Chapter 10 - Erik - To Become A Man I

Ten winters and more did Bjorn ride the storm-winds of war.
His axe, forged from the soul-heart of a northern bear, drank deep.
In blood and thunder he taught himself the tongue of runes,
Not from scroll, but from scream.
He carved spellwork in flesh and fire, earning magic by mastery of death.
He slew Thornak the Leechking, whose breath rotted bone, with his axe through the throat.
He dragged Vorthuun, the Maw Below, from the trench of the world and fed it steel and flame.
He vanished through Ashkelon’s Teeth, stone maze of the southern mages, while ten ships followed - and none returned.
The Executioner’s Hex bent to his will, bound to his soul by fire-oath and fury.

The Saga of Bjorn, Verse 13

Duke Morsin swaggered into the great hall, the dead zombie dragon’s head hoisted over one shoulder. No magic was used to assist. No magic levitated the head, no magic made it lighter. No magic enhanced Bjorn Morsin’s strength. He strode down the middle of the great hall as if he wasn’t lugging hundreds of kilos of dead weight over one shoulder. His famous axe was at his belt, bleeding a cold blue light. 

His warriors and wixen followed behind. Members of his retinue, his retainers, his fighters. Almost all of them wore golden armbands, several of them had more than one. The strong arm of the Morsin family, slaying the monsters that infested the wilds and plundering the riches of magical nature. 

In Arcadia, nearly everything living had magic of one sort or another. It was Merlin’s gift, it was Merlin’s curse. The Dark families had chosen to live side by side with magic, dangers and riches both.

The members of the court half-bowed as they passed. Erik bowed slightly less than most people, given his status as Heir Morsin. Sora bowed way too much. Erik refrained from closing his eyes and sighing. 

It was like all of the etiquette lessons went in one of the orphan’s ears, and out the other.

He climbed a few steps to the dais where his ceremonial chair was. Not a throne - never a throne. Only The Once and Future King could sit on a throne, and it was neither Once nor Future.

Ignoring the tiny rat throne made out of skulls. Even Alandeu wasn’t going to risk tweaking the Duke’s nose, and the rat king scampered off with his tiny crown, vanishing into the walls with the other imps.

Bjorn let the dragon’s head unceremoniously fall to the ground, then turned around to face his court. They all straightened up and relaxed.

“Friends!” He bellowed out, louder than some charms. “The beast of the Sinking Mire is slain!”

A resounding set of cheers met the announcement. 

“For a successful hunt, I have some gifts!” He announced. “For casting the spell that froze its breath, for a display of magic worthy of a song itself, I am pleased to give the heart and blood of the beast to Tobias!”

There was whooping and cheering at the announcement, and Erik politely clapped along, slapping the back of the wizard in question as he approached the dias. Duke Morsin pulled out a small blank wooden rune tablet from his belt, and quickly scrawled out the prize on it. Tobias turned around to the crowd and presented it to another round of cheers. 

Erik was taking his own set of mental notes. His father didn’t do things randomly. He was sure Tobias had contributed greatly, exactly the way his father had described. Duke Morsin rewarded the people who visibly - and invisibly - did excellent work. No, the question was, why that gift. Was he implying Tobias should use it himself, and perhaps walk more of a physical path? Would it be the perfect gift for someone in Tobias’s life, strengthening an additional relationship? Why was this a good present?

It wasn’t like Bjorn was going to wait for Erik to figure it out. Agility of thought was not just prized, it was necessary for the deadly life of swords, magic, and politics that Erik was being groomed to. 

“For clever use of spell and sword, I gift Johan with his choice of thrall to take as his own!” Morsin announced, to another round of cheers.

That one was super easy for Erik. Practically everyone - except maybe Caleb - knew Johan was sweet on one of the girls, and she had eyes only for him. It was an easy way for the two of them to be able to pursue a relationship, and part of Erik wondered if his father had specifically looked for an event to reward Johan in such a way.

Being a leader meant knowing everyone. Knowing what their hopes and dreams were, knowing the relationship between everyone, then finding ways to nurture them. Take care of his people, and they’d take care of him.

Duke Morsin continued to divide up the loot. Teeth and claws, hide and scale, various choice bits went to worthy wixen who’d proven themselves. Erik was running a mental tally, and noticing how much of the dragon was left over, and no mention of the herbs, plants, and other valuables that the harvest team would’ve brought in.

There was no mention of the core, which Erik mentally nodded along to. Easily the most valuable part of any magical creature, the core was the fundamental of magic. It was how enchantments were powered, it was the centre of wands and other casting focus. Carved properly, they were wardstones, and they were critical ingredients in most powerful rituals. Wixen appetite for cores was insatiable.

The Brynwyll family in particular had the stormscale dragon as their bloodline core, and always paid a handsome price for any dragon core. By the same token, the Morsin family would pay nearly any sum for the core of a white hart - after asking some pointed questions of how it was obtained.

No deaths, few injuries, it was all tallying up to be a profitable trip. Several new wixen had proven their valor in their first battle, and were awarded golden arm bands. 

“Of course, for everyone else, tonight, we feast!” Bjorn Morsin announced to great cheers. Sora whooped loudly at the announcement. Caleb and Loren stared good-naturedly shoving each other at the prospect of a party. They weren’t the only ones greeting the news exuberantly, the cheers echoing off the high stone ceiling, and Erik’s mind briefly flashed to logistics. They’d need a lot of hangover cure potions tomorrow morning.

He continued to watch the duke, and caught a small jerk of the man’s head. He wanted to talk with Erik.

“Forever green!” Bjorn shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

“Forever free!” The crowd shouted. 

Court over, the crowd broke up, everyone going about their business. There was simply too much work to be done for long meetings to be worthwhile. A show of success, a show of generosity, a promise of fun in the evening, and it was back to the various duties the members of Dublin Castle had.

Erik caught Aoife’s eye, who subtly shook her head. She wasn’t invited then.

Erik, Alyssara, Ronan, Lars, and a number of the senior wixen, Bjorn’s trusted lieutenants, went to one of the medium waiting rooms. A man was kneeling on the floor, clashed in chains with two guards pointing their core-infused swords at his neck. Duke Bjorn took a seat at the head of the table, but everyone else remained standing.

“Erik.” He began without any preamble. “You are about to go to Camelot, and our time for instructing you is nearing its end. Ronan has told me good things about how you are taking to your studies, and you are ready for the next step. Today, you become a man.”

Erik stood up a little straighter.

“I would have you pass judgement on Jonas here.” He gestured to the chained wizard. “He is accused of desertion. What do you do?”

The weight of what was being asked nearly took Erik’s breath away. He used one of the many tricks he’d been taught, and started to pace to buy some time. He slowly circled Jonas, pretending to study the man as his mind whirled.

This was partially a test, and partially to see if he’d rise to the challenge. There were far more people here than was needed for an accusation of desertion, and the members were telling. Most of Bjorn’s retinue were here. Ah - they’d be the men and women reporting to Erik in a few short years, as Erik went from Heir to Duke. They’d need to trust him and his judgment, not think he was a snot-nosed brat. This was intended to help build his reputation, especially as he was going to be gone for most of the next eight years.

No pressure.

Desertion was a serious crime. The penalty and judgments - wait. 

He was jumping the wand. He was jumping the wand quite severely. 

Jonas had been accused of desertion, he wasn’t proven or known to be a deserter. That fell under the military code, and such…

“First, I assemble a tribunal.” Erik slowly said. He quickly caught his father’s eye. The man winked at him, and slowly shook his head. No shortcuts by having his father as a member of the tribunal then. A minimum of three was required, five or seven preferred. Given that this was supposed to be a show… but doing it right was better.

 “Lars. Ronan…” Erik named off six members in total. “Will you stand with me, to determine the truth of the matter?”

The six wixen nodded, and Bjorn gestured to half of the table. The seven sat down, Erik in the middle. Erik had read stories of other places taking months or even years to reach the trial stage. Not here.

There was silence as Erik thought of the next steps.

“Who accuses Jonas of desertion?” He asked. One of the witches stepped forward.

“I do, my lord.” She said. Bjorn arched an eyebrow, and Erik shook his head. The duke smiled - the method of address was correct.

“Tell me what you saw.” Erik said.

“As we engaged with the beast of the Sinking Mire, Jonas stayed in the back. At the first blast of flame, he fell down. Instead of casting, he scampered back then ran away from the battle.” Her tone was filled with disgust, and she looked like she wanted to spit on Jonas.

Erik only spent a few seconds internalizing the information. Jonas started to struggle against his chains.

“Jonas, what do you have to say in your defense?” Erik asked.

“My lord! Your grace! Please have mercy on me!” He pleaded. “I wasn’t running to flee the battle! I was trying to get into a better position! His grace and the rest of the wixen happened to be too good, and managed to slay the monster in seconds! There was no time to come back and prove my courage!”

The members of the tribunal quickly muttered to each other.

“Is there anyone else who witnessed the events?” Erik asked, and wasn’t too surprised when almost half the wixen stepped forwards.

Their accounts were all fairly similar. The dragon breathed fire. Jonas, at the back, ran away, while the rest of the wixen either started casting spells or charged with sharpened steel. The battle was over quickly, at which point Jonas was captured. 

“Jonas. Is there anyone who would speak in your defense? Any witnesses who can convince us of the truth of your actions?” Erik asked. He mentally grimaced as he copied off a transcript he’d read, but he hadn’t exactly been ready to run a tribunal.

Then again, maybe that was part of the lesson. The duke was very rarely prepared for whatever problem emerged that day. He was still learning.

“Everyone who’s been called up has already agreed with me!” Jonas licked his lips, glancing desperately from side to side.

Ronan put up a basic privacy spell to talk - including the duke on their side. Not the usual procedure, but Erik wasn’t about to gainsay the steward.

Erik put his head next to Ronan’s.

“I’m inclined to use a babbling potion or truth circle.” He said.

“Both are expensive, and there’s a number of people here. You won’t always have access to the best methods, and his grace selected this case specifically because he believes it’s easy.” Ronan quickly replied back. From either sharp ears or rituals to improve their body, the other wixen in the tribunal could probably hear their discussion. At the same time, it was clear Erik was looking for some guidance. A mark in favor for a few of the wixen, a mark against for others. “Consider Jonas’s own testimony.”

“He broke and ran in the face of danger, instead of standing side by side with his fellows as he swore to.” Erik said a little more loudly, including the rest of the members.

“Aye.” They agreed, with various degrees of dislike. 

Erik wanted to slap himself. Most of the members of the tribunal had been there. Had one of the people who’d sworn to watch their back turn and run in the face of danger. It wasn’t just a test or a way to boost Erik’s reputation, it was personal for them. They could’ve died because of it.

The penalty for desertion was clear. It came with a number of caveats and exceptions, a thousand years of history marking different degrees. Conscript versus volunteer, blooded warrior versus new, wixen that were the last member of their bloodline versus populated ones. The last parent, noblecore versus commoncore… very few people could escape the penalty, it was usually a question of how they were executed. In very rare circumstances, a noble could drink poison in private, but it was usually a blood and public affair.

“Commoncore, no bloodline, no children, correct?” Erik asked. He knew the answer, but assuming he knew all the answers was also wrong.

“Correct.” Lars said. The rest of the tribunal had some brief discussions, but they’d clearly been coached ahead of time. This was Erik’s trial. Erik’s chance to prove he was worthy to lead them.

“Is there a soulbind we need to worry about?” He asked.

“Jonas never soulbound.” Lars answered.

Erik’s mind tumbled through the laws and precedents, the rules and culture. Thought of the various ways his judgments could be interpreted. What type of leader he wanted to be, what type of leader he wanted to be seen as.

“In the matter of Jonas’s desertion, I would like to propose a verdict of guilty. All those in favor?” Erik asked.

Seven hands went up, and Bjorn grinned at the result.

“Guilty.” Erik pronounced. The next words were like lead. A heavy stone on his tongue. It was one thing to know the theory, a very different thing to be the one pronouncing it. He broke into a cold sweat.

Earlier in the day, he’d been swinging a morningstar, wishing the zombie construct was a real enemy for him to fight. Now that the time was suddenly here, suddenly on him, he found the weight of what he needed to do nearly unbearable.

How clean the case was, relatively speaking, and the knowledge that it was going to happen either way helped, but wasn’t the end all.

Bjorn’s words about today being the day Erik became a man echoed in his mind.

Of course. It wouldn’t be something easy. Erik barely managed to avoid stuttering and unseemly pauses as he declared his verdict. 

 “As for the sentence. Given his status, the stature is clear. Jonas is to be - be beheaded. Yet, there is no need for us to be cruel tyrants about it. I propose he is stunned before the sentence is carried out.”

Ronan leaned in, and quickly muttered to Erik.

“Do we use his life or death to fuel a ritual?” He asked.

Erik shook his head.

“Not for desertion, explicitly proscribed.” He answered back. A few of the nearby wixen nodded their heads in agreement.

“All those in favor?” Erik asked. Six hands were raised, with only one man disagreeing.

“Stunning him first is an undeserved mercy.” He griped.

“Possibly.” Erik agreed. “But do we want his screams echoing through the halls? Do we want to publicly butcher one of our own? His friends and family will see, and think worse of us. Better to be quick and clean, and let his name fade from memory, deed, and song.”

It was far easier to argue for a bit of leniency than for death. Erik wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Ah, let the pup have his mercy.” Bjorn spoke up. They were all still behind the privacy screen. “I’ve got something in mind myself.”

He nodded stiffly, not that it was needed. Bjorn gestured, and the privacy screen went down. Erik stood up and faced the duke, bowing as appropriate for the situation. Slightly deeper, as he was the head of the tribunal, not the heir. 

“Your grace. With the evidence provided, the tribunal has found Jonas guilty of desertion. We propose that he is stunned, then beheaded.”

Bjorn Morsin stood up.

“As the Duke of Ireland, I find the sentence acceptable. There is no weregild to be paid.” He swiftly drew his axe from his belt, flipped it in his hand, and held it out to Erik handle-first. 

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the axe.”