Book 7: Chapter 28: Raven lands
Martel had seen mountains before, travelling through Aster. But he had never seen anything like the Pillars of the World. Even from afar, they dominated the horizon. Perhaps the long journey had not been a waste after all, especially if they could sail on a swift vessel for the return trip.
“I hope we’re not supposed to cross those,” Martel mumbled as they began the day’s journey.
Rolf laughed. “No. You may find wisdom upon the mountaintop, but the fish live in the sea, and the grain grows in the valley.”
“That’s a long-winded way of saying it’s easier to find food in the lowlands,” the battlemage pointed out.
“What are words if not an ornament?” the skáld retorted.
Martel cast a look at Eleanor. “I get what you mean now. It’s exasperating arguing with someone who talks like they’re reading from a book.”
“Does that mean you intend to cease the practice?” she asked of him.
Martel considered it for a moment. “No.”
They travelled for a fiveday, and it did not feel as if they had come any closer to the mountains. Their course veered northwest rather than straight north as before, however, and at times, when traversing a particularly tall hill, Martel could observe the sea to his left. The sight reminded him of his two journeys aboard a ship, both of which had been accompanied by bouts of nausea, and the thought made him less enthused about returning home to Aster in this manner, no matter how much time they saved. As for Svartheim, the city remained hidden, including any signs that it lay nearby. Even if less in size than Asterian cities, Martel would have expected to see the signs of a major settlement long before they actually reached it. If nothing else, something resembling roads to connect it with the various villages and the larger network of trade that any city would be part of.
Yet still, they travelled across grassland with not even a path trod by animals to follow. As Rolf explained, every village nearby lay on the coast, and if they had reason to travel to Svartheim, they would do so by boat. This was not an option for the two Asterians and their companion, as they would have to leave their horses behind, and nobody in the fishing villages they passed by would have the coin or need for such animals. And while Martel was not concerned about any loss of money by leaving the horses behind, he was only happy to postpone the inevitable day when he and Eleanor would travel by sea again.
The coastline had become ragged, turning into cliffs. No settlements lay on this particular stretch of land, as they would have no easy access to the sea, and even the grazing was poor. It made Martel wonder more about Svartheim, which Rolf had told them possessed a harbour, yet he could not understand where there would be room for a settlement of such a size. Whenever he inquired with the skáld, the Tyrian simply grinned and told Martel to ask him again tomorrow.
But a month after they had crossed the Frosten River, the travellers arrived at the capital of the Raven tribe. With the sea close by, they had journeyed along the cliffs for half a day with nothing to indicate a change, when suddenly they reached their destination, and Martel understood why Rolf had convinced them to come.
Fog from the west had rolled in, but it lay low as a blanket over the water, which cut deeply into the rocks like a knife. It felt like standing on a mountain and looking down to watch the sea carve into solid stone. Martel could only imagine sailing on a ship between those cliffsides rising up on either hand, white and green in colour with spring in early arrival. And where the fjord tapered to its end, a city lay. Ramparts surrounded it like a semicircle, only open where the harbour extended into the water. Modest in size – Rolf was probably right that less than two thousand people dwelt in Svartheim – but lovely as it lay bathed in the afternoon sun, which tried its best to pierce the thin mist appearing from the fjord.
“Welcome to Svartheim,” Rolf grinned.
People stared as they rode into the settlement, probably because it was unusual to see travellers arrive over land, especially on horseback. Martel noticed that he saw no other examples of the animal; the few carts on the streets were pulled by oxen.
Unlike the locals of the villages they had passed through, Martel also took note that the townspeople here had more variety in appearance and wealth. Some wore garments of better fabric and cut than most, along with pieces of jewellery. On occasion, Martel noticed someone carrying weapons like swords or big axes, meant for war rather than peaceful purposes. But he also saw people in ragged tunics or trousers, looking dirty and worn from a hard life and underfed after a long winter.
Rolf steered them to the middle of the settlement, where the biggest structure rose. A house, elongated in shape. The skáld dismounted, as did the Asterians, and they waited a brief while until a servant in dirty clothes appeared, bowing and scraping. The skáld issued a few commands in Tyrian and handed over the reins of his steed.
“The thrall will see to your horses and belongings,” Rolf told his companions. “Meanwhile, we will introduce ourselves to the jarl.”
Martel frowned, and he looked at the ragged man who waited to take his horse while keeping his head bowed. Only now did Martel notice the ring of steel around his neck. “He’s a slave?” the battlemage mumbled, looking at Eleanor.
“Ah, don’t worry. The thralls know the penalty for theft. Your possessions are quite safe,” Rolf assured them before he entered the longhouse. Feeling uncomfortable, but not sure what else to do, Martel handed over the reins of his mount to the thrall and followed after, as did Eleanor.