The Abomination of Asgard

by James Malcolm Elrick

“You will see.”

  And then Farling understood. Off to one side, out of the way, but still very much a part of everything, was Jakobus. He was short like a child, shorter than all the people in the Knights Stable, but of a stocky build. His long gray-beard almost touched the floor. And yet everyone jumped to action when Jakobus yelled, as it seemed his voice could move mountains.

  From across the Knights Stable, Jakobus spied Bringon, bellowed: “Ah, there he is. Just the man I was looking for.”

  The small crowd of activity around Jakobus parted like curtains to make room for Bringon and Farling.

  Jakobus, whose freakishly loud voice made Farling’s ears ring, said: “I need to increase my order.”

  “How many more do you need?” asked Bringon.

  Jakobus scribbled some notes on a piece of paper and showed it to Bringon.

  “Done,” said Bringon, and they sealed the deal with a handshake with everyone else acting as witness. Bringon introduced Farling, said: “He is one of my newest workers.”

  Jakobus boomed: “What is your last name, lad?”

  “Jordheim.”

  “Ah, a country lad. Cannot go wrong there. Well, Bringon, I see you and your new worker came dressed for work. I need you to shoe several horses, as one of my workers is sick, and no one can replace him.”

  And at that, Jakobus dismissed them, turning his attention to other matters, bellowing every sentence the entire time.

  Farling asked: “Does he ever lose his voice?”

  “Not that I have ever noticed,” replied Bringon.

  For the next several hours, Farling and Bringon shoed horses and other tasks. Once they were done, they headed back to Bringon’s forge for lunch with Arastead and Grum. There, Bringon left to conduct business elsewhere, leaving the boys alone to work in the forge.

  Arastead asked: “What did you think of the Knights Stable?”

  “Impressive,” answered Farling, working on a horseshoe as well. “Jakobus runs a tight ship. I have never seen such a large stable of horses.”

  Grum chimed in, said: “Not all the horses are even in it. Do you think the Aarlund horses are going to stay at the Knights Stable?”

  “They should,” said Arastead. “All horses used in the King’s Tournament are cared for in the Knights Stable.”

  “But the Aarlunders only ride ponies and mountain goats,” said Grum.

  “Hush, Grum, you know that is not true,” said Arastead. “The horses of Aarlund are known for their endurance and sure-footedness. Have you ever seen an Aarlund clan warrior? No? I have heard they are massive. I cannot see them riding a pony. Now, can the Aarlund warriors joust? That is another question.”

  “On horseback, Aarlunders are strong with the spear,” said Farling.

  “And how would you know that?” asked Grum. “You have never been to Aarlund, have you?”

  “No, I never have, but I know someone who has. An old soldier turned blacksmith. He did not tell many stories of his battles against the Aarlunders, but he did tell of their might on horse with spear.”

  “Ah yes, you are from Jordheim, close to the Aarlund border. The baron of your land is Baron Cai, correct?”

  “Yes, Baron Cai is steward of our land. His tax collectors sweep through our village, always at the worst times. Where are you both from?”

  “Ah, that is a tougher question,” answered Arastead. “Both Grum and I are orphans. We were raised at the School.”

  “What’s the School?” asked Farling.

  “A place where children are raised who lost their parents or a parent in the Dennland Aarlund wars,” said Arastead. “There, the children are taught how to read and write, proper manners, and a trade. Both Grum and I wanted to become blacksmiths, and here we are.”

  Grum, who had finished with the bellows and was now heating some metal, said: “Some children from the School go on to become squires, and some have grown up to become knights.”

  Arastead nodded, said: “The School is also known for its teachers. There are masters for all the fighting arts: archery, sword, quarterstaff, and joust. When we were not cleaning rooms, doing laundry, taking care of the horses, helping in the kitchen, we were practicing our fighting skills. Each child would learn all the fighting arts, then, when they would demonstrate a proficiency in one, they would focus and train solely on that art.”

  “The Masters are known all across Dennland for their fighting arts,” said Grum. “Some barons even send their children to the School so that they can learn the fighting arts from a real master.”

  Farling asked: “How many children are at the School?”

  “Not many,” said Arastead. “There used to be more, but now there are wings filled with empty rooms. The School is as old as Trondheim. Some say the gods used to teach there as well on occasion. Heimdall would teach swordplay and Loki, the quarterstaff.”

  “Even magic used to be taught there,” said Grum. “Galdr, Norse god of sorcery and necromancy, would teach occasionally. And Freya, Goddess of Wisdom, patron of clerics, would teach the arts of healing.”

  Arastead interrupted, said: “Well, they say that but there is no proof.”

  “No, then where were the wizards taught? They must have been taught somewhere.”

  “An old argument. Supposedly there was a great library attached to the School filled with books of magic. But this library burned to the ground ages ago. There are still some books, but not many, and none about magic. There is no trace of this great library anymore, just rumors and stories.”

  Farling asked: “So, which fighting art did both of you focus on?”

  “Bow and arrow,” answered Grum.

  “Quarterstaff,” said Arastead. “Anyone can shoot an arrow,” he added with a wry smile.

  Grum gasped, trying to appear hurt, said: “And anyone can pick up a stick and hit people.”

  Arastead smiled, asked: “Farling, what is your weapon of choice?”

  “Sword. The blacksmith in Jordheim, the one who taught me everything I know about the forge, he also taught me all I know about swordplay. I do not know if you would have called him a master swordsman, or how he would have compared against the master swordsman of the School, but I thought he was a fine teacher.”

  “Well, we will have to practice sometime,” said Grum. “While I prefer the bow, I am still considered quite good with a sword.”

  “That he is,” said Arastead. “As much as I like to tease him about the bow and arrow, a favorite weapon of princesses,” Grum shot a withering look at Arastead who smiled, “the master swordsman at the School was quite disappointed when Grum decided to pursue the bow.”

  “Not many boys my age can pull the string on a long bow,” said Grum.

  “He is quite good,” said Arastead. “His distance and accuracy are quite impressive. So where is your sword, Farling?”

  Farling sighed and stopped hammering, said: “One of the king’s guards stole it from me when I entered Trondheim.” He told them everything that had happened.

  Arastead nodded in sympathy, said: “Unfortunately, the king’s guards are notorious for taking bribes and stealing from people. Why King Frederick allows it to happen, none know.”

  “Who is Orlough?” asked Farling. “He seemed the oddest bird when I met him, but underneath all that appearance, he seems quite smart.”

  Grum and Arastead exchanged glances of concern.

  “Well,” started Arastead, “I know you are fond of him. He has done you a great favor. Bringon is well known as a blacksmith here in the Hive. Supposedly, years ago, Bringon fell on hard times, and Orlough helped him out of it. Which is why they are such good friends. But that was before Orlough fell on his own hard times, and none seemed able to help him, not even Bringon, though he tried.”

  “What happened to Orlough?” asked Farling.

  “Well, you may not know it, looking at him, but he used to be King Frederick’s Secretary, a highly respected position. And from what I have heard, Orlough was very goo
d at it.”

  “He does not look like he belongs to the king’s court,” said Farling.

  Grum interjected, said: “When he was in the king’s court, he was one of the finest dressers. He took great pride in how he looked. If he favored a clothes maker in the Hive, that seamstress would be swamped with work afterwards from other royalty and wealthy patrons.”

  Arastead added, said: “And, as king’s secretary, it was his job to advise the king on all important matters, guiding him and this kingdom. He was even king’s secretary to King Frederick’s father. Orlough essentially ran the kingdom, making sure all the king’s orders were implemented. That is why, under his time, the king’s guards took no bribes and did not fleece people as they entered Trondheim.”

  “So, what happened?” asked Farling.

  “None know, really,” said Arastead, his voice softening as if he did not want to be overheard. “Just one day, years ago, Orlough came back from a trip a changed man. He took to drinking mead in heavy bouts. He would ramble on about all sorts of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ragnarok, end of the world pronouncements, other such nonsense. He would also berate the king for not fathering a child. The last straw was when he accused the queen of trying to have a child with one of her trusted bodyguards. Well, King Frederick could not have anyone calling him a cuckold, so he tossed Orlough out on his ear. Then Orlough started to chew visionflower and he started to lose his mind even more.”

  “Visionflower?”

  “Ah, I forget you are from a small village where they probably do not do that sort of thing. Visionflower is a vile flower. When you chew it, you go into a trance, a little like being drunk. But supposedly, you get visions from it, a glimpse of the future. Some people say that the Norns chew it, as it gives them their power to see the future, to know how to weave the Tapestry, when to add someone’s string to the picture, and when to cut it. Mostly, cheap soothsayers and other hacks chew it. Orlough must think he will see more about this end of the world stuff, Ragnarok-type stuff, you know, so that he can stop it from happening. Who knows, all we know is that he used to be the king’s right arm, now he is just a gutter rat.”

  “Who is king’s secretary now?”

  “Phillius, an odd man, very different from Orlough. Seems to think it is okay for the guards to accept bribes.”

  They continued working in silence, except for the smashing of their hammers on metal and anvil. The forge roared contentedly radiating heat. The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. On occasion, a customer would drop by to pick up a finished sword, shield, or other item of metal work. Arastead would always greet them, show them the finished work, describe the work done, and take their coin as he was good with numbers. He would then put the coins in the strongbox that could only be opened by a key worn by Bringon. And, Arastead was also always the person customers would talk to when they dropped off a dull sword, a broken shield, or armor that needed repair. He would discuss what needed to be repaired, would negotiate a price, and would tell the person when it would be ready. A handshake would seal the deal. Nobody seemed bothered by the fact that they were working with an apprentice and not Bringon.

  When Farling asked about this, Arastead simply shrugged, said: “Bringon disappears for hours on end sometimes. At first, Grum and I told the people to return when Bringon was around. But then we realized he was not coming back until supper and that we were losing work to rival forges. There is one forge in particular that we need to watch out for as they can be very competitive.”

  “Competitive is a nice way to put it,” said Grum. “We are quite positive it was the boys from that forge that may have stolen some of our tools and tried to sabotage the forge.”

  “Well, well, well,” said Arastead, putting down his hammer and looking out the entrance. “Speaking of—” Farling followed Arastead’s gaze and saw a boy their age standing in the entrance.

  The boy had a scarred face, pockmarked by years of acne. His greasy dark hair was pulled back in a tight pony tail. His eyes were a strange mix of darkness and heavy lids. He was roughly the same size as Farling, but a little heavier around the waist.

  The boy said: “I see you have got another helper.”

  Arastead nodded, said: “Farling, this is Meanog. Meanog, Farling.”

  Meanog tried to sneer as best he could, said: “This forge is pathetic. I see you have had to hire another hand to help you.”

  Arastead chuckled, said: “That is because we keep get bigger and bigger orders.”

  Meanog scoffed, said: “Does not matter, Bringon is still going to lose this forge.” And with that, he turned and slouched back to his forge.

  Farling looked confused, asked: “What was that all about?”

  “Bringon owes money on this forge to some debtors,” said Arastead. “Somehow, Meanog found out about this and has got it in his head that he is going to buy this forge. And as part of his delusion, I and Grum will work for him.”

  “I take it there is history here between you,” said Farling.

  Grum nodded, said: “And some. Meanog also went to the School but did not do very well there. Arastead and I often beat him and his friends during competitions of quarterstaff and archery. Meanog thinks he is going to win big at this year’s squire competitions. A side event to every King’s Tournament is the squire competitions, where all the squires compete. Years ago, they opened it up to add a few boys from Dennland who proved they could compete. Usually, it is a boy from the School that makes it in to the squire competition.”

  “Has Meanog made it in to the squire competition before?” asked Farling.

  “No, but supposedly he has been practicing hard this past year. He does seem to have come into a little more money of late. He is dressing better, fancier boots, better hats to cover that greasy head of his. There is also a lot of gambling that goes on during the King’s Tournament. I suspect he is hoping to pick winners in each event. I wonder if he has figured out the Aarlund warrior wildcard yet. They might win some events. I want to see him fail so bad I can taste it.”

  “Well, if we are going to make it in to the squire competition, we had better start practicing.”

  Arastead nodded, said: “Agreed. Tonight, after we ready the forge for the night, we will practice. We will also get up early in the morning to practice as well.”

  Farling and Grum nodded, said: “Agreed,” although Grum did not look so happy at the prospect of waking early.

  ***

  The sun was just rising as two massive hounds sniffed the ground along the shoreline. They lifted their heads excitedly tasting the light wind blowing through the leaves. They started to sniff faster as they had finally caught just enough of a scent to give them hope and direction. They threw their heads back, howled, and started off, claws kicking chunks of dirt, their stride increasing as their pace quickened.

  The Master of the Hunt looked out over the water and noticed a black ship. He thought he recognized it, but then cast it from his mind, as he doubled his pace to catch his hounds.

  CHAPTER 8

  Princess Margret Mac Art

  Phillius reined in his horse. He was not pleased that he had been asked to escort the Aarlund contingent safely across the border, through Dennland, down to Trondheim for the King’s Tournament. As the king’s secretary of Dennland, there was too much work still to be done for the annual King’s Tournament. He knew preparations for the tournament were in good hands as the people who organized it had been doing it for years. Still, Phillius did not like being away when there were opportunities to shake down vendors and others for spare coins. He knew there would be opportunities during the King’s Tournament to make extra coin, including making some well-placed and safe bets.

  Phillius had been leading the group, then pulled aside to watch the group ride by. Over 20 trusted guards from Dennland escorted the surprisingly small contingent from Aarlund. When he and his 20 guards had met the Aarlund group at the border, he had expected more. He p
ersonally had sent the letter letting King Cormac of Aarlund know he could bring as many warriors and assistants. So, when Cormac had met him at the border with only his druid, four massive warriors, his daughter Princess Margret, her maid, a cook, and one young boy who acted as steward, Phillius hid his surprise. Upon further reflection, he knew King Cormac sent a message by bringing such a small group: that he was unafraid, that he did not need to surround himself with warriors, and that he did not need to impress anyone. Phillius figured though that the king’s counselor, this druid Nas na Riogh with the drawings that covered his bald head, arms, and legs did all the impressing. He did not understand the meaning of the skin drawings, what the Aarlunders called tattoos, but they touched some superstitions deep inside that Phillius thought he had dispelled long ago.

  King Cormac had brought only one warrior for each of the King’s Tournament events; his best swordsman, quarterstaff fighter, archer, and jouster. They also happened to be brothers. Cormac was that confident in these fighters that he had decided to not better the odds and bring down more warriors. No, only his best, only one for each event. Overconfident, reflected Phillius, and yet still he marveled at the audacity of the move as he, a gambling man, would never have thought of it.

  He admired the Aarlund horses as well. Strong, sure-footed, they moved with ease and never seemed to tire. And the warrior who was to joust had brought a fine-looking war-horse, a destrier.

  Princess Margret reined in beside Phillius. Like most Aarlunders, she had flaming red hair and bright green eyes. Prominent cheekbones and a long neck gave her an air of aristocracy. And she was experienced at the sword, bow, and quarterstaff, as he had watched her spar with the warrior brothers. When she had played the riding games with the brothers for practice, it was often she that won. Phillius had been told she was only 15 years of age, but she had a maturity many years beyond. Already Phillius saw that she would be a strong negotiator when she assumed the Aarlund crown.

  “As part of this new peace between Dennland and Aarlund,” she started, “we must share our knowledge, especially our artisans. We have not lost our looms nor have we lost the ability to make fine tapestries. If you are interested, you could send a delegation of artisans and crafts people who are keen to learn how to build looms and how to weave these tapestries.”