First Brush with Huginn
The end of the fighting in Lichtein marked a period of calm in Berg Fortress. It was another peaceful day, and Hiro was cooped up in the study. All of a sudden, the door burst open with a crash that would make a grown man wince. Splinters flew across the room as dust billowed from the door.
“Give me back the boss! And my oaf of a brother too!”
A woman stood in the doorframe, holding a nocked bow.
“Sorry,” Hiro said, nonplussed, “but who are you?”
Her eyebrows arched in anger. “The name’s Huginn, lieutenant of the Liberation Army!”
“Huh,” Hiro said. He picked up a sheet of paper on his desk—a list of the Fourth Legion’s prisoners of war—and scanned it. “Are you sure? I don’t see you on here.”
“Aye, ’cause I’m not! My squad was away on other business when you captured the rest.”
Apparently, she had been tasked with scouting Azbakal, scoping out the duchy’s movements, when communications from “the boss”—by which Hiro supposed she meant Garda—had ceased. Sensing that something was wrong, she had cut her reconnaissance short and tried to reconvene with the main force, but it had been too late. The Liberation Army had been defeated and the ducal forces had surrendered.
“I’ve been trying to break everyone else out ever since, but you imperials keep a tight watch. You’re good, I’ll admit it!” She glared at Hiro for a second, gritting her teeth in chagrin, before a wave of surprise came over her face. “Argh! I’m not here to sing your praises! Just give me back the boss and my fool of a brother!”
Hiro could only marvel at her impressive array of expressions. Unfortunately, all he could offer her was a rueful smile. Garda had already agreed to act as his lieutenant, he explained, and most of the rebels who had made up the Liberation Army were now soldiers in his own employ.
Huginn cocked her head. “Eh? Employ? You mean you ain’t got ’em in chains?”
“They were experienced sellswords and I needed men. I took on anybody who volunteered.”
“Well, what about me, then?”
“What about you? You’re not my prisoner.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Go back to being a sellsword, I guess. Or you can join the rest in my employ. It’s up to you.”
“Right! It’s a deal!”
“Not so fast. I know this was my idea, but you’ll have to show me you can fight—”
Before Hiro could finish his sentence, Huginn released her bowstring. Had she lost her mind?! He dodged the incoming arrow, summoned a spirit weapon and closed in on her.
“Wha—?!”
Huginn tried to put some distance between them, but wielding a ranged weapon in a small room, she had no chance of fending Hiro off. He easily slipped behind her, into her blind spot.
“It’s over—”
Just as Hiro was certain he had won, Huginn’s foot came whistling toward his head. The roundhouse kick caught him completely off guard, and he only just raised his arm in time to block the explosive impact.
“Sometimes a bow’s no use,” Huginn grinned, “so I learned to fight with my fists!”
She rounded on Hiro with a succession of bullet-like punches. Ducking deftly away from them, he could not help but be impressed. She was strong—strong enough to take on ordinary fighters by the score. Eventually, the barrage bought her enough of an opening to spring back and launch an arrow.
“Nicely done. You pass.” Hiro halted his pursuit, struck the arrow out of the air, and flashed her a smile.
Huginn’s jaw dropped. “Did you just...? With a bloody sword?!”
“Maybe I was a little economical with the truth earlier. Garda and Muninn did mention you, actually. They were worried about you. They said they wanted me to take you on if I had the chance.”
He hadn’t agreed immediately. If he was going to take somebody into his employ, he had to make certain that they could handle themselves—doubly so if they were female.
“But you’ve more than proven yourself,” Hiro continued. “You can join the new recruits tomorrow. For now, go find Garda and Muninn and...”
He trailed off as he saw that she was staring at the ground. Her shoulders trembled oddly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you cold?”
At last, she raised her head. “Who cuts a bloody arrow out of the air?!” she cried, loosing a volley of shots at him.
“Now hold on just a—!”
“There! You did it again! Argh, just let me land one!”
That was a slightly unreasonable demand when she was shooting to kill. A single hit would drop him stone dead. To his dismay, she began to cry.
“Waaah! Let me hit you, you brute! I’ll draw blood before I’m through! You’ll see if I don’t!”
Their sparring match continued until the sun went down, its original purpose long forgotten.
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