The Frightful Dance (The King of Three Bloods Book 2)

by Russ L. Howard

  By the time Sur Sceaf had returned to the large assembly tent, the drippy skies opened to billowing white clouds and magnificent sunlight. The fyrd commanders had everything in order. Most of the tents were already erected. Their horses were properly corralled next to the auction pavilion and behind it, the Hickoryan drovers were feeding and watering the many lowing cattle in a fenced off area. Elijah had so thoroughly prepared and mapped out everything for their arrival and organized the resources so well, that it saved the usual time getting a camp up and rolling properly.

  In the tent, long tables were being set for the coming meal. Matrons and their young assistants bustled in and out with pots and trays of food. Little boys ran in and out snagging bits of bread and rolls. Sur Sceaf looked around for Elijah before catching sight of the chief high priest, standing across the road near the Quailor meeting house. He was directing Quailor youth with his staff, pointing them towards their various fields of labor. Sur Sceaf waited for a wagon churning up dust to pass before he strode over to speak with him.

  “Elijah, I can’t thank you enough for your organization and foresight into our needs. The hay and grain is most welcome; it’ll spare us the labor of grazing our livestock. Thank you very much.”

  Elijah leaned against his dark walnut staff with the double rose hex engraven on top. “It is more than a pleasure to serve thee, my lord. I only wish we could do more. Nor am I blind to the sacrifice of thy people for and in behalf of us, and our town. Unfortunately, sometimes, some of the dycons do not agree with me.”

  “Believe me Mo-Fa-Bro,” Sur Sceaf said as he put his hand on Elijah’s shoulder, “Your thorough organization and cooperation has been payment enough. And as for your dycons, I am sure it is just like any organization, it’s difficult to get everyone on the same page.”

  “Despite the best efforts of the high priests, there are still many social obstacles to be overcome in my community. Obstacles that ought not be there and those among us who make it hard to blend.”

  “Whatever comes our way, we will handle.” Sur Sceaf gave an assuring nod.

  “Thou wast always sure of thyself which used to be an affront to many, but I foresaw, it was the makings of true leadership and I’m glad I was right about that.”

  Sur Sceaf smiled, “A leader is only as good as his lieutenants make him.”

  “Even so, it will be a great matter to be led by the grandson of Ludwig von Hollar. Without that key, it would have been far more difficult to meld our three tribes into one purpose.”

  “It is good enough, Elijah,” Sur Sceaf said, “When we begin the exodus, our dark friends from the Columba Rogues—“

  Elijah looked surprised. “You mean the River Folk to the north?”

  “Yes, them. I have arranged for them to carry off the excess livestock and furnishings, as was agreed by my father, the king, and by their talking-leader, Shug. As I look around, I will be able to use this central park as a good staging area for them to collect your excess. If you could be so kind as to instruct your people to bring their excess wares here, it will foster goodwill with the Rogue Nations and stimulate much needed future alliances. Plus, it will be good for them to see all the muscle in our fyrds and dog soldiers. It encourages them to have more confidence in our ultimate victory.”

  “Believe me, the Columba Rogue’s all know thy strength. They bewail thy leaving Salem because they know that thou wast a stonewall, standing betwixt them and the Pitter wolf-rats who come out of the east.”

  “Now they shall have to stare down the Pitter wolf on their own.” Sur Sceaf said. “And it will be good, because they have never once offered us military aid or assistance, even when it was much needed. Let them learn its value firsthand and perhaps we shall have more reliable allies in the future.” Sur Sceaf brushed his hair with his fingers then locked it in place with his raven hair claw. Perhaps, Elijah, you would be so good as to show Mendaka and I around. I just want to gain a feel for the investment your folk have in our alliance before we start the trek to Witan Jewell.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” He pointed the way to Mendaka’s camp with his staff.

  They walked together toward Mendaka’s tipi, with its familiar four serpents radiating out of the Black Sun, an emblem shared by all three tribes with very different assignations. Mendaka had sat up his tipi in the core amidst the tipis of his dog soldiers. A number of Quailor boys of varying ages roamed freely about, apparently curious at all the strange peoples they usually only saw in small numbers. Sur Sceaf and Elijah paused momentarily to watch while some of the older Quailor boys assisted the dog soldiers and fyrd warriors in collecting firewood and water into camp. They had to step over stakes, and maneuver around packs and bedrolls, but gradually made their way to the half erected tipi of Mendaka.

  They came upon him hammering stakes into the hard packed ground with a wooden mallet. Redelfis was lifting the tipi on one side and Ilkchild was adjusting the poles on the other side. As soon as Mendaka noticed their presence, he laid down his mallet and rose with a smile.

  Sur Sceaf said, “Mendaka, if you feel confident in leaving the raising of your tipi in the hands of these young bloods, Elijah has volunteered to show us around before the meeting. I have found it to be an advantage to get the spirit and mood of the people before proceeding on any venture and I would greatly value your observations on the same.”

  Redelfis yelled over, “Go ahead and go, Father, I’ll get Snake Horse to help us.”

  Mendaka ordered the boys to take a break, then shook Elijah’s hand. “The foxes have holes and the quail have coveys, and, I must say, you have found us the perfect roost for all of our warriors. You remind me of our great Chief Onamingo, Elijah. He, too, is wise in the ways of moving the clans quickly and without hindrance so that all are content.”

  Elijah appeared pleased at the compliment. “The logistics were easy; a place to sleep, a place to eat, a place to drink, and latrines. T’was verily that simple.”

  Sur Sceaf beckoned to Ilkchild and Redelfis, who seemed pleased to join them in the break from their labors.

  Sur Sceaf put his hand on Ilkchild’s shoulder. “Elijah, these young bloods who have been hovering over their labors, are first off, this golden boy, Ilkchild. He is second in command of the young blood fyrd, which normally is led by my firstborn son, Arundel.”

  Ilkchild nodded in acknowledgment and greeted Elijah politely. “It is a great honor, to meet Flying Wolf’s brother.”

  Elijah laughed and shook his head. “It still befuddleth me, to think of my brother Ludwig with that name.”

  Sur Sceaf said, “And this young man with the fiery hair is Redelfis, Mendaka’s eldest son. We are already grooming him at fifteen winters to be a fyrd warrior, as well as a leader. He’s showing great promise.” Redelfis grew shy and simply nodded.

  Elijah grasped his staff, turned it in the dirt, and furrowed his brow. “I mean no offense, but it has been our experience that lack-beards are usually too hot headed to think clearly or to make sound leadership decisions.” Elijah paused as the sound of the cattle herd grew steadily louder.

  In the background the Hickoryan drovers could be heard yelping “Hyah! Hyah! Keep those doggies movin. Hyah!,” they drove in the last group of the longhorn cattle into the fenced enclosure. As they passed, the steady rumble of continuous hooves moving over the earth caused a great dust cloud to form above them.

  Sur Sceaf let out a laugh at the amusing antics the Hickoyean youth used to move the cattle. “In truth, I’ve heard that type of counsel before. But I believe, it is precisely the hot headedness of the young bloods that shall generate the fires needed to blaze a new kingdom. For just such a reason, I am nurturing a core of young bloods to be the leadership of our new city-states we are planning on the coasts of the Aurvandilean Sea. It is like mixing nickel and carbon with iron; the alloy makes a better steel.”

  “I hope thou art right,” Elijah said. “If these young bloods are as competent as thou wast, then it will be alri
ght, but giving them so much power frighteneth me and none too few of our dycons. However, I have admonished them to swallow their vain traditions and accept you as their leader, I will put my trust in your judgment in this matter of placing young bloods in key positions.”

  “Mo-Fa-Bro, I thank you for your confidence.” Sur Sceaf turned to Ilkchild and Redelfis, “Now that I have prevailed upon Elijah to take Mendaka and me on a tour of Salem, would you boys like to join us, and let someone else tend the tipi, if Mendaka will allow it?”

  Mendaka laughed, “If my tipi doesn’t get put up tonight, then you boys get to sleep on the ground.”

  “Snake Horse will see to it,” Redelfis said, excited to be included.

  Elijah motioned with his staff towards the street. “Brethren, if you will follow me.”

  Elijah led them up the street and into the next block where they crossed the street, dodging between hustling buggies. On the other side of the street stood two black smithies, side-by-side, one enclosed in canvas and the other open with smoke rising from a furnace. In the one closest to them stood three men hard at work. One was a silver-haired elderly man, strong and wiry as he twisted metal like a baker twists pretzels. He had a full beard with shaven upper lip. “This is Joseph von der Vogelweide, brother to your brother-in-law, Rudolf,” Elijah said. “He’s the master gold smith, silver smith, red smith, and black smith of our forges.” The second man appeared to be around Sur Sceaf’s age with a clean-shaven upper lip and a goatee, the rest of his beard too sparse to be grown. He was busy hammering out a tire iron. “This is Joseph’s fellow craft black and red smith, Johann von Hohenzollern, and finally, this young tow head is their newest entered apprentice, Fritz von Aalen.” Fritz was pumping the billows at the forge, which sent waves of heat and flames warm enough to be felt from two man lengths away.

  “I am delighted to meet you, brethren. I am Sur Sceaf, son of King Sur Spear, and this is Mendaka, son of Thunder Horse, the son of Tah-Man-Ea, and these are our sons, Ilkchild and Redelfis. We shall be much in need of your services during the exodus to Witan Jewell, and you’ll probably become very familiar with us bringing tools and tires in for repair.”

  Johann gave a puzzled look as he half whispered to Elijah, “Brother Elijah, why would we need to know who their parents are?”

  “Because,” Elijah explained, “It is the way other cultures and people show their politeness. It shows they have roots and stability, come from good stock, and whether you know it or not, it is precisely what von means in thy name.” The youth frowned his confusion.

  Mendaka added, “We of the Sharaka often refer to Sur Sceaf as an oak because of his deep rooted opinions from which he can not be dissuaded.” They laughed with the exception of Johann who still looked confused.

  A young man in a straw hat, with white shirt and suspenders holding up his course linsey-woolsey black pants, drew near, pulling a handcart loaded with baskets containing various types of enticing golden crusted bread and rolls. He stopped and shouted above the clanging of steel, “Bread, rolls, bagels. Get your free bread right here. Compliments of the Baker.” Assisting him were four young Quailor maidens in grey dress, white aprons, and hair tucked under their tight fitting tiechls. They presented the smiths first with their favorite bread then offered Elijah and his guests.

  The tallest maiden said, “Workers first, then the guests.”

  The smell of fresh hot bread emanating from the cart made Sur Sceaf’s mouth water. Few things excelled the exquisite array of Quailor breads. Something in the yeast and seasonings they used made you crave it ever after.

  “Ah,” one of the lasses said, eyes squarely locked on Ilkchild’s face as if in a daze, “I was bidden by my father, Horst the Baker, to give ye Herewardi thy traditional bread. Please, here art the bagels he made specially for thee.” She dropped the bagel she was handing to Ilkchild, then blushed bright red and as she quickly fetched another. “Clumsy of me,” she said while the other maidens giggled.

  “Oh, well, another one for the chickens,” the tall lass tried to comfort.

  Ilkchild thanked her.

  One of the other maidens offered Sur Sceaf and Mendaka their bagels.

  Mendaka said, “I fear, I must decline. The Herewardi bread is too seedy for my taste, but I’ll take one of those Quailor white breads, if you don’t mind.” She smiled and offered him a whole loaf.

  Redelfis stepped up and said, “I’ll take his bagel and one for myself as well.”

  A shy maiden handed Redelfis two golden bagels covered in poppie seeds.

  “Papa is using up all the flour before we go. So get used to having a bounty of bread for the next few days. We’ll be bringing more by this evening.”

  As the handcart rolled by, its wheels creaking, the maidens laughed while they stole backward glances at Ilkchild. Sur Sceaf was surprised when the cart continued past the second forge without so much as even stopping. Instead they turned their faces away and continued to the front of the wainwright building as if the second forge did not exist.

  Elijah led them to the second forge, Sur Sceaf noticed tautness and embarrassment in his face. There stood a bull of a man with bulging muscles in a smudged leather apron, a large hammer in one hand, and black tongs holding glowing steel in the other. He was pumping the bellows with his foot and the forge was burning white hot. This giant stood even taller than Pyrsyrus and had the shoulders of a buffalo. He ceased his labors, put down his hammer, and bowed at the neck to Elijah.

  “This,” Elijah said, “is the hochschmidt, Herman Kesselmacher. He belongs to the Iron Workers Guild and is a master metal worker without equal. Although he once worked with the other smiths, due to a dispute with the dycons, he now works here, all alone.”

  It now became apparent why the bread cart had deliberately passed by this man with no offer of bread. Mendaka broke his loaf of bread and placed half of it on a table near the giant, who showed him a grateful smile before tearing the bread, ate and resumed his labor.

  Although Sur Sceaf could not guess at the smith’s offense, something had made this man a pariah, rendering him invisible in their community, his personhood had been stripped from him by their laws and he fell under the practice of shunning. Although he was curious about whatever unpardonable offense this man had committed, he would not violate Quailor law by asking what it was. For that too, was a taboo.

  “My name is Sur Sceaf, Son of the High King. I am pleased to meet you Herman.”

  Herman nodded politely and then plunged the tongs and steel in the water of the slack tub, put down his immense hammer and shook Sur Sceaf’s hand vigorously. Trying not to wince at the man’s great strength Sur Sceaf said, “We shall be much in need of your services on the exodus and in the settlements, I am sure. ‘For by hammer and hand, all crafts do stand’.”

  Acknowledging Sur Sceaf’s keen knowledge of the Guild, Herman answered in kind. “‘The life is so short and the craft too huge’. It will be my pleasure to serve thee, Brother Sur Sceaf. For I see you possess the black smith’s tongue,” Herman said in a friendly, precise, and clear Wessex tongue before he picked up a traveler and began measuring a wheel. “Great things are said of thee, Lord Sur Sceaf. Some say you will one day be the King Of Men. It is told thou art both a man of vision and compassion, and though it has not been our way, they say thou art a fierce and mighty warrior and have slain droves of Pitter demons single handed. I have read many of your warrior training handbooks and I found the one on the Wars of the Taxus Hills most compelling.”

  Sur Sceaf was taken aback. “I’m honored.” Bowing his head, he added, “I could be more fierce if I had your size, I’m sure. What is even more surprising, is the fact, that you speak like a Herewardi skald.”

  “Indeed,” Elijah said, “although Herman could rip a grizzly in two with those arms, he has an active intellect and a likeable nature to boot. And you are right, Sur Sceaf; he is a well-read man. Attended the skalds in the Herewardi Sector when he was a child and makes use of the
Herewardi books left at your grandfather’s home.”

  Moving close in, Redelfis acted both amused and puzzled, as he pointed at the metal work. “Those look like shoes for a tiny horse. What are you working on?”

  Herman smiled. “They are ox shoes, eight per ox, two per foot, because they have cloven hooves. But first I have to scarf angle this tire for the wainwright’s birthing wagon.” Herman sorted through his bolsters, headers, punches, and drifts before laying them out for his work projects.

  Ilkchild said, “Forsooth, a man of your size must have to ride an ox. For what manner of horse could carry a man so large as you.”

  “My oxen pull my wagon and my mount is an old grey mule of twenty hands and ten years. Bred from the finest jack Salem has ever known. Billy Bad Ass. The largest, loudest, and strongest jack stock anywhere to be found.”

  Sur Sceaf laughed. “A mule is a wise choice. With no pride of ancestry and no hope of posterity. A mule is a good mount for a man of your proportions. Not only your size and choice of mount impresses me, but the black smithy itself has always intrigued me. I have observed well your craft at the feet of the Wizard Govannon during my studies at the Academy of Maidens Head. You would do well to see this master of the craft, for he is an alchemist who plies the craft as an elf smith and knows both the metals and mixes that few men do.”

  “It should please me to meet such a man,” Herman said, as he continued his work. “God commands all men to labor six days and if you’ll forgive me, and think me not rude, I need to put my shoulder to the wheel and carry on with my labors. It’s all part of my repententance.”

  Ilkchild smiled, “But if a God must command you, does that not suggest that he does not think of you as an equal?”

  Herman gave Ilkchild an indulgent look, similar to the one an adult gives to a child who has asked a silly question, and then resumed pounding the metal. Sur Sceaf chuckled, first, because it showed how differently the two cultures thought, and, secondly, because he was proud of his philosophically thinking nigh-son.