The Ice King

by Hume, M. K.

  Arthur’s voice was sad under the determination, and Snorri was even more bemused than usual.

  Arthur would have left the tent and the grisly remains of its owner, but Snorri restrained him with one careful hand. ‘No, Arthur. Allow us to carry out your instructions for Heardred’s dismemberment elsewhere and I’ll order my men to clean up the tent. It can serve as a perfect headquarters for Master Stormbringer to use once he has sent the last of the Geats packing.’

  ‘As you see fit, my friend.’ Arthur turned away so he wouldn’t be obliged to watch the removal of Heardred’s corpse.

  As he waited inside the tent, Snorri observed that Arthur was staring at his bloodstained hands in a daze. What thoughts shocked Arthur so profoundly were a mystery to Snorri, but he sensed that Arthur was carrying guilt. All men were fated to kill their enemies when they became warriors, so their hands would regularly be drenched in lifeblood. Like all pragmatists, Snorri believed such results were a sign of prowess, but Arthur was obviously tortured by the fates of those men who had fallen victim to his sword.

  Arthur was remembering himself as he had been in the past, in those days when he was a boy-man with prospects of a happy life before him. He had hoped for a loving wife, children, a fortress of his own and success in carving out a Saxon-free world for his people and his imaginary family.

  However Mareddyd, the traitor who had sold him to Stormbringer so long ago, had robbed him of any future that could be resumed in his homeland. Although he loved the Sae Dene sailors for their reckless courage and determination, his role as their war chief and his service as a Dene warrior was searing his heart and shrivelling his soul. He wasn’t killing for home, a hearth, or for God. He was a despicable mercenary.

  ‘I can’t go on in this way. I must return to my own lands, or I’ll be lost forever!’

  Stormbringer was elated. The spoils taken from the dead Geats and from Heardred’s supply wagons were far larger than he had expected and the most valuable trophies were sufficient to fill three huge wagons to groaning point. Stormbringer decided immediately that the relics from the Christian churches of Skania should be returned to the survivors as proof to the religious community that God would ultimately triumph over wickedness, while the huge stockpiles of food which Heardred had insisted on carrying with him during his campaign would help to keep the farmers of Skania alive during the freezing winter. Since the Geat king had stripped farms bare, Stormbringer would enjoy returning the vital supplies to the impoverished families of Lund and other beleaguered villages.

  The Sae Dene was bubbling with good humour when he strode into Heardred’s tent sometime after midnight. Those Geat warriors who had escaped the cavalry and his net of warriors were running as if the Last Dragon personally was pursuing them, while Stormbringer had taken enough captives to know that Arthur was now viewed by the Geats as a supernatural demi-god.

  Among his own warriors, the consensus of opinion was that Arthur had been gifted with Loki’s own luck. Over a six-hour period, the crew members could only guess at how many enemy warriors had met their fates through Arthur’s superior skills; they reported his regret at the wounding and deaths of many of his own men, and told Stormbringer that he had comforted the dying in their time of need. He had shown no fear, even when the line was close to failing. Finally, when victory was assured, he pursued the Geat king and killed him without mercy. The Dene warriors prized courage above all things.

  ‘Are you asleep already, Arthur? After a battle? Truly, you must have ice water in your veins rather than blood,’ Stormbringer said happily as he dropped a leather bag in a corner of the tent set aside for his possessions. One of the servants appeared out of nowhere and scurried off to find hot wine and food to assuage Stormbringer’s gargantuan hunger. Snorri helped the Sae Dene to remove his long sheepskin boots after the bindings were removed.

  ‘Wake up, Arthur!’ He smiled down at his friend, spread out on his pallet. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to ignore me. You should be awake, carousing and drinking Heardred’s beer with the remnants of the shield wall. They’ll be singing about the Last Dragon for many years to come. In fact, they’ll be singing about you as we speak. Yet, here you lie, fast asleep, after an astonishing victory that will save the lives of many hundreds of our people.’

  This was a long speech for the usually phlegmatic Stormbringer, but their special relationship mitigated Stormbringer’s natural reticence. From slave, to friend, to confidant and then to future brother-in-law, is an unusual series of developments in any relationship, so Valdar had learned to rely on the quick wit of the Briton, and relished the pleasure of having a truly close friend who wasn’t numbered among his blood kin such as his cousin Frodhi.

  Looking down at Arthur’s thunderous face and arctic eyes gazing back at the Sae Dene with mutinous resentment, Stormbringer knew immediately that Arthur was suffering from one of his regular post-battle fits of depression. Whereas a more venal man would drink deeply and take a woman to drive away the shades of his dead enemies, Arthur examined his errors in judgement and magnified those mistakes out of all proportion. With a resigned sigh, Stormbringer set to work to improve Arthur’s mood. From his bag he pulled out a packet that had been folded into a coarse palm-sized wad and unwrapped it.

  ‘Do you think Maeve will like this token of my regard? Will she accept me, or would this trifle be an insult?’

  Stormbringer’s rapid-fire questions trailed off because Arthur was looking at him as if he was crazed. ‘For the Lord’s sake, Arthur, get your mind off the battle that’s just been fought and won, and help me with my real problems. I need your help to find a suitable gift for your sister.’

  Arthur reluctantly looked down at the jewel laid out on his pallet. The heavy silver in the necklace glittered in the light from the burning torch. With one hand he felt the links of the beautifully polished metal and recognised the buttery feel of very high-quality silver. Set within the links of the necklace, which were almost the width of a woman’s palm, were strangely hued stones of a type that Arthur had never seen before. Some were a pale purple shade that glowed softly in their nests of silver, while others had an odd green tinge that seemed to mimic the sea. Arthur had once seen an emerald and the glow from its heart was a completely different shade. The stones had been ground into oval shapes and had the smoothed feel of glass, except for chips of clear stone linking the coloured pieces. These smaller stones were sharp and glittered wickedly.

  ‘I’m certain that Maeve will love it,’ Arthur answered with a noncommittal glance. ‘The stones will complement her hair and the width of the silver band will sit at the base of her throat and make her neck appear to be long and slender. Yes, like all women, she will be entranced by this beautiful object.’

  ‘But will she accept it as a bride gift?’

  Arthur managed to reward Stormbringer with a wintry chuckle.

  ‘My limited knowledge of women tells me that she’ll give you due consideration, especially with a gift such as this. I believe she will be flattered! For what it’s worth, I believe she’ll accept you as her husband. You were her favourite from the moment when you were the master and we were the slaves. My felicitations, Valdar! She’ll accept you as surely as the sun rises each morning.’

  Stormbringer grinned like a beardless boy and reverently rewrapped the neckpiece, stowing it carefully back into his travelling bag.

  ‘I have a gift for you, too, Arthur. Don’t look so grumpy, my friend. One of your own men found it on the battlefield and brought it to me, certain that it should be yours.’

  Arthur wanted to turn away, but his curiosity was stronger than his pride. He glanced down at the object resting in Stormbringer’s outstretched hand.

  ‘It’s a dragon brooch! It looks as though it might be precious, but what’s so unusual about it? The whole north seems to worship the winged worm or sea dragons.’ Arth
ur sounded petulant, but Stormbringer refused to take offence.

  ‘Look closely at it, brother, and then you can tell me whether its presence on a battlefield in Gotland isn’t unusual.’

  Grumbling, Arthur took the hand-sized pin, for so it proved to be. The brooch was very heavy and decorated on both sides, implying that it had been made for some other purpose than adornment. The young man knew that the northern dragon had vestigial legs, huge wings, an incredibly long tail and a massive head. Further, the northern dragon was really more serpentine in appearance than Arthur’s concept of this mythical beast.

  This pin was coated with some red metal or enamel, and the dragon possessed four muscular legs, wings and a tail that were in proportion, much like a large cat. Arthur had seen a similar creature before made in gold and red enamel and depicting the mythical beast in profile. But, despite all his efforts, he was unable to recall where.

  ‘This isn’t northern workmanship,’ Arthur pronounced emphatically. Then he noticed an odd addition under the belly of the heavy piece. At some time in the past, a large pointed metal fitting had been welded on the back of this object, so the double-sided figure had been designed to be affixed to a long pole as a standard, similar to the Eagles of Rome.

  All at once the solution came to him like a revelation.

  His foster-father had once told him about the Dracos Legion, the last Roman legion to leave Britain when it finally abandoned its barracks at Isca, near Venta Silurum, nearly two centuries earlier. This dragon had been the legion’s standard. The pin, which had been modified to hold barbarian cloaks together, had started its useful life atop a tall pole that led the Roman legion to whatever godforsaken places they were assigned by assorted emperors.

  ‘The Dracos Legion never crossed the Rhenus River, so how did this standard find its way into these northern climes?’

  ‘I can’t answer your question, Arthur, but I believe you should accept this gift from your men. They believe it is your dragon, for young Eamonn described such a beast as being among the totems of your birth-father. Your crews insist that you should have it. I might add that their gift is offered out of love and respect for their leader, my friend.’

  Arthur felt a flush of shame. He had been churlish to his good friend because, as often seemed the case, he’d been in a bad mood. And so this small fragment of Rome reminded him once again of his own home, and the memory caused his stomach to lurch painfully. With his friend, Eamonn, and his sister, Maeve, the original Arthur had set out from Tintagel for the Otadini kingdom as an escort for Eamonn’s sister, Blaise, who had been promised in marriage to the Otadini heir. Would the same prospects for happiness ever arise again?

  ‘Thank you, Stormbringer. Please thank the crewmen for me. You can tell them they have found a Roman standard which is very important to me and to my family. I am proud that they deem me worthy of such an outstanding gift. How the object came to be in Gotland will always be a mystery, but perhaps God sent this pin to remind me that we hold the future of our people in our own hands and we carry our homes with us wherever we go.’

  ‘I’ve decided that we will begin to burn our dead tomorrow, and then we shall set sail for home,’ Stormbringer explained with a wide grin. ‘Home! I’ve missed my girls so much! It’s part of the disadvantage of parenthood, my friend, as you’ll discover one of these days.’

  ‘I doubt that somehow, Stormbringer. My family is cursed with dragon’s blood, so we seem to kill everyone we love.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Stormbringer cursed pungently. ‘Who told you such fucking nonsense? From all reports, my father’s father was a tyrant, a monster and a vicious savage. His curse didn’t blight my father’s life – or mine! Why should you be any different?’

  ‘You don’t understand—’ Arthur tried to protest.

  ‘You have one life, Arthur, and the dead can’t shape you unless you let them,’ Stormbringer interrupted with a finality that brooked no further argument. He had effectively turned the direction of the subject away from hidden shoals.

  ‘Home!’ Arthur’s voice was full of longing, but the Sae Dene wisely ignored it. They talked until dawn began to stain the sky and the burning of their dead began. Neither man felt any weariness.

  The time had come to leave Gotland and allow a new chapter to begin in their lives.

  ‘How many men can there be in this benighted part of the world who are called Arthur? And how many of them are renowned by one and all as the Last Dragon?’ Lorcan’s voice was edgy with irritation and excitement.

  ‘Arthur has only been here for four years!’ objected Germanus. ‘The man you’re talking about has been made an outlaw after alienating the High King of the Dene, but the same man seems to have won numerous battles for the Sae Dene king, Valdar Bjornsen.’

  ‘You seem to doubt my Arthur’s skills?’ Gareth responded pugnaciously.

  ‘No, but I have my doubts that he could carve out a huge reputation in such a short period of time,’ Germanus shot back.

  ‘So what do we do? Do we accept the rumours of this Last Dragon who is the protégé of this Valdar Bjornsen? Do we travel to his base which is purported to be on one of the larger islands to the north of the Dene lands? I believe it is called The Holding, and the innkeeper assured me it is heavily defended by Dene seafarers totally loyal to the Sae Dene king. If the Arthur mentioned in the rumours I heard is not our man, we could be entering a place of great danger to us. Or do we keep looking, and commence our search in Heorot which is the seat of power for Hrolf Kraki, the High King of the Dene?’

  Lorcan drained his mug of beer and wiped his mouth and beard on his grimy sleeve.

  ‘We can’t just ignore the information you’ve gleaned for us,’ Germanus countered sullenly. ‘I think The Holding seems a reasonable place to start our search. This Stormbringer person sounds like the type of man who’d sail to Britannia in search of spoils so, even if Arthur isn’t there, we might discover his likely whereabouts.’

  Lorcan gazed around the grubby inn with its straw-covered floor that had obviously not been changed for years. The stench that rose from the filthy mildewed hay caused him to clear his throat constantly and breathe exclusively through his mouth.

  The inn was cheap and served most of the strangers who found their way to Lubeck. Lorcan was pleased to note that the local beer was very good, while the girls were rosy-cheeked, flaxen-haired and plump.

  He scratched his armpit reflectively. While he might pretend to be untidy and dirty in his habits, he hated catching bedbugs from shared pallets. This inn was no filthier than most, but after three years of wandering, Lorcan and Germanus were tired. They longed for their new families in Arden, and Germanus frequently worried about his wife and their infant son who would now be running and playing on two sturdy legs. Those years with his child could never be replaced.

  Now that they were so close to the end, Lorcan was convinced that the information he had received about this Last Dragon referred to Arthur. Their long journey through the wild, northern world could be almost over.

  ‘I propose that we go directly to The Holding. The Sae Dene king should know of this Last Dragon and may be able to give us some word of Arthur.’

  ‘I agree with you, Father,’ Gareth replied, his eyes dancing with the old zealotry that Lorcan thought had vanished after the experiences of their long wandering.

  ‘And I,’ Germanus grumbled. ‘Anything would be better than these flea-pits.’

  ‘Then we are all agreed,’ Lorcan summarised. ‘We’ll take ship to the island, and then find our way overland from the nearest port. Our funds have shrunk during our travels, so I hope that Arthur has acquired some gold during his absence. Otherwise, we might find ourselves marooned in the north and will have to seek gainful employment.’

  The corpses of those warriors who had served on the shield wall were laid on a huge pile of tre
e logs. Stormbringer ordered the nearby copse to be razed to provide the fuel necessary to send his warriors to their destinations in Heaven or Valhalla. Arthur’s only demand was that the Geat fisherman, Ivar, should go to the flames with the Dene dead.

  ‘But he was a traitor to his own people,’ Stormbringer complained. ‘His corpse will contaminate the pure souls of our dead heroes.’

  ‘Ivar was a brave man, Stormbringer. He abhorred what Heardred had done in Lund and was generous in his demands that we spare the lives of the brothers who inhabited the Abbey. For those virtues, he was tortured to death by Heardred’s minions. What was visited upon him was perhaps the most barbaric and wicked thing that these eyes of mine have ever witnessed. He has earned his place on the pyre.’

  Stormbringer was persuaded, but was still unhappy that a Geat’s ashes should mingle with the remains of the loyal Dene warriors.

  ‘The winds will mingle all our ashes in time,’ Arthur replied, and his face seemed to glow in the noon’s weak light. ‘Enemy and friend, saint and sinner, we will all await the judgement that is certain to come. Ivar’s intentions were good. I, for one, wouldn’t flinch from lying with Ivar in the shadows.’

  Arthur had his way and the pyre of the Dene warriors burned all through the day and into the night. When the glowing fragments of the great logs finally collapsed in a firestorm of sparks, the dead had been totally consumed and their ashes were blown away by the winds that came off the great, lonely plains until, in time, they reached the sea where they became a part of the huge, grey mother ocean. So the battle of the Smaland Plain was done, and the survivors were free to return to their homes and their families.

  The three travellers had no difficulty in finding a boat whose master was willing to take them to Ostoanmark, but the captain had no intention of pushing his luck by dropping the strangers off at The Holding. He was acutely aware of his bastard Saxon heritage and was quite certain that the Sae Dene would object to his presence, especially with uninvited strangers on board.