by Hume, M. K.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ Arthur replied as two heavily armed warriors stopped them on the threshold.
‘We are charged with taking your weapons, gentlemen. No one but the king goes armed in Heorot.’
‘No!’ Stormbringer replied evenly.
The guard had not anticipated Stormbringer’s reply, and was immediately nervous.
‘You heard me, man! We will not stand unarmed in front of the Crow King when we don’t trust anyone in his court, including you. I will gladly give my parole that our weapons will remain sheathed unless treachery is attempted by some other person.’
The Crow King could never be believed again after the treachery he had displayed over the past two years.
The two guards were caught in a conundrum: if they permitted armed men to enter Hrolf Kraki’s hall, they would be guilty of failing to carry out their master’s orders and would be punished accordingly. But, if they refused, the interlopers might take offence and kill them out of hand. Either way, they were in diabolical trouble.
Stormbringer understood the guards’ dilemma and knew they would lay down their lives for their master if they were forced to do so. He glanced across at Arthur who responded almost too fast for the eye to follow. Using his mailed left hand he shot out his fist and caught one of the men squarely on the temple. The guard dropped like a stone, but Lorcan was there to soften his fall with uncharacteristic speed and sympathy. The other guard was caught, flat-footed and gape-mouthed, before he suffered the same ignominious fate. Gareth and Germanus had the two men securely bound within moments.
Stormbringer and Arthur pushed open the doors to their full extent and the party stalked into the hall without looking to right or to left. Arthur strode out impassively, recalling a younger, more naïve self who had stared in amazement at what the Dene carpenters could construct out of timber. Now, Heorot seemed smaller, more grimy, and pretentious with its trophies of long-gone triumphs. Like its master, the hall was falling into decay.
Armed men moved to block Stormbringer’s way, but Hrolf Kraki shouted an order allowing the strangers to pass. The warriors reluctantly allowed their weapons to drop to their sides. ‘My cousin, the Sae Dene king, would never assassinate me in my own hall, would you, Valdar?’ The Crow King’s voice was as hoarse as the call of his namesake.
‘Never, my lord! I leave such actions to those churlish beings who display no honour.’
Several guards bridled at the tone of Stormbringer’s voice, but prudence kept their hands away from the hilts of their swords.
‘Now that we have insulted each other, what brings you to Heorot? More to the point, why do you bring an army to hover around my heels?’ Hrolf Kraki frowned in wrathful indignation. Arthur noted his unhealthy high colour.
‘I’ve come because Arthur, the Last Dragon, uncovered certain snippets of information when he captured one of the chief generals of the Hundings after a recent battle. We would be failing in our duty as loyal vassals of our king if we ignored what that general told us, because it threatens you and the people of Heorot, if not the whole Dene nation.’
‘Your friend isn’t a Dene! It’s my belief that he’d gladly assist our enemies to destroy us.’
Arthur stepped forward with his fists clenched by his side. ‘My sister is betrothed to my lord and brother, Valdar Bjornsen, so I am now duty bound to the Dene cause for as long as she lives. I’ve been fighting your battles for the past three years and I’ve helped save many thousands of your subjects by my efforts. You, sir, may disabuse yourself of any claims regarding my treason. That excuse will no longer disguise your lack of concern for the welfare of your people.’
Hrolf Kraki’s face remained blank at this pointed insult, but Arthur glimpsed an angry flash of chagrin pass through the man’s pale eyes.
For his part, Stormbringer sensed an opportunity to gain the initiative. ‘Where’s Aednetta Fridasdottar? The information we obtained from General Mearchealf implicated her in the treacherous plot revealed by our informant. She should be present to answer any allegations that will be levelled against her.’
His words had a ring of confidence and authority, so Hrolf Kraki resisted an impulse to bluster.
Instead, he prevaricated.
‘Why should my wisewoman be the subject of uncouth discussion between the Hundings and a bastard Briton?’ The Crow King looked around the hall to assess the mood of his jarls. ‘Both the Briton and Stormbringer have little incentive to tell the truth, for I have banished both of these men to save Aednetta’s honour on an earlier occasion. Where is her accuser?’
‘Mearchealf is buried in the marches on the undefended borders of your lands,’ Stormbringer answered with almost tangible sarcasm. ‘He was the only survivor of a battle group of Hundings who were annihilated by Arthur’s warriors and ultimately put to the sword. The general only revealed his source of information after he had been sorely wounded and then tortured without mercy. He was an honourable man who died well. Sadly, all men will speak the truth when under severe torture.’
‘Who would believe the oath of one of the Hundings, least of all one who will only speak under torture? I’ll not expose Aednetta Fridasdottar to such slurs.’
‘Then she can face our charges of treason without the opportunity to answer any of our allegations,’ Stormbringer stated in a calm voice. ‘I don’t really care, one way or the other, because much of the truth had already been revealed for all to see. You can bury reality in the deepest and darkest caverns of a frozen mountain, but a freak summer storm will melt the ice one day and scour the surface till it is clean. Your jarls are here to listen to the charges we have laid against your witch-woman. Regardless of your wishes, the real villains of the last few years are about to be dragged from their dark hiding places into the sunlight.’
Stormbringer turned away from Hrolf Kraki’s burning eyes and called on Ivar Hnaefssen to explain why he had been at war with the Hundings at the start of what would be an unforgiving and murderous winter. In the process, Stormbringer spoke of Ivar’s advanced years and how he had spent a lifetime defending the border lands and safeguarding Heorot’s back door from the Hundings’ incursions.
Thus the northern jarls were inclined to view Ivar Hnaefssen as a man of honour and good reputation even before he was given an opportunity to speak.
‘Lord King and notables of the Limfjord, I am honoured to speak to you but, before I begin, I must praise Stormbringer, King of the Sae Dene, who remembered a debt and an oath, and helped my people when they were in dire need. The rest of you left us to survive as best we could.’
The sound of awkwardly shuffling feet and a number of indrawn breaths suggested some jarls present knew they were at fault. A shiver of guilt filled the air and, as Ivar launched into the details of the Hundings’ campaign, many of the nobles leaned forward in the hope of gaining some justification for their lack of support. They would have liked to believe that the south hadn’t really needed their help, because the Hundings were poorly organised and badly led. But Ivar Hnaefssen had no pity, and left no room for excuses.
The Crow King gazed around the room in a desperate search for support.
‘Frodhi?’ the Crow King bellowed. ‘I don’t choose to hear more of these maunderings! So the great Stormbringer saved you? Wonderful! What do you want of me, Ivar Hnaefssen?’
Frodhi suddenly appeared out of the shadows, a sinuous, golden cat in a room full of fighting hounds.
‘Frod!’ Stormbringer advanced and hugged his cousin passionately. ‘I’ve missed you! I can say before your peers that the warriors and ships you sent to me in Skania made all the difference. My only regret was that you had to act in secret, for you have always placed the welfare of our people above your own needs and ambitions.’
Hrolf Kraki glowered from his throne. This was the first time he had heard of the support that Frodhi had given to Sto
rmbringer. Frodhi had been extremely careful.
‘I couldn’t ignore a legitimate request for help, could I? I don’t want to see our land raped and then cut up like a juicy titbit.’ Frodhi slapped Stormbringer squarely on the back. ‘Be assured, cuz, that I’d never raise a hand against another kinsman.’
‘If you’ve quite finished, Frodhi, please send a messenger to find my wisewoman and bring her to my hall. It seems I have had no allies in this confrontation, and I now find that you have given tacit support to a war that I refused to countenance, so I need Aednetta’s advice on how to deal with you.’ The Crow King’s mouth pursed unattractively.
‘Frodhi is my kinsman,’ Stormbringer protested. ‘But he is also a loyal Dene who has demonstrated a lifelong faithfulness to his people. He was entitled to answer my request for assistance to fight in the battles being waged against your enemies.’
‘Frodhi is also my kinsman,’ Hrolf Kraki countered. ‘So why didn’t he obey his king?’
As the messenger went to find and deliver Aednetta into the Crow King’s presence, Arthur decided to regain the initiative and guide the discussion back to the purpose of their visit.
‘Thank you, Ivar, for your description of the battles that led to the defeat of the Hundings. I might add that when their high command attempted to flee by boat to the safety of their borders, we were able to isolate them in a small coastal village. The general we captured not only gave me the name of the traitor that had been their informant for years, he confirmed that this source of intelligence had allowed the Hundings to foment trouble throughout the Dene lands in the south. I formed the impression that this same traitor instigated further dissension among the Geats who attacked our allies from their safe havens in Gotland.’
A shiver of apprehension filtered through the long, high room. The whispers of the jarls and warriors at the gathering rose like the noise of insects, but the comments were muffled, lest Hrolf Kraki should single out an individual on whom he could vent his growing irritation. In the firelight the Crow King slouched on his throne and tapped his feet with obvious nervous energy, while he glowered with anger. Somehow, Hrolf Kraki’s authority was being leached away.
The king determined to counter Arthur’s calm authority with bluster. ‘I repeat! Why should I believe the words of a man who has been tortured to death? He’d do or say anything to make the pain stop, as every man here understands.’
Hrolf Kraki smirked as if he had won a major point.
Arthur sighed. He should have known that dealing with the devious Crow King would never be easy.
‘Mearchealf may have been our enemy, but he was a man of honour,’ Arthur responded stiffly. ‘One thing is certain. With a sword that was gifted to me by one of the great heroes of Britain whose name will resonate down through the ages, I’d never contemplate contaminating it with base blood.’
Blood such as yours! The unspoken words hung in the air; some of his contempt must have been revealed in the curl of his upper lip, for Hrolf Kraki stirred on his throne and gnashed his teeth.
The Crow King turned as Aednetta Fridasdottar was ushered into the hall. She swayed up to greet him, her white robe stirring sinuously. As she turned to stand beside the throne, the eyes of all the warriors and jarls caressed her small waist and embraced the long, slow sweep of her flesh that terminated at the rounded fullness of her buttocks.
Arthur was probably the only male present who was totally immune to her glamour. He had lived his whole life with women of beauty and intelligence who scorned to use their femininity to blind the lustful eyes of men.
The king was the first person to find his voice, enjoying an almost overwhelming chance to gloat.
‘My lovely Aednetta! I’m sure you remember my cousin, Valdar Bjornsen, and this uncouth Briton who was fortunate enough to defeat my champion some years ago. He has just been telling me how he tortured a Saxon general who told him that my court harbours a traitor. Yes, you might well look surprised, my lady, since Heorot has never suffered pain at the behest of the Hundings.’
‘I surely remember this Briton, for his sister accused me of all manner of vile crimes.’
After the passage of almost four years, her white hair was still as shocking a contrast to her other features as ever, while her eyebrows and eyelashes remained equally colourless. However, Aednetta had heightened her striking appearance by using a black cosmetic around her eyes, much as the Romans had.
In sharp contrast, she had stained her nails and her mouth a vivid red, accentuating her pallor. On one forefinger, she wore a massive ring of gold with a carved carnelian stone. As carnelian was rumoured to be the jewel of spirituality, Arthur felt his lips twitch with unexpected amusement. In some ways, Aednetta was very predictable, using every trick at a woman’s disposal to win the king’s sexual favours, while still employing the trappings of a seer. Here in the Dene lands, women were a source of prophecy and wild magic, so Aednetta was seeking the automatic respect given to those women who possessed the Sight.
‘My sister accused you once in the past, but I now accuse you anew,’ Arthur snapped, weary of prevarication. His mood darkened further when he glanced up at Frodhi and watched in amazement as the Dene aristocrat winked impudently in his direction.
‘The general swore that you were the direct source of all the information they gained from Heorot, and that an unknown lover was pulling your strings,’ Arthur explained bluntly. He could tell that Stormbringer was less than pleased at the crudeness of Arthur’s personal attack.
‘How can you have the effrontery to tell such lies?’ Aednetta blenched, while two red blotches appeared on her cheeks. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeves. ‘By your own admission, Stormbringer wasn’t present at the interrogation. Nor was Jarl Ivar Hnaefssen or any of the southern lords. You’re not a Dene, so why should anyone here have faith in your words?’
Arthur turned to summon Snorri, who was nearby. He had been expecting such accusations.
‘This good warrior, Snorri Nilsson, was present at the death of Mearchealf and heard the general’s last confession. Any number of other Dene witnesses were present at the time. You, Aednetta Fridasdottar, stand accused of being a servant of the Hundings, but he didn’t know the name of the lover who is your puppet-master in Heorot! How I wish he had!’
Snorri reported the exact words spoken by the Hundings’ general when he was near to death. In order to force some reaction from the jarls, Arthur called on the testimony of every influential Dene who had been present in order to underscore the truth of the report.
‘Your claims are part of a plot by the Hundings to tear the Dene population apart and start a civil war between the Dene and the Sae Dene,’ Hrolf Kraki whined. Arthur resisted an urge to shake him.
Ivar Hnaefssen stared at his king, thunderstruck with disappointment.
‘Stormbringer came to the aid of the southern Dene when you wouldn’t get off your arses to help us,’ Hnaefssen protested. ‘I’m sorry, my lord, but if the Hundings wanted to drive a wedge between our people, they’ve gone about it in an idiotic manner. The Dene and the Sae Dene in the south will now be allies forever. We fought together in complete amity in my lands, just as the same combatants did in Skania. I’m proud to say that the southern Dene answered their calls for help to ensure the Geats were driven back to where they came from. But what of you, my lord? We saw neither hide nor hair of your jarls when your people needed your assistance.’
Stormbringer abruptly interrupted Ivar Hnaefssen.
‘Your jarls are living in isolation here and your throne is imperilled – but not by the Skanian Dene or the Sae Dene, or even the Southern Dene. Your throne, Hrolf Kraki, has been imperilled by you – by your recalcitrance, your conservatism, your superstition and by the woeful advice that you have chosen to accept from your sycophants.’
The Crow King struggled to avoid answeri
ng the simplest of the questions thrown at him. Why had he refused to give aid and encouragement to his allies? Likewise, the faces of his warriors spoke eloquently of how bitterly they resented the inability of their king to explain why he had led them down these dishonourable paths.
‘Shite!’ Arthur’s patience was stretched to breaking point. ‘Every man here believes that Aednetta Fridasdottar has you ensorcelled so that you have driven away Valdar Bjornsen, the Sae Dene who has long been your strongest ally. You have also refused to assist the Dene jarls of Skania and the other states lusted after by the Geats. Finally, you have gone on to refuse aid and succour to the southern jarls at a time when the Hundings, an ancestral enemy, made their foray into Ivar Hnaefssen’s lands.’
Arthur paused momentarily to assess the effect of his words on the audience around him.
‘You sodding liar!’ the Crow King screamed. ‘Why won’t any of you defend me against the slurs of this Briton?’
He was on his feet at last and spluttering with fury. Aednetta was forced to drag him back to the throne by his cloak.
‘Finally, and most telling of all, it was the witch-woman who counselled you to attack innocent women and children at The Holding in an ill-conceived attempt to destroy Valdar Bjornsen’s family while he was absent on a national task that was morally and legally your responsibility to pursue.’
Arthur’s facial expression spoke volumes of his lack of respect for the Dene King.
‘I regret the need to be so blunt, Valdar, but I claim certain privileges as a warrior who has served the Dene nation. How can anyone of any decency devise a plan whereby one of the Dene’s trusted leaders will return to his home after conducting a mission on behalf of the entire nation to find that his home has been destroyed and the raped bodies of his children have been nailed to the doors of his hall? Those were the direct orders given to his mercenaries by the man who sits on that throne.’