**********
8.
**********
They
called themselves investigators. Two men, both Royal Guardsmen, old by
at least forty solstices. One had a quill, parchment, and ink. The other asked
questions. Neither carried any weapons. Instead they brought a silver platter
of water, wine, and buttered bread rolls. They chose a small room to host him
(too cold and too close to the dungeons for Johanni's liking), but they also
provided a bear-hide cloak for him to keep warm with as their interview began.
"Lord,"
said the speaker. "If I may?"
Johanni
nodded for him to begin.
"During
your journey you ventured into the Fens with Lord Erik and some 2000 Karggar
emigrants. Can you tell me of these events?"
The
scribe's quill scratched audibly against parchment as Johanni ventured back
into his recent memories. "We crossed over from the Grey Wilds by way of Ygga's
Tongue. As we waded through the marches many Karggars died. Eardwulf
suggested-"
"Eardwulf?"
The speaker paused. "This would be your... Osserian thrall?"
Johanni
nodded, dejectedly.
"Ah,
I see. Please, lord. Continue."
"...He
suggested we follow an old forded pass towards Karburgh, where we met Hruthjon
the Greathammer and the other Karggar emigrants."
"But
not Sygardi Greyspear, Lord Erik's brother?"
Johanni
shook his head.
"Where
was he?" Asked the speaker.
"He...
he was kidnapped... by the Osserians."
The
scribe's quill continued to scratch.
"And
what happened next, Lord Johanni?"
These
events were mere weeks prior and yet thinking back on them, they seemed like a
lifetime ago. "I took a small party to a crypt where the Osserians hid
themselves and sought conference with their chieftain, Harwald Snowhair. He
said they captured Sygardi Greyspear on behalf of Haakon Godwulfsson and his
Thoth army, in exchange for safe passage to a Salt Isle. After we expelled
Haakon from the Fens he released Sygardi and agreed to return Karburgh but
withheld his support of my claim to the crown until Norsa Hardfang got the
measure of me."
The
speaker nodded. "...And during this time did you hear anything of the rebel group
calling themselves The Sons of Osser?"
"No,"
Johanni frowned. "I have never heard of this group until tonight."
"Tell
us about the Hardfang."
Johanni
did not care for the implication of these questions. "...Her strength is
insurmountable. Her heart is hard, but it still beats. She cares very deeply
for her people. All she ever sought was a better world for what remained of
them."
The
speaker looked on. "And during your times together did the Hardfang ever
intimate any desire for vengeance against Drangheim?"
"Her
desire was justice," said Johanni. "What are you implying?"
The
speaker cleared his throat. "Tell me about your thrall, Lord Johanni. Tell me
about this man Eardwulf."
It
hurt just hearing that name, much less saying it. Its every utterance sent him
back to that dark night in Pearlstone when a man he once considered his friend
attacked him in his bed. "He was my protector... and my confidant. We had a... a
disagreement in the Salt Shore. I dismissed him."
"And
what was the nature of this... disagreement?"
Johanni
grimaced.
"Please
lord, anything you tell us may help."
"He
attacked Lord Erik," he said. "I know not the reason, but I did not want him in
my company any longer."
The
speaker paused a moment as the scribe turned to a fresh page. Then the
interview resumed. "Who was informed of this attack?"
"No
one," said the boy. "Lord Bors would have had him beheaded. Out of respect for
his many years of service I let him walk away with his life."
"I
see," said the speaker. "And during his `many years of service' did your thrall
express any resentment towards or intent of vengeance upon Drangheim?"
There
was such stupidity in that question that Johanni almost took him for a fool.
Who wouldn't hate the regime that massacred your people, devastated your
lands, and stole you into slavery? "His mind and heart are his own. I cannot
speak to his feelings towards us. But never did he express to me any
such desires."
The
door unbolted.
Johanni
turned around in his chair and the investigators paused as a now sword-armed
Ragnar Bloodbane strode into the small interview room. The elder sibling nodded
to the younger with a demure frown, fists perched upon his belt.
"What
is going on, Ragnar?" Asked Johanni, frantically. "Why am I being questioned?"
The
Bloodbane sighed. "Drangheim has suffered a terrible attack, brother. These
rogues calling themselves the `Sons of Osser' have lit multiple fires across
the city, looted precious silver from the treasury, and worst of all they assassinated
Lady Kjarlla and Lord Thorvald. Lord Erik is wounded, and you are lucky to have
survived. No stone can go unturned as we root out these vile bastards."
"And
Norsa?"
"She
has been arrested on charges of treason," said Ragnar.
"You
cannot mean to say that she is-"
"She
is an unrepentant Osserian and after her remarks to the Diet I have no doubt
that she either spear-headed or was party to these events. She will be
interrogated and if found guilty, put to death."
Johanni
sneered. "On WHOSE authority?"
"That
of the Royal Diet," said the Bloodbane. "They hold power until a new king is
chosen, and they have ordered the Legion to bring these traitors to justice. I
have no qualms in doing so."
"This
is utter lunacy!" Johanni's fist slammed the wooden table between him
and the investigators. "I fought alongside that woman, Ragnar! We saved each
other's lives in the Deepfjord! For all her fury she is no assassin! Where is
she being held? I demand to speak with her!"
Ragnar
shook his head. "No one is to see her until after the interrogation, not
even me."
This
makes no sense! Thought
Johanni. Why would Norsa have Kjarlla and Thorvald killed? Why attempt to
kill Erik? What possible purpose could that serve? The more he thought about it, the less any of
the accusations made sense. He turned to the investigators. "Both of you, out!
I wish to speak to my brother alone."
The
speaker and the scribe paused, glancing at each other, but did not move.
"Was
I not heard?" Barked Johanni. "Leave!"
They
did not move.
Ragnar
folded his arms and sighed. "...Thank you, men. You may go."
The
two Royal Guardsmen made their apologies, packed their quills, ink jars, and
parchment (as well as the notes of Johanni's questioning) into their satchels
before they excused themselves. An increasingly angered Johanni watched them
leave and seal the banded ironwood door behind them with a heavy thud. Ragnar
took one of their seats, tossing a callused hand through his raven black hair.
"Norsa
did not do this!" Johanni professed. "I know her, Ragnar! Whatever
happened here must be accounted for, but do not spring to ill conclusions!"
"This
is not my decision," Ragnar said. "If it were, she would already be dead. I do
only as the Royal Diet commands. First, I must establish how these assassins
snuck into the palace. Everyone will be investigated. Missives of these
occurrences will be sent to the Fens, Salt Shore and Deepfjord, and Harwald
Snowhair will be summoned to account for his lapdog's misdeeds. And until our
investigation is concluded you and Erik Halfspear will remained confined to
your quarters."
This
cannot be happening, thought
Johanni. How could any of this have happened? He felt for all the world
like a precipice was suddenly swallowing up everything around him! His mind
raced trying to piece events together, to make sense of it all, and then those
haunting words Gunhilda spoke during the feast sprung to his mind...
"...What
if your father's death was more than happenstance?"
And
then it all started to make a grim, painful, disgusting sort of sense.
Johanni's heart sank as he looked up at the man across the table, his own
brother, stone-faced yet curiously unperturbed by it all. Two chieftains dead
and one injured; an utter failure of protection by his hand-picked Royal
Guardsmen (by any fair metric), and yet he was so utterly unperturbed.
He almost seemed to be smiling.
And
then it dawned on him.
The
hidden truth of it all.
No... thought Johanni, shivering in his seat. It...
it cannot be...! You wouldn't! Brother tell me you wouldn't!
"My
investigation will conclude in two days," said Ragnar, climbing out of the
oaken chair. "When it is done, we shall dine together, and I will give you my
report. Come, let me take you back to your chambers. I'll have the thralls draw
you a bath."
**********
The
moon was at its peak on the second night of Ragnar's investigation. In that
time Johanni troubled himself to do precious little. He ate and drank as anyone
would, he neither read nor wrote. Instead, he kept as close an eye upon the
comings and goings of his window as possible. For beyond it, along the winding
stone footpaths of the palace grounds, spear-armed Royal Guardsmen marched in
regular patrols of two. Two patrols by his window every hourglass turn.
That
was the pattern.
Johanni
followed it for two days, without fail, before finally hatching his plan. After
his guards brought him supper (braised potato slices with crabmeat and leeks)
the aetheling withdrew an old chest of play-toys his childhood-self once hid
beneath the bed. Inside it, alongside his dolls and iron crowns and wooden
swords, was a hardened ball, a smooth stone encased in woven fabrics. As
Johanni held it in his fist he wrapped that hand with a thick cotton blanket
and swung it like a mace into his latticed bedroom window with one hard strike.
The small pane broke open. He put his arm through it and undid the latch from
without (that curious design) and the window swung open.
Caressed
by the first touch of fresh air in two whole days, Johanni threw the ball and
cloth away and slowly (carefully) climbed through his bedroom window. It was
three floors up (not a deathly height but capable of shattering a femur or two
with a hard landing), so he gingerly made his way down the vine-wrapped trellis
until he was low enough to drop into the bushes. He landed on his shoulder but
only scuffed his tunic. He was fine. And from there he slowly made his way
across the grounds, through the rose gardens and holly-ridden porticos to The
Vigil, the marble walled abode of the Shieldmaidens, the guardians of the king.
Johanni
hid behind shrubbery until a fresh patrol passed by, then slipped across the
gravel path and up the white painted stairs to its arched ironwood doors, and
gently knocked. A younger shieldmaiden, a novitiate barely fifteen solstices
old, opened the door.
"Young
lord!" She whispered cheerfully. "Come inside, the captain awaits!"
She
took him below ground to a training chamber, dome-shaped hall with a stone
floor turfed by dust and lit by ensconced torchlight. But it was not merely
Captain Gunhilda who awaited him there, but another... Hereweald Ironhide.
"Lord,"
said the High Thegn. "Thank the sky you are safe."
Johanni
wiped the sweat from his brow. "I came as soon as I could."
"We
play a dangerous game just meeting here like this," said Gunhilda. "But I
cannot away my suspicions any further."
"...Ragnar,"
said the boy.
The
Captain and the High Thegn exchanged a solemn glare. They did not want to say
it and neither did he, but he saw it in their eyes – they shared the same
fears. That the hero of the Iron Circle, the warmaster of the nation, and that
apple-cheeked protector of his boyhood self...
Johanni
shut his eyes. "...You believe he killed the king."
"I
fought at his side during the siege of Karburgh," said Hereweald. "I served
with him in the Legion. He was trained alongside my sons. I would never
raise such accusations against him if I did not genuinely fear they had
merit. Your father was always of weak health, but Gunhilda and I were at his
side that entire day and he did not cough or wheeze once. He was fine
until the 48th Session, and then he drank some water and then he
choked to death. How is that possible? How is that remotely possible?"
"Lord,"
Gunhilda palmed Johanni's shoulder. "I know this must be hard for you to hear,
but-"
Johanni
shrugged her hand off. "Do not patronize me. I will hear every word you have to
say and then I will determine how I feel. Speak."
The
captain nodded. "I had one of my novitiates speak to the kitchen thralls. She
said that the cupbearer who normally served the king took sick that day, and a
different boy was given the task – a thrall in the service of Kreim."
Twinstroke
Kreim, thought Johanni. Of
course, the way he slithers around at my brother's side, always doting and
preening...
Hereweald
sighed. "When Gunhilda brought this to me, I sent one of my huscarls speak to
every herbalist in the city, enquiring about poisons. There is a species of
bitterblack weed that extracts an odourless and colourless dew, and when mixed
with water it becomes a swift and silent toxin. A small jar of this bitterblack
extract was purchased thirty moons ago by a thrall with a purse of 500 golds.
Who but a palace thrall could muster such an amount?"
Johanni
folded his arms. "This is circumstance. Circumstance is not proof."
"My
lord – consider this. No one other than yourselves stood to gain from
King Hrathwuld's death and there was no love lost between him and Ragnar. Think
of the attack by these so-called Sons of Osser. I've been to the buildings they
burned in the city, most of them were derelict before they were torched, and
all were holdings of the Royal Legion. What does that tell us? And of all times
to hatch this plot, why now, when the Royal Diet is poised to declare you king?
By reassigning the city watchmen to the burghs and replacing them with his
legionaries, this state of emergency effectively gives Ragnar dominion over the
entire city. It is all too convenient to be mere circumstance, lord. Surely you
can see that?"
He
did not want to. The puzzle pieces were coming together before his eyes but the
picture they formed was too horrifying to look at. If what Hereweald and
Gunhilda were saying was true then Ragnar, his dearest brother and oldest
friend, the one who loved him and cared for him and held him when his mother
died – that brother had betrayed him. Sought to undermine him.
Had his friends butchered and his lover wounded...
...and
had their father killed.
"Father..."
Johanni wiped the tears from his eyes before they fell. "...Lord, if this is
true, though I pray to the gods it is not... then Ragnar Bloodbane must be
brought to justice. We have to arrest him."
"We
do not have the men," said Hereweald. "There are over a thousand
legionaries in Drangheim right now. Without the city watchmen we only have my
huscarls and the Halfspear's warband at our disposal – and they're on the wrong
side of the walls."
And
even then, thought the boy, that
barely amounts to a hundred men. Too many coincidences to preclude
calculation. It was like Johanni suddenly woke up at a board game and
realized that he was ten moves behind. Nevermind the Wulf's Blut...
Gunhilda
frowned, regretfully. "And I can be no help to you in this. My maidens are
sworn only to defend the king, and until a new king is crowned, we cannot
intervene, at least not openly."
"...The
Diet," said Johanni. "The Diet is the key. They hold power until they elect the
next king. We must flee the palace, the city if we must, and bring evidence to
them of Ragnar's treason. But first we must free Norsa."
Gunhilda
frowned. "Lord, if you do that, it implicates you in this false plot-"
"Norsa
is my ally," said Johanni. "I will not abandon her. Hereweald, have your most
trusted huscarls free her and Erik. Keep it clandestine and bring them to the
necropolis. There is a tunnel down there that leads to the sewers beneath the
city, only a handful know of it. We can use it to make our escape, regroup, and
safely bring these crimes to the Diet's door."
Hereweald
nodded. "Yes, lord. When do we move?"
"Tomorrow,"
said Johanni. "...after I dine with Ragnar."
**********
"Do
you remember the night of that summer festival?" Ragnar smiled
nostalgically. "We stuffed our faced
with peaches and berries until we were sick!"
The
thralls drew a single long table into the centre of the Grand Hall for supper
that night; dressed it in fine tablecloth embroidered with stag totems, then
set out hot silver platters of seared beef cuts, garlicked bread, cooked leeks
and potatoes. Ewers of wine, water, and stood to hand. No thralls served them
at tableside for Johanni had had them dismissed. Two hearths were lit to stave
off the cold. Shadows danced from candlelight.
Johanni
ate little.
"Those
were the days," mused Ragnar. He stabbed a hunk of beef (garnished by
peppercorn sauce) with his carving fork, cut off a morsel and popped it between
his teeth. "...You've hardly touched your wine, `Hanni."
"Clear
head," said he.
The
Bloodbane shrugged and poured himself a cup of wine as the still-faced Johanni
glared across the table. "...I will have your report."
A
small smile broached the High Legate's lips as he set his steel cutlery down
and took a napkin to his mouth, wiping it clean before he spoke.
"Very
well," he said. "Three nights ago, the rebel group known as the Sons of Osser
infiltrated the city of Drangheim by posing as pilgrims come to mourn
Hrathwuld's passing. That night they set fire to six legionary armouries, which
thankfully were abandoned just a few moons prior, and murdered five Royal
Guardsman at an outpost near the Temple of Ka-Uta. They then slipped into the
Palace of Drang by donning their garb to commit acts of assassination against
the chieftains assembled. As you know two were sadly killed, Lady Kjarlla and
Lord Thorvald, and one injured – Erik Halfspear. According to the confessions
we secured, the Sons of Osser consists of twenty members. Six were killed that
night and eleven escaped, whilst Norsa Hardfang and two others were
successfully arrested. She denies all charges but in exchange for commuted
sentences, her accomplices offered up their confessions, identifying her as the
Sons of Osser's ringleader. Her fate is now in the Royal Diet's hands – though
I doubt they will be merciful."
Johanni
felt like he was staring at a stranger. "Well done. Such a heinous plot and yet
you unravelled it so meticulously."
Ragnar
smirked. "...You grow bold."
"Not
bold enough," said the boy. "...Did you have father killed?"
There
were no thralls or guards in the Great Hall. Johanni was certain to dismiss
them all before they sat to supper. The window doors by the balconies were all
locked shut. The ironwood doors on either end of the hall were sealed. There
was no one else within earshot – as by design. Words could be uttered freely.
"He
was always more your father than mine," said Ragnar.
Johanni
wretched.
It
was as though a weight dropped in his stomach, a cold sinking feeling of
absolute revulsion. Until that, a tiny shred of him still lingered on hoping it
was all lies, but that precious scintilla of hope was dashed.
It
was all true.
"Why...?"
He refused to cry. "Why?"
Ragnar
took a dispassionate sip from his wine goblet then set it down. "...What did you
see when you explored Grünlund, Johanni? Was it a beautiful paradise abounding
with life and promise? Or was it a filthy backwater struggling to survive?
Starvation. Raiding. Plotting. Sorcery. Insurrection. Hrathwuld's dithering,
and his empty loghs drove this country to the very brink of collapse. The
Woags must be brought to order once and for all. One nation under one
crown. And I am sorry, brother... but you are not the man to do it."
Johanni
glared dumbfounded at the black phantom sat across the table from him and
wondered for all the world what he did with his brother. "So, it was all a
charade? You meant to betray me... from the very start?"
Ragnar
frowned. "Betray you? Brother-"
"DO
NOT CALL ME THAT!" Roared the boy.
"...Johanni.
If it were up to my supporters in the Diet you would have been murdered in your
sleep years ago. But you are my blood. You are precious to me in ways Hrathwuld
could never be, and this is the only way I can protect you. You can
still serve me as an advisor. You would have lands and titles, a seat on the
Diet, and a household guard to command. You could even appoint your own thegns.
And you would be free to bed whomever you wished, Halfspear or otherwise."
He
knows?! Johanni's eyes shot open
and trembled in their sockets. "H-how did you...? How do you...?"
"Whispering
handmaidens are louder than any war horn, brother. When word spreads throughout
Grünlund of its Catamite King, buggered night from night by his savage Karggar
paramour in direct contravention of our loghs, how long will the populace abide
by the indignity? Will its men respect you enough to follow you into battle? Or
will they snicker behind your back and call you a milk-swallower, a pillow
biter, a bloody dungmonger."
Infuriated,
Johanni slapped his hands against the table. One of the wine ewers fell off the
edge and splattered over the stone ground. "And what of YOUR secrets, Ragnar!?
I know about the Wulf's Blut! I know you imbibed that dark power along with the
rest of the Iron Circle!"
The
Bloodbane smirked. "You are well informed. And I do not deny it. However, I
suspect my secret will be harder to prove than yours."
"You
bastard..."
"Heh,
heh, heh. `Bastard' indeed. Showing your hand at the slightest prod? You are so
young, Johanni. I love you dearly, but you are not ready for the crown. And you
have a decision to make. I know about your little moot with Gunhilda and
Hereweald, I have eyes and spies across this entire nation, much less my own
palace. Whatever plot you think you've hatched, whatever gambit you seek to
play, it will not work. You can either abandon it and take your rightful
place at my side as a royal advisor or you can see it through, and dear old
Hrathwuld can watch from the heavens as one son kills another. The choice is
yours."
A
stunned Johanni looked on as Ragnar Bloodbane ate one last morsel of beef
before he threw his soiled napkin upon his plate and stood up to leave. "And please
try the wine before you do, `tis a rare vintage."
**********
`Hanni
couldn't keep up with Ragnar the Fatherless – he was so fast! He yelled as much
as he tripped over the stepstones and scuffed his knee on the way up, but his
big brother did not stop for a second, just looked over his shoulder and said
giggling,
"Too
slow, so slow! Too slow, so slow!"
It
was the first time his brother had smiled since he and his Iron Circle returned
from their adventures. No one blamed him, though. They lost a member on their
last quest to the Beast Tower of the Black Mountains, Gnut the Troll, the funny
and the squat and the foul-mouthed. Ragnar hadn't been the same since. By the
time Johanni finally caught up with him his older brother was already seated on
the bell tower's edge, sandaled feet dangling over the terrace. And there was a
basket full of peaches waiting for them.
"Come
sit with me," Ragnar said. "Come see the view."
Johanni
was scared though, and the older boy knew it. "I will protect you, `Hanni. I
promise. Come sit and see the view."
And
so, he did.
The
city was amazing from above. The view from the palace was something, but up
close like this? It was amazing! `Hanni's jaw dropped at the towers, temples,
terraces, and tenements sweeping across the panorama for miles in every
direction. A blazing hot sun bore down upon it all as seagulls wheeled by the
river. Then Ragnar put a peach in his hands.
"Eat
up," he said before scoffing his own. Johanni ate through the fuzzy skin and
bit into the juicy centre. It was divine. "...This might be the last time we see
each other for a spell."
"Huh?"
The younger boy frowned. "Why? What's wrong?"
Ragnar
gazed at the city as he spoke. "...I joined the Royal Legion today. I'm riding up
to the academy tomorrow for my induction."
"W-why
are you leaving again? Was it me? Did I do something wrong?"
"No,
`Hanni." Ragnar smiled softly, wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders.
"Never you. You are the best thing about this place. You're the only one who
doesn't care I'm a bastard."
"Is
it father then?"
Johanni
didn't know much but he knew that Ragnar didn't like to talk about their father
(every time they did, he got angry). The older boy's dark eyes sharpened. "He
is no father to me... he never has been. I'm going to be a legate, the best
one ever! And when you're king I'll be right there by your side to protect you.
I promise."
**********
`I
promise...' Ragnar's words echoed in
Johanni's mind as he stood at the oak and iron of his bedroom door, staring at
the grain for what felt like hours. There were guards that stood on the other
side of it, men sworn to the High Legate, but they were not what made him
hesitate.
Fate
was on the other side of that door.
When
he looked over his shoulder to his soft bed dressed in silk sheets, and his
forgotten toy chest, and his desk full of parchment, quills, and ink; he saw
all the comforts and trappings of his youth. How easy it would be and how
tempting it was to just... turn back to it all. No more duty. No more power
struggles. No more fighting monsters. Just... comfort and protection. How many
thousands upon thousands of Woags would have sold their souls for such a
choice?
And
yet there was no choice.
For
his father, for Kjarlla, and for Thorvald... there was no going back. The only
direction was forward. Duty defines a crown, thought Johanni as his took
the deepest of breaths... and opened his bedroom door. As always two spear-armed
Royal Guardsmen stood by outside, standing to attention as their charge
approached them.
"Lord
Johanni, did you need something?"
He
nodded. "I had a bad dream and I fear it portends a great ill. I must away to
the Temple of the Gods and pray. Will you men accompany me?"
Now
Ragnar's investigation was complete there was no further need to hold him
prisoner in his own rooms and sure enough the guards consented, although he
could not be carried by palanquin (as was customary in prior years). Johanni
replied that he was happy to walk. And so, the two guardsmen led the way as the
young lord drew together the folds of his mink fur cloak. They walked long,
winding carpeted corridors decorated with portraits, gold urns, and marble
statues before descending three flights of stairs past the meeting hall down
into the echoing antechamber where the other guards allowed them to pass
without qualm. Johanni and his guards stepped through the palace doors and
descended its hundred marble steps. Starlight speckled the moonlit nocturne as
they crossed the grounds from the sanctum to the Temple of the Gods itself,
where his father first gave him his life changing mission to tour the reaches
of Grünlund in pursuit of the chieftains' approval.
There
can be no going back, thought
Johanni, as the bushes around the footpath began to rustle. If I do not do
this then Frodi, Thregg, Kjarlla and Thorvald all died in vain and I will not
let that happen! "NOW!"
Arrows
whistled through the night air. Johanni dropped to his haunches as two of them
struck the Royal Guardsmen, one in his neck and the second in his eye, before
either could raise their shields in defence. They slumped dead into the gravel
tracks as four men, their killers, emerged from the bushes: the Ironhide's
huscarls. Each man was of fighting age, hardy and lightly armoured in russet
tabards, chainmail vests, leather bracers and boots. Each man had a bow and a
full quiver of arrows strapped to their sword belts – and bore horsehead sigils
on their chests – the emblem of Hereweald's house.
As
two of the huscarls dragged the two dead guardsmen, the remaining two
accompanied Johanni to his true destination – the necropolis. When he lived,
King Hrathwuld took favour to the elvish practice of interning one's dead, nor
merely as the Osserians did (burying them in crypts) but commemorating them in
tombs and murals. The main entrance to it sat at on the southern side of Palace
of Drang, but as in all old palaces there were entrances and there were entrances.
Johanni took the men to a spot only a select few knew of, a small mausoleum
shrouded in moss and vines and hidden deep within the south eastern rose garden.
They kept low, covered their tracks, and moved by the shadows like thieves
until they reached it. The men banded together to push open its heavy stone
slab. A belch of sepulchral dust rolled past their boots. A torch and flint sat
nearby upon an inner ledge. Johanni brushed off the cobwebs off the former and
lit it with the latter. They now had burning bright light to guide the
way.
"Follow
me," said Johanni to the huscarls. There was a flight of small jagged steps
before them that led into a series of hidden corridors stretching out beneath
the palace grounds into the various tombs and crypts of fallen thegns, former
jarls, and dead monarchs. His own mother, Lady Sunna, was here interred and
very soon King Hrathwuld would join her. In its stone walls ancient poems and
murals of distant battles were carved. Stone obelisks bore the forgotten names
of Impanni warrior heroes – Lady Arums Burin, Bryggam the Bold, Oldblood
Trystane, Garm Goathelm. Johanni led the four huscarls down that path all the way
to a central chamber where the corpses were embalmed before their internment.
All its torches were lit, and there were familiar faces there to meet them.
Hereweald
Ironhide, fully clad in ornate steel plate armour, with his gigantic runic
longaxe in hand and all forty-six of his remaining huscarls at his back. Next
to him stood the Karggar chieftain, Erik Halfspear, his wounds bandaged beneath
the leather hauberk he now wore. And next to him stood Norsa Hardfang, battered
and bruised but standing – tortured, no doubt by the Royal Inquisitors.
"Erik!
Norsa!" Johanni gave the torch to a huscarl and ran up to them. "Oh, thank the
gods."
Norsa,
dressed in the same leather armours as Erik, breathed heavily. Beads of sweat
dripped down her bruised skin as it turned various shades of yellow and purple.
Her axes were gone, so like Erik she carried a longsword beneath her cloak. She
was standing... but she looked so weak.
"Norsa?"
The
Hardfang caught her breath. "They... could not break me."
"No
one can. And the men who did this to you will pay with their lives. My eyes are
unclouded. I will bring you justice, once and for all."
Norsa
nodded, weakly.
"Is
this all we have?" Said Erik. "Where are the shieldmaidens?"
Johanni
shook his head. "They are the protectors of the king. They cannot intervene in
our affairs until a new one is declared. How is your shoulder?"
The
Halfspear grit his teeth. "I wasn't stabbed in my sword arm side. My balance is
off, but I can still fight."
"Let
us not tarry here," said Hereweald. "We haven't much time until-"
"UNTIL
I CATCH YOU!" Echoed a voice.
Johanni,
Erik Halfspear, Norsa Hardfang, Hereweald Ironhide and all fifty of his
huscarls turned towards the northern end of the chamber where a tall figure
sauntered out from the shadows of a cracked archway, slowly and mockingly
clapping his hands.
It
was Ragnar Bloodbane.
He
wore no armour and carried no sword; only his gold-trimmed purple tunic and
laurel crown. Even his feet were bare. It was as if he were mocking them.
"TRAITOR!"
The Ironhide raised his axe. "You come alone and unarmed? Does your hubris know
no bounds?!"
Erik
and Norsa drew their swords. The huscarls fell into formation and drew arrows
from their hip-quivers. But Ragnar ignored them and focused on Johanni. "This
is your last chance, brother. Defy me here and there is no going back."
His
heart thundered inside his chest. The longer he looked at Ragnar Bloodbane the
less he saw his brother. It was too late. Although he spoke of choice, the die
was already cast and they both knew it. There was no going back. Johanni
threw open his cloak and drew his short sword, freshly forged from the
legionary weapon-smithies.
"Stand
aside," he said. "We are leaving this city peacefully, and we shall have
congress with the Royal Diet once we are safe. And justice will follow."
Ragnar
tittered.
"...Justice...?
Bandying lofty abstracts and proselytizing your piety before your followers
like a monk. Ignorant boy. You've truly learned nothing. Fine. Your
choice is made. But this will not end the way you think it will."
The
High Legate raised a fist and summoned two of his fellows from the shadowed
archways by the northern exit. Dust crunched beneath their boots and Johanni,
Erik and Norsa gaped in horror as they ambled over to Ragnar's side, for they
knew those men well.
It
was Haakon Godwulfsson... and Gnut the Troll.
"Gnut?!"
Johanni's mind raced. "H-how... how is this...?"
Gnut
palmed his mace. "Sorry, boy. I meant ya no `arm. But duty is duty."
"But-"
"The
Iron Circle was never broken," said Ragnar. "When we explored Grünlund we
witnessed the same misery and disorder you did, the malaise that dear king
Hrathwuld left this country to rot in... but then the gods blessed us with the
power to correct this country's course."
Hereweald
Ironhide drew before Johanni. "Lord, what is he talking about?"
"Wulf's
Blut..." Whispered the boy. "The entire time..."
"Because
we love this country," said Ragnar. "We of the Iron Circle, we who
Hrathwuld's court once maligned as bastards, trolls and monsters... dedicated
our lives to restoring Grünlund – a plan eight years in the making. We
chiselled our will into this nation's bedrock, accumulating power from the
shadows and seeding spies in every village, town, and city from here to the
Hoarfrost Throne. We feigned Gnut's death so that he was free to destroy all
records of the Blut's weakness. I had Haakon kill Gad Greyspear and earn my
father's disgrace, so that he was free to observe the threat of Magnus
Magnusson."
"You?!"
Erik's first trembled. "You gave the order?!"
"One
I was more than happy to carry out," uttered Haakon, brandishing his
jagged teeth as his bloodshot eyes sharpened with joyous rage. "There is no
sweeter sight than a man's lifeblood dripping from your sword..."
"Damn
you all!" Only Hereweald Ironhide was strong enough to hold Erik Halfspear back
as Ragnar Bloodbane's cold smile returned to a stunned Johanni. "A plan
eight years in the making, brother. When the Osserians grew too powerful,
we engineered the pretext to put them down. When Magnus Magnusson grew too
ambitious, we put a dagger in your hand. All in service to this
auspicious moment – the moment of Hrathwuld's death, when all the chieftains
are gathered in a single spot – so we could sweep them from the board."
Johanni
felt his heart sink. "This cannot be true..."
"Think
of it," said Ragnar. "When the Halfspear is gone, the Karggars will be ruled by
Sygardi and Olaf Greyspear, a soft boy and an old man,
easy to browbeat. With Kjarlla dead, Lord Bors has no more heirs, so when he
dies the Arbarii chieftaincy will be ours to allot. With Thorvald dead,
and Modi Magnusson abroad, the closest blood male to the Magnusson line is now
Haakon. He will rule the Deepfjord. And once I execute the Hardfang for
her `insurrection', I will have licence to finish off the Osserians once and
for all. Your task, my dear brother, was to bring them all to me. And you did.
I am so proud of you."
"...Monster,"
spat the boy. "You are a monster!"
Ragnar
brandished his teeth with a grin. "No, brother. The `monster' sleeps inside of
me... and pray you never meet him...." He chuckled. "We created a
framework with which to author a greater Grünlund. A loyal army. A full
treasury. Docile chieftaincies. But you have not become the man I hoped you
would. You are weak and you are pious. You have inherited
Hrathwuld's smug virtues but none of his great strength. You are not
ready. Morality exists at the whims of the strong, brother. And where the
strong lead, the weak must follow. Thus, it falls to me to become king and
steer our history towards its proper course."
...The
entire time, the thought
went over and over in Johanni's head like a curse. The entire time I was
nothing more... than his puppet! Damn you, Ragnar! Damn you! His fist
trembled around his sword grip. "...DAMN YOU!"
Ragnar
stepped back. "Gnut. Haakon. It is time. Johanni is not to be harmed but the
others are yours to kill."
Steam
seeped from the cracks between Haakon's teeth as he drew a glorious grin,
whilst a more sombre Gnut slotted away his mace and squared his feet.
"Enough!"
Roared Hereweald. "Archers! FIRE!"
His
assembled huscarls loosed a volley of arrows at Ragnar Bloodbane, only to be
intercepted by Haakon Godwulfsson, who dove in front of him. Shafts gouged him
in the right eye, left thigh, left shoulder, right knee, lower stomach, and upper
abdomen – but he did not fall. Blood dripped to the dusty stone floor in
rivulets but the half-Thoth merely grinned at the archers as his body mutated
before there very eyes. Each shaft snapped in half as his bulking limbs spat
out the arrowheads and the skin calcified and scaled over into rigid, scaly
grey armour. Behind him Gnut the Troll's human form was all but gone when his
stunted limbs snapped out into elongated boughs flecked with thorny spurs,
oozing puss from the fleshy pulp pulsing beneath his sprouted plates of
armoured flesh. The bones of lower skull jutted out into a goring snout lined
with gnashing tusks as his goat-like limbs raised his new-born mass up to
heights of twelve lumbering feet. His heavy hooves cracked open the flagstones beneath
them and his roar thundered throughout the hall, rustling the torch flames, and
billowing their cloaks. The Troll and the Godwulfsson... were no longer human.
Ragnar
smiled coldly. "You made the wrong choice, `Hanni."
After
that it was all a blur of motion and madness. Johanni's sword lulled at his
side as Beast Gnut charged towards him, his every hoofbeat pounding the earth
like a pestle. It was Norsa Hardfang who shoved him aside and out of the way,
just seconds before Beast Gnut's gigantic tusks bored through leather armour,
smashed through her ribcage, and jutted out through her back in a bloody tangle
of intestinal matter. Hereweald's huscarls launched a second volley but not a
single arrow pierced its hide... and they were utterly defenceless as Beast
Haakon flexed its full wingspan and dove through their ranks, his bare claws
slashing and scything as a chorus of horrified screams filled the chamber. Erik
Halfspear threw himself into the onslaught, tears streaming down his face, but
Beast Haakon threw a single claw backward and repelled his sword so hard it
spun out of his hands and clattered to the ground. Johanni looked on in horror
as the grinning monster scooped Erik up into the air and slammed him down,
pinning him in place. The Karggar grit his teeth but try as he might he could
not struggle loose. That was when Hereweald Ironhide brought down his longaxe
with a furious battle cry, and the blow clanked against Beast Haakon's armoured
skin like steel against stone.
That
was the last he saw of the massacre in the necropolis – Norsa dead, half the
huscarls slaughtered, Erik Halfspear pinned down and Hereweald's axe seconds
away from breaking point – when he rose to his feet to help, a pair of gloved
hands muzzled his mouth and snatched his wrists from behind. "No!" yelled
Johanni but the leathered fingers muffled the sound as he was dragged away into
the darkness until the dying shrieks and animalistic roars ebbed into the
distance. He thought it was Ragnar dragging him away, but as the older man span
Johanni around he saw a different face staring back at him.
Eardwulf.
Johanni
shivered. "You?"
The
Osserian apologized as he drove his gloved fist into the boy's stomach, winding
him. The dusty corridor spun around him as he lost consciousness.
**********
It
was the absence of screaming that was the first thing he heard – an
unmistakable silence proceeding a horrific chaos. Next came the slosh of still
waters breaking against oars. And then the whistle of cool winds against his
sweaty ears.
...I'm
on a boat...? He thought.
Johanni's
eyes slowly drifted open. He saw a tired reflection gazing back at him through
dark waters... and across those waters he saw the slopes a muddy riverbank
overrun by thick fog.
Where
is this? He thought. The Great
River? The fog was thicker than smoke making it impossible to tell. But
then he remembered the boat and the man rowing it. The man who stole him away
from that hellish chaos.
Eardwulf.
Johanni
watched him from the corner of his eyes. Dark circles marred the Osserian's
bloodshot eyes and a dishevelled black beard now swallowed up his square jaw.
His hair had grown out shaggy and grey, his face muscles gaunt and taut, his
skin yellowing with jaundice. He was a shadow of the man Johanni remembered.
But there he was, manning the oars, pulling back then forth then back and forth
then back. His scale armour rattled beneath the folds of his deerskin cloak.
"You're
awake?" Eardwulf smiled. "Thank the gods."
Memories
of the necropolis flashed through his mind; Ragnar standing imperiously with
Haakon and Gnut at his flanks, Norsa Hardfang gutted alive, Erik pinned beneath
bestial claws... "Where is everyone else? Where is Erik?!"
Eardwulf's
smile fell. "I could save only you."
"Lies...
Go back! Go back, we have to save Erik!"
"If
we go back, we die!" Yelled the Osserian. Scowling, Johanni tried to move but
his arms wouldn't budge and when his looked down he saw why – ropes were tied
around his torso from shoulder to elbow. A second line bound his wrists
together behind his back. It was futile. He was helpless.
"Untie
me, Eardwulf!"
The
swordsman looked away as he pulled the oars. "I cannot. Johanni, the others are
lost. Returning to Drangheim now would be a death sentence. The most we can do
is escape and be safe."
Johanni
shook his head. "...How did you even find me?"
"...I
was drinking myself to death in Kjarlling's taverns when I heard of the king's
passing. I knew you'd return to the capital at some point. All I wanted was one
last look at you before I crawled away and died somewhere... and so I rode back
to the capital... and waited for you by Temple of Ka-Uta."
So
that was him, thought the
boy.
"The
following night I was saddling my horse when I saw legionary soldiers sneak
into the stables and don Osserian garb. I followed them... and they went across
the city burning old Legion armouries. Then when the townsfolk began to whisper
about a rebel group called the Sons of Osser, I knew it was a plot... and I knew
in my heart you were in danger. I had to come. And I am so glad I did."
His
smile left Johanni cold.
"Let
me go, Eardwulf. I am safe now."
"You
are not safe until you are far from the Bloodbane's clutches," declared the swordsman.
"There is a Salt Isle at the furthest reaches of the archipelago, barely twenty
people live on it. No one would know who you were. We could live there together
in peace."
"Eardwulf..."
"I
love you, Johanni," he said. "I love you and there is nothing I would not do to
protect you. I never meant to hurt or frighten you."
Johanni
frowned. "If you love me then let me go."
There
was no plainer way to state the words and yet as he looked at the older man it
was as if he never spoke. Eardwulf ignored him as he glared into the foggy
distance and drew back at the oars in that mechanical way of his. He did not
notice the long black shadow trailing its way behind the skiff.
Nor
did Johanni, at first.
"Love
is a seed," said Eardwulf. His voice was low and sombre. "It must grow. And I
will keep you safe until it does."
A
hand grabbed the side of the boat. It hit the rim in a wet slap, calloused and
strong. Johanni looked on and Eardwulf held at the oars as the skiff rocked,
and an enraged figure wrenched out of the water and hurled himself screaming at
the Osserian – Erik Halfspear. And then panic replaced Johanni's brief sigh of
relief when two men wrestled each other off the skiff, plunging together into
the waters in a desperate struggle. The sudden jolt of force tossed the boat
onto its side, left oar twisting into the air and hurling the restrained
Johanni into cold black waters.
Bubbles
and debris surged around him as the tools, rope and supply bags sunk into a
murky abyss. He would follow if he did not hurry. The boy searched his
surrounds until he saw a broken reflection of moonlight and kicked his feet
towards it as hard as he could until he broke through to the surface, gasping
for breath.
"Erik!"
He yelled, coughing. "Erik, where are you?"
No
one replied.
A
few yards ahead of him the skiff floated down the river keel-side up. But no
Erik and no Eardwulf. But either way he couldn't stay in the water. Johanni
grit his teeth, leaned to his side and kicked his legs
hard against the tide to steer himself towards the riverbank. He sloshed up on
the muddy slope like a hooked trout, wriggling in his bonds and gasping for
breath, hair darkened brown with damp, his clothes heavy and soaked. And it was
cold. It was so cold that his frantic breaths clouded around his
lips.
"Erik!"
He called out. "Erik, are you out there? Erik!"
I
must find him! Thought the
boy. But there was no way he could go back out there for him tied up
like this. There had to be something nearby he could cut himself loose with.
Johanni took one last look at the still waters then rolled himself onto his
belly, his back sodden with mud, and drew his knees up underneath him to press
himself up to his feet. He struggled up the mud slope, one foot at a time, then
fell over face first into the mud.
Damn! He seethed. Just a little further...
He
pulled his visage from the dirt puddle, dragged himself back to his feet and
trudged up the sloppy bank once again until he fell through the fog and landed
in wet grass. Mud caked his face. Blood dripped from his lip. His clothes were
heavy with damp. And then, in the cloudy black skies above, a flash of
lightning lit up the field before him.
And
it was littered with corpses.
Johanni's
jaw went slack at the sight. Heads severed from their necks. Brittle leather
armours split open as the wounded torsos below spewed up their pulped
intestinal tracts. Spearpoints had broken off in shattered ribcages.
Rain-soaked warhammers lodged inside crushed craniums. Arrows in eye sockets.
Abandoned cookfires. Burnt tents. It was a camp. And then Johanni saw the
tattered remnants of a mud-soiled wolf totem flag billowing in the breeze from
the haft of a broken spear. It was the Karggar camp.
And
then the lightning faded, and it all went dark again.
The
waters behind him burst open. Johanni rolled onto his back and looked back,
praying it was Erik, but instead saw Eardwulf, wading over to the riverbank and
pulling himself out of the waters.
Thunder
rumbled across the blood-soaked field.
Eardwulf,
gasping for air, tore off his cloak by the broach and its sodden weight flapped
to the ground. He had a line of rope in his hand, and his eyes ticked back and
forth until they spotted Johanni through the fog. Then the thrall called out to
him – "JOHANNI!"
"Stay
away!" Cried the boy. "Get away from me!"
A
desperate chase began. Johanni hauled up onto his feet to run away, just as
Eardwulf took after him in pursuit. The roped boy stumbled through the
cadaverous vestiges of the Karggar warband, huffing and heaving, fallen arrows
snapping beneath his boots like twigs until he skidded against a puddle of
entrails and landed in bloody mud. Another bolt of light lit up the
battlefield. Johanni opened his eyes. A disembowelled soldier smiled at him.
Heavens
help me, he thought. Please!
That
was when Eardwulf snatched him. The Osserian, heavy of breath and bleeding from
a gut wound, dragged Johanni kicking and screaming through the slop as he
screamed "Let me go! Let me go! LET ME GO!" whilst the field went dark again.
There was a leafless oak tree nearby. The soaked Eardwulf ferried his captive
over to it and shoved him against its bark before pressing their dirty lips
together. Tears streamed down Johanni's muddy face as he wretched with disgust,
tasting blood and dirt and ale on the older man's tongue.
Eardwulf
broke the kiss as another lightning bolt lit the grounds. With his emaciated
face and bloody smile, it was as though Johanni was staring into the very face
of insanity. "I love you so much," whispered the thrall as took his second line
of rope and tied Johanni to the tree with it. He then kicked a longsword out of
the hands of a dead Karggar outrider and took it up, turning towards the river.
"This
will not take long," he said softly. "And then we can be together..."
The
river waters broke open again.
It
was Erik Halfspear, swimming stroke for stroke to the riverbank to pull himself
out of the drink. He caught his breath beneath the thundercrack as Eardwulf
edged towards him, his muddy sword dragging through the wet grass behind his
boots. Johanni yelled at Erik to RUN AWAY but his voice was too weak for the
thunder's din. And when the lightning came again it showed the Halfspear what
had become of his warband. His horrified eyes broke Johanni's heart.
And
then Eardwulf entered his line of sight.
Karggar
dead made up most of the mutilated husks strewn about the sludge, but there
were a handful of fallen legionaries amongst them. One had a longsword stuck in
his belly. Erik Halfspear, eyes occluded by dirty wet hair, ripped that same
longsword free as the thegn-turned-thrall approached him from the high ground.
Lightning
flashed.
"This
all began with you," Eardwulf raised his sword. "LET IT END WITH YOU!"
The
darkness fell.
Thunder
clapped thrice, not of the heavens, but of steel against steel, echoing into
the distance as the skies above cast down a sudden rain with which to shower
the field. It was as if Ka-Uta herself was expressing her rage. Torrents of
mud, blood, and rainwater began flowing into the Great River. Thunder broke,
lightning followed...
...and
Eardwulf dropped his sword. It fell into the sodden grass. His blood followed
it there, a stream of it, flowing down his breeches and armour from the gaping
wound across his throat. The gut of red dropped him first to his knees and then
to his face.
And
once he fell, he did not move again.
The
Halfspear, gasping for breath, lowered the bloody tip of his sword as his eyes
searched the field until they spotted Johanni, tied to a tree on the other side
of the carnage. He dragged himself up, first to his haunches and then to his
feet. Erik's soggy, weighted steps then slowly ferried him over to the Impanni
boy's side. He raised up the longsword, dripping with Osserian blood, and
hacked off the ropes holding him prisoner. His eyes were awash.
"I'm
sorry..." Johanni brought their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry..."
Erik
Halfspear let the heavy longsword fall from his fingertips, wrapped his
trembling arms around the boy, and burst into angry tears.
**********
FATHER...?
YES, MY SON?
TELL ME WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A KING.
IT MEANS DUTY. IT MEANS RESPONSIBILITY. BUT
MOST OF ALL, IT MEANS...
**********
The
only unburnt tent had collapsed. Erik and Johanni worked together to post its
tent poles back up to secure the fabric and netting. They then spread an
abandoned bearhide cloak over the drenched grass and huddled together for
warmth. The tent was riddled with arrow holes, but it was all they had for
shelter as they waited out the storm.
When
it finally passed (and the sun returned) they stepped outside and saw the
horrors of the previous night with fresh eyes. All fifty men of Erik's warband
had been killed whilst six dead legionaries lay with them in the mud. They were
hit with a cavalry charge, judging by the many hundreds and hundreds of
hoofprints beaten into the earth from the north-eastern side of the camp. And
Growler, Erik's tamed bear, had been stabbed with spears whilst locked inside
his cage.
There
were too many bodies to bury, and with the ground so wet and there being so
little kindling nearby, they could not be burned. They had no choice but to
leave them for the crows, which were already wheeling the skies in wait for a
meal. For a moment Johanni considered burying Eardwulf, but it passed just as
quickly. That was the kind and merciful thing to do... and Johanni was sick
of being kind.
Feed
the crows, he thought. I will
not mourn you.
Instead
they scavenged the camp for supplies (procuring an unbroken longsword and a
short sword, boots, a spear, a hammer, a purse of gold, and a spool of rope)
before loading it all into shorn leather saddlebags and following the river
north. They caught up to Eardwulf's skiff (trapped between some mossy rocks at
the edge of the eastern bank). Thankfully, it was not damaged. Together they
swam out to fetch it, flipping it right side up, then ferried it back to the
riverbank where they loaded it with their supplies and climbed inside.
Johanni
took the oars. The Halfspear offered, but he refused to let him. He was still
weak from his stab wound and the fight with Eardwulf – better to let him rest.
Rowing was more strenuous than it looked but Erik directed Johanni through it.
"Everyone
is dead," said Erik, soberly. "Frodi and Thregg. Norsa. Kjarlla. Thorvald. Even
the Ironhide – if not for his longaxe I never would've gotten free long enough
to come after you. What now? Karburgh?"
Johanni
shook his head as he pulled the oars. "We'd endanger your brother if we went to
him. We are the only ones left who know the truth about Ragnar. Nowhere in
Grünlund is safe."
"Then
where?"
"East,"
said the boy. "As Magnus Magnusson once did. We will rest and we will grow
strong, and then we return to take back what is ours... I swear it."
"What
of Ragnar?"
Johanni's
heart felt cold. "I will have his head..."
**********
TO BE CONTINUED IN WULF'S BLUT – THE
GOLDEN EMPIRE
***********
*
Aaaaand that's a wrap, folks! Thanks so much for
reading, we got there in the end (eventually). I forgot how much I enjoyed this
story and its characters, and as I was going over my notes for the last two chapters
I realized that I had more I wanted to do with it (particularly Johanni and
Erik's relationship and the wider global context that Magnus Magnusson eludes
to in chapter six). So, I re-wrote then ending to continue the story in a
future sequel entitled, "Wulf's Blut: The Golden Empire". It will not be as
long as this was, and I have some other updates I want to do before I start
working on it, but if you enjoyed this story keep an eye out for it in the near
future.
*
Comments and constructive criticism always welcome. You can contact me at stephenwormwood@mail.com, I always
enjoy feedback. I also want to try my hand at writing short stories so if you
have any ideas on you, let me know.
*
As always please consider donating to Nifty.