Dragon Sacrifice (The First Realm Book 3)

by Klay Testamark

  Now I was a man of some substance. That was evident in the wealth that I wore: My cloak pin was solid silver, intricately worked, a reward from a merchant I’d rescued from drowning. My belt buckle was heavy gold embossed with a snarling face. It was my share from when Angrod and I beat some bandits at their own game. Finally, my scabbard was encrusted with emeralds and rubies, a prize for defeating a capran swordsman. As well, my clothes were that of a prosperous Northlander. My cloak was silk trimmed with jaguar fur and my boots were dwarven tailor-mades. They were obscenely comfortable. Even my loincloth was designer.

  Women admired my finery and men admired the way I carried myself. I was not the biggest man, but years of sparring against elves had given me an enviable grace. I was lean and light on my feet. This was clear to the other freemen, who nodded as I passed.

  “It’s good to be back,” I said to Cruix. “It’s such a lovely day, too.”

  “It’s fucking cold,” he said. Steam blew out of his hood, which he’d pulled up to hide his elven features. “I can’t feel any of my extremities. And I do mean any of my extremities.”

  “This is merely brisk weather for Heorot,” I said. “Did you wear enough layers?”

  “If I put on any more, I’d be waddling. That would ruin the whole Dark Lord effect I’m going for here.”

  “You know that your cloak is beige-ish white, right?”

  “It is the average colour of the universe.”

  “It’s more of a light cream. That would make you, like, a Cream Lord.”

  Cruix laughed. “Heronimo, did you just crack a joke? You surprise me.”

  “I may not be as clever as you, but I’m not stupid.”

  “I’ve seen you put your hands on a kettle to check if it was hot enough. Which it was.”

  I blushed. “I was distracted.”

  “Forget it. There are a lot of halflings here, aren’t there?”

  “There are always a lot of halflings,” I said.

  “But in Brandish they aren’t so poorly-dressed. Or so famished-looking.”

  It was true. “But these are just thralls. Slaves. You can’t expect them to be as well-dressed or as well-fed as the people who own them.”

  “Why not?”

  I honestly didn’t know, and I said so.

  “I am reminded of our secondary objective, to gather information,” Cruix said. “Elves know little about the Northlands.”

  “Shit, they could’ve just asked me,” I said.

  “There’s something to be said about gaining an outside perspective. Who better to do that than me, the eternal outsider?”

  I clapped him on the back and half-hugged him. “You could’ve just said you were lonely!”

  “Urrrgh!” He tried to wriggle free.

  Garvel’s fortress stood on an artificial hill. It was ringed by a wooden palisade, a ditch, and an earthen wall. Though primitive by elven standards they were still formidable defences, and far from crude. They had a simple beauty. Motte, stockade, ditch, and embankment were all perfectly round. That last feature was covered in sod.

  Gates stood at the four cardinal directions, their paths meeting in the centre. Inside were forty-eight longhouses, their roofs like overturned boats. There were four in a square and there were three squares in each quarter. Twelve courtyards. From above, Garvel’s compound would have looked like a grid within a circle.

  We stood at the South Gate.

  “Cosy-looking place,” Cruix said.

  “Isn’t it?” I said. “I lived here for a while.”

  “When did—” Cruix said, but then there were hoofbeats behind us. A column of riders was approaching. Hunters, from the looks of it. I recognized the leader, so I stepped into their path and held up my hand.

  “Halt!” I said, switching to Norse. “No redheads shall pass!”

  “What?!” the leader bellowed.

  “You heard me. No green-eyed freckle-faced carrots allowed in this fortress, by thunder!”

  “Heronimo?”

  “Ardel!”

  Prince Ardel vaulted off his horse and tackled me. We rolled on the ground, laughing and wrestling.

  “I never thought I would see you again!” Ardel said, after we had finished greeted each other.

  “This is amazing!”

  “It is very good to see you,” I said, helping him up.

  “And who is your friend the cream lord?”

  “That is Cruix, the last dragon,” I said. “Cruix, this is Prince Ardel, King Garvel’s son.”

  “Just Ardel, if you please,” said my childhood friend, falling into elvish. “I have been looking forward to the elven prince’s envoys since he sent these.” He waved a hand over their horses.

  “Magnificent creatures!”

  “Mina and Angrod has been planning this trip for some time,” Cruix said.

  “I’m glad you like them,” I told Ardel. “My liege takes pride in his stables.”

  “And I pride myself in my hospitality,” Ardel said. “Come with me to my hall. Tonight, we feast!”

  Getting into the fortress would take some work. The gates were solid bronze and seriously huge.

  “Each door is forty feet high, ten feet wide, and one foot thick,” Ardel said. “Together, they weigh well over twenty tons.”

  “And each of the gates is the same?” Cruix asked.

  “The four gates are identical, yes.”

  “That’s a lot of door,” Cruix said. “Wait, why are you all dismounting?”

  I stepped up to the left-hand door with Byrnjar. Eadric and Rangvald placed their hands on the right-hand door.

  “The gates swing both ways,” said Orvar, Ardel’s half-brother. “But only in peacetime, of course.”

  “Should we help?” Cruix asked. Orvar hadn’t dismounted.

  “Eh, they can handle it,” Orvar said.

  “Go!” Ardel said. His men and I threw ourselves at the doors. Together, we began to push the sons-of-bitches open.

  I strained. Byrnjar was a head taller and bulky even for a human, but his face was red. Eadric and

  Rangvald were up on the balls of their feet, shoulders tense and bulging.

  “Come on, men, put your backs into it!” Ardel said. “Push! Puuush! But don’t forget to breathe!”

  “Yeah, do your breathing, guys,” Orvar said. “People have fainted before.”

  Shoulders shaking, back shaking, feet digging for traction, the gate finally shuddered. It inched forward. Slowly, slowly, the door began to pull apart.

  “Come on!” Ardel said. “Come on!”

  He stepped forward and placed a hand on each metal slab. With a grunt, he shoved the doors and they flew wide.

  “How—?” Cruix asked.

  Ardel laughed. “The hinges are well-constructed, despite their size. The gates are not difficult to open once you’ve gotten them moving.”

  “It makes my brother feel so very strong,” Orvar said.

  The guards strained at the great oaken doors of King Garvel’s hall. Four times the height of a man, they tapered to a point and were covered in carved vines, serpents, and kraken tentacles.

  Everything swirled and weaved and braided together. Intricate was an understatement. The doors were works of art. Heavy works of art. It was many seconds before we were able to enter.

  It was dark and smoky inside. There were no windows, no light except what the long central hearth gave off. A bit of gloom is no problem for Northlanders, however. Our eyes reflected what light there was, making us look like cats in the night. Cruix threw off his hood and blinked. He was using his own elven Sight.

  King Garvel sat upon his throne, playing a board game with another man. He looked up as we approached.

  “Ah, Ardel. You have returned!” he said.

  “Father,” Ardel said.

  The king got up to embrace him. Both were large, powerful men. Both wore their hair in thick braids. The older had grey hair, a grizzled moustache, and many more scars, but clearly they were
father and son.

  “I’ve missed you,” King Garvel said. “You had me worried.”

  “Father, I’ve only been gone a few days.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t go out hunting,” the king said. “Odin knows, it’s not the safest thing you could be doing.”

  Ardel broke away to look him in the eye. “Yes, but when is safe the same as fun?”

  Orvar stepped forward, arms wide. “Father. I also have returned.”

  “Yes, well, that’s good,” the king said, patting him on the shoulder. Orvar let his arms droop.

  “Now, is there some reason we’re speaking Elvish?” King Garvel asked.

  “We have visitors, Father,” Ardel said, motioning toward us. “Envoys from the elf prince.”

  “Welcome!” the king said. “But who’s this? Heronimo?”

  “I’m honoured you remember me, sir,” I said.

  “You were my son’s childhood friend. Of course I remember you! You bloodied each other’s noses practically every day.”

  “Kids’ stuff,” Ardel said. “I never could beat you at swordplay. Did you avenge your parents?”

  “I did,” I said. “Couldn’t have done it without all that practice.”

  “I see you’ve made something of yourself,” King Garvel said. “A warrior as richly-dressed as yourself would have at least a hundred followers.”

  “You are too kind,” I said. “In truth, I have no followers. But I have the honour of bodyguarding

  Prince Veneanar, heir to the throne of Alfheim.”

  “And who is this?” asked the king. “Be you an elf, sir?”

  “I am Cruix, a dragon in the guise of an elf.”

  King Garvel’s eyebrows went up. “The last dragon?”

  “As far as I know. Since my awakening, I have not heard of any other dragon.”

  “That must be very lonely,” King Garvel said. “Do you play board games? Do you know chess, pachisi, or draughts? How about backgammon or hnefatafl? I have heard that dragons were accomplished players.”

  “I am young, for a dragon. But I have some small skill in chess.”

  “Good!” King Garvel said. “Maybe I can give Brand a rest. I’m afraid I take up too much of his time.”

  “Hardly, my lord,” said the man called Brand. He bearded, but the sides of his head were clean-shaven.

  “Brand is better known as Jarl Nordensson, and one of my best generals.”

  “I haven’t needed to be a general in years,” Brand said. “These days I’m just a family man.”

  A little boy ran past and into Brand’s arms.

  “And here’s the little imp who made it possible!” Brand said, picking him up. “He’s a big one, isn’t he? Haakon is turning three this week.”

  “My axe is my buddy,” the boy said. He carried a little wooden hatchet. “Are you a real dragon?”

  “I am,” Cruix said.

  “Can you please show me your true form?”

  Shapeshifting is very painful for Cruix, so I was surprised when he smiled. “If I have the chance,

  I will.”

  “Yay!”

  Chapter 13

  The doors to our apartments were solid oak and built to take a battering. The guards strained to open them. Faces red, shoulders tense, feet digging for traction, the hinges creaked and the door shuddered open. It was many seconds before we were able to enter.

  “Haven’t you people heard of door handles?” Cruix said.

  He stepped inside. “My God, Heronimo, this room is decorated like how you dress.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” I said.

  There were tapestries and bear rugs. There were fine tables and chairs. The pieces were heavy, solid, and covered in fine detail. Scenes from the sagas played out in relief: gods against frost giants, heroes against elves, berserkers fighting from ship to ship. A well-decorated room indeed.

  For light there were oil lamps and for warmth there were bed slaves.

  “What are those?” Cruix said. The slaves knelt beside the pelt-covered bed.

  “Our attendants,” I said. “We get two each. They’ll groom us, dress us, and of course sleep with us.”

  The dragon squeaked. “All in the same bed?!”

  “There’s more than enough room.”

  “Will I offend if I refuse?”

  I laughed. “Just use them as bed warmers. The nights can be very cold.”

  He shivered. “My kind don’t like skin contact. Scales and spines are not made for snuggling.”

  “Well, these are,” I said. The slaves hadn’t moved or even glanced our way. They were well-trained and beautiful. They wore jewels and silk, and little else.

  “This is uncomfortable on several levels.” Cruix had his arms crossed.

  I handed my cloak to one of the girls, who rose to her feet. I looked at her—she avoided my eyes—and I decided I wouldn’t be having her that night. It was not my practice to take slave girls against their will, and I said so.

  “That’s very noble of you,” Cruix said. “And yet, you have no problem using her body as a glorified hot-water bottle.”

  “Nights in the Northlands are cold,” I said. “Would you rather I kicked her out of bed?”

  “We’re skirting the real issue here, which is slavery.”

  “What of it?” I asked. “The strong must inevitably rule. And if you are not strong, you should place yourself under the protection of someone who is. Is this not how the world works?”

  “Hmph.” Cruix looked around. “I see a basin, but no other sanitary facilities.”

  “We passed the bathhouse on our way,” I said. “If you need to do something else, the pig toilets are thataway.”

  “Pig toilets?”

  Waking up was most pleasant. I was the middle spoon in a five-person spooning session. Cruix wasn’t in the bed, so it was just me and the girls.

  I raised my head. Cruix was stretched out on a bench, sealed in what looked like a dwarven sleeping bag. As I watched, he frowned and opened an eye.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “For you, maybe.”

  I slapped a girl on the rump to get her to move, but it was still some minutes before I could get up to use the chamber pot.

  “Aahh, that’s better. Been a while since I drank so much.”