by Rex Hazelton
Despite the press of people surrounding them, the men managed to wind their way through the merry crowd until they entered a large, grassy field that lay upon a tall hill overlooking the wooden battlements fronting the bay's dark green waters. Brightly-colored tents, decorated with images of dragons, giants, and griffin, stood along the length of the field. Milling about the pavilions, hundreds of people conversed beside tables filled with succulent food and aromatic drink. A ring of tall wooden poles, covered with carvings depicting hammers, stood in the center of the field. Boulders of varying sizes and logs lay in the grass between the poles. Not being a stranger to competition, Jeaf knew the ring would be used in contests of strength and agility.
Fyreed led the men to the largest of the tents. Red in color, its cloth was adorned with numerous images of golden hammers striking the heads of slithering dragons. All the while, excited people kept pouring into the field.
Just as they reached the parameters of the elaborately decorated tent, a score of men lifting ram horns tipped with star's blood began blowing a symphony of clarion blasts, announcing the beginning of the feast. A shout of joy rose up to greet the call. Soon, other trumpets could be heard sounding out from every quarter of the great city as the celebration came to life.
Without further ado, the people descended on the mounds of food like ants sweeping over a piece of sweet apple pie. Bound by duty, Fyreed resisted the urge to join in the celebration. Instead, he pushed his way into the red tent and spoke into the ear of a warrior who was clad in armor made of steel and star's blood. When the warrior lifted his head to look at Jeaf, the young Woodswane could see red braids falling out from under a helmet shaped to look like eagle's wings. Emerald eyes, sparkling like precious stones, studied the young Woodswane before the stout Bjork disappeared deeper inside the tent. In the mean time, a passerby thrust a turkey leg and flagon of wine into Jeaf's hands. His escorts were amused at his look of surprise.
Soon, the men were eating, drinking and laughing as the feast swept them up in its ribald revelry. Bacchanor, who danced balancing a tall mug of beer on the brown curly locks covering head, looked right at home. On the other hand, Goldan appeared stiff and uncomfortable in the midst of the celebration eddying about him like swirling currents of robust wind.
After some time, the redheaded Bjork returned with a horn full of ale signaling Jeaf, Goldan and Bacchanor to follow him. Unburdened from their responsibilities, Fyreed and his comrades filtered off into the festivities in search of their friends and families.
Soon the three men were seated at one of the king's long tables with instructions to enjoy their meal and the music that filled the air with palpable joy. A man, dressed in a shimmering red robe, one that had a picture of a dragon being crushed beneath a golden hammer embossed on it, caught Jeaf's attention. A ring of star's blood lay upon his brow. The man lifted his goblet in acknowledgment of the young Woodswane's attention. Knowing this must be the king, Jeaf bowed his head to honor the sovereign. Pleased with Jeaf's courteous response, the king turned his attention back to the scores of people who were approaching him bearing gifts. Swallowed up in the throng, this was the last time the young Woodswane would see the king, for almost a day's duration.
In time, the Bjork, who loved more things than just food, were energetically involved in contests of strength. This was another of their many passions. Jeaf, who was feeling the affects of the rich wine, was enthralled with the tall Bjork who took turns tossing boulders and logs inside the ring of tall wooden poles. The farthest throws were marked with a spear holding a cloth with the name of the athlete written upon it.
The young Woodswane's fixation with the contest was suddenly interrupted when a large hand slapped him on the back. It was Fyreed, inviting Jeaf and Goldan to come and try their hand at sport. Without giving the men time to answer, other Bjork clasped the two by their vests and lifted them to their feet. Realizing resistance was futile, Jeaf and Goldan shrugged their shoulders, good-naturedly, resigning themselves to the fate they were being briskly escorted towards like children being dragged off to clean their rooms.
Stripping down to the waist, in accordance with Bjork sporting customs, the two men revealed upper bodies replete with muscle. The only difference between the two was that Goldan was fairer-complected and his age had given him more time to accumulate muscle mass. Comparable in stature, the men didn't appear out of place standing among the athletically gifted Bjork whose torsos were covered with tattoos of varying color and description, each design signifying an exploit or accomplishment. Noticing this disparity, the Bjork had pity on their guests. Using paint taken from two buckets filled with gold and red pigments that were being used to mark the contestants with either the sign of a dragon or hammer, they drew rudimentary designs on the men.
Once properly adorned, Jeaf and Goldan were taking their turns at tossing boulders, starting with the smaller ones and working their way up to the larger ones. The young Woodswane loved the competition and the adrenaline rush that came with it. After having made an excellent throw that put his name on the spear marking the leader's toss, the young Woodswane lifted his head up and gazed out over the cove toward Thundyrkynd's sister city that was awash in the very same festivities. With the wind blowing through his hair, Jeaf examined both cities and their defenses, thinking if one were to join the two together they would rival the Eagle's Vale in size.
From his vantage point, on the crown of the grassy hill, he could see a large building made of huge timbers rising above the red tent. He assumed this was the King's Hall. Bjork longboats were also visible, each with the head of a dragon carved onto a narrow bow. He thought this peculiar, since he was aware that the symbol of their god was a hammer crushing a dragon's head.
Jeaf won the contest for throwing one of the modest-sized boulders but didn't fair as well with the heavier ones. Goldan's abilities, on the other hand, came to the forefront when the larger stones came into play. Both he and Fyreed distanced themselves from the others when the last and largest of these boulders was thrown. The two muscular men took turns passing the other's toss until their last and greatest efforts were deemed to be so close in distance that the judges were forced to call it a draw.
Since the two were comparable in strength, they were matched together in the wrestling competition that was about to begin. But others would fight first, giving the powerful warriors time to rest after their extraordinary struggle.
Hearing about this, Jeaf was worried that Goldan would face the Bjork who showed animosity toward the Tsadal when they first met. The intense competitive spirit these stout men displayed in the boulder toss only added to the young Woodswane's concern. When he shared his anxiety with his friend, Goldan just shrugged his shoulders and said something about heathens. His clenched jaw muscles and squinting eyes portended a wrestling match worth the price of admission and one that the young Woodswane dearly hoped wouldn't put them in bad stead with their hosts.
The Bjork fought violently in their wrestling matches. At times Jeaf wondered if they weren't trying to kill each other. In the first ten matches, two men had bones broken, one had a shoulder disjointed, and two others were knocked unconscious. The crowds, that were going wild with laughter and shouting, couldn't be more pleased. To top it all off, random fights broke out when the excitement of the wrestling matches overflowed beyond the circle of wooden poles. What would these people do to their enemies, if they treat their family and friends so roughly? Jeaf wondered.
As numbers eleven and twelve were beating on each other, a young redheaded man of roughly Jeaf's same age and height came up to him and slapped him on the shoulder, congenially challenging the young Woodswane to wrestle him. Feeling awkward, Jeaf shook his head in agreement even as thoughts of broken noses and dislocated shoulders danced about in his head. Smiling ruefully, he reminded himself that he had only come to Thundyrkynd to catch a boat ride to Riverkynd, home of the Hadram, the great city that lay on Nyeg Warl's western shores. Now, he was enmeshed i
n a drunken celebration where people smashed each other's heads in.
Soon the young Woodswane, who recently had the image of a golden hammer painted on his back, and the cheerful redheaded Bjork, who bore the image of a red dragon, were clasping hands in a ritual that preceded each brawl. Goldan held the Hammer of Power while Jeaf wrestled. And strange as it may seem, Bacchanor sat on top of one of the towering wooden poles, resting his elbow on his knee and his bearded chin on the knuckles of one hand while holding a horn of beer that never seemed to run dry, in the other. How he got on top of the pole no one rightly knew. But the oddity did not go unnoticed by the Bjork who pointed and laughed at such an unusual sight. With the fight about to begin, the wizard's reddish-brown eyes sparkled with curiosity- since the alcohol appeared to have very little effect on him- as he waited to watch the young Hammer Bearer display his fighting acumen against a capable Bjork warrior.
The crowd grew deathly silent as the rumor of Jeaf's hammer swept through their midst. Then, before the young Woodswane realized that the fight had begun, his Bjork opponent grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him over his leg, elbowing him on the bridge of the noise as he flew to the ground. Stunned and bleeding, Jeaf had little respite before the red-headed Bjork came flying at him and planted his elbow in the young Woodswane's chest, driving the air out of his lungs and bruising his breast bone in the process.
Next, the young Bjork wheeled on the Woodswane and beset him from behind, trying to shoot his hands up under Jeaf's arms, past his shoulders, and behind his head to immobilize him until he had to give in. But the son of Aryl Oakenfel would not be had so easily, since he, as quick as a cat, twisted his body about until he and the Bjork were facing each other on all fours. Then leaping forward, Jeaf drove the top of his forehead into his opponents surprised face. The sound of crunching cartilage was music to his ears, for he knew that he had settled the score for his own bloodied nose. Not wanting to underestimate his opponent, the young Woodswane continued driving his body forward into the young man's chest, knocking him backwards to the ground.
After doing this, Jeaf surprised the crowd by leaping to his feet and graciously offering the Bjork his hand. At first the redheaded man didn't know what to make of this; but after recognizing the gallant gesture, he smiled and accepted the young Woodswane's offer.
Soon, the two wrestlers stood amidst raucous cheers, facing each other- once more- while blood ran out of their noses and over their mouths, obscuring their smiles. Then in a flash, they were on each other again. The young Bjork slid past the Woodswane's arms, grabbing him in a bone crushing bear hug. Struggling for breath, Jeaf realized he would have to concede the match unless he did something quickly. So, remembering Alynd's instructions, he focused his N'Rah at his unsuspecting opponent. The bear hug was instantly broken, sending red locks flying backwards to the ground. The corner of Goldan's mouth was touched with a hint of a smile as he recalled how Jeaf had thrown his men around, in the same way, on the day they first met.
Startled but undaunted, the young Bjork renewed his attack only to be tossed backwards with a thrust of Jeaf's hand. Rising once again, the fury of a new assault sent the Bjork's red locks flailing about as he dove at Jeaf's midsection. Surprisingly enough, the Woodswane did not resist the force of this attack. Instead, he joined his energy in with his opponent's, and with a gesture of his hand, he lifted him over his head and back to the ground where the Bjork rolled twice before arresting his momentum.
The ooooohhhs and aaaaahhhs filling the air turned into cheers when the young Woodswane offered his hand, once again, to his stunned opponent who sat bewildered on the cool, green grass. This time, the Bjork took the hand, and once he was helped to his feet, he lifted it high in the air acknowledging Jeaf's victory while he smiled and nodded his head approvingly.
As the crowd cheered wildly, a beautiful young maiden brought Jeaf the customary draught of ale that went to the victor. Grabbing ahold of the ivory mug, the young Woodswane took a hearty drink that poured over the sides of the cup and onto his painted chest. Then he handed the ornately carved vessel to his opponent, who gladly finished off the remaining drink.
In time, the two men were sitting on one of the timbers that had been used for the log toss, while two maidens attended to their bleeding noses. As this was happening, Goldan, who had already returned the hammer to Jeaf, and Fyreed entered the ring. The silence that greeted the wrestlers caused Jeaf to look up just in time to see the two stout warriors charging at each other like they were two enraged bucks fighting over a herd of does. A great THUD was heard a moment before the combatants disappeared behind a wall of people. Only the repeated sounds of flesh hitting flesh could be heard, followed by excited waves of cheering.
The fight had already lasted longer than Jeaf's before the young Woodswane decided to stand up on the lo, he had been sitting on, to try and catch a glimpse of the contest raging across the hilltop. The first thing he saw was Goldan hitting Fyreed across the side of his head with his forearm. Dazed, but still mastering his wits, his opponent retaliated by dropping his shoulder to throw his arm between Goldan's legs. Then lifting him up off the ground and up onto his shoulders, Fyreed mocked the Tsadal's helplessness by twirling him around before tossing him violently to the ground. Once Goldan landed, he quickly sprang to his feet and dove forward, tackling the muscular Bjork, sending both rolling out of the ring and into the crowd. This was the last that Jeaf saw, though the fight continued for some time longer.
Finally, a thunderous round of cheers marked the end of the battle. Not long afterwards, Jeaf learned that the contest had ended in a draw, once the two warriors- who crashed into a table covered with food- began laughing at each other for how outlandish they looked draped in sausages and smeared with sweet potatoes. Right then and there they quit fighting and started eating the food they were decorated in. This so entertained the crowd that they joined in the meal. Others, picking up the food that had fallen on the grass, began throwing it at each other, starting a riot of frivolity that gave birth to the thunderous roar of delight Jeaf had heard. As seemed appropriate, this explosion of hilarious fun initiated the evening meal.
Even after darkness fell upon the twin cities, the games continued through the night. Covered with an army of torches and a multitude of bonfires varying in size, the hilltop was awash in a glow that intensified the evening's activities. Horse races where riders stood upright on the backs of quick Bjork ponies, tight rope walking, archery, ax throwing and more continued on until the need for sleep overcame them.
So, ended day one of the feast.
Chapter 29: The Storm
The next day the people woke from their sleep as casually as bears waking from hibernation. Already, the sun had reached its zenith, for this was not a day to work. Like a good archer, the Bjork withdrew another arrow of celebration they would soon shoot into the heart of the new day. But unlike the previous one, this day was spent on romance and dancing. For the Feast of Autumn's Glory was a special time for young lovers, a time in which they would exchange engagement vows. Then during the spring's solstice, nuptials would be exchanged.
After Jeaf, Goldan and Bacchanor had cleaned up, Fyreed led them back into the king's tent where they were seated at a horseshoe-shaped table that lay open to the grassy field. This time, they found themselves sitting next to King Baryk and his Queen, situated at a right angle so they could conveniently see each other without having to turn their heads. After a clap of Baryk's hands, the ram's horns sounded and the people, famished by reason of the past night's activities, dove into the food and drink. Other than a cursory introduction, the king didn't address his guests until later in the meal. Jeaf was surprised to find that his redheaded wrestling opponent, now sitting at the king's right hand, was none other than Prince Leyert. Both men laughed when they noticed how the bruising each had inflicted on the other was spreading across their eyes, making them look like a pair of raccoons. Goldan and Fyreed, who had various contusions and bruises, as well as one
blackened eye each, joined in the laughter before they too dove into their victuals as eagerly as they had into each other.
The king, witnessing the warriors' joviality, spoke lightheartedly. “Well My Good Men, if the hope of Nyeg Warl is now entrusted into your bruised and bandaged hands, I guess we have nothing to fear.”
The men smiled good-naturedly even though Baryk had touched on a sober subject with his jest.
“May I see the hammer I've been hearing about?”
“Yes, My Lord,” Jeaf replied as he bowed his head while unsheathing Vlad'War's Child.
Receiving the Hammer of Power into his hands, feeling its resident magic, Baryk carefully examined it before asking his question. “Where did you get such a thing, young Oakenfel?”
“Your Majesty, a person who called himself Whistyme gave me the hammer you now hold.”
“Where can I find this fellow, Whistyme?”
“Sire, as strange as it may seem, I met him in a dream.”
The king gave the hammer a long thoughtful look before continuing. “Did he say you were the Hammer Bearer of Prophecy?”
“Yes, Sire, he did.” The young Woodswane bowed his head once more as he spoke.
“Is there any proof to this?”
It was now Bacchanor's turn to speak. “If I may, Your Highness? I witnessed this Woodswane defeat Laviathon with the power this hammer possesses.”
Those few in the tent who had not stopped eating before Laviathon's name was mentioned, did so now.
“Please, don't call me Your Majesty or Your Highness, for I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with my people and not above them. Just call me Sir, if you must.” King Baryk smiled warmly as he dispensed with the formalities.
“You say he defeated Laviathon all by himself? That's most interesting. You see we make our living trading… and much of what we trade comes from Ar Warl. We are a warrior people who provide for our needs with the plundered wealth taken from that foul land. The serpent Laviathon and his crocodon brood are our constant enemies, since Ab'Don employs them to protect his empire from our incursions.”
