The Axe and the Throne

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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THE GAZER'S IMPASSE

You can remember the words,

but can you comprehend them?

There are secrets hidden between these pages. Truths that are hinted at, but never quite revealed. Most will skim past, never being the wiser. Some, however, may take note. They may ponder, and speculate. To those few, this is your challenge:

Be the first to decipher the mystery of the Nameless Gazer and win two eReaders of your choiceâone for yourself and one for whoever told you about the book. For details visit:

www.MDIreman.com

WARNING

The Axe and the Throne is not intended for mass consumption. It is a challenging read, both in complexity and content. Even self-proclaimed lovers of grimdark often find themselves offended when otherwise kind and intelligent characters choose to embrace barbarism and bigotry. Without the benefit of overt good and evil, witnessing protagonists fail to fulfill the roles of heroism dictated by modern culture can prove too much for some. Perhaps more offensive is the sheer number of perspectives. It is a limited audience that enjoys making sense of what others consider merely frustrating, but for nimble readers with a thirst for more than linear adventure, this may be what is sought.

TALLOS

His height in thickness is the stone

That guards from eyes a man's design,

And though I watch his actions all,

Hear every tale, see every wrong,

Were I to damn him 'fore his end,

'Twould be I who need atone.

-Nameless Gazer

W
here are your friends?
Tallos wondered, growing restless. These were the first two Northmen Tallos had ever laid eyes on, and he was quite sure they'd not come alone. They clung to the side of a bluff high above, unmoving.

Tallos's attempt to swallow was met with little success. His woolen tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, yet his palms were so slick with sweat he feared he'd be unable to grasp his bow when the need arose to use it.
This moisture would serve me better were it in my mouth
, he thought, wiping his hands again upon the legs of his trousers with slow, deliberate motion.

He and Lia, his hunting partner and most trusted companion, were no strangers to these northern forests. Normally he would not feel so exposed, confident in his ability to hide his lank frame amongst the brush, but today they'd brought others with them from the village. Tallos stroked the hair upon Lia's head to give her comfort. Though he did his best not to think of it, it was impossible not to note just how coarse those hairs had become with age. She crouched beside her master, eyeing him with affection, awaiting his command with eager patience.

They had remained in that same spot hearing the same somber song from an unrelenting sparrow for an hour, perhaps two. Time had an interesting effect on his fear, first causing it to heighten as his anticipation built. Then, as the hours passed with no action, he mellowed. His mind wandered, going mostly to thoughts of his wife. Two days' travel south, safe in their small home of their small village, he imagined her busying herself drying meats to keep her mind from belaboring the danger he faced. But it was impossible to think of Leona and not be reminded of the state in which he'd left her.
I will return to you and earn your forgiveness
, thought Tallos.
That I promise.

“They're already dead.” One of the many men that had gathered in the village center voiced his opinion on the matter at hand. “Northmen don't take prisoners. They take the dignity of wives and the purity of daughters, forcing the fathers to watch. Then they kill them all. Your boys are dead, Erik.”

The man's assertions were met with a mixture of grumbling that sounded mainly of solemn agreement.

“Northmen have never been seen in our finger of the canyon,” came a younger, less decided voice. “And perhaps this will be the only time they're seen if we bring the fight to them. I have no wish to have my throat slit while I sleep.”

“We're farmers, not warriors. What chance do we stand?”

“The boy spoke of only fourâ¦”

“And you believed him? The boy was white with fear. Couldn't tell up from down by the look of him.”

Tallos had noticed the same. Erik's boy was near dumb with terror when he'd stumbled home without his two older brothers. “They were four,” was all he muttered in between his spastic sobbing inhalations.

“Enough.” Greyson's command cut through the chatter, hushing the crowd. As the town elder and tacit leader, he was the final authority in disputes such as these. “Your boys had no reason to be wandering north. You've been told as much before.”

The father of the boys wore his desperation on his usually amiable face. Erik was not just Tallos's neighbor. Tallos had called the big bastard friend since childhood, been present for the births of all four of his children, and could not help but feel somewhat responsible for the peril now faced by his two eldest sons.

“They are but four, and we have over twenty able-bodied men and half again as many dogs,” Erik contested. But Greyson was not alone in vocalizing disapproval of the notion.

“It is not our way to go looking for trouble,” said one of Greyson's supporters.

“We'd not be looking for trouble,” said a different man. “We'd be looking for his sons. And we'd be looking to send a message that our canyon is not to be raided.”

Tallos saw the division clearly. The older men with sense opposed the action, and the young men with swollen pride wished to puff out their chests, safe in the knowledge that the chance of any rescue being mounted was slim. In any case, Tallos was inclined to agree with the elders. His trips with Lia in the North were difficult enough when the two were by themselves. With a group of unseasoned woodsmenâfarmers' boys with delusions of heroismâthe results of an encounter with even four Northmen would be ugly.

“Tallos, tell them we can do such a thing,” begged a young cousin of Erik's. “You know the North better than any.”

“He's the reason those boys are there in the first place,” grumbled a man hidden in the back.

To hear it voiced made Tallos tense. Erik's boys looked to Tallos more than to Erik for what a father should be. They made their hatred for farming known when put to the task, voicing their desire to hunt like their uncle Tallos rather than labor in the soil for the small, deformed produce grown on their father's farm. As a compromise, Erik let his boys go north to practice hunting with their bows, so long as the three stayed together. He did this against the advice of all, Tallos included.

Forgive me, Erik
, Tallos thought as he looked at his friend,
but I warned you this may happen.
Be it brawl or town meeting, Tallos could always depend on the man's support. That he could not give his own in return this day would be a source of shame for years to come.

“The Northluns are more than simply dangerous,” Tallos began. “Any attempt we'd make wouldâ”

“It is a fool's errand,” interrupted Greyson. “As head of the town council I
forbid
it.”

Tallos returned Greyson's chiding look with a scowl of his own.
How is it you can be so cross even when we are in agreement?

“They are my boys, and I will be damned if I am not going after them.” Erik's voice was strong and set, but his glistening eyes betrayed the uncertainty and fear amidst his determination.

“You were damned when you let your boys go up there in the first place.” Greyson seethed with indignation. “Perhaps if you were more a father to those blood-betting bastards and imposed some discipline, they would not be off in the woods pretending to be your better.” The elder hurled the insult with enough force to hit all that heard it in the gut, Tallos most of all.

Tallos envisioned removing his blade and slicing the old man from ear to earâblood gushing, horrified looks on the faces of the gathered men. Had he actually done such a thing, he would no doubt see nothing but red the moment the blade made contact with skin. It happened to him when he hunted, as soon as his arrow was loosed. He would awake from his blood-visioned trance to an unsavory scene: a deep gash in the deer's neck where he had finished it with his knife and Lia lapping the blood off his hands, tail wagging as she saw he'd returned to his senses. It must have been some latent mechanism of self-protection which sheltered him from the gory reality of killing.

The only red he saw now, however, was on Erik. His friend's fiery mane looked less bright compared with his face, now turned the color of his beetroots. It was likely all Erik could do not to throttle Greyson, who had already begun to walk away.

“If any of you leave on this hopeless task, you will not be welcomed back,” Greyson shouted over a shoulder. “This whole town will be in danger if you take men with you to go after those disobedient brats, who'd run straight back into the Northluns the first chance they got.”

On this Tallos did not fully agree. Their town was in a canyon valley bordered on the east and west by massive cliffs. Climbing these was unthinkable, and a fall from the top would give one plenty of time to ponder their foolishness before making a sudden and final impact. The way north was quite narrow, and it would be impossible for the Northmen to pass by them and their dogs undetected to endanger the town.

Tallos saw the futility pooling in Erik's eyes, ready to spill over.

“We will gather those men who are willing and leave at once,” Tallos yelled, hoping Greyson was still close enough to hear his defiance. Foolish though it was, he knew it would not be hard to find more like Erik's sons, eager to follow him to the Northlunsâat the very least for some attempt at revenge. He was unsure of how many would live to make the trip back home, however.

A branch snapping as if underfoot brought Tallos's mind back into focus. One of the boys of his group had adjusted his position and now cringed in horror as if he had cost them all their lives. Tallos felt his own face relax from the scowl it bore with a twinge of guilt. He knew most of his anger lay within himself, for he had allowed his thoughts to wander far too long.

The mist had begun to clear. Tallos usually loved the mist; it both smelled and tasted of the freshest mana and reminded him of his mother, who claimed the mist was mana itself. But now the tiny, floating bits of water only served to help conceal the likely Northman ambush.

“We should move,” said Jegson, one of the more aggressive young men of the group. He was a nephew of Erik's wife Megan, and he had a knack for speaking just before Tallos, and too loudly at that. “We've been staring at them for half a day.”

“Lower your voice,” Tallos whispered, not for the first time.

Tallos glanced upward again at the two figures that clung to the craggy bluff. It did not appear as though they'd moved since they were spotted earlier that morning. Tallos had had their group progress in slow creeps, stopping for hours at a time to listen for danger. He believed they'd avoided detection, but to trek around to the top in broad daylight would make them easy targets for any Northmen waiting above.

“We could be up there killing them by now.” Though no others voiced it, Tallos guessed Jegson was not alone in his impatience. “They're Northmen.
Savages.
That is no trap, and if they were going to attempt rescue they would have done so by now. Those rock-locked men were left to die.”

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