Visigothic_The Barbarians Of Midgard

by Jay P Newcomb

  “Yes, my heart, but she had to tie him down almost,” laughed the King. But his laugh was one which she could tell was masking sadness.

  “You miss your Mother and Brother, my hunter, don’t you? You cannot continue to blame yourself for the loss. Who could know that the river would rise in such a manner on us? Horsa and the Scouts all saw that the water was low. Only when we were in the crossing did the flood come. I believe that some dark magic caused it, my love, and you are not to blame. You are Sigurd the Good and you have all my love, my handsome Hunter.”

  Their eyes met and were locked in a deep gaze and it was as if they could see into each other’s very soul. Their hands held on together as they rode with their entire host to the gathering.

  “Let me up out of this wagon, Greta. I want to see the city from the top of the hill before we get there! I want to see our new home!” complained Sigmund.

  But Greta stopped him forcefully and replied sternly, “No, Little Brother! You are still wounded, Siggy, and Mama says that even the Mammoth Rider must heal! I will keep you here even if I have to tie you up, Siggy!” retorted Greta.

  Outside of the wagon were his friends, Gustav and his brothers and they, teasing Sigmund, snickered about their Prince being defeated by his sister. Siggy gave them a fierce look and shook his fist at them.

  The great Gepid capital was a massive ring fortress of wood, earth and stone, situated on the western banks of the River Rha one hundred miles north of the Hyrcannian Sea and well defended by an earthen and log wall. It was named for Great Thor and was called Thorstadt, the City of Thor. For this Angel was their Guardian and many considered him a god, although Thor had not proclaimed himself as one, nor did he accept worship. It fanned out from the Great Long House – Mead Hall – like the spokes in a great wheel. Little did anyone know that this would soon be the political centre for all the Tervingian people, for it was it not the greatest of all their cities

  A cheer began to rise out of Thorstadt as King Sigurd and his troops marched into the city, up the main procession way to the Mead Hall of King Osrik.

  “Sigurd, Sigurd, Sigurd, Sigurd!” An equal number of women and children were chanting for the beloved Queen as well, “Gwynnalyn! Gwynnalyn! Gwynnalyn!”

  She, like the King, was dressed in her finest clothing and cleaned, polished armour. Such a happy day was this! King Osrik and his Witan of Ealdormen and Thanes stood at the door in front of the Long House, for they were not greeting a subject, but an equal in power, glory and honour.

  King Sigurd and Queen Gwynnalyn dismounted and King Osrik, sceptre in hand, walked down to meet them. The two Kings met, shook hands and then embraced warmly.

  “I welcome you, Sigurd Rothgarson, to Thorstadt,” declared King Osrik. They then let out a mighty Norse roar, “Arrrr rahhhh!” The Thanes and Ealdormen from both tribes as well as the assembled crowd responded with wild applause. The Kings removed their great horned helmets. The one worn by King Osrik had horns that came from the side at the ears and curved around as if they had been tusks of a mastodon. The Thanes of both Kings walked with them inside the great double doors of the Royal Mead Hall and all the Ealdormen of Osrik lined the procession way as the two Kings and the Queen walked forward to the front. This was where three thrones now sat. It was an odd thing for a Tervingian ruler to share his Mead Hall with another King, but these were extraordinary and indeed desperate times. There had to be totally unity among them all or the great hosts arrayed against them would prevail in short order.

  King Sigurd’s Ealdormen and their wives followed amidst wild roars and applause and the blaring of horn trumpets and drums! Then, as the three monarchs took their thrones, the entire assembly of the Witan bowed in honour to these good, honourable and noble rulers. King Osrik the Bald sat on the right. To his right was King Sigurd the Good and the stunningly beautiful Queen Gwynnalyn the Shield Maid sat to the right of her husband. Lord Volsung and Lady Gerda, as well as Sister Greta, were there and even Prince Sigmund, who was mending very fast, and in spite of his limp would not be kept from his father’s side on this great day. This was a day which all the Scops would remember and the Skalds would sing of from generation to generation.

  The entire city celebrated all that day and into the next. They were sure that, together, united, all for one and one for all, they could truly be free. No man should be a Thrall nor should he be subject to the whims of a tyrant or a corrupt, bloated government which taxes its people, only to put the money into the pockets of those who have not earned it, which in this case was the Scyth Lords. The Scythian King Idanthrsus had grown used to plundering these people, taking their hard-earned crops and a portion of their livestock, only to place it into the hands of his lazy nobility! The Gomerian peoples up until now had been unable to resist the evil ruler, because his warriors possessed superior weapons and his laws and decrees were enforced with the edge of the sword, imprisonment and/or slavery. Every one of the subjects, of whom this Scythian King claimed, was under his military protection in return for their heavy taxation. But behind this would-be emperor was the dark power of Loki, who empowered Adawulf Hister, the Black Wizard of Dakkia.

  In the Witan of the Ealdormen of the two tribes, which when combining together were called the Witena Gemot, Lord Snaevar of Osrik’s Gepids addressed the grand council. He sat his mug of ale on the table.

  Raising himself up, he thundered, “For those who did not know! In the last cycle of the moon an arrogant decree has come from the tyrant in Scythia-Gelonus! All of our Priestesses and healers of the sick are to place themselves under the magic of the Dark Wizard Hister from Kul-Oba Dakkia! They must not heal through their arts, but use only the power of Loki and are to be paid in gold from the King of Scythia!! What right does this tyrant have to interfere with our medicine? We do not follow Loki but the messages of Thor and Wotan which come from the true God. Idanthrsus knows that he can control our very mead halls and home fires by placing our healers under the sorcery of Hister and Loki! What say you to this, my brothers?”

  The whole Mead Hall erupted in a near riot as the Ealdormen stood up shouting and cursing about this latest outrage. Such was the rage that tables were overturned and mugs and ale horns thrown across the room!

  King Sigurd motioned for the horn to be sounded in order to silence the council. King Osrik stood up, saying, “Order in the hall, brothers, order in the hall!” He had shouted over the roar of voices and the horn player bellowing on the ram’s horn as long as he could. Queen Gwynnalyn rose up and shrieked, “Sit down or I will take out my dagger and start making a room full of eunuchs! We need to direct our anger at Hister and not tear up King Osrik’s Mead Hall!”

  Once order had been restored, Lord Randver of the Ealdormen of King Osrik rose to speak. “If Hister is allowed to seize our priestesses and healers, he will control their minds through the dark spells of Loki, Messenger of Evil. Their medicine will place in our bodies seeds of witchcraft and we will never be able to overcome the evil empire. The tyrant has said that Hister’s control will be fair and that through Loki all disease will be cured. This is a lie, my brothers! Hister the Black cannot cure diseases that even Thor himself is unable to stop! No healer can be allowed to be bribed into turning over her power to evil, working by Loki and the rulers of the Empire. They are priestesses and not witches. I believe, brothers, that it is Hister we fight, more so than Idanthrsus and Korgan-Tal and their allies. The Ogres of Morag are nothing without Hister to guide them. Therefore, your majesties, I propose we send for the White Wizard Byock. Only he can stop Hister.”

  The mention of Hister the Black set off a round of low mumbling and fearful concern.

  The monarchs were nodding in agreement and after some conversation which the council could not hear, King Sigurd spoke, saying, “We concur, Lord Randver. What say ye all in the Grand Council?”

  There was a unanimous agreement by a show of hands. The Great Queen said sternly, “All Ealdormen for, show us thy sword-hands!”

&nbs
p; All hands that she could see went up and she then called for a show of hands for those opposed. There were none, and sitting down, she said to her husband, “Had there been those opposed I would have taken my dagger and made of them eunuchs! This is a battle which can only be won in both Midgard and in Asgard [the Heavens].” There followed a round of murmuring in the council. Sigurd smiled and Osrik gave a chuckle and nodded his head left to right, then said, “Very well, Lords, we will then form a body of knights from amongst the ten finest of riders. These will go east unto Shangra-La and bring hither Byock the White, if he will come. It may be our only hope.”

  Then Sigurd replied, “When we were in Nineveh, Shalmaeser spoke of the White Wizards. He called their order the Sons of Light. There is more than one in Midgard.”

  A stern but gentle female voice was now heard, saying, “My Lords, may I address the Witan?”

  King Osrik nodded his head and Lord Snaevar replied, “Rise, Lady Byrnhilda, healer and Priestess.”

  She stepped forth and walked to the front of the audience chamber. She wore a plain brown dress and various charms were draped about her neck. Her hair was long and gray and her eyes crystal green. A leather pouch of unknown content was draped across her left shoulder as well as another bag containing rune stones. “My Lords, I will never submit to the power of evil! Not to Hister, Dark Lord of Dakkia, or his evil god! Nor will I submit to Idanthrsus or Dragos or any Jotnar from the Halls of Loki! All who do will go to Halja, the Hall of the dishonoured dead! As he said, we healers are priestesses and not witches. Hister’s power is great, my Lords, and I think that now we should seek the help of not only Byock, but, as King Sigurd has said, all of the Sons of Light and the Circle of the Spirit Maids. Dithranti, White Wizard of the West, was last known to be on the Isle of Brythonia. If it pleases my Lords, let riders go west towards Gergovia, and find this strange place and bring back to us Dithranti. Along the way they must pass through Agara, Faunland to enlist Aesop, White Wizard of the Centre Midgard and Vulcrus, Spirit Maid of the Centre Midgard. Then they must go to a city called Gergovia. As I am a seer, so my visions say that unto Gergovia they must go, and not to the Isle of Brythonia.”

  But Priestess Byrnhilda was not finished. “Above all, my Lords, these Warriors of the Quest must remain pure, in order to show that our cause is pure and holy. They must not be drunk in the pubs, nor shall they consort with any women who are not their wives! For temptations will come and great will be the test that the Quest Warriors will endure. Will they kill the innocent or betray their marriage vows? Will they be drunken and slovenly? Should they fail in this regard, my Lords, it will spell failure in bringing the Order of the Sons of Light and the Circle of the Spirit Maidens to help us.” Looking at her Queen, she said, “And then, as Great Osrik has said, there is King Yoshael of the Elves, White Wizard of the north, leader of the Sons of Light, and Zakarah, the lady of of Urðarbrunnr. She is the Matrona of the Circle of the Spirit Maidens, and the Queen of Elves. You, my Queen, must request them yourself and I know that it is possible for you to do so without leaving the city.”

  Queen Gwynnalyn smiled as if a sudden and dear memory came into her mind and she replied, “Yes, I can indeed, and so can my brother Lord Gedron. Have you any other words of wisdom for us?”

  “Yes, my Queen, in regards to the Quest Warriors. You must choose wisely, my Lords. And if the test be true, send married men only. It will be dreadful for the families, but we have no choice. The danger is great and sacrifices must be made. Bid them as well to secure for us allies against the Slaughter-Wolves in the lands of the Celts. I say again that the test for them is that the Knights must remain true and pure, and not to betray their marriage vows, nor shall they slay the innocent with the guilty.”

  She returned to her place and the Mead Hall was silent.

  The great lords of the Witena Gemot were nodding in affirmation, the Monarchs as well; and so King Osrik spoke. “Yes, if your King and Queen will send horsemen forth to fetch unto us Byock, then I shall send Thane Captain Raedwald and nine Quest warriors west unto Gergovia. I will send them north and then west in order to avoid both the horrors of Myrkvidr and the Crags of Morag. It may be that once we find these you speak of, the Wizard King, ruler of the Elves, will come, and even Yonas from Gobekli Tepe. We shall see.”

  The Lords of the Getic and Gepids, of the Witena Gemot grunted and mumbled their agreement while drinking their ale, from both mugs and horns.

  The monarchs left the court late that night and each retired to private quarters, King Osrik to his and King Sigurd and Queen Gwynnalyn to theirs. The Thanes stood ever watchful lest some vile assassin try to carry out an insidious plot. Once in their bedchamber, Sigurd and Gwynnalyn were free to set aside their public demeanour and noble persona, and simply be human. Alone together, they were free to be a normal married couple with simple hopes and dreams. They were free to shed the armour of their Noble class, both physical and spiritual.

  The floor of their bed chamber was covered with rugs made of Yak hides, which she had brought to their marriage as a virgin bride. They lay together under finely woven blankets and soft furs and Gwynnalyn rolled over and crossed her arms on his chest and rested her chin on them, with her long locks of raven-red hair tumbling over her shoulders and onto him. Their eyes met and locked in a romantic gaze. They searched the contours of each other’s faces and then she said, “I think I loved your face more without the beard, when we were younglings playing at the River Terek below the Great Mountain Dykh-Tau.”

  “We were but ten, my heart. Now I am a mighty huntsman,” replied Sigurd with a laugh.

  “Is that why I had to save you from the Giant Beetle? The one who fell in your hair from the tree the size of my hand? I never told anyone of your panicked scream, my hunter,” laughed Gwynnalyn.

  He wrapped his arms around his beloved wife and, as their lips met, he said, “Yea, thou knowest all the secrets, my heart for I am smitten by the sorcery of thy love.”

  At that moment Gwynnalyn took his face in both her hands and, looking deep into his eyes, she smiled and said, “Oh thou my huntsman Sigurd, canst thou teach a child to be a huntsman as great as thyself?”

  Sigurd replied, “Yea, my heart. But Sigmund has been taught so by your father. He is now Sigmund, Rider of Mammoths.”

  Gwynnalyn rolled her eyes in the back of her head and then shook her husband’s head, saying, “No, no, not Siggy, but our child that I carry in my womb; our Prince Ronan!”

  The King’s eyes lit up with the light of happiness and he could not but shed tears of joy as he and his wife locked their embrace and rolled around the bed and onto the floor, laughing. Gwynnalyn laughed and cried at the same time as her beloved hunter planted kiss after kiss across her face like a small boy would have done to a sister or mother. Upon the roof beam sat a great monarch butterfly, slowly flapping and flexing his wings, and then it fluttered away and out through the open window.

  Far away in Shangra-La, Byock, White Wizard of the East, smiled and, with a wave of his hand over the bowl of water, pushed away the image of King Sigurd and Queen Gwynnalyn the moment she announced to him that she was with child, for he was a wise and honourable man. With a look of triumph, this noble prophet of Shangra-La walked away from the stone water basin. At that moment, far away to the west, the butterfly on the roof beam flew away. Out of the partially open window shutter it flew, vanishing into the night of moon and stars.

  Lord Gedron retired to his quarters. Most of the men his age were married, but as yet he had not chosen a bride. That would some day change, but for now he was concerned with the request made by the Priestess. Not many people knew of the visions of Elves he had had since he was a small child. His twin sister did and had been having them as well. As he sat down on his bunk, he began to meditate and to think. He must bring Shlomael here to this place in a vision. But, alas, exhaustion overcame him and he was soon fast asleep on his bed.

  Gedron went into a dreamscape, and yet he was awake a
nd still in his room. Then there came unto him the Elf Shlomael in a vision. Shlomael had been appearing to him since he was five. Most assumed that the boy just had an imaginary friend, but Gedron knew he was real. Shlomael was tall for an Elf, with long, white-blond hair and prominent pointed ears. He wore ivory-white trousers and an ivory-white pull-over shirt. He was glowing with light as he entered the room through the door. Gedron was pleased to see him. “Shlomael, you are here, old friend.”

  “Yes I am, Kalevalin, but not in a physical sense; but I am here for you as I have always been since you were a child. I heard the sound of your call. Tell me what is happening?”

  Gedron was not one to beat around the bush. He replied, “We need your help, Shlomael. We are facing a cruel and terrible enemy who will stop at nothing to enslave us to their new world order. If it were just mere men, we could face down the Slaughter-Wolves ourselves. But that Sorcerer, Hister of Dakkia, is involved and is using black magic to help the Scythians. He is even trying to dominate our tribal priestesses, to possess them where they can only heal with his power and his permission! This will force every being in Midgard under his rule, so it will not be free healing, even though he may claim it! Shlomael, I ask the help of your Father, the Great Elf King Yoshael, who is the White Wizard of the North.”

  Shlomael replied, “You must ask him yourself, for only he can answer you. Come with me, Gedron.”

  Shlomael took Gedron by the hand and all of a sudden, in the Spirit, they flew through the ceiling and high into the night sky. Below them was the city of Thorstadt. They could see the torches lighting the streets and smoke from cook fires rising high into the pale moonlight. Away they flew, passing over rivers and forests and mountains. The land passed beneath them like a flash that soon became a blur. Then the dry land below gave way to glacier ice as their two spirits passed into the land of forever ice, that place of mystery frost, great Fennoskandja and Karelia. The moon reflected off of the brilliant white snow and ice and the entire icescape was brilliantly awesome and bright. Above them the sky was clear and full of the brilliance of the countless stars, far beyond which lay Asgard.