Second Chapter Saturday - Helsgaard's Heroine

The second chapter of the first book of the Helsgaard Chronicles... Helsgaard's Heroine. If any of the words aren't clear, feel free to click on the Rosetta Stone button.

Here's the First Chapter.

Note: This is a copy & paste from the manuscript and not the formatted novel.

Helsgaard Keep

Bark Like a Dog.

Helsgaard Keep stood as a solitary, imposing barrier of red rock on the western edge of Ravnsríki. Time and conflict had scarred its weathered walls, which overlooked cleared fields and the fledgling town of Helsgaardborg to the northeast. The stark fortress lacked grandeur, serving as the kingdom’s shield against Hel’s Dragons and securing lumber for the growing settlement.

A Note to the Reader (or the Uninitiated)

Forget the hearth fire and the hero's journey. You are about to step into the Helsgaard Chronicles, a saga forged in ash, blood, and the black, cynical humor of a twenty-year military scar.

This isn't a book; it's a butcher’s floor, and you're the next one in line.

Within these pages—stretching through Helsgaard’s Heroine, Helsgaard’s Fury, and the rest—you'll find the grim truth of a world populated by warriors, witches, dragons, necromancers and the monsters men make of themselves. It is a world of dark, visceral power, where the only thing cheaper than a life is a promise.

We deal in violence ranging from petty, soul-crushing degradation to the wet work of battle. Swearing is in the tradition of the Old Norse—so, yes, you'll be exposed to the coarseness of warriors. There is also cost and consequences for the cold reality of child abandonment.

Still clinging to fairytales? Bless your soft, unscarred heart.

You won't find kindly wizards, noble swords, or damsels in distress. Here, the damsels are the ones causing the distress. This isn't heroes versus villains—it's raw politics, cold betrayal, and the taste of mud in your mouth. Peace is bought with the last thread of hope you dared to keep.

DO NOT CONTINUE IF:

You like your sieges tidy. Expect tactical maneuvers, ambushes, and one-on-one melée fights.

You prefer your battles clean. Swords stick in ribs, shields splinter, limbs scatter, and heads roll. Don't look for a neat cut; this is a desperate, ugly mess.

You squirm at a slow, ugly death, the bite of a corrosive, sarcastic joke, or the brutal, inescapable consequences of child abandonment.

Your version of 'roughing it' involves a campfire and a sing-along.

If you crave torchlit keeps, scarred Rangers, and a half-Aelf girl with a blue blade and a red-hot temper—then welcome. You’re twisted enough to survive.

A full glossary is provided for those too soft to infer, but frankly, if you need a Rosetta Stone to decipher a little Old Norse, you’re already behind.

Now, pack your armor. Pour a strong drink. When it all goes to Hel, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I honestly don't care.

A biting late winter breeze whipped across the plains as Lozen stopped before the Keep’s open gates. She wore a black cloak and hood to conceal her Aelfinn ears, aiming to blend in with the passing locals. Hesitantly, she approached the entrance, where a burly, gray-streaked, red-haired Dwarfinn guard named Rylen monitored the traffic. Suspicious of the newcomer, he called out in a gruff challenge, “State yer business!”

Lozen met his stare and responded with a voice that attempted to mask her apprehension. “I’m looking for refuge. I am a traveler.” Feeling anxious after her arrest and journey, she took a deep breath and pleaded her case. “Please. I come from afar. I was told to come here. I seek a place where I can offer my skills in exchange for protection.”

Rylen looked up at her stocky form. “Doff yer hood, lass.”

She revealed her fiery red hair and the telltale pointed ears of her Aelfinn heritage.

“An Aelf, then?” He stared in disbelief as he took in her features. “Ye’ve come from distance. But ye measure short compared to their kind.”

Curious at Rylen’s conversation, the other guard left his post to join the discussion, eyeing Lozen’s pointed ears. “Another Aelf? Why she so short? This is weird. Think she’s a spy?”

Another Aelf? she wondered.

“If she’s a spy, she’s doing a poor job of it, lad,” Rylen said, his tone sharp with suspicion. “If I know Bryn, the lass will be here soon enough. If this one is a spy, she’ll sniff it out.” He paused, leveling a firm gaze at the other guard. “Mind yer post. If Bryn shows up, tell her I’ve taken our guest to the Commandant.”

The other guard, visibly disgruntled at being left behind, grumbled. “Stickin’ me with the gate while you take our guest on a tour?”

“Rank holds the coin, lad,” Rylen said. Smirking, he scratched his right ear with two fingers.

The other guard nodded at the covert signal, turned his attention to Lozen, and said, “So tell me. Aelfs are supposed to be good archers. But you? Don’t make me laugh, girl. You look more like something the wolves dragged back to their cave.”

She stiffened, temper flaring. “That your way of greeting travelers? I’ve spent a half-moon slogging through swamps with bounty hunters on my heels. I’m worn thin, out of patience, and I don’t need your skitr on top of it.”

While she was distracted by the other guard, Rylen stepped beside her and grasped her right hand with his left, clamping onto it with a firm grip, his thumb in her palm.

“What the—” she exclaimed.

He squeezed and twisted her wrist behind her back, pushing into her back, using his right hand as a fulcrum on her right shoulder joint, eliciting a sharp gasp from the young Aelf. Lozen, angry, tried to pull her hand free, but he put more pressure on her shoulder joint while twisting with his left hand, amplifying the pain and halting her struggle.

“Be still, now. Until the matter of yer purpose is clear, I'll keep ye bound to my hand.”

Lozen realized the futility of resistance and relaxed her arm with grudging acceptance.

“Rasshole!” she spat.

Rylen glanced at the other guard and said, “Ye need to sharpen that tongue.”

“Hey! It worked, didn’t it? Did I not distract her?” The other guard retorted.

“I’ll grant ye the point, lad.” Rylen put some pressure on Lozen’s hand and shoulder, urging her forward. “Now move it!”

“Pikk!” Lozen yelled as Rylen drove her though the gates.

Beyond the gates, the courtyard teemed with motion, a controlled chaos of steel and sweat. Warriors circled each other, wooden axes striking with sharp cracks that echoed off the stone walls. Each clash sent vibrations through the air, a rhythm of strength and precision. Nearby, the forge roared, its heat pressing against Lozen’s skin as the blacksmith’s hammer struck iron, each blow ringing like a battle cry. Sparks burst with every impact, flaring and dying in the midday sun. The tang of scorched metal and sweat mingled in the air, thick and tangible.

Lozen’s sharp eyes tracked the flow of movement. Training, crafting, tending to duties—but not enough defensive vigilance. If someone wanted to strike Helsgaard, now would be the time.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

Her long legs carried her swiftly across the courtyard, black pants and tunic blending into the shade while her blonde hair, bound in a high ponytail, caught the light like spun gold. Her approach was deliberate and confident.

The moment Rylen saw her intercept course, he and Lozen slowed their pace. It was clear—her presence meant something.

“Ah, Bryn,” he greeted her with disdain. “I knew ye'd come snuffling 'round. Couldn't keep away.”

Bryn, looking over Lozen, responded with a snide remark. “A mouse doesn’t skitr in this keep without me knowing how many turds it dropped. Looks like you found a little bird. What’s your name, Little Bird?”

Lozen remained quiet, her jaw clenched, her lips pursed, and her eyes defiantly narrowed.

“Oh, the silent treatment?” she taunted, stepping closer to Lozen and bending over to match heights. Unfazed by her silence, she stepped up her verbal assault. “Well, Little Bird from Aeldoria, I presume you are from Aeldoria with the pointed ears? You’ll have to find your voice and start tweeting messages of love and friendship real soon.”

Lozen hesitated, breathed, and said, “I come seeking refuge. Someone in Ravnborg said I should come here.”

Bryn straightened up, her demeanor shifting from playful menace to focused intensity. “Little Bird can tweet after all. Now we’re getting somewhere. Let’s see what else she tweets.”

Lozen, growing impatient, responded with a defiant stare. She asked, “Why all this bullying? I got this pikk twisting my wrist and you’re looming over me like I’m some thrall. What!? You don’t know about manners?”

Bryn, unfazed by Lozen’s outburst, leaned in closer. “Let me set you straight, Little Bird. We’ve been at war with the Aelfs for sixteen years—that would be most of your life, am I right? And here you come, strolling up to our doors, and you expect us to roll out the King’s red carpet? For you?”

She stopped and looked into Lozen’s eyes. “Not how it works, Little Bird. We’ll take some time to get to know you first. If you don’t like it, Rylen will show you the gate. So what’s it going to be, Little Bird?”

Lozen glared at Bryn with defiance. “I’m from Aeldoria. I’m seeking refuge as I was exiled by the Council of Elders. I’ve been living on the streets of Skjaldarhöfn and Ravnborg ever since.”

“An Aelf from Ravnborg interests me.” Bryn straightened up and looked at Rylen with raised eyebrows. “She told you all that?”

“Just that she wanted the Keep’s shelter, aye.” He shrugged. “The rest of the matter is new.”

“So Little Bird only tweets for me,” she said, returning to Lozen. “Maybe she likes me.”

Rylen shook his head, grinning. “Hmph. Just ye wait till the lass ken ye.”

Bryn moved in close to him and spoke in a menacing tone. “Maybe I need to get to know you and your Aelfinn wife. Hmmm? Uncover some dark secrets, maybe? Watch your step.”

The other Aelf is the guard’s wife?

By this time, the warriors practicing in the courtyard stopped, their curiosity piqued by the arrival of the young Aelfinn girl and the ensuing exchange with Bryn. All eyes were focused, awaiting the unfolding events. Bryn’s interactions were always entertaining, as long as it was someone else, and this one promised to be particularly spicy.

After tending to a minor injury, Anja, an Aelf with blue eyes, graying platinum blonde hair, dressed in a brown tunic without a cowl, rose and approached Lozen and Bryn. At five arm-spans distance, she paused, her eyes meeting Rylen’s in a silent question.

With her patience dwindling, Bryn assumed a sharp, authoritative tone and asked, “Before I waste the Commandant’s time, what exactly are you offering us? Look around you—everyone here contributes. No refugees waiting for a better life. You work, or you fight, or you sell, or you’re gone. Which is it?”

Lozen confidently responded, “I’m a good archer!”

Bryn, unimpressed, pointed at Anja. “The healer is an archer! Give me more!”

Lozen’s eyes snapped to follow the direction of Bryn’s finger. She found the silver-haired woman instantly and their gazes locked for a brief, tense, measuring moment. Undeterred, she met Bryn’s challenge with determination. “I can learn anything, she said. I learned the Common Tongue while on the streets. I learned skills to survive. Just give me a chance!”

Bryn paused. “Begging is good. It shows humility. I don’t need a translator, so learning a language doesn’t mean anything.” Bryn glanced at the growing crowd of onlookers interested in the exchange. “We’ve got eyes on us. Come.”

Rylen applied firm pressure on Lozen’s arm and shoulder, guiding her to follow Bryn.

Pained by the coercion, she scolded, “Owww. You don’t have to do that!”

The path across the grounds felt endless, and Lozen’s frustration rose with each step. She matched Bryn’s pace, refusing to be rushed, and held her chin high despite Rylen’s agonizing grip on her wrist and shoulder.

The crowd’s murmurs grew louder as they approached the towering stone structure housing the Commandant’s office. After they entered the building, Bryn paused and faced Lozen, “Remember, you have one chance to impress the Commandant. Choose your words wisely.”

Lozen met her gaze unflinchingly, defiance in her eyes and unwavering voice. “Now, you want to help me?”

Bryn nodded. “Maybe I see something in you. Maybe I know something you don’t. Maybe I know a lot you don’t and you should make a good first impression. Maybe—turn down the fire a bit.”

She turned and walked down the hallway to the Commandant’s door, with Lozen and Rylen trailing behind. The heavy wooden door, adorned with intricate carvings that depicted scenes of battles and victories, bore witness to the proud history of the warriors who had lived within its walls.

Bryn raised her hand to knock. “It’s showtime.”