Chapter 076:
Ivano's wrists chaffed against the iron links. The metal wasn't smooth or well made, like the metal that had bound his freedom when he had been caught by the Bebezarian Merchant Lords. Though he received the distinct impression that he wasn't meant to be enjoying his current situation. For some days, he couldn't tell how many had passed, he had been locked in a cold, wet and dark hole. A Clansmen Cell, somewhere no person wanted to end up. Other Clansmen had removed his armour and skins, leaving him with only a few undergarments to protect himself from the harsh elements. Some times he thought he would pass out and never wake again, but he had been through worse. The deep scars on his arm, reminders of a particularly nasty encounter with a flamboyant Bebbezar Merchant Lord, kept his anger growing and refusal to succumb to his situation.
When the cell door finally opened he could barely see. The light was blinding and took him a fair few breaths to adjust, made infinitely more worse by the white snow that covered everything. Someone beckoned him forward. Ivano had not been able to move much and his legs felt weak. Two pairs of hands grabbed him and pulled him out. He blinked furiously to adjust himself and saw the two Clansmen holding tightly on his arms.
“Ivano.” A gruff looking Clansmen grunted at him as Ivano was lead out and into the light. “The Five Great Chieftains have gathered to determine your fate.”
“That's surprising. To go through so much effort for me. Do I get the chance to say my piece?” Ivano asked, his voice raspy and dry. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything in the past few days. And none had been given, and he wasn't going to lap at the few droplets of the water that formed on the walls.
“I don't know.” the other Clansmen said. This one was older, much older, but conveyed a strange sense of dignity and strength. “I think it's up to the Old Gods now.”
Ivano hummed as they pulled him forward. His bare feet crunched in the snow. It had been so long since he felt the ice move and form underneath his feet and draw out his warmth. What little warmth he had.
“Couldn't at least give me some shoes?” Ivano asked. This was likely his last walk, so he might as well try and have some fun.
“I'm afraid that I can't do that.” the second Clansmen said. “They ordered us to bring you as fast as we can.”
Ivano didn't begrudge their actions. They were just doing their duty and he was, in their eyes, a disgraced man.
When he arrived at the first Clansmen town, Arnarfell, he and the remains of the invasion were regarded with suspicion. Initially they had been allowed in, but when the city chief found out why they were there, he was horrified and ordered his arrest. Ivano's Clansmen were too tired and demoralised to fight back, and he was sure that quite a few of them thought that he was the reason that they failed. Brenna had offered to fight but Ivano ordered her away. Snakha had, somehow, already disappeared and Brenna slinked away into the mass of Clansmen as Ivano was captured. The Clansmen and Orcs under his command were sent home but not without a strong sense of shame beaten into them. Where those to went he had no idea and more important things to worry about. For the next few days he was berated constantly by the chief of Arnarfell about his failure. At first Ivano had tried to explain himself, but it was easier to yell back the wind. Nothing sunk through his head, and when they started to beat him when he spoke back he retreated into his mind and ignored them. The chief thought that he had won, then moved from beration to gloating over him. Ivano would have paid any price to punch that mans' face in but that would have achieved nothing. The words that Ivano had spoken to the Grand Mage, at first only to save his own skin, rattled around in his head. He watched and listened to the chief, that largest and hardest hitter, rant and rave endlessly. What reason did he have to lead? His fists didn't make him intelligent, nor give him any skill. What did he know of actual fighting and the horrors of war when he could just bully and intimidate the others to fight for him?
A few days passed before a large force arrived in Arnarfell and took Ivano from the local chief, who apparently was about to hang him for his crimes. It was a small reprieve, a very small one, that they took him to the largest city in the Deweth Clans, its de-facto capital, Rangarvellir. He was brought into the city in disguise, for his own safety apparently, and thrown into the damp and dark cell. They were taking a failure on this level far more seriously than normal. That worried Ivano a little.
“We're here.” the first Clansmen spoke up. Ivano had day dreamed during their long walk. He glanced behind him and saw the city for all it was worth. Rangarvellir had been built in what was once an active volcano. One side of the mountain had blown itself apart and the Clansmen settlement had been built from the rim of the mountain to the base, large wooden long houses dotting the landscape for as far as he could see. Often Ivano had questioned the logic behind building in such a place. Many volcanoes still raged in the Deweth Clans, giant mountains that breathed fire and smoke, but this one was apparently dead. Building so close to one meant that the soil was surprisingly rich and fertile and were some of the few places that crops could be grown. All along the slopes of the volcano he could see farms and orchards, growing the few plants that could grow in the cold and near perpetual falling snow. He stood at the top of the dead volcano, infront stood the largest building in Rangarvellir, the Great Chieftain’s House. It officially belonged to the chief of Rangarvellir but today, judging by the number and variety of Clansmen present outside, representatives from the Five Great Clans had convened to lay judgement upon him. Ivano didn't know if he should be honoured or terrified.
The first Clansmen hit Ivano on the shoulder again and pushed him forward. As he trudged through the ankle deep snow the other Clansmen started to shout obscenities towards him. Ivano simply shook his head and ignored them, which only seemed to increase their anger. Giant oak doors groaned opened as they approached and Ivano was beckoned inside.
Ivano felt a wave of heat wash over him. In the centre of the long house lay an enormous fire pit, a tiny stream of smoke rising towards a hole in the ceiling. Standing around the fire were four large men and one, equally large, woman. The Chiefs of the Five Great Clans. Now Ivano felt a serious pang of worry, his chances of seeing his family again were growing more slim with every passing moment. Not that he seriously that he had any to begin with. The two Clansmen guards pushed him forward to a metal loop sticking out of the wooden floor a few feet from the fire. They brought out a length of fresh steel and wrapped it around the chains binding his wrists and through the loop on the ground. A metal bar with a knob on both ends, at the end of the chain, was moved through a link and turned. The bar was larger than a single link and couldn't be removed in a hurry. Ivano smiled, at least they were taking some precautions.
The five Chieftains beconend to servants hiding in the shadows to come forward. When they came into the light it became clear that they were actually slaves, and only a few of them were Clansmen. Humans, all smaller than a normal Clansmen, and of a wide variety of colours, came forward. Their heads were cast down, a thick metal band tightly fastened to their neck with a metal bar at the back to secure it, and all were covered in bruises of different stages of healing. None were treated particularly well. What was most surprising was that quite a few weren't human. A few Beast-kin moved forward alongside the humans, their throats clasped tight with a slave collar. While Ivano didn't know the different varieties of Beast-kin he could guess that these were canine, or perhaps even a wolf variety. Their faces were somewhat reminiscent of a human's, the general structure was the same, perhaps a little bit longer, but that's where it stopped. Their ears were much longer, those that still had them, and were covered in a mangy fur. Their eyes looked human, if hollow and devoid of emotion, their faces were covered with fur and their noses were a little longer with the small black nose of a wolf. Their hands had an impressive set of claws on them, until Ivano saw that the ends had been clipped short, presumably to keep them from attacking their Clansmen masters. A wolf Beast-kin took a stool and lowered it behind Ivano. He didn't know if it was male or female but he said his thanks regardless, there was no need to be rude to these slaves especially when he could be joining them soon. The Beast-kin glanced up at him, a tiny crease in its fur covered brows, before it slunk away to rejoin the others. Ivano glanced up and saw the others taking a seat and so he did as well.
“Ivano of the Blood Axe Clan.” a deep growling voice came from infront of Ivano as he took his seat. The man in the center of the semi-circle of the Chieftains spoke first. “You understand why you have been brought infront of us today?”
Ivano straightened his back as far as he could. The chains were a little tight so he moved the stool forward, a light groan emanated as he moved it forward with his legs, and he looked over the fire. Opposite him sat Arnkel Iricsson, High Chief of the Blood Axe Clan, Ivano's chieftain. The man was the epitome of what a Clansmen should be. Well over six feet tall and his exposed arms rippling with muscles and scars. He was a bit bigger than Ivano but was far more of a warrior than he. Arnkel had seen battle and war for almost his entire life. Easily into his late fortieth winter and still an impressive man, and still chief and yet to be usurped.
Ivano coughed and flexed his shoulders. “I suppose I am. Though I don't see the need for this.” Ivano tried his best to raise his hands, the metal clinking loudly with only the crackling of the fire to fill the air.
Arnkel grunted, a tiny hint of a smile visible underneath the thick brown beard. Another Chief leant forward. He wasn't as impressive a specimen as Arnkel. This Chief was much smaller and thinner, a golden medallion adorned with bright green and red jewels hung from a golden chain around his neck. Ivano's mind flashed back to Zig, and his charm. He wondered when that whole incident would be brought up.
“You should feel lucky that your corpse isn't feeding the wolves and crows already.” he said, rotten teeth jutting out of a cleanly shaved face. Whomever he was, he was furious. Ivano's mind raced but he couldn't put the name to him.
“Do not interrupt the proceedings.” Arnkel said to the man. “There is still an order to this, regardless of your own feelings.”
The man nodded and returned to his upright position. Whomever he was, he was content to let Arnkel doing the talking. For now at least.
“Ivano.” Arnkel continued. “You are here because of your failure in your last battle, resulting in the deaths of thousands of Clansmen...and the allied Orc clan, the Wrath of Doom.”
Ivano caught the other four Chiefs, even the one with the golden charm, snigger at their mention. Evidently they didn't think much of their allies either.
“Do you deny it?”
“Do I deny it?” Ivano asked. “That I cannot deny.” Again, Ivano raised the links binding his hands.
Arnkel nodded. “Very well. I would be greatly disappointed, no, insulted, if you tried to deny that. But that's not what this is about.” He looked at the others. “However, before our decision is made, there are a few questions that must be asked. Keep in mind that many of the Clansmen and Orcs under your command have already been questioned so we have a decent understanding of what happened.”
Ivano nodded. He was glad that his Chief was, at least on the surface, going to bother to ask questions. “I will answer as best I can.”
Arnkel looked to the man with the golden charm. He smiled, revealing his rotten teeth, to the visible disgust of everyone, even the human and Beast-kin slaves.
“You left with over sixty thousand Clansmen and...Orcs.” again, he forced himself to keep a straight face. “And you return with barely a thousand Orcs and less than half of the Clansmen.”
Ivano frowned as a silence filled the air. “Was...Was that a question, or a statement?”
The man jumped up in fury, a hand reaching for the charm dangling on his chest. Ivano clenched his fists at the sight, even though there was nothing that he could do in his present state. The Chief next to him stood up and threw him back down onto his stool, the charm wielders eyes flashing between confusion and murderous fury.
“Don't you look at me like that, Folkmar.” the other cheif bellowed. “If you ask...no, say, something stupid like that he's going to give you a stupid answer. I would have given you that response.” the Clansmen sat back down, all of Folkmar's rage directed at this Chief. “For your stupidity alone I almost feel compelled to let Ivano go free, no matter what he says.”
Folkmar took a deep breath, closed his eyes and flexed his hands in an attempt to calm himself. “Forgive me. Many men, and quite a few women, from my clan joined your force.” his anger started to resurface. “And very, very, few of them survived. And I want to know what happened.”
I have no idea who this man is, and I can't just keep talking and then have to admit that I don't know. Better not piss him off anymore than he already is.
“Forgive me but I do not know your name.” Ivano spoke flatly, as it was a matter of fact, hoping to not set the man off again.
He gripped the golden charm tight. “Vestar Ailifsson. Cheif of the White Death Clan.”
We aren't the most imaginative when it comes to names...
“Vestar, would you like me to go over from the beginning?”
The man nodded. Arnkel raised his hand. “Please keep to the important details. What you consider important.”
“Very well.” Ivano shifted on his stool. “We left the mountains and headed through the Accursed Forest. Immediately we started to run into problems. Not only were the Orcs not cooperative, and acting counter to combined goals, but we were quickly being picked off by hunters sent by the Qaiviel Kingdom to stop us.”
“You're saying they knew?” the Chief who shouted down Folkmar asked, his grey bearded face full of questions. “That's impossible.”
Ivano shrugged. “They knew we were coming, and killed hundreds before we even left the forest.”
“Hundreds killed by peasants?” the remaining male Chief spoke up, his voice growling like a bear. “I think we should be asking why you should have been in command of this attack in the beginning.”
It was because I could hit the hardest and fight the best of those chosen to lead, but that doesn't make me a good leader. I suppose that's why I'm here.
Ivano frowned and looked towards him. It was one of the few people that Ivano actually recognised. The thick red beard, and the red eyes, were unmistakable. If Ivano was right, he was Mord Selkollrsson, Chief of the Fire Blades.
The Fire Blades are in the North of the Deweth Clans. That means they'll have only attacked Bebbezar and never the Knights of Qaiviel. They've never seen a horde of charging armoured horses.
Ivano's deep marks burned at the thoughts of that place. He focused himself at Mord. “My time in that dark and wet cell has obviously clouded my memory. Where does your Clan normally raid?”
Mord frowned but quickly turned into a smile. “Bebbezar. And we trade with Seocuria. They do have such delicacies for sale.” His eyes leered at the female slaves, and even some of the men, before focusing back on Ivano.
“Bebbezar.” Ivano nodded slowly. “I've fought there a few times. Lovely open grasslands and rolling hills...Have you ever fought in a forest? A forest where you can barely see more than a hundred yards infront of you? Where the middle of the day has almost the same light as the dead of night. Where arrows can fly out of nowhere, kill dozens of your friends, and no matter what you do you cannot find the source? Only to fall into more traps?” Ivano felt himself getting a little angry at the memories, and not just of those from the latest campaign. “Only those that have fought in the forests of Graterious know of what I speak. Being worn down while the enemy just fade into the darkness to strike again and again.”
“I can understand that.” the man who shouted down Vestar spoke up. He rolled up a sleeve to reveal several deep scars on his running up his hand to his elbow, almost as bad as the brands seared into Ivano's arms. How he could still fight with such horrendous wounds? “I received this from a band of Graterious archers in one of their forests. We took a small city and they just fled into the trees. We followed and only I made it out alive. Sixty of us entered and they lost...four? Four peasant hunters.” He turned to Mord. “Don't underestimate something you don't understand.”
Mord's face started to turn red. Ivano was surprised that this was going so well, he expected them to be screaming at him about his faults, and not fighting amongst themselves. He was an opportunity to let rivalries flare. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.
Unfortunately Ivano didn't recognise the man. The Chief appeared to pick up on that. “You probably wouldn't recognise me. I've only held the mantle of Chief of the Storm Reapers since the end of the last winter. Finally my father decided to step down.”
Step down of his own accord, or was he pushed?
The Chief continued. “My name is Hedin Hroksson, Chief of the Storm Reapers.” he looked at the other Chiefs. “If I had been involved in this I would have told you to not go through the forest unprepared.”
“But they shouldn't have known of our approach.” Arnkel mused.
Definitely can't let them know that it was probably that Grand Mage, Anton, or whatever his name is, that warned Qaiviel.
Ivano also remembered that Anton threatened that he would burn every city and village to the ground if they found and attacked his home, to the south Mount Aspire. Considering what happened at the Gravestone he didn't want to find out if it was a bluff.
“Are we dawdling like old women?” Vestar grumbled, looking at Ivano. “Continue.”
“Eventually we made it out the forest. I sent...Well, in order to get the Orcs to follow my commands, I had to send Zig, the-”
“We know who that man was.” Vestar couldn't hide his rotten smile again.
Ivano coughed and continued. “I had to send Zig to take the small border town of Maxill. That was to serve as a supply base and cut off warnings to the Knight Orders to the south of Qaiviel. That area of the kingdom doesn't have any of the orders nearby. Again...they were ready for us.”
All five Chiefs grumbled, varying in levels of annoyance, but allowed Ivano to continue.
“They were heavily fortified and ready for a siege, when everything we knew said that only a few hundred Orcs would be needed to take it. We...”
Ivano scratched his head. This was the part that he was dreading. The part where the forest burst into flames, and he knew perfectly well who did it but couldn't say everything. He hoped he could hold that back.
“Well?” Vestar asked angrily.
“The forest burst into flames, killing most of the Orcs and Clansmen assaulting the city, forcing us to continue north.”
“This is the first piece we take issue with.” Arnkel waved forward a human slave. He held a piece of paper in his hand and handed it to Arnkel. Ivano didn't know how many people could read in the Clans, but apparently he could. “Stories from survivors say they saw three people run out of the forest on horseback and into the city of...Maxill.”
“I was not there, but that is what I heard as well.”
Arnkel scratched at his beard. “And they say there was lightning as well when they attacked the city walls...?”
Ivano nodded. “Yes. After taking heavy losses they broke and fled to rejoin with the main force heading north, towards the Border Forts to enact the second part of the plan.”
“You left the border city?” Mord asked.
Ivano slowly nodded. “We had no choice but to keep moving.”
Mord said nothing and allowed him to continue.
“We then continued north west towards the Border Forts. Zig, at this time, was becoming quite uncontrollable and disobeying my orders.”
“You should have disciplined him.” Hedin said quietly.
“I considered it, but Zig was the only reason that they even vaguely worked with us.” Ivano said. “He started to attack the small hamlets and villages along the way.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“I don't see the problem.” Arnkel said, a frown forming on his face.
Very few people shared Ivano's views, that their actions were always doomed to failure, and that they should try to conquer rather than raid and pillage. That their violent actions wouldn't cow the enemy into surrendering but forcing them to fight back, as he had experienced a number of times. This was something that no one present shared.
“The problem was that we were being pursued by a two thousand strong Qaiviel force from Maxill, one that, at the time I didn't believe, contained...two mages.”
“And this is where we really start to take issue with the story.” Arnkel grumbled, looking closely at the piece of paper. “This is where the story becomes a little...fanciful, I may say so. If anyone else were to look at this no one would believe that you lost with the forces you had.”
Ivano nodded. “I'm sure they wouldn't. May I continue?”
Arnkel nodded, none offered any objections.
“Their force increased by a half as they picked up the survivors, most of which were hunters and all filled with rage as they watched their wives, daughters and son raped and butchered by the Orcs.” Everyone was silent at his words. Ivano expected someone to say something about the superiority of the Clansmen and the other humans were lower than cattle. They may have just kept it to themselves this time. “We decided to launch an attack on them with ten thousand warriors, five thousand Clansmen and five thousand Orcs, to crush them. They failed.”
Arnkel passed the piece of paper to the other Chiefs. Ivano waited until they all had a look.
“I agree with Arnkel.” a female voice spoke up. Ivano looked towards the female Chief, the one that had been completely quiet so far, that was equally as large as the men. Her black hair was cut short, and a pair of dark blue eyes regarded him with suspicion. Deep scars crossed the face of someone that would have once been called beautiful, now there was a strange rugged beauty to her. “Are you to tell me that two mages killed ten thousand warriors?”
“Yes.” The smirk on her face disappeared, soon replaced with a look of scorn. He wouldn't have believed it either if ten thousand warriors didn't just disappear.
“Preposterous.” Mord laughed, Vestar nodded with his words. “Utterly preposterous.”
Ivano shrugged in resignation. “I can't make you believe it. But ten thousand warriors departed and none returned. My scouts said that they saw giant pillars of fire rising into the sky, and that they saw bodies crashing into the ground.”
“A mage of that power...Or even two...” Mord looked to Vestar. “Is that possible?”
Vestar looked down at the golden charm, rubbing it between his fingers. “Honestly, no. I cannot use magic of that level. A team, of perhaps five or six powerful fire mages working together could do that. But two...No.”
“I know what happened.” Ivano growled. “After they didn't return we travelled even faster north to the city of Nonbu'rn. We breached the wall, thanks to Zig, he had one of those.” Ivano pointed at Vestar's charm. He shuddered to remember what happened later. “Then we fought our way through the city, loosing even more warriors from archers hiding in buildings and small groups of soldiers, and then we boarded ourselves up in the Governor's mansion. Lightning bolts chased us inside.”
Everyone looked to Vestar again. He appeared to like the positive attention he was receiving. “That...That is possible. A decent lightning mage could do that.”
“At least that's reasonable.” Hedin said quietly.
I'll leave out the bit about our surrender just in case, nobody's here to refute that.
“Zig and I got into an argument and I was knocked unconscious.”
“What?” Mord hid his chuckle. “The man wasn't a man.”
“But he had one of those charms. A silver one with white gems.”
Vestar glared at him. “What sort of magic did it use?”
“This...This white blast. It took out wall, two actually, and blasted me out a window and blinded me as well.” Ivano regretted his last word, as everyone now regarded him very strangely. There was an obvious question that none, to their credit, were going to ask just yet.
“When I came too I was told the battle was over. Our forces had been defeated, the Orcs tried to sacrifice our Clansmen to save their hides, and we were completely and utterly beaten. We were healed, cared for, and then sent home. And then you know what happened.”
“I will ask the obvious question.” Hedin began. “If you were blinded...”
Definitely keep Anton's real location out of this.
“A mercenary, in the employ of Qaiviel, healed me. Yes I was blinded, and near death.” Ivano raised his hands and raised his legs as far as he could. “I didn't get his name, other that he was called a Grand Mage.”
“A Grand Mage...” Vestar picked at his rotten teeth. “And a mercenary at that?” Vestar hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “This Grand Mage could heal your blindness and wounds?”
Ivano nodded. “Yes...I believe he was a follower of Tethra, the Goddess of Prayer. At least that's how he said he healed me.”
That brought murmurs from everyone present, a look of utter shock on Vestar's face. “Tell me exactly what he said.”
“You can't be buying this?” Mord exclaimed. “No one has been able to commune with the Goddess of Prayer in the past thirty, forty winters.” he frowned deeply. “We're supposed to be deciding his punishment for failure!”
“Shut up Mord!” Vestar spat out. “If this is true, this is more important than loosing thirty thousand Clansmen.”
Hedin frowned at looked at the mage. “Weren't you just furious before?”
Vestar clenched his fists. “If...If the Goddess is returning.” he looked behind him. On the far side of the wall were dozens of wooden idols, of the various Gods and Demi-Gods. One was made out of a white wood, clearly a woman dressed in a cloth that covered all her features. Tethra, the Goddess of prayer. “Then I need to know everything.”
Ivano shrugged. “I don't know much else. I felt I warm feeling and then I came back to life, a little better than before.”
“Did he say anything? The texts say that a prayer must be spoken aloud, detailing what must be healed in a very specific way. Hyms and chants.”
“From what I saw, of him healing others, he didn't say anything. I just saw the wounds mend themselves.”
“D-Describe this man.” Vestar was very interested, almost scarily. “Do you know his name? Where he comes from?”
“Only that he was called The Grand Mage and a mercenary.”
Vestar wouldn't relent. “There were two others you said. Describe them.”
“One was covered, head to toe, in cloth. I have no idea who that one was, other than they were a woman. She had a bow and two rusted knives. The other was a...Blood Berserker.” That received more of a response from everyone.
Arnkel cocked his head. “A mercenary Blood Berserker, travelling with a Grand Mage and this mysterious cloth covered woman?”
“How do you know it was a woman?” Mord asked.
Ivano shook his head. “You could tell. The cloth wrappings were very tight around her chest.”
“Shut up Mord.” Vestar snapped. “Explain the Berserker.”
“She was short, silver hair and had red tattoos that covered her hands and neck.”
“What?!” Mord exploded, throwing back his chair as he stood up full of rage. “You dare accuse the Silver Eagle Clan of working with the enemy?”
Arnkel shook his head. “Of course not. No one questions your, or your subordinate, clans loyalty. It's possible that a child was left with a previous conquest.”
The men chuckled, and so too did the female chief. Ivano saw the slaves look even more despondent than normal. The humans had their lives taken away from them while the Beast-kin never had freedom to begin with. Seeing it from this position was quite an experience, normally he would had ignored it but now he felt strangely ill. He kept it to himself and held a straight face.
Vestar shook his hand at Ivano. “A Grand Mage, who can use...fire, lighting and the power of the prayer goddess, a Silver Eagle Blood Berserker and a mysterious woman covered in cloth...You're saying that's what beat you?”
Ivano smiled bitterly. “Yes.”
Vestar laughed, made infinitely more disturbing by the brown and green teeth. “I must know more. There is much to discus.”
Vestar started to rise but was held down by Arnkel. “Unfortunately for you, this is not over. So, you're saying that's what happened? And then you were freed without any ransom demands?”
Ivano nodded. Arnkel looked to the Chiefs either side. “Very well. As Ivano is part of my clan I must abstain from this.”
“He is guilty of failure to the Clans and should be executed by exposure.” Mord said angrily. “His words are preposterous and treasonous and a direct attack against my subordinate clans' loyalty.”
It wasn't a direct attack. Everyone just told you that.
“I must agree.” the female Chief folded her arms. “Loosing sixty thousand warriors in a sneak attack is inexcusable and makes us all out as weak fools. Stories of Grand Mages and Silver Blood Berserker's is just covering for your inadequacies.”
And I don't even know your name.
“If only to find out more about this Grand Mage I am willing to pass on any punishment.” Vestar said. “Unlike these fools I am willing to believe that your words match up with the words of the warriors.”
“As one of the two, no, three people here that have actually fought in a war against actual soldiers.” Hedin smirked at Mord, the female Cheif and even Vestar. “I understand that terrible things can happen, beyond anything you could prepare for, like a Graterious Legion popping out of nowhere, I understand Ivano's predicament. I will say that he is not to be punished.”
It was surprising how honest the Chief’s were with their reasoning, Vestar's especially.
Arnkel shifted on his stool. “In the light of this even outcome, I must say that you are innocent, considering your words are supported by the words of your warriors. Though, there are many questions that still need to be answered.” he looked at the Clansmen guards. “Release him.”
“What?” Mord growled. “You can't be serious.”
“I am.” Arnkel said. “If you have a problem with it you can challenge him to a Blood Duel. But he will need a few days to heal first.”
Mord grumbled and folded his arms, saying nothing more. The Clansmen guards moved forward and removed the chain links binding his wrists and to the ground. Once the metal was freed his hands immediately moved to his wrists to regain some feeling. The skin was raw and tender, his every touch was surprisingly painful.
“Thank you.” Ivano said. “What happens now?”
“We aren't done yet.” Arnkel continued. “You will follow me.”
Mord and the female Chief left in a great huff. They forced the door open, the Clansmen outside coming to their sides. They blew them off and continued storming away, leaving the other Clansmen wondering what happened. A great rush of cold air flooded into the room. Arnkel waved to the Clansmen and the great door was closed. Now it left Ivano with the people who had secured his freedom. He didn't want to say it aloud, unless he bring an angry god's wrath down upon him, but it had gone a lot better than he thought. He expected his head to be cleaved from his shoulders.
“This is something private. We will return in a few moments. “Arnkel stood up, a human slave taking his stool. “Come outside with me.” He looked to Ivano. “And get that man something better to wear. And something for these two to drink and eat.”
A wolf Beast-kin slave, he was certain it was the same one, handed him a thick set of animal hides. They were the same ones that he wore when he was captured. Less the chain mail armour.
“Thank you.” Ivano said as he took the clothes back. The wolf Beast-kin regarded him with suspicion, it's empty eyes connecting with his for a moment, a brief flicker of emotion, before darting away.
They're not as beaten as we've been lead to believe.
Arnkel exited a smaller door to the side, Hedin and Vestar remained infront of the fire and were served food and drinks by the slaves. With no better instruction he decided to follow Arknel. He noticed that several more Clansmen warriors emerged from the shadows, hidden ready to deal with him if he tried to attack, and followed closely behind, their giant axes ready to strike.
Now that his feet were properly covered he no longer felt the cold. How did the slaves manage it when they moved from building to building, or even where they slept? Ivano pushed such thoughts aside and followed Arnkel. The small door led to a set of stone steps that led them further up the rim of the volcano. Wherever it led it wasn't travelled often, the snow had frozen solid and was quite slippery even with his boots. He just hoped it didn't end with him being thrown off the edge. He followed the footsteps in the snow, the Clansmen warriors following closely behind. Finally he found where they were going. At the very highest point of the volcano stood a giant pillar of black stone, easily four times his size. He realised it was a solid stone of obsidian, with not a single flaw in its black form.
Arnkel stopped him when he was a few paces away. “Ivano. You understand that your freedom comes with conditions?”
That was quick.
Ivano nodded. His chief could command him to do practically anything and he would have to follow it, otherwise he would have to challenge him for the position. Thankfully most chiefs weren't stupid enough to think they were a god and listened to their advisors and from what Ivano knew of Arnkel he was one of those.
Arnkel shook his head, folded his arms and looked out to the city below. “The Clans are the weakest they've ever been.” he began. “And we cannot even work together to pull through it. I fear that, one day, the other kingdoms and empires will unite and obliterate us. The snow and cold won't stop them. I can feel it in my bones. This could be the last generation of the Clansmen. Even some of the seers have said the same thing.”
Ivano was silent. He didn't know if Arnkel shared his views about changing the ways of the Clans from raiding to conquest, or perhaps something more peaceful. At least conquest would be more in line with the dogma that is rammed down their throats all the time.
“Mord and Ulfheid are actively working against the interests of the Clans.”
Ulfheid must have been the woman. That would make her the chief of the Wind Walkers. Didn't know they had a female chief...
“What interest is that?”
Arnkel chuckled. “The oldest one imaginable. Survival.” he rested his back against the obsidian pillar. “Tell me, how many of the Clansmen that followed you were young? Rather, how many didn't have a beard?”
Ivano shook his head. “Quite a few. Far more than I'm used to leading. They fought well, considering their youth.”
“True. They had the fire of youth. And now they're dead.” he sighed and turned to look behind the city. “When my father was young, Rangarvellir covered the whole mountain and well into lands beyond. Now look at it. Just at the slopes on half the mountain. The others might not see it but we are a dying people. The Thieves don't even need to invade our lands for us to fall.”
Ivano frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”
A smile came to Arnkel's bearded face. “Because I know that you have...different views to the others.” Ivano felt a chill wash over him but he kept his face straight. “One of the people you told came running right to me. But, I agree with them. Hedin and the Storm Reapers agree with me, that's another reason why they came to your defence. And it seems Vestar is going to support us, especially if your words about the Goddess of Prayer returning are true.”
“It is. I saw it myself.”
“You'll need to talk with him more about what you saw there. Although...” Arnkel frowned deeply. “I get the feeling that you know more about this Grand Mage than you let on.”
Should I say something? Definitely not where he lives.
“He spoke to me. He wanted to know who we were and what we thought we were doing in Qaiviel. He also said that he was sent by the Old Gods to fight off Demons that were threatening this world.”
“The man sounds a little crazy.” Arnkel spoke softly.
“He seemed more than convinced that it was real. He...He did ask about travelling to our lands to learn more about the Old Gods.”
Arnkel grunted. “He would be killed by the same fools that just kill everything they see that isn't one of them.”
“I told him that and he sounded quite disappointed.”
Arnkel hummed. “Is there a way to find these people?”
“Not that I know of.” Ivano replied. “Though, they would stand out. A woman with the blood of the Silver Eagle Clan would be very noticeable.”
Arnkel thumped his fist onto the obsidian pillar. “A thought for another time. For now I need you to depose Mord Selkollrsson of the Fire Blades.”
Ivano remained stunned for some time. “What?” he managed to blurt out.
“His clan is antagonising the Bebbezar Kingdom to such a level that they are preparing an invasion of our lands. The first time in over a thousand winters. Many Clansmen will die before the cold drives them back.” Arnkel looked towards Ivano. “I know that he is planning yet another raid into Bebbezar, and I am powerless to stop it. And you cannot challenge Mord for control of the Clan.”
“Would they even follow someone like me, who doesn't have their blood running through them?”
“They will when his head is rolling on the floor.”
Ivano had never heard of something like this.
“As of right now, your standing within the Clans can go no lower. However, I can send you and some of my warriors along with the raid into Bebbezar. If you can garner enough prestige from the raid you can challenge Mord for leadership of the Fire Blades.”
“Do I have a choice in this?”
Arnkel shook his head. “No. You're life still hangs in the balance of the failure to destroy the Qaiviel Border Forts, regardless of whether or not it's your fault. Unfortunately that means that you'll have to earn your way into their ranks the old fashioned way.”
“I...” Ivano couldn't finish. He didn't want to tell Arnkel that being able to beat another man half to death didn't make one a better leader. The other Kingdoms and Empires didn't, and they always beat the clans back. Always.
“If you do this I'll make sure that your family is kept safe.”
Ice water rushed through Ivano's veins. He looked closely at Arnkel. There was nothing on his face that appeared threatening, he was too smart for that, but Ivano knew that this was one.
“I would like to see them first.”
Arnkel shook his head. “There is no time. Mord will be leaving Rangarvellir soon, he only came to see our clan humiliated, and will be starting the attack as soon as he can.”
Ivano sighed. He hated being used in a political move like this, but if it worked, perhaps he could start to change the Clans from within. At the very least see his wife and children again. He hardened his nerves and nodded in agreement.
“Okay. So long as they are safe and I can see them when this is done.” Ivano said. He waited until Arnkel nodded before continuing. “What would I have to do in that dammed land?”
“You are familiar with the Merchant Lords of Bebbezar?” Ivano nodded but he didn't want to think about them too much. “There is a particularly troublesome Lord in the city of Thessos. One that has been a constant problem to the Fire Blade's raids. If you capture him, and his family, and present it to them, they'll have no choice but to acknowledge you. When you're there you can challenge Mord to a Blood Duel.” Arnkel chuckled. “He'll probably see through it but he, like everyone in their clan, they have a very quick temper, so use that. You'll have to be creative when you think up the insults. Try and find his sexual preferences, if all else fails.”
Ivano sighed again. “I'll need a map of Bebbezar. And the name of whomever I need to kidnap.”
“The map will be easy enough to get. The man you want is the Merchant Lord Gavriel de Yscar. Very wealthy, and very powerful with a massive personal army. You are to bring him, his wife and two daughters, to Mord and the Fire Blades Clan. That will get you close enough to them to challenge Mord for control.”
Ivano's mind had completely gone when he heard the name 'de Yscar'. That was the name of the man that tortured him, branded his arms, and killed his fellow Clansmen brutally infront of him before letting him limping back to the Clans in shame. Although, the name Gavriel wasn't right. It wasn't the name he heard over and over again when he could smell his flesh being roasted. When he was forced to watch the blood being let free from his friends throats, as they writhed on the ground hopelessly trying to stem them flow. It was Duncan, or something like that. Ivano felt his anger rising but he forced it back down.
Arnkel waved behind Ivano, the Clansmen warriors moved forward. “These men will make sure you make it to Brenningr, safely. Vestar will have to wait to interrogate you for information on the Grand Mage, though I'm sure that there's not that much more you know about him. I hope to hear of your success, not only capturing the Merchant Lord but also having Mord's arrogant head separated from his shoulders. I will see you soon.”
Arnkel turned to look over the city, signalling the end of the conversation. The Clansmen warrior motioned for Ivano to follow. He gave a final glance back, knowing that his life, and the lives of his family, weren't in his own hands and that he was a pawn in a much larger game. He regretted ever trying to take the leadership of the campaign in the first place.