Chapter Two - Setting Out

  Atalanta had barely slept that night. An idiotic decision, she was fully aware, having been lectured on the importance of good rest ad nauseum, but could anybody truly blame her? She didn’t blame herself. There was too much she had to check. Too much to ensure she had. The tattered star-gazing chart that she received to commemorate her third year of being in the fort, an ample supply of provisions – some oats and dried meats for travelling on the road – her fire-starting kit, she had to make sure that her hunting bow had a fresh string on it, and that the fletching on all her arrows was correct. She needed to polish Balmung to a fine sheen, both the blade and its scabbard, and she needed to make sure she herself was presentable. That her collection of war paint was available for when she needed it. She’d checked, double checked and even triple checked everything. When the booming Rat-tat-tat-tat of Bjorn knocking on her bedroom door sounded through her room, she was both unsurprised and caught entirely off-guard, rolling off her bed and dashing up to the door, swinging it open with a grin.

  “Master Bjorn.”

  “Atalanta. How’d you sleep?”

  “Oh, you know. Well enough.” The bearded man’s raised eyebrow told Atalanta all she needed to know about how successful her lie was. Not that he seemed to mind. She was awake, that’s all that mattered to the big bear of a man.

  “That’ll do. At least you’re awake. Here, I’ve brought you something. It was your eighteenth birthday not long ago, right? This got a little caught up in the pipeline, but it was always meant for the day you were ready to set out.” He held his hand out, and with it came a soft sack the length of her body. A small hook poked out of the top of it, but it looked overall unassuming. The redhead frowned for a moment and glanced across at the combat-teacher.

  “Oh, thanks, I’ve always wanted a new, cumbersome bag-”

  “It’s inside the bag, Atalanta.” Oh. Oh yeah of course it was. As she looked at it once more, she noticed a small amount of string holding the mouth of the bag closed, save for where the hook poked out. She took the sack into her hands and, as careful as she could, pried the string loose. With Atalanta only holding the hook in her hands, it wouldn’t take much for gravity to take its course, revealing the contents of the bag. It was a sleeveless tailcoat. The body of it made from the softest wool she’d ever felt in her life, dyed a gorgeous cerulean. The blue was broken up with a red hard-leather trim. Embroidered on the back of it in that same red colour was a pictogram of a wolf, surely a reminder of what had once been her hometown. It wasn’t a piece of armour, not sturdy enough to work defensively against a serious attack, but it was more than enough to keep her covered and safe from the elements. She loved it, tearing open the buttons and throwing it around her back. Through one ‘sleeve’ her right arm went, through the other went her left. Her fingers worked feverishly to fasten the buttons up, and once it was on... It was a perfect fit. Unlike heavy cloaks, the lack of arms kept her movement free and unrestricted. There was no resistance as she swung her arms round, nor when she gave an exploratory squat. She’d be free to run and jump and crawl around as much as she needed to. Sure, it was bright and ill-suited to hiding from hunting targets, but she could work around that when the time came. There was one thing that bugged her, though.

  “When did you-?”

  “Not the last supply run, but the run before that. There was a courier in town, so I sent an order to the Schafgart’s weavers. It took until last night for it to get here, but it looks good on you, kiddo. I didn’t have chance to say it proper yesterday, but you’ve done us proud. Colt and I both.” His voice held a weight to it, as if he was holding back more emotion than he cared to show Atalanta. She swore she could see tears forming in his eyes, but... it was probably nothing. She’d never seen Bjorn cry, he was far too tough for that. “Now, uh, Colt’s got something for you too. Come on, he’s waiting at the gate. Bring your things.”

  “Aye aye.” Atalanta squat down and grabbed her travelling bag, hoisting it up onto her back. With everything she needed to carry, it was so heavy. Sure, her training under Bjorn and Colt – the latter of which having surprising stamina when it came to carrying stuff, being even better than Bjorn was – had her grow accustomed to carrying even heavier loads than this, but the weight of her travelling gear on her back was certainly noticeable. Unfortunately, she’d need it all sooner or later. Autumn was coming, and there was no way she was getting caught in a storm without something over her head, even if said something was little more than a layer of leather and linen. Anything to avoid being soaked through. For now, at least, she’ll be fine sleeping without it. Not setting it up would simply save her time in the mornings and evenings. Only about half an hour each time, but an extra hour of travel a day could easily be the separator between getting caught out in the dark and having a nice warm meal and a drink in the local tavern.

  She followed Bjorn outside, eyes glancing up at the golden sunrise before her. It was far earlier than she’d expected, given her limited perception of time in her room. Nowadays, she was usually just left to awaken when she wanted to. Colt and Bjorn prepared their own meals at certain times, and it was up to Atalanta to catch them if she wanted to join them. It was rare for them to wake her up at sunrise anymore, that schedule was already drilled into her from years of rising with the sun. Daylight meant worktime. For her, that came in the form of sparring, training, hunting and any further activities that Bjorn and Colt had in mind for her. It was only when night fell that she was able to relax, though that often just meant sleeping through the short summer nights, drained of all energy. In winter, things weren’t that much more exciting. The danger of the cold and dark together prevented her from straying too far from the fort, and the short blizzard-filled days often meant more book-learning than practical training. Gods above she was ready to be free from that stifling routine.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Well, the whelp finally shows her face.” Her attention was drawn to Colt, who was stood next to the fort’s gate, with Bjorn taking position on the other side of it. He held a satchel in his hands, one that she didn’t recognise. Unlike Bjorn’s baggage, which had been embroidered with a representation of every monster he had ever slain, or Colt’s - whose satchel was so deeply embroidered with various magical runes that it was difficult to ascertain its original colour – this was brand new. Untouched leather, save for that same embroidered wolf-head that she bore on her back. “Here I was thinking you were excited about today. What kind of time would you call this?” The sandy-haired man bore a sly smirk on his face, the closest she had ever seen to him grinning, and waved Atalanta over as she approached.

  “I am excited about today!” She huffed indignantly, falling for her master’s bait and only realising it all too late. “I was just waiting for you two old codgers to get out of bed.”

  “Is that so? Well, if we are just ‘old codgers’, then I suppose you won’t be needing our gifts, will you? What would a couple of old codgers like us know about travelling the continent?” Colt chuckled, although Atalanta didn’t find it particularly amusing. The redhead sighed, shaking her head.

  “Alright, alright. I’m just about ready to hit the road, provided you tell me where it is I’m actually meant to be going.”

  “Ulssia.” Atalanta blinked. Ulssia. The village at the bottom of the mountain? The village that they had to go into if they wanted to do literally anything that wasn’t in the fort. That Ulssia? Was Colt joking? He had to be, right? Her grand adventure wouldn’t take her to a place she’s been hundreds of times before.

  “Is... that it? The forbidden Rosalinde lives down in Ulssia?”

  “Of course not. If you were patient for even a second, I was getting to it. From Ulssia, you will go North-East to Schafgart. It’ll be fastest by cart, but if there are no traders around, then it can’t be helped. Once there, you will seek out my sister.” Colt reached into the satchel and produced a letter – sealed with wax so Atalanta wouldn’t even be able to peek at it if she wanted to. “This pocket is double lined. Keep the letter in here, will you? If it gets wet, you’d be on your own. Present it to Rosalinde, treat her like you’d treat us. ...Perhaps without that ‘old codger’ talk, though, yes? She can be... particular about how you talk to her.”

  Okay, so that was the grand plan. Go to Ulssia, then to Schafgart. That was a lot looser than she was expecting. It was one thing to be given a degree of freedom, but Schafgart was weeks away from here, possibly even months. It’d be autumn by the time she even got there, even if she went straight there. She nodded her head in response to Colt’s final question. Above all else, Colt had told her to treat everyone she didn’t know as if they were a noble. Just-in-case. She wouldn’t throw around insults like that at just anyone. They were precious, it had to be worth her effort.

  “Understood.” She reached out her hand to take the fresh Satchel and slung it around her shoulder. Surprisingly, it wasn’t empty – even with the letter pressed in there. There was a notable mass within. She flipped the satchel open, frowning at... a book. She reached down and flicked through it... an empty book.

  “Ah, that. I almost forgot. It’s a journal – don't worry about using ink, a pencil will be fine. I’ve packed some of them for you as well. Alongside finding Rosalinde, I want detailed accounts of how your adventure is going, understood? Fill your journal whilst you’re away from any towns and have a scribe transfer the details onto a letter. A good courier would be able to find us. I know you love your letters so much, this’ll give you good chance to keep them sharp.”

  It was a journal. And a further mission on top of what she had. Keep the journal, keep in touch. This whole thing sounded like it would be quite expensive, especially since she hadn’t been given any travelling funds. “What about cash? I can’t imagine a trader will just let me tag along for free.”

  “Come now, Atalanta, you are a mercenary. Find ways to make money. I do not mean to demean yourself with inn-work or farming, I have trained you far too well for those. Use your training. Hunt, live off the land. Use your strength and talent. You’re a fool, not an idiot. It would do well to remember that and use your brain. You’re sharper than you give yourself credit for.”

  “You know, I think that might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Atalanta smiled and held out a fist for her master. “Take care of yourself, Master Colt. Master Bjorn, don’t let him do something stupid, will you? I want you both around when I come back here in a few years time for a real progress report.”

  “And you, Atalanta. I would rather my prize student not be missing a limb or an eye when next I see her. Take care of yourself.” Their fists touched, Atalanta and Colt sharing a smile between them. That was it. They were going to be leaving. For the first time in so long, she wouldn’t have either of them to look towards for immediate guidance. That... that was going to be strange. That was going to be different.

  “Goodbye, Atalanta. It’s been an honour training you, keep up the good work, and...” The big guy trailed off, simply staring into the middle distance. She took that as her sign to disappear, lest that tough guy persona he held up broke. As she walked through the gate of the fort for the final time, she swore she heard him speak again. She couldn’t make out the words, but she knew them somewhere deep inside her.

  “I love you too, pops.” Was her own quiet response. Only the wind heard her, but it was true all the same. They had raised her. Sure, they weren’t her birth parents, but she could barely remember their faces at this point. Even if she did manage to find Wulventraum again, she wasn’t even sure they’d still be there. If they’d still recognise her after all these years. Would she be the person she was now if she still lived down there? She doubted it, and she was thankful for the woman she was now. The two old mercs were the best parents she could’ve ever asked for. She rubbed a stray tear from her own eyes and set forth on her grand adventure.

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