Kings of Ash

by Richard Nell

  Halvar’s face at last seemed under his control, and one of his hands found the handle of his sword. “So you have,” he said. “I congratulate you. But things have changed, shaman. My matron and her sisters ask too many questions. They want to know how I have acquired so many swords and shields and why more men are asking to serve me. A priestess and her dogs have come and gone, too. I didn’t like the way she looked at me, or spoke to the townsfolk.”

  Ruka listened to the pop and gentle waving of the torch-flame as it blew in the wind, both groups of men utterly silent. “I told you there would be risks,” he said quietly. “I have come with your share, as promised. Now I require supplies, shelter and labor. I require what you owe.”

  “Owed, shaman.” Halvar glanced at his men as if Ruka were speaking nonsense. “I protected your little venture and my part is done. I’ll have what I’m due and keep silent. Then you and your men will leave on your ships. You’ll have to re-supply elsewhere. And that’s the end of it.”

  The squat chief straightened and took a half-step away, though Ruka made no movement. For a moment he said nothing, only holding the smaller man’s eyes.

  “The gods punish oathbreakers, Halvar. Edda heard your words as she heard mine. Falsehood must be answered with deed.”

  More voices came from the hall, and Halvar glanced behind as more of his warriors approached the gathering out of curiosity. He sneered, clearly bolstered by their presence.

  “You Southerners and your gods. Don’t threaten me, I have twice your warriors, and the Order’s protection. If it weren’t for Altan I’d never have given you more than a moment’s thought. Go back to your ships, outcast, and get me my treasures, or else I’ll fuck your Edda in her filthy arse.”

  A few of the chief’s half-drunken men laughed, but most put wary hands to the hilts of daggers or swords.

  Ruka raised an arm to hold Aiden back. Despite the chief’s claims, he knew he could burn Kormet to the ground. He would suffer losses and gain little, though, riling up the Northerners and the Order and making everything harder. So many didn’t deserve to die for one foolish coward.

  “I make no threat,” Ruka said. “I only warn you, as I warn all men of ash. Now is the time to look to your deeds, son of Imler. Only the brave live forever. That is the truth.”

  With that Ruka nodded in respect and stepped away, and the two groups of warriors began to separate before Halvar called out to his son.

  “Boy, come here. I will hear of what you’ve seen in this ‘raid’, and accept your renewed oath of loyalty now before these men and your brothers.” He held out his hand, and his other sons grinned and waited for what was all but public humiliation. The other warriors stopped but Ruka could see in their eyes many thought their chief foolish to test the moment again.

  Folvar grit his teeth and held his ground. It was clear he had intended to return to the ships with Ruka. His father’s face grew impatient, and he opened his mouth to speak. His eyes went wide, and one of his hands jerked as he stumbled forward.

  A hooded man stepped from Halvar’s line as quick and quiet as Arun. Ruka slowed the moment in his Grove, blinking through the memory until he saw the dagger flash in the torchlight. In three heart-beats, the attacker crossed the dirt between the warriors and vanished into Aiden’s line, and Ruka knew it had been Eshen in a stolen cloak.

  All watched as Halvar moaned, then collapsed to his knees. Blood spurted from his neck just above his shoulder, and his sons and some of his warriors reached for him and held him up as he thrashed and failed to speak.

  “The gods have spoken,” Ruka hissed. “Dishonorable death, for a dishonorable man.”

  Halvar’s warriors drew swords and axes but held their ground, their chief dropped and dying in the dirt.

  “I am the eldest.” One of his sons stepped forward with sword raised. “I claim his title.” He pointed it at Ruka. “You will give me my father’s murderer, and every coin you owed, unless you’re an oathbreaker, too.”

  Ruka nodded as his mind raced. “I will honor my word. Kormet will receive what it is owed.” He smiled as he saw the answer. “To whichever man is its steward.”

  The boy snorted. “Not whichever man, shaman. Me. Malvar, son of Halvar. I claim the title, who would challenge me?”

  Again Aiden moved forward with death in his eyes, and again Ruka held him back. Instead he looked to Folvar.

  Already the young man’s forehead glistened with sweat. He met Ruka’s eyes, and nodded, then took a deep breath. His lids drooped as he mastered his fear.

  “I challenge.” The young man stepped forward. “You’re no better than that fool in the dirt, brother. I have seen paradise. I have crossed into the realm of the gods and returned. I will take the men of Kormet to their glory, if they have the courage.”

  Silence grew as the twins stepped before the warriors and took each other’s measure. Ruka wondered again at the strangeness of fate or chance or whatever power moved the world, not sure what he would do if Folvar lost. It would be better, he decided, to ensure he did not.

  “Well spoken.” Ruka stepped beside his favored champion, placing a hand on his shoulder, then turned to the crowd of men.

  “Look now, men of ash, to the power of the gods you’ve forsaken. Look to a man gifted for his deeds, and for his boldness. See your brother rise.” Ruka lifted a round-shield of tempered steel in his Grove, its face etched with runes. In the land of the living he seized Folvar’s forearm, head bowed as the fires of creation flared. The young man’s arm trembled at the sight, and as the weight of the wood, steel and leather wrapped itself around his flesh. His hand gripped the handle.

  “This is Efras, Hunter of Men.” Ruka drew his own sword and glanced at the other would-be chief as he smiled. “But it will kill boys just as well.”

  Aiden growled low from his gut, and his men stomped their feet and clashed swords against the hall or their shields until the racket broke the other men from their trance. The threat of group violence vanished in the spectacle of a duel, and the warriors stepped closer together to form two half-circles.

  Folvar took Ruka’s sword with wide, glistening eyes. He stared at the edge until his jaw hardened, then he clanged the iron against his shield. The sound echoed in the cool, night air like a ringing bell as he stepped into the circle. Aiden’s men roared.

  His brother entered with far less fanfare. He drew his sword and yelled at his brothers until one of them passed him a wooden shield. His face had gone pale, and he stared at Folvar’s rune-covered shield in disbelief, and perhaps terror.

  They stood apart too long. The crowd of warriors began jeering and calling for blood until the frightened Malvar tried to boost his courage with a war-cry. Then he charged.

  Folvar jerked forward and their barriers clashed, the metal boss of the wooden shield ringing against steel. Both brothers pushed and shoved and tried to knock the other off balance, but both held. They separated and took turns slashing at the other’s guard and trying to find some path around. It became clear they were evenly matched—that they had fought many times, practiced under the same warriors, and knew the other’s tricks.

  After several blows, Malvar’s shield began to splinter. Chips flew from the edges, and the boss angled as the frame around it warped. The bearer saw it clearly. He licked his lips and attacked wildly, exposing himself as he swayed from side to side to find an opening, swiping his shield across to knock away his brother’s guard.

  The thin wood protecting him held incredibly well, and he staggered Folvar to the edge of the crowd with desperate strength, crying out now with every blow as if he’d won.

  All at once, Folvar planted a foot, lurched forward with saved strength, and rammed Efras through his brother’s chest.

  In the frozen moment of victory and defeat, both men dropped their shields and almost embraced, staring into each other’s eyes. Malvar coughed blood, and Folvar eased him to the ground and held him, using his free hand to touch his brother’s face and st
roke his hair and speak soothing words.

  The blood-lust and shouting of the men died to nothing. Folvar rose stained with his brother’s blood, and in the fighting the half-circles had come together, all threat of violence gone. Both sides of warriors stomped or knocked their shields or called their praise.

  Folvar closed his eyes, then opened them and looked to the night sky. For an endless, fleeting moment, all around him basked in the bittersweet glory, and at the wonder and tragedy of life.

  “What is this? What have you done?”

  The warriors almost collectively sighed, turning towards the hall as the moment broke. A group of women stood outside the main doors, a grey-haired matron in the shift of a First Mother standing before them. Folvar stepped towards her.

  “I have returned, mother, from beyond the edge of the world. I have stepped on the shores of paradise and killed men in battle. I have gained allies and wield a weapon of the gods.” He pointed Efras at the body of his father. “And I have claimed the title of this unworthy man. Unlike him, I will see the matrons of Kormet see the rewards they are owed.”

  The First Mother swept her gaze over Ruka and his men, then over the corpses and the eyes of her town’s warriors, before returning them to her son.

  “And your brother? Was he unworthy, too?”

  Folvar grit his teeth. “No, mother. Your son sought his title like a man. He fought bravely, and honored himself. He will be re-born.”

  Many of the men grunted their approval at these words. His mother sighed but said nothing, then looked to Ruka.

  “I have heard of you, shaman. The Order calls you criminal, and heretic. Is that what you are? Have you corrupted my kin? Are you here to destroy all our sons, fathers and brothers?”

  Ruka stepped into the circle. In his Grove the dead were already digging a grave-marker for Malvar, who he agreed had fought bravely.

  “Can you read, First Mother?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed as if she meant to spit a retort, but thought better of it. “I can read runes enough, son of Noss.”

  Ruka nodded. “Hold up your shield, Folvar.”

  The boy stooped and lifted it, and clearly it had not even been scratched in the duel. The matron’s eyes squinted as she looked, and Ruka feared she couldn’t truly see.

  “It reads courage,” he said, as much to the crowd as the matron. “Vol etches it with his marks, for only bravery will truly protect your men, and shield them against whatever comes. Your son has it, First Mother, as has every great man since Turgen Sar brought us forth.” He pointed. “Look on your son. Look on the heroes who stand at his side. It is these who will take your daughters to paradise, if their will holds true.” He raised his voice to be heard even in the hall. “Look on their deeds, mothers of Kormet. Look on the spirit shining like star-gods from their eyes, and tell me—have I corrupted them, or have the priestesses? Have I not set them free?”

  The men rose up with pride at his words, and made it true. The matron looked, and looked, emotions and thoughts rising and falling in ways Ruka could never know. When she turned to her son, her face did not hide her approval.

  “Your silver tongue may be our doom, shaman. But if my sons will follow you, then the daughters of Kormet will stand with them. You will need a matron, Folvar. We will go and choose.” She looked one last time at her dead child. “Return him to ash, chief. He was young and strong.” Her eyes passed over her mate of many years, and only a wave of scorn rippled across her face.

  She turned and the matrons followed her towards the hall, no doubt for a long night of bargaining and discussion and harsh words—a battle of persuasion and will to calm worried minds, and find a path to harmony. Ruka smiled. A matron’s duel.

  He saw the men who had before looked frightened and wary now seem content, and thought again on Dala’s words. She had been right, he knew that. He would need the approval of the women of ash as much as the chiefs. He would maybe even need the priestesses, for he could not truly intimidate the matrons with violence, and he did not wish to kill all their sons and fathers.

  The thought did not give him peace, for he had lost power he thought he possessed, and Dala’s had grown. He did not know if she lied, or if she would betray, and could not know until the moment arrived. But even if and when it did, what exactly could he do?

  Chapter 59

  Two days after Folvar’s rise to chieftain, Ruka stood gathered with all his men and allies on the beach beside his Kingmakers. He stood with his captains and stared at a crudely drawn map, sketching the outline of the Ascom, and the coasts of Pyu.

  If he wished of course he could have drawn a perfect map of the known world by Naranian reckoning, but these men were not ready for such things. He would strive to give them the essence of the truth for now, and leave the detail for later.

  “The land of ash must change,” he said, squinting in the mid-morning light. “Some of you have seen the future. You have seen the warm shores of paradise and its wealth. But to take it, and hold it, will be difficult. It will mean managing a new world full of many peoples and warriors, kings and ships. And there is more to this world even than you have seen. This new land is made of many islands, cousins, but there is another, even vaster land beyond them. To face these things the men of ash must be united.”

  Here he paused to gauge their reaction, which seemed mostly bewilderment. Egil cleared his throat, knowing his role after so many years now without instruction.

  “How would we do this, shaman?”

  Ruka looked away, as if the gods spoke to him even now. “First, we seize the fertile ring.” He swiped his quill and drew a line across the map, separating the farmlands and the peninsula from the rest. The men all stared, somewhat awkwardly, until Altan spoke.

  “Isn’t that what Imler did, shaman?”

  Ruka almost grinned, thinking yes, because it is the only way.

  “Imler didn’t have ships,” he said instead. “We’ll use ours to seize the coasts quickly, take over the farms, and stop all trade through the Northern sea. The Order and the chiefs have nothing in the water to stop us.” He waited again though he didn’t much like the expressions he saw. What did you think, he wanted to shout, did you expect we’d defeat the Northern chiefs with words?

  “So, who will do this?” he called. “Who will step in the footsteps of a fallen king?”

  He knew the answer, of course, but was not disappointed. Aiden nearly surged forward like Sula in battle, eyes blazing with the promise of glory.

  “I will, shaman. I will clear the chiefsmen guarding the peninsula, and clear the sea. The fertile ring is my gift to you.”

  Ruka nodded. “Well spoken.” He looked to his other retainers. “Altan. You know better than any of us the foolish waste of the breadlands. So tell me, if you had no quotas, and no masters, what would you do with every field on the peninsula?”

  The Midlander was clearly surprised to be called on, and looked about before he shrugged. Then he squinted and seemed to actually consider it. “Disease must be controlled, shaman. It is rampant from so many seasons of mostly wheat.” He shook his head, as if it were all foolish talk. “Much of the crops should be burned and given a year of fallow. At the very least, we should know who is planting what, and where, and separate it with other crops, flax, peas, and so on. Some farmers know this and try it now, but it’s difficult with different chiefs controlling the land, all of who are rivals and do not speak of such things.”

  Ruka smiled. “Go with Aiden, Midlander. You are the Master of these lands now. You will work with the farmers, and between you decide what is best.”

  Altan blinked and glanced around again, as if it were madness to simply declare such a thing. Ruka had just announced he was in control of the richest land in the Ascom.

  “Won’t Orhus and all the chiefs come for us?” Birmun said, standing largely on his own. “Aren’t we breaking most every law there’s a punishment for?”

  Tahar sneered openly, which was not use
ful but neither easily dealt with. Ruka spoke without rebuke.

  “First the laws, then the lawmakers” He looked to Egil. “The great skald will go to Orhus. Many of the chiefs there already bear my gifts. I don’t expect this to give them much pause, but Egil will present my terms—enough grain to replace the best harvest their lands have ever had, delivered by ship come spring, along with silver and other gifts. All I will ask is that they do nothing—drag their heels and wait until spring. Some at least will listen and reduce the forces against us. We will need only two seasons.”

  “That won’t stop them,” Birmun said, undaunted. “Orhus has thousands of warriors. Once you’ve taken the ring, they’ll come in force, and we’ll be slaughtered.”

  Tahar looked on the verge of drawing his sword now, and other men muttered too until Altan spoke over the din.

  “Nevermind that, we can’t deliver on such a promise, shaman. If I do what you’ve asked with the land, it will take a whole year to deal with disease and produce a harvest, and only then with a bit of luck. In the meantime, the Ascom will starve. So what do we do about food?”

  This was a very reasonable question, of course, but then Altan did not know about Farahi.

  “Let me worry on that, Midlander. We’ll have enough. More than enough. In fact,” he looked to Kormet’s new chief, ”we will need to begin construction of new warehouses and bins—enough to hold an entire harvest at least from the peninsula. I will help your builders with the foundations, but then I have a task elsewhere.”

  The young man nodded without complaint, though many others looked concerned. Ruka had not addressed the threat of attack at all, but he did not yet intend to.

  “What will you be doing, shaman?” Aiden asked, his tone polite, as if only curious. Ruka smiled as most of the men watched him with wide, eager eyes, as if he would tell them the next act in a great story, their trust in him almost complete. He glanced at the sea.

  “I’m going to need three ships, mighty chief. And Folvar—I will require all Kormet’s fishermen and their boats. You can tell them they may earn a place in paradise without ever lifting a sword. It’s time the men of ash overcame another kind of fear. Sigun has given his blessing. We’re going to hunt the great beasts of the sea.”