Firebrand

The travellers slept inside the longhouse, finding room in a corner, as did many others. Martel had surmised that most of those present were the household warriors of the jarl, and they simply lived in the mead hall, sleeping and eating there every day. And when the evening meal continued late into the early hours, as it had done last night, even those who lived with their families elsewhere might spend what remained of the night in the same place, in some cases falling asleep right at the table.

Martel woke early, despite the late hour when the singing and drinking had ended. He felt himself being worn from the lack of rest, but little to be done about it. Today, he and Eleanor would ask the captains in the city for passage south on a trading vessel and find out when they might depart for more familiar skies. They would probably have to wait some days, but they could explore the landscape around Svartheim until then.

As Martel got up, he looked around at what seemed like the aftermath of a battle. Warriors in various poses lay strewn across the hall, and while some of them might appear dead, the chorus of snoring proved otherwise. Plenty of leftover meat and other food lay on various plates, and Martel considered having it for breakfast, though it felt a heavy meal so early in the day. Being a guest, however, he did not wish to make demands or complaints, and he did appreciate the jarl’s hospitality toward a pair of strangers from a different realm.

Manoeuvring around sleeping bodies, Martel sat down at the table and used his knife to cut some bread and slices of sausage. Some butter would help it all go down more smoothly, but even if Martel had felt audacious enough to request this, he had no idea how to ask for such a thing in Tyrian, or whom he might ask it from.

He did realise soon after he was not the only person awake. The servants of the jarl – his slaves – walked in and out of the room, tidying up. From the look of it, they had been up even earlier than Martel. Seeing the visitor awake, one of them directed the question at him, which he could not understand, so he simply shrugged and made a dismissive gesture, as he did not want them to go to any trouble for his sake.

Moments later, one of them placed a cup of fresh milk in front of him with a smile, bowing and disappearing again.

A rustle of blankets told him Eleanor was awake, and she joined him on by the table. “Good morning. Where did you get milk?”

Martel placed the cup in front of her. “I’m not thirsty. Here, I’ll cut you some bread.”

They ate in silence, both of them marked by the late night they had endured. It did not last long before a shape appeared from the door behind the jarl’s chair, where Martel assumed that his family had their own chambers. It was not the man himself but his sister, who approached them with a grin. She did not seem marked by weariness at all as she sat down next to the Asterians. “Good morrow to you both. You went to sleep early for such a pair of heroes, but perhaps that’s the secret behind your prowess.”

She reminded Martel of Rolf with her banter, but it was too early in the morning for him to entertain such conversation, and he made no answer. “Good morning to you as well, Halfrid,” Eleanor replied politely, always the better mannered of the pair.

“I heard from Rolf last night that you intend to leave us soon, whenever you can find a ship to take you south.”

Eleanor nodded. “That is correct.”

“That seems a shame, that you have travelled nearly the full breadth of Tyrian lands and come so close to another great deed, only to turn back,” the berserker declared.

Martel noticed that she spoke Asterian much better than her brother, and he wondered if she had spent time in the Empire.

“What deed would that be?” Eleanor asked.

“In the mountains north of here, a terrible beast slumbers, though at times, it stirs and leaves its lair to hunt for prey. It comes into the lowlands, eating everything in its path until it is sated and retreats to the mountains once more,” Halfrid explained, and while she did not have the magic of a skáld in her words, she exhibited the same flair. “I have often urged my brother to gather a hunting party and put an end to this menace once and for all, but we are a small tribe. Only a few are born with magic in each generation, and those older than me died in battle long ago. Those younger are not ready for such a task, leaving only me and Rolf.”

Martel recalled that the skáld had spoken of this last night; yes, the memory returned of Halfrid making some speech on this topic and Rolf translating it for him. It was not difficult to guess her reason for raising this topic with him and Eleanor. “You want us to join you.”

Halfrid nodded eagerly. “The wyrm is a creature of the earth and of frost. I draw my own powers from the mountain beneath our feet also, and while that often serves me well, it makes such a battle harder for me. But you command fire,” she continued with a hungry look at Martel, “and you have a flaming blade,” she added, looking at Eleanor. “It would be trivial for you to defeat this beast, especially with me and Rolf joining you.”

“Our silver-tongued bard has agreed to join this expedition?” Eleanor asked.

“I asked him last night. He said he would join if you did.”

Martel looked at his companion. “We need to discuss this before we can make such a decision.”

The berserker inclined her head. “I have waited years. I can wait another day. Find me at the evening meal and let me know.”

The pair left the longhouse in search of Rolf and more information. They found the skáld down at the marketplace, looking at leatherwork. The Tyrian smiled seeing them. “Ah, my friends, how do you find Svartheim?” Check latest chapters at novelFirｅ.net

“Pleasant enough,” Martel remarked curtly. “That berserker, the jarl’s sister, she approached us. She wants us to fight that snake.”

“Yes, she spoke to me about it as well last night, after the two of you had turned in.”

“What is your assessment? Is this creature such a threat?” Eleanor asked.

The skáld looked around, slow to answer. “It is true, from time to time, the wyrm may issue forth and eat its fill. It has done so since before I was born, and we are still here. Those who live close to the mountain know the danger. It is the choice they have made.”

“You don’t think it’s necessary to kill it?” Martel wondered.

“If your brother is lost at sea because the storm took his ship, would you wage war upon the sky?”

Eleanor frowned. “But the berserker claimed you were ready to join her, assuming we are as well.”

Rolf gave a shrug. “If great deeds are to be performed, I must be present to witness them.”

The mageknight turned to her companion. “I am unsure of this. If the creature posed a clear danger to the city, it would be something else. But if it eats the livestock of those who choose to dwell near the mountain, perhaps it is not our fight.”

Martel might have agreed, but he considered something else that could be accomplished. “Rolf, how many slaves does the jarl have?”

“A strange question. About five working his hall, I would wager, and probably the same number looking to his fields and animals. Why?”

Martel looked at Eleanor. “I have an idea if you would agree to it.”

As they sat down at the table in the longhouse, they had scarcely touched wood before Halfrid joined them, sitting across. “You have made a decision?”

Martel nodded. “We’ll join you, on one condition.”

“Speak.”

“Every slave the jarl has – every thrall owned by your family,” Martel corrected himself, “must be freed.”

The berserker stared at him with a bemused expression. “What a strange request. None of them are Asterian if that’s your concern.”

“I have my reasons. That is our condition.”

“A hefty price.” Halford crossed her arms. “My brother has ten thralls, if not more forgotten by me in this moment.”

“In return, you get a mageknight, a battlemage, and a skáld for your fight. From where I’m sitting, that’s a bargain.”

The berserker laughed. “True. On my honour, one way or another, I will see your condition fulfilled upon our triumphant return.” She held out her hand, and Martel grasped it, feeling a powerful grip.

The agreement struck, Halford leapt to her feet and spoke loudly in Tyrian. Judging by the commotion her words caused, she had just announced their intention to kill the dreaded creature up in the mountains. Many cheered, though like last night when she had also spoken, her own brother seemed displeased.

“You realise this will not change matters in the long run,” Eleanor spoke quietly next to Martel. “There will be other wars, other captives, other slaves. You cannot change their way of life with a single act like this.”

Martel looked at the slaves in the hall, busy serving food and mead while being treated with contempt in return. “It will change matters for these people, right here and right now.” He turned his head to glance at her. “And you agreed to this, despite your misgivings.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. “Because I love you, and I would rather have you show too much kindness than too little.”

Two drinking horns were placed in front of them, courtesy of Rolf. “A fiveday from now, we are wyrm slayers, or we are dead.” He grinned. “If that’s not a reason to drink, I don’t know what is!”