The twilight draped the village, tinting the snow with a bluish glow. Cassian and Bjorn stood apart from the cabins, near a makeshift campfire at the edge of the palisade. The flames crackled, consuming dry pine branches, and the sharp scent of resin filled the air. Cassian, wrapped in his black cloak, stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, while Bjorn, crouched by the fire, poked a stick into the embers. The Northerner seemed tense, his shoulders stiff under his fur cape, his gaze flickering between the fire and Cassian.
"So, pretty boy," Bjorn growled, breaking the silence. "You say you'll teach me to talk to the Frostfangs. I'm waiting."
Cassian gave a faint smile, his breath forming a cloud in the icy air. "Patience, Bjorn. Words are like blades: they need sharpening before they strike." He sat on a stump, adjusting his cloak to avoid the wet snow. "Tonight, we'll prepare your speech. Tomorrow, you'll walk to the Frostfangs' camp, and you'll be the man who changes this village's course."
Bjorn grunted, skeptical. "Me? I'm not one of your courtiers. I fight, I hunt, I survive. Don't need words for that."
Cassian tilted his head, his gray eyes glinting in the firelight. "And yet, it's with words you'll make the Frostfangs lower their weapons. Strength they respect, but cunning? They won't see it coming. Listen to me, and I'll make you a man they won't forget."
Bjorn jabbed his stick into the snow, his gaze hard. "Talk, then. What do I say to those raiders?"
Cassian leaned slightly forward, his voice taking on a precise, almost scholarly cadence. "First, you need to understand who they are. The Frostfangs aren't a unified clan, but they're not brainless barbarians. Their chief, from what you've told me, is a man named Hagen. Tall, brutal, with a scar on his left cheek. He respects strength but is also pragmatic. He knows winter's close and his clan's weakened by constant raids. Your role, Bjorn, is to offer him an honorable way out."
Bjorn frowned. "A way out? They've attacked us for years. Why would they listen to me?"
"Because you'll offer what they want most: survival," Cassian replied. "But you won't beg. You'll speak as an equal, a warrior they can respect. Here's what you'll say."
Cassian stood, pacing around the fire. "You'll start by introducing yourself: Bjorn Ironfist, sent by Torvald's village. You'll say you're tired of raids, just as they are. You'll propose a deal: a portion of your northwest hunting grounds, unused in winter, in exchange for a truce and an alliance against southern clans, like the Ashblades."
Bjorn narrowed his eyes. "The northwest lands? They're poor in game. Torvald will never agree."
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "Hasn't Torvald already agreed? He sent you. And the northwest lands are a decoy. It's not the land that matters, it's the idea. The Frostfangs will see it as goodwill, but what they'll really gain is the security of an alliance. And you'll gain their respect—and the village's."
Bjorn grunted, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "And if Hagen refuses? If he wants blood?"
Cassian stopped, his smile sharpening. "Then you remind him winter doesn't forgive. If he refuses, he dooms his clan to starvation. Look him in the eyes, Bjorn, and say: 'We can die together, or thrive together. Choose.'"
Bjorn stared into the flames, then nodded slowly. "You're clever, pretty boy. Too clever, maybe."
Cassian laughed softly, a sound that seemed to dance with the fire's crackle. "Cleverness is a weapon, Bjorn. Like your axe. Now, repeat after me."
For the next hour, Cassian coached Bjorn, refining every word, every inflection. He taught him how to stand—upright but not threatening; how to speak—with strength but without arrogance; how to read Hagen's reactions to adjust his words. Bjorn, initially reluctant, got into it, his voice growing more confident with each repetition. Cassian corrected him with surgical precision, noting every hesitation, every misplaced tone.
"No, Bjorn, not 'we could share.' Say: 'We will share.' It's a promise, not a suggestion."
Bjorn grumbled but complied, his voice firmer. "We will share the northwest lands for the winter. In exchange, you stop the raids and fight beside us against the Ashblades."
Cassian nodded, satisfied. "Better. Now do it again, but look me in the eyes this time."
Bjorn did, and for the first time, Cassian saw a spark of confidence in his gaze.
Dawn was barely breaking when Cassian and Bjorn set out. The village was still asleep, except for the guards who watched in silence from the palisade. Cassian carried a light pack with hard bread and a waterskin, while Bjorn bore a spear, his axe, and a rolled bearskin for the night. The path to the Frostfangs' camp, half a day's march east, wound through twisted pines and rocky hills. The fine but persistent snow crunched under their boots.
Cassian led the way, Bjorn following. "Ever negotiated with raiders?" Bjorn asked after a long silence.
Cassian smiled without turning. "Not raiders, no. But men far more dangerous. Courtiers, nobles, councilors. They don't wield axes, but their words are blades."
Bjorn grunted. "That I believe. You're a snake, Cassian."
Cassian laughed. "A snake? Maybe. But a snake that'll lead you to victory, Bjorn. Focus on your role, and all will go well."
By noon, they reached a ridge overlooking a small valley. Below, the Frostfangs' camp came into view: a dozen hide tents stretched over wooden frames, surrounded by smoky fires. Men and women went about their tasks—skinning game, sharpening weapons, hauling wood. Cassian counted about thirty people, half of them armed men.
"They're fewer than us," Bjorn muttered, crouching beside Cassian behind a rock.
"Fewer, but more mobile," Cassian replied, his eyes scanning the camp. "They live as nomads, Bjorn. They strike fast and vanish. That's why your offer must be clear and immediate. No room for hesitation."
Bjorn nodded, his face taut with determination. "Let's go."
They descended the ridge, Cassian letting Bjorn take the lead. As they neared the camp, two sentries armed with spears spotted them and raised the alarm. Quickly, a dozen men formed a defensive line. At the center, a giant stood out: Hagen, no doubt, with a crescent scar on his left cheek, a double-headed axe in hand.
"Who are you?" he barked, his voice rumbling like a rockslide.
Bjorn stepped forward, planting his spear in the ground to show he came in peace. "Bjorn Ironfist, from Torvald's village. I come to talk, not fight."
Hagen narrowed his eyes, his gaze shifting from Bjorn to Cassian, who stood back, hands clasped behind him, his expression neutral but alert. "Talk?" Hagen growled. "You dare come here after what your hunters did to my men?"
Cassian noted the anger in his voice, but also a hint of weariness. Bjorn squared his shoulders, following Cassian's instructions. "We're all tired of fighting, Hagen. Winter's coming, and it'll kill us all if we keep this up. I come with an offer."
Hagen crossed his arms, his axe still within reach. "An offer? Speak, Ironfist, but make it quick."
Bjorn took a breath, his voice firm but measured, just as Cassian had coached. "We will share the northwest hunting grounds for the winter. In exchange, you stop the raids. And you fight beside us against the Ashblades. Together, we'll be stronger. Together, we'll survive."
A tense silence fell. The Frostfangs exchanged looks, some incredulous, others intrigued. Hagen stared at Bjorn, then let out a harsh laugh. "You, share your lands? Torvald must be desperate to send a dog like you with such an offer."
Cassian sensed Bjorn stiffen but stepped in before things unraveled. He moved forward, his smile charming but restrained. "Not desperate, Hagen. Clever. The northwest lands are poor in winter, you know that. It's no loss for us, but a gain for you. And an alliance with Torvald's village will shield you from southern clans. Why bleed for nothing when we can all thrive?"
Hagen turned his gaze to Cassian, eyes narrowed. "And who are you? His scribe?"
Cassian inclined his head, his smile steady. "Call me a counselor. But Bjorn's words are the village's. Listen to him, Hagen. It's a chance for the Frostfangs to come through winter stronger than they went in."
Hagen grunted, his laughter gone. He studied Bjorn, then Cassian, then his own men. Finally, he spoke, his voice lower. "If I say yes, how do I know Torvald will keep his word?"
Bjorn answered, following Cassian's script. "Because I do. If Torvald betrays, I'll be the first to challenge him. You have my word, Hagen."
A murmur ran through the Frostfangs. Hagen stayed silent, his gaze heavy. Then he nodded. "We'll think it over. Come back in three days. I'll have my answer."