by AJ Cooper
Brand took no pride in that.
“—and they will not be put on the rack or tortured like any of you would be if you crossed the High King.” He paused. “This other criminal dying here today has committed offenses which can hardly be read in public; yet the king wishes to do it anyway. It is a woman. She has murdered. She has whored. She has stolen valuable items that did not belong to her. She has worn men’s clothing.”
There were a few giggles in the crowd.
“And in recent times, she has forcibly castrated a servant of the Frostfall earl.”
The crowd howled with laughter, and Brand joined them, chuckling despite his fate. He knew beyond a doubt who this woman was; the most wonderful, and the most notorious woman-thief Badelgard had ever seen, and, perhaps, would ever see again.
“It is not funny!” the hangman shouted.
But the crowd kept laughing.
The attendants shoved Brand up the stairs, onto the platform. A familiar face was just a yard away from him.
“Hilda!” he said.
“Brand!” she said, and smiled.
As the executioner shouted on about the penalties for committing crimes, they had a whispered conversation.
“I thought they would execute you,” Brand said.
“The darklings attacked us; I fought them off, and then I killed all Jannik’s guards and left him with a… decisive… wound.”
“You have more a sense of justice than Sigmund,” Brand said.
“And you are housecarl?” Hilda said.
Brand nodded. Hilda smiled.
“Stop talking!” barked an attendant, who then jerked a noose around Brand’s neck. Another attendant did the same with Hilda.
“You are a good man, Brand,” Hilda said. “No longer will I call you a boy.”
Brand smiled.
An attendant slapped Hilda hard across the cheek for talking, and she spat in his face. He slapped her again, and she spat again. Finally, the attendant gave up and, together with the other, left the platform.
“We bring you here two villains,” the hangman said. “Let them be a lesson to you all.”
The hangman walked over to Brand and jerked a black sack over his head. He could no longer see. The hangman walked over to Hilda and doubtlessly did the very same thing.
“Brand, son of Gutlaff, do you have any last words?”
“Throw that crown in the mud, Sigmund Whoreson, because it doesn’t belong to you!” Brand cried. “And go eat the flesh of babes, Kenna, she-wolf! I can’t wait until the hunter finally puts an arrow in your neck.”
The crowd roared and clapped.
The hangman scoffed. “Cheer again, lowborn scum,” he screamed, “and we will slaughter all of you like a herd of swine!”
The cheering died down and the hangman asked Hilda to give her last words.
“Brand,” she called out, “many would call this a black day—a day of gloomy skies, and frost, and snow. But I say, rejoice! For tonight, we feast with Gunnar in Altgard!”
The last thing Brand felt in the material world was the platform giving out beneath his feet.
Cloaked in the gray, hooded robe of a lowborn, Alysse watched as Brand fell to the hangman’s noose. Eyes filled with tears of rage, she reflected and she plotted. They may have killed Brand, and that woman-friend of his which—gods knew—she had tried to save. They may have killed the hero who put an end to the power of the dark idol. And yet, there were still things left to be done. Alysse was not the kind of woman who easily forgave. She was a woman who hated and fought injustice and, above all, held grudges.
I’ll go back to Zarubain. I’ll bring back an army of a thousand knights. That is what she had wanted to say yesterday to threaten Lord Sigmund as he handed down his pronouncement; but now that it had come to this, she was glad Sigmund didn’t know of her plans.
She walked slowly away, down the shoveled path to Oskir. In a few weeks, she’d walk down the King’s Drawbridge. But by Vana, and by the Green Dragon, and—gods!—by the ghost of Sir Brand, this was just the beginning. She would have her revenge upon these petty warrior-nobles. No backward Badelgard nobleman could stand against a duke’s daughter.
She knew one thing above all else: the child stirring inside her would be High King.
Continued in the second book, High Queen, available for $3.99 wherever ebooks are sold.
GLOSSARY
Altgard: See Hall of the Slain.
Buntringer: The ancestor of the Badelgard people. His sons were Hjarta, Himnall, and Helgur, from whom the human population of Badelgard descends.
Dragonmount, the: A tall peak in the northeast of Badelgard where the Green Dragon once slumbered. The ancient Ulfr believed it was haunted and knew that a great beast slept there, but dared not disturb it.
Green Dragon, the: The dragon, named Skruga, who allied with the Badelgard humans and destroyed the ancient Ulfr with fire. He is believed to be the last dragon to leave for the west.
Green Dragons: The priesthood of Skruga residing in a stone temple at the base of the Dragonmount.
Half-Breeds: A population of mixed human and elven lineage that lives north of Badelgard and around the shore of the Inner Sea.
Hall of the Slain: Also known as Altgard, this is the place where Vana, goddess of victory, and her valkyries are supposed to reside. It is believed to be a spacious longhouse in a mountain meadow within the broader realm of heaven. Only skilled warriors and men of great honor are chosen to live in the presence of Lady Vana and her warrior-maidens. By day, the risen dead fight, but at night, they recover from any wounds they received during the day and feast until the early hours of the morning in the presence of the valkyries.
Horse Chiefs: The Badelgard term for the Murghul people. The Murghuli are nomads but frequently visit the area southeast of the Sky Cliffs, which is a great hunting ground. Because of their proximity to the King’s Drawbridge, they have come into frequent contact with Badelgarders in the past. The Badelgarders consider them dishonorable because they use hit-and-run archery tactics as their primary means of combat. In faith, the Murghuli revere Eliane—horse goddess—whose worship has spread to Badelgard.
Housecarl: An order of protectors for the various noble houses. Housecarls are considered highborn and are required to defend their lieges to the death if need be. Appointment to housecarl is the only way a lowborn can enter the nobility. A housecarl can be stripped of his rank easily; all it requires is the liege-lord’s verbal pronouncement. The order is open to both men and women.
King’s Drawbridge, the: An enormous wooden drawbridge that can only be lowered via the High King’s command. It is the only way, excluding sea travel, that a person can enter the low-lying southern lands. In winter, it is Badelgard’s sole exit. High King Sven has not lowered it since the beginning of his reign.
Nobility: The nobility of Badelgard is called highborn and expected to rule above the common, or lowborn. At heart they are a warrior class, and in their inception expected to protect the kingdom and shy away from any temptations of luxury or excess. The top tier of the nobility consists of the earls, who rule great towns and citadels across Badelgard. Below earls are the barons. Only one baronial family owns land and rules its own city: the Riverhalls of Andarr’s Port. The other barons rule petty villages. The Osters, an earl family, took the High Throne after the Accession Crisis of 656 and changed the name of the capital from Rigthorp to Oskir.
River Guard: An ancient order of soldiers dedicated to protecting the Line of Riverhall. They serve as bodyguards to the baronial family and are sworn to do whatever the lord baron wishes, no matter how outrageous the command.
Skalds’ College: An academy in Oskir where skalds—or professional musicians—are trained. The college is the only of its kind in Badelgard, and its graduates can be found in earls’ courts all across the nation. Other skalds choose to bond themselves to adventuring warriors and compose songs of their deeds.
Skruga: See Green Dragon.<
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Sky Cliffs, the: A sheer precipice separating Badelgard from the low-lying southern lands. They stretch approximately 2,000 feet and can only be descended via the King’s Drawbridge.
Troll: A large, hulking creation of Ulfr wizards. No human alive has seen a troll.
Ulfr: A human term for the people that originally inhabited Badelgard. The Ulfr called themselves the Sorelden, and called their land Sorelda. As a people, the Ulfr had many customs that the human invaders thought to be odd or even evil. They suffered the effects of severe inbreeding due to widespread brother-sister marriages, which caused a number of physical deformities: instead of five toes, most Sorelden had two large toes; only three fingers and a thumb on each hand; and yellow eyes. They worshiped a deity called The Great Mother whom the invading humans identified as a demon. Each year, there was a lottery and those Ulfr families who were picked had to sacrifice one of their children to The Great Mother. Despite their deformities, the Ulfr were powerful wizards and most of them—perhaps because of their worship of the death-loving Great Mother—had the gift of necromancy. With their sorcery, they created trolls: hulking beasts which served them in war. Hiding on a steely peak was what the Ulfr called The Slumbering Beast—a green-scaled dragon—who soon allied with the invading humans and rained fire down upon their cities and temples. The Sorelden were all gone circa 300 Y.E., not to be seen again for five hundred years… until the current Ulfr Crisis (circa 825 Y.E.).
Valkyries: The warrior-maidens who serve Vana and scour Badelgard for worthy additions to the Hall of the Slain. They are portrayed as beautiful, winged women holding spears.
Vana: The goddess of victory and the home. She is portrayed in art as a big-boned, brown-haired woman in a white robe, often plucking her trademark instrument, the harp. She is the original patron goddess of the Badelgard humans; the other deity whom they worship, the Green Dragon, was added to the pantheon after the conquest.
Woodhome: A hunting lodge and general base of operations for the Riverhall Order of Scouts.
White Wolves: A species of Great Wolves with snow-white coats, blue eyes, and viciously territorial tendencies. In winter, they can often be seen rolling in the snow or bounding through the mountains in a never-ending hunt. White Wolf Keep, residence of the Silverback noble family, is named after them.
A NOTE ON REVIEWS
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cursed at birth with a wild imagination, Andrew Cooper spent his youth dreaming of worlds more exciting than Earth.
He finds inspiration in the epic masterpieces of Tolkien as well as the deeply heartfelt works of Shirley Jackson. He sold his first story at age 19 to a fantasy magazine and attended the Odyssey Writing Workshop in 2010. His stories have appeared in Morpheus Tales, Fear and Trembling, Residential Aliens and Writer's Digest top 100 magazine Mindflights, among others.
He currently lives in Northern Michigan with his family.
CONTACT THE AUTHOR
Visit https://aj-cooper.com/ to sign up for the newsletter and read about Varda.
Find him on Facebook at https://facebook.com/AJCooperauthor.
Follow him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/ajcooperwriter.
OTHER WORKS
First, read a sample of HIGH QUEEN, the sequel to FELL WINTER.
HIGH QUEEN
CHAPTER ONE:
Kai Riverhall
The little girl stumbled toward Kai Riverhall, her eyes glassy and frozen, her lips rimmed with dried blood. She was a darkling, but even battle-hardened Kai found it difficult to strike down someone who was—or once had been—so young.
“Don’t kill me,” she whispered without moving her lips. “Please?”
Kai gulped.
“Stay still,” said the darkling girl. “Just… let me touch you.”
Kai released the bowstring. The arrow flew forward and pierced her icy, frozen forehead. She shrieked and fell to the ground. Darklings could only be killed via a blow to the head. Sword, club, arrow—it didn’t matter what weapon, as long as you hit in the right spot.
This was Kai’s first kill of the day, but it almost certainly would not be his last. The darklings wandered the forest in increasing numbers. Scoutmaster Frey wanted every one of his underlings to kill at least ten daily. Lately, the darklings hadn’t retreated into shadows at day; it seemed they were now immune to the rays of the sun.
Kai walked up to the corpse and stooped down. The girl wore a soft white dress—silk, it looked like. Once, she was a rich girl; perhaps even related to the Riverhalls.
Kai was a Riverhall too. Ha! He had no silk clothing. Being a Riverhall did not mean that you were rich, at least not in the Order of Scouts. He drew back his hand before he could touch her skin.
Do not touch the darklings, Frey had said. Do not touch them, or anything they carry.
Kai wandered through the forest, silent as a lynx, waiting for a darkling to pop out at any moment. One of them had wounded his fellow scout, Uthrik; Scoutmaster Frey had to decapitate him with a sword. Kai did not want to repeat Uthrik’s fate.
Rustling began above, up a steep ridge. Kai backed away and fitted an arrow to his string. There was something in the leafy green up above—a presence that made Kai’s neck-hairs stand on end and a chill pass through his body.
Something grunted. Then, rustling began in the ferns. Heavy, trudging footsteps echoed through the air. The gait of the creature—whoever it was—was slow and confused. It had two feet—Kai could tell that much—and it was not a deer or a lynx. Could it be a bear? The footsteps certainly sounded heavy enough.
A lump grew in Kai’s throat. “Who are you?” he whimpered.
“Sio Soreldi,” a voice said.
Kai gulped. “Pardon?”
“Cani Orion. Miuru.”
The scent of rot, earth, and the juices of the grave filled Kai’s nostrils. He looked up at the cliff inquisitively. The creature was close now.
Kai shuddered and his fingers trembled. The arrow loosed of its own accord. It soared through the air and hit a tree. Kai thought of running. The creature’s footsteps indicated it was close, now.
He looked up at the cliff. What came next, he didn’t remember.
The triangular pinewood ceiling of Woodhome stretched above him, and the burning logs of a hearth-fire bathed him in light. The moose heads and deer heads hung along the log walls. Kai was at home.
“He’s not moving,” said the voice of Scoutmaster Frey. The man’s long golden hair dangled below his shoulders. His brown eyes scanned up and down Kai’s body.
“I found him in the Ninth Ward,” said Helgun, Kai’s best friend, as he stepped into view.
Frey ran his coarse woodsman’s fingers across Kai’s arms. “Do you remember what happened? What did you see?”
Kai described what he had heard. He described the terror he had felt, but he remembered nothing more. “Looking back, I think I sensed a creeping power from him. Some kind of aura, but it was dark… evil...”
“You remember nothing,” Frey said. “What you did see you have forgotten. Witchcraft, indeed.”
Kai turned his head and looked around. Everything stood in its proper place: the orange log walls, the brown bearskin rugs, and the antlered heads of stags on the walls. Yet he did not feel altogether well. “I wonder if I’ll ever remember what happened.”
“Trust and believe,” said Master Frey. “Then, perhaps.”
“He told me ‘Sio Soreldi’ and ‘Cani Orion. M—’”
Frey hushed him. “Stay your tongue,” he snapped. “Do not speak the language of the Ulfr.”
Kai raised a brow. “The words are in the Ulfr language?”
&nb
sp; “They sound like it.”
“If it is the Ulfr tongue, we can send for a lexicon,” Kai answered. “We can go to Oskir—”
“The king will not let us borrow such a valuable book,” Master Frey answered. “You know this as well as I. Besides, Oskir is far… ”
“We can go to the library ourselves,” Kai said. “Surely the darklings have no interest in books or learning.”
“I will hear no more of it,” Frey dismissed him. “Now relax the rest of the night.” He walked away into the distance.
Kai tried to ease himself off the table. His muscles were tight, as stiff as the statues of Riverhall Forest. After a struggle he got moving again.
The next day, just as always, Kai went out on patrol. His muscles ached, and a headache clouded all thought. The fact that Frey assigned him the Twelfth Ward only partially explained his pains. The Twelfth Ward comprised the north-eastern section of the Great Wood that bordered the ghost town of Andarr’s Port. Though it used to be the safest, now the scouts dreaded patrolling it.
Despite the aches, he continued on and tried his best to hide his discomfort. The Scouts of Woodhome valued bravery, overcoming pain, and manliness above all other virtues. Harald, the baron and Kai’s distant relation, did not believe in such virtues; and the Order of Scouts found it difficult to respect him.
An entire darkling family came into view: a man, a woman, and three toddling children. Their curse had turned their skin a pale, frosty hue and their eyes hard as icicles. Kai loosed five arrows in quick sequence and struck each one in the head. These were the slow darklings, the “shamblers.” The living dead varied in strength, with shamblers as the weakest.
At about noon, Kai’s wanderings took him to the edge of Andarr’s Port. The sheer silence never failed to surprise him. In the past, when Kai patrolled the Twelfth Ward, the city’s noise overwhelmed his senses. Now, on this cool summer day, the only sounds were the pitter-patter of rain and the wind howling through the empty buildings.
