Fire And Ice (Book 1)

by Wayne Krabbenhoft III

  “We have been over this,” one of the Kings said in disgust. He had hair and a beard the same as Storvik's, but he was older, shorter and heavier in the middle. He was not dressed like any king he had ever seen. His clothes were a simple brown and he had on a cloak of thick, brown fur. “A quarter of our ships are fighting the invaders in the Sea of the East.”

  “And another quarter have sailed south to watch the fleet of Ithanians,” a second King added in. He had blonde hair that hung just above his shoulders and a neat beard. He wore a yellow coat over his clothes. “We should need no more proof than that. The war is about to begin, and if we sit here much longer we will miss out on it.”

  Coran, listening to the exchange, was distracted by something. He let his gaze drift past the standing Kings to the side of the dais where an iron bound door stood closed. The top was rounded and a keyhole was evident on one side. There was something in there, something that tugged at his mind. He turned his head and leaned over to whisper in Tenobius’ ear. “That door. Where does it lead?”

  He looked to the side of the dais. “To a chamber.”

  “What is in it?” he asked, the tugging sensation did not let up.

  “Something important.” He said no more.

  Coran shook himself to break the ghostly connection, and turned his attention back to the meeting at hand.

  “Then where is the Lord of the North!” someone shouted from the crowd.

  “We can’t go south without the Lord!”

  The words were drowned out in a multitude of opinions being given at once.

  “You see the problem?” Tenobius said in his ear.

  It seemed Storvik had truly cut to the heart of the matter with his explanation. “I do, but what am I to do about it?”

  “You came here to speak to them did you not? Do so,” Tenobius suggested calmly.

  Coran scanned the exuberant men in the hall. They could easily turn hostile on him. By the reactions on the King’s faces he guessed that the conversation was not a new one, but rather, had been hashed out many times before. They might actually welcome a change. It helped for him to tell himself that.

  Resolutely he pushed past the last group of people before the dais and set his foot on the bottom step. “Why do you procrastinate!?” he shouted loud enough to be heard over the other voices. “The Midians are preparing to fight, and to die! Will the brave men of the North sit on their butts while real men fight for their freedom?!” He stopped, realizing that he had their attention. Angry faces stared back at him, but he couldn’t back down now. “Do you need signs that will tell you of victory? Do you fear to fight without them?” He had some of them. A few of those gathered looked away in shame. They understood.

  “Who is this upstart!?” a voice cried. A man with dark hair and a beard in the style of Dorne stepped to the first step as well. His action was saying he would not be outdone. “Who allowed this Midian in the sacred hall of Eryk!?”

  Angry mutters arose from the gathered crowd. Before things got out of hand the Kings raised their arms and called for silence. The third one was the one who spoke to him. He had dark, short cut hair touched with gray, and a goatee. He was average in height, for a Northman, and he was on the thin side. “Who are you?” he asked in a strong voice. “Why are you here?”

  “I am here on behalf of my Queen, Katelyn Sundarrion, who wishes us to work together against a common foe.”

  “Kill him,” the man at the step stated. “By law, no Midian is allowed here on pain of death.”

  “We will handle this Keryk,” the third King stated. He turned back to Coran. “You understand that Midians are not allowed?”

  “I do,” Coran replied confidently. “I am Coran Tyelin.” The King’s eyes widened a fraction. He had to be Edric of Leanesse, since he was the only one to react to the name.

  “Are we going to kill him?” the first King asked impatiently.

  “No,” Edric stated, “he has the blood of the North.”

  “Impossible,” Keryk said, and there was an angry buzz that seemed to agree with him.

  Edric fixed Keryk with a wilting stare. “I vouch for him. Do you doubt me?” Keryk shook his head. The other Kings did as well when that gaze fell on them. “Do you have anything else to say?” he said to Coran.

  “Only that time is of the essence. The invaders might be in Voltia by now. Summerhall requests your help. My Queen requests it.”

  “A woman,” Keryk scoffed. “A Midian bitch.”

  Coran could be given a great deal of credit at this point for his reserve. He put a hand to his sword and stared at Keryk with hatred. “Apologize for that remark or I will have your head.”

  “Wait a moment,” Edric said. “I am sure that Keryk spoke hastily, and we are inside Herrinhall,” he reminded Coran.

  “In respect of where we stand I would gladly withdraw my challenge to such a remark towards my Queen, but towards my betrothed I must persist. If Keryk will join me outside the hall when the meeting is over we can finish our argument. Unless he would like to apologize?”

  “Ridiculous,” Keryk stated.

  “I think not,” the second King stated. “You have insulted his betrothed. That changes matters. I would suggest you apologize Keryk. Besides, a man of honor would not use the peace of Herrinhall as an excuse for delivering insults.”

  Keryk looked for help from others, but found no support. “I apologize for my remark,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Now that is settled we can turn back to the problem at hand,” Edric exclaimed. “What are we to do?”

  “Since we need a Lord of the North, why don’t we find one?” someone shouted.

  “We have already tried to take the sword,” Edric conceded.

  A hush followed the announcement. Coran was at a loss of understanding of what they meant. Tenobius approached him and tried to explain. “The Sword of Eryk lies entombed. Only the true Lord of the North can retrieve it. The Kings are allowed to try, but they have just said that they have failed.”

  “Why do they not have others try? If they need a Lord so badly.”

  “Anyone else has the right to attempt it, but if he fails then he must accept the consequences.”

  “Death?” he asked.

  “Yes,” he replied evenly. “Otherwise, everyone would try and take the sword. It would take months if not years to find the real one, if he exists.”

  “You mean Ice?” The sword that Eryk gave to Soros after he struck down the wizard, Zir’Thenn. The only thing that the founder of Summerhall brought back with him from the East, which was then returned to the care of Herrinhall.

  “Yes.”

  “This is why I am here,” he said to him suddenly understanding. “To get the sword.”

  Tenobius glanced at him with a look of thoughtfulness in his eyes. “I do not know why you are here, but Nortia told me to tell you something. You must do what you feel you must. It is your path to choose.”

  In the silence the King’s conferred with each other. They spoke with heads together in a circle for several minutes. Finally, they stepped apart. Edric spoke first. “We ask a last time for any guidance that Nortia might give us.”

  “I have said what I can,” Tenobius told them in a voice that rang clear in the hall. “However, I may tell you that what Coran says is true. Our enemy is even now leading his forces against the Midians. The choice, Nortia leaves to you.”

  The gathered members looked to their Kings for a decision.

  “Very well. Under the circumstances we have agreed,” Edric stated. “Are there any here who wish to try and take up the sword of Eryk?”

  The question hung heavily in the air. Men glanced to either side of them nervously. No one spoke out or stepped forward to accept the challenge.

  “Perhaps our long lost Northman is brave enough to try?” Keryk said to Coran. “If he believes so strongly in his cause how can he refuse?” Whether it was intended to be sarcastic or not there were a few chuckles from those c
losest to him. No one else thought it funny.

  Eyes turned on Coran expectantly. If he refused, it would take away from all for which he had argued. They would no longer listen to him. Was the fate of Summerhall worth losing his life over? Was Katelyn’s fate? “I will try,” he stated to the hall of men. Another buzz of comment swept the crowd. “Maybe Keryk would like to try as well? I am sure that no one can doubt his bravery.” That produced a few more chuckles than before.

  Keryk scowled at him, but had little choice after just forcing Coran into it. “I will.”

  “Then it is decided,” the blonde King announced. He had to be Jarl of Nyeland. “The two will step onto the dais.”

  Coran took the last two steps up and stood beside the Kings and Keryk stood at the other side. “Who should be the one to go first?” Edric asked them.

  “I will,” Keryk announced. “I, at least, am not a half breed.”

  Coran was perfectly happy to let him. He nodded to Edric who led the man to the door at the side of the dais. Tenobius walked up to the dais and to the door itself. He produced a bronze key from somewhere that he did not see. It turned soundlessly in the lock and a click could be heard in the silent hall. The door swung inward just as silently. The First Wizard stepped back to allow Keryk to enter along with the Kings of the North. Coran waited along with everyone else as the door shut behind them.

  Tenobius moved to stand beside him. He was smiling. “That was well done,” he complimented him.

  “Are you joking?” he said incredulously. “I am probably going to die.”

  He was genuinely surprised at his reaction, then the smile returned. “I do not believe so. If that were the case, Nortia would not have allowed you to come here.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You will see,” he replied cryptically.

  It was about ten minutes later when Edric emerged. The whispered conversations that had resumed during the wait broke off abruptly. The King shook his head slightly before glancing at Coran.

  “Keryk is dead.” Tenobius nudged him with his elbow. “Go. It is your turn.”

  It was true, every eye was now upon him. He took a deep breath and stepped towards the open doorway.

  Inside the three Kings awaited him standing with their backs against the walls, one for each of the three unadorned ones. The fourth wall had an area where the cracks in the stone outlined a door. Next to that, about the same size as the door, was an area with dozens of small stone squares about an inch in length. On every square was a symbol. Above the door was written an inscription. The letters were difficult to make out.

  “The words are an old dialect,” Edric informed him. “It says: He who wishes to take the sword must do so, not for glory, or self interest. He must know the reason why, the one above all others.”

  Coran tried to think. Why did he want the sword? Something else came to mind. He realized that there was no sign of Keryk in the room and swallowed. What had been his fate?

  “It is too late to back down now,” Edric said. “You must choose a symbol.”

  Coran stepped up to the wall covered with the symbols. There were pictures of a man, a woman, a child. A child would be a good reason. Continuing to scan the squares he saw animals of every kind. There was a wolf like the wolves he had seen carved on the doors to the hall. There was a hawk exactly like the hawk of Tyelin. That one pulled at him slightly when he saw it. Was that why he wanted the sword? No. He spotted a sun like the sun of Summerhall and wondered. What was he fighting for? What was the reason above all others? Then he knew which symbol to choose. Carefully he reached out with a finger and touched it to the picture of a rose. “This one,” he announced. The door clicked and swung inward silently. The Kings looked surprised at that. How many had tried and failed since the sword was placed here? Coran pulled the stone door open the rest of the way and entered the room beyond.

  The room was shaped as a perfect circle like the walls around the palace. There were no other openings of any kind. There were no torches lit in the room, but still there was light enough to see. The source of the light seemed to be coming from the middle of the room. In the center of the room was a pillar of a white substance that connected the floor to the ceiling. The surface was smooth and as round as the chamber. It looked to be solid as the stones too. He could see into it imperfectly, it reminded him of ice. At the center of the ice pillar, suspended vertically, was something long and metallic. He caught the faintest hint of blue from the object. That had to be ‘Ice’, and he had to find a way to get at it.

  The King’s had entered behind him and took up positions against the round walls to watch.

  Coran walked all around the circumference of the pillar looking for anything that might hint at a way in. He found nothing. He put out his hand to touch the surface and found it to be cool, not cold like he expected. It was not wet either as regular ice should be in a warm room. Touching it he felt that tugging feeling again, or maybe it was more like a yearning. A yearning to reach what was incased within. The pillar shuddered suddenly and the face of Edric revealed his surprise. A quick glance showed the same on the faces of the others. Of course, they had no idea what to expect either. The shuddering stopped at his distracted thoughts. He focused again on reaching the sword buried in the magical ice. He imagined touching it, holding it up before him. The pillar shook again, more violently this time. He ignored the shaking and kept the image firmly in his mind. He could not be sure if it was his imagination, but the whole chamber seemed to shake. Edric stumbled and put out a hand to the wall to keep from falling, Coran ignored it. The substance that imitated ice cracked beneath his hand and a chunk of it fell away to shatter on the floor. More pieces broke off to follow the first until the sword was exposed to the air for the first time in centuries. He reached for it and more ice broke away to reveal the handle. Wrapping his hand around the hilt the rest of the pillar shattered in every direction. Coran put his free hand up to protect his face, but none of the shards found him.

  He suddenly found himself standing in the middle of the room with the sword of legend in his hand. The light reflected off the steel. Along with the silver of metal there was a blue hue to the blade. He heard gasps from more than one throat and there was banging on the door to the hall that could be heard from the next room.

  The Kings stood in shock at what was before them. Jarl had a small gash on his cheek from one of the shards of ice, but it might as well have not been there. Edric was the first to recover. With his eyes still wide he went into the outer room and opened the door. Several voices could be heard. Coran led the two remaining Kings out to join Edric.

  “Is everything all right?” someone asked with alarm.

  “What happened?”

  “Was it an earthquake?” he heard shouted from the hall.

  “Everything is...” Edric swallowed. “Make way!” He went out of the chamber and the others followed him. More questions were being directed to them as they emerged, but shock still held their tongues.

  The light reflecting off the blade was mesmerizing. Coran felt like he was in a trance. The blade was about the same size as his own. The handle was a deep blue, almost black, and the rounded pommel was smooth.

  Without thought he left the chamber and strode to the front of the dais with Ice held up for all to see. There was a collective intake of breath as they witnessed the impossible. Someone had taken up the Sword of Eryk.

  Storvik was the first to break free from the spell. He raised a fist into the air and shouted. “The Lord of the North has returned!”

  As if the shout broke others from their state of shock they raised their own fists to the ceiling. “Hail the Lord of the North!”

  Everyone was shouting by now and their voices eventually came together in a booming cadence. “Coran! Coran! Coran!”

  It was Coran who was stunned by the display from a people who a little time ago doubted his own heritage. He glance to the gray haired Tenobius who beamed at him wit
h a great deal of satisfaction. He got the feeling that he had done well and Tenobius was pleased with his performance. How much did the First Wizard really know about what was going to happen? It sent a shiver through him. What was he missing?

  He stood on the raised platform before the most powerful men of the North. His face was grim as he wondered who was prodding him towards an unknown fate, and why. He barely heard the unceasing cries.

  “Coran! Coran!”

  Chapter 35

  Herrinhall

  Coran stood before the window that had been opened a crack to hear the laughing and yelling populace of Herrinhall. They were exuberant as the word spread quickly to every corner of the city. The wind easily carried their celebrating up to the room he was in. It was a simple room, bare of decorations and containing only a long plain table and a few chairs, not enough to surround the table.

  After the shouting in the hall had finally abated the men had left quickly to spread the word to others. As he stepped down from the dais he noticed a man with the shoulder length hair and short cut beard of Nyeland. He was blonde with dark blue eyes that held dislike for Coran.

  As Storvik fell in beside Coran the blonde Northman noticed where he was looking. “That is Keryk.” Coran looked to him sharply. “No, not the dead one. That is his cousin. They were both named for the same grandfather. Watch out for him, they share more than the same name.”

  The three Kings, Storvik and Tenobius had led him to this rarely used room. Herrinhall was not your ordinary palace. There was a small staff, sufficient to care for the wizards who actually lived there and the nobles who stayed for one reason or another. The place belonged to no one and everyone, having been built for all Northmen, until now. Apparently, it belonged to him as the Lord of the North.

  Coran closed the window and turned to the others. “I will lead them to war, yet they celebrate?” he asked no one in particular. They had to know that it would be the first thing he would do. Somehow he had become responsible for a people once again. It did not sit well in him, but he had few choices. He came here to get their help.