The Road to Revenge

Chapter 2: The Road to Revenge

The wind howled through the desolate landscape as Leif and Bjorn moved deeper into Sigvar's territory. The cold had begun to bite harder with each passing day, the freezing winds numbing their skin. They hadn't spoken much since their fight with the warrior. Leif's mind was consumed with thoughts of vengeance, and Bjorn could sense the growing tension in his brother. The relentless pursuit of revenge had already begun to change him.

They had traveled for three days now, moving under the cover of night to avoid any more patrols. The tension between them had become palpable, each step further into Sigvar's lands pulling them closer to a storm they couldn't turn back from.

"I can feel it," Leif muttered one evening, his eyes scanning the horizon. "Sigvar is close. His shadow is over everything here."

Bjorn looked up at the sky, the pale moonlight casting an eerie glow over the frozen ground. "This is his land now," Bjorn said. "And he's made sure that every inch of it is blood-soaked. No one dares to stand against him."

Leif's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. "I'm going to change that."

Bjorn didn't respond immediately. Instead, he watched his younger brother. Leif had always been impulsive, filled with the burning fire of revenge since the night their father died. But this fire was different now—it was consuming him. Bjorn knew the path they were on wouldn't just change their world; it could break them.

"We need a plan," Bjorn said finally, his tone serious. "Sigvar isn't just some rogue. He commands armies. He's built an empire on the bones of the weak. Charging at him headfirst is foolish."

Leif turned to face his brother, his eyes cold. "I don't care about armies. I care about killing him."

Bjorn sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "And you think that will bring Father back? Killing Sigvar won't end your pain, Leif. Trust me—there is no honor in revenge. It will only drag you into darkness."

Leif stepped closer to Bjorn, his voice low but filled with a burning intensity. "Honor? What honor is there in letting a monster like Sigvar walk free while he destroys everything we've known? I've seen what he's done to our people, to our land. I will make him pay with his life."

Bjorn met his brother's gaze, his own anger simmering beneath the surface. "And I'll be with you. But if you're going to do this, you'll need more than just fury."

There was a long silence between the two brothers. Leif knew what Bjorn was getting at, but his pride would not let him ask for help. He had been alone for too long, lost in the pain of their father's death. The thought of depending on others, relying on someone else to fight his battles, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Still, after a moment of contemplation, Leif spoke, his voice softer than before. "We need to get close to Sigvar. He's not going to just sit back and let us walk into his camp. We'll need to find out who his men are, who is loyal to him."

Bjorn nodded. "We need allies. If we're to face Sigvar head-on, we'll need help from those who've been oppressed by him. But they'll only help if they see us as more than just two men out for revenge."

Leif looked out at the horizon, his thoughts once again consumed with his father's death. The last time he'd seen Sigvar's face, it had been just before the battle—the mocking grin, the cruelty in his eyes. Sigvar had spared no mercy, not even for Thorvald, their father.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of a twig snapping underfoot broke the silence. Both brothers immediately dropped to a crouch, instinctively reaching for their weapons. They exchanged a glance, silently agreeing to stay alert.

From behind a tree, a figure emerged—a tall man dressed in the garb of a warrior, his face covered by a hood. He moved cautiously but with a sense of purpose. His eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto Leif and Bjorn.

"Well, well," the man said, his voice low and gravelly. "Looks like I've found myself two wayward souls."

Leif stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Who are you?"

The man smiled, showing a set of sharp teeth. "I'm someone who's been keeping an eye on you both. I figured it wouldn't be long before you'd come looking for Sigvar."

Leif's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

The man's smile widened. "I don't want anything, but I do know something you'll want to hear. Sigvar's forces are gathering for a raid. I have information about where he's planning to strike next."

Bjorn stepped forward cautiously, his voice skeptical. "And why should we trust you?"

The man's eyes glinted with amusement. "Because, if you don't, you'll never find him. And, well, I'd hate to see two such determined men waste their lives chasing a ghost."

Leif looked at Bjorn, who nodded reluctantly. It was a risk, but the chance of learning Sigvar's movements was worth it.

"What's your price?" Leif asked, his voice cold.

The man held up his hands innocently. "Oh, nothing too steep. Just a small favor. When you kill Sigvar—and I know you will—you'll make sure that I'm well compensated for my troubles. After all, I've led you right to him, haven't I?"

Leif didn't flinch at the man's boldness. "Fine. You'll get what you deserve. Now, tell us what we need to know."

The man's grin widened, and he stepped forward, his eyes scanning the surroundings one last time. "Sigvar's army is camped just two days north of here, in the Valley of the Fallen. They're preparing for a raid on a nearby settlement. It's not much, but it's enough. The main camp is heavily guarded, but there's a way in. I'll show you."

Bjorn crossed his arms, eyeing the stranger warily. "You're certain about this?"

The man chuckled. "I wouldn't be here if I weren't."

---

The next day, as the sun rose high over the frozen landscape, Leif and Bjorn followed the mysterious man northward. The air was cold, biting at their skin as they trudged through the snow. Their journey was tense, the only sounds their feet crunching in the snow and the occasional whisper of the wind.

After hours of travel, they reached the edge of a large valley, the ground littered with boulders and steep cliffs. In the distance, Leif could make out the outlines of tents and campfires—the unmistakable signs of an army.

"There," the man said, pointing toward the valley. "That's where Sigvar is. The Valley of the Fallen. His camp is just beyond those rocks. If you're careful, you can sneak through the pass. But don't get caught."

Leif's heart was racing in his chest. This was it—the moment he had been waiting for. The enemy was within reach, and the taste of revenge was finally beginning to take shape.

Bjorn turned to the man, his voice low and serious. "Stay out of sight. If you betray us, I'll make sure you regret it."

The man held his hands up in mock surrender. "I'll be fine. Just make sure you take care of Sigvar."

Leif didn't wait any longer. With one last glance at his brother, he set his sights on the camp ahead. It was time. The battle for vengeance had begun.