The Merchant and the Menace (37 page)

‘I know of a solution to your problem,’ said
Hrafnu. ‘Come with me, to my home. It is two weeks march from here.’

Hrafnu described his valley. He talked of its clear
streams full of fish, the great herds of mountain rams he tended, the immense
lodge he built after the death of his mother, rooms full of wool, mountains of
stacked firewood.

‘I offer you life, and ask for nothing in return,’
stated the giant.

The group left the next morning. It was a hard
march on the children, but with Hrafnu’s help all arrived safely. They settled
in shortly before the onset of a particularly nasty winter. It arrived early
and stayed late. The group held strong in Hrafnu’s lodge, supported by his vast
storehouse of food and supplies.

Three years passed and the women remained. Life was
good in Hrafnu’s valley. Every summer the giant roamed the outskirts of Zodrian
territory and tried to help the orphans of war. Men, women and children
received his kindness. Often he returned to the valley with those in need. His
people accepted the needy and the population grew.

After the third summer, Hrafnu returned to his
lodge. New buildings stood throughout the valley. The herds grew and winter
corn was ready for harvesting. The residents greeted Hrafnu cheerily. He
entered the lodge and sat at the great table, weary from a long march. Uttren
entered and asked all others in the lodge to depart. She sat opposite Hrafnu
and stared at him.

‘Uttren, I was away too long this summer. I miss
the valley. How fare you?’ said Hrafnu.

‘Not an unpleasant looking man. A bit oversized,
but no one is perfect,’ stated Uttren to herself. ‘Yes, it is what it is.’

‘What did you say?’ questioned Hrafnu as he raised
a tankard of cold ale to his lips.

Uttren snapped out of her deep rumination. She
stared at Hrafnu but this time directed her comments to him.

‘We are to be wed after the harvest, Hrafnu son of
Awoi,’ stated Uttren.

‘WHAT?’ spluttered Hrafnu, spraying ale across the
room.

Uttren stood and put her hands to her hips.

‘I said “We are to be wed after the harvest”. Did
you not understand or does the concept not appeal to you?’ demanded the woman.

‘No .. I ... uh.’ mumbled Hrafnu.

‘Listen to me, Hrafnu,’ growled Uttren. ‘I have
overseen this valley for three summers now. When you are gone, I rule in your
stead. I order work details. I decide when to harvest the summer crop. I decide
when the sheep are to be shorn. I choose which ewes to slaughter. I settle all
disputes.

‘I am of marrying age and I want to bear a child.
If you neglected to notice, there are not many men to choose from in this
valley. You are kind, generous, and provide for all I shall ever want or need.
Besides, I love you and can think of no other man I would rather share my bed.
We will be wed or I will leave the valley.’

Hrafnu stood and bowed. A broad smile crept across
his face.

‘We will be wed, fair Uttren,’ said Hrafnu.

‘On the day we met, you asked me to order you and
you would do anything I asked,’ replied Uttren. ‘You remained faithful to that
pledge for three years. I will order you no longer, my husband.’

Uttren rose and for the first time bowed politely
to Hrafnu. She too allowed a broad smile to widen upon her face. She spun and
stepped lightly from the lodge into another beautiful day in Hrafnu’s valley.

Uttren bore Hrafnu many children. All of the
children mirrored their father’s size, strength and intellect. Years passed and
the population in the valley grew. Hrafnu traveled less and less, for the
demands of his own lands called for attention. Many of the people he ruled
harbored hatred for the Zodrian kingdom, but Hrafnu preached tolerance. Many
lost loved ones at the hands of Zodrian raiding parties, but Hrafnu emulated
his father and forgave. When Hrafnu reached one hundred and eighty three years
of age, Uttren died. The giant buried her in the valley next to his mother and
mourned her the rest of his life.

Hrafnu’s longevity and that of his offspring molded
the look of his people. Some of his sons outlived three wives and fathered many
children by all of them. The population in the valley grew. Some of his sons
took their families to neighboring valleys, but maintained close ties with
their father. All of Hrafnu’s people deferred to their father’s judgment on
important matters. The kingdom of Hrafnu spread along the foothills of the
Western mountains.

Zodra also grew. The city now stood as the capital
of a great and spreading nation. Surrounding cities were referred to as the
capitals of the provinces. The monarchy gave dukes and barons a share of power
in order to keep the nation unified.  Their early brutality faded as time took
them further and further from the influence of Amird. The citizens of Zodra
bridled at the life of fear they lived under. Uprisings in the provinces and at
home caused reform. Often, particularly harsh or unpopular rulers were thrown
out of the castle, and a respected duke was installed in his place. In this way
the royal family of Zodra changed many times over the years. Peace and civility
ruled the kingdom.

As Zodra grew, and Hrafnu’s people spread across
the land, it was inevitable that they should come in contact. Stories of giants
roaming the mountain lands spread throughout Zodra. For years the Zodrians
reported these sightings and myths sprang up concerning the race of giants.
Boastful woodcutters and miners embellished their peaceful encounters with
Hrafnu’s people and the fear of the giants grew. More and more of these
encounters turned violent. Hrafnu’s people quite often ran from their
attackers.

Hrafnu preached peace. He was the first of my
order, a teacher in the ways of Avra. He coaxed his people to show patience and
turn from their attackers. Many of Hrafnu’s people died from encounters with
the Zodrians. Often they were unarmed and unskilled in the ways of warriors.
They were simply cut down and paraded through Zodrian villages as trophies by
their attackers. Again, in order to build their image, these attackers
embellished the fierceness of these giant, peaceful shepherds.

Hrafnu prayed and agonized over the fate of his
people. He was a follower of his father Awoi and his Creator, but he was also
the leader of a people. The population grew and a clash with the Zodrians was
inevitable. Some of his sons called for war to protect themselves. They armed
themselves with crude weapons.

Hrafnu decided to avoid disaster. He convinced his
burgeoning population to head further into the hills and mountains. The valleys
held too much danger. His people were already great trekkers and the strains of
hiking through the mountains held no consequence for them. When encountered by
Zodrians, the Keltaran merely climbed the nearest slopes and disappeared from
view. The Zodrian cavalry were unable to follow and would not give chase on
foot even if they could. The Keltaran found safety in their mountains and
learned to love them.

Hrafnu’s eldest son, Netur, was as peaceful a man
as Hrafnu himself. Hrafnu saw the beauty of his wife in the eyes of his eldest
son. Netur however, also displayed his mother’s single-mindedness. He was a
stubborn, independent man. Netur was one of the first to leave Hrafnu’s valley
decades before when the population grew too large to be supported by the
limited resources. Hrafnu blessed the move and wished his son well. The men
kept in contact and Netur respected his father’s wishes on all things. They
fiercely loved and respected one another.

When Hrafnu sent word to the outlying population of
his intention to move further into the mountains. The son considered the advice
of his father and although he found it to be sound, he could not follow it. He
lived in the foothills surrounding his own valley for half a century and could
not bear to leave them. His clan was tied to the land and loved it.

Hrafnu moved high into the mountains. One of his
scouts discovered a narrow gorge that opened into a wide valley. Jagged peaks
surrounded the valley and a stream, born from the snows of the mountain peaks,
wound through its lush green grass. Hrafnu surveyed the land and acknowledged
its merits. It was large enough to support his herds and growing population.
Water was plentiful. But most importantly, it was secluded and remote from the
eyes of Zodra.

The powerful hands of his people cut huge slabs of
stone from these mountains and fashioned a stronghold to protect themselves.
Thus was Keltar born. The Mountain City. A place of refuge and peace.

Hrafnu kept close contact with his son and
periodically asked Netur to change his mind. Netur never did.

One summer a runner was dispatched to invite Netur
and his people to join in the three hundredth birthday celebration of Hrafnu.
The runner returned with grave news. Hrafnu’s beloved son and grandchildren
were slaughtered. Their homes were burnt to the ground and their livestock
stolen. The Zodrians committed their worst once more.

Hrafnu threw himself into a fit of sorrow. The
Zodrians took his first-born child, his closest connection to his beloved
Uttren. He was inconsolable. After a night, his sorrow turned to rage. He leapt
from his chair in the great meeting hall and called for his cloak. The giant
stormed from the hall and stopped before a great woodpile used to fuel the
lodge’s huge fires. His people gathered about their raging ruler as he wrenched
an ax from a massive stump.

‘Once, long ago, an ax was wielded in anger to
protect a loved one. It smote the shoulder of the evil Amird and helped send
him from this world. So shall this lowly tool of civilization be used once
more,’ cried Hrafnu. ‘Evil has no place in this world. The righteous are
charged to banish it!’

He strode from his fortress of seclusion to cheers
from some of his people and gasps from others. This was not the kind, gentle
purveyor of peace, the wise ruler of compromise. This was a powerful demon
consumed in a fit of rage. Several of his sons ran to their homes and pulled
weapons from hiding places. They fell in line behind their silent father and
marched for two days to the valley of Netur. There they found the scene of
carnage. Netur and his people lay rotting in the sun, the buzzards feasting on
their bodies.

‘These Zodrians don’t even afford us the decency of
burial!’ cried the giant. ‘How many of theirs have I interred in my Creator’s
earth? How many have I prayed over as I roamed their borders? But my children
are less than animals to them!’

The giant stormed into the midst of the valley
hacking at the carrion eaters gorging themselves. His sons built pyres and
Hrafnu prepared the dead. The pyres were set afire and burned for hours as they
consumed the children of Hrafnu the Peacemaker.

The colonel of the Zodrian cavalry had set up camp
a day’s ride from Netur’s mountain valley. His soldiers swilled ale and stuffed
themselves on Netur’s slaughtered livestock. They laughed and told stories to
one another of their great conquest. As always, the unarmed thirteen year old,
cut down from behind as he fled the cavalry, turned into a seasoned Keltaran
warrior, armed to the teeth. The ale helped contribute to the tall tales, and
shortly even the tellers believed them.

When the colonel spied the smoke from the funeral
pyres rising in the distance, he turned to his men.

‘It seems we didn’t finish the jo,.‘ called the
colonel slurping wine from one of Netur’s silver goblets. ‘We must rid our
great nation of this infestation. These creatures must be hunted down and
destroyed!’

The Zodrians filled with bloodlust and rallied to
their leader. They mounted their horses and stormed back toward Netur’s valley.

Hrafnu and his sons scoured the valley searching
for survivors through the rest of the day and on through the night. When none
were found, he returned to the remnants of the village. The funeral pyres still
smoldered and filled the valley with a ghostly gray haze as the sun crept over
the horizon. Hrafnu called his sons about him and turned toward the morning
sun. He and his sons knelt in the center of the smoking village with heads
bowed and asked Avra for guidance. Instantly, the Zodrians rushed into the
valley howling. They pushed their mounts hard toward the handful of Keltaran
kneeling in the grasses. Hrafnu turned his head to face his sons.

‘Stand true and do not run. Revenge has been handed
to us this day and we will take it. Rally to me and we will give no ground and
no quarter to this enemy!’

The Zodrian horses charged down the long valley.
The armor on both horse and rider glistened in the dancing light of the new
sun.

‘Death to these beasts!’ cried the Zodrian colonel.

The cavalrymen cheered and howled in approval as
they rapidly closed the gap on the handful of Keltaran. Hrafnu rose. The
cheering stopped as the cavalry beheld a man unlike any they had ever seen.
Hrafnu stood a foot taller than even the largest of his children. A wild mane
of red and gray hair cascaded from his head and beard and spilled down over his
shoulders and chest. Huge corded muscles, worked hard everyday for three
centuries rippled under the ram skin he wore. The smoke from his children's
funeral pyres rolled over him as he slowly lifted a giant ax with one hand and
laid it calmly in the other.