The axe bit deep into the training post, sending splinters flying across the snow-dusted yard. Malgorzata Nowak wrenched the weapon free with a practiced twist, her breath forming clouds in the cold mountain air. Three more strikes followed in rapid succession—each landing precisely where she intended, each powerful enough to have cleaved through armor and bone had the target been flesh rather than wood.
"You're favoring your right side again," called a voice from the edge of the training yard.
Malgorzata lowered her axe, turning to face her brother. Kazimir leaned against the fence, his tall frame wrapped in furs against the lingering winter chill that gripped Frosthold even as spring touched the lowlands.
"My left shoulder is still stiff," she admitted, rolling it to demonstrate the limited range of motion. "Healer Ingrid says the damage may never fully heal."
Kazimir's expression darkened. "The price of glory in the Proving Grounds." He pushed away from the fence and approached, his limp barely noticeable after years of adaptation. "Though some pay higher prices than others."
The unspoken accusation hung between them. Three years had passed since the incident that had cost Kazimir his position as heir-apparent to Clan Nowak's leadership, yet the wound to his pride remained fresher than the one to his leg.
"I didn't ask you to volunteer as my blood-second," Malgorzata said, the familiar argument rising to her lips despite her best intentions to avoid it.
"And I didn't ask you to challenge Bjorn Ironhand when you were barely twenty winters old," he countered. "Yet here we are—you with a stiff shoulder, me with a ruined leg, and Bjorn six feet under the cold earth."
Malgorzata turned away, resuming her stance before the training post. "Did you come to watch me train or to reopen old wounds?"
"Neither." Kazimir moved to stand beside her, his voice lowering. "Father has called a war council. The Grimhall Clan has violated the boundary stones again. Three hunting parties crossed into our territory yesterday."
The news wasn't surprising—border violations had been increasing for months as game grew scarcer in the higher elevations—but a formal war council suggested the situation had escalated beyond the usual territorial disputes.
"Hunting parties or raiders?" she asked, setting her axe aside and reaching for the water skin hanging from a nearby post.
"Both. They took two deer from our hunting grounds, but they also attacked one of our border patrols. Einar Thorsson is dead, and his son Leif barely escaped with his life."
Malgorzata cursed under her breath. Einar had been one of her father's most loyal thanes, a veteran of countless battles who had taught her much of what she knew about combat. His death would not go unanswered.
"When does the council meet?"
"At midday. Father expects all blood-sworn warriors to attend." Kazimir's gaze was pointed. "Including his daughter, regardless of her training schedule."
She nodded, acknowledging both the summons and the implicit criticism. Since returning from her last campaign six months ago, she had spent more time in solitary training than in clan affairs—a choice that had not gone unnoticed by her father or the other clan leaders.
"I'll be there," she promised. "Clean and presentable, even."
A ghost of a smile crossed Kazimir's face. "A true miracle of the old gods." The brief moment of warmth faded as quickly as it had appeared. "There's something else you should know. Leif Thorsson claims the Grimhall raiders used blood magic in the attack—something beyond the battle-trances we're familiar with. He says they moved too fast, struck too hard for natural men."
Malgorzata stilled, her water skin halfway to her lips. "Blood enhancement? That's forbidden under the Treaty of Three Winters."
"Hence the war council rather than a simple border reinforcement." Kazimir's voice dropped further. "And hence why Father will likely call upon your... specialized experience."
The implication was clear. Among Clan Nowak's warriors, Malgorzata alone had encountered enhanced blood magic firsthand—had survived it, studied it, and returned changed by it. It was knowledge her father had exploited in the past and would undoubtedly call upon again.
"I see." She drank deeply from the water skin, using the moment to compose her thoughts. "Then I have preparations to make before the council. Will you tell Father I'll attend?"
Kazimir nodded, studying her face with the perceptiveness that had made him a formidable strategist despite his physical limitations. "Be careful, Malga. If the Grimhall Clan has truly broken the blood taboos, this won't be a simple matter of honor and boundaries."
"It never is, with blood magic." She offered him a tight smile. "But then, you know that better than most."
He accepted the reference to their shared past without comment, merely inclining his head before turning to leave. Malgorzata watched him go, noting how he had adapted his gait to minimize the appearance of weakness—a necessary skill in a culture that prized physical strength above most other virtues.
When he had disappeared from view, she returned her attention to the training post, now deeply scarred from her earlier assault. Her left shoulder ached dully, a persistent reminder of the price she had paid for her current position within the clan. The physical pain was manageable; the memories that accompanied it less so.
With practiced efficiency, she gathered her training weapons and returned them to the rack at the yard's edge. If her father was calling a war council over blood magic violations, she would need more than physical preparation. She would need to revisit knowledge she had spent years trying to forget.
The path from the training yard to her quarters led through Frosthold's central settlement—a collection of sturdy wooden buildings arranged in concentric circles around the Great Hall. Unlike the sprawling farms of the lowlands or the crowded cities of the coast, Nordmen settlements were compact and defensible, designed to withstand both the harsh mountain winters and potential attacks.
As she walked, Malgorzata nodded greetings to clan members going about their morning tasks. Blacksmiths hammered at forges, their rhythmic strikes punctuating the crisp air. Hunters prepared their gear for the day's expeditions. Children ran between buildings, engaged in games that doubled as training for future adult roles.
Her own position within this carefully ordered society had always been somewhat anomalous. As the second child and only daughter of Clan Chief Radek Nowak, she had been expected to follow a traditional path—perhaps becoming a healer like her mother, or strengthening clan alliances through a strategic marriage. Instead, she had shown such natural aptitude for combat that even the most traditional elders had been forced to acknowledge her warrior potential.
Then had come the Proving Grounds, the blood-second ritual, and everything that followed. Now, at twenty-three winters, she occupied a unique position—respected for her combat prowess but whispered about for the changes the blood magic had wrought in her. Not quite an outcast, but not fully integrated into any traditional role either.
Her quarters reflected this ambiguous status—larger than those of a common warrior but smaller than what might befit the clan chief's daughter. The single-room dwelling stood slightly apart from others of similar size, offering privacy that Malgorzata valued above comfort or status.
Inside, she moved directly to the heavy wooden chest that occupied one corner of the room. It was bound with iron and secured with a lock of unusual design—not Nordmen craftsmanship but something acquired during her time in the southern territories. The key hung around her neck, hidden beneath her clothing and never removed, even during sleep or bathing.
She unlocked the chest and lifted the lid, revealing neatly organized contents. On top lay her formal battle gear—a leather hauberk reinforced with steel plates, bracers etched with clan symbols, and a ceremonial helmet crowned with raven feathers. Beneath these were weapons more finely crafted than her training implements—an axe with a head of folded steel, a short sword designed for close combat, and several knives of various sizes and purposes.
But it was the bottom layer of the chest that drew her attention now. Wrapped in oilcloth and tucked into a hidden compartment were items she had not touched since returning to Frosthold: a small leather-bound journal filled with her cramped handwriting, a collection of dried herbs in labeled pouches, and a wooden case containing three glass vials. Each vial held a different substance—one a dark red liquid that might have been mistaken for wine by the uninitiated, another a fine gray powder, and the third a clear solution that caught the light strangely.
Malgorzata removed the journal and opened it to pages marked with a thin strip of leather. The writing there was not her own but had been copied carefully from texts she had been permitted to study during her time with the southern blood mages. The diagrams accompanying the text depicted the human circulatory system with an accuracy uncommon in Nordmen healing traditions, which relied more on practical experience than formal anatomy.
She refreshed her memory of the key passages, her finger tracing the descriptions of blood enhancement techniques practiced by various cultures. The Westfolk kingdoms used controlled bloodletting and herbal catalysts to achieve temporary strength increases. The Eastshore League preferred alchemical preparations that altered blood composition more permanently. The Dustwalkers of the southern deserts employed ritual scarification that supposedly allowed warriors to draw power directly from their ancestors.
None of these approaches matched what she had experienced during her captivity in the rogue blood mage enclave known as the Crimson Path. Their techniques had been more invasive, more transformative—and ultimately more destructive to both practitioner and subject. If the Grimhall Clan had somehow acquired such knowledge...
A horn sounded from the direction of the Great Hall—the first call for the war council, indicating one hour until the gathering. Malgorzata closed the journal and returned it to the chest, but removed one of the pouches of dried herbs. The mixture of willow bark, feverfew, and a rarer plant known as bloodroot would help manage the pain in her shoulder without dulling her senses for the council meeting.
She changed quickly into clothing appropriate for a formal gathering—woolen trousers, a linen tunic, and a leather jerkin embossed with the Nowak clan symbol of a bear standing before a mountain. Over this she fastened a cloak lined with fox fur, secured by a silver brooch that had belonged to her mother. Her hair, dark and thick like most Nordmen, she braided in the warrior style, with small metal beads marking significant victories woven into the plaits.
The final touch was purely practical—a leather harness worn beneath her clothing that allowed her to carry two knives against her ribs and a smaller blade at the small of her back. Weapons were permitted in the council chamber, but openly carrying anything beyond a ceremonial blade could be interpreted as expecting violence among clan members—a serious breach of protocol.
Prepared both mentally and physically, Malgorzata left her quarters and headed toward the Great Hall. The settlement had grown more active in the hour since her conversation with Kazimir. Warriors in formal attire converged on the hall from various directions, their faces grim with the news of Einar's death. Clan elders moved more slowly but with equal purpose, some supported by younger family members against the slippery patches where snow had compacted to ice.
The Great Hall of Clan Nowak stood at Frosthold's center, its timber frame rising higher than any surrounding structure. Carved pillars supported a steep roof designed to shed heavy snow, while the exterior walls featured intricate knotwork patterns telling the clan's history through symbolic representation. Two massive doors of oak bound with iron stood open in welcome, though guards flanked the entrance, checking that all who entered were entitled to attend the council.
Malgorzata nodded to the guards, who acknowledged her with the fist-to-heart salute accorded to proven warriors. Inside, the hall's vast open space was arranged for formal council—a central fire pit surrounded by concentric rings of benches and tables. The innermost circle was reserved for the clan chief and his most trusted advisors, the next for blood-sworn warriors and elders, and the outermost for other clan members whose roles entitled them to witness but not necessarily speak.
Her father already occupied his place at the head of the inner circle. Radek Nowak was a massive man even by Nordmen standards, his frame seemingly carved from the same granite as the mountains surrounding Frosthold. Age had turned his beard and hair gray, but had done nothing to diminish his commanding presence. Beside him sat Kazimir, now serving as his chief strategist and advisor—a role that utilized his intellectual gifts while accommodating his physical limitations.
Malgorzata took her assigned place in the second circle among the blood-sworn warriors. Several nodded greetings, while others merely glanced her way before returning their attention to hushed conversations. She was accustomed to this mixed reception—respected for her combat record but still viewed with suspicion by those uncomfortable with her unconventional path and rumored blood magic exposure.
As the hall filled, she noted the absence of younger clan members and those in non-combat roles. A war council restricted to warriors and elders suggested her father anticipated decisions that would be best kept from wider knowledge, at least initially. This further confirmed the seriousness of the situation.
When all entitled to attend had taken their places, Radek rose to his feet. The hall fell silent immediately, all attention focusing on the clan chief.
"Blood of my blood, shields at my side," he began, using the traditional opening for war councils. "I have called you here because our clan faces a threat beyond ordinary raiding or boundary disputes."
His voice carried easily through the hall, decades of leadership having taught him how to project authority without shouting. "Yesterday, at the third hour past dawn, a patrol led by Einar Thorsson encountered hunters from Clan Grimhall within our territory. When challenged, the Grimhall men attacked rather than withdrawing. Einar fell defending our lands, and his son Leif barely escaped to bring warning."
Murmurs of anger rippled through the assembly. Border violations were common enough, but killing a patrol leader rather than retreating when caught was a serious escalation.
"This alone would demand response," Radek continued, raising a hand for silence. "But there is more. Leif Thorsson reports that the Grimhall hunters displayed abilities beyond natural strength and speed. His account suggests blood enhancement—forbidden to all clans under the Treaty of Three Winters."
The murmurs transformed into outright exclamations of shock and outrage. Blood magic in various forms had long been part of Nordmen culture, primarily in healing, divination, and certain sacred rituals. But enhancement—the direct manipulation of a warrior's blood to increase physical capabilities—had been banned after the Bloodmist War nearly a century ago, when enhanced berserkers had slaughtered entire settlements in uncontrollable rage.
"Leif Thorsson will speak," Radek announced, gesturing toward a young man who rose from the second circle.
Leif was barely twenty, his beard still growing in patches rather than the full coverage that marked mature Nordmen men. His left arm was bound in a sling, and a fresh scar ran from his temple to his jaw. Despite his youth and injuries, he stood straight as he addressed the council.
"We found them skinning a buck near Raven's Ridge," he began, his voice steady despite the emotion visible in his eyes. "Three hunters, wearing Grimhall colors. My father challenged them according to custom, offering them the chance to leave the kill and depart without blood price."
He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "They laughed. The largest one—a man I recognized as Ulf Grimhall—said the old boundaries no longer applied. Then he... he did something. Cut his own palm and smeared the blood across his face while speaking words I couldn't understand."
Another pause, this one filled with palpable tension throughout the hall. "His eyes changed. Became red, like blood had filled them completely. He moved faster than any man should move, crossing the distance between them before my father could raise his axe. The other two did the same blood ritual and attacked our remaining patrol members."
Leif's composure wavered slightly. "I saw Ulf tear my father's throat out with his bare hands. Saw him lift Gunnar—a man twice his weight—and break him across his knee like kindling. I fought the one who came for me, managed to wound him with my knife, but his blood... it didn't flow right. It seemed to crawl back into the wound."
Malgorzata felt a chill that had nothing to do with the mountain air. The description matched accounts she had read of blood manipulation techniques far beyond the simple enhancement rituals historically practiced in the north.
"I escaped only because I fell down a ravine," Leif concluded, the admission clearly painful to his pride. "They thought me dead or not worth pursuing. I made my way back to warn the clan."
Radek nodded gravely as Leif returned to his seat. "We have verified parts of this account. A patrol found Einar's body and those of two other warriors. The manner of their deaths confirms unusual strength was employed. We also found blood markings consistent with ritual use rather than battle wounds."
The clan chief's gaze swept the assembly. "The Treaty of Three Winters is clear. Blood enhancement in warfare is forbidden to all clans who wish to maintain peace in the mountains. If Clan Grimhall has broken this covenant, they threaten not just our boundaries but the stability of all northern territories."
An elder rose from the second circle—Dagmar, the clan's most experienced healer and keeper of traditional knowledge. Her face was deeply lined, her once-red hair now white, but her voice remained strong.
"Chief Nowak, before we determine our response, we must consider how Clan Grimhall obtained such knowledge. The blood rituals described go beyond the enhancement techniques our ancestors banned. They suggest outside influence or rediscovered forbidden texts."
Radek nodded. "Your concern is noted, Elder Dagmar. Do you have insight into the nature of these techniques?"
The old woman's gaze shifted briefly to Malgorzata before returning to the clan chief. "Not I, but perhaps others among us have encountered similar magics in their travels."