Author's Note:
Right. When you write a story with only the broadest idea where it is going, you will occasionally screw things up. So, the first correction. In the first chapter, I mention that Ormr has a gun in his hand. Let's back away from that one. This will remain a pre-gun world.
Haven't read the first chapter? Please do! This story won't make much sense otherwise. Also, I will have a glossary on my blog, www.taracrescent.com if you are struggling with my Viking names and figuring out who's who.
This chapter is kind of slow. It's basically setting up the characters and their respective backstories, and also setting up one big cause for future conflict. There'll be more action in the next chapter. Really.
I'm still struggling with paid work, and writing this story, in the midst of the other work I should be doing constitutes an act of rebellion. Updates will happen, but the paid work does get prioritized.
As always, much gratitude to my editor, who both provides valuable feedback and ego-stoking compliments.
Please comment, and when the world-building doesn't make sense, point it out!
*****
Gareth:
I hear Mariam and Ormr depart for a tavern in the city, some distance from our encampment. For a moment, I wish I could join them. Laugh with friends in the warmth of a tavern, with a pretty barmaid bringing us cold tankards of ale.
But I am Overlord of Slathaar, and such things are not for me anymore. Not until my people once again have a home. My duty is clear, and I don't flinch from it.
Mariam had spoken the words of the First Prayer earlier. I have no use for religion, but prayer is more than faith. Prayer is enduring memory of who we are as a people. Memory that will be tested in the journey ahead.
I sink to my knees in the dark of my tent, the candle extinguished, and I speak the words of the War Prayer. For in the morn, we set out to battle.
I see the blood of the enemies I have vanquished.
I see my ancestors, and they greet me with pride.
I see before me the path that leads to the Halls of Rest.
Let me journey there, Arsu, and let me remain there until the end of time.
***
Aldis:
In the morn, we leave for a foreign land.
Six months ago, I would have stayed behind, like my eldest brother Ashalf. I would have been planning my wedding, spending the quiet hours of our long winter evenings in front of the fireplace putting small stitches in garments that would have served as my wedding trousseau. My betrothed Hagan would have been watching me with a slight smile on his lips.
Six months ago, my life had been filled with laughter and happiness.
And then, Kanata.
We never found Hagan's body.
Take your seat among our ancestors in the Halls of Rest with pride, my love.
One day, and the course of my life had changed. And so, when the soldiers were being picked for this arduous, dangerous journey to the South Seas, I had volunteered. Gareth had studied me with that thoughtful look in his eyes. And then he had nodded assent.
Gareth goes south as obligation to Slathaar. He is Overlord; he will not shirk his duties.
My brother Ormr goes to seek adventure.
And I? The rolling green hills of my land are no longer any comfort. There is an ache in my heart that hasn't dimmed in the last six months. I am not coward enough to kill myself; I would not anger Arsu thus.
And so I journey to forget.
***
Gareth:
The sun rises early in the North Sea this time of the year. The early days of spring have passed, where it rains constantly, and ice is almost as likely as a warm breeze. Now, there's a firm promise of summer in the air. The rolling hills are covered in green. It is not quite past four in the morning when the flap of my tent pushes open, and two people walk in.
I half-rise in bed, shield my eyes against the first morning light, and squint. Then groan.
"For Arsu's Sake, mother," I grumble. "You have heard of knocking, I hear it?"
She raises an impatient eyebrow.
"I need to dress," I say. We both smile slightly as we hear the tone in my voice. I'm thirty years old, and I sound like a petulant teenager. My mother has a habit of doing that to me.
"I have seen you naked before, Gareth." Her voice is dry. "I did give birth to you."
I grab a pair of pants from the spot by the bed where it was tossed last night. The other person who had followed my mother in was Sigururr. Slaathan Spy Master. I need a clear head for this conversation then.
"Could you send for some coffee please?" I ask the guard outside the tent, who has heard most of the conversation inside, and is struggling not to laugh.
"Of course, Overlord," he says, making a credible attempt to straighten his features into something resembling seriousness. I don't bother to get annoyed by the amusement. I would have laughed outright in his place, and besides, if Arngeirr and Mariam have chosen him to guard my tent, his competence and loyalty is beyond question.
I walk back into the tent, and take a seat at the small table. Sigururr is already unrolling maps and parchment on the table.
We go over the latest information. Arianne alliances are written in sand. They shift frequently and mean nothing. We can conquer towns quickly, but we won't be able to hold them with just three war-ships. We'll have to form alliances, either by peace or force.
Force is Sigururr's polite way of saying
kidnap some royalty and keep them captive.
I hate this plan, yet I know that if it comes to it, I'll follow it to the letter. The survival of Slathaar is at stake. My soul is a small price to pay.
And then Sigururr speaks again, and both my mother and I whiten as he reveals the scrap of information that he has come by. "We have some new intelligence," he begins without preamble. "Something the Arianne have kept very, very quiet." He tells me, and I recoil in shock as I hear.
"This is not who we are," my mother says finally, her voice an appalled whisper.
I don't speak for many minutes. The survival of Slathaar is at stake. Finally, I raise my head. My voice, when I find words, is immeasurably bleak. "Ormr and Aldis need to hear this. And summon Draef as well. He will provide wise counsel."
***
Ormr:
Everything hurts in the early morn, and of course, I get summoned to Council. Thankfully, there is a steaming pot of coffee. I help myself and groan as the throbbing in my head intensifies. My aunt Brenna looks mildly disapproving, but I am practiced at placating her. I wink, and she laughs before turning serious.
All eyes are on Gareth.
"As we know," he begins, "there are three nations in Arianne that we wanted to focus our efforts of alliance or conquest on. The ones with the easiest passages to Samarra. Carliss, Ersan and Rizzolo."
We all nod.
"Coincidentally, these three nations are also the ones with the most despotic rulers. Rizzolo's citizens starve in order to pay their taxes. Carliss and Ersan, where a single crop failure can result in the farmers being sold as bond slaves for three years."
Bond slaves is a curious and reprehensible custom of the Arianne. The entire continent practices it. Any man or woman can be sold into slavery for a set period of time, depending on the offense. Bond slaves have some rights, but short of major maiming and murder, their masters can do as they will with them. Ever since I heard Sigururr's first report, I have tried not to think about it too much. Because to dwell on it would have been to hate the Arianne, and hatred wasn't a useful emotion in the journey we were undertaking.
But Gareth continued, and I realized that hatred was going to be impossible to hold back.
"Carliss, Ersan and Rizzolo - their alliances are somewhat transient and marked by treachery. But certain alliances seem to hold. Sigururr has just learned why. Sigururr, why don't you tell us?"
There is a look of distaste on Sigururr's face, which is odd, because Sigururr usually never betrays any emotion. I've played poker with the man, and he is the devil to play with. He has no tell. None at all.
"The marriages of Arianne royalty has always intrigued us," he starts. "Because they don't use the same words we do. No wife. No husband. They refer to their partners as consorts. But then, we found some references to wives and husbands."
He stops. The look of distaste has intensified to revulsion. Gareth's voice is harsh as he picks up where Sigururr has left off.
"The title of wife or husband are Arianne words for blood slaves. Slaves for life. They enslave their daughters and their sons to secure lasting alliances. The only way to escape Arianne treachery is through an alliance secured by slavery."
He looks at me and at Aldis. "Ormr. Aldis. As Slaathan royalty, you knew we might be required to marry to secure alliances. Carliss, Ersan and Rizzolo all have eligible offspring."
I interrupt, shocked at what Gareth is implying. My voice is harsh. Disbelieving. The ache in my head is so intense I don't think I can withstand it. "No. Absolutely not. We are Slaathan. We do not enslave."
Gareth's face is tight with anger. "Do you think I contemplate this lightly?" he snarls at me. "Do you think I want this? This is what it means to rule, Ormr. You don't get to make the easy decisions. Everyone doesn't win and live happily ever after."
No. Arsu, no. I cannot do this to some innocent young woman in the name of an alliance. "And you would ruin the lives of people that have done us no harm?" I snap back.
The tension is thick in the room. I watch Brenna look from Gareth to me, and she takes a deep breath. Gareth and I are like brothers. We are kin. And I have never been angrier with him.
