Chapter 26 - Before the Storm

“The echo of an enemy's deeds rings louder than his words.”

- King Ivar the Old, after executing his son

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Aina paced back and forth in the receiving room outside the Jarl’s great hall. Her body ached from overuse of her Forging. She’d stayed invisible too long, had moved too swiftly while trying to hold the divine magic around her. Aina had never pushed herself that hard before, and the pins and needles feeling all over her skin and ache in her head were a steady reminder that she needed some time to recover. Yet she’d slipped the net of the Sheriff’s watchers, and been able to summon help for Lord Taliesin unseen.

“You’ll wear a hole in the floor,” said Viggo calmly. The middle aged man was going through a pile of small vellum scrolls, the cheaper sort made from the hides of small animals or scraps of larger ones. A slate was on a small table beside him, marked with reminders in chalk. “They’ll be back soon enough.”

“I should have gone with them,” she signed. 

“You played your part. Did you want to burn out your Forging, just so you could play at soldiering?”

“I could have helped,” Aina argued.

“You did help. You fetched soldiers to counter the militiamen that the Sheriff has swayed to his side. You gave our men the information they needed to set the counter ambush. Don’t burn out your Forging just so you can try and prove something to yourself. It could take you weeks for it to be restored, if not months.” Viggo flipped to another vellum, then dipped a quill stylus into ink and scratched a note on it.

Aina’s shoulders slumped. She regretted telling Viggo that she’d pushed her Forging ability to its limits now. If only she had a crystal, she could have boosted her Forging and… done what? She was still at a loss. She was too small to fight in a line of battle, couldn’t use a shield, and would be underfoot as the warriors clashed. Sneak around and stab the enemy in the back? She wasn’t opposed to the idea…

Her feelings on the Stormlord were mixed. She clearly felt loyal to the man to some degree, for she was worried about Lord Taliesin’s safe return. He felt almost like a mentor, which was odd for her. She was nearing her eighteenth summer, after all. He looked to be a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, but he seemed to be an old soul - far older in presence than he appeared. Yet despite this natural gravitas, and the genuine nigh-paternal discussions they’d shared, Aina still felt torn. She had a burning need to avenge herself against the man who nearly killed her, and a profound distrust born of years of neglect from the community that should have been there to support her. Aina was pretty sure that her vengeance and her place in the Stormlord’s household were incompatible.

The doors slammed open without warning, and Runolf stormed in, his right arm supporting an injured Bjorn. The Stormlord followed, with several injured varingjar behind him. Viggo leapt to his feet and opened the door into the Jarl’s hall, and the small collection of injured warriors went straight in with Aina trailing behind.

“Fetch the Jarl!” called Runolf. “We have injured!”

“Excuse me?” asked Brant, who was seated at a table off to the side with several scribes around him.

“Ah… pardon me, Mister Brant,” said an abashed Runolf.

Viggo interceded. “If you could kindly ask the Jarl if he is available to join us? We would be most appreciative should he be willing to aid our injured men. They were attacked as part of the renegade Sheriff’s assault on House Hofstad, after all.”

Mollified by Viggo’s platitudes, Brant gave a gracious nod before waving one of the thralls away to fetch the Jarl. A scant few minutes later, Jarl Gunther swept into the room, with Lady Solveig and the Warpriest of Freya, Arbiter Katla, came in behind them. The Jarl, for his part, was swift to help Runolf with Bjorn, who had taken the worst injuries in the fight. Lady Solveig stepped in to help succor the other injuries, helping them get settled on benches or tables around the room. The lady directed servants and spoke kind words to the warriors, a sweet measure of graciousness amidst the cries of pain and blood. The Stormlord, for his part, worked as an assistant to the Jarl, casting his own weaker healing spells to help after the Jarl did the more delicate and more critical work with his Forging abilities. 

Arbiter Katla stormed over to Aina. “You!”

“What about me?” signed Aina, shocked to get the attention of the warpriest.

“Ah, damnation. My Hunter Speak is atrocious. You’re not deaf, right?” The woman scratched her head at the base of one of her horns, which jutted out in a slight curve from just above her temples. Aina stared for a minute at them, as Katla was the first truly Deep emberling she’d ever seen. Few mastered their first Forging enough to gain such significant physical features, and Fire Forging had one of the most dramatic of changes.

“No, I’m not deaf,” said Aina with a shake of the head.

“Good! You sent warriors to battle without me!” Katla seemed genuinely appalled. “Me! I’m a Warpriest of Freya!”

“Ah, Arbiter Katla, if I may?” said Viggo as he came up to the pair of women. “Aina was working under the direct instructions of Lord Taliesin. Should you have any issues with those orders, I’m sure the Stormlord is willing to discuss it. Blaming his vassals, however, is unseemly.”

Aina breathed a sigh of relief when Viggo stepped in. She could see why the Stormlord kept the man as his steward. Between stopping her from doing something rash, preventing an incident when Runolf accidentally forgot his place, and now interceding with the Arbiter, he’d prevented several problems before they even started.

Katla, for her part, whirled on the well-dressed steward. “Very well, then you inform your master that I am a foot soldier of the goddess Freya. I stand with the valkyries of Folkvangr against all who would destroy civilization - from within or without. Sheriff Hallfred seeks to destabilize this town for his own gain on the eve of invasion so has earned my enmity. My sword will be coated in the blood of my enemies, and your master would do well to heed my demand.”

“Of course, I will pass the message on to Lord Taliesin,” said Viggo in a calm voice. “I’m sure he would not dishonor you or any warpriest intentionally, and would welcome your sword to fight at his side.”

Katla nodded, perhaps a bit surprised that Viggo had acquiesced so easily. She gave a firm nod before walking away. “See that he does.” 

That evening, Jarl Gunther had an impromptu feast where the varingjar of the Stormlord were feted for their bravery. Despite the attempt at a festive event, the mood was dour. Taliesin’s varingjar were angry at the stab in the back from the Sheriff and the militia, while the Jarl’s household was dismayed at the depth of disloyalty in the ranks of their men. The feast dragged on into the evening, but ended far earlier than a proper celebration would have. It was just as well. Aina was exhausted.

But Lord Taliesin didn’t retire, nor did Jarl Gunther. Aina realized that Brant and Katla sat near the Jarl, and Runolf and Viggo were seated by the Stormlord. For a few seconds, she considered retiring and leaving them to discuss their business, but her curiosity got the better of her. Aina scrubbed her face with her hands to try and ward off her drowsiness, and moved to a seat next to Runolf.

“So Hallfred has moved to open hostilities,” said the Jarl without preamble. The hall was mostly empty, except for a dozen or so sleeping House Guardsmen scattered on benches or wrapped up in furs on the floor. The main hearth by the head table was still roaring but the thralls had allowed the other hearths to die down, banked for the evening. None of the guards were within easy earshot, but the Jarl spoke quietly nonetheless.

“Is this enough to strip him of his title?” asked Taliesin.

“Were this normal times, I’d have run him out of town, whipped bloody and naked. But his involvement with King Ivar and court politics complicates things,” said Gunther.

Aina’s simmering anger at the Sheriff for his ambush flared. Why should politics interfere with retribution? Being whipped bloody and cast out was a kindness, not a proper punishment.

“I still say you’re being too cautious, milord,” said Brant reprovingly. “The King and the court nobles understand strength. Executing a traitor is not unexpected. While Ivar won’t be happy to lose a puppet, the other Jarls will not stand for the King trying to step in. Any assault on our noble rights is an affront to theirs.”

“We can afford to wait until spring,” argued the Jarl. “I can reaffirm my grandfather’s alliances with our neighboring houses, and send correspondence to the right ears in court. But with this blasted snow, it’s nigh impossible to get messengers out.”

“If I may, Jarl Gunther, I have an idea,” said Lord Taliesin with a smile and a sip of mead. “What about a punitive response? The Sheriff has a warehouse where he’s been collecting weapons, ostensibly to help arm the militia. Send your House Guards to seize it and strip it bare.”

Aina was startled to realize that the warehouse was the one she’d learned about at the blacksmiths when she’d been out gathering harmless gossip for Runolf. She’d heard the talk between the Sheriff’s agents and the smith, and reported it without a second thought towards its significance. A rush of satisfaction warmed her at the idea of having helped once again. They had trusted her word, and were acting on that trust. 

Perhaps she could have a place here? Aina shut that line of thought down. She shouldn’t get her hopes up. People disappointed her far too often in her life. This moment wouldn’t last, especially after she got her revenge.

“Now that’s an idea,” said the Jarl as he mulled over the suggestion. “Yes, let’s do that. In fact, let’s strike at dawn, before Hallfred has a chance to make another move.”

“I’ll lead the guards myself,” said Arbiter Katla confidently. “Any resistance will be dealt with harshly.”

Jarl Gunther looked ready to object, but held his tongue. He’s too soft, Aina thought to herself. At least the Arbiter’s involvement would make sure the Sheriff’s lackeys didn’t escape punishment. They tried to kill the Stormlord. That demands a payment in blood.

“How go your recruitment efforts?” asked the Jarl. “I’ve noticed your varingjar are training more men.”

“I’ve given leave to my men to recruit their own throngs, no more than sixty each. Of course, it takes time to build up to that number. I expect we’ll be gone before they come close to filling the ranks. Most are coming from my villagers, although we’ve seen some interest from the other refugees in town.”

“So you’re building a proper warband? Who is to be your warmaster?”

“I am,” rumbled Runolf.

“You think the coming wars will be that bad?” asked the Jarl’s steward, Brant.

“It is the Twilight of the Gods,” replied the Stormlord with a shrug. “This invasion of gnolls is only the beginning. Boreas is hardly the strongest of the Olympian gods and certainly isn’t the only one with beastly creatures to invade with. Adding to that, each of the pantheons will likely raise dozens of armies of their faithful to fight this out. I don’t want to see the end of mankind in this realm. I will find a way to build a refuge for humans from all the pantheons, a place of safety.”

“Ah, this is why you’ve been taking in the orphans from town,” said Jarl Gunther. “That is admirable, even if your predictions are grim.”

“You drill them well,” Arbiter Katla said to Runolf. “They will make good warriors.”

“You drill them as warriors already? They’re so young!” said Gunther.

Aina scoffed at his naivete. She may be younger than him, but he’d clearly been too sheltered. The world was rough and getting rougher. If he didn’t get wiser, he’d be on the wrong end of someone’s dagger.

“Not warriors, not until they’ve reached their majority,” said Taliesin. “This war won’t begin or end overnight. I will shelter everyone I can, including the unwanted and the destitute. I’ll give the orphans a home, and teach them how to fight for it once they grow into their training.”

“You think on a much larger scale than I’ve considered,” said the Jarl. “How many will you be able to protect with your new warband?”

Lord Taliesin gave an uncharacteristic sigh, and his usual expression of mild amusement turned serious. “Jarl Gunther, my friend, one warband is nothing. My varingjar are training the first of many warbands, and many soldiers. By the end, this will be total war, and every single man or woman who can swing a sword may mean the difference between victory or extinction. I’m not raising a warband. I’m raising armies.”

“Hmm,” said Gunther noncommittally. Aina’s opinion of him dropped further.

“Perhaps we should discuss the more pressing issue of the coming attack?” suggested Brant tactfully. 

“Yes, we do need to complete the wards on the walls as soon as possible. Can you still finish them?” asked Gunther.

Taliesin’s humor seemed to have returned. “Of course, weather and wayward sheriffs notwithstanding. I’ll bring larger protection details. Now that Hallfred has made his move, we have the political cover to fight in the streets if necessary.”

“I’d still rather you not,” said Gunther stiffly. “Although he will be on the back foot once we’ve confiscated his weapons cache.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll finish the wards. I only need a few more days. We’ve warded most of the walls. You should consider how you’d like to protect the creek side gate, however. The gaps in the wall there are beyond the reach of anyone walking down the stream, but hardly secure against a determined attacker.”

The town of Buverik rested at the convergence of the river and a surprisingly deep creek. The banks were steep, craggy and essentially impassible. Like most towns, walls only covered the easy approaches. In Buverik, that meant the wall went from the river bank, wrapped around the entire town, and ended on the creek. A bridge across the creek had a gatehouse and short section of wall to protect the approach. Along the river and creek, however, there was little wall at all. Only the climbable hill from the docks into town had a gatehouse.

“We’ll do what we’ve always done - have a throng of militia at the gap with plenty of slings and bows. I’ve done the climb myself a few years ago on a dare, and it is harrowing. Add in a few skilled archers and slingers and you’ll find that gap may be the biggest deathtrap we have.”

“That’ll have to do,” said Brant. “We need only a few days, and we’ll be ready.”

“Perfect,” said Gunther, releasing a relieved breath. “So there’s plenty of time.”

Aina frowned at the blatant invitation to the gods of chaos. If Loki were not slain, he’d surely leap at the opportunity for mischief, given a statement like that. From the awkward silence that followed, she wasn’t the only one thinking it.