The Long War 01 - The Black Guard (21 page)

‘That makes what has happened all the more disturbing.’ This caused the lords to look intently at the thain. ‘Magnus offered the blessing of Rowanoco to Duke Hector and he called him brother.’ Algenon returned to his chair and almost growled the next sentence. ‘The Knights of the One God then descended on the city and massacred the men of Canarn.’

The reaction was instantaneous. The assembled lords stood and began to shout curses and challenges at the god of the south-men. The Freelands of Ranen had once been under the control of the One God and his clerics. All the assembled lords knew the stories – how the Purple had torn down the shrines to Rowanoco, how the Black had desecrated their funeral mounds, and how the Red had enslaved any able-bodied Ranen man. It had been two hundred years since the Free Companies had formed and bought back their lands with blood and death, but the men of Ranen still felt as much hate for the clerics and knights now as they had done then.

Aleph held out his hands. ‘Brothers, I call for silence,’ he bellowed. ‘Do not let anger displace wisdom. These halls do not curse without reason and we should follow their example. Lord Teardrop has more to tell us, I am sure. We should take our seats and listen; maybe we will hear why this tragedy has taken place.’ He spoke with wisdom, but Algenon knew that he was a potential rival in the assembly.

He picked up one of his axes and looked intently at the floor. ‘My brother stands in a cell. This makes me angry. This makes Rowanoco angry. Magnus is of the Order of the Hammer and is worthy of more than a stone room and a locked door.’

The lords again showed their displeasure. A cage was the most insulting thing to a Ranen and a priest in a cage was the gravest insult imaginable. Death was a thing to be celebrated and sung about, whereas to be defeated and imprisoned was to be without honour in the sight of Rowanoco. The men of Ro knew little of true honour and had unknowingly committed one of the most heinous crimes.

‘My lords, there is more…’ Algenon had thought a great deal about how to approach the issue of the Seven Sisters and he was still unsure as to the best way to explain it. Al-Hasim, his spy and his brother’s dear friend, had told him little in his last message save that the witch had enchanted at least one of the senior knights. ‘The Red knights have amongst them a Karesian witch, one of the Sisters of Jaa, and her hand touches the weak minds of the men of Ro. Her designs are at work here,’ he said, just loud enough to be heard.

One of the lords to his left stood and banged his axe on the stone, asking to be heard. Wulfrick acknowledged him and all turned to hear his words.

The man was Lord Rulag Ursa, chieftain of Jarvik. He was not a thain, but was known and feared for his prowess in battle. Rulag commanded a fleet of dragon ships and fifteen thousand warriors. He scanned the room, looking at the faces of his fellow lords.

‘I am as aggrieved at the treatment of the priest as any man here,’ he began, ‘but I much question Lord Teardrop’s motivation. If his intention is to go to war over an insult paid to him by a witch—’ a few lords considered his words and several nodded in agreement—‘maybe he should go there himself and call this woman out. Does the assembly need to meet in order to pander to our thain’s ego?’ His voice rose in volume as he finished speaking.

Shouting erupted from the men as several came to Algenon’s defence, and those seated around Rulag stood and shouted challenges across the hall.

Axes were brandished and insults exchanged as Algenon sat quietly and waited. He had feared this reaction and knew that not all the lords of Ranen cared for talk of sorcery. Many were simple warriors, believing only in what they could see, hear and kill. The Order of the Hammer possessed certain divine gifts, but the rage and the voice of Rowanoco were things the Ranen had grown up with and most did not consider them sorcery.

Wulfrick let the challenges go, because axes were being brandished and Rowanoco had decreed that casting one’s axe to settle an argument was an honourable way of deciding matters. None had been thrown yet, but Algenon could see that the hall had become split down the middle, with half wanting Rulag to retract his insult and the other half coming to his defence.

Wulfrick spared a glance over his shoulder to look at Algenon. Both men knew that the only way to silence the lords would be for an axe to be cast or for Algenon to speak. No axes were thrown and the thain waited for several moments, assessing the strength of the opposition.

Breathing in deeply, he rose from his chair and picked up both of his throwing-axes. Wulfrick, with a slight smile at his thain, banged his axe on the white stone floor and all the lords were silent. Most remained standing and Rulag thrust out his chin towards Algenon, displaying his reluctance to retract the insult.

‘My lords,’ Algenon said loudly, ‘the point is a fair one, though the manner of its delivery could have been better considered.’ This caused a low rumble of laughter from certain quarters. ‘Whether my Lord Ursa wants to accept the fact or not is irrelevant, the witches of Jaa have taken a hand in this… they have broken a law laid down by Rowanoco himself.’ Algenon deliberately invoked the name of the Ice Giant, knowing that the lords who supported him would now do so even more, and those who supported Rulag would be having doubts.

Wulfrick banged the haft of his axe on the floor three times before he spoke. ‘The word of Rowanoco has been spoken. The law will be stated.’

Thorfan, the lore-master, who had virtually fallen asleep in his chair, jolted himself upright and reached for a heavy leather-bound book on a stand to his left.

He cleared his throat and placed the book in his lap. Opening it, he proclaimed, ‘The word of Rowanoco, as passed down to us by Kalall of the Legion, the first lore-master of Fredericksand, will be heard.’ He leafed through the pages, taking his time as he looked for the relevant passage. His eyes were narrow and he squinted to read the archaic script of the book. Making low muttering sounds to himself, he cleared his throat again before continuing, ‘The Ice Giant decreed that the men of Ranen, the free men of the north, those of the Low Kast, the clans of the Plateau of Ursa, the men of the Deep Cross, the priests and lords of Hammerfall…’ he breathed in sharply and let a cough escape his lips before continuing, ‘shall never allow a man, a woman or an instrument of another god to imprison one of their own or, through design or action, make war or force subjugation on their brothers.’

This passage was well known to most of the men present. It had been paraphrased a hundred times over the years and used as a rallying cry for all manner of inadvisable endeavours and at least one truly just cause. This decree of Rowanoco had been the spur for the formation of the Free Companies and had ultimately led to the Ro being thrown back across the sea to Tor Funweir.

The laws of the Ice Giant were chaotic and open to interpretation, serving noble thain and violent warlord alike. Algenon knew that it was a risky ploy to use the decree of Rowanoco in this way, but he also knew that the alternative was to kill Rulag.

Aleph Summer Wolf stood and broke the silence by striking his axe against stone. Rulag Ursa also still stood, as did half a dozen other warlords from around Jarvik. Algenon saw Rulag’s son, Kalag, clenching his fist angrily around his throwing-axe, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to throw it. The lords of Jarvik were feared enough to make several of the neighbouring realms ally themselves with him for fear of later retribution, and Algenon counted fifteen lords who were supporting Rulag. Aleph looked over at the other standing men and then flashed Algenon a knowing look; he, too, had assessed the strength of the high thain’s opposition.

‘We know this law, brothers,’ Aleph began, ‘and we know how it has been used and misused in the past.’ He shot another glance at Algenon, as if to say sorry for what he was about to do. ‘Lord Algenon seems to think we are all as simple as Lord Ganek of Tiergarten, an old lordling of mine who used this decree to kill a neighbouring lord for imprisoning his winter pigs,’ he said with a smile, as at least half the assembled Ranen began to laugh. ‘Apparently, as the pigs provided food for his wife and two fair daughters, he considered them part of the family and therefore brothers.’ The laughter rose and Algenon thought that even Rulag looked amused at the story.

‘My lord thain,’ Aleph addressed Algenon directly, ‘I have great affection for your brother. I would doubt that there is a man here that does not feel personally insulted by his treatment at the hands of the One.’ He addressed the other lords, ‘But if the thain wishes to launch the dragon fleet against the city of Ro Canarn and the knights of the One—’ all were silent as he spoke—‘then I must voice my considered objection. A single priest of the Hammer does not warrant the deaths of hundreds of men.’ He sat down, as shouting erupted from the other Ranen.

Algenon sat back down as two hundred Ranen lords shouted at each other. Following the words of Aleph, the opposition to Algenon had become stronger than his support, and Rulag Ursa felt he had right and wisdom on his side.

Wulfrick was silent, but the glance he directed at his thain showed his concern that Algenon could not out-think Aleph.

The thain of Fredericksand considered his next move carefully. He saw little option and stood up with purpose, picking up his axes and keeping his eyes on the floor.

Wulfrick banged his axe loudly on the floor twice and, when silence only slowly returned to the hall, shouted in a booming voice, ‘The high thain wishes to speak.’

Algenon was glad of the axe-master’s support, even if it was more ceremonial than tangibly useful. He held both his throwing-axes loosely in his hands as he stepped forwards and came to stand before the raised seats. ‘Lord Aleph once again shows his cunning, his wit and his considerable wisdom. I salute you, my lord, but I mean to launch the dragon fleet and rescue my brother.’

The assembled lords were now deathly silent, knowing that Algenon was not a man to trifle with when he had made up his mind. They began to take their seats as the thain raised his eyes and looked over the faces of the men who had spoken against him. Rulag met his gaze for a second before turning away and sitting down, resting his axe on the floor. Kalag Ursa appeared surprised that his father had yielded, but followed his lead and sat down.

Aleph, who had already taken his seat, looked suspiciously at Algenon, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at his own throwing-axe on the stone before him.

Algenon looked at the old lord and felt a moment’s regret before he took a step forwards and launched one of his axes at Aleph. The axe spun through the air as Aleph widened his eyes and followed its trajectory into his chest. It was a good throw and Aleph was allowed only a moment to gasp for breath before he slumped forwards, dead.

His robes were dark brown, covered in bearskin, and the blood that flowed freely over his body left little evident stain before it spilled on to the white stone. The lords around him moved along in their seats, but they did so only to avoid his blood and everyone else bowed their heads in silent respect.

Algenon held his other axe tightly in his fist and swung it slowly back and forth, allowing anyone who wanted to cast his axe in return to do so. None did, and, after a minute, Wulfrick struck the floor again.

Thorfan, the lore-master, said with practised formality, ‘An axe has been cast in favour of the motion and none have been cast against. The motion is as Lord Teardrop says.’

Algenon did not let any doubt show on his face, but he felt foolish for having resorted to killing Aleph. In the eight years he’d been thain of Fredericksand this was only the third time he had cast an axe, and he thought the lords now feared him more than they had done before. He’d been careful to cultivate an image of inscrutability and ruthlessness, but had rarely had to resort to his weapons.

What the others didn’t understand, and what he could never make them understand, was that Algenon spoke for Rowanoco, and the Ice Giant had asked him to sail for Ro Canarn and stand against the Karesian enchantress.

He was not of the Order of the Hammer, but he had, since he had come to the office of high thain, a more direct way of communicating with his god.

Silently, he resumed his seat. ‘I expect all warlords, battle-brothers and fleet captains to attend me in my hall before morning.’ He turned to the man seated to the right of Aleph. ‘Lord Borrin Iron Beard,’ he said to the axe-master of Tiergarten, ‘you will speak for your land in your master’s place.’

Borrin was younger than Aleph, barely in his thirtieth year, but his eyes were those of a seasoned warrior, and he glared at Algenon. ‘Your word is my law,’ he said quietly, ‘and the axe of Tiergarten is yours, my lord.’

No more words were spoken. Algenon stood and turned back to the huge wooden doors of the assembly. The sound of Wulfrick signalling the end of the session with his axe echoed around the hall as Algenon strode from the Ranen assembly.

Outside the harsh wind once again struck his face, and he allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection while looking out to sea, before making his way back to Fredericksand and the duties that lay before him.

* * *

The hall of Teardrop was a long wooden building with high-vaulted ceilings coming to a point, and a dozen chimneys to let the smoke from the fire-pits escape. Ancient weapons – axes, spears, falchions and hammers – hung from the walls, and the skulls of trolls, Gorlan spiders and lesser-known beasts adorned the hall. None of the weapons or kills belonged to Algenon, but he kept them there as a testament to the old lords of Fjorlan, men who, it was said, had fought from one side of the Low Kast to the other to clear a land for the men of Rowanoco.

Tapestries hung from the high ceiling depicting Giants in battle and the Krakens of the Fjorlan Sea devouring ships. The hall was used for meetings, feasts and ritual combat, and it was where Algenon Teardrop held court. His home was in a small adjoining building and, as he sat on his father’s chair at the far end of the hall, he wished that he had leisure to go and spend a few uncomplicated hours with his children. Unfortunately, he had cast his axe and the way forward was now written in the rock of Fjorlan.