III. The Mountain Badger

List of Names:

* Centhaer (CEN-thayr), Centhaeras (CEN-thayr-as)

* Ránus (RAH-nuss)

* Farantósfúris (far-AN-tohs-FOO-riss, North-Wind Forest)

* Iscanthir (iss-CAN-thihr)

* Halúmir (HAL-oo-mihr)

* Fúrisburg (FOO-riss-berg, Forest Town)

* Farlending (FAHR-len-ding, North Land), Farlingas (FAHR-ling-as)

* Gúthlir (GOOTH-lihr), Sembold (SEM-bohld)

* Urikel (UHR-i-kel)

* Lammik (LAM-mik), Ornaer (OR-nayr), Orniós (OR-nyohs)

Not so long ago, the town of Centhaer came upon great trouble. Now this town lay in Ránus, the Northern Kingdom, and was far in the northern lands even for that country. It lay just below the Farantósfúris, the Northwind Forest, one of the kingdom’s borders: for that great wood was too treacherous and too cold, and the winds too furious, for even Ránus’s hardy people. But it was not too much for the barbarians, the mighty tribes that roamed Northwind Forest, nomadic and fierce, warring with each other amid the bitter cold. Usually they dwelt deep in the forest, farther north, and so hunters had no greater danger venturing in there than the perils of the wood itself. But occasionally, one or more tribes would descend out of the forest, raiding, stealing, destroying; and then the few brave farmers and frontier folk would need flee to the towns.

Now out of the few large settlements bordering the forest, Centhaer was smallest by far. Its walls were only of wood, though strong, and its garrison few in number. But it had weathered barbarian attacks. They occurred only once every few years or every several, but they were terrible enough for their lessons to be remembered: the people of Centhaer were resilient and strong. Their lord was Iscanthir, a fine warrior; but greater still was Halúmir his captain. Now Halúmir was not from Centhaer originally, but came from far away, years before the events of this tale. He told nobody where he came from; but he entered the lord’s service, swearing fealty to him, and became one of his foremost knights. Lord Iscanthir was glad to receive him, for his prowess of arms was great, and he was mightier than any in the lord’s service, stronger than his stature should allow; and as the years passed, he proved his honor time and again.

One day Halúmir was on patrol with a dozen men, scouting the land for signs of danger. They had already explored the distance between town and forest, and now they entered in beneath the great pines, leaving three men with the horses at the edge of the trees. As is usual in those parts, a cold, strong wind drove through the branches, sighing deeply around them as they continued their maneuver. It was a routine exercise, and there had been no recent evidence of barbarian movements; but the forest itself is a danger, full of beasts, so the men with him were some of the highest knights of Centhaer (of which there were few enough), arrayed in mail and armed with swords and mighty shields. Some had bows slung on their backs, and each man had a horn at his side.

The knights had not gone far when they found disquieting signs. In the first clearing they came upon they discovered footprints, many footprints in the mud. Curiously, these prints were of heavy booted feet. The barbarians wore armor of hide when they hunted and fought, possessing little metal beyond their weapons; but these tracks were from metal boots and not the hide shoes worn by tribesmen. More immediately alarming to Halúmir and his men, the tracks were not hid in any way. Usually the men of the forest hid their tracks when they could, especially when two tribes were warring on each other. In all of these knights’ years protecting their town, the only times when tracks were left like this, completely uncovered, were when great numbers of barbarians were on the move. And the tracks were found here, in the southernmost wood!

In an instant the knights were in battle posture, five men shoulder-to-shoulder with sword and shield in hand; the other four stood behind with arrows nocked. Halúmir knelt still ahead of them, examining the footprints. Then he froze, hearing a noise in the distance. It had been faint among all the soughing pine-branches, but he knew what he had heard. Slowly he rose, signaling silence to the men behind. Edging backwards ‘til he was right before them, he whispered orders for a quiet retreat. As one, the ten men slowly withdrew, holding their formation; then at the clearing’s edge they broke, walking two abreast through the trees. At first they moved slow, to cause minimal noise, but then they heard what the captain had heard: the commotion of armored men crashing about. It began behind them at a distance, but growing closer; and soon they could hear it on either side as well, a ways off.

At a word from the captain they quickened pace, hurrying to escape the forest and reach their horses. Scarcely a mile in when they withdrew, the knights were soon very close to the wood’s edge – but then a handful of shafts soared in, showering the group. Shields deflected some, but the volley had come from the right, and no few landed at breast or abdomen, only stopped by fine scale mail. With a shout from Halúmir the men formed up, the five making a brief shield-wall; the four bowmen behind them took shots. At least one cry rewarded that volley, and the knights sent another. But then the crashing drew closer still, and they knew they must flee. Halúmir held the rearguard as they ran, holding what defensive posture they could on the fly; and looking back he now saw, at the edge of sight, their foe. They were barbarian men, indeed: he could tell from their hair, a lighter brown than the knights’ and falling farther down the back. But they wore armor, breastplates of dark metal, that Halúmir had never seen before.

A handful of moments before bursting out of the trees, the knights wound their horns to warn their companions. They were rewarded by numerous cries, north, west, and east, and louder crashing as more of the barbarian warriors became aware of them. But they were almost out. Then, they saw ahead several foes, blocking the way. Every one of them was armored in dark plate, and some had shields wrought of the same metal; all held axes in their hands.

Halúmir’s horn-cry sounded the charge, and the knights fell on their enemies. Still holding the rear, he saw one of his men fall to an axe-stroke while fighting two foes. He stepped in to take his place, and waited. Not understanding, both barbarians lunged at him; dodging aside one, he parried the other’s attack. Then, he returned the strike, felling the first with a single, savage blow. The other fell likewise. Centhaeras! Centhaeras! the knights shouted, inspired by the display. They smote their way through the enemy as Halúmir lifted the stricken man. But just as the others escaped and he strode forward carrying his fallen, with only one knight at his side, two huge barbarians stood to block the way, separating them from the rest. Both were two hundred pounds or more, and six feet tall at the least. Handing his charge to the other knight, Halúmir rushed at them. The barbarians were unnerved by his wild eyes, but did not move; they were clearly larger and stronger. But he refused to fail: driving at one, Halúmir closed and shoved him backward, then turned and threw the other to the ground. Turning again to the first, the captain cut him down, tearing through his defenses with unexplainable strength. Taking the fallen knight again in his arms, they rejoined the larger group, passing out from under the trees.

They found their three brothers ready and all mounted swiftly, grabbing their spears. When asked what had befallen, the captain answered “The barbarian tribes are in some league together, and are at our heels. We ride, now!” Then they sprang away. The wounded man had been helped on his horse, and had strength enough to ride unaided; but he looked back, and even as they left he saw the first of their foes emerge from the trees, dozens of armored men. They bore mainly axes, spears, and bows: some arrows fell about the riders, hastily shot, but they rode on. Soon they neared Centhaer’s walls, and their horns rent the air again, providing advanced warning. Minutes later they rode through the open gates, and found the town’s soldiers mustering. The Lord Iscanthir was gathering men in the square, and others he had sent running to reinforce the walls; but he turned to Halúmir and his knights as they rode up.

“What tidings, Halúmir?” the lord cried. “For we heard your signal, and our men on the walls saw behind your riding a dust rise, like the movement of a host.” Then the captain dismounted and spoke urgently to his lord, telling of the barbarian force and its unknown numbers, as well as the mystery of their armor.

Then Iscanthir was troubled; but he gathered his valor, and asked Halúmir for counsel. The captain suggested a cautious battle on the field, with a small force: for they knew not the strength arrayed against them, but could not abandon the countryside without a fight, and must strike against the enemy, before being driven in. “For we cannot surrender all the field without some defense” he said, “and we may give them pause, when they face us!” And when the lord assented, Halúmir led the force himself.

At the head of a dozen mounted men – the same as before, save a few who were hurt – and strengthened by two score on foot, he left by the same north gate from whence they had entered. All of them could now see the rising dust, and Halúmir was alert and wary. Only a couple hundred yards out, they sighted their first enemies: several dozen barbarian men, marching fast. They did not appear an ordered vanguard, but were rather in three different groups, each a little apart from the others; each had its own standard. The men recognized two of them: the Gray Bear, and the Scarlet Boar. There was another they did not know, a black falcon on a drab field. All were on foot, and all were armored in that same dark plate.

With a shout from Halúmir the horsemen sprang forward, while the footmen followed in a tight rank. They rode toward the men of the Scarlet Boar, who loosed their battle-cry and charged in turn. The clash was immense. With a mighty thrust Halúmir pierced a man with his spear, then threw him backwards; he crashed into another, and both fell. Similar results occurred to either side. Their onset threw back the foe’s front rank; but at least one knight was impaled, by enemy spear, and more than one man unhorsed. The captain and eight others clove their way through, then turned to charge again. After desperate moments of fighting, the Scarlet Boar gave way: the escaping men ran to the Black Falcon, leaving near a score down on the field. Of his knights two lay slain, one spear-impaled, one axe-hewn; the other two who were unhorsed managed to recover, and remount. The rest had minor wounds.

They rode back to the infantry, who were close, and the captain dismounted, handing his horse to another. He would now lead the footmen, for a fierce fight awaited them. Between the Gray Bear and Black Falcon, swollen by the Scarlet Boar, there were still three-score enemies. And those drew close: already, arrows flew between the Centhaeras and the foe. And in the distance, just barely in sight, more forces were approaching.

The men held firm, and advanced. As they closed, Halúmir noticed something he had not processed before: the men of the Black Falcon looked different. Their hair was darker and their faces paler than any tribes of the Farantósfúris. He dismissed the thought – there was no time now – but resolved to investigate later. The Gray Bear and Black Falcon finally combined ranks, approaching together. They charged.

The footmen of Centhaer met them, spears readied. Some spear-shafts snapped or were driven aside by the furious barbarians, some were foiled on plate armor; others struck true. Halúmir held the center of their line, a stone pillar, refusing to yield. He met the buffets of battleaxes, throwing men to the ground with his shield. He turned spear and sword and axe aside; and his powerful strikes rent the armor of his foes. He cut down all before him with astonishing strength. At one point fighting three men, one struck his left side a significant wound; he did not flinch. Then three more joined in, and all six leapt at him. Like a raging badger, he held them back with ferocious effort, and soon one lay dead. The other five closed in, and he loosed his shield. Like crashing stones his blade fell, cleaving their dark breastplates. Only three remained, and they seized and grappled him. But Halúmir was not beaten. A tremendous blow from his fist, and one collapsed to the earth. Another was hurled aside, and fell heavily. The last Halúmir, the better wrestler, crushed in his arms and then thrust away.

His men cheered about him, horns sounding in defiance. The barbarians were shaken: outnumbering their foes before the meeting, they now numbered fewer, in large part because of the captain alone. They gave and retreated, holding some order; but they beat hastily back to their allies, far in the distance, leaving half their number dead or wounded.

Yet the Centhaeras themselves were reduced, for the tribes of Northwind are fearsome warriors. Of their forty footmen some thirty remained; and several knights were down. Halúmir sheathed his sword, and recovered his shield. He looked about. A much larger body was coming from the north, among which he could see several different standards at the least; the clouds of dust Iscanthir had mentioned were from their many marching feet on the dry plain. Their engagement had only been with the vanguard, it seemed. Yet the standards were more than a mile away – they had a little time to withdraw. Closer at hand, he noticed a man from the Black Falcon lying wounded. As he drew nearer he saw that the man was indeed nothing like the barbarians: he was paler and darker-haired, but also less in size than them, more akin to the men of the North Kingdom. And though he looked strong, he lacked the natural muscularity common to the nomadic peoples simply due to their harsh lives. He had his soldiers bind the man, and set him on a horse before one of his unwounded knights. All the other horses were given to men who had not the strength to walk, and every footman who was able helped gather the injured and fallen. Halúmir with eight men followed as rearguard. All ordered, they retreated quickly to the town, the enemy gaining with every minute as they bore their brethren back.

When they came in sight of Centhaer they saw a great body of their kinsmen, with Lord Iscanthir at the head: a hundred spears bristled outside the gate, as they stood awaiting them, the rest manning the north wall. On seeing Halúmir’s group return there arose a great cheer, and they were met in the field, surrounded, and escorted back. Now rumor of the barbarians behind grew louder and louder, and soon they could be clearly espied from the walls. The lord and his captain hurried to finalize defenses, for the enemy was numerous enough that they might not bother with siege – a direct assault seemed imminent. Several hundred feet distant, well out of bowshot, they halted and ordered their ranks. The men on the walls saw many standards; there seemed dozens of smaller tribes in the host. Some the Centhaeras recognized: there were many of the lesser tribes descended from the Bear and the Boar, the ancient lineages of Northwind’s peoples (Crimson Bear, White Bear, Black Boar, etc), as well as other lesser tribes like the Red Lion and Silver Wolf. But there were others they did not know, banners depicting serpents and dragons and other beasts, not seen in the heraldry of Farantósfúris. Hundreds they numbered, more than a few times the ten-score men of Centhaer. And yet they did not advance.

After some time of dreadful waiting, one barbarian did approach; but he held a white standard in one hand, and the other he held, palm out. The men of Centhaer were hardy veterans, well trained; no fearful, unwarranted shot felled the enemy herald. A short way from the wall he stopped.

“Warriors of Fúrisburg, town of Farlending” the man shouted in the Common speech, naming the town and North Kingdom in his people’s manner, “we come for war, as you can see. Yet skill and watchfulness leave you unsurprised. You are worthy foes! Of late many of us have heard rumors of great deeds done by the Farlingas, in particular those of your town. And further, this day tales of prowess have come to our ears that impressed our highest chieftains, and amazed every man. Who is this among you that tosses our warriors aside with ease, and shatters this armor we were given? Who battles six of our mightiest at once, and lives; or wrestles three together, and is not borne down?

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“This we desire to know. For our war this day is not out of barest need, but for other purposes of our own; they may or may not include you. We would see and meet this man, whom the Gray Wolverine tribe believes touched by their patron spirit, so much strength does he hold inside him. The peoples of the tribes have spoken.” For the men of the Northwind have a sense of honor all their own, greatly prizing strength of arms, and they do not lessen in their tales the deeds of their enemies, however bitter the tales end for them.

Then the men of Centhaer were astounded, Halúmir himself not least; and Lord Iscanthir gave him leave to answer them. “It is Halúmir who has done these things” he shouted back, “captain of the Centhaeras, men of Lord Iscanthir!”

“And what titles accompany such deeds?” the herald asked. “Are you a son of the Gray Wolverine?”

“Say rather the Badger” he replied, “and as for title, Halúmir of the Mountains is all I could claim.”

“Nonetheless” said the herald, “our chieftains’ will is to see this champion of Fúrisburg, and test his worthiness themselves. Thus they say: come down! You shall not be hindered in approaching our host; and if your deeds please them, they shall hold council with your chief and with you, if you live. You are given one hour.” Then he was silent and spoke no more to them, but planted the white banner there in the field, and strode back among his fellows.

Then there was heated discussion between the lord and his knights; for Iscanthir did not want the captain to go. He feared for Halúmir. Though the barbarians were honorable in their way, the wildness of their hearts was dangerous and hard to fathom, and many of their most fell deeds happened in sudden anger, or unpredictable moments of explosive passion. He was also unsure if even Halúmir could perform whatever challenge they might ask him to do. Yet Halúmir would go, for there was a chance to spare the town (and even the countryside, perhaps) from a terrible battle. And things the herald mentioned had intrigued Halúmir, so that he was eager to go down and gain any information he could. When he heard this, the lord would accompany him, to be his second or die with him if need be; and much talk was needed from the knights to dissuade him from this course, moved though they were. Finally Halúmir agreed to take with him Gúthlir, one of his closest knights in the lord’s household. Sembold, his second-in-command, took the captain’s place in defense of the town.

The gates opened. There was no movement among the barbarians, and Halúmir with Gúthlir walked out to them. They could see the ranks of the wild men, standing silently ahead, many spearmen in their front lines; and the captain saw that, far on the eastern flank, there stood more of the pale men like the one they had captured. Though the barbarian warriors’ faces showed many emotions – some unfriendly, some curious, some excited – the face of every one of these pale men was hostile. On reaching the white banner, the center rank of the wild men opened, forming a column they could pass through. Entering, they saw that behind the barbarian army tents had been erected, and the opening in the ranks led to the largest and centermost of these; it looked like a field tent for councils of war, and was lined with crimson banners. Before the tent, however, there were seated nine chieftains on wooden thrones, and about them many more on stones or stumps of wood, forming a full circle. Behind each chief was planted the standard of a tribe, and two warriors from each people stood near attending them. But then the same herald as before emerged from the host, and led the knights forward; and as they drew nigh the closest chieftain rose, and made way for them.

So they stood before the thrones of the nine high chieftains, in the midst of the circle; it closed behind them. The herald announced them then stepped aside. There was a moment’s silence, and the knights could feel the wild men appraising them. The air felt tense as with approaching thunder, but not with anger; the stillness was eager and expectant. Then the chief on the middle throne spoke. He was huge and muscular, and his voice boomed proportionate as he addressed the captain.

“Halúmir of the Mountains. Greetings! I am King Urikel the Eldest, and these are the high chieftains.” He swept an arm about him, to the other eight on their wood seats. “A mighty chief you yourself would have been among us, if you were born into our people. And if the tales we heard were true. Tell us! Where do you hail from?”

And he answered “I come from the Northern Mountains, that small range that runs from the Eastern Pass to the Bay of Blood, and the sea. My people love the mountains, and used to thrive there. But they are gone now.” Gúthlir looked to his friend, surprised. The captain never told anything about himself; Gúthlir had never heard even these barest details before (nor had Lord Iscanthir)! Moreover, Halúmir seemed strange, grim and fell as he stood amidst his foes. Gúthlir was unnerved. But he trusted his captain (and wanted to hear more himself), and so held his silence.

Urikel looked interested. “You come from afar” said he, “yet you fight as one of the Fúrislings, and one great among them at that. I see your strength as I look at you. Your heart is aflame! Please speak. Explain to us your prowess, and the source of your might in arms!”

Then Halúmir raised himself to his fullest height, and looked the chiefs dead in the eye; and though he was less in stature than many of them, he held such presence that they felt the challenge, and straightened their backs themselves. And he said, “I am the last master of an old style, taught near where my people dwelt. This Way requires a heart of the mountain, as strong as stone, and also a heart of fire as you have seen. It is a style where resilience and fury meet. Few possess the inner strength to learn it. Let any test you have for me, come!” And Gúthlir looking at his captain saw that a sudden intensity as of flame radiated from him as he spoke, and the knight took a step back; but the captain also stood with his feet wide and planted, resolute and immovable, emanating his hidden strength now for all to see.

The barbarian king looked down from his chair, his face serious with anticipation, but there was almost a sorrowful tone to his voice when he spoke. “Yes, let us begin. First, let your companion step out of the circle.” Gúthlir did so. “Now... For your first challenge, the tribe of the Gray Wolverine has asked to test you, whose heart is so akin to theirs. They name their champion, Lammik, to face you.” From the northwestern corner of the ring, beside a banner depicting gray beast on white field, there came forward the Wolverine champion. His size was similar to Halúmir, if a few inches taller, and he carried in one hand a club studded with spikes; in the other he bore a round wooden shield. He too wore the dark plate armor, but on his head was the pelt of a wolverine, a silver-gray cloak on his back. Halúmir stepped forward to meet him. “The rule of the challenge is single combat” said Urikel. “Armed and unarmed ye may fight, ‘til one of you can fight no more. You may not leave the circle. Begin!”

The two stopped ten feet from each other. The barbarian champion Lammik seemed excited, even thrilled, as he stood facing Halúmir, looking the knight up and down. “I am glad to meet you” he said, his eyes now locked on Halúmir’s as the two began to circle. “Now I see you, I am convinced that you are, indeed, born of the Wolverine spirit, just in the wrong place. Let us see!” With that each leapt at the other, and the duel began.

Several fierce blows were exchanged. Lammik’s club rang off Halúmir’s shield, and likewise with the captain’s blade. He was quicker than most barbarian men Halúmir had faced, and both fought with a savage fury. But Halúmir was more patient. As the Wolverine champion tired, expending his rage, Halúmir seized his moment and leapt to the offensive. He advanced like a barrage of stones with a hail of heavy strikes, giving his foe no pause. Lammik fought hard; but Halúmir’s momentum was irresistible as a rockfall, and slowly the wild man gave ground. Time and again he sought to push back his enemy, lashing out with shield and club, trying to gain space so that he could dodge aside; but Halúmir was relentless. He may as well deflect a rolling boulder. Feet from the circle’s eastern edge, the Wolverine set himself and would give way no more, making one last attempt to withstand his foe. Then Halúmir faltered upon his defenses, halted for just a moment. Lammik lunged, seeing an opening. But the captain’s shield met his club, and drove it wide; and returning the strike as before in the forest, Halúmir sundered Lammik’s shield, the stroke carrying through to his armor and the shoulder beneath. Lammik’s counterstroke bruised his side, but was ignored; and darting in close, the captain threw him back mightily with his shield. The Wolverine champion fell hard. He was outside the circle.

There was silence, then uproar. From every side warriors and even chieftains were rising, shouting challenges, hoping to fight the captain next. The Gray Wolverine chieftain’s eyes met Halúmir’s, and his face was hard; the champion was one of his sons. But there was respect in the gaze. A nearby man helped Lammik to his feet. Blood poured from his shoulder, but it was intact; he was injured and bruised, but not severely. He walked up to Halúmir, admiration in his face and rivalry, but any heated passion he managed to restrain. There was no dishonor in surviving, if the contest ended with a survivor. He grasped Halúmir’s hand, then left the circle.

Barbarian king Urikel shouted for quiet. “Halúmir of the Mountains is patient, tenacious, and clever, as well as very strong” he said, once silence fell. “If you pass our next challenge, I may have a fitting name to give you. But see! Now you face Ornaer, son of Orniós, and he will wrestle with you. He is chieftain of the White Bear. His strength may exceed yours.” Then from the leftmost throne a man arose, unarmored; and he carried no weapon as he strode to face Halúmir. But he was clothed in a polar bear’s hide, so it seemed, and his arms were very large. He stood a foot taller than the captain. His hair was a lighter blonde than any of the other chieftains, his eyes an icy blue. Halúmir loosed shield and sword, and entrusted both to Gúthlir, who then helped him out of his armor.

At Urikel’s word, the match began. Numerous times Ornaer grasped at him, but Halúmir darted aside. When he could he lunged in, striking the chieftain; but the White Bear was far from worn down. Finally they closed. Halúmir would wait for his foe to try to grip and crush him, then strike a heavy blow and shove him back. The Bear chieftain managed some blows of his own. Once, Ornaer managed to seize and throw him, and Halúmir had to roll to his feet; twice he tripped the barbarian in return. But then the wild man brought his body in close, seizing him. They grappled desperately, establishing and breaking holds, attempting and denying locks. The barbarian chief was stronger than him; he was losing. Yet he refused to: planting his feet like mountain roots, he refused to be defeated. He met Ornaer head-on, and with furious effort managed to put him on the defensive, for a span. The Bear looked surprised, but roared and came on again, wrestling with all his might; and Halúmir resisted his every attempt. He slammed the captain in the chest with a huge fist, maybe breaking bone. Unmoved, Halúmir responded with a crushing blow of his own, and the crack of ribs was unmistakable. Ornaer was staggered, for a moment; but just long enough for the captain to grab him and hurl him, several feet away. He did not rise.

Again there was silence, but no uproar came. Nigh all were shocked by the outcome. Two men of the White Bear went to their chief’s side, and lifted him up. He was alive; and they led him out of the circle. The air remained tense and quiet.

Gúthlir was completely amazed. His captain came, and he helped him don armor again. He was now breathing hard, and looked pained. Gúthlir talked quietly, encouraging him. Once he was armored again, the barbarian king Urikel spoke. His words were soft and solemn.

“You have a mighty will, knight of Fúrisburg. You have already won from us enormous respect. I said I had a title for you, and now I give it. You may have spoken in jest before the herald; but now I name you Halúmir, Badger of the Mountain. I could count on one hand men who are fierce, strong, and perseverant as you. There were only two challenges; you have proved your worthiness, and may return now to fetch your chief so we can talk. But I have this request. Fight me. I long to go against you, and pit your indomitable will against the fury of the north. Therefore let us fight: Urikel, and the Mountain Badger!” Then he rose, and behold! he bore a large axe at his side, and a great shield. Halúmir, wary, was nonetheless honored; and he knew it unwise to refuse the request. And he had recovered his strength, though still hurt. He assented.

They met in the midst of the circle. King Urikel held himself with supreme confidence, but Halúmir sensed a thrill of excitement in him, as well. He himself walked with the tiniest hint of stiffness. The king noticed. “We shall fight only to the first blood, to the surrender, or ‘til one of us is forced from this circle” he said, lessening the stakes. “We may fight armed and unarmed. Perhaps you can show me some of your style, and this heart of mountains that is in you. For my part I will show you our people’s prowess, and we may learn of, and from, each other. Are you ready? Begin!”

Halúmir feared he might be outmatched, and the first moments of the combat did not reassure him. With a roaring cry Urikel charged, his axe falling like a storm; the captain met his attacks, but had to rapidly give ground. The barbarian king wielded immense strength; and, in the height of his battle-fury, he did not slow or tire. He swept upon the captain like an avalanche, and Halúmir had to fight defensively, dodging aside often. But Urikel was lightning-fast, and his evasions bought little time. Yet enough; for as he held off the wild king Halúmir rallied his spirit, gathering all his strength for one last, desperate effort. Then with a cry he turned aside the king’s axe, and went on the attack. Surprised, Urikel gave ground. The weight of the mountain was in his strikes, set against the burning blood of the north. But this was not Lammik: the barbarian king could indeed deflect the boulder. He retreated before Halúmir’s powerful onset, then at the right moment pressed his own. Back and forth they fought, rage unabated, as several minutes passed: the captain tireless, the king relentless, both refusing to give in.

At last, Urikel hooked his foe’s blade, and pulled; but with sudden speed Halúmir slammed his shield into the king’s axe-arm. Sword and axe tumbled away together. Smiling, the king cast aside his shield, as did the captain. They dove at each other and grappled, snarling. The king was larger, but the captain met him with everything he had; at first neither was brought to the ground. Gradually though, the fight swayed to its expected outcome: injured and overmatched, the knight began to lose. “Tell me, Halúmir,” the king said, “can even the Mountain be brought down?”

And Halúmir answered “Perhaps. But I surpass the Mountain.” Then, with tremendous strength, he made his last effort: with a huge shove he sent Urikel backward, and came at him one final time. They held the clinch, neither giving for many seconds.

Then the fight ended, but not by their will. For as the battle raged Gúthlir had watched in awe; but he had kept alert, knowing the danger of their surroundings. And lo! on the eastern side of the circle, one of the pale men had drawn up close, just behind the chieftains. And as the combatants held the final clinch he had drawn forth a bow, aiming at Halúmir. With a cry Gúthlir ran up, and sprang in front of his captain; and by some grace he made it in time, and the dart smote him instead. Then there was chaos: for the chieftains and their warriors seized the assassin, holding him down, while the king and captain inspected Gúthlir. And he was alive; but looking at the wound Urikel said “It is poisoned”. Then in wrath he shouted commands, and the barbarian tribes turned and formed their ranks against the dark-haired men on the east flank, shutting them out; but as yet they did not engage. The barbarian king faced Halúmir.

“Well, Mountain Badger, it seems there is treachery in the air. We were persuaded with gifts to march alongside others; but I had my doubts. Now I know for sure that we have dishonorable allies beside us. We shall be rid of them. But as for Fúrisburg, fear not! We shall make no raid or attack for thirty miles in any direction from the walls. As for the rest of Farlending, well! You may warn them as you will.” Then he laughed, loud and strong.

So it was that a barbarian honor guard, displaying the white banner, escorted Halúmir and Gúthlir to the town. They carried Gúthlir; and though Halúmir walked proudly, as soon as they were inside and the gates closed he collapsed on his lord’s shoulder, exhausted. Watching from the walls, Lord Iscanthir saw the barbarian army turn upon its own eastern flank, and drive its men away. The rest of the army withdrew soon after, heading north. Later on the lord and his captain would actually meet with the barbarian king, to hold official council. Then it would be agreed that, by the barbarians’ ways, Halúmir was now the protector of Centhaer and its champion, and because of his prowess and his mighty deeds, no tribe would approach the town in war while he lived. They tried to come to some broader agreement regarding the North Kingdom – the barbarians would have none. But for the moment, Lord Iscanthir kept his men in posture of war; and once his captain was able, they both went to question a certain prisoner they had taken, one with dark hair and pale face.

As for Gúthlir, he was able to recover from the wound and the poison over the course of many days. And the bond between captain and knight was deepened: the one was moved to the heart by his man’s sacrifice; and the other held his leader in utmost reverence, awe, and love, on seeing his deeds and learning more of him. Indeed Gúthlir came to know much more of Halúmir’s past. He became the captain’s first student in the Mountain Badger style, the first who was ever deemed worthy. He has passed on much to Gúthlir, and a few others; for these events happened not so long ago, and word of his deeds spread far. It is said that he still takes on students who are worthy to learn his way. To Centhaer go those who, hearing the tale, believe themselves to have hearts of the mountain.