Helga Wulf Slayer's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Helga moved deeper into the forest, away from the tablet and the voices that might still be hunting her. The trees grew thicker here, their roots breaking through earth like exposed bone. She needed a weapon. The slavers would not stop searching, and running had bought her time but not safety. She found it half-buried beneath moss and vines — a stone box covered in elvish carvings, its surface worn smooth by centuries. The vines wrapped around it like veins, their leaves bright against weathered stone. Helga knelt and tore at the growth with both hands, pulling away layers of green until the carvings showed clear. Flowers and figures danced across the surface, their pointed ears marking them as kin to whatever blood ran through her own veins. She dug her fingers into the earth around the box's edge and pried. The soil gave way reluctantly, releasing roots that had grown through cracks in the stone. The lid shifted. She worked it free and lifted it aside. Inside lay a dagger, its blade untouched by rust or time. The moment her fingers closed around the hilt, silver light flared along the metal. Helga pulled it from the box and held it before her face. The light faded but the blade remained bright, its edge sharper than any weapon she had seen. She stood and tested its weight. Balanced. Deadly. The orks in the barbarian cages would know which camp held her father's sword. The men who fled when he died might have passed through here, might have traded with slavers, might have left word of where the blade went after the battle. She would cut her way to the cages tonight. She would free the captives and make them tell her everything they knew. The dagger felt right in her hand, like it had been waiting for someone with her ears to find it. She turned back toward the direction of the slaver camp and began to walk.