**********
7.
**********
In ancient times, as now, the Woags burned
their dead. The scholars did not agree upon the original purpose of this
tradition (though their consensus was that it dated back to their days of
wandering the Hyperborean Steppe), and in recent years it was more customary,
as in the elvish way, for the Woaggish nobility to bury their dead in crypts or
barrows. And in ancient times, as now, the Woags commemorated their dead by
carving posts or `staves' from the tallest ironwood bark and inscribing them
with the runes of their honoured dead's name.
"Dear Ka-Uta," uttered Johanni. "Blessings
upon your name. May your spirit guide my noble father upon his journey into the
Hallowed Plane."
The aetheling rose from his knees with a
freshly forged short sword clunking at his sword belt and beheld the
twelve-foot tall stave commemorating his father's life and deeds. A horse totem
flag crackled in the wind from its spike. It was one of a hundred more his men
had erected, one for every mile of territory they traversed since learning of
the news in Greyport – four days prior.
The days since Magnus Magnusson's death had
come and gone so quickly. Though tensions were high Bruma and the Lawspeakers
agreed to form a tentative ruling council whilst Thorvald Tyrfingsson and Kjarlla
of Pearlstone accompanied Johanni's party to the capital. Although he was not
permitted to attend those crucial council meetings, a grateful Bruma kept him
informed of the agreements made as he recovered from his wounds. They agreed to
`freeze' Die Weißjagd until the new chieftain Thorvald formally ended
it, and in the interim, mobilize a contingent of woodsmen, stonemasons, and
builders to restore the villages razed during the chaos. They agreed to barrack
the soldiers in the Deepfjord's three key strongholds: Ice Rock's Point,
Snowhold Fortress, and the Hoarfrost Throne, and they agreed to recall the
thousands of women scattered to the furthest corners of the territory. Each of
the three garrisons would serve as shelter for the Thoths until the villages
were in a fit enough state to return to. Where Bruma and the lawspeakers
disagreed was on the matter of her and Magnusson's children.
Neither Modi nor Gunna were of age and thus
had no claim to power (yet). It was Bruma's desire to nullify Gunna's arranged
marriage to Hrolfyr and recall Modi from the Golden Empire. The lawspeakers,
devoted to breeding its new members from the bloodline of the Thoth
chieftaincy, refused to abandon the match, and refused to recall Modi (lest
they offend the Golden Emperor and weaken their ties to him). In the end they
agreed that it was Thorvald's duty to resolve these matters and so they would
suspend them until he returned from the capital.
That was seven days ago.
Once he was fit enough for the journey,
Johanni rode with Erik Halfspear, Norsa Hardfang and Gnut the Troll upon the
fastest fjord horses in the Hoarfrost Throne's stables, bound south for
Shrike's Bay where the crew of the Dragon's Eye awaited them. The Arbarii ship
was as sleek as ever and within a few days it landed at Greyport, an Arbarii
port town at the mouth of the northern estuary, where they were received by the
jowly steward Halfdan and a half century of legionary reinforcements from the
Royal Legion garrison at Scraefling Isle, just as promised. The Impanni flag
was a welcomed sight after so long, but his smile dampened as he spotted the
sour glares and tear-soaked expressions of his men.
"Halfdan,"
Johanni embraced him. "What has happened?"
The steward shivered beneath his sable cloak,
the cold winds of the north bearing down upon the pier's barnacled planks. He
could not bring himself to look the boy in the eye as he said it.
"It is the king, lord. King Hrathwuld is... no
more."
That was four days ago.
Johanni remembered little between then and
now. He recalled screaming his lungs hoarse and falling into someone's arms as
the blood rushed to his head. He recalled waking in a portside inn later that
night and weeping by the candlelight until it burnt to the wick. Sometime that
following morning (officially the second day of mourning across all Grünlund)
Thorvald Tyrfingsson and Kjarlla of Pearlstone rode into Greyport with Erik's
warband and a small cortege of soldiers and thralls to begin the long march
south to Drangheim.
That was three days ago.
Johanni glanced behind his father's 101st
memorial stave to the encampment surrounding it, a sprawl of fifty large tents
surrounded by cookfires, latrines, trenches, and makeshift horse pens. Growler
the Bear slept off a fat supper of trout inside his cage. Other than those
assigned to guard duty, most of the men were asleep. Between the legionaries,
the warband, and Thorvald and Kjarlla's personal guard, he had less than 150
men to return home with, but it was enough.
And now?
Home was only a day away.
"...Father," Johanni scrubbed the tears out of
his eyes like an irritant. He was so sick of crying and yet he couldn't stop
doing it, even in front of the men. That was when Erik Halfspear approached him
for the first time in days, his heavy boots slapping into the muddy grass, his
heavy greatsword clanking against his back. The older man rested his palm
against the boy's shoulder.
Johanni shrugged it off.
"No," he said. "...Not in front of my father's
stave."
Erik sighed. They hadn't shared a bed once
since news of Hrathwuld's death arrived. "...Are you alright?"
How could I be? He thought. What would father think of me now if he could see me?
I've murdered a chieftain... and been bedded like a fishwife by another. Can you
see me, father? Do you hate me? "I am fine, Erik. Do not worry."
"Then pull it together," said the Halfspear.
"The men will notice if you don't. I mourn your father's loss, but you know
what it means. You're going to be king, Johanni. You have to be strong."
It was everything he had worked for since he
first set out on this infernal journey – through the Oakmire and the Beast
Tower siege, and from Karburgh to the attack on Haakon's Redoubt, from that
stolen night of passion at the elvish villa to the palace of Pearlstone and the
horrors of Kolskegg's Crag, to the siege of Snowhold and the death of Magnus
Magnusson. So much struggle. So much loss. So much blood. So many tears. And
now here he was – at the very gates of destiny. And there was so much work to
be done. Rebuilding the Deepfjord and restoring the Arbarii-Thoth sibb.
Resettling the Karggars into the Fens. Capturing Haakon Godwulfsson and
bringing him to account for the murders of Gad Greyspear, Thregg the Ghoat and
Frodi the Archer. But most of all – atoning for the sins of the past and
finally delivering justice to the Osserians.
A crown is weighed in duty.
Grünlund's would be a heavy one to bear.
Magnus Magnusson's dark words echoed in
Johanni's mind – dire warnings of a coming conflict between the Elvish and
Golden Empires, Grünlund's desperate need to strengthen itself. He was right.
Johanni was not ready for what was to come. But Erik was right also. He had to
be strong...
...because he had no choice.
Johanni paused and swallowed as deep a breath
as he could, exhaled, then turned on his heels. Erik Halfspear followed him
into the encampment's central tent, where the foremost of all his companions
had gathered – Halfdan the Steward, Norsa Hardfang, Kjarlla of Pearlstone,
Thorvald Tyrfingsson and Gnut the Troll. Johanni and Erik joined them around a
long wooden table with a map of Grünlund at its centre and ewers of wine and
water for refreshment. No thralls or guards stood to attend them – this was to
be as private a meeting as they would ever have.
"I want to thank you all for putting your
faith in me," Johanni began. "I cannot promise to be the king my father was...
but your trust shall be repaid. My intention is not merely to see this nation
thrive – I strive to see it flourish."
Kjarlla smiled. "We are at your side, your
grace. So where do we begin?"
Johanni pointed out the city of Drangheim upon
the map before them. "At our current pace we are half a day's ride from
Drangheim. As soon as we arrive and I pay my respects to my father, I will call
for a new session of Royal Diet. Each of you will be given a chance to speak in
my favour, and if the Diet is swayed, they shall formerly declare me king and I
will be crowned before the winter."
Norsa's eyes darkened. "...This `session'. Will
the Bloodbane be there?"
"Yes," said Johanni. "...Can I trust you?"
His meaning was plain. Can I trust you not
to kill him where he stands? But deep down he knew that he could. The
scar-ridden warrior was wiser now than she was when they first met. Justice
would be delivered for her people – but it had to be done the right way.
"Justice demands a better approach," said the
Hardfang. "You can trust me."
Johanni nodded. "Any news from the north,
Thorvald?"
The Thoth chieftain stood close by his wife
Kjarlla, each with a cup of wine in hand. After his long spell in Pearlstone's
dungeons he was fit and healthy again. "Not since arriving at Greyport,
unfortunately. She's culling the beastlings that One-Eyed Wulfstan birthed for
the White Hunt, I know that much as per her last missive, and that Haakon
Godwulfsson has alluded her search parties heretofore."
Erik frowned.
"Where in all'a
blazing hells is that bastard?" Cursed Gnut.
"We shall find him one way or another," said
Johanni. "Halfdan, what of the missive I asked you to send to Scraefling Isle?"
The steward nodded. "I dispatched it by pigeon
yester-morn. The garrison will sail 200 legionaries to the Deepfjord to assist
the Thoths with reconstruction and to help preserve the peace until Thorvald's
return."
"Good. Erik? Any news from Karburgh?"
The chieftain of the Karggars pulled a
parchment chit from the folds of his bearskin cloak and set it upon the table.
"The Osserians have returned to the city and peace talks between my brother
Sygardi and Harwald Snowhair have begun."
Johanni nodded. "That is good news. I am
certain Harwald and Sygardi shall find an accord that suits the two tribes."
"It isn't all good news. More Karggar refugees
are crossing the marshes by the day, and the larders are running low."
Johanni cupped his brow. "It will take another
year before the Fens can self-sustain by harvest. Kjarlla, will Lord Bors
accept an impromptu ironwood shipment in exchange for a few thousand barrels of
potatoes, barley, salt and wheat?"
The lady tipped her cup to him. "And help him
win the favour of the future king of Grünlund? I am sure a swift word will see
it done."
"Excellent. But that might not be enough.
Halfdan. Centurion Septio has contact with the Royal Legion's garrison at Ghost
Hill, yes?"
"Y-yes, lord."
"Confer with him and see if there are any
reserves of grain to spare," said the future king. "Now, please."
Halfdan blinked, looking to the others around
the table who looked to each other in equal confusion. But he was
serious, was Johanni. The steward ate his indignation and obeyed the command,
excusing himself before departing the tent. Johanni held the table's silence
until Halfdan was out of earshot.
"You sent him away..." said Kjarlla.
Johanni's cup was empty. He poured himself
some water and took a gulp before he answered her. "Do not think me cruel or
rude, but to his core Halfdan is my brother's man. For purposes of this
discussion I do not wish him here."
Gnut shut his eyes. "...Wulf's Blut."
"Indeed."
Thorvald turned to Johanni. "...You speak of
that ancient magic One-Eyed Wulfstan used to create his beastlings? What of
it?"
"My brother is infected with it, as are his
closest thegns Swanstroke Knossos and Twinstroke Kreim, the Golden Brothers.
Ragnar would never harm me, but... I do not think it wise to tip him off to our
knowledge of his affliction," the boy turned to the Troll. "That means he cannot
know that you are alive, not just yet."
Gnut growled softly, scratching his chest.
"I've made me peace with the past. I'm ready to speak truth to it and be damned
what comes after."
"I know that, Gnut. It is a matter of tactics,
nothing more. You will hold with the Karggar warband outside the city until the
Diet declares me king and then we will confront Ragnar with the truth."
"...Aye. As ya say."
Johanni nodded. "Good. Then it is settled. Let
us sleep, everyone. Tomorrow is poised to be a tiring day."
**********
They broke camp at first light after the
dispatch of the riders; east for the Ghost Hill garrison, north for Kjarlling.
The Halfspear's warband held the party's van as it rode south along the Great
River by a cracked stone herepath until they reached a recently repaired bridge
known as Ka-Uta's Arm and crossed over into the Weald. From there it was a
simple ride south to the capital.
Drangheim, the largest and mightiest of the
three great cities of Grünlund, was like a place changed when Johanni finally
returned to it. Its 30-foot walls crackled with billowing deer totem flags as
they approached the northern gate, but all were at half-mast. That was when
Erik's warband split off from the rest of the party and made for one of the
surrounding villages with Gnut the Troll and the encaged Growler. Johanni,
Erik, Norsa, Kjarlla and Thorvald rode up to the bastion with Halfdan and the
troops at the rear. In customary times the gatehouses were manned by the city
watchmen, a fleet and lightly armoured force of 1500 spearmen in black leather
tabards and mail skirts, but today they were manned by legionaries, all of them
solemn and sombre-eyed.
The king's death is felt in all quarters, thought Johanni. He greeted them and bid them open the iron gates,
but his return was not to be what he imagined. As he and the others rode forth
into the city, they found it deathly silent. The Drangheim Johanni left
was chaotic and loud, with costermongers and paupers and jugglers and wenches
on every street corner; fishmongers and butchers and fletchers at every window;
drunkard louts and miscreants stumbling out of taverns and innkeepers hurling
buckets of vomitus into the carved gutters of cobbled streets whilst criers
rang out new edicts from the palace – a city once alive with smoke and
hearthfire, from the piss and rain soaked streets littered with fishbones and
cracked crab barrels to the glittering spires of its central keep, the Palace
of Drang. But now all the lechery and revelry, all the tools hammering and
children stammering, all the chicken clucks and pig snorts and braying horses,
all the chatter and commerce and vitality of the city had petered out into
solemnity.
Johanni and his party rode their horses
through quiet streets. All the stalls and cart-sellers had packed up business.
Most of the taverns were closed and only a few inns were open to host guests.
Few citizens walked the streets save for regular patrols of royal legionaries,
marching in squads of five or ten. And everywhere he looked people had crafted
memorials to the king. Runestones bearing his name. Tiny clay idols sculpted in
his image. Flags stitched with the royal seal. Carved hazel staves. Laurel wreaths.
Drangheim was still very much a city in mourning.
This is not the return I envisioned, thought Johanni.
Nevertheless, he led their way uphill towards
the centre of the city, to the Old City of Drang, but more specifically to the
Temple of Ka-Uta, a colonnaded marble shrine King Hrathwuld built for the
common folk to worship the Impanni god. It sat at the southern end of a
half-mile long marble pavilion lined by moss and ivy-wrapped statues and
columns. Towering oak trees lined either side of the road, and as elsewhere in
the city, the presence of the Royal Legion was felt. Around 20 or so
legionaries guarded the pavilion alone.
But where are the city watchmen? Thought Johanni. There must have been some unrest in the city since
my departure...
"Halfdan. Please take our guests to the Palace
of Drang in my stead. I wish to pay respects to my father's body."
"We should come with you," said Erik.
"No. I must do this alone. Go now. We have
much to prepare for."
Erik Halfspear, churlish rogue though he was,
looked unconvinced. Johanni could not lie – it warmed his heart that Erik
wished to stay with him. But he could not dismiss the feeling that it
disrespected his father in some vague way – to bring his male lover into the
shrine of moral chastity and virtue the late king once sought to render.
Kjarlla palmed Erik's shoulder. "Come along
now, you bloody Karggar. Let the king say his goodbyes in peace. We have our
own work to do."
The Halfspear sighed but acquiesced all the
same and whipped at the reins of his horse. Halfdan ordered four of his ahorse
legionaries to accompany Johanni whilst he led Erik and the others east along
the city's central laneway towards the Palace of Drang.
Johanni proceeded onwards.
Beneath a warm and pale sun, he and his four
guards cantered down the white marble pavilion past small clustered crowds of
worshippers and mourners. Most were Impannis, either local townsfolk or
travellers from the countryside, but many were pilgrims of Karggar and Arbarii
stock come down to pay respects to the king. He even saw a cloaked Osserian
amongst them (so told by that distinctive scale armour) but thought nothing of
it until his sombre expression seemed to stare back him, and then Johanni
noticed a familiar square jutting jaw beneath the shade of the stranger's hood.
And his heart raced...
Eardwulf?! He
thought. Impossible!
And impossible it was. The figure disappeared
into crowds as some of the surrounding guards of the Royal Legion began to push
the mourners away, clearing the pavilion before sunfall. A trick of the mind
thought Johanni. He disappeared in Kjarlling after he tried to... least of
all things did he wish to think of that again. Instead he rode on to the steps
of the Temple of Ka-Uta, where another contingent of men stood watch – but
these were no mere legionaries; with those violet half-cloaks and white-gold
tabards, steel short swords and distinctive forearm tattoos of REX AETURNUS; these were men of the Royal Guard – the sworn protectors of the
Palace of Drang and, more generally, the Royal Family.
Ragnar is here, thought Johanni.
"Lord Johanni!" The captain of the Royal Guard
smiled joyfully and took a knee with his men. "Thank the sky you are safe,
lord. And our commiserations to you. Your father the king was a great man. Rest
assured all of Drangheim feels his loss in their hearts."
"Thank you," His white mare whickering beneath
him, Johanni unhooked his feet from the stirrups and dismounted the steed. One
of the Royal Guardsmen took its reins for safekeeping. Johanni smoothed out the
white doublet beneath his cloak and proceed up the steps and past the
colonnades into the temple.
It was dark and quiet within, save for the
light and crackle of the burning braziers, and the echo of his sandaled feet as
he walked the polished marble floors past the thousands and thousands of
pilgrim offerings left by the altars and plinths across the grand chamber. The
sight and scent of incense drifted through its musky air. And there in the
centre of the hall, at the base of a gigantic 12-foot statue of the goddess of
the sky, Ka-Uta herself, rested the corpse of Johanni Carian Hrathwuld's noble
father.
Johanni vowed to hold his tears.
There he lay, half-entombed in a stone casket
supported by gilded ironwood beams. He had been well dressed in his finest gold
jerkin and cloak, with his frail knobbed fingertips clutched to a replica of
the Gilded Claymore of Drangheim – Gunwalla. His grey hair was perfectly
quaffed beneath his pearl and ruby studded crown, and his pale skin expertly
coated with resin to bring it lustre to the common folk's eye. His soul had
departed for its rightful place in the Hallowed Plane, and his body was ready
for its rightful place in the necropolis.
But Johanni was not ready to lose him.
The tears gushed forth. He had no words to
match them. They fell like a torrent unbound as a deep and mournful wail filled
the temple from its marble floors to its frescoed dome. He cried so hard he
barely noticed his brother pulling him aside and burying the boy's face in his
breast. Strong arms enswathed him and held him close until the sobs and moans
ebbed.
"Be strong, brother," said the Bloodbane. "Be strong."
Johanni bit his lip. "...I-I will."
For a moment, just a moment, the boy looked up
and saw that sweet-cheeked teenager who once brushed away his tears when his
mother died – Ragnar the Fatherless. And then as time caught up with him, he
saw the man that teenager grew up to be – Ragnar Bloodbane. He looked strong in
his purple and gold tunic, with his lengthy hair woven into a thick black braid
tossed over his shoulder, and curiously, a laurel wreath crown upon his head.
Johanni pulled himself from his brother's
embrace and apologized for his unkempt appearance, his torn leggings and muddy
boots and moth-eaten cloak. Only then did he notice that they were not alone.
Two others were there as well – Gunhilda, the flaxen-haired captain of the
Shieldmaidens, and the wizened yet rugged Hereweald Ironhide, High Thegn of the
Northern Weald and Haakon Godwulfsson's successor at court.
"Apologies, lords..." Said Johanni. "Forgive my
outburst."
Hereweald shook his head. "Nonsense, lord
aetheling. We may have lost our king, but you and Lord Ragnar, you two have
lost something far more precious."
"Indeed," said Gunwalla. "We shall allow you
peace to mourn."
They excused themselves, Gunwalla and
Hereweald both. Johanni and Ragnar watched them both depart before turning to
each other.
"Rex Aeturnus," said Ragnar.
"Rex Aeturnus," replied Johanni, wiping away
his tears. "How did it happen and when?"
The
Bloodbane turned to their father's corpse. "Over a week ago in front of the
entire Royal Diet. Our physicians say it was of old age."
"He was frail when I left but not on the edge
of death. No matter his age I still cannot believe it... a world without
King Hrathwuld?"
"What of the chieftains?" Said Ragnar
abruptly.
"I've largely secured their support. Erik
Halfspear of the Karggars, Norsa Hardfang of the Osserians, Lady Kjarlla of the
Arbarii and Thorvald Tyrfingsson of the Thoths. The work is done – but not
without sacrifice."
"Nevertheless, the work is done," with
a broad smile the Bloodbane palmed his brother's shoulder. "You did it. Not
only did you fulfil father's wishes, but you rid this nation of a terrible
threat – Magnus Magnusson and his damned Weißjagd. I am so proud of you, little
brother."
Johanni could not help but notice Ragnar's
laurel again. "...The harder part has passed but it is still for the Royal Diet
to decide which of us wears the crown."
Ragnar nodded. "Indeed. But they will not
tarry, I think. Empty thrones make for troubled times. I shall call for an
emergency session of the Royal Diet tomorrow morning."
"Please do."
The High Legate of the Royal Legion nodded
respectfully, first to Johanni and then to their father's gilded body, before
turning away and heading for the arched doorway, his footsteps echoing off the
marbled walls.
"Ragnar."
The footsteps stopped.
"...I saw a great many things that displeased me
when I was abroad this country," said Johanni. "Most significant of all was the
wholesale destruction of the Osserians."
Ragnar did not look back. "Is that so?"
"Yes. When I am crowned king, I'll need a full
inquiry into those events... and no one will be beyond reproach."
And then Ragnar looked over his shoulder and
smiled at him, coolly. "If you are crowned king, I shall see to it myself."
**********
The city of Drangheim was a place much changed
since Johanni left it, and yet the Palace of Drang was much the same. It did
not seem that way to the others, of course. Erik Halfspear was absolutely
astounded by the lavish beauty of its water gardens and hedge mazes (or as he
exclaimed "It makes old Yveryth look like a fucking shithole!"). Thorvald was
enamoured with its librariums and sat with the palace scholars to discuss
mutual research, whilst Kjarlla – a prior visitor to the palace – addressed
herself to old and new acquaintances alike amongst the Jarldom. Norsa was far
less enamoured with it all, and Johanni was not ignorant of how disgusted she
was by the presence of the Royal Legion, but she maintained her composure.
But no one was less enamoured than Johanni
was. Little had changed (beyond the presence of the jarls in preparation for
the Royal Diet's 48th Session) except for the mood about the palace.
It was sour. Without a king to defend until such time as a new one was elected,
the Shieldmaidens barracked in their Vigil with only their captain Gunwalla to
oversee the coming proceedings. The thralls (many of them captured Osserians)
were visibly anxious as they milled about the kitchens and hallways whilst the
jarls behaved as they were expected to – in dour grief – though in quiet corners
one could hear ecstatic conversations about the future of Grünlund. Deep
beneath the pall of mourning dwelt a hidden anticipation of tomorrow's session.
It made Johanni feel sick.
As the sun set, he was escorted to his rooms
by two Royal Guardsmen and found them as comfortable and extravagant as he'd
left them. Cushioned footstools and a roaring hearth; velvet curtains draping
tall stained glass windows and warm marble floors decorated with mink fur;
glass cabinets full ancient texts and scrolls and multiple drawers containing
dozens of outfits each for a special occasion of the calendar – feast days,
high solstices, low solstices, festivals, reception of foreign dignitaries, and
so on, along with a large bed dressed sheets woven from imported Xianese cotton.
It had two conjoining rooms. One for his former thrall, Eardwulf, and the other
his personal bathing chambers. Everything was well tended. Johanni couldn't so
much as find a crease in his bedsheets. The thralls had even fragranced it with
lavender and jasmine whilst he was away.
And yet it all felt so hollow.
The boy took a bath and scrubbed away nearly
ten days of dirt and grime from his body, then threw fresh kindling into the
fire and sat to his desk. He dipped a quill into wet ink, pulled out a scrap of
parchment and scratched out his intended remarks for tomorrow's session (for it
would not do to speak off the cuff) and yet a few hundred words later he put
the feather down and sighed.
He did not wish to cry.
He was sick of crying.
He wanted to feel good again.
And so, Johanni Carian Hrathwuld, drew his
robes together and fetched a cloak from his wardrobe and fastened its folds
together with a horsehead brooch. Upon bare feet he slipped out of his chambers
and walked a few doors down and knocked the grain. A few moments later it
cracked open and Erik Halfspear, naked from the waist up, greeted him.
"Are you alone?" Asked Johanni.
Erik pulled a sly grin. "Come inside."
When the Impanni stepped inside and shut the
door, the Karggar pressed him up against it and crushed their lips together.
The boy whimpered into his kiss and instantly went for the buttons of his robe,
popping them off one by one as Erik stripped himself of his breeches. A puddle
of clothes followed them all the way over to the soft cotton bed. Johanni broke
the kiss and landed belly first into the sheets as Erik mounted him from the
rear, grabbing his manhood and slowly guiding it towards a pink rosebud of soft
flesh. The younger man moaned deliciously as all seven inches of Erik's hard
hot tumescence thrust into him.
There was a kind of delirium that overcame men
in the throes of passion and lust. It was blinding and powerful, difficult to
see it when it overtook you and only seemed to pass when the seed was spilt. It
was intoxicating.
And it was why they did not notice themselves
being watched.
**********
Today was the day.
Johanni Carian Hrathwuld, clad in the same
plum-coloured and gold-trimmed tunic as his brother, sat alongside his
compatriots upon the lowest and frontmost of the semi-circular stone seats set
along the curved rear wall of the Royal Diet's grand council chamber. It was
not his first time visiting the chamber – in recent years, the late king had
made it his business to have Johanni attend the annual sessions and learn the
business of politics and statecraft – and it remained impressive. A rainbow of
morning light dappled the room through that huge pane of stained glass behind
the symbolically empty throne, though as was customary it was guarded by the High
Thegn and the captain of the Shieldmaidens; Hereweald Ironhide and Gunhilda.
The laurel-crowned Ragnar Bloodbane sat among the jarls on the eastern side of
the room, with the Golden Brothers Knossos and Kreim at his flanks, and
another, Jarl Sygmune, chatting with him closely from the seat behind. Johanni
eyed them and the other jarls – landowners, silvermongers, traders, merchants,
and warlords all – all of them powerful, all of them nattering, all of them
entrenched in the overall mood of the palace; excitement cloaked beneath false
grief.
Johanni wondered if his father once felt the
same trepidation he now felt. Glancing at the jarls assembled, it was as though
he'd stumbled into a den of adders. But then he saw Erik smiling at him. And
Norsa. And Kjarlla. And Thorvald. He could do this.
He could do this.
Jarl Sygmune, who had no small seniority among
the jarls, rose from his seat as he slowly clapped his hands thrice, and the
dozens and dozens of chattering jarls felt silent.
"I call to order the forty-ninth session of
the Royal Diet!" He exclaimed. Silence. "And on behalf of this assembly may I
offer condolences to the two Hrathwuldssons here gathered. Hrathwuld was no
mere king, no mere ruler. He is the first in millennia to unite the Woags as one
people. He was the great liberator who freed us ALL from Elvish chains and for
that, all Grünlund owes him an unpayable debt. Though he be taken from us,
young lords, know that the Hallowed Plane will not receive a mightier soul for
years to come."
"HERE, HERE!" Cried the jarls collectively.
"HERE, HERE!"
"Welcome, all of you, to the capital," said
Sygmune. "And may I be the first to congratulate our young lord, Johanni Carian
Hrathwuld, for defeating the upstart menace Magnus Magnusson, before his White
Hunt ever left those frozen fjordic shores!"
Johanni blushed as the surrounding jarls all
shouted another hardy "HERE, HERE!" and showered him with a brief smatter of
applause.
"Now lords. Though the pain of these last few
days has been immeasurable, the time has come to select a new king to lead us
into a shining new future. The two sons of the king, Ragnar Leif Hrathwuld and
Johanni Carian Hrathwuld, each have claim. But it is for the Diet to decide
whose claim is strongest. As our late king's own loghs dictated, we shall hear
from both claimants and their supporters before we adjourn. Who will speak
first?"
A single hand clad in white and gold painted
armour rose.
It was Twinstroke Kreim.
"I will speak on behalf of the High Legate,"
he said. Sygmune took his seat and Kreim arose to speak, plate armour clanging.
"I am not a learned man, nor do I come from privilege. I am a soldier by heart
and trade. I have known Ragnar most of my life. I fought beside him, served
under him, and dealt justice to our kingdom's enemies in his name," the
Twinstroke's eyes fell upon a scowling Norsa as he said this. "I can think of
no better man to lead us than he. He is cunning and clever, he is strong, he
inspires loyalty in his men, and he is devoted to protecting this nation from
its enemies both within and without. I say that Ragnar should be
Hrathwuld II."
Silence.
Kreim took his seat, and Johanni watched the
jarls as they leaned next to their neighbours to discuss the Twinstroke's words
amongst themselves. Most looked unmoved. Norsa growled as Ragnar raised his
hand.
The Bloodbane took to his feet to address the
jarls.
"I thank my thegn and shield-brother, Kreim,
for his words. I need no more." He cleared his throat. "King Hrathwuld... was a
great man. He liberated Grünlund, united the tribes, and gave us loghs and art
and purpose. And I do not doubt that my brother shall also be a great man
someday. He is brave, kind, and dedicated. We would all be fortunate to have
him as our king. But..."
Ragnar glanced at the throne.
"...if there are members of this Diet who seek
to have me crowned, then for duty's sake I am obligated to tell you what
I would do if I were king. My friends, there is tremendous work to do.
There is hunger in the Grey Wilds, strife in the Fens, corruption in the Salt
Shore and insurrection in the Deepfjord. We have a slave army of 20,000
malingering on our southern border. Our herepaths are broken and our burghs are
severely undermanned, which forced me to redeploy the city watchmen to our
northern outposts. The Royal Legion is depleted and stretched thin. Last
year we had a 20% shortfall on our tax collection. This year will be worse. My
friends, Grünlund is in disorder. We are weakened and divided. And a nation
divided is fit only for the slaughter. But I submit to you, lords, that a stern
hand with a firm plan can correct history's course. The Royal Legion is
the backbone of our country. If I am elected king, I will make it my business
to see the Legion expanded fourfold with soldiers drawn from all five
tribes, not merely the Impanni. I will recruit and deploy an army of
builders to restore our herepaths and fortify our burghs, and they will extend
our roads all the way to the Salt Shore so that stronger ties can be forged
with the Arbarii trade network. I will sit with our loghmakers to draft a new
taxation plan so that all peoples of this great nation pay their fair share. I
will renovate our fleets and suppress banditry; I will create a nation that
shall send shivers of powerlessness down the collective elvish spine. I will
make Grünlund strong... if I am king. Now. I will hear no more remarks on
my behalf. Let us hear from my brother and his companions. I yield the floor."
Silence.
As Ragnar took his seat (and Jarl Sygmune
whispered into his ear again) Johanni looked to the jarls and saw nodding and
assenting faces. Far more than he would've liked. That was when the man beside
him (and always behind him) Erik Halfspear, took to his feet. Gone were his
greatsword and bearskin cloak, replaced with a silver buttoned leather jerkin
over a knee-length aquamarine tunic. His hair was washed and cut to grain at
its sides, and his russet beard shorn down to a trim goatee. The palace thralls
had done well.
"I'm no wordsmith," said the Halfspear. "So,
I'll just say this. We Karggars were the first to join King Hrathwuld's Great
Woaggish Army. And my father, Gad Greyspear, was the first of the chieftains to
declare him king when the war was won. And we Karggars were repaid with silence
when your former thegn, Haakon Godwulfsson, cut him down on the border. I'd
wager that few of you know how deeply we felt that loss. I'd wager you're more
in mind of our raids upon your northern farmlands. That's fair. It's also fair
to say that when our lands withered beneath our feet, when we were at the brink
of starvation, Drangheim did nothing to help. Not until this one came."
Erik pointed at Johanni.
"I made a foolish mistake when I attacked his
caravan. But I made an even greater mistake by underestimating him. He
stood by my side when elf worshippers desecrated our Beast Tower and negotiated
peace with the Bloodbane after my blunder. He even freed my brother Sygardi
from captivity. In all my years I have yet to meet a braver, kinder soul. Do
not let his youth fool you – he is wise beyond it. He has tasted battle and he knows how to lead. Johanni will make for a brilliant king.
And I am honoured to support his claim."
Johanni blushed.
"Lords, pray you heed the chieftain's words,"
said Lady Kjarlla. She and Thorvald stood next, hand in hand, to deliver their
remarks together. "And pray you heed ours. This man, Thorvald Tyrfingsson, is
dearer to me than my very breath. And due to the deceptions of our former court
mystic, One-Eyed Wulfstan, my father had him scheduled for execution. But
Johanni prevented that! He put his own life at risk to help us and for that we
stand before you here today. Before he came to our shores the Arbarii-Thoth
sibb was near total collapse. And now Thorvald and I are poised to make
it stronger than ever. I know I am not my father's voice in these
matters, but I am his heir and for what it is worth... there is no king I
would sooner serve than Johanni Carian Hrathwuld."
Ragnar's faction, Jarl Sygmune and the Golden
Brothers, looked on stoically as Thorvald took the floor from his wife.
"Lords," began the Thoth chieftain. "I am
probably the least welcome voice in this room given recent affairs, and while I
played no part in the White Hunt, as chieftain of the Thoth tribe I take full
responsibility for it. Regardless of whomever is king I shall strive to repair
the damage my uncle did to this nation. But make no mistake – Lord Johanni is
the man for the task. Forget saving my life, he saved us all from war!
We would not be here speaking here today if not for him. He has inherited his
father's strength, wisdom, drive, and purpose. He has my full backing, lords.
He deserves yours as well."
Silence.
Thorvald and Kjarlla took their seats. There
was a moment of stillness (broken only by light coughs and casual whispers)
before the stern Norsa Hardfang took the floor and fixed her cold grey eyes
upon Ragnar Bloodbane.
"...I was here once before," she began. "Many a
year ago when my father Osser Greatfang was still in this court's good graces.
You called me Lady Norsa of Horn Hall then. Now they call me Hardfang.
I... once dreamt of a day such as this... and of all the things I would say... but
these are things I will keep to myself. No emotional bile shall pass my lips.
Only the truth."
Norsa exhaled.
"THIS COURT SANCTIONED THE EXECUTION OF
MY PEOPLE," she spat, glaring at the jarls assembled, before settling her eyes
upon Ragnar. "And the man who sits across from me was the executioner. He truly
is the Bloodbane. And a man like that will never have the fealty
of the Osserian people... what is left of us. But Johanni? He has the
morality and the fortitude to right the past's wrongs. I have seen it with my
own two eyes. If tribal unity means anything to the people here
assembled... know that Johanni Carian Hrathwuld is the only one who can bring it
about. As the daughter of Osser Greatfang and granddaughter of Osser Blackfang,
I back his claim to the crown of Grünlund. May no bloodthirsty tyrant ever wear
it."
Ragnar smirked.
Jarl Sygmune, glaring at the stolid Norsa
across the floor, addressed the younger Hrathwuldsson. "We... have heard from the
chieftains and their surrogates on this matter. Now, Lord Johanni, would you be
so kind as to offer your remarks?"
Destiny felt like a weight upon his shoulders.
The trepidation of the moment was palpable to him. It was what his father sent
him on this great journey for... and he was terrified. But he knew that he had to
rise to it... because there was a country out there that needed him to.
Destiny could not wait any longer.
Johanni rose to speak.
"Assembled lords. Let me begin by thanking our
honoured guests for their remarks. They have tribes of their own to lead and
yet they all journeyed south on my behalf and for that I am eternally
grateful." Erik, Kjarlla, Thorvald and even Norsa all smiled back with
encouragement as he said this, "My brother, High Legate Ragnar, is a remarkable
warrior and a seasoned commander. He taught me much. And he is correct to say
there is tremendous work ahead of us. Grünlund must indeed become stronger. But
where the High Legate sees strength through weaponry and fortification, I see
strength through our inherent unity. We Woags are the first human nation
to successful expel the elvish invaders and we achieved that not merely by
force of arms but by banding together as one people. That is our
strength. And our strength, I am sad to say, is now a sword left to rust in the
rain."
Johanni and Ragnar eyed each other.
"When I journeyed to the Grey Wilds, I found a
barren wasteland and a half-starved people. Drangheim abandoned them.
When I journeyed to the Fens, I found ruined towns littered with Osserian
bones. Drangheim expunged them. When I journeyed to the Salt Shore, I
found a bustling land enriched with trade from foreign lands. Drangheim ignored
them. And when I journeyed to the Deepfjord, I found a frozen frontier fit to
explode in rebellion. Drangheim neglected them."
The younger Hrathwuldsson gestured to his
friends.
"For too long this court has side-lined the
concerns of our Woaggish brothers and sisters, and this will change with my
rule. When I am king one of my first acts will be to expand the Royal Diet –
Karggar jarls, Arbarii jarls and Thoth jarls must all have a seat at our
table. Fealty will be rewarded with aid. We will help the Karggars to settle
the Fens and produce a sustainable harvest. We will help the Thoths to rebuild
their villages and bring peace to the Salt Isles by strengthening their sibb
with the Arbarii. We will open trade links with the Golden Empire and learn
everything eastern ingenuity can teach us. And we will conduct a full
investigation into the so-called pacification of the Osserians, for we cannot
move forward until we reconcile our past. Yes, we will rebuild our herepaths
and fortify our burghs, that is a given. But first and foremost, our duty must
be to our people."
No small portion of the jarls murmured amongst
themselves.
"Some of you may contest these proposals. I
welcome the debate. But unless we heal the rifts between our five tribes and
become one, united in duty and resolve, we will never become the great Kingdom
of Grünlund that our forebears once dreamt of. I am my father's will. And I
shall dedicate my rule to his example... if I am crowned king."
Silence.
Johanni took his seat as both Kjarlla and Erik
cupped his shoulders and congratulated him on his `rousing' speech. But across
the divide his eyes met with Ragnar's. The Bloodbane smiled back as one of the
Golden Brothers mouthed words into his ear. Suddenly the whole hall was filled
with chatter and whispers amongst the jarls. Congregation had begun. And his
and Ragnar's fates were being authored with every breath.
**********
It was the biggest feast Johanni had been
treated to since that sumptuous seafood banquet in Pearlstone. The conjoined
long tables were large enough to seat 300 men and women and they were
overflowing with dishes from across the country – trout, crab meat, salmon
hanks, rump steaks, pork shoulders, chicken thighs, pheasant breast, roasted
guinea fowl, cabbage and beef, boiled duck eggs, baked bread rolls, potatoes
(boiled and roasted), carrots and leeks, beetroots, and so on. There was wine,
beer, and ale to spare and the tableside thralls made it their business to let
no cup run dry. The surrounding hearths, all ten of them, were lit and roaring
with coal fire. Off by the northern wall a bard, a flutist, a lutenist, a
hand-drummer, and a zither player provided music for the festivities as a
rotating cortege of poets, dancers, jugglers, sword-swallowers, and
fire-breathers provided the entertainment.
As a tipsy Johanni looked around the table he
saw all sixty members of the Royal Diet in attendance, along with Ragnar
Bloodbane, Halfdan, Knossos and Kreim. The High Thegn Hereweald Ironhide and
his closest huscarls also sat to dine, as did most of Johanni's companions,
Erik Halfspear, Kjarlla of Pearlstone, Thorvald Tyrfingsson and their
retainers. The only one amongst his party not in attendance was Norsa Hardfang
who, understandably, did not wish to break bread with Ragnar at a table served
by Osserian thralls. Johanni did not begrudge her for it. In earnestness he was
not much for revelry that night. His wounds from holmgang against Magnus
Magnusson had yet to fully heal, the ride south from Greyport was frantic and
tiring, and that was to say nothing of the emotionally draining session with
the Diet – all left him exhausted.
The young lord ate lightly (a few potatoes and
some salmon) and favoured the wine, but even the capital's finest red lost its
lustre after a time. What he needed was some fresh air. Johanni politely
excused himself from the table (although the feast was so raucous hardly anyone
noticed) and made his way over to the balcony wall opposite the hearth wall. He
unbolted one of its stained-glass doors and stepped outside, quaffing a cool
breath of nightly air as its breeze caressed his skin. The din of music and
laughter faded in the background.
It felt good. But he was not alone.
Johanni blinked as he found the captain of the
Shieldmaidens, Gunhilda, sat upon the balcony's vine-wrapped white balustrade
gazing out across the expansive greenery and marblework of the palace grounds.
Her polished steel greaves, plate bracers and embossed breastplate all
glimmered under the moonlight.
"Captain Gunhilda?" Johanni quashed a burp so
as not to be rude.
Seeing him then, the noble shieldmaiden bent a
knee in respect. "Forgive me, lord. I needed only a moment of peace to think."
"Do not apologize," he gestured for her to
stand. "Rise."
Gunhilda nodded and took to her feet once
more. Johanni turned his light smile to the palace grounds where all the hedge
mazes and rose gardens now lay in darkness, save a few flickering flames
prancing up and down the gravel footpaths – torchlights of the Royal
Guardsmen's nightly patrols. They were fewer in number tonight, though Johanni
could not say why.
"Does the feasting displease you, lord?" Asked
Gunhilda.
Johanni frowned. "Denying that would be a lie,
but Ragnar insisted upon it. It is customary after a session, I am told. It
appears I still have much to learn."
"I... understand your misgivings."
"Truly?"
Gunhilda nodded. Her flaxen braided hair
danced upon her shoulder as she did so. "The atmosphere around the palace has
soured since the king's death. Those feelings cannot be squelched with a glut
of beer and meat."
It did displease him to see the jarls
laughing amongst themselves as his father's body lay cold in the Temple of
Ka-Uta. Tomorrow (thankfully) his body would be interred within the crypts
beneath the palace. He could finally rest in peace. "I miss him so much. When I
envisioned my returned to Drangheim I always pictured him here to receive me. I
never dreamed he might die in my absence."
Gunhilda demurred. "Lord? How did the king
seem to you, when last you spoke? Did he seem frail at all?"
"No more so than usual," said Johanni. "Why?"
"...My words must be measured."
The young lord frowned. "Gunhilda, speak."
"My lord, what if..." the shieldmaiden sighed
and threw a cautious eye over her shoulder. "...What if your father's death was
more than happenstance?"
Johanni froze where he stood. Despite his six
cups of wine he heard that charge clear and true. And he had not even
considered the possibility. Surely not? Thought he. "...Captain, are you
suggesting that...?"
Her lips moved to speak but she held her
tongue as a figure approached from the other side of the glass doors – Erik. "I
will say no more here. When the moon is full come to the Vigil of the
Shieldmaidens and we shall speak further."
The doors opened.
A half-drunk Erik Halfspear waddled onto the
balcony, grinning from ear to ear. Gunhilda put a fist to her breastplate and
bowed respectfully, dismissing herself so that Johanni and the Karggar
chieftain could speak privately. The younger man watched her return to the
feast with a stunned glare.
"Stop looking so fucking grim," barked Erik.
"You could be declared king by this time tomorrow! Everything you've fought
for! Everything you've wanted."
Johanni frowned as Erik stumbled closer to him
on shaky boots. He stank of ale and chicken. "...It was a matter of duty, Erik.
This was never about what I wanted."
"Oh? So then, what do you want?"
A drunken hand grabbed Johanni's arse from
behind. The boy's eyes bulged as he shot away from Erik's grasp and recoiled.
"What are you doing? Not here! Someone might see us!"
Erik glowered at him. "A king shouldn't be so
meek about what he wants or where he wants it. What will you do when you're
crowned, hide me in the bloody cupboards?"
He blushed (but more from the wine and anger).
He forgot how ridiculous the Karggar could be when he got some ale in him. But
he had to admit, with the Weißjagd and his father's death and the session
before the Diet all occupying his mind, he had not thought much of his
relationship with Erik – or what would come of it. Duty was duty. Loghs were
loghs. And yet lust was...
"Kings cannot do as they please," said
Johanni. "They rule by consent of the Royal Diet who will seek a political
marriage for me. Gunna Magnusdottir, or a princess of the Golden Empire? I know
not who. But it will come."
Erik's frown deepened. "And you will
say no."
"You are being impossible!"
"And you're being weak," spat the
Halfspear. "...What sort of king cannot govern his own bed?"
Damn you! "You
are drunk! And you will not goad me into a fight! Now is not the
time! We will speak of this later, control yourself!"
The older man went to grab the younger one's
wrist and force him to stay, but he shrugged away from it and re-opened the
stained-glass doors, slipping back into the revelry before they were caught. An
angered Erik followed him inside but said nothing more as they both sat to
their seats and returned to their wine cups.
More entertainment was called forth by Ragnar,
who summoned a tamer and his tasselled bear Balgaff to dance for them –
and this was followed by a small troupe of actors performing a comical play of
the expulsion of the elves. The feast had hours left in it before it finally
wound down. When the music finally stopped the moon was high and every belly
was swollen. Some jarls snoozed at the table side until their huscarls came to
fetch them. Others had already departed for their beds; Kjarlla and Thorvald
left earlier with glinting smiles that laid plain what was to come of the rest
of their evening. Ragnar Bloodbane bid his brother goodbye half an hourglass
ago, along with the Golden Brothers, whilst a drunken Halfdan sat speaking
rubbish and nonsense to an equally drunken Jarl Sygmune.
Now was a good time to leave.
Johanni, frowning, nudged Erik's leg beneath
the long table. The Karggar chieftain woke from a brief slumber, wiped the
drool from his lip, and he followed the Impanni out of the Great Hall. Thralls
passed them by scrambling to clear the cups and plates and platters, though
neither man paid them much mind. The two walked back to Erik's room in the
palace's guest wing and locked the door behind them.
"Have you lost your wits?" Barked Johanni.
"Why would you act that way when anyone could have caught us together?"
Erik slumped onto the bed, half-smiling and
slurring his words from the ale, "I lost my two greatest friends for this. My
father's killer is still free. My people are dropping like flies from hunger.
And you mean to tell me now, atop all that, and after everything we've been
through... that you and I are..."
His shoulders slumped low. He hanged his head.
And for the first time since they met Johanni saw something in Erik that he
never once considered he might see – sadness. They had had so little time for
each other since Kjarlling, and then with defeating Magnus Magnusson and the
preparations for his return to the capital, he hadn't spent much time thinking
about their relationship. And now...
"What becomes of us?" Asked Erik.
Johanni looked away. He had no answers. "I... I
do not know."
"You do know," he spat back. "Be a man and say
it."
"...I..."
"FUCKING HELL, JOHANNI!" He roared. "Just say
it!"
They were the words he dared not speak. This
had to end someday. It was not a new thought. It came to him many a time
since that sweet night they shared in the elvish villa. But it remained true.
Duty defined the crown, not power. And duty demanded a sacrifice.
A tear slipped free from Johanni's eye as he
spoke. "I have a responsibility to my nation to be responsible,
Erik. Kings require queens. Personal desire does not enter into it..."
"Empty platitudes," Erik grinned bitterly. "Do
you remember that day when Ragnar's forces marched into the Grey Wilds? And you
defied me? So frail and yet so brave. Where has that Johanni gone? And who am I
looking at now? The man who fought with me at Haakon's Redoubt? Or some lost
orphan boy parroting his father's idioms?"
Damn you...
thought the boy. "You speak as if I wanted it to be this way...! I did not
choose to feel this way, and I did not choose to be my father's heir! If it
were up to me, I would never leave your side...!"
"But it is up to you," said Erik. "Fuck
me, fuck the Diet, fuck your father, and fuck your brother. Only you get
to choose what you want. And you aren't choosing me."
"Erik, please..."
"No." The Karggar man sighed, kicking his
boots off. He leaned back and let his torso fall into Xianese silk sheets. "I'm
tired of talking. Let me rest."
A crash.
It was sudden and loud, like glass and stone
smashing against each other, and it came from the adjacent rooms. Both Johanni
and Erik froze where they were, silent and stunned, until Erik climbed back
onto his bare feet and cautiously padded his way over the marble floor to the
open doorway. "Hello?" He called out. "Is someone in there?"
A cloaked figure pounced out of the side room
with a readied dagger like a phantom. Johanni blinked. All he saw was a
flocking wave of black and a glinting shimmer of steel bearing down upon Erik,
who crossed his wrists above his head to block the blow. Johanni moved to help
him, but a second pair of hands took him from behind, one around his mouth and
the other around his wrist, which was then twisted painfully behind his back as
he was dragged back into the shadows beneath the blue velvet drapery. Johanni
struggled to get free, his protests smothered into whimpers by the gloved hand
clamped around his mouth, but it was no use.
"Hold still, young lord!" Whispered his
attacker into his ear. "We will not harm you; I swear it!"
As Johanni tried to wriggle away Erik wrestled
desperately with his own assailant, grappling wrist to wrist as the dagger
hovered listlessly over his exposed chest. That was when the folds of the
attacker's cloak slipped open and revealed the rattling metal beneath it –
Osserian scale armour.
Johanni's eyes widened. It can't be...!
And then a growling Erik launched his forehead
into the hooded man's nose. A sickly, pulpy crack of bone and blood rang out,
and a pained cry, as Erik then drove the flat of his bare arm into the other
man's throat and ran him back-first against the wall. The round shield and
elk-skull mountings juddered. The two men groaned together, struggling for
dominance. Erik kept him pinned by the throat and strained to starve the
attacker of air, then screamed in pain as the dagger was driven into his left
shoulder.
Erik! Johanni's
heart sank. No!
A Karggar war cry ripped through the air and
Erik's knee flew up into the hooded man's stomach, winding him. He toppled over
wheezing, blood streaming from his broken nose, and Erik gritted his teeth hard
as he wrapped his fingers around the leather grip of the dagger buried hilt
deep in his shoulder and wrenched it out.
"Blast!" Barked Johanni's attacker. He pushed
the boy aside to draw his own dagger, just as Erik drove his compatriot's blade
into the back of his neck. When the second man rose to attack, Johanni pulled
him back by his leathered ankles and threw him off balance. The second hooded
man landed hard against the rugged stone floor. Roaring again, Erik Halfspear
sprinted over to the felled assassin and stamped his wrist with his bare
foot until he dropped the dagger, leaving him utterly defenceless as Erik then
stabbed him hard through the eye.
The second man fell as still as the first,
joining him in death.
Erik Halfspear, panting for breath, palmed his
shoulder wound and slumped to the ground. He caught his breath.
"Erik! Erik!" Johanni quickly came to his
side. "Are you alright?"
The chieftain grit
his teeth. "I... I'm fine. Summon the guards!"
There was no time to waste. Johanni took to
his feet and bounded past the two pooling corpses on the ground, unlocking the
door and charging out into the hallway to scream for help. But there was none.
Johanni glanced up and down the long-carpeted corridor but there were no guards
in sight. The palace bells rang out. Distant screams of an `attack' and `fire'
abounded. What was he to do? Run and seek help or stay by Erik's side until
help came? And then, just as soon as he made his decision, Johanni noticed an
unlocked chamber door just two doors down from Erik's – Kjarlla and Thorvald's
room.
Oh no! Oh no, no, no! Thought the boy, as his legs ran him over to the doorway before his
mind could convince him it was dangerous. He couldn't help it. He almost fell
over his own sandals stumbling
into their quarters and caught his breath as he checked to see if they were
alright.
Johanni's jaw dropped as he saw their room
utterly torn to shreds. The bed overturned and its pillows slashed into
feathers, the tables broken and the drapes on fire. Two lifeless naked bodies
clung together at the base of that broken bed; their lithe figures swathed in
matted sheets. Clumps of chestnut hair torn from the scalp lay next to a limp
hand severed from its wrist. The blood flowed like wine beneath their bodies.
Oh, gods no... Tears
blotted out Johanni's sight. Thorvald... Kjarlla...
Butchered in their bed.
More bells began to sound. Smoke scent wafted
in through a broken window as bell towers across the capital sounded the alarm.
Whimpering, Johanni scrubbed his eyes dry and stood up to see what was going on
outside. That was when he saw over the bed. That was when he saw
Thorvald's corpse, fallen over his murdered wife's body. And that was he
saw it. A cruel message crudely carved into the Thoth chieftain's
muscular back...
BEWARE THE SONS OF OSSER
**********
*
Hi, thanks for reading! Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome,
please e-mail me at stephenwormwood@mail.com. If you enjoyed
this, please try my other stories on Nifty = The Dancer of Hafiz, The
Harrowing of Chelsea Rice and The Dying Cinders (gay,
fantasy/sci-fi) and The Cornishman (gay, historical).
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