Star Wolves (The Tribes of Yggdrasil Book 1)

©
2
014 Hugh B. Long  www.hughblong.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, e-mail the publisher at: [email protected] 

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Typeset in Garamond 11pt

Published by: Asgard Studios

Ottawa, Canada

www.asgard-studios.com

Hrymar
™,
Illar
™ ,
Ysgar
™, and
Tribes of Yggdrasil
™ are Trademarks of Hugh B. Long

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication 

Pending

T
hanks to my Beta Readers
!

Katrina Horsch -
http://mwri2012.blogspot.com/

Hannah Ellford

Marc Dekker

Thanks also to Sencha (Charlton Hall) for guidance on modern Druidry practices -
www.bmdo.org

F
or my wife
, Melinda

O
ne of the
things I find a bit onerous, is to ask readers unfamiliar with military ranks to learn all the different ranks across different branches. I think I’ve solved the problem, at least in my Universe. Similar to Nato, I use a numeric code for rank, preceded by a letter designating Enlisted or Officer. Standard ranks are E1 to E9 and O-1 to O-9. Also, in most cases, individuals are addressed by their numeric designation, just like they would their rank. So instead of Corporal, you would say E-4. “Good morning, E-4!” In the case of officers commanding ships, they may be addressed by the honorific “Captain”. Easy enough right? I know this will help some folks, and I know others will hate it, but alas, I cannot please everyone, so I dare to please myself!

The following table should help you decode my system.

O
ver-Chieftain Egemen
sat on his throne like a well fed lion, lethargic, yet extremely dangerous. The pale, blue skin of his muscled limbs resting on the arms of his throne, his eyes fixating on the two subjects standing before him. Flanking Egemen were various advisors and servants. Immediately to his right sat his son and heir, Devrim, a Hrymar of much smaller stature than his sire--smaller than most Hrymar. Egemen despised the fact his only son was a meek runt among a race that prided themselves on physical prowess and aggression.

The Over-Chieftain’s advisor, a stalky, milk skinned Dvergar, named Zekil, who was always calculating, spoke up. “My Lord, we have a dispute between two brothers from a minor noble house. Some question over profit from the sale of slaves.” Dvergar were known to be the most ruthless race when it came to business. The whole of Dvergar society was based around the concept of commerce and profit, and in fact they had no separate government at all, only a megalithic corporation. The Sons of Ivaldi Inc. ruled with ruthless fiscal efficiency. Given their economic and technical acumen, many leaders employed Dvergar as advisors.

Two young Hrymar stepped up before the Over-Chieftain and bowed.

Zekil’s eyes explored the forms of the brothers hungrily, a twisted smile forming on his mouth.

“My Lord.” The first brother bowed and the second followed suit.

Egemen asked, "why do you bring this dispute before me today? Did you not try to resolve this by combat?”

“Yes, my Lord, we did,” said the second brother. “We conducted two trials by combat on our family’s holding.” The young man looked away sheepishly. “Both were fought to a draw. We feared a third contest would kill one of us and leave our sire short handed.”

Egemen looked disgusted. “Feared being killed? So your sire would not be short handed? How considerate.” He glanced over at his son. “See how thoughtful such sons are, Devrim? Would that I had such a son …”

Devrim knew he was being sarcastic, but it stung him nonetheless.

“I will address your problem at once.” He stood and strode down the three steps and stopped in front of the two brothers, looking them up and down, sizing them up. Without a sound he drew the dagger hanging at his belt and thrust it up through the chin of the first brother—so far up, that the tip protruded through the top of the boy’s skull. A sickening gurgle and rush of blood were the last living acts of the young Hrymar's body.

The second brother stood still as stone, a long wet patch forming on his leg, the smell of piss wafting off him.

Egemen held the first man's lifeless body, locked eye to eye with him, “How dare you trouble your Over-Chieftain with such trivialities," he seethed. "One of you may have died in combat—with honor, now both of your lives are forfeit.” He let the young man’s corpse drop to the floor.

“Zekil, the other one is for you. Take him as a body slave.” With cruel delight Zekil stared into the young man's eyes. "Let him live long so he can remember what it might have been like to live as a man.”

Zekil’s appetites were well known at court and this slave’s life would be nigh unbearable, filled with constant shame and horror.

“Thank you, my Lord, you are most generous.” Zekil snapped his fingers and two guards grabbed the young Hrymar and dragged him out; the boy still stunned and speechless.

Egemen turned nonchalantly, wiping the blood from his dagger on a pant leg, then bound up the three steps to his throne.

A second petitioner was ushered forward, this one an old man. Judging by his simple clothing, no friend to the nobles. With trembling hands he approached Egemen and threw himself prostrate on the floor.

“Speak," Egemen commanded, “what is your name, citizen?”

“I am N-N-Nermin,” the man stammered.

“Steel yourself, old father. Why have you asked to come before your Over-Chieftain? I hope you are not planning to waste my time like those two.” He paused and glared at Nermin. “Stand up. Address me as a free man.”

Nermin stood. “Y-yes my Lord. I have news of great import.”

When the old man didn't continue, Egemen had to prompt him. “Then get to it.”

“Of course- of course. We have learned of a race as yet unknown to us. We were mining on an asteroid out on the edge of Cygnus—Alfar territory—and we picked up a communication between an unknown ship and an Alfar vessel. The occupants of the ship referred to themselves as Human.”

He leaned forward on his throne. “Human? Are you certain?”

Nermin nodded. “Yes, my Lord.

“Did you learn anything more, such as where they are from?”

“No, my Lord. It was a brief communication. All we heard was that the Captain of the vessel was on his way to a planet around Epsilon Eridani with some important news, and he wouldn’t say more until he arrived.”

“Did you scan the ship?”

“Yes, my Lord. We were able to do a brief scan as it passed by. We only used passive scanners to avoid detection; we were illegally in Alfar territory after all. The hyperspace signature was nearly identical to the Alfar ships, but the hull was not organically grown like their ships; it seemed to be made of metallic and fibre composites. That is all we could determine with passive sensors.”

“Human …the prophecy …” Egemen trailed off. “We need to find out more about these humans. A growing empire has need of new slaves and resources.”

“Serkan!” Egemen barked.

“Yes, my Lord.” Serkan stood at attention beside his master. Serkan was an impressive specimen, tall and heavily muscled, his face replete with scars; a testimony to his years of service.

“I want you to take a scout ship and see if you can’t learn more about these humans. Take my offspring along.” He gestured to Devrim.

Serkan bowed. “At once.”

Devrim didn't acknowledge the insult overtly, but inside the insult landed like one more field-stone on a pile; the growing cairn would someday topple.

“I’ll make you proud, sire,” Devrim said.

“I doubt that." He waved at Devrim dismissively.

Devrim bowed and hurried out of the throne room.

D
evrim returned
to his quarters in a low mood; he always left Egemen feeling this way. His life was a series of failed attempts to please his Over-Chieftain, his sire. He lived in the shadow of the most ruthless Over-Chieftain in history--the only one ever to bring all of Niflheim under one yoke. Egemen alone united all twelve Hrymar tribes. Previously they cooperated, albeit loosely, infrequently, and rarely for long. For nearly ten years Egemen was the Over-Chieftain of all the Hrymar. His rule was brutal and absolute, but productive. Never had the Hrymar accomplished so much. Their numbers grew, and grew, and their sector of space became more secure; now their interests crept beyond those borders.

By Hrymar law, Devrim should not have been allowed to live; they suffered no aberations in the gene-pool. In ten years of breeding with his harem, Devrim had been the first child born alive, as such, Egemen was rue to leave him out on the ice to die, as he should have rightly done. Devrim knew this and was never sure to be glad or not. Had he been born whole, a true Hrymar, his life would have been one of relative ease and privilege; being born into the Jarl class was an honor. The life of a Jarl in Hrymar society was one of leadership, duty and reward. Being born a weakling as he was, his life was one of shame.

In ancient times, the weak among the Hrymar were made part of the Thrall class, essentially slaves, and served the Karl and Jarl classes; the Karls being the craftsmen, and ostensibly the middle class. After the Hrymar civilization grew beyond Niflheim, they soon took other races as thralls to serve them. Subsequently, any Hrymar born weak, deformed, or generally found lacking physically, was left exposed on the frozen surface of Niflheim to die; the Jarls argued this made for a stronger race.

He began packing a small bag in preparation for his trip with Serkan. He picked up his dagger, which was the twin of the one his sire had used to kill the boy earlier in the day. He looked at it, considering it carefully. Only the ruling family and trusted servants were permitted weapons in the presence of the Over-Chieftain. This law was established early on in Hrymar history and reduced the number of assassinations — to more civilized levels.

Although undersized by Hrymar standards, a runt by all accounts, Devrim was a master with his dagger; he had to be. Unarmed, he had no advantage, but with a blade in hand the playing field became level, if not tilted in Devrim's favor. Being smaller, he was a more challenging target, and his lack of size and muscle mass were compensated for by his dexterity and reaction speed. He never revealed his skill, to do so would be to give up one of the few advantages he had, and in the treacherous court of Egemen, one needed every advantage.

A knock on the door pulled Devrim from his reflection.

"Enter," said Devrim.

Serkan opened the door. “My lord, our ship is prepared, and we are ready to depart."

Devrim looked over to Serkan. “I am ready." Devrim picked up his bag and stepped toward Serkan, then stopped in the doorway. "Why does my sire despise me, Serkan? I know I do not measure up to our greatest warriors, but I am fit to rule. There's more to ruling than brawn."

"He is a hard man, my Lord. It took a hard man to bind all the Hrymar together, the hardest of men in fact. Had you been sired by any other chief, you would have the respect I know you crave, and justly deserve,” Serkan said with a bow.

"I have to do something, Serkan. I must find a way to distinguish myself, lest I find myself without a future should my sire die ... or be killed ..." Devrim lingered on the last word.

"The ship is ready, my Lord, and your sire wants us gone within the hour."

Devrim walked up to Serkan and stood before him, almost nose-to-nose, "You serve my sire well, Serkan," Devrim locked eyes with him, “would you serve me also?”

"If you are named successor, I will serve you till I die, my Lord.”

"Good ... good. Shall we?" Devrim gestured with his hand.

Serkan nodded. "My Lord," and walked

D
evrim made
his way down the corridor from his quarters and into the common area, then on to the tunnels outside the palace. The entire population of Niflheim lived beneath the planet’s surface. From the Dvergar—the Dwarf-like race from a neighboring star system—they purchased plasma boring-machines for rapid tunneling.

Although temperatures never got above freezing in the depths of Niflheim, with the Dvergar tunneling technology and Niflheim’s abundant geo-thermal energy, the Hrymar were able to make very good use the planet’s resources. The apparently lifeless ball of ice was home to boundless underground lichen and fungi farms, with thousands of species, and manifold uses. The fungi and lichen were their food, building materials, and their clothing; some even suspected certain species possessed intelligence, although rudimentary.

Devrim stood on a platform with several sets of tunnels bored into each side. A long tubular maglev-train raced out of one of the tunnels and abruptly stopped before him, hissing as its doors opened. He stepped across the threshold and stood just inside the door, grabbing a bar above his head for balance. The public trains on Niflheim were capable of speeds in excess of one-thousand kilometers per hour. With a smooth rush, the transport accelerated into the other end of the tunnel and into darkness.

All Devrim could hear was the steady hiss and whoosh of the maglev-car racing through the tunnel, his mind mulling over his task. Humans, he thought, perhaps this was the opportunity to distinguish himself? If he could capture one …

Before he had time to fully develop the thought, the maglev-train decelerated and stopped.

“Uzay Terminal,”
an artificial voice announced.

Devrim stepped through the train’s door and was greeted with a blast of frigid wind. He shivered and picked up his pace as he hustled up to the small scout ship.

He saw Serkan talking with one of the ground crew prepping their ship,
the Dogan
, and walked over to them. Their scout ship was a small vessel, only about forty meters long and weighing in at a hundred tonnes; it was jump-capable however, and could also enter planetary atmospheres. Larger ships, such as many of those in the Hrymar Stellar Navy, were confined to space and docked at orbiting stations.
The Dogan
traded weapons and armor for range, and was armed with only a single plasma-cannon turret.

“My Lord,” said Serkan, bowing his head. The crewman also bowed his head with respect.

Devrim nodded and strode up the ramp into the ship. He sauntered through the ship into the cockpit and sat down into one of the two chairs. He was looking forward to getting off-planet. Trips like this were an opportunity to forget his sire’s displeasure, for a time, and marvel at the scope of the multiverse. Niflheim was a bleak planet, frozen; Yet with its myriad hues of blues, whites and greys, still managed a measure of beauty.

Serkan hunkered down beside Devrim. When the ship’s hatch had closed with a clunk, Serkan began his pre-flight checks. The powerful vibration of the ship’s antimatter-reactor began to ripple through them as it warmed up; shortly the vibrations dampened, stopped altogether, and the console lit up all green.

“Uzay terminal, scout ship
Dogan
ready for departure,” Serkan announced.

“All clear, Dogan
,” came the reply.

“Let’s go find some humans, my Lord.”

Devrim nodded silently.