“I don’t believe you. You must have made it up.” Hjørdis tore into a chicken thigh as she spoke, grease glistening on her fingers.
“I swear it by Odin’s name—I’m telling you, I killed it.” Sigurd sounded utterly certain, the kind of certainty that dared anyone to challenge him.
“I still say it’s a lie. How could you have killed it? It’s supposed to be like Loki, only uglier. At least that’s what my mother always said.”
“What are you all talking about?” Rune asked as he dropped down beside the campfire.
They had set up an improvised camp with the liberating forces, who now lay scattered across the moor, waiting for fresh orders before advancing. Word had reached them that Spanish troops were near Tunja, preparing an ambush, and so they waited—watchful, tense.
The five of them sat around the fire, eating, while Sigurd spun a tale so strange it would one day be passed from mouth to mouth, set to music, and carried through the years—though none of them knew that yet.
“The devil? That’s impossible.” Rune shook his head.
“See? That’s exactly what I said.” Hjørdis smirked.
“Don’t believe me if you don’t want to,” Sigurd said, unbothered. He poked at the fire with a stick. “I ran into it up on the hill while scouting with a musician who’d gotten himself lost. We reached a crossroads, and then that bastard appeared—yellow eyes, red skin.”
“And what did you do?” Holger leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
“I went at him with my machetes until my arms gave out. Tough bastard, I’ll give him that. I must’ve cut him about three thousand five hundred times before he finally died. After that, I carved a skull into his forehead and took his tail as a trophy.”
“And where’s the tail now?”
“Sold it to a merchant. It was drying out and drawing flies anyway. He gave us food and medicine in exchange.”
“What about the musician?” Rune asked. “The one who was lost.”
“He stayed with our tribe for a few days. Wrote a song about what happened. The night before he left, he played it for us on his accordion.”
“I still think it’s a lie,” Hjørdis said, unconvinced. “I’d have eaten the tail instead of selling it. Maybe then I’d come back to life—and get some supernatural powers while I was at it.”
“You didn’t see it, and you didn’t fight it, so keep your mouths shut.” Sigurd scowled into the fire.
“And what do you think, Captain?”
Karl had been watching them again, as he often did—content to observe his people talking and laughing by the flames. He paused, drew in a slow breath, then spoke.
“I think… you should’ve kept the tail. At least then we’d believe you.”
“Told you so.” Hjørdis flashed a mocking grin.
“Bunch of skeptics,” Sigurd muttered.
“This reminds me of what happened years ago,” Karl said, addressing them all.
“How many years ago?” Rune asked. “You know our reckoning’s a bit different from everyone else’s.”
“When we fought beyond Germania. We’d gather around a fire like this, telling stories while we ate and laughed. I suppose I’m feeling a little nostalgic.”
“Back then, Agnar was still with us…” Rune said quietly.
“And Arvid…” Holger added, his voice heavy.
“That doesn’t matter anymore.” Hjørdis stood abruptly. “We’re here now, and we have a fight ahead of us. That’s what we know how to do—that’s how we help. Who cares if there are fewer of us? We’ve got experience, and we’ve got each other. So don’t start moping.”
The four of them stared at her, stunned. Her short speech rang out with such force that even the groups camped farther from the fire turned their heads.
For a few heartbeats, they could only watch her in silence—until Sigurd finally broke it.
“Well, good thing those two left. They’d have died of embarrassment if they’d heard you say that.”
“Hey, someone had to do it,” Hjørdis shot back, rolling her shoulders. “And you looked like you were about to burst into tears.”
Before Sigurd could fire off a reply, the group noticed a figure emerging from the folds of the night. The man stepped into the firelight and stopped, standing firm before their campfire. He was the same officer who, years earlier, had captured and interrogated them. Now he was an ally—the one who carried Bolívar’s words to them.
“I see you’re enjoying yourselves,” the officer remarked, glancing around the fire. “A light mood before battle does the soul good.”
“Have you come to tell us something important?” Karl asked.
“The Liberator wants you to know we march on Tunja at dawn. It’s confirmed—the Spaniards are there, and they don’t expect an attack. This will be our chance to reclaim the nation.”
“Splendid,” Karl said. “We’ll make sure to eat and sleep well, then. Could you bring us more lentils? The pot’s empty.”
“Go fetch them yourselves.” The officer’s jaw tightened. “I’m leaving. You’d better prepare properly.”
“Of course, Leadfoot,” Karl called after him.
The officer strode off, his face burning with fury and embarrassment.
“Leadfoot,” Hjørdis laughed. “It’s been a long time since you called him that.”
“Remember the first time he made us fire muskets?” Rune said. “I nearly died of fright all over again.”
“They seemed impossibly complicated back then,” Holger added. “Good thing I can reload by instinct now.”
“Yeah,” Hjørdis went on, “pouring the powder, cleaning the barrel, aiming—it’s all tedious. Still, I do like how easy those things make killing.”
“I wonder if the captain’s shot still hurts his foot,” Rune mused.
“It has to,” Sigurd said with a grin. “The captain didn’t even realize the musket hadn’t fired when he pulled the trigger—shot the poor bastard right between the toes.”
“Stop.” Karl covered his face with his hands. “I still feel ashamed every time I remember that.”
“Don’t worry, Captain. That idiot deserved it,” Sigurd said lightly. “Pretty sure he was angry because we’d beaten his men half to death when they tried to pick a fight with us.”
“He was so sure he’d win,” Hjørdis said. “They all ended up flat on the ground, right alongside his pride. That’s what happens when you mess with the Nordics.”
“By the way, Hjørdis—how’s your mother?” Holger asked.
“She’s well. She wrote to say her new husband treats her kindly and that she lacks for nothing. That’s enough to put my mind at ease. If I die tomorrow, at least I know I won’t leave any loose ends behind.”
“Don’t start talking like that,” Karl said as he stood. “When we fight in the coming days, it won’t be like before. You’ll see—we’ll win, we’ll live, and we’ll get to enjoy this new nation as heroes.”
He finished with a smile full of unguarded optimism.
