They arrive in Yrkheim

Hovering between sleep and waking, Martin felt something moving repeatedly through his hair like a comb.

“Wake up, kitten,” said a soft voice. He opened his eyes. Somehow, he’d ended up sleeping on his back, and Brunhilde had pulled the covers up to his chin. She lay on her side, still naked. One hand propped up her head, while the other combed through his hair repeatedly. He looked into her green eyes. She was enchanting, no doubt about it. Her power and presence. Her shapely white body, so much larger than his own, that looked as if it were sculpted from marble but was so soft to touch. Her smirk. The way she seemed to care for him. He had sensed it in her smile when they first met, but something vital had changed when he saved her. He felt a flutter in his breast when he looked at her face. He could just stare at her forever. The thought of her selling him was painful, not just for the fear of a new master, but for the fear of losing her. Martin frowned. What was happening inside of him? Brunhilde watched his face and knew what was going on inside of him.

“You’re smitten, Martin,” she said.

“I am?” he asked. It wasn’t really a question.

“You are,” she said.

“And you?” he asked. She smiled coyly and said, “What do you think?”

“I want you to be smitten with me,” he said.

She looked at him for a moment. His eyes were a dark green, maybe hazel. They were large and set close together in his thin face. She moved her hand from his hair and began to stroke his cheek.

“Are you smitten with me?” he said. She leaned forward and kissed him, giving him her tongue for a moment. As she kissed him, he clumsily reached for her hair and ran his fingers through it, feeling its soft texture. She released him and smiled. He knew what she meant by that kiss.

“Come with me,” she said. She got out of bed, dressed herself, and took him outside.

They kept watch as before. She lent him her cloak. He spent the whole day on the fore of the ship, sitting against the rail wrapped in her cloak and watching her keep watch. By the evening they were coming close to Yrkheim. It was night time when they arrived at the harbor, and there was a brief display of auroras in the sky before a storm moved in. It was pouring rain. They had arrived at a city, but there were no visible torches or fires, and everything looked pitch black. During flashes of lightning, he could briefly see stone walls around the city, which seemed to be fairly big.

The gangplank was extended and slaves came aboard the ship to unload it. Martin saw men and non-Somai women, all wearing collars to mark them as slaves. Neither were the size of the enormous Somai women who crewed the ship and had raided the monastery. Martin thought back to the monastery, to all of the monks and archons he knew during his brief stint there. He felt that he should have been angry with Brunhilde and the other Somai for raiding the place and destroying it, for killing all of those people. But love, he was beginning to find out, was a powerful intoxicant. He lived in a world where raids and **** were commonplace. To have been spared was the real blessing.

It was raining outside still. Some of Brunhilde’s slaves, all non-Somai women, came to take her spoils from her raids and carry them back to her home in the city. Marcus watched them carefully. They were small women, some from his homeland of Norn on the northern coast of Prima. Their eyes were downcast and they meekly shouldered the crates of loot to take them to Brunhilde’s dwelling.

He walked with Brunhilde up onto the deck. The rain was pouring and he was wrapped in her cloak, which somehow did not become waterlogged, through craft or enchantment. They walked up to the gangplank. The sea roared, the rain fell in curtains, and the sky flashed and boomed with lightning and thunder. The wind howled.

Martin eyed the gangplank. It was wet, and slick. He couldn’t see it very well either, and with his limp, navigating it would be difficult. He gingerly stepped onto the slippery plank, but as soon as he did so, he felt Brunhilde’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s dangerous, Martin. Let me help you.”

She picked him up, supporting his legs on one arm and his back on the other. Wrapped in her cloak, he shivered a little. They went down the gangplank, up the pier, and into the city.

It was dark. There were rows of stone and wooden buildings, high stone towers and low, long wooden houses. It seemed that this place had been built on the ruins of a much older city, one built primarily of enormous stone blocks. There were towers, causeways, terraces and bridges. It looked like something out of a fairy tale. The older buildings were made from white stone, while the newer ones were made of rough gray stone and wood. He caught glimpses of it all in flashes of lighting and the dull red glow of torches. She carried him on through the rain, through winding streets, up and down stairways, over ancient ruined walls. Finally, they came to her home. It was a long wooden house, very large, built into the base of an ancient stone tower. It was built after the manner of the Samoi.

“Welcome home,” she said, stepping inside. A female ****, short and pale with brown hair, shut and locked the door behind them. Brunhilde put Martin down, and he looked around. The room was dark, lit by candles that burned in sconces on the walls. He yawned, his shoulders bunching up under the damp cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and wondered what they would do next. Go straight to bed? Take a bath?