by Thomas Adams
He said no one from his clan had been to Brod in years that he was aware of but was mighty interested to learn there may be trolls investing the place now. Any rumor of such a threat in the Northern White Mountains would threaten Itra and his clan’s other villages and lands.
Erika suggested the clan move the village’s residents to a more secure hold if they had one. Dragar seemed to brush off Erika’s warnings though and openly scoffed about the danger of any Illr-hrae or the need to move the village to a safer location. Winter was coming and the harvest just finished. He wasn’t about to halt the villager’s preparations for the brutally harsh winters of the Wilds.
Erika and Brandt both tried to impress the flikkeller with the gravity of the situation and the danger to the village. Brandt recounted a few details of his fight and this seemed to grab the old warrior’s attention. But, he was more interested in hearing about the battle than feeling there was any cause for concern for his village. Brandt finally added, “Worst case, if the Illr-hrae attacks you must use fire to destroy it. Remove its head and burn the entire thing.”
Dragar scowled at this advice but nodded and in the end they left it at that. Then Erika asked for permission to stay a sennight in the village to rest, recover their wounded and buy new mounts and supplies. Flikkeller Dragar was more than welcome to accommodate them and invited them to sit with his men for last meal. He wanted to hear more about the fighting Brandt surmised. Dragar said the jarl was away for a few days hunting and visiting his other villages. They could discuss the important events with the man himself when he returned.
Over the next few days Brandt observed the daily life in the village. He quickly saw that things in the village centered on the clan and family. Most of the planning and activities revolved around the seasons, planting and harvest, hunting, patrols and then surviving the harsh winters. It was a constant effort and struggle for the village. Now, preparations for winter were underway. Fresh provisions like vegetables, silage, wheat and barley and meat were carefully processed, treated and stored. Structures were repaired, tools and farming equipment stored away and livestock brought in from their far flung pastures.
The entire village participated and while everyone was busy they also seemed to enjoy their roles and each other. Family and clan came first. The routine was as old as the hills themselves. It was during these times that the clan leaders and older members observed their young peoples’ interactions and planned spring alliances and betrothals. Training with the sword, axe, spear and bow was worked into everyone’s busy schedules, boys and girls. Many village women were well versed with bow and axe and managed a session or two each sennight to maintain their skills.
It was a peaceful restful time for Brandt and his friends and there was no sign of the Haugar or Narasists. Brandt spent quite a few hours at the brewery sampling the local ale and mead and talking with the older men running the operation. He had a lot of questions and took the opportunity to learn all he could. The men primarily brewed a light cloudy wheat beer and a dark thicker barley lager. He enjoyed both very much. Erika and Fridya both said the young man enjoyed the brews too much. And, he learned a lot about clan life in Vesfalruk from his time in Itra.
Children were raised knowing they needed to marry to improve the clan’s prospects and enhance the clan’s standing, security and power. Clan elders and chieftains usually had a final say in all marriages and alliances. But men and women could refuse a marriage or withdraw a betrothal if the pairing proved to be unwise or if both parties felt they were incompatible.
Every clan also appointed a few older men and women to maintain the clan’s histories, tales and sagas. These men and women prepared the content of the histories to be preserved and passed on the clan’s history via stories, songs and sagas. They also performed a song or saga or two in the clan hall during gatherings, feasts and holidays.
Every clan had a hall. The hall was where the clan came together for celebrations, holidays and major clan events. Most marriages were performed in the clan’s hall during a large celebration. Many holiday feasts and clan meetings occurred in the hall. And, every mid-week the clan packed into the hall for a communal last meal.
Brandt learned that clan life and structure was organized around the krigenhird or war band. The war band was the original martial unit used to defend the clan, to hunt for and gather food, to raid and to barter and trade with other clans. The war band was essential to protect the village against outside threats like trolls, bandits and Erhand.
Every male and many females over the war age belonged to the clan’s krigenhird. The krigenhird also protected the clan against attacks by other clans. A clan’s chieftain or jarl appointed a few older more experienced Guild trained krigers to train the village’s youth in sword, spear, axe and bow.
Every child from the age of eight to seventeen spent several hours every sennight training. The most promising were sent to the Guilds for additional training with the expectation they would eventually return to the clan and help train future generations. The training time spent with the krigenhird was in addition to whatever duties the family had for the child. Children in the clans were kept busy.
Brandt and Erika hung out with Bax for an hour each day and tried to cheer him up. Bax was through the worst of it now. He would fully recover. Alfaar’s infection lingered but the healers had cleared him and he was up and about. Brandt repeatedly tried to sneak some of the village’s ale to Bax but was almost always caught and scolded by the healers.
Erika, Fridya and Brandt also trained and sparred with the village’s krigers every day for a few hours. There was no sense getting rusty and out of shape while waiting for Bax to recover. The local krigers quickly came to respect their visitors’ skills, especially Brandt’s. His choice of weapons, skill and fighting style and spirit quickly became the talk of the village. He made a lasting impression on all the krigers and especially on flikkeller Dragar. He actually sparred with the grizzled flikkeller on a few occasions and a hard won respect was growing in the old veteran’s eyes.
After one bout between the two men, Brandt overheard the flikkeller say to a couple older village krigers that he had never seen someone so quick and skilled with a sword or axe as Brandt. He said it defied all logic and was something straight out of the old sagas and legends. Brandt was just glad the old fighter respected him now. Perhaps he would pay attention and heed their warnings about the Dokköndi and the danger to the village and clan.
Chapter 31
Itra
Dreams and Memories
“No, not deep enough!” yelled Ridynar. “You need to focus, feel your surroundings and then draw it out from there. Let’s try it again.”
Brandt really didn’t understand what Ridynar was talking about but he tried again. He wasn’t sure he was capable of doing this archania exercise. He struggled with the concepts and the technical rules. It was one of the many things he really felt inadequate about at Talfur. He didn’t belong here. He felt more and more every day that this was true.
Yfiria walked up and serenely asked, “How is it going?”
“Badly,” both he and Ridynar said at the same time.
“Oh, not good so good then? What part?”
“Drawing the archania inward is impossible. I can’t seem to feel it and force it to move in to me.”
“Well, that is the problem right there. You cannot force it. Ridynar for shame, you have been doing this for so long you likely forget how to teach someone this part.”
Ridynar sputtered and looked at Yfiria as if she had lost her mind.
Yfiria smoothly continued and ignored Ridynar’s angry look, “Think of it like this Brandt, close your eyes and now imagine you are a sapling planted in weak impure rocky soil. But, there is good dirt below, way down below you.
“You have to feel for it, down past the stones and gravel, get past that, get below the rock. Try it but using your archania construct. Stretch for it and envision it. Reach for it. There is water down the
re too. You need that water to live and to grow tall and strong. You have to push your roots down. Down through the rocky soil, squeeze through to find the good dirt and draw that water up.”
“Now, open your eyes and look. See what you can do!”
He opened them and saw the glow of the archania and the wooden sword floating a few feet off the flagstone floor of the practice room. He gasped. He felt the threads part, his spell frayed and the sword fell to the floor and clattered about.
She praised him, “See. There is power in you. You can do it.”
He turned and smiled at Yfiria with thanks and triumph shining from his eyes.
***
They finally met the chieftain the evening of their fifth day in Itra. Late in the afternoon he returned from his trip to visit his other clan holdings. Near last meal he sent a boy to ask his guests to join him that evening.
As they entered the hall they saw a man next to flikkeller Dragar. The flikkeller introduced them. The jarl was a broad weathered stocky man named Karic. He had a huge bushy red beard that hung almost to his belly. He also wore an eyepatch over his left eye. He clasped each of the party members forearm in the kriger way and beckoned over a girl with her fists full of ale mugs. Everyone grabbed a mug of ale. The visitors thanked their host and each slugged back a large swallow. “This is excellent brew chief. I salute you and your house! The hospitality is a credit to your clan,” enthused Erika.
He nodded to her and then turned a frown on Brandt, “As I readied for last meal my housecarl Dragar told me a very interesting tale.”
Brandt and Erika looked at each and then back at the jarl.
“Dokköndi? I am skeptical,” he continued without waiting for a response, “We should evacuate our village and move to one of our strongholds? What is all this? You should have said all this direct to me and not worried my people so.”
Brandt explained what happened to them in the forests south of Itra. He concluded with, “The Dark One we encountered was not a myth. Time was a factor. We did not know how badly injured it was. It is something to be worried about. It will be very hard to destroy. It could go through your warriors like a hot knife through butter.”
Karic said indignantly, “I have eighty arms men here alone. I have another three hundred only a day away in three other villages in the hills to the north. Clan Kellarkrig does not flee from anything. We own these woods, hills and mountains.”
Brandt said respectfully and evenly, “Jarl, I am sure you do. I am not disputing that. But, this thing will be tracking us and there are Narasists with it as well. At least protect your women and children and send them to a stronghold for now.”
“Who are you really?” Karic asked. He was upset but still not outright angry. “You seem different yet familiar to me. From what Dragar says you fight like nothing he has ever seen afore. He has seen it all I might add.”
Brandt nodded and said, “I respect Dragar. He is a good man and exceptional kriger. I have trained long and hard to earn my skill. I am a Reave Hall trained Master of the Sword, Axe and Forge.”
Karic nodded, “Very impressive for one so young. I think I would remember one such as you. Have we met afore, mayhap in that cesspit Kimera? What is your clan?”
Brandt didn’t want to answer. He did not want to lie either. But, the man would not stop until he told him something so he just came out with it, “I am Jan Brandt of Clan Rodull.”
The weathered chieftain’s mouth dropped open. He snapped it closed and grimaced, “So it is true then. Even here in the Wilds we hear the rumors. I thought the old warriors were just talking nonsense. Too much brew, too many old sagas and songs and even older prophecies, not the stuff a chief has time to worry about, except the ale mind you! There is too much real life going on around here to keep me busy.”
“True, there is much these days to keep all of us very busy. Now you have one more thing to add to the burdens you bear. I am sorry about that but I can’t change it either. You asked and I answered Jarl Karic.”
“So says you? I must travel to Kimera and swear fealty to you, the Forgotten Prince?” he asked suspiciously.
“No, I am returned to Ellorhim, for better or for worse but I have yet to make a formal claim. I have another task to perform first. And, the Prophecy does not say I return alone. Does it?”
“No. It does not.” Karic grimaced and he looked at Fridya across the hall and then glanced up at the war trophies hanging in the rafters of his clan hall. “Her I know. Her father knows and supports you?”
“Aye, last I heard.”
The jarl just harrumphed.
“So, I have returned thanks to the Druids but so has our enemy. The Erhand come. The Dokköndi come. You must prepare your clan and safeguard your people. The chancellor is calling the levies up. He is sending troops to Reave and Cinder. Surely you have heard all this? I am only telling you. I am not commanding you. That is not my place, now.”
The chieftain did not look happy as Brandt said his piece. He scowled and spat in the fire pit with a curse and a sign to ward off evil spirits. He took another swig of ale and said, “We have heard of it. Well, that is life. We are krigers! Let them come. The Kellarkrig will be ready to fight. We will do what we have always done. We know our duty!”
Brant looked at Erika and frowned. They had tried to warn these people. This was Vesfalruk though. Clan traditions, customs and clan pride were not easily set aside. These people and their jarl were independent and used to doing for themselves. They had said all they could for now. Brandt did not push it further.
Later that evening Brandt stood on the wooden rampart by the gatehouse. His mind was fuzzy from all the ale he’d drunk. The cool night air was helping clear that up. He reflected on the conversation with the jarl and then turned his mind to his battle with the Haugar.
He looked for mistakes he’d made or weaknesses that could be exploited. What could he have done better in his conversation with the jarl? How could he have convinced him? He also tried to fathom the darkness insidiously invading his mind and how he could dispel its pull. What was it? Why did it manifest when he was fighting? Why the allure? Tonight, he found he had no answers to any of his questions.
He gazed into the dark woods beyond the village and then at hills to the north just now touched with the light of the rising harvest moon. He used his archania to feel for the Haugar. He felt nothing. Was it destroyed? He did not know. That worried him.
Finally, he wondered where Yfiria was and when he would see her again. He smiled as he thought back over their parting at Reave Hall over two years ago. He could still see her face clearly as she gazed down at him from the back of her feisty horse. But, her sad troubled gaze haunted him still.
***
When Aelia woke it was dark, pitch black. She had no idea where she was but she was very thirsty and her stomach rumbled in protest. She also urgently needed to use the bedpan. She tried to get her bearings but her mind was fogged by pain and something else, something alien, a fuzzy sense of barely remembered jumbled recollections.
She tried to sit up but every muscle and joint was sore and ached. A wave of nausea washed over her and she lay back. She lay there and let her eyes adjust to the gloom. The sickness passed and her mind felt better. The pain lingered though.
Her eyes adjusted. A faint light came under a door to her left. The darkness resolved in to shades of grey. A small spyhole was set in the door three quarters of the way up. She was in a cell apparently. It was damp, musty and a chill permeated her body. The smell was revolting. She was on the floor. It was stone. There was some filthy old straw between her body and the floor. It did little to ease her discomfort or prevent the cold from seeping into her body.
How long had she been here? She didn't know. She had no recollection of being brought here. She needed water and some information. Maybe she could attract someone’s attention to come and help her? It was worth a try but after she peed. That was the more pressing concern.
There was
a battered bucket in the corner. She carefully worked her way to her knees and then stood. She cautiously stretched and worked her muscles to relieve some of the aches and pain. Then she took care of her bladder in the toilet bucket and cautiously moved to the door of the cell. Her body still ached. Sleeping on the cold stone floor likely did not help. She was ravenous also. The lack of food was not helping her condition.
She vaguely remembered meeting the woman creature Gullvayg at Lutvar’s camp in the Dead City. After that evening everything was vague and fuzzy. She didn’t know where she nor had what transpired in between. Had Lutvar imprisoned her?
She inspected the door as best she could in the dim light. It was a thick solid wooden thing, a sturdy affair typical of a dungeon. The hinges were a rusted mess and the barrels were welded on the ends. No luck there. The lock however, was a cheap poorly conceived mechanism but had at least been oiled recently. It was not as bad as the hinges.
If she could get her hands on a fork she may be able to fashion a tool and pick the lock. She banged on the door and shouted. Nothing happened. She tried again and again. After several minutes she gave up and went to sit in the cleanest corner she could find. She pushed all the straw up into a pile in the corner and settled down to wait.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed but eventually the lock clicked and the door groaned open, grating and shrieking in protest the whole time. Two older men in dirty leather jerkins and greasy worn leather breeches pushed into the room. One held a lantern. They were a sorry looking lot, with clubs in their belts. Prison guards, brutes and bullies that couldn’t find any better employment than as jailers for the Imperium.
The short one dropped a wooden plate on the floor and set a small tin cup of water down as well. The man holding the lantern leered suggestively at her. They turned and departed without a word. The door slammed and locked behind them.