by James Wolf
‘Ye danger o’ that road be great,’ Harnan said.
‘The need is greater,’ Hirandar said solemnly.
‘Tis strange,’ Drogal mused. ‘Two day ago, one o’ Rangers returned sayin’ there be a wizard headed fer ye Blizzen Passes. I do be forgettin’ it, as ye Kruns be comin’ hours after that Ranger do returned.’
Hirandar raised her eyebrow at this.
‘Neveryeless,’ Drogal said, ‘that party o’ this other wizard must be dead, for their path do be meetin’ ye Kruns.’
‘Indeed,’ Hirandar grimaced, less convinced than the Citadel Lord.
‘I do know this ranger,’ Drogal rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘He be stout, but something do have him flustered. He do been glad ter escape this fright’ning wizard an’ his friends. Said he could nay help but be feelin’ uneasy an’ fearful o’ them.’
‘He’s lucky to have his life,’ Hirandar sighed.
Although Drogal did not notice, Logan, Harnan and Macen heard the deeper meaning in the Wizard’s words.
‘What do send yhee eastwards by treacherous roads,’ Drogal asked, ‘an’ with such haste?’
‘A quest for an item of huge consequence,’ Hirandar said cryptically.
But Drogal seemed satisfied as he nodded his head, ‘Yhee ’ave always be a selfless ally o’ Rhungars, Hirandar o’ ye Firefist. If I could spare yhee army, I would. But with Kruns do knockin’ at my doors, an’ far worse in ye eastern mountains, I can nay spare yhee a single axe.’
‘Me Lord,’ the old Rhungari priest jumped in, sat on Drogal’s left. He wore long robes of brown and grey – dull for a Rhungar, Macen thought. ‘Ye rains have nay fallen fer nine days, an’ ye wind continue ter blow from ye north, tis certain signs that Odrin favours us again. I be assured by these signs that Kruns do nay return. Odrin’s hand do move ter protect us! Ye weather omens be definite proof.’
Harnan raised his eyes to the sky, as Hirandar shook her head in disbelief.
‘Aye, aye,’ Drogal said dismissively to the priest. ‘As Odrin wills it – I take comfort from thy council, Priest Grond. Yhee be sayin’, me Lady Hirandar?’
‘I have amassed a company of might for this task,’ Hirandar gestured to her companions sat at the table. ‘For which the Rhungars are represented.’
‘Forgrun Krojan, o’ Dundean,’ Drogal nodded. ‘He be a strong an’ proud example o’ me people. His father do be well known, as it be said he do be in time – after he do pass ye impetuousness o’ youth.’
‘How be a friend o’ mine be nay welcome at this table?’ Forgrun slammed his tankard down on the table, and stood up. The great hall went silent. Everyone in the chamber turned to watch Forgrun.
‘I merely be remarkin’,’ said a Rhungar, sat opposite Baek, ‘how times do have changed, ter be havin’ Aborle present in ye halls o’ me ancestors.’ This Rhungar had a Claymore sword, and wore the red and green of his clan. ‘Yhee Aborle be nay friend o’ us Rhungars. Even if Forgrun o’ Ironstone do forget ye past, we Claymores do remember! We Claymores still respect ye ancestors!’
There were murmurs of agreement throughout the great hall. The Aborle should not be trusted. They had the blood of traitors.
‘This Aborle be battle-brother worthy o’ thy Ancestors!’ Forgrun raised a fist towards the Claymore.
Macen saw many rosy Rhungar faces go wide open with shock and outrage.
‘This Ironstone do break ancient custom,’ the watching Rhungars muttered amongst themselves.
‘More than that,’ Forgrun boomed, ‘this Aborle be me friend, ter which, fer me it do nay matter which people!’
‘An’,’ the Claymore Rhungar roared at Forgrun, raising his voice in challenge as he stood up. ‘How ye times do take a turn fer ye worst if an Aborle be sittin’ at ye table o’ me forefathers!’
‘Yhee insult me friend!’ Forgrun snarled. ‘Therefore, yhee insult me!’
‘Come on lads we’re all friends here,’ Drual held up his hands.
Macen saw the look of sheer bewilderment on Baek’s face.
To his alarm, Macen noticed Harnan was smiling – smiling!
‘I do insult yhee Ironstone,’ the Claymore Rhungar bellowed, as he planted his fists on his hips. ‘For are yhee true Rhungar be? Or do yhee be weak half-Rhungar turncoat?’
Forgrun shouted something back, but Macen, who sat at the other end of the table, could not hear what it was. Because every Rhungar of Clan Ironstone was up on his or her feet and shouting, including their Clan Lord – which in turn brought the Rhungars from the Clan Claymore table to start yelling at the Ironstone table. Macen thought the deep booming of many Rhungars shouting in Grumbold was like the gathering of thunder in storm clouds.
‘Enough!’ The Citadel Lord's booming voice cut through the racket, and everyone went silent. ‘It appears we do have a matter that can nay be resolved between two Rhungars, two clans. Only by Gaunt Ruck can settled this disagreement be. Will yhee, Forgrun o’ Ironstone, be issuin’ forth ye challenge fer Gaunt Ruck?’
‘I be!’ Forgrun shouted.
‘Do yhee, Sturad o’ Claymore,’ Drogal asked, ‘be acceptin’ ye challenge?’
‘I be!’ Sturad bellowed.
At this, every Rhungar in the room, bar Drogal, began howling and whooping. Macen thought they sounded as if they were a bunch of drunks trying to imitate wolves. Baek wrinkled his nose in disdain. In an instant, all the hostilities had been forgotten – apart from the fierce glares being exchanged between Forgrun and Sturad. Seven of Clan Claymore got up from their table and made their way to stand behind Sturad. Four of Clan Ironstone went to stand behind Forgrun.
‘Yhee can nay even back up thy challenge with a full team!’ Sturad yelled, and the Claymore table exploded with laughter, as did some of the other clan tables.
Harnan Molboroth stood up, at which the whole room went silent, and walked over to Forgrun’s team.
‘Me Lord Captain Harnan,’ Sturad said respectfully. ‘We can nay be challengin’ thyself in Gaunt Ruck? Yhee be a Rhungar o’ mighty Kaladim. We can nay hit yhee.’
‘Do treat me nay different ter any opponent,’ Harnan boomed. ‘For yhee be nay receivin’ smooth treatment from me in ye games!’
The Ironstone table roared at this, banging their fists and tankards on the table, barking like dogs, cheering and howling, as did the Browen Dal – Harnan’s clan.
‘Yhee still do need two,’ Sturad said mockingly. ‘Are thy friends so little in number, Forgrun, that yhee can nay be gatherin’ a team?’
There was jeering from the Claymore table as no one else came to Forgrun’s side. It was embarrassing for Forgrun so, taking a deep breath, Macen stood up and went to his friend’s side. Hirandar gestured for Macen to sit back down, but it was too late. The Wizard scowled at Macen.
Rhungars in the great hall muttered amongst themselves.
‘It nay be custom fer non-Rhungars ter be permitted ter Gaunt Ruck,’ Sturad boomed. ‘But as this one be so puny,’ Sturad sneered as he pointed at Macen, ‘I do be makin’ an exception, if ye Lord do allow it?’
The hall was filled with raucous Rhungari laughter.
Puny? Macen thought to himself. Macen was on the short side for a man, but with a broad sprinter’s build, and he knew he was strong for his size.
The laughter in the hall died, as Ragad stood up and went to join Forgrun’s team. Macen saw how the Claymore team looked at the giant of a man with awe and fear. Forgrun was five-foot tall, which was big for a Rhungar, but Ragad was closer to seven-foot than six, and he had the shoulders of a Rhungar to match.
‘Nay non-Rhungars ter be allowed!’ Sturad shouted.
‘Yhee do say so thyself, Sturad,’ Drogal said sarcastically. ‘Yhee would be makin’ exception if thy Lord allows – an’ he does.’
To which the Ironstones mocked and jeered the Claymore table.
Macen saw Baek looked pale, put out by the howling racket of the Rhungars.
‘Come be tomorrow morn,’ the Citadel
Lord announced. ‘Let ye trials begin!’
Chapter 3 – The Roar of the Crowd
The Hand of Fire were led to their guesthouse by a Citadel Guard, and Macen could feel the excitement in the lamp-lit Under City. The chant of “Gaunt Ruck! Gaunt Ruck!” was coming from the packed alehouses, and Rhungars ran through the streets to spread the word. Whilst the company walked, Macen looked at one of the most curious things about the underground city: stone channels that ran throughout the chamber, held above head level by stone pillars. From within the stone channels, Macen could hear the murmur of trickling water.
‘They be aqueducts,’ Forgrun grinned, as he saw Macen eying the stone slide they were walking under, ‘aqua be ye ol’ Grumbold word fer water.’
It was strange for Macen to see water running above the stone floor! He had heard the Rhungars were resourceful inventors, but a river running through the air, what would they think of next?
‘Ye water be comin’ from mountain springs,’ Forgrun gestured to where a Rhungari woman was filling a bucket of water from a tap, beneath one of the aqueducts.
The companions were taken to a typical Rhungari house. Inside, Macen could see there was a rug in front of the fire, surrounded by some Rhungari armchairs. The armchairs were made from glazed green metal, and held a cradle of bright yellow cushions. Macen’s attention was drawn to two incredible pieces of craftsmanship in the otherwise barren room. Macen walked up to the sculpture that took up a whole corner of the room, and he gasped in amazement at its intricacy. The feature was fashioned from a single boulder of stone, and had hundreds of tiny metal Rhungar figurines walking up an ethereal bridge to a city in the clouds. It was so detailed that Macen could see the features of the tiny miniatures’ faces, and the swirling clouds looked as if they were moving.
‘Does this show Rhungars entering the Misty Halls?’ Macen asked Logan, as he gestured to the huge sculpture.
‘Yes,’ Logan said softly. ‘That is where the Rhungars will go after life. Just as we Sodan will find our final solace in the stars – in Alarsium – the worthy Rhungars will enter the Misty Halls, and take their place alongside their ancestors and their Gods.’
The other thing that Macen saw in the room was a stone prayer table. The table held a stone carving of the inside of a sweeping lord’s hall. In the prominent positions in the hall were figurines that Macen knew were the Ancestor-Gods, and beyond them stood countless Rhungari figures. Somehow, the sculpture gave the impression of a sea of Rhungars spreading back into the halls. Macen examined the prayer table from different angles, but he could not work out how the sculptor had made the hall extend far back into nothingness. Macen watched as Forgrun lit some incense sticks, dropped to his knees in front of the shrine and joined his hands in prayer, murmuring in Grumbold. Macen smelt the incense, and it reminded him of fresh air after a storm.
‘Thank you,’ Baek said to Forgrun, once the Rhungar had finished his prayer. ‘To defend an Aborle in front of all your peers took great courage.’
Forgrun nodded and smiled.
‘Let’s get a few more coals on the fire,’ Drual rubbed his hands together as he walked over to the huge fireplace.
‘It is chilly,’ Jvarna massaged some warmth into her arms.
‘These mountain cities are untouched by rain or snow,’ Logan lit an incense stick and knelt down in front of the prayer table, ‘but neither are they warmed by the sun. Even in summer the Rhungars need fires to ward off the cold.’
Macen noticed the windows of the Rhungari house had no need for glass panes to keep rain out, but were covered by thick curtains to help keep warmth in. Even the doors were made of heavy stone, set on durable metal hinges.
‘Rhungars never use wood for anything,’ Macen said to Forgrun, ‘do you? I have not seen a single bit of wood since we arrived in this great city – everything is made from stone or metal?’
‘Aye,’ Forgrun ran his hand over the metal chairs, ‘Wood can nay be wasted in makin’ doors and chairs, or be burnt on fire. It be too scarce in ye high mountains.’
‘Macen!’ Hirandar glared at the young man, causing him to jump. ‘You foolish boy! What were you thinking? Logan may have trained you to be a swordsman, but there’ll be no swords in the arena! Do you know you’ll be competing – with shoulder and fist – with some of the toughest Rhungars of Khan Zhen? Every one of them will be looking to send you to the apothecary! A Man playing Gaunt Ruck? They’ll be trying to take your head off!’
Macen gulped, perhaps he had been too hasty. And the stormy look in Hirandar’s eyes made him shudder.
‘Nay come on,’ Forgrun spread his palms wide. ‘No one be goin’ ter get seriously hurt. May be as well ter worry abou’ trippin’ on rock an’ cracking thy head open…’ The Rhungar trailed off, as he saw Hirandar’s look become blacker.
‘And you, Master Rhungar!’ Hirandar snarled. ‘You have brought added risk to my quest? Not just to yourself, but you now risk three of my company, getting injured in your silly games!’
Forgrun looked down at the floor.
‘Fear not, Hirandar,’ Ragad said. ‘I will watch over Macen in the games. And regardless, brute strength alone is not enough. I wager Macen can run twice as fast as any Rhungar. A Rhungar cannot hit what he cannot catch.’
Hirandar, and the rest of the company, looked at the barbarian in surprise.
‘What’s done is done,’ Logan raised an appeasing hand to Hirandar. ‘We are not so weary yet that we need the rest. If anything,’ Logan gestured out the door, back out into the city, ‘this Gaunt Ruck has raised the spirits of a people under siege. Look around the Under City. You can see it, feel it, everywhere.’
Logan paused, and all the companions could hear distant Rhungars cheering, and chanting Gaunt Ruck.
‘Besides,’ Logan put a hand on Macen’s shoulder, ‘you underestimate my apprentice, Hirandar. Any Rhungar that thinks he is a small, weak Man, will be in for a big surprise.’
Logan nodded at Macen, and the Master’s approval gave him heart.
‘Aye!’ Forgrun boomed. ‘Nay man can move like Macen o’ Logan! I can nay wait to see ye shock in thine Claymore eyes. By thunder, Macen do show ‘em!’ Forgrun punched the air.
‘This Gaunt Ruck is a needless delay,’ Hirandar glowered at Forgrun, as she went to warm her hands on the fire. ‘With enemies ahead of us, and putting more distance between us.’
‘But the Kruns block the Blizzen Path, old friend,’ Logan said calmly, as he came alongside Hirandar, putting his palms out towards the fire, ‘the delay was already there before Forgrun defended his friend.’
Forgrun grew taller, and his chest expanded as Logan spoke.
‘I suppose Rhungars will be Rhungars,’ Hirandar muttered.
‘And we wouldn’t want them any other way,’ Logan put a hand on Hirandar’s shoulder, as he smiled at Forgrun. ‘That’s what makes them the most ferocious warriors in Hathlore. A ferocity we may yet need in the days to come. But for now, we should all get some rest.’
Macen was glad to find Rhungars did not sleep on mattresses of stone, but in comfortable cloth beds covered in furs and blankets. After days in the wilderness, Macen was happy to have a cosy bed, and fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning soon came, and the crowds were out in force and heading for the Gaunt Ruck pitch. Macen gazed up at the city roof in wonder. Beams of sunlight, reflected down long shafts by great mirrors, spread over the Under City and illuminated its darkest corners. Macen held his palms up to bathe in the light, and he simply could not believe it was possible.
The Hand of Fire joined the flow of walkers, and went down a passage that led into another chamber. When the company reached this Gaunt Ruck chamber, it really dawned on Macen he did not know what he had gotten himself into. He and his companions halted outside a massive stadium of stone. The coliseum was so tall that it reached up and came within feet of touching the vast rocky roof. Macen thought the architecture was typically Rhungari – of grand flowing sto
ne, and steep archways with pointed peaks. Macen knew that if Beron were to see this mighty sight, he would have been in his element. And, from what little Macen knew of Gaunt Ruck, his brother Beron would have excelled at these games.
Rhungars clambered past Macen to reach their seats inside the coliseum, and the huge chamber was filled with excited Grumbold chatter. Everywhere Macen looked he saw rowdy Rhungars grasping great ale tankards in one hand, and huge meat kebabs in the other. Forgrun herded Macen and Ragad through the crowds, into a small door under one of the tall stands, and down into a changing room where Harnan and four Rhungars of Ironstone were waiting for them.
‘We do give Claymore a good thumping!’ One Ironstone boomed.
‘Aye!’ The others shouted and laughed.
‘I be going ter smack Sturad in ye games!’ Another Ironstone yelled.
‘Aye! Aye! Aye!’ The other Ironstones chanted.
‘Be welcome Forgrun,’ Harnan shook Forgrun’s arm, ‘an’ Macen an’ Ragad.’ He passed them all blue tunics, so everyone in the changing room was wearing a blue top.
‘Aye!’ The other Ironstones yelled, as they heartily embraced the newcomers.
‘What is Gaunt Ruck?’ Macen asked Harnan.
‘Nay worry, little man,’ Harnan placed a massive hand on Macen’s shoulder. ‘Be close ter me, an’ ye be okay. There be four games first, where we do collect a shield fer each win. Then there do be three shields ter win in Gaunt Ruck itself – be seven shields in all, fer each o’ ye seven clans.’
‘Fine,’ Macen said confidently, even though he was shaking inside.
‘Good,’ Harnan nodded, with a reassuring smile.
Macen was bewildered as Forgrun and the other Rhungars started crashing their heads together, punching each other in the arms and chest, and slapping each other round the face. The Rhungars were snorting, growling and bawling like deranged wild beasts – Macen caught Ragad’s eyes, and he could see the Croma was as mystified as he was. Ragad dipped his head, and Macen saw the giant man give a rare smile, before the barbarian leapt amongst the Rhungars and started smashing his huge shoulders into them. The Rhungars looked at the Northman in surprise, but then they all howled as they started charging, thumping and wrestling with Ragad. As Macen kept well out of the way, he wondered if he was the only sane one in this changing room.