The two trains of wagons, carrying the largest warriors, made their way to both gates. Standing next to a chestnut courser, Orn settled in to await the signal from the gatehouse tower to begin phase two. He had chosen not to ride the king’s destrier into battle, for he hadn’t wanted to explain to the king, were something to happen to it.
Orn prayed that all was going to plan at the east gate. After half an hour, he saw the flaming arrow launch from the top of the left tower. He let go of the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. The west gate was now theirs.
Orn mounted his horse, and called out, “Infantry to the streets, archers to the walls!”
After Orn mounted, the other nineteen horsemen mounted. Some men brought over the polearms and handed them to the now mounted men. Orn settled his shield in place, rested the butt of the polearm on the stirrup, next to his foot. He glanced around to ensure the other horsemen were set.
Orn had carefully observed the Ohlsbachi knights during his time in the Nevan Empire, and used those observations to teach these mounted Haldermen the basic principles of using a lance. Seeing the polearms gave him the idea.
Once he was satisfied, he said, “All right, men. Let’s move.”
Orn nudged the flanks of his horse with his heels and set out at a rolling trot along the road, heading to the city gates. He pulled back on the reins a little to allow the others to catch up, and they drifted into a formation of five ranks of four, with himself in the front rank.
They passed under the gate to the cheers of the men who had already moved into the city. Bruderman was designed with defence in mind. There were no straight paths to the palace. The route that Orn’s horsemen needed to take meandered through right and left turns.
Finally, the horsemen rounded a bend, and could see a straight run to the palace. In the distance, Orn could see a group of large men in furs forming up at the head of the road.
“Halt!” Orn ordered.
Then he rode a further thirty yards in front of his men and reined in. He stood tall in his stirrups, and yelled out to the men before the Bruderman palace. “Brudermen, and children of Bijáš! We are here on behalf of your king! Stand down, for we come not as invaders, but as brothers!”
The street was silent, but for the slight whistle of the breeze as it swept between buildings on its way south. Then the Kula men let out a roar, and fell to their hands and knees. Their roars turned to shrieks of pain, as the sharp sounds of cracking bones echoed down the deserted street.
Orn’s heart sank, and he bowed his head, letting out a mournful sigh. His head snapped up, then inhaled sharply, and roared, “CHARGE!”
He jabbed his foot into his horse’s flanks and broke into a canter, the thunder of hooves behind him closing rapidly. He then nudged with his heals a little harder, setting his horse to gallop. The three men of the front rank caught up with him, and they matched pace.
Orn was disappointed he had to fight these Kula people, but he could not help the exhilaration he felt from the speed, the noise, and the challenge. Before them were now large white bears, who had started to amble forward.
As the gap between them shrank, Orn dug down with his heals, lifted the butt of his polearm out of the stirrup and tilted it horizontal. He positioned his forearm under the haft, and tucked it into his armpit.
There were eight Kula bears before them, and as Orn’s horsemen drew closer, the three nearest bears roared and bared their teeth, rearing onto their hind legs to intimidate; a serious mistake.
As one, Orn and the front rank adjusted the point of their polearms and stood up, leaning into the impact. The broad headed tip of the polearms drove deep into the chests of the first three bears. Man, horse and bear smashed together with a colossal impact. The bears that were impaled let out a human shriek of pain.
As Orn released his grip on the large spear, his horse stumbled and fell, throwing him to the ground. He felt something crack as the breath was forced out of him with a whoosh. He stumbled to his feet, dazed from the impact.
Inhaling, he could feel that he had fractured his ribs. He shook his head to dispel the cobwebs, and started moving toward the nearest bear, Skofnung materialising into his hand.
The rest of the horsemen had struck, and there was a pile of impaled bears, groaning men, and horses with legs flailing in the air. The scene was utter chaos. Four of the horsemen had managed to steer clear of the carnage, and were riding away to reform for another charge.
In his daze, Orn misjudged the reach of the bear he was about to face. He leant away to dodge a swipe by the bear’s claws, except the blow landed solidly on his shield, knocking him to the ground. He slid several feet along the ground from the impact.
The bear stood to its full height, roaring in triumph before falling upon the downed Orn’s upheld shield with the full, immense weight of its upper body. The bear pressed its weight on Orn again and again, trying to crush the young man.
Orn’s vision tunnelled as he felt his consciousness slipping away. In a moment that seemed to last forever, tears came to his eyes as all the faces he had loved flashed through his mind, lastly holding onto the vision of Briga. Orn felt, more than heard, the desperate roar scraping the back of his throat, as he envisioned spears thrusting from the ground up into the beast who was on the verge of ending his life.
Inhaling, Orn felt a sharp pain shooting through his chest. He coughed, and wheezed, spittle mixed with blood flecked his face. But the bear’s pummelling had ceased.
His eyes looked around frantically, unfocused. Sound was muffled by the blood rushing inside his head. Then he felt himself being dragged into the daylight.
“Your Highness! Your Highness, please, stay with us!” It was Triger’s voice, but Orn couldn’t see him. Orn felt warmth spreading through his chest as his breathing came easier. The pain subsided, and his vision sharpened into focus. He could see the glowing hands of the Halder priests hovering over his chest.
Triger breathed a sigh of relief, verging on a sob, as he intoned, “Oh, praise the gods!”
“Is it over?” Orn asked in a weak voice.
“Yes. We have taken the palace, and we have the city under control.”
“What about the Kula? Did any survive? Can we heal them?”
“No, I’m afraid we had to kill them all. They would not surrender. When they change, they cease being men, and give themselves wholly to their bestial nature.”
Orn swatted away the solitary tear rolling down his cheek, and let out a shuddering breath. “I was hoping I could return Bijáš’ children to him. He wanted to kill them all; I wanted to show him another way.”
“Were I to hear that statement from anyone else, Your Highness, I would say they were mad,” Triger said with a soft, wry chuckle.
Orn made to stand, and Triger grasped his arm, helping him to his feet. As soon as Orn stood to his full height, an almost deafening roar erupted from the men gathered on the street as they cheered and thumped their weapons on their shields. Orn blushed as he surveyed the jubilant faces around him.
He spotted the bear that was pounding him into the road, impaled by rock spears, emerging from the packed dirt of the road, into the sides of its chest and out of its back. As he approached, his mind raced as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
He thought, ‘Did I super-heat rock and melt it into spears? Surely I would remember that. I would have felt the heat. Or would I?’
As far as he could tell, the elements he could use didn’t affect him. That would mean his mother couldn’t be burned. His mind spun as he speculated. Finally, he pushed those thoughts from his mind, deciding it to be a conversation better had with Briga, than with himself.
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Orn placed his hand on the creature’s muzzle, and bowed his head with his eyes closed. He said a small prayer to Bijáš, asking him to forgive and accept the Kula’s souls into his care.
Turning to Triger, Orn said, “What of the people? How do they fare?”
The captain looked down, and licked his lips nervously before looking at Orn, and saying, “In truth, there have been some… incidents. Some townswomen were forced, some houses and merchant stores were looted, and there were some killings, Your Highness.”
“And what of those responsible?”
“They are in custody.”
Orn took a deep breath, considering his response. He then said, “Have them tried, with testimony from victims and witnesses. Be fair, thorough, and impartial in your investigation and judgement. The guilty, allow their victims, or the family of those slain, to name their fate.” He then lost his composure, as he asked, “Why? Why did they do this? Did I not specifically tell them not to do this?”
“Some men cannot help but give in to their baser compulsions,” Triger replied as he shrugged his shoulders.
Orn sighed, and then said, “Can you get word to all the citizens to gather in the public square? I will address them.”
Triger bowed deeply and said, “As you wish, my prince.”
Orn shoved him as they both laughed. “Cut it out.”
Sitting atop the king’s destrier before the crowd of Bruderman citizens, Orn surveyed them, trying to gauge their mood. The people were sullen, and on the verge of open defiance.
With a great deal of effort, he kept his face neutral, despite the nauseous feeling he had about speaking to such an immense crowd. He concentrated, drew in a breath and, using the voice, said, “People of Bruderman, I have come to restore your lands to their rightful place within the Halder kingdom.”
There were some angry mutterings and the occasional angry shout. Orn held up his hands as the black horse beneath him shifted its weight, and pawed at the ground, becoming anxious. The crowd settled back down.
Orn continued, “It was never our intent to cause you harm. However, with the attempt on Grand Duke Viggin’s life, orchestrated by Duke Harolf, it was necessary to come here in force to ensure order, and to restore rightful rule.”
“Rightful rule?” came a man’s voice with the sarcastic question.
“Who the hells are you, boy?” came another.
A distraught older woman asked, “Why did your men kill my son?”
Orn held his hands up, and said with some force, “Silence!”
He took a deep breath, sighed, then dropped back to his earlier tone. “I know that some of my men have wronged you. On that, I can assure you, there will be trials. They will be held publicly, and you will have your chance to bear witness and to testify. All those found guilty of crimes, their victims will decide their punishment.”
The crowd began chattering among themselves excitedly.
Orn then said, “Now I hope that answers your questions. The nation of Bruderman, for the time being, will be under the authority of Duke Thayn of Skord. With that said, I do not wish to impede on your lives any further than I already have. For any of you wronged by those under my command, I am truly, and deeply sorry. I will expend all efforts to make amends. Thank you.”
The question came from an elderly woman, only this time, it was curious and not accusatory. “Who are you, young man?”
“I am Orn Avdlak.”
“Avdlak? That’s a Bruderman name. Who are your parents?” the same woman asked.
Orn forgot he was still talking so everyone could hear, when he said, “Vylder Avdlak is my father. He is a Bruderman. My mother is the shield maiden, Venna Avdlak, daughter of King Ulden.”
The muttering among the crowd grew even more eager, and evolved into a chant, starting with a few voices, then building into a roar, with the king’s soldiers joining in. “Orn. Orn! ORN! ORN! ORN!”
Orn was blushing as he held his hands up in a gesture to settle them down, which only made them chant louder. After a minute of trying, he gave up. Instead, he nodded and held his hand up in salute to the crowd, wheeled the horse and trotted to the palace gate.
Once inside, Orn dismounted, handing the reins off to a stable boy. He placed his hands on his knees, and took several deep breaths, to allay the nausea he was feeling from speaking to the crowd.
Captain Triger Valbrun clapped him on the shoulder, grinning as he said, “You certainly won them over. You know, it could be argued this dukedom should fall to you, considering the former duke is disgraced, and your brother is third in line to be king.”
“Don’t, please,” said Orn, grimacing, his face taking on a sickly pallor.
“What? It is true. And if that crowd is anything to go by, the people would accept it. Happily, it would seem,” said Triger.
“In all seriousness, I don’t think running a country is in the cards for me. If our king commands it, it could be that I must obey, but that all depends on Briga.”
“Hm. I’m so glad that’s your dilemma. And I thought being a captain was a lot to shoulder, phew!” Triger laughed as he clapped Orn’s shoulder once again.
“Actually, I will be asking my grandfather to promote you, Triger. And I am leaving the interim administration of Bruderman in your capable hands,” Orn retorted with a smirk.
“Orn, I may be a captain, but I am not of the gentry. I rose through the ranks, so I don’t see that working,” replied Triger.
“How old are you?” asked Orn.
“I’m nineteen, why?”
“You are nineteen, and you’re a captain in the king’s royal guard? That is quite an accomplishment. I doubt my grandfather will have any issues giving you a jarldom if I ask him.”
Triger’s face paled, and his expression soured. The expression made Orn laugh as the tables had suddenly turned.
The two young men walked to the palace entrance, and as they approached the entrance, Orn came face to face with Briga. She stood with her arms crossed. Her normally pleasant, calm sea-green eyes swirled, as though an intense storm were contained within, and the colour had become closer to a steely-grey.
In a quiet voice dripping with menace, she asked through her teeth, “How was your day, dear?”
Triger took one look at the goddess in the doorway, and he suddenly recalled needing to check something in a place that was anywhere but near this doorway.
Orn, seeing her expression, but missing the significance, ventured a tentative, “Fine. We have taken the capital. How was your day?”
“Fine?” Briga asked. “FINE?” she asked again, her voice rising in volume and pitch.
“Is something wrong, dear?” Orn asked, perplexed.
“You nearly get yourself killed, and all you have to say for yourself is ‘FINE’?”
“It really wasn’t so bad. Merely some cracked ribs. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” said Orn, trying to sound casual.
Briga’s eyes widened, and her mouth was agape as though Orn had just slapped her. Then she turned, taking a few steps away, turned again and walked back to him, as though to say something, exhaled heavily, and then buried her face in her hands and began weeping.
Orn was stunned. He stood there bewildered for several seconds, before he stepped toward her. Gingerly, he placed his arms around her and pulled her into him.
As she felt herself drawn into Orn’s embrace, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his chest, and hugged him fiercely. Between heart wrenching sobs, she cried, “I can’t lose you! I can’t be alone anymore!”
Orn felt the sharp sting in his sinuses as tears began forming in his own eyes as he held the sobbing goddess. “I’m sorry, Briga.”
She sobbed into his chest for a short while longer, and when her sobbing had subsided somewhat, she muttered something into his chest.
“I can’t hear you, dear. What was that?” Orn asked as he pulled back from her a little.
“Never do that again,” she said as she sniffled.
“I can’t send men to die for me, Briga. I won’t”
“No!” she said with vehemence, as she looked up at him, her bottom lip pouting. “Never again!”
Briga, in that moment, looked like a petulant child, and Orn couldn’t help but start laughing, as he said, “I love you.” Then he pulled her back into his embrace and laughed again.
“I love you too, but I mean it. Never again. You can’t put yourself in danger like that.”
Orn could feel her shaking and finally understood. For the first time in her long life, Briga was afraid.
Briga sniffed again, and in a soft voice said, “I felt it when you nearly left me. It was like a fist crushing everything inside, and for a moment I felt what an eternity alone would be. I don’t ever want to feel that again. You are not allowed to leave me.”
“But Briga, I am not immortal like you.”
“No! You are not allowed to leave me,” she said, stubbornly as she held him tighter.
She knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. Briga had never experienced dread like she’d felt when her face had flashed before Orn’s eyes. The last time that happened, she was nearby, and with her family’s help, was able to intervene. This time, she was helpless to do anything. That single instant had stretched out for eons, and felt as though a part of her was dying with him. A feeling that terrified her.
“When shall we head back?” asked Orn.
“I was thinking tomorrow morning, so you have time to ensure that Triger is set in his role as administrator. You may have to address the people to ensure they accept Triger’s stewardship,” suggested Briga.
“Tomorrow, then,” said Orn.