Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves

by M. D. Boncher

  "Absolutely. As of this week,” said Trygve, confident in his work. He could not understand how the farmer was able to ignore his screaming hogs.

  Amr smiled broadly.

  "Well done, Brother! Well done indeed. Cardinal Klaus will be quite pleased with this information!" Amr nodded happily as he looked over the documents again, studying the map that Trygve had drawn on the first page.

  "You are positive they have minted that many coin?" Amr noted.

  "Jah.” Trygve was happy to confirm his excellent performance as a spy.

  "This is the bullion weight they have on hand?"

  "Jah, I was personally involved in the accounting,” Trygve added, trying to keep his irritation hidden.

  "I just cannot believe so many gems were cut and set. It must have taken dozens... no... hundreds of lapidaries to accomplish this."

  "It was done over decades, you understand. There are a few lifetimes’ worth of work in there."

  "Such a grand hoard hiding under Kynligrspiejl! And it was left there all these years, unused?" Amr rubbed his mouth as if to keep it from dropping open.

  "The secret wealth of the Sveinnaettir boggles the mind, does it not?" Trygve said, proud that his work was appreciated.

  "Jah," Amr breathed at long last and flipped to another page bearing a new map, studying it with great care. “Who did you come out with to walk the shore?" Amr asked.

  "Finn the Valiant," Trygve answered, not sure why he added the honorific at the end. No one outside of Kynligrspiejl called him such. To most of the world, he was a heretic.

  "The Valiant?" Amr snorted at the title, cocked an eyebrow and looked at the next page.

  "Jah. Do you know him?" Trygve asked with a hint of cunning in his voice. Perhaps he would learn something new about Finn.

  "Brother Finn... the Valiant," Amr repeated and sucked his teeth turning to still another page, as if by studying each sheet he was warding off evil.

  "Herr Amr, do you know him?" Trygve asked again, sensing a juicy morsel of a tale.

  "Please, Brother. I am contemplating your information," Amr said like a kindly grandfather admonishing his precocious progeny. The chastened monk stood in awkward silence. Around them, the eyes of hungry noisey sheep and pigs pressed hard to their pen posts begging for food.

  Amr tucked the documents into his belt pouch and knelt next to the still excited Hawthorn who had been ranging back and forth, investigating or peeing on everything nearby.

  "Jah. I know Finn. Very well, in fact."

  "Really? By reputation or in person?" Trygve's excitement was uncontainable.

  "I knew Brother Finn as a young man. We were brothers in arms in those days." Amr stopped reading and aggressively ruffled Hawthorn's fur, provoking him to play bite while assessing the softness of his mouth.

  "Now this is something special!” Trygve exclaimed. “I have only known Finn since he arrived at Kynligrspiejl after the whole Battle of Athrvorthfestning."

  Amr chuckled. It was a croaking sound that caused the hair to stand up on the back of Trygve's neck.

  "It is providence that we meet, I am sure, but special is not the right word I would use for this encounter. The same way I would have never expected Finn to be called ‘Valiant’.”

  "Why not? Has he changed much from when you first knew him?" Trygve asked, then noticed something new in Hawthorn's play with Amr. The dog was responding to Havarian hand signals. Obeying them better than he ever did for Trygve.

  "No. Finn was the same obstinate fool he is today,” Amr said watching Hawthorn follow his commands. “He was, and still is, forever ignoring the deep flaws of irredeemable people like the Skaerslinger," he explained giving Hawthorn another good ruffle. "You just lack the killer spirit, do you not? Jah, you do. Jah, you do! You are too good a dog. Jah, you are," Amr praised, then stood up. He drew a deep sigh and fixed a strange unsettling look on Trygve.

  "An obstinate fool?” Trygve asked, beginning to doubt everything Amr had said to him thus far.

  "Or a hopeless optimist. Choose whichever you prefer," Amr said spreading his hands wide. Hawthorn now sat at his heel.

  "I take it your time with Brother Finn was not good,” Trygve hazarded feeling as if the world had turned upside down since he passed through the farm gate.

  "I would not say that. For a long time we were brothers in spirit and deed. We worked well together, protecting the Bishop of Mestrflosslidhaland. Finn and I would have died for each other, and on more than one occasion, killed for each other."

  "What happened to change that?"

  Amr's face darkened. Hate flickered in his eyes, and Trygve realized he should never have asked that question.

  "He made a choice. A bad choice." The words like daggers of ice.

  "Forgive me for-" Trygve started to apologize, but Amr talked over him.

  "And I paid for it." It felt like someone dropped a venomous snake between the two.

  "I..." Trygve stuttered. "I had no idea."

  "Almost no one remembers, but I do. I cannot forget. The rest do not care anymore. Finn stands by his own twisted code and lets others fall for his sins."

  Then suddenly, like a door closing, Amr’s face became a pleasant mask as if a new person stood in his place.

  "Are you sure I could not interest you in some food or drink before you head back?" Amr said.

  "Bless you, but no.” The transformation shook Trygve. “Time is short and I must get back before someone notices I am gone,” he said.

  Amr shrugged and glanced down at Hawthorn who sat attentively looking up at him.

  "One last question. When should I expect my pardon from the cardinal?" Trygve asked.

  The question was ignored as Amr focused on Hawthorn.

  "I said, when should..." Trygve's voice trailed off as he realized that Amr was praying in a tongue that sounded like Latin, but was much more ancient than the vulgate he was used to.

  "What is that?" Trygve inquired, fearful of the answer.

  Amr finished his prayer and touched Hawthorn gently on the head. The dog swooned and fell over, twitching.

  "What did you do to Hawthorn?" Trygve's shouted.

  "I fixed him. In a moment, he will be the perfect companion for someone who knows how to use such an animal properly. Someone like me."

  "Tambakkji!" shouted Trygve.

  "I would not be so concerned for him, fredlause," Amr said, ignoring the insult.

  "Fredlause? No, no. I am niding," Trygve corrected, his panic rising.

  "Consider where you are for a moment, Brother. What are the conditions of your skoggang?” Amr's voice was frightfully calm.

  "To stay within sight of the shores of Lake Wanishiabinoogi for the rest of my life. Or until the cardinal pardons me, whichever comes first," Trygve spoke from years of rote repetition.

  "Can you see the lake anywhere from here?" Amr gestured widely in all directions.

  "We are in a dell. Of course not. How could we? It is just over the other side of..."

  Trygve felt his hands begin to tremble as he looked around.

  Amr nodded, and a smile full of malice began to grow on his lips.

  "You must be joking! I am still within the spirit of the law! Were I on top of this hill the lake would still be in sight for miles!" Trygve exclaimed on the verge of hysterics. Hawthorn's twitches came slower and slower.

  "I believe the letter of the law matters more in this case," Amr said, contradicting Trygve's claim of obedience. "Particularly while you are in the act of betrayal against your fellow reformers, the Sveinnaettir, and the Visekonge all at once? You are a traitor and a fredlause." The hate that had flickered occasionally in Amr's eyes was now a roaring blaze as he glared at Trygve.

  The frightened monk jumped back and raised his arms into a protective stance as a knife appeared in Amr's hand. He lunged at Trygve faster than the eye could see.

  Trygve felt a slight stinging sensation on his neck, then a warm gush of blood ran down his throat.


  The dying monk gave a sickening gurgle as he slumped to the ground choking on his own blood. Amr knelt next to him and wiped his knife on the Havarian's robes.

  Trygve clawed at Amr, but his hands had no strength. Close by Hawthorn lay on his side panting faintly, unable to move, eyes cloudy as if life was draining out of him, too.

  "Shh, shh, shhh," Amr soothed. "It will all be over soon and you will go on to your judgment. Would you like to give your final confession to me? I am a friar after all and can take it for you lest you suffer in purgatory for your sins. It is written that betrayal is hard to forgive."

  Trygve's mouth moved, but his severed throat blocked the words. Friar Amr placed Trygve's arms across his chest.

  "Forgive me. That was in poor taste. I forgot you could not speak with your throat sliced open. I will assume that was you asking for forgiveness of your sins, Brother," Friar Amr said and proceeded to give the sacrament of last rites to the man he had just murdered. Next to him, Hawthorn ceased panting, let out a long sigh and was silent.

  Amr stood up from the now deceased monk and looked at him with pitiable humor.

  "Do understand, Brother, that you became mixed up in the affairs of serious people of great power, and I wish I could regret that this ordeal must be visited upon you, but you chose this gambit and lost."

  Hawthorn began to stir. His long legs twitching as he drunkenly rolled from side to side.

  "If given my own lead, I would have let this cup pass from you, but my herre demands no witnesses, and that includes the traitor who gave us what we desired," Amr explained to Brother Trygve’s corpse with casual candor.

  "I could tell you were worried about the animals. If it helps ease your conscience, rest assured, I will feed the pigs again before I go. They have not been given any food for three days for I needed them hungry for this meal."

  Hawthorn now stood up, legs shaking for a moment like a newborn deer. He shook his head, ears slapping loudly. The dog let out a dangerous growl and the sheep bolted away from the fence. No longer the happy pup, Hawthorn was now a predator, just like his new herre.

  "But this is the Lord's work for me, and you can speak to Him about it when you arrive. I doubt He will be in the best mood with you upon entering His presence, but traitors cannot have everything," Friar Amr said. Drawing his knife again, he began to feed the pigs.

  11. Before the Domari

  It was appropriate that the sky was a dismal gray as the long parade of men and women of God marched from Fjellporten’s new cathedral to Towrnvilhoaettir for the Thing, a tribunal of grave solemnity. With the sound of drum and flute setting the pace, the choristers sang the Songs of Law. A liturgy proclaiming the authority of the Halmarpakt, the Hird, and the Kyrkja over all Forsamling aettir, as well as their promises and duties to one another. A crowd had gathered to watch this spectacle as it marched its way up the hill, marveling at the pageantry and hoping they could bear witness for what was to come.

  Jarl Vilhoaettir's hall was impressive, Finn thought, as he processed with his fellow priests in time to the choristers’ chant. What made the jarl's hall stand out were the unmatched trophies at the entrance. Masterpieces of taxidermy that displayed fierce animals and demonspawn. Carvings of great hunts were etched around the massive pillars of the building while ornate tapestries dripped down from the rafters representing the Vilhoaettir legacy and exaggerating their historic deeds.

  In the middle of the hall itself, the long hearth was burning brightly. Clergy from all over the diocese filed in while the choristers stood with backs to the wall on both sides. The song finished as the last of the clergy took their places on long rows of benches near the hearth, with enough room remaining for someone to walk down either side. Finn was positioned in the front row ready for his part.

  Jarl Jakob Vilhoaettir sat in the high seat on the dais watching his hall fill, and Bishop Aarlig Krakisson stood before the jarl waiting for permission to begin. A black robed domari stood to the left of Den Aerefulle Jakob as the Thing finished assembling. After the Kyrkja were seated, the huskarls allowed the Forsamling who wished to enter sit on the outer benches by the walls. Silence was strictly enforced. Those who talked were escorted to the nearby dungeon without hesitation.

  When everyone was seated and the only sounds were the crackling of the hearth and the rain hissing on the roof, the domari turned to face his master. His form swallowed up in the somber robes of his office, a golden staff in his left hand taller than a man by half again. On the tip was a figurine of balances resting on top of the seal of the Vilhoaettir.

  "Deres Naade, we are ready," the domari said with funeral humor.

  Jarl Vilhoaettir nodded, his face a serene mask.

  With the bottom of his staff, the domari pounded the timber floor seven times.

  The sharp raps echoed in the quiet hall.

  "Damer and Herrar, we are assembled this day, April the eleventh, in Anno Domini Two Hundred and Fifty Three Ad Segregationem. We call forth a special assembly of the Thing that justice may be done."

  The man's powerful voice cracked off the wooden walls loud as any herald.

  "All come forth in fear and trembling in the presence of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit and before the justice of Den Aerefulle Jakob Fritjovsson Vilhoaettir. May all those who speak, do so in the Spirit of Truth, and no falsehood be found among the Thing. Pay heed to this warning, for all may be judged for their actions and words."

  The domari's sparkling blue eyes swept over the hall, challenging anyone to disagree. None did.

  "Who has reason to call for this Thing?" the domari demanded. It was a formality for the purpose of this gathering was already well known among all of Fjellporten. The disappearance of a niding was not something to be taken lightly, and a new fredlause might mean a profitable day for someone.

  "I so call on behalf of the Kyrkja," the bishop said. His lean form almost a cloak rack for his official robes. He was an upright and clean looking man with white hair before his time.

  "What is your cause for assembling the Thing?"

  "A niding has gone missing, and we fear he may be a danger to the Forsamling. We are here to petition the law for a declaration of fredlause against Brother Trygve Snurresson," the bishop said, loud enough for all to hear.

  "Do you have evidence?" the domari demanded.

  "Brother Trygve is missing from his appointed office and cannot be found. He has been missing one week," the bishop answered.

  "Did anyone here have permission to pardon or grant leave to this man?" the domari questioned.

  “Only I or my superiors may grant such a boon. None have done so to the knowledge of the Kyrkja,” the bishop said. There was a hint of regret to his voice. A fredlause priest made everyone’s sleep uneasy.

  “By what cause do you bring such charges?” the domari asked.

  "We have a witness," Bishop Aarlig said.

  "Bring forth your witness who swears this complaint is true."

  "I call forth Brother Finn."

  A low murmur rustled through the Thing at the priest’s name. No matter how strict the decorum, there was no way to control the involuntary reactions of the Forsamling, but the domari rapped his staff thrice as a reminder to them that disruption would not be tolerated.

  "Brother Finn, come forth and be recognized," the domari commanded.

  The rock in the pit of Finn's stomach felt like a millstone. His mouth was dry and his eyes were glassy. He was sure they would find a way to blame him for Trygve’s disappearance. Although he was not under arrest, he could not leave the city. It was a far cry from the Keldathing, or the dungeon at Athrvorthfestning, but those fears returned. With stiff precision, Finn stepped forward to stand beside Bishop Krakisson.

  "Know now, the testimony you are about to give is watched by God and His appointed servants on Earth. Bear no false witness lest you suffer the consequences. Do you swear to obey this command?" the domari recited the oath required of those bearing claims before the court.
r />   "I do, domari," Finn's voice was soft.

  "Repeat that so all may hear,” the domari commanded.

  Brother Finn cleared his throat.

  "I do, domari,” he said pushing the volume of his words.

  "What do you know in the matter of the disappearance of Brother Trygve Snurrsson?"

  "A week ago Brother Trygve and Hawthorn, his canine companion, arrived at Fjellporten with me and and my companion, Bergamot. We reported to the cathedral before vespers. I went to the Itinerant House instead of staying for the service, for I was tired from our travels. Brother Trygve stayed and joined me afterward,” Finn recalled.

  “Why were you in Fjellporten?” the domari asked.

  “It was our privilege and duty to take up the friar-at-large’s office. We were assigned to walk the shore of the lake this season. This was authorized by my monsignor, the Reverend Father Frothi Malaksson and confirmed by my bishop, Aarlig Krakisson."

  The act of shouting his words left Finn feeling drained. Every sentence out of his mouth cut at his soul for he knew there was nothing he could do to save Trygve from what was to come.

  There seemed to be little doubt in Finn’s mind that Trygve could no longer stand the thought of returning to Kynligrspiel and decided to bolt. It did not matter whether the missing friar had decided to take his revenge on those who sentenced him, to pick up his declared feud or to run into the pinery to try and find a new life.

  "The following morning I woke very late, which was not typical for me. Brother Trygve was already gone from his bed and all his belongings with him. We had not breakfasted, and it was unusual that he would have taken all his property. I went to the dining hall of the Itinerant House to find that no one had seen him come down."

  The bishop nodded along, watching Finn with eyes that could pierce iron, searching for anything new in his testimony.

  "Bishop Aarlig, in your investigation, did anyone know details of Brother Trygve’s plans?" the domari asked.

  "No, domari. We have found no one who knows anything about Brother Trygve's flight. No witnesses were found who might have seen him on the street. Even the watchmen have claimed ignorance of anyone leaving the walls. He must have left by some occult means."