Crown of Vengeance

by Stephen Zimmer

  A few of the men wore cloaks, most of which were pinned at their right shoulders with metal brooches or straight pins. Aside from a few with colorful headbands or round caps of wool, a majority of the men wore conical iron half-helms upon their heads, hammered out of one piece of iron, or fashioned from four iron plates. Several of the helms had straight nasal guards, and a very few had silver-gilt, spectacle-like eye-guards set in front, descending low enough to protect the nose as well.

  The men were clearly prepared for combat, many bearing sizeable, round wooden shields, with projecting iron bosses fitted into their centers. A few other shields were set in an outer timber batten that ran down the length of the ship. Vibrant colors were presented on the shield surfaces, paired in most instances to create swirling or sectioned patterns.

  All of the men had weapons close at hand, ranging from long-hafted, broad-bladed war axes, to straight swords nestled within their scabbards, and to spears of varying shaft lengths and blade types. A smattering of bows could also be seen in evidence amongst the warriors, the bearers of which possessed quivers full of feather-fletched arrows.

  At the approach of the canoes, the men standing closer around the body of the longship trundled down to join the others at the river’s edge. Assembled together, they all patiently waited for the arrival of the oncoming vessels.

  Logan was impressed with the physical traits of the fair-skinned men, the common characteristics among them becoming clearer as the canoes drew closer.

  They were rather tall, very powerfully-built men. Broad of shoulder and thick of limb, most wore full beards upon their faces, some worked into a braided or forked style.

  Longer hairstyles predominated amongst them, most having locks cut to about shoulder length. Good grooming was in full evidence, with well-combed tresses culminating in even trims.

  Despite the presence of ample color, artistry, and grooming habits among them, there was absolutely nothing soft about the throng of warriors. Their faces and bright eyes formed decidedly hardened countenances, and Logan recognized at once that these were not the kind of men to be taken lightly, or underestimated in any way.

  “Eirik! Welcome to you and your men in the land of the Five Realms,” Ayenwatha called out loudly, breaking Logan’s concentration as the war sachem shouted abruptly to one of the foremost of the waiting figures.

  The man identified as Eirik grinned broadly in response, moving at once to intercept Ayenwatha’s canoe just as it reached the shoreline. Ayenwatha set his oar down as the bark-lined vessel grated against the ground underneath, rising up and lithely swinging himself over the side of the canoe.

  Eirik moved forward and took Ayenwatha into a strong embrace that nearly lifted the tribal warrior off of the ground. Several of his long, blond locks billowed outward as they were picked up and buoyed by the breezy air. The ends of his red, square cloak, clasped by a shining silver brooch at the right shoulder, flapped as it was caught up in the stout gusts.

  About six feet tall, he was exceptional of build, even among his own men, being particularly robust in the upper chest and shoulders. He had a multi-lobed, silver-gilt pommel crowning the bottom end of a long sword. The pommel and leather-wrapped hilt protruded upward from where the short, straight crossguard rested flush against the bronze-lined mouth of the scabbard at his left side. The scabbard itself was girded via a leather belt secured snugly around his waist.

  Towards the bottom of his brown trousers, his feet were covered in dark, sealskin boots.

  Several fingers of his sizeable hands exhibited gleaming silver rings. He wore a couple of silver armbands above his right elbow, circling his biceps, the gleaming bands visible right below the short sleeve of his chain mail shirt.

  A type of beaded necklace, with two silver pendants hanging down at the bottom of the decorative array, was partially obstructed by the thick, forked beard that the man’s face displayed, the farthest ends of which rested upon his broad upper chest.

  The fierce-looking man looked markedly relaxed in his posture, adjacent to Ayenwatha’s own very casual manner. The pair made for an odd sight; the brawny, fair-skinned man with flowing blonde locks, and draped in his richly colored attire, next to the leaner, reddish-skinned man in his hide kilt and leggings, with a crowning tuft of black hair and his upper body covered by naught but tattoos.

  Despite the great variance in appearances, to Logan’s eyes both men equally exuded a proud strength and sense of authority. It was also abundantly clear that they held both respect and a palpable liking for each other.

  “Ayenwatha! I received your word. Your messenger came in such haste, and told us of your summons. I did not delay,” Eirik announced in his deep voice. “I did not know what to expect, so you find my men so armed and equipped, and the wolf’s head displayed openly on River Wolf. But I can see from your manner that there appears to be no pressing danger. Am I mistaken in this?”

  Eirik’s bright eyes gazed intently through the spectacle-like eye guards of his half-helm at Ayenwatha, as he fell silent. Logan could sense a slight flare of tension within the burly warrior as he awaited Ayenwatha’s answer.

  “No, Eirik. Grave threats to us are building, but none yet calls us to imminent battle. But I have called you here for a matter of great importance. One that cannot be delayed,” Ayenwatha responded.

  “That there is no immediate danger to our woodland friends is indeed a welcome tiding. I must say that it is very good just to see you once again … in these times we must celebrate all such meetings between friends,” he warmly replied, appearing to relax once again at Ayenwatha’s words.

  His voice had a certain roughness to it, which fairly complimented his tough appearance. His piercing gaze then swept towards the seven foreigners with Ayenwatha.

  “So these are your visitors?” he asked pointedly, nodding towards Logan and the others.

  Ayenwatha likewise inclined his head towards the seven, who were now standing with the rest of the tribal warriors just a couple of paces behind the war sachem.

  “Yes. And before you departed to other lands for the trading season, I wanted for you to meet them,” Ayenwatha replied. “I desire to hear your words about them. I have not provided them with new clothes, so that you may see with your own eyes what manner of clothing that they wear. They have said that this clothing is from their own lands. I cannot place the clothing in any land that I know of.”

  Eirik nodded slowly, his countenance stern as his eyes continued to rest upon the seven. “I am glad that you reached me before I took to the seas for trade. Gunnar will be very interested in this discovery as well.”

  “I believe that your brother will indeed,” Ayenwatha responded.

  Ayenwatha then proceeded to explain the incredible amulets that had been given to the otherworlders by the Wanderer, and how the amulets enabled the understanding of languages. Logan took note that Eirik looked very surprised at the mention of the Wanderer, but the warrior held whatever thoughts he might have had to himself.

  Eirik then walked past Ayenwatha to come to stand close to where Logan was situated at the forefront of the seven exiles. Having a closer look at Eirik’s two pendants, Logan noticed that one was in the shape of a spear, its point oriented upward, and the second was in the distinct shape of a hammer. Logan wondered what the two silver symbols represented as he regarded the bearded warrior before him.

  Eirik smiled again, in a genuine expression of greeting, his encompassing gaze taking in Logan and the others.

  “I hear tidings that you are not in allegiance to the Unifier, and that you are possibly from another world,” he said to them. “It is hard to believe that one can come from another world. But in these very strange and uncertain times, I have come to be surprised by very little. Hopefully, the All-Father has reasons for your presence here. If not, perhaps our patron gods do. I am called Eirik, son of Atli, and I am of the people of Midragard.”

  As Logan was the one standing right before the Midragardan warrior, he wa
s the first to respond to Eirik’s introduction.

  “My name is Logan, and yes, this is definitely a new world for all of us,” Logan stated, looking straight into the steady, cerulean gaze of the Midragardan.

  There was no threat lurking in the man’s eyes, but there was an unwavering scrutiny seated in his gaze. Despite the lack of hostility in that look, Logan deemed it wise to be careful not to say anything to offend the Midragardan.

  “It is very good to meet you Logan,” Eirik responded, his large hand firmly clasping Logan’s arm in a friendly manner, just below his left shoulder.

  Before Logan had time to worry about the appropriate return gesture, Eirik released his grip upon his arm. The Midragardan gently brushed past Logan and moved in amongst his companions.

  Now in their direct midst, the Midragardan’s face could not hide his obvious fascination. More than once, Eirik lingered for several moments as he stared closely at some particular aspect of their unfamiliar clothing.

  Logan quietly watched Eirik proceed with his inspection, equally fascinated with the Midragardan.

  AYENWATHA

  Ayenwatha knew from the Midragardan’s reactions that Eirik had never seen or heard of anything like the type of clothes that the otherworlders wore.

  He watched with keen interest as the helmed warrior passed onward from Logan, and drew to a halt before Erika. The striking, dark-haired woman briefly introduced herself, as Logan had, though unlike her companion she elicited a slight inclination of his head.

  “Your clothes may be strange … and you may not be from our lands, but your mere look threatens to slay me where I stand,” Eirik gently commented to her in reply. “Beautiful and strong … one of the Twelve Sisters you could well be.”

  Erika’s face reddened a little in embarrassment at the sincere compliment, though Ayenwatha was all but certain that she had no idea as to who the Twelve Sisters were.

  If she had known, Ayenwatha was confident that the shade of red now flushing her skin would have been even deeper. It was a very high compliment to be compared by a Midragardan leader to the deeply revered female Wizards, patrons of Eirik’s homelands for ages.

  Erika had no verbal reply for the stout warrior, but Ayenwatha could sense that she was flattered and understood the genuine nature, if not the particulars, of the warrior’s words.

  Eirik smiled softly, and moved past her to stand near to Mershad. He then regarded Mershad closely for several moments after the latter had formally introduced himself. Mershad looked very uncomfortable under the close individual inspection, his eyes glancing downward and staunchly averting the appraising gaze of the Midragardan.

  “Like those from Saljuka … you are indeed like a Sunlander,” Eirik commented, after a few more moments had passed.

  Ayenwatha understood the reference.

  The Midragardan was comparing Mershad to a certain kind of people that Eirik had encountered during his many foreign travels, ones that he had shared several tales about with Ayenwatha. Judging by those engaging and highly descriptive stories, Ayenwatha believed that he could see where Eirik found a resemblance in Mershad to the Sunlanders that lived in the far north.

  “Mostly a good people, at least as I have found them to be,” Eirik continued. “They have long enjoyed much trade with Midragard, and with those of our kin who settled long ago in Kiruva. I have not met many Saljukans in my life, but the ones that I have met have been fair enough in their dealings with me.”

  As if perceiving the signs of increasing discomfort in Mershad that Ayenwatha was seeing, the Midragardan quickly added, “Know that they are well spoken of among my people, and take my words favorably.”

  Mershad merely nodded at Eirik’s assurances and mustered a nervous grin, though his eyes continued to remain downward.

  “I have heard it said that silver flows in rivers deep in their lands,” Eirik then continued. “Their reputation as bold and capable warriors is also oft spoken of. I know that they are very zealous when it comes to matters of their Great Prophet. And they must have courage in their blood, for their people have spread to a great many lands upon the face of this world. Maybe you hold some of their qualities, Sunlander. It would not be a bad thing.”

  Ayenwatha noticed that Mershad’s eyes widened at the open mention of the Great Prophet. Ayenwatha took the distinct response carefully to mind. There was something to be learned about Mershad and his homeland, or world, within that spontaneous reaction.

  Mershad looked as if he greatly desired to ask some further questions of the Midragardan. Ayenwatha wished that Mershad had, as he wanted to see if something more could be learned about Mershad in an exchange with Eirik, but such an interaction would have to take place at some other time. By the time that Mershad appeared to have finally mustered himself up enough to venture a query forward, Eirik had turned his attention away towards another of the group.

  Eirik strolled a couple of steps to the right, coming to face Derek. Ayenwatha could see something similar in the presence of the two men, from their stout postures to the iron looks held in their eyes.

  The Midragardan and the otherworlder both had the confident aura and subtle wariness of experienced warriors. The scrutiny was mutual. Ayenwatha had a strong sense that each man was left with a respectful impression of the other.

  Eirik’s eyes continued to meet those of the one that Ayenwatha considered as the most stalwart of the newcomers.

  The Midragardan warrior remarked, “Many in the Sunlands have a likeness such as yours, ones with the darker skin and a different appearance from that of your friend here. I have heard tales of places even farther away to the northern reaches of the Sunlands, far to the west. It is said that great tribes of brave warriors, with the darker skin and a similar look to you, live in lands of ferocious beasts and a blazing sun.

  “The look in your eye is that of a warrior, even if I have not yet witnessed your skill at arms. If you are from another world, I am certain that men would be the same there as in ours, and that one who is not a warrior could not easily deceive one who is.”

  Ayenwatha could see the briefest flickers of curiosity and agreement in Derek’s eyes.

  Eirik then turned towards Janus, Kent, and Antonio, regarding each of the last three without much comment, other than to share a brief greeting and introduction with them.

  He did linger a little longer before Janus, and the hint of a frown briefly crossed his face. Ayenwatha found the Midragardan’s reaction strange, as it was one of perplexity, rather than one born of any discomfort or annoyance.

  Finished, Eirik walked back towards Ayenwatha and slowly shook his head. The two of them strode several paces away from the others, so that they could speak together in confidence.

  “I cannot say anything for certain,” Eirik stated in a low voice, when they had walked far enough to assume that they could not be overheard.

  “Then you can tell me nothing?” Ayenwatha asked, speaking in the Midragardan tongue, a look of disappointment rising to his face. He had hoped dearly that the well-traveled Eirik would have some sort of insight or a few answers regarding the party of seven strangers. Eirik’s inconclusive reaction only deepened the mystery.

  “I know of nothing like this, from any of my travels,” Eirik replied in a low voice. “In the color of their skin, and in appearance, a few of them are akin to the people of distant lands to the north. But I do not think that these people came from those kingdoms. It may indeed be that they are, as they have claimed, from another world.”

  “Then what do you counsel, my friend?” Ayenwatha asked Eirik pensively, looking past him towards the outsiders. He wondered what Eirik’s brother Gunnar would be thinking, as Gunnar was more inclined towards the prophetic tales that so intrigued Ayenwatha. “Could they be the ones that are spoken of?”

  “Who can say that they are not? Protect them, and keep them with you, if you think that there is a chance that they are these people,” Eirik stated. His eyes then narrowed, “And these a
mulets from the Wanderer? What of these gifts? Do these guests of yours truly not speak our tongues?”

  “There is no doubt about these gifts of the Wanderer. Without the amulets they understand nothing, and without them I cannot understand a word that they say,” Ayenwatha said.

  “The Wanderer … in the Five Realms, giving gifts to otherworlders,” Eirik stated with a contemplative look.

  Ayenwatha then fixed Eirik with an unwavering gaze, and his voice carried certitude in its even tone. “These seven know nothing of the things of our world. I have watched them very closely in all manner of things. They are truly strangers to all the things of this world. I can see it in their eyes, in their words, and in their great discomfort with the most simple of matters. I am certain of this. Everything is a wonder to them.”

  “So I noticed when I first set my eyes upon them. The look that they gave my men and ship was one of sheer amazement, like it was something they could hardly believe they were seeing. Can seven people falsely imitate such a sincere reaction?” Eirik replied with a shrug. “If they are from another world, then there is some true purpose with them being here. And for what it may be worth, I also share your view that they are not of the Unifier.”

  “Then what should we do while we shelter them?”” Ayenwatha asked.

  “I would teach them the ways of this world, as much as you can, if I were you. Time is a luxury that none of us have, so I would not delay,” Eirik advised him firmly.

  There was no sense of doubt in the Midragardan’s voice. His words were filled with conviction, and Ayenwatha knew that did not come carelessly with Eirik, the son of Atli.

  “As for the ways of this world, I will help you get them started now,” Eirik said, casting a quick glance off in the direction of his ship, River Wolf. “I think that the things of Midragard might be a little more comfortable for them than the things of your tribes.”