by A. J. Smith
One of the lords to his left stood and banged his axe on the stone, asking to be heard. Wulfrick acknowledged him and all turned to hear his words.
The man was Lord Rulag Ursa, chieftain of Jarvik. He was not a thain, but was known and feared for his prowess in battle. Rulag commanded a fleet of dragon ships and fifteen thousand warriors. He scanned the room, looking at the faces of his fellow lords.
‘I am as aggrieved at the treatment of the priest as any man here,’ he began, ‘but I much question Lord Teardrop’s motivation. If his intention is to go to war over an insult paid to him by a witch—’ a few lords considered his words and several nodded in agreement—‘maybe he should go there himself and call this woman out. Does the assembly need to meet in order to pander to our thain’s ego?’ His voice rose in volume as he finished speaking.
Shouting erupted from the men as several came to Algenon’s defence, and those seated around Rulag stood and shouted challenges across the hall.
Axes were brandished and insults exchanged as Algenon sat quietly and waited. He had feared this reaction and knew that not all the lords of Ranen cared for talk of sorcery. Many were simple warriors, believing only in what they could see, hear and kill. The Order of the Hammer possessed certain divine gifts, but the rage and the voice of Rowanoco were things the Ranen had grown up with and most did not consider them sorcery.
Wulfrick let the challenges go, because axes were being brandished and Rowanoco had decreed that casting one’s axe to settle an argument was an honourable way of deciding matters. None had been thrown yet, but Algenon could see that the hall had become split down the middle, with half wanting Rulag to retract his insult and the other half coming to his defence.
Wulfrick spared a glance over his shoulder to look at Algenon. Both men knew that the only way to silence the lords would be for an axe to be cast or for Algenon to speak. No axes were thrown and the thain waited for several moments, assessing the strength of the opposition.
Breathing in deeply, he rose from his chair and picked up both of his throwing-axes. Wulfrick, with a slight smile at his thain, banged his axe on the white stone floor and all the lords were silent. Most remained standing and Rulag thrust out his chin towards Algenon, displaying his reluctance to retract the insult.
‘My lords,’ Algenon said loudly, ‘the point is a fair one, though the manner of its delivery could have been better considered.’ This caused a low rumble of laughter from certain quarters. ‘Whether my Lord Ursa wants to accept the fact or not is irrelevant, the witches of Jaa have taken a hand in this… they have broken a law laid down by Rowanoco himself.’ Algenon deliberately invoked the name of the Ice Giant, knowing that the lords who supported him would now do so even more, and those who supported Rulag would be having doubts.
Wulfrick banged the haft of his axe on the floor three times before he spoke. ‘The word of Rowanoco has been spoken. The law will be stated.’
Thorfan, the lore-master, who had virtually fallen asleep in his chair, jolted himself upright and reached for a heavy leather-bound book on a stand to his left.
He cleared his throat and placed the book in his lap. Opening it, he proclaimed, ‘The word of Rowanoco, as passed down to us by Kalall of the Legion, the first lore-master of Fredericksand, will be heard.’ He leafed through the pages, taking his time as he looked for the relevant passage. His eyes were narrow and he squinted to read the archaic script of the book. Making low muttering sounds to himself, he cleared his throat again before continuing, ‘The Ice Giant decreed that the men of Ranen, the free men of the north, those of the Low Kast, the clans of the Plateau of Ursa, the men of the Deep Cross, the priests and lords of Hammerfall…’ he breathed in sharply and let a cough escape his lips before continuing, ‘shall never allow a man, a woman or an instrument of another god to imprison one of their own or, through design or action, make war or force subjugation on their brothers.’
This passage was well known to most of the men present. It had been paraphrased a hundred times over the years and used as a rallying cry for all manner of inadvisable endeavours and at least one truly just cause. This decree of Rowanoco had been the spur for the formation of the Free Companies and had ultimately led to the Ro being thrown back across the sea to Tor Funweir.
The laws of the Ice Giant were chaotic and open to interpretation, serving noble thain and violent warlord alike. Algenon knew that it was a risky ploy to use the decree of Rowanoco in this way, but he also knew that the alternative was to kill Rulag.
Aleph Summer Wolf stood and broke the silence by striking his axe against stone. Rulag Ursa also still stood, as did half a dozen other warlords from around Jarvik. Algenon saw Rulag’s son, Kalag, clenching his fist angrily around his throwing-axe, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to throw it. The lords of Jarvik were feared enough to make several of the neighbouring realms ally themselves with him for fear of later retribution, and Algenon counted fifteen lords who were supporting Rulag. Aleph looked over at the other standing men and then flashed Algenon a knowing look; he, too, had assessed the strength of the high thain’s opposition.
‘We know this law, brothers,’ Aleph began, ‘and we know how it has been used and misused in the past.’ He shot another glance at Algenon, as if to say sorry for what he was about to do. ‘Lord Algenon seems to think we are all as simple as Lord Ganek of Tiergarten, an old lordling of mine who used this decree to kill a neighbouring lord for imprisoning his winter pigs,’ he said with a smile, as at least half the assembled Ranen began to laugh. ‘Apparently, as the pigs provided food for his wife and two fair daughters, he considered them part of the family and therefore brothers.’ The laughter rose and Algenon thought that even Rulag looked amused at the story.
‘My lord thain,’ Aleph addressed Algenon directly, ‘I have great affection for your brother. I would doubt that there is a man here that does not feel personally insulted by his treatment at the hands of the One.’ He addressed the other lords, ‘But if the thain wishes to launch the dragon fleet against the city of Ro Canarn and the knights of the One—’ all were silent as he spoke—‘then I must voice my considered objection. A single priest of the Hammer does not warrant the deaths of hundreds of men.’ He sat down, as shouting erupted from the other Ranen.
Algenon sat back down as two hundred Ranen lords shouted at each other. Following the words of Aleph, the opposition to Algenon had become stronger than his support, and Rulag Ursa felt he had right and wisdom on his side.
Wulfrick was silent, but the glance he directed at his thain showed his concern that Algenon could not out-think Aleph.
The thain of Fredericksand considered his next move carefully. He saw little option and stood up with purpose, picking up his axes and keeping his eyes on the floor.
Wulfrick banged his axe loudly on the floor twice and, when silence only slowly returned to the hall, shouted in a booming voice, ‘The high thain wishes to speak.’
Algenon was glad of the axe-master’s support, even if it was more ceremonial than tangibly useful. He held both his throwing-axes loosely in his hands as he stepped forwards and came to stand before the raised seats. ‘Lord Aleph once again shows his cunning, his wit and his considerable wisdom. I salute you, my lord, but I mean to launch the dragon fleet and rescue my brother.’
The assembled lords were now deathly silent, knowing that Algenon was not a man to trifle with when he had made up his mind. They began to take their seats as the thain raised his eyes and looked over the faces of the men who had spoken against him. Rulag met his gaze for a second before turning away and sitting down, resting his axe on the floor. Kalag Ursa appeared surprised that his father had yielded, but followed his lead and sat down.
Aleph, who had already taken his seat, looked suspiciously at Algenon, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at his own throwing-axe on the stone before him.
Algenon looked at the old lord and felt a moment’s regret before he took a step forwards and launched one of his axes at Aleph. The ax
e spun through the air as Aleph widened his eyes and followed its trajectory into his chest. It was a good throw and Aleph was allowed only a moment to gasp for breath before he slumped forwards, dead.
His robes were dark brown, covered in bearskin, and the blood that flowed freely over his body left little evident stain before it spilled on to the white stone. The lords around him moved along in their seats, but they did so only to avoid his blood and everyone else bowed their heads in silent respect.
Algenon held his other axe tightly in his fist and swung it slowly back and forth, allowing anyone who wanted to cast his axe in return to do so. None did, and, after a minute, Wulfrick struck the floor again.
Thorfan, the lore-master, said with practised formality, ‘An axe has been cast in favour of the motion and none have been cast against. The motion is as Lord Teardrop says.’
Algenon did not let any doubt show on his face, but he felt foolish for having resorted to killing Aleph. In the eight years he’d been thain of Fredericksand this was only the third time he had cast an axe, and he thought the lords now feared him more than they had done before. He’d been careful to cultivate an image of inscrutability and ruthlessness, but had rarely had to resort to his weapons.
What the others didn’t understand, and what he could never make them understand, was that Algenon spoke for Rowanoco, and the Ice Giant had asked him to sail for Ro Canarn and stand against the Karesian enchantress.
He was not of the Order of the Hammer, but he had, since he had come to the office of high thain, a more direct way of communicating with his god.
Silently, he resumed his seat. ‘I expect all warlords, battle-brothers and fleet captains to attend me in my hall before morning.’ He turned to the man seated to the right of Aleph. ‘Lord Borrin Iron Beard,’ he said to the axe-master of Tiergarten, ‘you will speak for your land in your master’s place.’
Borrin was younger than Aleph, barely in his thirtieth year, but his eyes were those of a seasoned warrior, and he glared at Algenon. ‘Your word is my law,’ he said quietly, ‘and the axe of Tiergarten is yours, my lord.’
No more words were spoken. Algenon stood and turned back to the huge wooden doors of the assembly. The sound of Wulfrick signalling the end of the session with his axe echoed around the hall as Algenon strode from the Ranen assembly.
Outside the harsh wind once again struck his face, and he allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection while looking out to sea, before making his way back to Fredericksand and the duties that lay before him.
* * *
The hall of Teardrop was a long wooden building with high-vaulted ceilings coming to a point, and a dozen chimneys to let the smoke from the fire-pits escape. Ancient weapons – axes, spears, falchions and hammers – hung from the walls, and the skulls of trolls, Gorlan spiders and lesser-known beasts adorned the hall. None of the weapons or kills belonged to Algenon, but he kept them there as a testament to the old lords of Fjorlan, men who, it was said, had fought from one side of the Low Kast to the other to clear a land for the men of Rowanoco.
Tapestries hung from the high ceiling depicting Giants in battle and the Krakens of the Fjorlan Sea devouring ships. The hall was used for meetings, feasts and ritual combat, and it was where Algenon Teardrop held court. His home was in a small adjoining building and, as he sat on his father’s chair at the far end of the hall, he wished that he had leisure to go and spend a few uncomplicated hours with his children. Unfortunately, he had cast his axe and the way forward was now written in the rock of Fjorlan.
Wulfrick stood at his right side and allowed the Ranen lords to enter one by one to pledge their support to the high thain. Each man walked with a small retinue from the open doors to where Algenon sat. The hall was otherwise empty, and the lords had to pass seven long feast tables as they walked towards him. Wulfrick had often commented that Algenon’s ancestors, who had built the hall, had a way of making their battle-brothers uncomfortable, as the walk was long and they remained in the thain’s sight the entire way.
Rulag Ursa and the lords of Jarvik appeared to have been reconciled to the plan, and they now hungered for combat. Borrin Iron Beard, Aleph’s axe-master, was curt but respectful and had pledged three dragon ships and five hundred warriors.
The lords of the Low Kast and Hammerfell had been less keen to pledge their full support, but threats and reminders of their duty had gained a further thirty ships with battle-hardened crews.
‘How many is that?’ Algenon asked his axe-master.
‘That’s fifteen lords and their battle-brothers, my thain.’ He was looking over a piece of parchment that sat on a table in front of him. ‘We have a hundred and twelve ships and no small amount of bloodlust.’
Algenon shot a dark glance at Wulfrick. ‘You think I’m wrong to do this?’
‘Yes, my lord, you are wrong to do this,’ he said with no humour, ‘but you knew that when you did it.’ Wulfrick had known the thain all of his life and felt free to speak his mind. ‘I don’t know what Samson the Liar told you that pushed you into this, but we’re going to war against the knights of the One. You can rationalize it as a decree of Rowanoco, or even say you’re going to try and kill an immortal Karesian witch, but the reality is that we’re going to war with those Red bastards.’
Algenon looked down at the floor. ‘Samson is closer to Rowanoco than any priest of the Hammer and his counsel… on certain matters… is without equal.’
He may have pushed the lords into war, but he had not done so on a whim. He was following the will of his god and he had never felt he could question such a command. He wished he could tell Wulfrick about his duty, but he was forbidden from doing so.
The only Ranen who knew of the legacy of the thains of Fredericksand was the old-blooded Samson. He had the blood of Giants and, through thousands of generations, could claim a familial bond with the ancient Ice Giants that once walked the land. He was largely insane and was seen as a dishonourable old liar by most, but he had come to Algenon on the day of Ragnar Teardrop’s death and told him of his hereditary duty – that the high thain of Ranen is the exemplar of Rowanoco and is pledged to the Long War, the endless battle between the Giants.
‘Tell the other lords to return tomorrow.’ Algenon rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m tired and night is well into the sky.’ He got up slowly. ‘You’re my friend, but I need trust now and not friendship,’ he said to his axe-master.
‘You will always have both, my lord,’ Wulfrick said plainly, ‘but a friend tells a friend when he’s being foolish, and so I think we’ll stay friends for a while.’ He offered his hand to Algenon who took it warmly.
The battle-brothers stood face to face for a moment before Wulfrick spoke with a smile. ‘I assume you had considered talking to Aleph’s daughter?’
‘I had considered it, yes. That, too, can be dealt with tomorrow,’ Algenon said with no smile.
Wulfrick took the long walk to the entrance and left the hall, leaving Algenon standing by his chair, deep in thought. He had much to do before he could sail for the lands of Ro and most of it needed to be done in private.
Speaking to Halla Summer Wolf, Aleph’s daughter, was necessary, but not likely to end in bloodshed. The axe-maiden was a hard woman and knew the way of things, having fought in many conflicts between rival lords. Algenon hoped she would accompany the fleet and do her father honour.
He tried to rub the fatigue from his eyes, but with his mind able to fix on nothing but the night, Algenon Teardrop Ragnarsson, high thain of Ranen and exemplar of Rowanoco, decided to go to bed.
He walked from the centre of the long hall to the tall wooden door behind his chair. The door was closed, but not locked, and Algenon paused a second to listen against the wood before knocking quietly. He stepped back as the circular handle was turned and the door swung slowly outwards. Towards the bottom of the door the face of a child peered out.
‘I hope your brother knows that you’re still awake and that you’ve been listening at doors?’
he asked his daughter.
Ingrid Teardrop was nine years old and was becoming more mischievous with each passing winter. She had her father’s black hair and her mother’s deep blue eyes, but the grin was all her own.
She looked at her father with wide-eyed fear for a second. ‘Erm, Alahan’s asleep and I thought I should listen to what was going on. To find out about things,’ she said.
‘Things?’ queried Algenon.
‘For when I’m thainess,’ she said proudly.
‘I’ve told you before, Ingrid, there is no such position as thainess. The position is thain and, as I’ve told you a thousand times, a woman cannot become one,’ he answered with a smile.
‘But that’s stupid. I’m cleverer than Alahan and I’m faster and, when I’m older, I bet I’ll be better with an axe.’ She had an expression of mock hurt on her face and Algenon pulled the door further open and put his arm round her.
She was wearing clothes handed down from her twenty-four-year-old brother and was trying to look more like a man. She was barefoot, clearly in an attempt to remain silent, and her knees bore scrape marks from where she’d been clambering around the great hall. She was very quick and agile for her age, and Algenon had given up trying to chase her when she misbehaved.
‘Little wolf,’ he said affectionately, ‘you’ll grow strong and tall and give birth to mighty Ranen children.’
She shot him a disgusted expression. ‘I will not. I’ll be the first thainess of Fredericksand.’
‘Ingrid,’ he said seriously, ‘do you think combat and death holds more honour than bringing lives into this world and treating them with love?’
Ingrid looked as if she were about to break into a grin at her father’s seriousness, but instead wriggled under his arm and darted back into the house.