Tattered

Chapter 22

I explained Hrothgar's plan to my men that evening in the mead hall. The usual boisterous chattering and drinking of the large chamber was replaced by a heavy curtain of despair that hung over all the men. They had lost more brothers and friends to the trolls, and they could see no end in sight to the destruction. Many wandered around like wraiths while others merely stared blankly ahead, hardly touching their food.

I refused to look at any of them, as if their hopelessness could infect me with a simple glance. I could not afford to be deterred by their gloom.

My mission was no secret, and so I shared every detail available to me with the men. They listened with silence as I recounted each step. Go to the troll camp and feign surrender to them. Find Ingrid. Kill Grendel. Get out.

Even as I spoke, I realized with a chill how unlikely that last step would be. Hrothgar was right that I stood a fair chance of killing Grendel if I infiltrated the camp. He also had a fair argument that the trolls would weaken and disperse without the one who united them. But he and I both knew that my chance of escape was a farce. The other trolls would never let me leave after killing their leader, and against a whole army of them at once I stood no chance of survival.

My only worry was getting Ingrid out before that happened. That was where I would enlist Siegfried's help. If he could take Ingrid away just before I killed Grendel and the troll camp exploded into frenzied chaos, then she would at least survive. With my sister gone and safe, then I would be able to do my duty without any hesitation.

When I finished, none of the men spoke. I felt my muscles tense, my jaw clenching unconsciously, as I waited for whatever their reaction would be.

To my surprise, it was Olaf who spoke first. "Think I speak for us all when I say no one but you could do it, Captain," his low voice boomed. He raised his mug of ale and gave me a toothy grin. "No one else here is strong as ten men combined!"

"Aye." Dag nodded sagely, stroking his gray beard. "It'll be a glorious kill- fit to make Geatland proud."

"Ingrid couldn't have asked for a better savior," Erik added, raising his own cup in the air.

The others each joined in one by one, raising their cups and toasting to my luck and success in the mission, praising my strength and honor. I did not consider myself someone prone to sentiment or emotion. The only emotion that ever seemed to rule me was anger, and I was in a constant battle to overcome it. But I'll admit, just this once, that I had to blink away the tears in my eyes.

After everything, I had still feared they'd react with disdain and anger when they heard I would be going to the troll's camp- that they'd view me as a traitor. I was the half-troll princess after all, the one who had always been a disgrace. They had every reason to reject me, yet they did not.

I took a deep swig of my own drink to hide the sudden emotion overwhelming me, flashing a wide grin at all the men who clapped me on the back and praised my strength, singing along heartily as they broke into an old drinking song.

This is what acceptance feels like, I thought, almost giddy with it. It was a feeling a thousand times stronger than the happy glee of drunkenness, better even than the wild exhilaration of battle. It filled up my chest with such warmth and light I felt I would burst at any moment into a shower of sparks.

The broken, desperate Danish warriors in the mead hall glared our way, as if our joy was an offense in such a dark time. I didn't care. We Geatlanders knew how to laugh in the face of the worst danger and sorrow. Even if we died tomorrow, at least we would be joyful today.

Eventually our energy was spent and the quiet, solemn murmur of the mead hall returned to normal. As the alcohol did its work, many of the men wandered off to drop into their beds, but a few remained.

"When do you leave?" Dag asked. Either he hadn't been drinking nearly as much as it looked like or he handled his liquor remarkably well, for his eyes when he met my gaze were as clear and serious as ever.

"Dawn," I replied. We did not plan on wasting any time.

"What weapons will you bring?" Erik asked.

"Just my sword." I placed my hand on Spoon's hilt at my waist. "It's all I'll need to get the job done."

Olaf sighed, shaking his head. "I'd bring a hammer myself, captain. Does a lot more damage when it hits home."

"Then it's a good thing you're not going," Erik replied, frowning. "The trolls would take your war hammer and use it to strike their nails."

Olaf's face turned red as he and Erik started to bicker across the table, while Dag looked on with a wry expression. He turned to me and shrugged with a knowing look that seemed to say, what can you do?

It struck me suddenly that if I died, as I expected to, I would never see my men again. By going, I was saving their lives. Yet, it pained me to abandon the precious acceptance I had only just found, to leave it behind as if it meant nothing. I swallowed thickly, feeling that I should express my gratitude somehow, but not knowing what to say.

I had never been good with words. But Ingrid was not here to speak for me this time, not to comfort me or whisper in my ear what to say. For once, though I was not afraid of stumbling over my words or saying the wrong thing.

"I... I'm proud to have been your captain, for however short a time it was," I muttered.

They laughed, all toothy smiles, and proposed another toast to my mission. I laughed along with them, feeling strangely light. Whatever faced me starting tomorrow, I felt prepared for it. It seemed like nothing could frighten me when I felt this way.

Nothing except losing Ingrid. The feeling of pride welling in my chest dimmed and my smile faltered. I would never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to her, would never feel truly happy again. I slowly lowered my mug to the table, staring at the old, grainy wood as my thoughts turned serious once more.

As if conjured by my thoughts, a figure in the far corner of the hall caught my attention: Siegfried. He had slipped my notice until now because he kept completely to himself in the dark back corner of the mead hall. He seemed to have claimed the little spot for himself; no one else ever dared to occupy it, and I couldn't recall him ever joining the men at any of the other tables. Now he stood from the spot, his tall figure cutting across the room quickly and without looking any of the other men in the eye. He looked like someone who did not want to be disturbed. But I needed to speak to him before we left.

"I'll be right back," I told my companions quickly before standing form my bench and rushing across the hall to catch Siegfried.