Editing Story:ROAD TRIP! (Warhammer High)/Part Four (section)

===The Lay of the Land===


Far above, Freya knelt before Bjorn in the hangar of the Fang.  “Eldest Bjorn, thank you again for your gifts,” she said.  “I will use them well.”

“I know you will, child.”  The two of them entered a gunship, and it rose from the hangar.  “Now…little pup.  Our destination is a very small outpost of the Krennir,” Bjorn explained.  “It is called Hosanger, and the money we gave you should work here.”

“Good.  What do I need to know?” she asked.

“There are fewer than four hundred souls in the place.  You will need to be somewhat cautious.  They will know you as a stranger.”  Bjorn sat back on the metal bench.  “I’d recommend you stay near the edge of the village.  We can cover you from there.”

Freya’s ears popped as the gunship sank through the air.  “When do I leave?” she asked.

“When you wish to,” Bjorn said.  “But I would leave before nightfall.  The storms tonight will be fierce.”

“All right, good.”  She huffed in the dank air of the gunship.  “I’m nervous.”


“Good.  Ours are a hard, uncompromising people.  They will not be kind to you.”  Born leaned forward and skewered the redhead with his ancient gaze.  “You should still see them as they are.”

“I want to.”  Freya crossed her legs and snugged her hood over her head.  “How do I look?”

“Beautiful, fear not.  And I would not know you if I had not seen you before.”  Bjorn eyed her gloves.  “I’m glad you like those.”

“They’re perfect.”  She flexed one hand.  “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, old man.”

“I should hope so.”

The gunship settled down a few miles outside their destination.  Freya walked down the ramp and shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun.  In the far distance, a thin column of chimney smoke wafted up from the collection of buildings that was Hosanger.  Three Wolves with slung rifles emerged beside her and jogged off into the snow, either to keep an eye on her or just for exercises.

Freya paused and squinted at the village.  The larger buildings were scattered around rather than focused at the middle, but other than that, it looked more or less like how she had pictured.  Bjorn gave her one last piece of advice as she began the trip across the snowfields.

“Little pup, remember this: your name is a last resort.  These people may not even know it.”

She nodded.  “I know.”  Without another word, she took off running.

Her hair flew behind her like a comet as she sprinted over the ice, leaving the gunship in her wake.  The cold air bit at her ears as she ran, and flurries of snow kicked up behind her booted feet.  Her new dagger clanked against her side.  She reached down to secure it as she tore through the air, faster than any human could be.

Freya slowed as she approached the little village, taking care to approach from behind a small building.  It looked to be made of mortared local stone, and the smell said ‘livestock shelter’ to her.  She walked up behind it, steeling her nerves.  “Okay, Freya…here we go,” she whispered.  She rounded the building and peeked down the pathway beside it.  The twisting road led into the heart of the little settlement, where crowds of people were moving about.  She took one last breath and stepped onto the road.

Freya walked up the pathway, taking in everything.  The air was light and breezy, even between the buildings.  The road was nothing but cartwheel ruts in the ground, with nary a paving stone in sight.  As she approached the square, the noise of people and animals grew louder.  She resisted the urge to look around for targeting lasers from the Rout that were watching her.  At that range, who needed a laser sight?

A trio of squabbling people walked past her, gesturing angrily and yelling in Juvjk.  Freya stepped aside to let them pass.  They walked right by her without a look.

She tugged her hood up over her bright red hair and followed, eyes darting around catching it all.

The group emerged in the square of the village, such as it was, being the only paved part of the whole village.  A large stage made of local stone filled one corner, but the rest was left open.  A few anemic-looking trees were dotted around one side.  A few were missing boughs, probably from when the winters got too cold and somebody needed wood.

Freya followed the group around the edge of the space, eyes wide.  Everything was so new!  The people were dressed in a variety of leathers and pelts, but also simple fabrics and textiles here and there.  Feathers decorated a few caps.  Everyone seemed to have headgear of some kind, in fact.

Weapons were everywhere.  Swords and simple axes seemed predominant, even on a few of the women.  One fellow in an odd uniform was carrying at least four weapons openly, in fact: a sword, a dagger, a crossbow on his back, and what sure looked like a few throwing knives in leather slits on his torso.  He had at least four more weapons hidden in his clothes, too.

Looking away from the walking arsenal, Freya spotted a few more men in the same uniform, and also armed, though none were as armed as he was.  A local militia, maybe?

A door swung open behind her.  She glanced over her shoulder to see a crowd of rowdy men emerge from a large stone building, clearly drunk out of their minds.  Freya eyed the sign over the door.  It read, in hand-painted Juvjk: ‘The Swollen Head Tavern.’

“Charming,” she muttered.

The smell of roasting meat caught her nose.  She looked across the square to see a small plume of smoke wafting from a building with a crude image of a loaf of bread on the sign over the door.  Two armed guards were standing on either side of the door, too.  Four men to guard a restaurant?