“There are soldiers in our territory,” I say. “Human military. Armed. Looking for my wife. They'll come back with more men and they'll bring violence with them. Into our land.”
Murmuring. Some of the warriors shift at their tables. Territory is a word that gets attention.
“Why should we bleed for your human?” A Jötunn at the nearest table. Broad, scarred. Not hostile. Genuinely asking.
“They're not staying out of the Wastes,” I say. “They came to my door. Armed. They'll come back.”
“Then defend your door.” The scarred Jötunn looks at me. “You were a hunter once, Thyran. You killed the ridge bear that took three goats in one season.”
“There'll be at least twenty of them. Maybe more.”
A woman at the back table stands. Heavy-built, arms folded. “Then we send them home bleeding. This isn't about the human. Armed men marched through our territory without asking. What happens when they decide the Wastes are worth taking? That ends the day we let them walk in and walk out carrying one of ours.”
“She’s not one of ours,” the scarred Jötunn says.
“She is if the market law holds,” the woman says. “Bride price was paid. If that isn't clan business, nothing is.”
The hall erupts into argument. Voices overlapping. Some want no part of human affairs. Some are calculating the cost of letting armed soldiers patrol Jötunn land unopposed. Some are looking at Eseld with curiosity, some with suspicion.
Eseld stands beside me and says nothing. She lets them argue. She is not performing grief or remorse or humility. Sheis standing in a room full of strangers who are deciding her fate and she is quiet and still and her hand is warm in mine.
Eira stands. She’s been sitting near Haldrek, watching. Her gaze moves from me to the hall, and she speaks with the voice of a woman who has buried people and has no patience left for cowardice.
“Has he ever asked for anything?”
Silence.
“He buried his brother. He sat in that hall. He didn't ask for food or company or help. Not once.” She looks at me. “He’s asking now.”
The silence stretches. I feel Eseld’s hand in mine, small and still and warm.
Haldrek studies me from the raised seat. He’s calculating. Territory and principle and pride and the cost of saying no to a man who has never asked.
“We don't fight for the human,” he says finally. “We fight because no one invades Jötunn territory.”
I bow my head. Not submission. Gratitude. The weight of being alone lifting off me by a fraction. By enough.
We walk home with warriors at our backs. Six of them, armed, moving through the Wastes in loose formation. They don't talk to me. They don't need to. They're here.
Eseld walks beside me. Her hand in mine. Her grip tight.
“Thank you,” she says. Quiet. Just for me.
I hold her hand. The hall appears ahead of us, smoke from the chimney, warm stone and solid timber. The warriors fan out along the ridgeline without being asked. Taking positions. Settling in.
Eseld opens the door and walks through and I follow her in.
ESELD
The night before, Eira finds me outside.
I'm standing at the edge of the slope above the southern approach. The terrain is laid out below me in the last of the daylight. The path from the south curves around a rock formation and opens into a clearing before the final climb to the hall. The clearing is the chokepoint. Wide enough for a formation to spread into a line. Narrow enough that the slopes on either side funnel them into predictable paths.
I've placed the smoke pots. Twelve of them, buried in the snow at intervals along the clearing and the slopes. Sulfite and charcoal and saltite, mixed with rendered fat to hold them together and slow the burn. When they ignite, the smoke will be thick, white, choking. It won't kill. It will blind and disorient and turn armed soldiers into stumbling bodies who can't see their own hands.
I've greased three paths with rendered fat, spread thin on packed snow and left to freeze. Clear. Invisible under a dusting of powder. Slick as wet ice. Anyone walking those paths will go down hard.
I've walked the Jötunn through the safe routes. Made them memorize every step. They know where the footing is solid,where it gives way, where the smoke will be thickest, and where the clear corridors run. When the smoke goes up, they'll move through it with their eyes closed. They don't need to see. They know the ground.
