Chapter 272 - Major Interlude - Iona - Sigrun I (Patreon)

Iona looked up at the Immortal healer, and felt sick.

She’d tracked rumors of the healer to The Great Tang, aiming to put a stop to her before the war got too out of control.

The ability to grant Immortality was absurd. The exact flavors differed. The most common, by leaps and bounds, vampires. They jealously guarded their innate racial ability, demanded huge prices, concessions, and most of all - loyalty to the Exterri Empire. On rare occasion, a vampire would be coerced into granting Immortality. The rest of the vampires came down hard on such instances, knowing that if one of them was allowed to be blackmailed and threatened into giving up their power, they all were vulnerable. A single monolithic block, working in tandem.

After that, came the numerous mortals who’d somehow seized Immortality for themselves, and not only for themselves, but for anyone their skill allowed. A painting that wilted and faded instead of the subject. Golden apples, halting the march of time. Water, granting eternal youth. The cultivation methods of the Auspicious Mountain Sect. Dozens, hundreds of variants, each one as different and as unique as the wielder in question, as many differences as there were different skills in the System.

As many stars as there were in the sky.

That was before the “natural” methods of gaining Immortality came into play. Consuming the flesh of a mermaid was one. Requesting a boon from a deity, or finding one of their divine treasures was another. Finding the genie, and making a wish was a third, and countless more were scattered and hidden all over the world.

White Dove cursed them all. She didn’t care how Immortality was obtained, simply that it was. Cruel, capricious, and bizarre was White Dove. Sometimes her curses would be on-point, directly targeting and striking at the heart of the poor fool who dared defy her. Other times, they were stranger, weirder, seemingly having no connection with the new Immortal. Rarely, the curse was hardly a curse at all, more of a minor inconvenience. There was no rhythm nor reason to her curses, no pattern that [Scholar]’s could discern.

Each element could seize - and grant - Immortality.

Healers, ever fighting against Black Dove, had the option of seizing Immortality, and granting it to others, on average over a thousand levels before other classes and methods could. They were watched more closely than other Classers were, as healers could reasonably get to the levels needed to seize Immortality before their mortal lifespan wore out, unlike other Classers. Part of why nearly every mortal nation restricted healers from surpassing 256 - in public.

Any mortal that seized Immortality, and who could grant it to others, was on their own. Vulnerable to coercion, threats, blackmail, bribery, and more. There were no monolithic groups protecting them. The only friends and allies they had were those obtained in their short, fleeting, mortal lifespan before the moment they obtained it. They were exposed, and the world knew it.

For some reason, the ability to grant Immortality was never granted to Immortals. Perhaps it was simply the System recognizing the inherent Immortality of said Immortals, and denying “useless” skills to them.

The end result was the same. Powerhouses. People who ended up at levels far, far above everyone else, who could single-handedly turn the course of a war.

Who could - would - single-handedly start a war.

Old age eventually took mortals. There was only so much wealth and power a single mortal could get, before Black Crow came for them in their old age. Immortals had no such restrictions. Their wealth and power would - barring accident, sabotage, or plain incompetence - simply grow and grow, until inevitably their interests collided against someone else’s.

Diplomacy would be tried at first, and sometimes it’d succeed. But inevitably, there’d be another clash, and eventually one wouldn’t be resolvable with peaceful means.

Then there’d be a war.

It was the rare Immortal who managed to restrain themselves, who contented themselves to live a simple life. Many said they would keep things simple for themselves. They wouldn’t be like the other Immortals.

The lure of safety and preservation was usually their downfall. A few extra coins, in case of an unexpected expense. A spare barn, to hold food through lean times. Rebuilding the wooden home with stone, so it’d better survive the seasons and passage of time. Owning the land they were on outright - who wanted to pay rent for eternity?

Small things. Forward thinking things.

Then the Immortal woke up one day, practically a small lord in their own right. The fear of losing what they had tended to set in next, and, well…

The rest was history.

Naturally, the mortals who managed to seize Immortality always claimed they weren’t Immortal. Immortals living in mortal lands violated any number of treaties and agreements, the biggest one being the Treaty of Kyowa.

Ironically, due to survivorship bias, the rare Immortal that managed to restrain themselves were in the majority in mortal lands. They tended not to flaunt their existence, staying low-key. Out of the way.

But they were there. Old monsters, a king’s uncle thirty generations ago living in a little cabin, a favored knight who’d never want for anything, with levels no mortal could easily stand up against.

Even Sigrun, as ridiculously powerful as the Valkyrie leader was, would be crushed by such an existence, if she provoked them into coming out and taking the field.

They rarely did. An Immortal openly using their power ended with far, far too many eyes on them. As such, only when a country was on the brink of extinction, when total war was declared, did such figures emerge from their hidey-holes.

It was why the nations that existed had existed for hundreds of years, and would likely exist for hundreds, if not thousands, more.

It was part of why Nime was so aggressive with Forbidden Four Classers, in defiance of the Treaty of Kyowa. They were a new country, as these things went. The belief was they didn’t have any Immortals, and were resorting to more desperate means.

A kingdom would empty their coffers just to make one new Immortal guardian.

The ability to make dozens?

Nations were going to war over the chance, both to have their own, and deny the chance to their enemies.

Some were aiming to capture the healer, and force her to turn as many loyal retainers Immortal as possible. Rarely did the king, elder, prime minister - or whoever the leader of a nation was - get turned themselves. No, it was too obvious when such a thing happened. The power behind the thrones, the quiet movers and shakers, were usually the recipients of such a blessing. Them, and anyone proven loyal enough to the country.

Others were more pragmatic. Capturing the healer gave others a chance to capture her in turn. Simply killing her ended the entire ordeal.

Yet more saw it as an excuse to move their armies. Nothing quite granted riches like quick plunder in a justified war, like ransoming a noble back to their family. Nothing granted levels quite like battles and bloodshed. One perfect engagement could turn a mediocre army into a hardened core of elites.

Like the Valkyries. They were already elite units to begin with, but they’d been distilled, honed, tempered. Each surviving Valkyrie was a force of nature in and of herself.

Sadly, they didn’t have a fresh batch of recruits to fill in the holes left by the fallen, unlike a lord who seemingly always had a fresh batch of serfs to pull from, and plug the gaps.

Naturally, there was a fourth party. The Immortal healer herself, and the people who rallied to her. Those who didn’t quite fit in the current world order. Disgruntled lords, too low in the peerage to ever be granted Immortality, given the chance to throw their lot in with the healer and have the clock turned back for them. Adventurers, fresh off delving some deep and ancient ruin, flush with riches and wanting to be preserved in the moment for all eternity. Mercenaries, who could be granted the boon and sell it again, commanding a price that would allow them to retire in luxury for the rest of their life.

The end result was the same. An Immortal healer showed up, and let her skills be known. She was a foci, a pivot, pulling the world around her.

Nobody should have that much power.

Nobody should be able to cause that much death.

And yet.

Iona was late to the party. It was over.

Iona stared at the body, hoisted high by a spike impaling her. Her head had been cut off, replaced by a tiger’s - presumably her companion.

The healer’s head was on a second spike next to her body.

They’d horrifically tortured the poor woman, and Iona sent a long prayer to her patrons, asking that they help guide her soul to the afterlife. Even with Iona’s long experience, with all the carnage she’d seen and dealt, the sight of what had been done to the poor healer turned her stomach.

Even in death, she was afforded no dignity.

Various fluids covered her, and a passerby threw a rotten tomato at her, the fruit adding its noxious juices to the mix, then falling down onto the rest of the vegetables.

Abstractly, Iona had wanted the healer dead. One life, one person, who knew exactly what they were doing and what chaos they’d cause, weighed against the millions of lives unended and ruined as a result of her actions.

Seeing the end result though? Iona wasn’t a cold, heartless killing machine. She could empathize. She could imagine the torture and agony the poor woman had gone through.

They’d clearly drawn it out, and made it last.

With one last shake of her head, Iona turned and left.

Next on her list - Return to the pirate hideout. Loot every last scrap. Report back to the Valkyries, and see what the next hotspot was.

Iona shouldered her way through the crowds, people and races of all sorts having congregated in Xi’an. Most wore the robes of various sects, long flowing things that should be impractical in a fight, yet they somehow managed to pull it off.

To nobody’s surprise, the sect with the largest representation by far was the Tang sect, who ruled the country named after them.

Iona warily eyed a group of people loitering around, wearing yellow jacks with black stripes on them. The Hornet’s gang. Well-known across mortal lands for being [Hired Thugs]. If a merchant wanted to put a rival out of business? Hiring the Hornets to torch their warehouse and storefront, mug them in an alley, or just plain old extort “protection money.”

Once hired though, they stayed vaguely loyal, in a criminal sort of way. This group was loitering in front of a major branch of the World Bank. The local [Beancounters] had done their own strange brand of math, and determined that hiring additional muscle on top of their guards with the level of unrest and risks was worth it.

Since they were somewhat legitimately employed, Iona let them be. There was a time and a place to fight with one of Pallos’s three major gangs, and this was not it.

Iona was near the exit of the city when the crowds started to part. Iona let herself go with the flow. This wasn’t her place or her territory, why make a fuss?

Her stomach clenched in a cold knot as she saw who the crowd was parting for.

A pair of Wardens were entering the city, their pointy elven ears and curled horns sticking out from behind their faceless silver masks. The Immortal enforcers had left their domain, presumably for the deceased healer.

Wardens were the reason Immortals didn’t rampage freely across mortals lands - well, not for long. Iona was forced to admit that the Immortals races did have their own set of rules - however esoteric - abided by them. Didn’t mean she liked them much.

Iona took a quick peek at their stats and levels, her divine blessing bypassing any resistances or protections they might have to mask themselves.

Level 2885.

Level 3381.

Either one of them could level the city with a thought. Iona would be helpless before them, [Vow]-boosted stats or not.

Interestingly, they were bonded to each other. A pair of companions, likely lovers, working as Wardens. It explained why there wasn’t a pair of creatures working with them.

There was something about the weapon the higher-leveled one carried. Somehow, power, with a whiff of divinity, was emanating from it. Objects just didn’t do that. Not unless…

“The Woundspear.” The moon goddess Selene whispered into Iona’s mind.

“If you could get it for us…” Lunaris, the other moon goddess breathed in anticipation and desire.

Iona would’ve given them an incredulous look if she could’ve. Sadly, they were in the divine realm, and Iona was forced to stick to witty remarks.

“Yes, let me commit elaborate suicide by Warden. I didn’t realize you were so eager to meet me again in person.” Iona quipped, then got a hair more serious.

“I’m not going to wrest away a divinely granted weapon from elves with thousands of levels on me. Alone.” Iona frankly replied.

“Ahh, but just imagine…” Selene said.

“Yes, I’m imagining. Me. Dead, in a shallow grave. Assuming more than a matchbox’s worth of me is left.”

“We’ll make you an angel!” Lunaris seemed positively cheerful at the idea, which included Iona’s untimely demise.

“You’re going to make me an angel anyways! Right!?”

The two goddesses of the moon laughed at Iona’s outraged remarks and expression, and she felt their light touch leave her.

Crowds parted before them, and they passed, entirely inscrutable beneath their masks.

Iona forced herself to move once they’d left, noting a maple leaf over a house. They were going to be extra-busy.

She traveled back across The Great Tang, her heart breaking at every trampled field, at every burned farmhouse. She shared her food when she could with people who’d been displaced by the war, who were already starving even before winter hit.

The Great Tang wasn’t particularly far north, and the [Weather Witch]es were predicting a harsh winter. The unknown healer was dead, but her legacy was going to kill millions in a famine.

Iona mentally corrected herself. It wasn’t just the healer. She was the spark, the excuse, but every count, every sect leader, every great general and clan leader was also to blame. They’d mobilized armies and moved out, when they could’ve sat home, focusing on peace and securing their own borders.

Iona missed the hypocrisy entirely. She was a Valkyrie, and could’ve been spending the time fighting monsters and raiders, instead of making the trip down to The Great Tang.

People occasionally flew over Iona’s head, following the roads, or crossing the country entirely.

It took some hiking, and some prodding around the Wakacola sea, but Iona found the pirate’s hideout again. She dove down to the wreck, and spent a relatively relaxing day looting the pirate ship of all the Arcanite it used to hold, along with picking up as much silver, gold, and other precious metals, gems, and general valuables as she could find.

There was something magical about getting richer every minute, getting heavily rewarded with each motion.

With her sack filled to the brim with Arcanite, and two entire treasure chests stuffed with more of the stuff, along with a cache of gemstones she’d found, Iona felt positively piratical. Shame that she’d lost her tricorn hat.

She did enjoy a few nights with fellow travelers she met on the road, occasionally with a local resident in a place she stayed. It was the rare night that Iona wanted companionship and didn’t get it.

A [Highrise Burglar] tried to rob Iona one night.

She put him through the wall, then handed the dazed and confused would-be thief over to the local guards, along with detailing to them exactly what his classes and skills were, and what they did.

The guards were beyond delighted to get the information. He’d been a real nuisance, and now they knew exactly how he worked, and how to properly deal with him.

Without further ado, Iona arrived at Castle Valkyrie, her mood steadily getting more and more dour with each step she took towards her “home”.

It was too… quiet. Too… empty.

Too cold. It was a lifeless husk, not the thriving training ground of squires.

“Ho Iona!” One of the staff members hailed her as she arrived at the drawbridge. One staff member, and not four squires.

“Jens!” Iona called back with false cheer. “Glad to see you again!”

The practice yard, built for a thousand, had a single Valkyrie and her squire sparring, the older woman trying to teach the girl without a proper practice partner. Gone were the days where Iona trained with nearly 200 of her fellow squires in the grounds.

Each echoing step through the castle, each hallway without another Valkyrie to greet hammered home their lack, their fall.

“Goblin’s Death” the bards called it.

“Valkyrie’s End” would be just as appropriate. Except, instead of a clean death, the Valkyries had a lethal gut wound, and were slowly limping along as they bled out, stomach acid eating through their flesh, agonizingly prolonging their end.

Iona made it to the [Quartermaster], and dropped the chests and the sack down.

“Special delivery!” Iona put some real cheer in her voice. [Knightly Accountant] Sophie had been there when Iona was growing up, and she was still alive, well, and grumpy. A thread to the past, a reminder that they were not dead.

Yet.

Iona gave one of the chests a calculated kick, and it burst open, the crystal Arcanite tumbling to the floor.

“Oooh, you shouldn’t have!” Sophie cooed over the overflowing piles of Arcanite, the diamonds, rubies and other gems glinting underneath. Iona grinned. The only time Sophie was happy was when she was getting lots and lots of money. The moment she needed to part with any of it?

Grumpiness.

Iona just grinned at Sophie as she started to sort the gems by size.

“Oh this is like Yuletide come early! This isn’t a town’s payment, and you’re just messing with me, right? No, of course it isn’t. They pay in proper coins, not pure crystal.”

Sophie froze.

“You didn’t rob a [Tax Collector] did you?”

“Ummm.” Iona scratched her head, thinking about it.

“No. I don’t like the sound of that. No.” Sophie started to pile the Arcanite back in the chests.

“Indirectly at worst?” Iona finally hedged. “Took it off a pirate.”

“Hmmm.” Sophie gave the chests a measuring look, before shrugging and opening them back up. “Well, more for me!”

“Us.”

“Yes, yes, that’s what I said, now shoo. Close the door on your way out.”

Iona left. Sophie hadn’t said it, but from her questions it was all too clear. Towns had stopped paying the Valkyries for their protection. Their sphere of influence, area of protection, and just sheer clout and numbers were on the downswing.

Unburdened, she made her way to the chapel, where she knelt in prayer.

Selene. Lunaris.

I need help. I don’t know what to do. There are fewer and fewer Valkyries. I’m doing everything I can, but it’s not enough. How do I fix this? How do I solve this? I need your guidance.

There was only silence at Iona’s prayer, but the silence was answer enough.

Instead of Iona trying to take all the problems on her shoulders and do it herself, she was going to visit Sigrun, the Valkyrie’s Grandmaster, who was in charge of fixing the Valkyrie’s problems.

Iona knocked sharply on Sigrun’s door.

“Enter.” Sigrun’s clipped voice came from the door.

Iona entered and saluted, standing ram-rod straight. She held her salute for a few minutes, while Sigrun finished penning a letter.

There were four smaller desks in the room, for four [Secretaries] or [Assistants] or whatever was needed.

Only one desk was in use, and the man wasn’t exactly drowning in paper.

Finishing up, she quickly read over it, nodded to herself, rolled it up, and sealed it. The seal had some fancy enchantments on it, proving that this seal in particular had come from that die.

They weren’t impossible to forge. Just difficult.

“Iona. The Dusk Valkyrie.” Sigrun slumped in her chair, some weight leaving her. She waved to her assistant, who got up and left for another room.

“Relax. How are you?” Sigrun asked, and Iona let go of the carefully-held salute.

“Fine. Took out the pirates on the Wakacola sea. Managed to loot the wreck, Sophie’s got it now. The Immortal healer’s dead. Cleared out a few bandit nests around Burnsley and Wolfden. Skinwalker near Monchester. Killed a giganotosaurus roaming near Northon.”

“A giganotosaurus? Near Northon? That had to have an intelligence behind it, did you find who was responsible?” Sigrun asked, as the assistant came back with a thick folder. He quietly placed it on Sigrun’s desk, then headed back to his own work.

Iona shook her head.

“Vorlers were nearby.”

Sigrun gave a curt nod of understanding. Vorlers were one of the biggest threats, worth dropping nearly everything for. Between the goblin invasion, and a mature nest of Vorlers, the Valkyries would’ve gone for the Vorlers.

A small nest? Three Valkyries were enough. One to exterminate the nest, and two to prevent accidents, and make sure the job was done thoroughly.

“Any Pekari?” Sigrun asked after the strange subterranean metal golems.

“One village got abducted, but the Order of the Red Lion got to them before I did.”

Sigrun thumped a fist onto her desk, half-snarling as she spoke.

“Those rat-faced thieving bastards encroaching on our territory. Let me guess. They insist that we’re unable to properly look after the area, and it’s now under their protection.”

Iona gave a curt nod.

“The villagers are understandably scared after getting abducted, and there’s nothing quite like a band of knights freeing them all to make them grateful.”

Sigrun pounded on her desk twice, making her displeasure known.

“If the Pekari weren’t endemic to the rest of the world, I would’ve sworn that was a setup by the Red Lions. What else?”

Sigrun continued to debrief Iona, getting the full breadth of adventures and questing she’d been up to since the Dusk Valkyrie had last been at home base.

Sigrun flipped it open, and started scanning.

“That’s right, divinely blessed. Your track record is impressive. It’s like you’ve been a full Valkyrie for twenty years, not four.” Having gotten what she needed, Sigrun snapped the folder shut.

“To serve and protect is my calling.” Iona modestly accepted the compliment, not sure where Sigrun was going with this.

“When was the last time you took a break?” Sigrun leaned back in her chair, giving Iona a pointed look.

“Last night? I slept?” Iona wasn’t used to this line of questioning.

“No, I mean relaxed. Had time off. Did something for yourself. Talked with a mind-healer.”

“Last night? It was, uh, relaxing?”

Iona wanted to cringe at Sigrun’s look, but she was more professional than that.

“Who’s your closest friend?”

“Julie.” Iona snapped back without thinking.

“The same Julie for whom I’m holding a letter of complaint from the convent dedicated to Ness? The same Julie who’s now a nun, and not easy to talk with?” Sigrun gave Iona a piercing glare.

“Yes?”

Sigrun gave a disappointed sigh.

“Iona. You’re not the first to push yourself so hard, nor will you be the last. However, I’m not losing one of my Valkyries to overwork. You are taking a break. You are getting some friends, and if I have any say in it, a companion.”

Iona saluted.

“Grandmaster. What would you have me do?”

Sigrun pulled out a fancy letter from Iona’s file. It was written on pristine, white paper, with a number of fancy flourishes and seals.

“We’re not doing well.” Sigrun seemingly changed the conversation. “Under my leadership, the Valkyries have declined.”

“It’s not your fault!” Iona protested. “The goblins-”

Sigrun held up her hand, and Iona closed her mouth.

“It’s not my fault. It is my responsibility. Such is the price of leadership. Speaking of leadership.” Sigrun gave Iona one last measuring look.

“You’re going to be one of the officers.” Sigrun told Iona. “You’ve worked hard enough, shown admirable dedication to the order, but most importantly, you’ve solved numerous issues with tact and diplomacy, rather than simply resorting to cracking the responsible party’s skull. You work well with people, and with a bit of training up, I believe you’ll make a fine officer.”

Iona remained silent, one part feeling chastised, seven parts not knowing what to say. Sigrun was showing a shocking amount of trust and faith in Iona, and it took her by surprise.

“My plan for you is simple. You’re going to find a companion. You’ll then head off to the School of Sorcery and Spellcraft, to learn everything you can about leadership and administration, along with the whole host of other skills you’ll need to properly be an officer. Your companion will have a chance to grow up safely, and you can learn more about him or her. You’ll get a chance to make new friends, and establish proper networking. Meet the up-and-coming movers and shakers. Have people you know around the world.”

Iona bowed her head.

“How can we afford it? Doesn’t the school practically charge a barony for admission?”

Sigrun got a smug look on her face.

“Yes. I’ve been talking with them though, and they’re interested in you. Very interested. You’ve been offered admission with no examination, and all expenses paid to attend.”

Sigrun continued to look like a cat with cream, as Iona tried to parse how, or why, the School of Sorcery and Spellcraft would be interested in her.

Sigrun let her struggle for a bit, then showed some mercy. Mostly out of a desire to get the meeting over with, and get on with the rest of her work.

“It’s your blessing. Your ability to speak and know every language. The linguistics department wants you to work for them, helping them translate old texts, and correct any misunderstandings in words they have. They think having you for five years will be the same as less-blessed researchers working five hundred years.”

Iona frowned.

“The linguistics department? With all due respect, I’m not sure how much I’d learn at the linguistics department, even at the School of Sorcery and Spellcraft. Wouldn’t Calador be better? You went there, right?”

“Just because the linguistics department wants you, doesn’t mean you can’t attend the rest of the School.” Sigrun pointed out like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus, I doubt they’d let you take the Linguistic Track, or any other language Track. As for Calador, it knows war, administering armies, and not much else.” Sigrun gestured broadly at the room, the three empty desks hammering home their situation once more. “Look where we are now. Look where that’s brought us. Also, I hate to say it, but the School of Sorcery and Spellcraft gives a better education than Calador. We never managed to beat them while I was there. Lastly, nearly every officer ends up at Calandor. We’re trying something new with you.”

Sigrun drummed her fingers for a moment.

“There’s also the matter of your third class, which I don’t doubt you’ll unlock. I personally think you should look into a Mallium [Warrior] class. You’ve got a full set of the metal, and the amount you’ve been using it should offer you a strong class in that direction. At the same time, the professors at the School can guide you better than I ever could. They have tricks to help unlock powerful classes, and attending will be a boon.”

Sigrun’s eyes flickered to a timepiece, and the pace of her speech picked up.

“The School will be passing by Lyon in the fall. Be there. For the next nine months, you are on companion acquiring duty, and taking a break.”

Iona bit her lip to keep her protest unvoiced. Sigrun gave her a knowing glare.

“Companions take time. You can’t just snap your fingers and acquire one. We have no stock, the goblins saw to that. You can ask the local branch of Florence’s Friends if they have anything, but the latest report I have from them isn’t promising.” Sigrun paused to collect her thoughts.

“While I won’t gainsay you if fate intervenes, and you bond with a golden eagle or something, I’ll remind you that companions will end up being a significant part of your personal power. A friend to lean on. A mount. Transportation. An ear for your troubles. Someone who can stand by you, through thick and thin. I’m not knocking the majestic eagle, but when push comes to shove, would you rather a spinosaurus or an eagle at your back? I suggest you ponder the question while you winter here. You’ll most likely be heading to the Dairalt Republic in the spring. Dismissed.”

Iona saluted, turned on her feet, and left.

Iona pondered her new… mission? Find a companion. Take a break.

She had mixed feelings about wintering at Castle Valkyrie. On one hand, she wouldn’t need to be riding through snow and freezing mud, always a plus. On the other, being cooped up in the nearly empty castle for a season?

Well, more Valkyries would find their way home as the winter storms rolled in. Iona reassured herself that there’d be more people around.

Iona made it back to her spartan room, her home in a sense. There she added her sketchbooks onto the piles of other sketchbooks she’d filled while traveling around.

She paused a moment, then reached out to grab the one she’d just added in. She idly opened it, and flipped through some of her drawings.

She smiled, memories washing over her as she looked through the pictures. Bird’s Eye in the crow’s nest. The ruin of The Black Shark.

She frowned as she flipped to the sketch she made of the healer, her head on a pike. It was worth drawing and remembering the bad with the good.

She flipped to Julie, and smiled a sad, bitter smile as tears welled up in her eyes.

There was a good chance that picture was the last she’d ever see of her.

Iona closed the book with a snap, and tossed it back onto the pile with the rest. She got up, stretched, and left her room, looking to see who else was around.

The silver lining in the whole mess that was Goblin’s Death - there’d been one Valkyrie casualty in the last four years. Each survivor was a powerhouse in and of themselves, and there were still the large numbers of Valkyries who hadn’t been nearby when the call came out. Not all was lost.

The vast majority of the squires, the future of the order, were gone.

Iona didn’t want to spend all her time stuck inside though. She spent one ridiculously memorable night with Randall, the idiot werewolf forgetting what phase the moons were in and turning what should’ve been a fun night into a near life-or-death scrap, Iona’s [Vow] not kicking in when it was pure self-defense, and the starting angle being terrible.

She didn’t see Randall again. Not after that magnitude of mistake.

Iona did respect the rule on no fraternization among Valkyries, and her winter was miserable as a result. She spent some of her time playing games and telling stories with the other Valkyries who’d made it back for the winter, along with training the three poor squires who had the undivided attention of half the order.

Many days would find Iona in the chapel, kneeling in prayer. Communing with her patron goddesses. They’d talk back, the three of them having the most wonderful conversations.

Iona prayed for peace and guidance. She prayed just to talk. She made reasonable requests and outrageous jokes.

She prayed for her dead friends to come back. The squires and Valkyries who’d died in Goblin’s Death. She prayed for Lux to come back. Impossible prayers, but she made them nonetheless, Lunaris and Selene never tiring of her.

Iona also brushed up on her combat fundamentals, and started a refresher course on mounted combat. Lances were the undisputed king of mounted combat, the only differences being varying schools of thought of which types were better. Many one-and-done lances, mundane lances, enchanted lances, skill-reinforced lances, there was a dizzying array of options.

Iona also took the time to practice and learn a number of esoteric weapons, weapons that hadn’t been covered when she was a squire learning from Alruna because, quite frankly, they were rare, hard to obtain, and not in common usage for a reason.

Mallium made obtaining the weapons trivial, and to Iona’s surprise, she discovered that she had a real affinity for glaives, the elegant weapons fitting well with her.

At the same time, rattling around in the empty hallways - especially without Alruna, who was off doing something - was driving Iona nuts, and the moment spring started to hint at showing up, she was off.