The howling wind blocks out all other sounds as its icy tendrils bite at the smallest patch of exposed flesh. Crisp, fallen leaves turn to miniature tornadoes flanking the uneven dirt road leading to Breedas. The usually bustling town sits on the border of Kankor and Greygar sandwiched between the Annora river to the west and the Glara cliffs to the east.

With few lights to lead the way, a cloaked figure trudges through the elements kicking up browned leaves as they go. The crunching underfoot only slightly audible over the howling wind, giving the only sign of movement in the stark deepness of the night.

The cloaked figure stops suddenly as the edge of Breedas comes into view. A sharp gust catches the figure off guard blowing back the hood to reveal an elegant, smooth face with high cheekbones, deep hair the colour of night pulled up in a tight ponytail and bright emerald eyes that almost glow in the darkness.

"Damn wind," she curses under her breath. "Maybe I can get a bed for the night?"

Freya pulls at her hood covering herself from the next gust and trudges on towards the ever brightening border town. She studies the layout as she nears, the first building is a mere hut for holding feed. Then a smithy, quiet at this turn of the night but the furnace still glowed a deep red, illuminating the hammers, tongs and various other implements hung up on hooks around the workshop. She moves past, tugging at her hood once again, eyeing the slanted houses that begin to rise up around her. Their mix of wooden beams and dried mud make up the lower half and most have straw roofs with a few larger houses roofed with slate. Most windows are dark bar a few showing a lit candle. Freya moves past, her eyes searching.

There you are. By the Gods, I never thought I would be so happy to see a run-down tavern in this life.

"You there," drawls a voice.

It stops her instantly, her hand moving to her dagger sitting at her hip.

Pay attention, she chides herself half turning towards the gruff voice.

"You there, what you doin out this late, eh?"

Her eyes take in an old man with dirty locks of hair straggling around his shoulders. His clothes are ragged and full of holes, and he carries a walking stick in his left hand which he stands leaning heavily against.

"You deaf?" the man asks, a hint of impatience in the tone.

Freya clears her throat, making it deeper and attempting to disguise her broad Kankorian lilt. "Sorry. Lookin for the inn, The Dead Crow?"

The old man stares at her through the greasy straggles of hair, his beady eyes fixing on her before he grins, showing a toothless mouth. "Ah, it be that way," he points. "Hav a drink for me, eh," he snorts. "Caw, caw. Caw, caw. Ha, ha, ha."

"My thanks," she says, pulling at her hood again and starting in the direction he had pointed. Moving past the houses, she scans the doorways, the roofs, windows and the small spaces between. Her heart races as her sore and aching legs carry her forward. Moving around the edge of a house slightly grander than the rest, the street opens up to the town square, the centre of which has a raised platform with torches lit at each corner high up on man-height posts. They blaze in the night, illuminating the square for all to see. But she stands alone without a single soul in sight, only darkness.

A distant howl breaks the silence, and her resolve. "By the Gods!" She shakes herself, wrapping her cloak tighter against the bitter wind. "Just keep moving, Freya." Her eyes flit this way and that still on guard. She strides past the square and into another street, this one more homely but chaotic at the same time. The houses are decorated with bright sashes and lanterns are hung on almost every door. Marvelling at the sudden burst of colour, she smiles. The expression creates dimples as it tugs at her cheeks. But then her focus is pulled away at the sound of merriment and drunkenness.

Illuminated for all the world to see at the end of the street sits the place she has been looking for: The Dead Crow. Or, the not so Dead Crow as it would seem. Freya makes her way towards the inn, her eyes still darting left and right searching for any danger. I just hope they will have a room, I need to rest. And eat. Her stomach grumbles confirming her thoughts as she reaches the edge of light spilling out through the dirt-streaked windows. The raucous sound vibrates through the door shaking the old wooden frames sending sprinkles of dust shimmering through the light. Beautiful.

Bang!

The sound startles her, she jumps backwards as the inn door crashes open, banging against the thick window frame to the side. The hinges squeal in protest as two hulking men bundle out with arms around each other and a tankard in each of their spare hands, the dark ale sploshing about like a swirling typhoon. Their bleary eyes take her in, they blink in unison, grin, then wander off along the street, their arms still wrapped around each other's shoulders as they break into song.

Freya closes her mouth, shaking herself from the shock of almost being flattened by a mound of flesh. She pulls her hood tight once again before stepping inside with the tune of 'Evening in the Blackbrook' lingering in from outside.

Moving across the threshold, Freya is bathed in the glow of candlelight. She blinks and reaches up on instinct but stops herself from pulling down her hood as she steps further in. The aroma of dried graff mixed with stale smoke permeates the atmosphere, hitting her like an invisible force.

"By the Gods! Close that bloody door, will ya?" comes a shout from the bar.

Freya looks round as a squat, barrel-chested man in leather armour pulls it shut. He nods to her then takes up his position at the side of the door once again, his hazel eyes scanning the room.

I might have to watch that one. Now, food.

Skirting around haphazardly laid out tables, chairs and the bustle of drunken bodies, Freya makes her way to the bar. The top is stained a deep brown and sticky from constant use. She watches the barmaid; a trim woman younger than herself, with straggly blond locks tied back to keep out of her way. She moves back and forth with a practised grace serving one customer after another always with a smile beaming out.

Freya raises a hand and instantly gets a nod and a 'be right there' mouthed back. She is definitely on it, I'll give her that. She waits patiently, all the while checking her hood and scanning the overcrowded hall with every passing securn. She takes it all in under the cowl of her hood, the cramped space is filled to the brim with bodies almost shoulder to shoulder. The smell of body odour mixed with stale graff creates a pungent aroma that invades the senses, heightening them to the max. The inn's main hall is the height of two men stood atop each other with iron sconces holding enormous tallow candles every few paces around the walls and decorated with the heads of the hunted. She spots a few bears, deer and an impressive stag with antlers reaching up high, but what stands out amongst the rest sits directly in front of her eyes. A greywulf head, its mouth open in a snarl as if frozen mid-attack. The hand-size canines shine bright in the candlelight but it is the eyes that captivate her. Deep yellow balls loom out, unusual even in animals, they still shine like glowing orbs of light.

"What will it be then?"

The voice pulls Freya's attention away from the wulf's gaze and back to the now. She turns, her eyes peering out and meeting the deep, almost black globes beaming back at her from the dimpled face of the barmaid who tosses back a lock of hair that had fallen forward and smiles. "Ah, yes," she replies, remembering where she stands. "I need a room for the night. It need not be anything special, just somewhere warm with a bed?" It comes out faster than she intended, so she smiles, but at the same time tries to hide her face.

The barmaid stands grinning, her eyes transfixed on Freya, unable to tear her focus away. She blinks, still grinning. "Of course, my love. Will ya be wantin some grub as well?"

It takes her a moment to understand, her thick accent marking her as a woman from the borderlands. Freya gives a little shake of her head before finding her voice, "Please. That would be good." She says it with a smile rubbing at her stomach unintentionally. "That would be good indeed."

"All right. Do ya want ta eat down here or in ya room?"

Freya thinks for a moment, she needed the rest but if she sat down on a bed she would surely fall asleep. "Down here will be fine, thank you."

"Good. Take the table over in the corner," she points. "I'll be right with ya."

"My thanks. Have you a name?" she asks.

"The name's Bridgett, but most people call me Bri," she finishes with a grin that lights up her face.

"Well met, Bri. Well met."

"Ay, and the same to you." She stands staring at Freya now, a sparkle in her eye as if waiting for an answer.

"I'm —"

"No need for that. You tell me when you is good and ready, ay?"

Freya nods with a grimace. "My thanks."

"Pleasure. Now go and sit an I'll bring you somthin over." Then she whirls around and is onto the next patron without another glace.

With a final glace, Freya turns on her heel and moves over to the corner seat. She sits in the low-backed wooden chair with a groan. "By the Gods, I haven't put that much weight on have I?" she whispers to herself with the thought of falling running through her mind. She pulls at her hood again, the soft furry lining tickling at her cheeks now that they are warmer. She scans the room from her position, noting several shady looking characters lurking in the alcoves and downing drinks in the shadows. Nothing I can't handle. Only four. Not too bad even in my condition. Another groan creaks out as she adjusts her position attempting to make herself more comfortable. She stretches out her legs glad of the warmth coming from the large hearth roaring out from the middle of the hall.

Her eyelids flutter and close, her head tips, letting the cowl of her hood shift slightly. Her arms begin to drop as her tired limbs warm. Her hand brushes where her sword sits strapped to her waist. Her eyes snap open and she blinks at the sudden rush of light making her emerald eyes sparkle. She throws herself forward tugging at her hood as she scans the hall, her eyes flicking left and right searching for the men she had noticed only moments before.

One, she counts. Two, three, fo... She falters and her heart stops for the smallest moment before she takes in a breath. Where has he gone? No, no, no! Her head moves from side to side frantically. Stop! She breathes out steadying herself. He will be watching no doubt. Relax, he might not even have been a spy, not at all. Maybe they were —

"Here we are, my love."

Freya looks up at Bri, her face gleaming with sweat as she puts down a tray and takes off a steaming bowl filled with a brown liquid, a husk of bread and a plate with some butter and cheese. She looks from the food to Bri and back again, her face blank of all emotion.

"Afraid it's the best we got. Not been much trade lately," she shrugs.

Freya smiles, "It looks lovely. Just what I need."

"Ha! Ya don't have to lie to me, eh? I know what it looks like, but it tastes better than that, I promise." Bri says it all with a beaming grin plastered across her face.

"No, I mean. It does look good, I assure you."

Bri waves a hand, "We make the most of what we have. That's all ya can do, right?"

Freya nods, "I can agree with that." She pauses, licking her lips. "I do have a question though?"

Bri looks round, checking the bar and her patrons. "Ask away, love. Ask away."

"Don't look, but the man who was standing in the corner past the hearth on the right. Do you know where he went?" She asks the question softly, her eyes searching once again.

"Shady looking fella, lanky with his hair pulled back against his skull?"

Freya nods, "Yes." That was impressive. "Have you seen him?"

"That'll be Gregor. He's not much to look at mind, but he's harmless. That I can promise, he's my... third no, fourth cousin, I think. Why ya asking?"

Freya visibly shakes, By the Gods woman. Your nerves are shot and you need to sleep. She gives Bri a meak smile as she stares at her, "Oh, don't mind me. I'm only travel-worn and let my mind wander. My thanks for the food," she finishes, dropping her gaze to the brown gruel that awaits.

"Right you are, Lady, righ—"

Freya cuts her off with a look, her deep emerald eyes boring into the barmaid. Then her face softens, "Do not refer to me as that." It was not a question.

"Very well," Bri says with a frown. "I will bring ya a drink." She turns and is off, her petite frame wiggling in and out of the bustling crowd.

Watch your tongue, else you will attract more attention than you already have. She picks up a dulled silver spoon and dips it into the gruel, lifts it to her lips and takes a sip. Mmm, it is better than I thought. Bri was right, or I am just too hungry to care. She finishes the bowl sucking up the remains with buttered bread. She cuts the cheese into small squares enjoying each mouthful as the rich flavour makes the roof of her mouth tingle. She does all this in minurns, her appetite ravenous from being on the road.

Her body is more relaxed than she had been since the war. She looks up to see Bri moving through the throng of people holding three jugs of ale in each hand. Freya watches her dropping them off bar one before she makes her way to where she sits.

"Here we go," she says merrily, placing it down on the worn table. She smiles before leaning in closer, "I don't mean to pry, but..." She looks around herself, her face suddenly pinched. "Ya need to keep those covered." She twists around again before turning back. "The eyes, La..." she stops herself. "Ya eyes give ya away. I saw it as soon as ya come in."

Freya's mind turns, her heart thumps against her chest as she tries in vain for a way out, any way out. Her hand moves instinctively to where her sword sits at her waist and Bri notices it.

"Have no worries, nothing will come from these lips," she says sternly, her hands moving to her hips making her appear fierce.

Freya stays her hand, now only realising it sits atop the pommel of her hidden blade beneath her cloak. With an iron will and her head screaming at her to flee she moves her hand back to the table softening her features. Then she pulls at her hood once more to cover her eyes.

"Have no worries, ah, what shall I call ya then? Madam?" Bri asks, her brows rising.

Freya swallows, her body still tensed, lying in wait to run or fight. "Madam will be fine, Bri." She pauses for a moment taking in the barmaid and the surrounding patrons. "Thank you," she says softly before her tone changes. "My room, is it ready?"

Bri nods with a grin, "It is, yes. If ya ready, ya can follow me?"

Freya nods then pulls at her hood again before standing. She adjusts the belt she wears beneath her cloak and makes a move to pick up her pack.

"I can get that, Madam."

"It is quite alright. I can manage."

"Very well, Madam. Very well," Bri sighs, shifting her weight backwards as she motions Freya to follow.

Freya shoulders her pack whilst her eyes dart back and forth instinctively. She moves to follow Bri but stops as the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. She shivers, feeling the sensation grow, spreading across her entire body. Her hand moves to the hilt of her sword as she waits, her mind searching for an escape.

Bri turns around and frowns, "What are you..." She stops as her eyes take in Freya's stance: her feet splayed apart with her hand atop what she can only assume is the hilt of a sword and her eyes scanning the hall. "What is it?" she whispers moving back towards her.

Without moving her lips Freya says, "I feel something. I cannot say what it is, but..." she pauses, "something."

Bri turns, making to look herself but is cut off.

"No," Freya hisses. "Do not draw attention." Her eyes flit left and right as her body continues to tingle. She turns to the front door now seeing no way to it as three burly men, drunk on graff burst through. "Do you have another way out?"

Bri nods slowly before the gears start up. "Yes, this way. Follow me," she says, her voice too quiet for anyone to hear more than a few paces away.

Freya nods keeping watch as her hand grips the hilt tightly. She grips it tighter still as she makes her way through the throng, her focus on the men moving around her. Not much room to swing a sword, she thinks, her feet carrying her towards the left side of the bar. But I cannot resort to it, can I? She fingers the pommel of her sword. No, I cannot use the stone. They will find me. She shakes her head still searching the crowd for a familiar face. By the Gods, they have already found me. Mother protect me for what I am about to do.

"This way."

The voice snaps Freya from her thoughts and she turns. "What?" she says staring at Bri.

"It is this way," Bri points with a nod of her head.

Freya motions for her to lead on. She moves through the gap in the bar following, and takes a last look behind and sees him. Taller than most he stands out in the crowd, his face dark under a cowl but his eyes glint in the low light and he flashes a toothy smile pulling his skin taut making him resemble one of the daemons they have just battled for the last three years.

She shakes herself. No, not one of them. Not an Oskari. She turns, moving with more urgency now, her every fibre wanting to turn around and fight. No, I must not.

"This way," Bri's voice floats to her from up ahead.

She nods and follows, her skin still tingling. She moves through the bar with the aroma of musty dried-out hops, the pungency of odorous sweat mixed with the sweet scent wafting from Bri. She shakes her head attempting to focus. Too much. Rubbing the pommel of her sword she sparks to life with a glow. It illuminates for a single moment then it disappears before anyone can notice.

Better.

She scans behind, catching a glimpse of a robed figure, face hidden from view but a certain presence surrounds them. She can sense it more than see before she rounds a corner blocking her from the raucous crowd. Moving quickly she follows Bri down a narrow hallway then turns, taking a steep set of stairs downward. She takes the last two steps in a single stride right on her heels. They walk in silence through another hallway then rounds another corner.

Stopping suddenly, she blinks in confusion as she turns to face Bri. "Where are..." she cuts off at the sight before her. Her eyes sparkle in the candlelight as Bri stands before a solid stone wall, smooth as a babes newborn bottom but with a closer inspection intricately carved with the runes of the ancients. "How..."

Bri turns with a smile, "I thought if anyone could use this, it would be you," she pauses before whispering, "my Queen." She goes quiet then, letting her words sink in.

With a deep breath, Freya swallows, opens her mouth then closes it again. She steps forward, her eyes set on the wall in front. She reaches forwards then stops, turning to Bri with a smile. "Anything else hidden around here?"

With a shake of her head, Bri blushes, "No, my lady. Nothing else. Will this help?" she asks eagerly.

"Yes. Yes, it will, Bri. You have my thanks."

They both turn at the sound of shouting and breaking glass. Freya braces herself and reaches for the hilt of her sword once again.

"No need for that. You go, my lady." Bri beams, it brightens her face making her seem younger. "I will give you the time you need."

"Bri?"

"It has been a pleasure to serve, my Queen." She utters the last and bows deeply. "Now go, do not worry I have seen worse than this since the fall." Then she turns and disappears around the corner leaving Freya alone in the dingy corridor.

"Thank you, Bri. I will remember your kindness always."

She turns back, her hand skimming the surface searching for the correct runes. "Ah, there you are." She flinches as more glass smashes. Voices seem to close in with every passing moment. The music stops and more clattering and banging can be heard about the shouting. "Focus," she berates herself.

Turning back, she rubs a hand across a rune shaped like an inverted horseshoe with the ends flicked out into tiny spirals. She covers it with her thumb and pushes and utters: "Wid Saur I det shor minesaf tu vu. Opn wi mine heartstone." She steps back as a low rumble echoes from deep within the earth. She takes another step back as the wall shakes sending a shower of dust sprinkling down. Then it moves backwards and slides inside the wall as if melting together showing not the slightest crack or join.

Freya takes one look back before stepping over the threshold. Her feet send up puffs of dust as she takes the first steps inside the corridor. Her nose wrinkles at the stale air as dust mites drift up. She turns, lifting an ancient torch from the iron sconce high up on the wall. She sniffs at it, "May yet have some life," she says aloud. Her ears twitch and she almost jumps at the sound of a scuffle getting closer. She breathes over the torch uttering a word that now brings a deep hatred, "Baal."

The torch springs to life with a deep crimson flame lighting up the corridor around her. Glancing along the corridor she only sees darkness beyond. She turns back to more shouts and almost singes the side of her hood. "I have to go." Stepping back to the entryway, she pauses, searching for the hidden seam of the door. Her eyes stare as if trying to bore into the very wall. She curses, breaking the contact after a few moments. "Think Freya, think," she whispers, but her voice carries along down the corridor bouncing from wall to wall. More shouts and screams echo through the hallway now, with the occasional smash of glass and grunts of pain.

"Ah, the Ga'land, what did it say?" she says to herself, racking her brain for the passage she read so long ago. "What was it? Reva minesaf?" she speaks softly. A click echoes followed by puffs of dusty air shooting from a minuscule crack that forms up the entire face of the wall.

"There she is!"

Freya twists to see three men sprinting towards her, their eyes ablaze as they shout towards her. Their feet beating against the wooden floorboards getting closer with every passing moment. She blinks as her heart stops then shakes herself turning back. Freya places a hand on the crack, closes her eyes and mutters, "Clos wi mine heartstone." She moves back and watches as a slab of stone as thick as a horse's hide pull itself from the wall silently, slide across the opening, closing the gap left by the original entryway.

An audible click mixed with muffled shouts confirm her safety as an eerie silence descends.

"Well, that was close," she breathes, turning away from the stone slab that now shows as a solid and impenetrable wall. Freya lifts the torch and makes her way along the dust-coated corridor. She looks back but once before forging deeper into the depths.