Helga Wulf Slayer's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

The trail climbed for two days before dropping into a shallow valley where the pines grew thick and dark. Helga smelled smoke before she saw the tents. She moved off the path and into the trees, keeping low. Through the branches she could make out a camp — not the one she had left, but another. Smaller. Rougher. She circled through the undergrowth until she had a clear view. A dozen tents stood in a rough circle around a central fire pit. Barbarians moved between them, carrying water and wood. At the far edge of camp, wooden cages stood in a row. Inside them, orks sat hunched against the bars. Helga counted five cages, each holding one or two prisoners. A guard stood watch nearby, a heavy-shouldered man with an axe resting against his leg. He looked bored. Helga watched the cages for a long time. The orks inside were quiet, not struggling or calling out. One slept with her head against the wooden slats. Another sat cross-legged and stared at nothing. These barbarians kept captives, but Helga had never seen her people do that before. They killed enemies or let them go. They did not cage them like animals. She thought about her father's sword and whether someone here might know where it had gone. But if she walked into this camp asking questions, they would want to know why she traveled alone. They would see her as weak or desperate. She needed something to trade first — something that would make them listen. Helga looked at the cages again and felt the idea settle into place. If she freed the orks, the barbarians would chase her. And when they did, she would learn who led them and what they valued. People always revealed themselves when something was taken from them. She pulled the wine pouch from her belt and took a long drink. Then she moved deeper into the trees to wait for nightfall. But as darkness fell and she crept closer, Helga saw the collar lying in the dirt near the first cage. Heavy iron, crusted with green blood that had dried in thick streaks down the metal. More chains coiled beside it, their links spotted with the same stains. She knelt and touched the collar, feeling the weight of it. This was not the work of raiders taking prisoners for ransom. This was something else. The orks in the cages had been collared like dogs and bled enough to mark the iron. Helga stood and looked at the sleeping guard, then at the orks beyond him. She had come here to steal information, to force these barbarians into showing their hand. But she did not know what kind of people collared captives or why. And rushing in without understanding would get her killed before she ever found her father's sword. Helga backed into the shadows and turned away from the camp. She would find another way to get answers — one that did not require her to free prisoners she did not understand for barbarians whose purpose she could not name. The sword was still out there. Chasing it blindly would not bring it back.