Barbarians.

Beyond the Fabled Realm of Ouzelia, the frozen tundras and icy mountains which awaited housed the wealthiest and most powerful barbarian clans to exist upon the continent. 

Making their riches as mercenaries or tradesmen of rare furs and white iron, they were both alike and unlike the humans of other realms.

Said to possess the blood of giants in them, they swaggered with the knowledge that no matter the ferocity of the beast before them, they were still the predator. Boasting greataxes, hammers and spears as both their weapons and their negotiation instruments, they were a people characterised by their fondness of battle, and all the notions of glory around it.

Indeed, whereas knights may dream of valour only to flee at the sound of the warhorns, the clans of the north never did. 

They were the rolling clamour to drown out the thunder, the music of their cries leading the sons and daughters of the north to a joyous afterlife of bar room brawls and teeth which presumably regrew afterwards.

A strange thing, then.

Because I never knew that those who weren’t also barbarians could enter their corner of the heavens.

And I certainly never knew entry could be bought for a mere 5 silver crowns.

Why, I paid that much for a single night in an inn! And though I didn’t care for mead to flow from the walls, I certainly wouldn’t decline the added decoration!

Thus, I pulled Apple’s reins to a halt, stopping before the towering, scarred lady as she returned to her impressive stance, greataxe upon her shoulder and furred boot waiting upon a wooden crate.

Her fiery grin turned towards me as I rode past the queue. 

An odd way to grovel for taking away the productivity of my peasants, but there was time to learn. 

Both for her and the peasants.

A farmer raised his hand in objection to my presence at the front of the queue. He lowered it upon realisation that I wouldn’t be falling upon a pile of hay. Not least one which still required bundling into the nearest barn. Even should the end times come and the very earth sunder into two, I expected them to work, their souls toiling wherever the crops fell with them.

Thus, I smiled at the barbarian lady.

“Salutations,” I said, my tone pleasant as I pointed at the wooden signboard. “I’d like to know more. Please tell me about the nature of your business.”

The barbarian lady’s smile widened, revealing a line of white teeth which glinted more sharply than the edge of her weapon.

“Oh? Interested in warming your hands against the best hearths in eternity?” Her voice spoke with a highly misplaced familiarity. “I’m more than happy to explain, friend. But I’m afraid there’s many young folk waiting to hear about the fine opportunity to secure their lives and livelihoods in the coming calamity. You’ll need to wait a moment.”

I raised a brow.

I was a princess. And the only person I waited for was Grandmother as she pretended to hobble as slowly as she could in the knowledge that nobody would complain at her. Especially as her response was a stick to the kneecap.

“And why would I need to wait? I see no one else present.”

“My friend, there’s a queue beside you.”

I tugged on Apple’s reins. 

He trotted forward a few steps, then leaned down and began nibbling on the edge of the barbarian’s wooden sign.

Her smile never wavered.

“My apologies, everyone,” she said, turning her voice thick with camaraderie to the peasants appalled on her behalf. “The mountains call, and this is all the time I have for today.”

Groans met her announcement, fearful of missing out on a limited time opportunity to sneak into the Hall of Heroes. She raised a palm to reassure them.

“Tomorrow, I’ll have time for every champion. Solgard is large enough for you all, even with the size of your hearts. Remember, if you’re interested, please ensure you bring payment in full. The afterlife doesn’t do credit, and neither do I.”

Complaints formed in the mouths of those present. 

But only aimed towards me. 

The first huff of indignation lasted as long as it took for the dent in the signboard to be revealed. 

Slowly, the farmers withdrew and dispersed, their anxious eyes trained as much on Apple’s appetite as they were on the fur cloaked woman hoping to pilfer them as dry as the wheat fields left to rot unattended beneath the sun.

I nodded, satisfied at Apple’s work.

I’d ensure he could have the last premium apple. The same one Coppelia was attempting to reach for when she thought I wasn’t looking. She pouted when I shooed her hand away.

Then, I turned my attention to the tall lady whose greataxe was lightly bouncing upon her shoulder.

“As I said–I’d like to know more about the nature of your business.”

With an unconcerned smile, the barbarian made no effort to hide the movement of her eyes. She took in my attire, resting her sight upon my sword, but also the Winter Queen’s ring upon my finger.

To my grief, the greatest of her interest was in the far less valuable copper ring beside it.

“My business is as you see it,” she said, gesturing at the signboard missing a corner, before placing a hand upon her broad chest. “Olga of the Winterhowl Clan. And I come as an emissary of the halls of my forefathers.”

“Is that so,” I said, not inviting a response. “I wasn’t aware your forefathers accepted peasants without a strip of valour to their name being booted into their esteemed ranks.”

“My forefathers accept the triumphant. And to defeat Olga the Raven Eye is a feat neither man nor beast has ever boasted. Unless they’re willing to offer a donation to a good cause. Know that should you wish to reserve your place in Solgard when the End Times arrive, I can offer you a fine home filled with all the joys a young adventurer like yourself would ever desire.”

I rolled my eyes.

All the joys I desired could be purchased with a wave of my hand. And this barbarian was currently reducing the ability for my stewards to interpret just how much they were permitted to spend.

“Really now, am I to understand that all the prerequisites for entry into your halls of honour is to entice a barbarian into leaping over backwards?” 

“Not just any, of course. But for defeating Olga the Raven Eye.”

“The Raven Eye. A fashionable title amidst oafs and hoodlums.”

“Thank you.”

“And how did you come to receive it? Is there an eye sewn into your fur, perhaps? If so, I hope you’re aware that it requires separate washing.”

The tall lady grinned, pointing towards her own eye. 

“I see in my dreams places both ancient and dark, where echoes of calamity reverberate like bells in a great hall. I can hear it, doom is the sound, beating like a drum in a well.” 

I nodded.

“You refer to the end of the world.”

“No, friend. I refer to the end of all things. Soon the tides will sweep across the sky, bringing down even the stars. But you can still be saved. We all can. With a limited time offer which I can only give now it’s just your ears here to hear it.”

I felt a tingle of amusement.

When the tides swept across the sky, I’d be lying on my bed with the final volume of A Court Lady’s Indiscretion in my hands, safe in the knowledge that no matter how high the waves rose, my tower still rose higher.

“I’ve no need for your offer. No more than I need your doomsaying. I advise you that I’m a representative of the kingdom, and as such, I take instances of defrauding the peasantry with utmost seriousness.” 

Indeed … for their meagre crowns were already destined for deeper pockets than hers!

How dare she muscle in on what has already been squished! 

Why, to squeeze even a single copper piece from the hands of a peasant meant they were now empty to pick up a pitchfork in ire instead! And when they complained with fire and rebellion in their wake, would it be towards the towering barbarian who took their last piece of bread? 

No. 

It’d be towards their beloved princess.

“My friend,” said the woman, her smile hardening. “I am no fraud.”

Suddenly, she whipped out a scroll with the swiftness of a ranger notching an arrow.

I leaned down as I read it.

 

Diploma of Graduation.

This document hereby certifies that Olga of the Winterhowl Clan is an accredited graduate of the Royal Institute of Mages in the field of theoretical prophecy.

 

My mouth widened as I read the words.

“You're ... a graduate of the Royal Institute of Mages?!”

“Sure am.”

“You have an axe!”

“An axe is a multi-purpose staff.”

I had nothing but horror for the proud look I received.

The Royal Institute of Mages. The esteemed magical research centre of our kingdom. The bastion of wonders and learning built to offer a direct pathway to menial work as a Mage’s Guild apprentice or a poison taster for my family.

... Just what were we funding that place for?!

“I am Olga the Raven Eye,” she said, the scar on her cheek groaning as she widened her smile. “And I am a true prophet. I study the future in all its forms, delving into threads that weave through visions tangled with more knots than a sailor’s rope. I see it all, my gift unravelling the principles of time and unlocking forgotten secrets hidden within the tapestry of fate.”

I leaned in, my eyes narrowing.

“Can you predict the weather?”

“... Excuse me?”

“The weather. Can you predict it? Surely, someone who took up a valuable chair in the Royal Institute of Mages can at least do something as mundane as predicting the weather? Isn’t that the benchmark for usefulness in predicting the future?”

“I am no weather diviner,” said the barbarian, her response coming as an abrupt snap. “I’m a prophet. A good prophet. My concerns are not with whether an umbrella should be carried the next day, but whether all should flee towards the affordable homesteads found in the afterlife of my people.”

“Excellent. Because I care less about your accuracy in fortune telling and more about these properties you’re advertising.”

An entrepreneurial gleam shone in the woman’s grey eyes.

“A hard bargainer, eh? I suspected as much from all this small talk. What would you like to know? The size of the dwellings? The furnishings? Ease of access? Wallpaper options?”

“I want to know if you have a trading permit to operate as a property agent.”

“What?”

“Are these properties licensed and inspected as fit for habitation?”

A look of entirely misplaced indignation met me.

“Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be? They’re the spiritual abodes of champions and heroes … abodes which aren’t in this kingdom and therefore aren’t subject to local housing laws.”

“They may be elsewhere, but you are not. I will not have your dissatisfied customers streaming back into my kingdom looking for an authority to voice their complaints to. Do you have documents proving the legal transfer of ownership of these properties? What of your financial compliance? Your record keeping obligations? Are the profits you’re deriving from these sales being properly taxed?”

The barbarian blinked at me.

For several moments, she did nothing.

Then, slowly, like Apple nibbling on the same tuft of grass sticking out from the dirt, the self-professed prophet lifted a pouch from her waist. 

She unstrung it, plucked out 5 silver crowns … and offered them out on her palm. 

“Right you are. Here’s my documents.”

I stared down at the smattering of coins.

“Excuse me … but why are you presenting me a paltry sum of crowns?”

“Oh, my mistake.”

The barbarian smiled again … as she plucked out another 5 silver crowns.

Then, she paused, returned 2 of the silver crowns back into the pouch, and presented her palm to me.

I pursed my lips.

“Are you … Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Yes.”

I recoiled, utterly aghast.

How … How dare this woman attempt to bribe me! 

Me, a princess! 

If she wanted to bribe me, the criteria was clear! I’d settle for nothing less than 14 metric tonnes of tiaras! 72 white horses, one with wings! A magic mirror which would compliment me throughout all the hours of the day until it broke from its curse and imprisoned me in its place!

She offered me 8 silver crowns! 

… Furthermore, she returned 2 as though certain 10 was too much! What was I supposed to do with this amount?! I couldn’t even afford to be disappointed by my next inn!

“H-How dare you! To think my infallible standards in all things including bribery could contemplate accepting such a lowly sum is outrageous!”

Suddenly, the barbarian lifted her boot from the crate. 

The smile fell from her face, as did any attempt at discretion as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh please,” she said, the tone of camaraderie absent as she began to pluck more coins from the pouch. “Save me the needless pompousness. We both know how this works. I get caught by some uppity guard, official or adventurer. I hand over some hush hush, and we both go about our day.”

“E-Excuse me! That is not how this works!”

“Isn’t it? All right, then what do you want to do? Report me? Arrest me? For what? I offer those with nothing the peace of mind that should doom strike, they’ll be able to begin their lives anew in a world where all is equal. Well, equal except for the size of the homesteads. I offer a catalogue. Are you certain you’re not interested?”

“Yes!”

“Fine, fine. Just know my offer is time limited.”

“Are you not a graduate of the Royal Institute of Mages?! Since when does their alumni see fit to scrounge their earnings from farmers like tuneless bards?!”

“You’ll be surprised. Not all are like me, actually performing a public service.”

I threw my arms up in outrage.

My peasants only had one time to work! And that was all day, every day!

This was no busy market where her voice could be drowned out by the bustle of enterprise! To ply falsehoods in quiet fields where no vendors sold pink cloche hats as a distraction was an outrage!

“This is not a public service! You’re distracting my farmers from their gruelling labour with thoughts of the end of the world whisking them away like my next ganache montée à la fraise!”

“I sure do. So, will you carry on and let me go about my day?” 

“Absolutely not! You shall immediately pay taxes on all your earnings, beginning with every crown you now possess! Afterwards, you’ll cease peddling falsehoods and establish any business related to divination in a forest hut where you can be ignored. Should the crows drop any copper crowns on you out of pity, it too shall need to be taxed to the fraction.”

For a moment, the barbarian merely looked indignant … just before glancing at her greataxe.

A moment later, she wisely opted to toss her pouch of crowns into the air instead. Coppelia caught it just as Apple’s mouth was destined to absorb it into the void.

“... Ugh, whatever, I’ve had enough.” The barbarian turned away, her tone only mildly scornful. “Can’t even take five steps without being harassed anymore. Do-gooders absolutely everywhere. I’m done with this whole place. It’s time to pack it up and go check on Auntie Spinebreaker’s dodgy hip.”

“Oh? Are you deporting yourself?”

“Yeah. As fast as I can. Frankly, the only thing you southerners have is sunlight. And if I’m honest, it’s not at all what it’s cracked up to be. If I wanted clouds, I would have stayed home.”

Her shoulders falling in both languidness and indignation, she fixed the position of her greataxe upon her shoulder, before reaching down and scooping up the wooden crate.

The moment she did–

Clink.

The clear sound of coins rubbing against one another resounded in my ears.

I regarded the box clutched in the barbarian’s arm as she suddenly became still.

“... Excuse me, but do you have any undeclared earnings on you?”

“No.”

“I see. Open the box.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have arthritis in my fingers.”

“Very well. I’ll do it. Lower the box.”

The barbarian did as instructed, allowing the crate to drop to an obvious jingle.

Then, she also lowered her greataxe–the back of the head nestling with her freed palm.

“I don’t require your weapon,” I said.

“Yeah. But I do.”

I rolled my eyes, then looked up at the wonderful blue sky, filled with trails of fluffy clouds and devoid of barbarian women carrying greataxes while bearing magical diplomas in a field of theoretical prophecy only being utilised to swindle farmers for small change.

“Really?” I asked, utterly unimpressed.

“Yup.”

I tugged on Apple’s reins, hoping he would obey my silent wishes for him to eat the barbarian’s face.

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned to nibble at a tuft of weeds as I duly dismounted, resigned that my day would start like this. The barbarian answered with a smile filled with a professional expectation of blood.

And then–

An unnatural darkness filled her left eye.