didn't seem like the sort to know much beyond fightin' and lootin'.
Seeing Ivar fall quiet, Ulf glanced toward the far corner where the prisoners were gathered and couldn't help but ask, "We didn't touch the crow, though. Ye sure ye'll handle the questionin' yerself? Might be better t' kill him now, in case he recovers, escapes, and comes back t' hunt us all down."
Ivar followed his gaze and chuckled softly. "No need t' worry about that. I've got a way t' make sure that crow won't be walkin' anywhere on his own." He paused, then added, "I don't know much about the south, that's why I'm keepin' him alive. Better t' know what lies beyond the Wall before we go there, once we're done here. Don't ye think?"
Ulf still had his doubts, but he nodded nonetheless. "If ye say so. He's dangerous, though. Fights well. What if he manages t' steal one o' our weapons and slay some o' us?"
Ivar patted his shoulder. "Enough o' that worry o' yers. I'll handle everythin' about that crow. If he manages t' kill any o' us while I'm here, I'll kill meself."
Ulf turned to him at that, his gaze sharpening. When he saw the certainty in Ivar's eyes, he let out a breath. "Don't say that. What are we supposed t' do without ye? Just make sure he can't escape and kill any o' us."
"Aye. I'll make sure of it," Ivar said with a reassuring smile.
Ulf finally nodded and fell silent.
Ivar hadn't questioned the crow yet, as the man's split lip made it difficult to understand anything he said. Jorund's men had clearly focused their beating on his face. On top of that, Ivar had already noticed that the man spoke a different tongue from theirs, so he knew it would take time to get anything useful from him. Still, he was well experienced in learning languages from his past lives already, so he reckoned it wouldn't take too long.
He waited until the men woke from their slumber before beginning the questioning again, determined to confirm whether what they had told Ulf and the others was true. This time, he used no tools that would leave visible marks. Instead, he pressed on certain points along their bodies, nodes that sent waves of pain far worse than the beating they had endured the night before, and repeated the process with each of them. He made sure they could see their comrades writhing in agony, knowing that the mind could break just as easily as the body. Some of them actually did, cracking before he even had to lay a finger on them.
Ulf watched the entire process with wide eyes, caught between disbelief and amazement. He had no idea what Ivar was doing to make these men writhe in agony without so much as visibly harming them, aside from the light poking. In the end, he could only shake his head in disbelief at yet another "blessing" his friend seemed to possess from the Old Gods.
By the time Ivar finished questioning them all, the sky had already darkened. He looked at the prisoners, who now stared back at him as if he were one of the White Walkers come again. He gave them a slight smile, and that alone was enough to make every one of them shiver and avert their gaze at once.
Ivar was satisfied. Everything Ulf had gathered proved true based on what he had extracted from them. It seemed his band's methods had been effective after all, crude, but useful.
He turned to Ulf, who stood beside him, and spoke quietly so only the two of them could hear. "That's enough. What ye got from them holds true. We don't need 'em anymore. Dispose of 'em, we don't have the food t' keep them alive."
Then he gestured toward the crow, who had witnessed everything and was now looking at him with a mix of fear and alarm. "Keep that one alive. Feed him, an' give him somethin' t' keep warm. I'll deal with him once he's healed."
Ulf only nodded absently, still trying to process what he had just witnessed.
Ivar was just about to head back to the makeshift kitchen to grab something to eat before resting for the day when Asgeir came running toward him.
"Ivar!"
"What?" Ivar narrowed his eyes. His half-brother had developed the habit of shouting his name from afar, and he didn't like it one bit. He made a mental note to correct it sooner or later.
Asgeir stopped in front of him and took a moment to catch his breath before speaking. "Ye have t' come. Haldor an' the rest came back, with more children, men an' women with 'em. Me ma told me t' fetch ye at once and have ye deal with it."
Ivar felt the blood rush to his head when he heard that and couldn't help but rub his forehead.
Relax, Ivar. Relax. It seemed he wasn't finished putting someone through pain just yet.