Fire And Ice (Book 1) (65 page)

             
“The Queen of Summerhall.”  Coran ignored the Kjell’s frowning face and instead kept his eyes on the larger man, Storvik. 

             
Storvik nodded.  “I have heard of what happened.  Why did she send you?”              

             
“To speak with the Kings of the North.”

             
The big haired Northman studied him for a moment.  “What is your name?”

             
“Coran Tyelin.”

             
“You may come with us,” Storvik decided.  “We are going to Herrinhall as well.”

             
“I thank you and gladly accept your offer.”  Maybe not gladly but he would be happy if it kept him from getting lost.

             
Kjell wasn’t so happy about the prospect, but he didn’t contradict his companion.  Coran had to wonder if maybe these men were outlaws too.  Something told him to trust them, or at least the big one.

             
The turn off was indeed the one he should have taken.  He was confused because it went west while the other had been going north.  Apparently they curved, and by the time they stopped for the night they were heading north again.

             
The Northmen had tents and agreed to share one with him.  They built a fire and ate dinner sitting on logs near the source of heat.  Coran shared his meat while receiving bread baked only a day before.  Kjell spoke little and eyed him with open suspicion.  Storvik still had that weighing look. 

             
“You may go to Herrinhall, but you will not be allowed in the great hall itself.  That is where the Kings meet with the leaders of the North,” Storvik told him while chewing.

             
“They will let me in.”  The simple statement seemed to catch the big man off guard.

             
“You are so sure of that?”

             
“I am.”

             
Storvik smiled for the first time.  “Would you care to wager on that?”

             
Coran smiled slyly in return.  “How much?”

             
“A gold?”

             
“Five,” Coran countered.  “To make it interesting.”

             
Storvik rubbed his beard as he thought over the amount.  “Done.”

             
“I want some of that,” Kjell added.  “Five for me as well.”

             
“Do you have five?”  He didn’t need to ask Storvick.  That man wouldn’t bet it if he did not have it.  Kjell, he decided was a different matter.

             
“Of course,” Kjell replied offended.

             
“You have four,” Storvick noted.  “But I will cover the one for you.”

             
“Thanks.”

             
“I am from Dorne by the way,” Storvik announced. “Kjell here is from Nyeland.”

             
Coran was not surprised.  The Dornish were known as the most savage of Northmen, with the people of Leanesse being the most civilized.  At least by Midian standards.  “I am from Tyelin, but was raised mostly in Summerhall.”

             
They talked only a little about their respective homes.  They were all still suspicious of each other.

             
The next night they were able to reach a town in which to stay.  Coran was glad to be able to have a roof over his head once again. 

             
The inn was made of tightly fitted stones to help keep the heat from escaping and the walls were lined with hanging rugs and furs.  The common room was like many others with several tables along the walls and longer ones with benches instead of chairs at the middle of the room.  The place was over half full with boisterous Northmen.  Thankfully, they were involved in eating and had not yet gotten to the drinking part.  Coran had experience with drunk Northmen before.                 A few dark looks passed his way until they saw his companion.  “Storvik!” a couple of them called familiarly. 

             
One of them stood up.  He had long hair and a beard like Storvick’s except it was brown.  “Have you taken up with Midians now?”

             
“We are traveling together for now,” Storvik explained.

             
The Northman looked him over, then reached into his pocket and put a silver coin on the table nearby.  Several nearby patrons mumbled to each other and smiled knowingly.

             
Coran looked a question at Storvik who leaned close to answer.  “It is a game we play sometimes.  You stand still while he hits you.  Then you do the same to him.  The first one on the floor loses.”  He saw the hesitation and continued.  “If you do not accept they will think you are a coward.  Cowards are killed in the lands of Nortia the White.”

             
So it was a test in a way.  A test he had to take if he expected to survive long enough to see home again.  Coran put a silver next to the other one.  “Who goes first?”

             
“You do,” the challenger told him with a sneer.

             
Coran bunched his fist, leaned back and delivered a powerful blow to the waiting man’s face.  The man staggered back several steps, but kept to his feet.  The crowd roared with approval, several men laughing at the Midian behind their hands for what was to come next. Coran swallowed as he waited for the blow.  He thought his jaw night have been broken by the force of it, but stayed upright.  They were no longer laughing.  His next shot was not enough to win, but the man’s return blow was.  Coran fell against a table, spilling the drinks that were on it as he went to the floor as the crowd roared again.  Storvik and the man who hit him both helped him up. 

             
“I am Tarak,” his opponent introduced himself.  He was smiling now.              

             
“Coran,” he replied and they shook hands.

             
After that he was not bothered again for the rest of the night.  Some of the men offered to buy him drinks and complimented him for surviving more than one blow from Tarak, who almost never lost. 

             
One of the women in the room sat down on the bench beside Storvik.  She draped an arm across his massive shoulders.  Her long blonde hair hung in tangles but she didn't seem to notice.  What Coran found interesting was her tight leather pants.  What a scandal that would cause in Summerhall.  A woman wearing pants was bad enough, but if anyone was caught wearing anything as tight as that the outrage would be heard from one end of the isle to the other.  At least if she was a Midian they would.  Coran didn’t think anyone would be too forward with their thoughts around this woman.  Beneath her black leather shirt Coran counted the hilts of four knives tucked into her belt.  And another two at the tops of her boots.  By her confident grin and graceful movements he was sure she knew how to use them. 

             
The woman watched Coran as she spoke to Storvik.  “Where have you been?  Hmmm?  I have been looking all over for you.”

             
“Here and there,” Storvik grumbled in reply.

             
“Really?”  Her tone was dangerous but the grin never faded.

             
“Yes, really.”  Storvik sounded annoyed by the question.  “I haven’t been avoiding you if that is what you think.  And I am here now.  I told you I would be back.”

             
“Yes, you are.  And in the company of a Midian.  What have you been up to?”

             
Storvik grunted.  “This is Coran.  Coran, this she-cat at my side is Adine.  Adine, we are on our way to Herrinhall.  And you well know what has been going on.”              

             
“She-cat is it?”  She didn’t seem upset at being called the name but tried to sound like it. “Better that than a boar with a bee up his nose.”  Storvik grunted again at her attempt to nettle him.  Adine was still looking at Coran when her grin was replaced by a puzzled expression.  “Coran?  Where have I heard that name before?”

             
“I would not know,” Coran replied and he didn’t. 

             
Storvik didn’t say anything if he knew.

             
Adine’s grin came back.  “Perhaps it will come to me.  Storvik.  You still friggin owe me a fire-blasted drink.  Several in fact.”  Coran was surprised by her curses but wisely kept his mouth shut.     

             
Storvik and Kjell stayed in the common room with Adine long after Coran went to find his bed. 

              They continued north towards his goal.  After the night in the tavern the three of them got on better with each other.  Even Kjell didn’t always frown at him as he had.  Storvik seemed to have made a decision that he was trustworthy.  Coran unconsciously did the same in return.

             
That night they made camp outside again.  The spot was well sheltered by pines and had a spot that was clearly used for fires before.  How many people have used this site over the years?

             
It was the last night before they would reach Herrinhall sometime the next morning.  The moon was bright and the stars were crystal clear in the cold night sky.  Kjell was the first to bed.  He had been feeling a bit delicate ever since waking that morning.  He must have had too much to drink at the tavern the night before. 

             
“I hope you have those golds,” Storvik was saying.  “You will need them tomorrow when you lose the bet.”               “I don’t think so,” Coran countered.  It was time to broach a subject he needed to understand if he was going to talk to the Kings.  “What are the Kings deciding that takes so long?”

             
Storvik eyed him sideways.  “We don’t have the benefit of one person telling us what to do.  We have three Kings who have to listen to a lot of other people before making a decision.”  He didn’t really answer the question.

             
“Like in Eryk’s time?  He unified the North didn’t he?”

             
“He did.  He was the Lord of the North, chief of the nine clans of Nortia.  He took a people who fought each other more than anyone else and formed the three Kingdoms.  He also founded Herrinhall as a place where conflicts could be settled without bloodshed.  The city is neutral ground, and no Northman may shed the blood of another except in self defense.  That is the theory anyway.”

             
“Did he have any children?  Would they not have kept the North together as one?”  Coran asked, intrigued by the history.  He knew a little of it but only from the Midian viewpoint.

             
“Most likely they would have.  Except that Eryk was killed when he went to the East with Soros.  He left behind a wife who was with child.”  Storvik pulled out a wooden handled pipe and lit it with a twig from the fire.  “One day she was gone.  Just disappeared without a trace.”

             
How did someone just disappear?  He shook his head slightly.  He was getting off the subject.  “About the meetings?  What are they deciding?”

             
“They will decide if it is time to fight,” the man said simply.

             
“What do you mean by that?  Can they not see that all of the West is threatened by this invasion.  It is not just Midia,” Coran said passionately.              

             
“Some believe it is time.  Others believe that if it is, then the Lord of the North would be here to lead us.  If there is no Lord, then it cannot be time.”

             
“What do you believe?”  Coran asked with a certain apprehension.  He was starting to like this large man and having him on his side would be comforting.

             
Storvik pulled the pipe from between his teeth and held it in his hand.  “It is said that if we go south to fight the Great War without a Lord to lead us, our people will be destroyed.  If that is true I do not know, but can we take such a risk?  It would not be just warriors who would suffer if we are wrong and bring doom upon us.”

             
He thought he was starting to understand something about these people.  For all their fearlessness in conflict they had a superstitious nature.  That was the problem.  “Are you saying that they are waiting for a sign to tell them what to do?”

             
Storvik looked a little embarrassed for himself and his people.  If being superstitious was a weakness, he had just admitted they were weak.  “To simplify it, yes.”

             
“What kind of sign?”  If he could understand what they were looking for maybe he could use that information somehow to convince them.

             
The Northman shrugged.  “We will know it when it happens.”  He stood up and stretched, signifying and end to any further conversation tonight.  Without a good night he walked to his blankets where Kjell had been listening.