Fire And Ice (Book 1) (68 page)

             
He suddenly found himself standing in the middle of the room with the sword of legend in his hand.  The light reflected off the steel.  Along with the silver of metal there was a blue hue to the blade.  He heard gasps from more than one throat and there was banging on the door to the hall that could be heard from the next room.

             
The Kings stood in shock at what was before them.  Jarl had a small gash on his cheek from one of the shards of ice, but it might as well have not been there.  Edric was the first to recover.  With his eyes still wide he went into the outer room and opened the door.  Several voices could be heard.  Coran led the two remaining Kings out to join Edric.

             
“Is everything all right?” someone asked with alarm.

             
“What happened?”

             
“Was it an earthquake?” he heard shouted from the hall.

             
“Everything is...”  Edric swallowed.  “Make way!”  He went out of the chamber and the others followed him.  More questions were being directed to them as they emerged, but shock still held their tongues.

             
The light reflecting off the blade was mesmerizing.  Coran felt like he was in a trance.  The blade was about the same size as his own.  The handle was a deep blue, almost black, and the rounded pommel was smooth.                

             
Without thought he left the chamber and strode to the front of the dais with Ice held up for all to see.  There was a collective intake of breath as they witnessed the impossible.  Someone had taken up the Sword of Eryk. 

             
Storvik was the first to break free from the spell.  He raised a fist into the air and shouted.  “The Lord of the North has returned!”

             
As if the shout broke others from their state of shock they raised their own fists to the ceiling.  “Hail the Lord of the North!”

             
Everyone was shouting by now and their voices eventually came together in a booming cadence.  “Coran!  Coran!  Coran!”

             
It was Coran who was stunned by the display from a people who a little time ago doubted his own heritage.  He glance to the gray haired Tenobius who beamed at him with a great deal of satisfaction.  He got the feeling that he had done well and Tenobius was pleased with his performance.  How much did the First Wizard really know about what was going to happen?  It sent a shiver through him.  What was he missing? 

             
He stood on the raised platform before the most powerful men of the North.  His face was grim as he wondered who was prodding him towards an unknown fate, and why.  He barely heard the unceasing cries.

             
“Coran!  Coran!” 

Chapter 35

Herrinhall

              Coran stood before the window that had been opened a crack to hear the laughing and yelling populace of Herrinhall.  They were exuberant as the word spread quickly to every corner of the city.  The wind easily carried their celebrating up to the room he was in.  It was a simple room, bare of decorations and containing only a long plain table and a few chairs, not enough to surround the table. 

             
After the shouting in the hall had finally abated the men had left quickly to spread the word to others.  As he stepped down from the dais he noticed a man with the shoulder length hair and short cut beard of Nyeland.  He was blonde with dark blue eyes that held dislike for Coran. 

             
As Storvik fell in beside Coran the blonde Northman noticed where he was looking.  “That is Keryk.”  Coran looked to him sharply.  “No, not the dead one.  That is his cousin.  They were both named for the same grandfather.  Watch out for him, they share more than the same name.”

             
The three Kings, Storvik and Tenobius had led him to this rarely used room.  Herrinhall was not your ordinary palace.  There was a small staff, sufficient to care for the wizards who actually lived there and the nobles who stayed for one reason or another.  The place belonged to no one and everyone, having been built for all Northmen, until now.  Apparently, it belonged to him as the Lord of the North. 

             
Coran closed the window and turned to the others.  “I will lead them to war, yet they celebrate?” he asked no one in particular.  They had to know that it would be the first thing he would do.  Somehow he had become responsible for a people once again.  It did not sit well in him, but he had few choices.  He came here to get their help. 

             
“You do not understand us yet,” Bail told him.  He was the King with the red hair and full beard.  He ruled Dorne, the most northerly Kingdom of the three.  “Before Eryk united us we were a poor people who were constantly at war with each other.  We were truly savages then.  There were no cities in the North then, only a collection of run down villages who worked together for mutual protection.”

             
“Eryk changed all that,” Jarl continued.  “He gave us a sense of purpose, a pride in being Northmen.  This place is proof of that.”  He spread his hands to indicate the palace around them.  “We built this working together.  No longer did we have to survive on raiding and stealing from others.  We developed trade of our own and learned a written language for the first time.”

             
“And yet we were still divided in many ways,” Edric took over.  “Still are.  If Eryk had lived or his child had we might have become even more united.  We might be a single nation.  Eryk led us to war and many died, but they died for the future and it was worth it.  If we die it will be for the future, to ensure that our children will be left with a better North.  Every Northman knows this and that is why they celebrate your coming,” he finished meaningfully.  The strength of that belief was clear on the face of all of those in the room.

             
“And you all accept me even though you are older than me, more experienced, and I was not raised to your ways?”  He could probably think of some more reasons if he had a little time.

             
“You are the Lord of the North,” came the simple reply.  They really believed it.

             
“It cannot be that simple,” Coran protested.  “I show up and you all accept me just like that?”

             
Edric coughed uncomfortably.

             
“Yes?” 

             
“Not all will accept you so easily, that is true.  There will always be those who prefer the status quo to any kind of change, and you will bring great change.  Nortia said as much after Eryk died.”               

             
That was certainly true.  There are bad and good people everywhere.  The only conciliation was that there were more good than bad.  “Like Keryk?”

             
“Keryk thinks himself important,” Storvik snorted.  “He cares more for himself than our people.”

             
“And it will be worse with his cousin dead,” Bail said bitterly  

“It is true,” Jarl added as well.  “And he will not be

the only one.”

             
That was not very good news.  If he had too much trouble in taking them south it could be a problem. 

             
“Do not worry too much,” Storvik told him.  “Some who would balk at you will follow them.”  He gestured at the assembled Kings of the North.  “As long as they accept you then just about everyone else will.”

             
Coran passed his gaze over the three.  “Do you accept me?”

             
“I do,” Edric stated.  “I believe Nortia willed it so.  And she has never led us astray.”

             
Jarl lowered his brows.  “I have a question?”  Coran nodded for him to continue.  “You will lead us to war, but will you help our people afterward, or will you abandon us for your Midia?”

             
He gave the monarch a significant look.  “If we win then I will take the North to greater prosperity.  You wish to be united as one.  I will do that for you.”  He didn’t think he had much choice if the goddess they trusted so much had her hand in this.  If the woman he had met in his dreams truly was a goddess he knew he had no more choice than a stick in a flood.  He had but to ride the currents of fate.

             
“Then I accept you.”  Jarl sounded convinced.

             
“As do I,” Bail said almost reluctantly, but he had said it.                

             
“With that settled I need to know when the North will be ready to march,” Coran asked them.  There was no point in puting it off.

             
“Most of the North is already gathered.  They have been awaiting our decision,” Edric reported.

             
“I suggest sending out messengers immediately,” Jarl suggested, pulling at his beard with thick fingers.  “We can move to Nyess and have others gather there or meet us along the South Wolf.  We can have them join us along the way.”

             
“What about ships,” he questioned.  If there was a way to travel faster he had to find it.  “You accounted for half your fleet back there in the meeting.”

             
“Ships are scattered in ports throughout the North,” Bail informed him.

             
“Could they meet in Nyess as well?  We could sail to Lake Midia and then down the Blood.  Both rivers are navigable.”  Coran waited for their assessment.  They wanted him to lead but he was still reluctant to push the bounds of this fresh relationship.

             
“Good idea,” Bail approved.  He seemed the most willing to use the ships. 

             
“We could not carry as many men,” Jarl stated.

             
“No, but a significant number would reach the south in time to help.  The rest can catch up when they can,” Coran said.  He waited for any more comments, but they remained silent. “Let us do it that way then.”

             
The Kings filed out one by one.  Storvik stopped at the door.  “You will be at the celebration tonight?  It will be one like we have never seen before.”  His grin took in his whole face.

             
“I will be there of course,” he answered and Storvik left him alone with Tenobius, who had been silent through the discussion.              

             
He glanced out the window again for a time before turning back to the table.  He went to the chair that Storvik had vacated and sat down across from the wise eyed man.  He tapped his fingers on the table trying to decide how to begin.  He just had to do it.  “You knew did you not?  About what would happen?”

             
He didn’t appear upset by the bluntness.  “I suspected, but did not know for sure.”

             
“Why didn’t you tell me?”

             
“If you think about it you will understand,” he replied calmly.  “First of all, I was not sure.  Could I tell you not knowing for sure if it was right?  Secondly, it had to be your choice.  It is your path to follow.  No one can choose for you.  Nortia believes it to be thus.”

             
The words were an echo of the woman’s from his dream.  No.  Not woman.  He might as well start thinking of her as the goddess she was, at least in the minds of his Northern allies.  No need to upset them by denying it.  “I keep hearing of paths.  Do you know where mine leads?” he asked anxiously.  “Any clue would help no matter how small.”

             
“I am sorry Coran.  I do not know what will come, but I hope,” he told him looking directly into his eyes.  “But I would not tell you even if Nortia had revealed it to me.  That is if She knows.”

             
“But why not?”

             
“Let me try and explain.  You see I knew that you would almost assuredly arrive in Herrinhall.  If you did then it was most likely that you would go after the sword.  What I did not know was if you would choose the right symbol.  I do not think Nortia did either.” 

             
“I don’t understand,” Coran told him. 

             
“You have a destiny, Coran.  To fulfill it you must travel the correct path, but that does not mean you will stay on the path.  There will be points along the way when things can be changed.  As an example say you chose not to accept your path any longer, or you could be killed, or someone could tell you something that would affect your decision.” 

             
“How could telling me something effect my decision?”  Coran asked.

             
“Let me say this, if someone told you that something you're going to do would kill someone you know, would you do it, even knowing that it had to be done?”  Tenobius sat back in his chair to let Coran contemplate his words.

             
“I don’t know,” he had to admit.  “It would depend on the circumstances.”             

             
“Perhaps, but it might alter a decision you would have already made on your own.  So you can see why we wizards are taught to be careful in what we reveal when serving as advisors to rulers?  Some things have to be.”

             
It made a sort of sense, and explained Gelarus’ reluctance to answer questions.  “You seem to know a great deal about me.”

             
Tenobius smiled ruefully.  “I only know what Nortia chooses to tell me, or what I learn on my own, which is considerably less.”

             
“Do you speak with Nortia?  Directly, I mean.”  He kept the smile from his face.

             
“It is not a conversation like you and I are having.  Nortia speaks to me, in my mind.  I can hear her voice and her words but they are like sounds carried on the wind.  Almost as if from a great distance.”  Tenobius had a reverent expression on his aged face.  It was a look of profound joy. 

             
That was not the way it happened with Coran but he didn’t say anything.
What am I thinking?  She is
not
real.
  Instead he hoped the wizard knew enough to answer his next question.  “Elthzidor is supposed to be very powerful?”               “He is.  Though if you are overly worried about that I can tell you that Zir’Thenn was even more powerful, and Eryk defeated him, with Soros’ help,” Tenobius told him.  Coran had the feeling that the last part was added for his benefit, being raised a Midian.

             
Then a thought struck him, a very alarming one.  “Why should I be overly worried?”

             
“Ah,” the First Wizard said nervously.  “I only meant that we all are worried.”

             
Coran knew that was not entirely true.  Then it hit him, the passage he had read.  The Champion of Light, with the sword of Ice, or something like that.  Coran licked his lips nervously.  “The prophecy says that only the one with the  sword can face the Destroyer.”

             
“It is true,” Tenobius said.  “But the prophecy says many things that are not what they might seem.”

             
“What do you mean?”

             
“Elthzidor has been given great powers by his master, the Dark God.”

             
“The Destroyer,” Coran said with dread.  Then wondered why he felt that way.  If Nortia was not real than neither was the Destroyer.  “Wait a moment.  You are saying that I have to face Elthzidor?”

             
“He has been chosen by the Destroyer.  You have been chosen as well,” Tenobius answered his question.