From the back of his horse Sir Olm looked on towards the north. He could see the town of Sarus sitting comfortably where the rivers Eirim and Südarm united, covered in winter's snow; the many scattered houses and trees of the Eirimvale seemingly drowning in snow as well. The hills surrounding the Eirim stretched south towards the Ingram. Riders were approaching him and his two companions on horseback, having crossed the town's southern bridge. Not a single person other than them could be seen from where he stood with his companions, on that small hill just two miles south of the town. Even the town itself seemed deserted and silent, completely dead if it wasn't for the smoke coming out of the many chimneys.
"That's the banner of my House," Andreas Davius, one of his companions said. He pointed at it, the flag blue and green, the colours splitting the cloth diagonally. "Do you think that's good or bad news?"
Sir Olm looked at Andreas, then back down upon the riders. He was filled by an immense sense of dread, the kind one would wish to suppress before arriving at ones destination. "Bad," he said with not much emotion, "Your father is wearing black."
Andreas sighed. "I feared as much. What will happen now?"
"I'm sure your father knows." Olm said, then rode downhill.
Andreas turned to his other companion, the fifteen-year-old Martin Bercken, sitting proudly atop his grey pony. Martin had somewhat long, brown hair. His face was cleanly shaven. He wore a white coat with mountains woven onto his cape, the sigil of his own House. The boy with a home to return to, Olm thought once more.
"So this is about your grandfather, is it?" Martin asked, looking similarly empathetic. He started slowly following the Sir, though keeping his gaze with Andres.
"Probably," Andreas responded, probably hiding the dread behind an emotionless face. Davians were good at that. He followed Martin downhill. "Come on, let's not leave the old man waiting."
The two boys and the old bannerman rode downhill, their horses ploughing through the snow. Their faces and eartips burned from the cold.
"I was expecting a better answer, you know!" Andreas yelled so the man ahead of him could hear. Sir Olm didn't respond, the riders were now closing in. They rode a little further, they could now hear the whines and trots of the approaching horses, and clearly see the green and blue banner of House Davia and the familiar faces. He saw his father in front of them, Sir Berten right behind him; Sir Aibarus, the bannerman Lord Armus Bercken had chosen to protect his son; and Sir Kolren riding a little more behind. Olm saw Andreas closing his eyes, he could feel the northern winds hitting his face too, the wind which the boy had learned to know after the years he spent in the Hinterland with his father and grandfather. The winds no Harinian could know, but he was no Harinian.
The men accompanying his father seemed uneasy, though his father Konrad, son of Lord Andreus Davius, seemed sure of himself and self-righteous as usual. He said something to his men, Andreas couldn't hear, and then rode forward towards Martin, his son and Sir Olm while the rest stopped behind him.
Olm bowed lightly to Andreas' father. "Konrad." he said, still keeping his head down.
"Good day Olm," Konrad spoke, and then turned to the boys. "Andreas, Martin."
Konrad looked back to the town. Though Andreas couldn't see his father's face, Sir Olm did. He recognised the face of a mourning man who showed no emotion. "This morning, Lord Andreus succumbed to his condition. He shall be buried under the keep, where the stewards of the city lie." He turned back to face the three companions. "Follow me."
The men rode slowly to the bridge, and snow began falling upon the Hinterland once more. Olm knew it was neither the proper time nor the proper setting to talk. He watched the Davians ride in front of all and stayed behind with Martin Bercken and Sir Kolren, Sarus' steward. The riders he knew well passed him, seemingly uninterested in Olm. That, he found strange.
"Did Konrad say anything to you?" Olm asked Sir Kolren.
"Only that the Lord is dead," the man whispered, leaning closer to Olm so Martin wouldn't hear. "And that we were off to escort you from Auerburg. But it seems you have already made the journey."
"So you're telling me Konrad wished to go to Auer with twenty or so men?" Olm said quietly, but not hiding his disbelief, "With you present? Away from Sarus for a week? In the midst of winter? While his father lay unburied?"
"My guess is our true destination wasn't Auerburg, and thanks to your timely arrival, you've saved someone's life."
Olm shook his head. "Konrad is an honourable man. Not like this. Not without a trial."
"A man's honour matters little when his father has suffered for so long."
"A man's honour always matters…" Olm looked around. He realised why they were so uneasy. "Who do you think it is?"
"Certainly not you and me. Not Sir Berten, he's the only one who's not nervous, and the man did have his sword sharpened yesterday." Olm smirked. "Look at him, riding behind Konrad, his hand on his sword. Ready to do anything Konrad wants… Say, why did you three arrive so early? We weren't expecting you for another two days!"
"I'll tell you later…" Olm could only look at the southern gate, and said nothing more.
The men rode into the town, minutes after they left. Many seemed just as confused as Sir Olm was; hands, workers, women and children… But nothing had really changed since Olm, Andreas and Martin had left. Nothing changed in Sarus. A quiet settlement, the only sounds ever truly coming to one's attention being the steel beaten in the smithy, the bells of the one church ringing twice a day or the horses neighing.
They left the horses by the stable. Konrad once again led the men up to the keep with his son by his side, leaving Martin Bercken to be with the man he was squired to, Sir Kolren. No one really talked other than Sir Kolren, who was very curious about their stay at Auerburg.
"Are you well, Sir?" Olm heard Berten's voice from behind him. "It gets very boring here without you to liven the mood."
"Oh spare me, Berten," Sir Olm responded, "Have you not men your age to keep you company?"
Berten smiled. "None of the men my age are as renowned as you, Sir," he confessed, "And I'm hardly a youth anymore."
"Thirty years younger than me, you are."
Berten laughed.
"Sir Berten!" The two heard Konrad say as the group was finally entering the keep. "Stand guard while Andreas and I pay our respects. Steward, see to it that all is in order. The rest of you are dismissed."
- - -
Andreas looked at his grandfather's swollen body lying in front of him upon the marble altar. The dead man had been dressed in a white shroud, so that his waist, head and legs were uncovered. His father stood behind him. They were alone in the stone catacombs, surrounded by stale air. Andreas could barely hear his father's breathing, and he could feel his gaze upon him. Father hadn't said a word to him directly. He knew the man was struck with grief, so was he. It felt strange seeing a man bound to bed and chair for years actually lie lifeless in front of him. He had corpses described to him before. But this was nothing like those descriptions, not at all.
"Is there something you expect of me?" Andreas asked. He could feel tears forming in his eyes. But he didn't want to cry, not in front of his father.
"Expect?" the man scoffed, "What kind of word is that? I expect you to do what every Davian is meant to do."
"I've never done this before." Andreas kept his composure.
Konras sighed. "You say what kind of man he was, the accomplishments of his life, and then thank him."
"Haven't you done this already?"
"No. But even if I did, that is the custom of our House, Andreas. I do not expect you to understand, I expect you to do it. This is how we honour our fallen. The way the Houses of the East do."
We're not in the East anymore, Andreas wanted to say. He needed to distract himself. He feared his soul would shatter into a thousand pieces if he didn't. "Does every Davian get to be praised before being buried?" he asked.
"Yes. Except, of course, disgraced members of the family. They get nothing, nothing at all."
"For instance?" Andreas turned around to face his father. Father never told him of his family. He looked him in the eyes and he saw rage in the purest of form. Konrad's mouth was slightly open, his muscles pulling his cheeks back. He almost immediately regretted asking.
"How much do you remember about Harinia?" Konrad asked as calmly as he could.
"Not much." He lied. He remembered nothing.
Konrad's disgust turned to a smile, and for a split second Andreas saw a light in his father's eyes. "It was beautiful. The rivers, the forests, the countryside, all of it. It was our little kingdom, as though there was no Emperor at all, as though we could do whatever we liked. In the summers we would retreat to Epin Keep up in the mountains where it was cool, then, in those lovely falls, we would come back to Resch, the city which sat right at the centre of our world. Resch is at least twenty times bigger than Sarus, and at least that much more populated. The wealth of the East flowed through there." Konrad sighed heavily.
"And now we're here." Andreas turned back around.
"Emperor Florianus banished us, despite my father's plea. So we went North, too North. Winters last five months, the summers only lasts two. It's a shithole here, in every sense."
His father never told him why they were exiled. He could guess it was a shameful tragedy, and even guessed his father had some part in it… But he could never know the truth of it, especially not now. It was a mystery to him that barely captivated Andreas as much as it did years earlier.
Andreas silently looked at the body, the eyes and mouth sewn shut, the ears cleaned, the wet hair running down upon his shoulders. Despite his age, Lord Andreus still had long hair. Andreas thought it strange, that a man with innumerable wrinkles and dots had longer hair than him. He didn't quite know what to feel other than grief and wonder. "Shall I begin?"
"Go on."
Andreas closed his eyes, unsure of what to say. He felt a shiver, but he suppressed it. He began. "Thank you, Lord Andreus Davius, grandfather, for your service to the Empire and the Emperors and House Davia. You have been a fine Lord in service to the Emperors of the East and the North, you have protected the realms of Harinia and the Hinterland truly, you have been most just, strong and strong willed to this day. As your grandson, I am thankful for your wisdom and strength you've shown as an example to me. May you rest peacefully and eternally, amen." His eyes were now so watery he could barely see. His voice had shivered for the entire time, and he almost felt as though he would fall over. Andreas fully expected his father to ask him to do it again.
Konrad sighed again, as though he wasn't satisfied. "You did well. Now leave me, child."
Andreas didn't look at his father as he turned to his right and walked down the hall, passing the tombs of the town's stewards, and up the stairway. He wiped his watery eyes with his hands. What a way to start the new year, he thought as he did. He opened the heavy wooden door, and was subsequently greeted by the burning sunlight coming from the entrance of the keep to the far right of the door and Sir Berten and Martin standing side by side. The two looked at the Davian with great interest.
"Well?" Sir Berten asked.
"I did what was required of me." Andreas answered.
"Is your father still in there?" Martin asked.
"Why, is there another way out?" Berten asked back and looked at the Lordling.
"Not as far as I know."
Andreas looked up at Berten. "You wouldn't make for a good sentry if there was, would you?" he said, smiling, despite his eyes still being a little watery.
Sir Berten laughed. "Oh, is that what I am? A sentry?" When Sir Berten's laugh died, Andreas walked to his side. "Tell me, how was Auerburg?"
"Well it was really pleasing, actually," Andreas began, glad that he asked about that and not his grandfather, "Martin enjoyed it more than I, right?" Martin nodded in agreement. "I don't know why my father sent me with the Sir, especially when grandfather lay weak and ill, but I am glad he did. It was awful before I went, and it must have been awful while I was away." Berten nodded as well. "I suppose he knew he couldn't keep our Lord alone here and sent me in his stead as a gesture that he wished to be there. It was honestly very pleasant, we drank wine and ate well. Better than I usually do."
"Well, you're quite thin for a Davian, has anyone ever told you?" Berten asked with a smirk.
Of course Andreus knew, he was told every day. "Well, whatever it was, on the fourth day a squire went mad, and attacked Sir Olm with a dagger on the bridge. It took three men to get the young man to halt and disarm, he was placed in a cell for his own good. We departed the fortress the same day."
"What a fine coincidence that you arrived at Sarus just as we departed. Your father decided to ride all the way to Auerburg once he received word that Lord Andreus was dead. Not very sensible if I do say so myself."
"Verily. I do not understand what is going on in father's head, nor what goes on in mine."
"Neither did I, when I was young. No one really does." The bannerman paused. "Now, however, whenever I look around I see these struggles and these schemes and lies. Makes me wonder whether or not it is your father you should be focusing on."
Andreas and Martin both looked at the man, both confused. "What makes you say that?" Andreas asked.
Berten shrugged. "When I see people around here, I see nervous people. The Lord of the Hinterland is dead. Now your father will be Lord, or maybe not. The news will have to travel to Königsgrab first, and then Emperor Constantine's answer will have to come back to us. Do you understand?"
Andreas nodded. "How long till we get the news?"
"It would take at least two weeks for a single man to get there on horseback, and additional two weeks to come back, if a decision is made immediately, which it may not. You'll also have to travel to Königsgrab, which will, give or take, take you a month to go back and forth. So, all in all, I say give it two months or so."
"Let's just hope it gets a bit warmer by then." Martin Bercken said, walking away. Andreas made short eye contact with Berten. Berten shook his head in the Karlian's direction, gesturing to Andreas to follow him. Andreas did just that, waving his hand behind him as he went.
He walked past the entry hall and the big, wooden door they had just entered the keep from. Martin was walking towards the main hall, Andreas could hear his footsteps echo through the hall. "Bercken!" he called out, hoping the Karlian would slow down. And to his surprise, Martin actually stopped entirely and saw Andreas approaching. This surprised Andreas, never before had he seen the boy stop for him. It was as though the squired Lordling had forgotten where he was going, so focused was he on the younger Andreas approaching him.
"Oh, forgive me," Martin Bercken said, almost stuttering yet able to take a hold of himself, straightening himself and holding his hands formally. "You have my condolences, Andreas Davius. I liked your grandfather, he seemed to me like a good man."
Andreas stopped in his tracks. He didn't expect him to say that either, but he positioned himself similarly to Martin. "Thank you, Martin." he said complacently, smiling sorrowfully, getting closer and closer.
"What was it like?" Martin asked curiously.
"Most… bizarre, really. It's weird to see a corpse lie before you like that."
"Oh, I know just what you mean. When my uncle died last year and my father became Lord of the Bergstadt his body was brought before court. It was a silent affair, his bannermen and family all knelt before the body, before it was taken to the crypt beneath the Keep." Martin looked down for a second, then back up. "It goes away, trust me. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But it goes away."
Andreas tried smiling harder, but it didn't work. No, he wouldn't cry in front of Martin either. "That is kind of you, Bercken." he only said, walking past him and up to his room.
- - -
"That is quite the tale, Olm," Kolren said as he sat on his chair. "Tell me, do you think the boys enjoyed it?"
"The festivities? Certainly. That other boy who charged at me? Less so, I'm afraid, though they weren't there when it happened."
"I suppose I should personally travel to Auer and thank that squire, eh?" Kolren laughed.
Olm poured some wine into his own cup. "Who was to be left in charge of the city while Konrad travelled?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. Sir Grasinus or Keven are certainly not… Equipped enough. I suppose I knew once I thought about it. You'll never know the relief I had once I saw you on the hill."
"Why do you think Konrad did such a thing? You know him, he's never been one to… to have a trial on the snow…"
Kolren drank some of his wine. "Well, perhaps now that Lord Andreus is dead, he may have wanted a show of strength, as well as one of us dead."
"But why?"
Kolren drew closer to Olm, despite being all alone in the room. "My guess is that Konrad believed Lord Andreus was poisoned."
Olm looked at the steward, unsure whether or not he was being serious. "Pah, I doubt it. Konrad had been taking on the responsibilities of his father for the last ten years. He was the Lord of the Hinterland in all but name. He could have had us call him Lord and no one would have batted an eye. Anyway, the old man was… well, old. Eighty nine years. Very, very remarkable. I loved him, truly I did. The man saw it all… And, unfortunately, the exile of his House, the deaths of his grandchildren and that scandal all them years ago." He paused. "What do you think of that wretched affair? I never asked you of all people."
"Not much. I used to be the steward, I still am." Kolren paused, looking at Olm. "Hey, you saw it all too!"
"Oh, right…" Olm said with less enthusiasm than Kolren must have expected, for the stewards' smile faded slightly. "I miss the old man already. He used to be big and strong like Konrad… We went to war together. The best way for men to bond, at least in my book." He paused again. "And they call him a fool. The fool of Stefensburg. Have you ever wondered what would have happened if House Davia was never banished from the East?"
"No, why would I?"
"I sure as shit have. God, what fine horses we had at Resch. We called them 'Davian thorough-breds'. The very best within the Empire, except maybe the ones from Johansgrab or Veren but that is certainly up for debate. I, personally, have found Johansgrab's horses more suitable for charges, whereas our horses were better in close combat. Johansgrab's horses are bigger, stronger and meaner, but ours were smaller, more manoeuvrable and loyal. Ideal for melee. We had to leave them, now we have less than five hundred. We can't afford feeding that many horses anymore. And why would we need horses here?" Olm turned to face the window to look at the white hills to the north. "And I'm sure you also understand that being the Magister Equitum of the East is far more prestigious than being the commander of the Davian cavalry."
Kolren smiled. "How many charges have you been, old man?"
"Old, right," he said, half joking and half melancholic. "I've been in more charges than I have hair on my head left, though the only one I can truly ever think about was the one at Barus by the shore, when we weren't even considered Northerners yet."
"That was over twenty years ago. While very much a historic moment, that's just what it is: history."
Olm turned back to face Kolren. "You weren't there… Now that I think about it, I'd wager you've never seen battle in your life! What do you have for your name? The city of Sarus, this shithole at the Northern edge of the Empire?"
Kolren's smile went down further, but he did begrudgingly tilt his head. "The fact that I have served the Davians faithfully, I suppose."
Olm smiled as he took a sip from his cup. "Bah, you're right, I am getting old. I can't really ride with the lads anymore, let alone charge at the enemy. I don't feel it immediately, only hours after I get off the horse. Goddamn, it's… it bothers me. Sometimes I wished I had died in the Western War with Praenus and Levicus. They were good men, good soldiers. Now I have to live like this, old and spineless. I still remember the brown shores, the horses being uneasy on the ships, the goddamn wind blowing ships away, and those fucking walls. Those rebels were outmatched in numbers, yes, but we landed more than ten miles apart from General Galvus' troops due to the wind. We were too late."
"What went on in your mind when you charged at the enemy outside the walls?" Kolren asked.
Olm smiled at the question. He had always wanted to be asked that and thought of a fitting answer. "'Fools!' I thought. 'I'll show you why those walls were built!'"
Kolren began laughing almost uncontrollably. Just then, Olm saw Konrad standing by the door. He stood up immediately only for Konrad to gesture to him to sit down again. Kolren saw Olm trying to get up and turned around to see what it was which made him do so, only to see Konrad there. "Good day, sire." Kolren said calmly.
"Good day, Sirs." Konrad said as he walked inside.
Olm got up from his chair, not caring whether Konrad wished for him to sit. "I did not have the chance to express my condolences."
"Thank you, Sir." There it was, the face from earlier. Olm noticed.
"How is Andreas?"
"The boy should be fine. He gave his final speech, I talked to him after I gave mine."
"Do you think you will travel to Königsgrab?"
Konrad sighed. "That depends on the Emperor's will. I've already sent out a man informing the capital of the situation. We'll receive word in a month or so. And unless the Emperor sees House Opfen of Draafen fit, I will most likely be Lord."
"What shall we do until then?" Kolren asked.
"I suppose the status quo will have to go on. Kolren will continue to be the steward of Sarus, and I'll be his temporary assistant."
"Of course." Kolren chuckled. Modesty in its purest, Olm thought.
"And what if the Emperor grants you the Hinterland?" asked Olm.
"Then I'll simply continue doing what I've been doing for the past fifteen years, except you lot will get to call me Lord." The men laughed loudly. "I'll leave you good Sirs alone and well." Konrad finally said and left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Does he think one of his own poisoned Lord Davianus?" Olm whispered.
"I am unsure," Kolren admitted, "He seems to be the only one surprised that his Lord father has died. Andreus Davius' health has never been well since his first arrival."
Olm thought for a little bit. "It has been a strange December." he said before finishing his cup and leaving the room.
- - -
Andreas walked through the hallway by the entrance to the keep, and turned right into the main hall. He was coming from the Davian library, the only thing his family had taken from Harinia which was of irreplaceable worth. A collection of more than two hundred books and tomes, all crammed within one small, far too small room (so small and cluttered in fact, that people called it a book room instead of a library). Father had told him that this was less than a quarter of the collection, the rest of which still being kept at the library at Resch.
Something had stepped into his mind, something he had no chance to ignore. Fever, difficulty breathing, skin falling off, swelling in his entire body, all conditions which sounded far too familiar. He had to make sure that it wasn't his memory failing him. He wanted to talk to his father, but he feared he was resting in his chamber, perhaps silently mourning the loss of his father. He wouldn't know if he did, or whether or not the man was even saddened by the loss of his father. Konrad Davius rarely showed emotion, only occasionally laughing at a joke or two or cussing out a servant for not doing something properly. Sometimes Andreas would doubt whether or not he truly loved him, but then again Konrad would surprise his son with gifts and words of encouragement: last summer the boy had received a proper horse, a black destrier, and just before departing for the celebration of Saturnalia a short sword. You'll start to get trained after you return, he had said, after all, it wouldn't hurt to know how to wield a sword.
Andreas always found it interesting how different he was from his father. His father had long, wavy dark hair, slowly turning grey, while he had short blonde hair, unable to grow past his ears. Konrad was tall and big and strong, whereas Andreas hadn't even properly grown heightwise. He knew he was to be taller and stronger, he was a youth of fourteen in the winter of 694, yet he nonetheless felt like an imp of sorts compared to the men surrounding him. Even the squires of Sarus' standing garrison, all close to his age, seemed much taller and stronger than he was.
Andreas continued walking down the hallway, heading back to the main hall. Once there, he sat down and opened it, passing the early pages dedicated to Constantine the Great and his sons, then the Second Tetrarchs, and finally, the half-empty page dedicated to Valentinian II.
Flavius Valentinianus Augustus, Second of His Name, Emperor of the North,
25th of April 632, m. 30th of June 649.
Ruled for a year once his grace came of age. His grace died three weeks after being found suffocating in his chamber, his neck swollen and his body warm.
Married to Margarete Floriana, daughter of Florius, First of His Name, Lord of Elmia, Emperor of the East. Father of Constantine, succeeded by his wife for fifteen years until the coming of age of his son.
Poisoned by his own mother, Agrippina Deber, who was tried and executed in Königsgrab. The death of Agrippina Deber caused her brothers Nikolas Deber and Alexander Deber to rebel against the rule of Margarete Floriana, and demanded justice at Baugen, where their force was decimated by the Imperial forces led by General Praenus, whom the title Debericus was granted for his achievement. Subsequently, House Deber was stripped of its possessions to the north of the Helver, which were subsequently handed to House Kahren and House Kehler.
No, it simply didn't add up.
"What are you reading?"
Andreas flinched as he looked behind him, seeing his father approaching him. "The Line of the Constantinians." he said, almost as fast as a soldier would reply to his commander.
Konrad looked at the book with great interest as he sat by his son. "Do you know how these books are written?"
Andreas shook his head.
"Every time an Emperor dies or is deposed, we receive word from a courier, alongside a manuscript for books that detail the histories. Then, a scribe simply takes the manuscript and copies everything, word for word into this book."
"So there's one of these books for every province?"
"Yes. Books like that are quite easy to replicate, since most of their pages are still empty."
"Does our House have a book like that?" Andreas knew there wasn't a book as such in the book room, but was curious nonetheless.
"There used to be." Konrad sighed. "It even had my name on it. It was burned when we left for Sarus."
The ensuing silence made Andreas uncomfortable. He awkwardly looked around the hall to see whether or not anyone was there (there wasn't), and then back to the book. He didn't quite know whether or not this was the right time to bring up what he had found, he didn't want to discomfort his father further. Somehow, his father seemed more frustrated at the fact that a book had been burned fifteen years ago than the fact that his own father had died that very day. But then again, Andreas thought, father liked to not show sadness or gladness, holding the honour of his tarnished name above all. In a way, Andreas felt bad for his father. Lord Andreus had begun to show signs of senility mere months after arriving at Sarus. And now, after years of pain and death, he was to be the Lord of the Hinterland, a province he despised, whose local folk grew increasingly disillusioned with the rule of House Davia, a province deemed so utterly worthless not even House Draafen of Urburg or House Opfen of Imburg bothered to govern it for centuries. Andreas had read many times over that the province had practically been ruled by the stewards of Sarus since the reign of Emperor Torrianus when the Empire was still young.
"Excuse me father, I should go. It's getting late." Andreas said.
"Wait." Konrad said as Andreas was getting up, looking him dead in the eyes.
Andreas in an awkward position, stuck in that pose with one of his legs already on the other side of the chair, he was unsure whether or not to continue getting up or sitting back down. He chose to sit back down, fully expecting for his father to ask about the book. "Yes?" Andreas silently asked.
"If we are to travel to Königsgrab for the blessing of the Emperor to become Lord, I want you to come along."
"To the capital?" Andreas asked, surprised at the prospect.
"The Northern capital. But yes. I want you to come, riding your new destrier, with sword in hand, wearing fine clothes and behaving like a true Davian."
Andreas looked away. "The horse is too big for me."
"Son, I know you love your pony, but she isn't made for such long journeys. It would take us more than two weeks to make it to the capital. You wouldn't want to force her to ride all the way to the Helver, would you?"
"No…"
"You'll also be trained so you can wield that sword at least decently until we receive word from the capital."
"That is… good." Andreas said sheepishly.
"Have you thought of a name yet?"
"Pardon?"
"A name for the sword."
Andreas smiled slightly. "Why? Does it need a name?"
"If every sword needed one we'd have run out of names centuries ago. However, a weapon must always be respected, and we tend to like to give them names to respect them more than we already do."
"But mine is just a short sword, not some-"
"Your sword is still very much capable of killing," Konrad cut his son off. "You must always remember that. The length of a sword or a spear doesn't always make it deadlier, it is up to the wielder and his skill to harness the true potential of it." He paused shortly and smiled. "I once saw Sir Olm kill two rebels out by the Arrimvale with a dagger when his sword was knocked off his hand."
"Really?" Andreas looked at his father with curiosity. "Sir Olm?"
"Aye, he may not look like it, but I swear it he was the finest rider and swordsman of Harinia in his prime years. My father was lucky to have had him by his side all this time. There are good reasons why he has grown to be this old."
Andreas was silent, despite not being this ideal Davian his father wished for him to be, he was very much interested in his words. He closed the book. "Tell me about those rebels. The ones Sir Olm slew."
"Oh, it was the first year we were here. We received news of some schmuck… some piss poor countrymen rebelling and taking over one of the outposts by the Arrim. I gathered our forces, two thousand infantrymen and five hundred cavalrymen, leaving my father and you here at Sarus. You were just a baby then. Times really fly, huh… Sir Berten was young then too, seventeen if I recall correctly. He killed a man too. Anyway, we retook the outpost once we arrived, only two hundred men were defending it. We hung whoever survived like crows. T'was a fine sight… But then we received word that a force had attacked another outpost to our northeast, so, while our forces rested, I decided to ride out with one of two scouting parties to scout ahead. We were around twenty men. The sun was setting, and I still felt the rush of having won my first victory… God, I still remember that smell of snow, my blood warm… We rode for an hour, further and further up the river, the very edge of the Empire. Then, we rode into a forest." The Davian paused. "An arrow pierced one of the horsemens skulls. We immediately charged into the treeline, only to find that we were outnumbered at least two to one. I was knocked off of my horse, which ran away. Me and another soldier whose name and face I no longer recall were knocked down, the other lads rode off. I don't blame them, but I wish they could have picked me and the boy up. The scum started chasing us, and I ran while this other boy followed. That was the shortest fifteen minutes of my life, that run… One arrow hit my back but didn't penetrate my armour. The boy wasn't so lucky, an arrow hit him in the leg, and the lot chasing us caught up to him. I didn't look back, I only heard the boy screaming. I made it to a clearing and out of the forest. There I saw the horses of Sir Olm in the distance. The horsemen who rode off had found Olm and informed him. Lord, I don't know what would have happened had the other scouting party not found me. The men charged into the forest with fury, and the fools behind me kept chasing me and yelling, completely blind to the approaching horses. They were all slaughtered. Sir Olm jumped off his horse and in front of me, pulling out his sword as he did so. One of the madmen charged at him, an axe in his hand, his face full of rage. Olm didn't hesitate to shove his sword into his heart. At that moment something I regained that rush I had received earlier when we stormed the outpost. You forget everything else, at that moment all that matters is your sword and the bastards ahead of you. I charged forward by Olm's side, and killed. A man charged Olm to his right, I managed to cut his head off before he could even see me, so fixated was he on the man who had just killed his comrade. And then came that moment, one of the rebels parried Olm's blow, so well in fact that Olm lost his balance in the heat of the moment, falling to the ground, his sword falling down with him. Another man came from his left, while the man who parried Olm readied to strike down upon him with his blade. Olm pushed the man in front of him with his foot, then swiftly pulled out his dagger, stabbing the man to his right in the foot, then knee, causing him to stagger and then putting his dagger into the man's heart. Then he lunged forward, pushing the man in front of him down to the ground with him and slicing his neck open. What a man… This all happened in the matter of seconds, and I obviously didn't just stay there and watch. We took no other casualties that day. We killed all of 'em. They tried running, but we caught up to them on our horses. That day he was just three years younger than I am today. One must imagine him during the War of Western Fracture."
Andreas could only stare at his father, his eyes peeled, his mouth wide open. Father hadn't told him about that, he hadn't heard of a rebellion in the Arrimvale before and he didn't know that his father had killed. At that moment he couldn't imagine that he was the son of the man telling him that story, or that one day he would have to follow in his footsteps.
- - -
It was just another cold day when the long awaited news came from Königsgrab. All were seemingly overjoyed, even young Andreas. All except Konrad. He walked aimlessly for hours within the walls of Sarus once the courier returned with the Imperial order. And throughout the days before the departure, Konrad spent his hours either with Kolren or alone, pondering whether or not he was prepared to serve the Emperor. Servants would see the man roaming through the halls, in and out of his chamber, sitting solemnly in the hall and even leaving to keep and walking in the streets with a guard without notice. Andreas would see him too. Not once had anyone seen father act like this, seemingly carefree, yet deeply troubled. Still, the to-be Lord prepared to depart with a small entourage, just him, Sir Olm, his son and five riders.
And it was not different on the day before they left. It was a dreadful day, the sky covered in clouds, not letting even a bit of warmth unto the city. Konrad hated the cold, so he sat by the fireplace in the hall. He could hear and sometimes see servants or guards passing by, slipping a few glances, never daring to approach. Good, Konrad thought. He wasn't in the mood for anything. He didn't even want to talk to his son, he was far too occupied with thought and feared his son would mistake it for weakness. Andreas was getting the hang of gripping a sword properly and riding with a lance or spear in one hand. Still, the boy was weak. Too skinny for a Davian, Konrad kept telling him, and Konrad was sure Andreas knew. He could sometimes hear Berten or Olm teasing him whenever they ate. But that wasn't on his mind as he sat by the fireplace, watching the flames envelop the firewood and being embraced by its warmth. His mind was on the future, that grey and misty uncertainty lurking in the depths of his imagination. One way or another, this land would be his doom, and he was as sure of it as he was sure the sun would rise the next day. He knew when he saw the grey and lifeless countryside of the Ostfold for the first time fourteen years ago. He had imagined how it would be much worse beyond the Ingram.
There he sat for hours, everything having been arranged, there was nothing to do but wait. So he waited, until a servant came over to inform him that it was midnight, and the fireplace was to be extinguished, as were his own orders.
And as the servant left him in the darkened hall, he heard footsteps approaching him. He slowly turned, knowing exactly who it was approaching him.
"Sire." He heard Sir Kolren's voice.
"Sir Kolren," Konrad responded to the steward. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing wrong, sire, I just wanted to talk."
Konrad wanted to groan, but held it inside. This wasn't a good time. "About what, exactly?"
The steward moved towards the fireplace. Both looked at the ash and charred wood, still emitting that orange glow. "A courier arrived half an hour ago," Kolren said. "We have received some reports from Captain Marius of the Watch. Apparently there have been reports of violent clashes beyond the Arrim."
"Frozenfolk blood feuds," Konrad said. "What of it?"
"Well, the Captain's scouts report that there seems to be a migration of sorts. Packs of Frozenfolk are travelling south, towards the Ingram."
"This winter is cold. They'll come, they'll go. Just like they always have."
"Captain Marius claims that this is nothing like he's ever seen. Now, how long has he been Captain of the Watch?"
"Fourteen years." Konrad answered, his voice making his distaste clear.
"And in fourteen years, he says nothing like this has happened," the steward pressed on, "Winter doesn't terrify the Frozenfolk, the lands are covered in snow six months of the year."
Konrad turned to the steward. "What are you getting at?"
Kolren cleared his throat. "It appears that something serious is at play here, sire."
"Like what?" Konrad said impatiently.
"I am unsure, sire. Now, I would suggest reinforcing the watch in the case of-"
"The watch is a thousand strong," Konrad cut Kolren off. "They will have to deal with whatever quarrel the Frozenfolk have amongst themselves. We know what happened the last time the watch was reinforced…"
Kolren stared at his future Lord in disbelief. "Captain Marius is a good man, sire. He has always been fiercely loyal to your House…"
"Loyal to the Hinterland, you mean. I cannot trust a watchman," Konrad repeated solemnly. "Never again."
The room went quiet except for the smouldering wood in the fireplace. "Very well, sire," Kolren finally said and backed off, turning his back to Konrad. "I'll tell the watchman of your decision. I shall be in my chamber if you need me."
Konrad watched the steward leave, and then turned his gaze to the final embers cooling off. Damn it all, he thought. He got up and walked up to his chamber. Konrad was able to sleep soon after, despite the shadowy past haunting him.
- - -
"There really isn't more to it, Will."
Wilfried Flavius felt uneasy, plain and simple. Whenever he asked anyone else he was either told that it wasn't terribly important, or that they too didn't know too much about it. All he knew came from his uncle, Felix Kahren, which was that Lord Andreus Davianus of the Hinterland was dead, and his son Konrad was to travel to Königsgrab to swear fealty to his father. This irritated Wilfried more than anything. This silence, this peace within the palace at Königsgrab bored him. He yearned for something to happen, anything out of the ordinary, like in the old tales of heroism and chivalry. Yes, he could always go out for a ride, take a stroll through those gardens too familiar to him, or head to the university of the city, but after spending hours alone, riding, walking and reading in his youth it became dull, especially now considering he had a wife and two children.
"Nothing else?" he asked his elder brother, still hopeful that there was more he could know.
"I doubt it," Erwin Flavius said. "It'll be like any other day. Not everything in ruling is as complicated as you believe. Konrad Davius will arrive, pledge himself to Father, and that will be that." Erwin placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "If I learn of anything else, I promise I'll tell you first."
Wilfried smiled. "Thanks, Erwin," he said. "Say, have they found that boy of yours? His name was Jurus, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Jurus. I'm afraid they haven't. Can't say I knew the boy too well. Strange thing, such a disappearance. And stranger for no one to have seen the boy in two weeks…"
"Perhaps he found some maiden and fled to Tisia!" Both laughed. "Well, I guess I should head to my chambers. I don't want to keep Laurent waiting. Good night."
The brothers headed towards different directions. As Wilfried walked the familiar path to his chamber, his thoughts began wandering off to strange places, from the histories to the fond memories of his youth. He was twenty-four years old in 694, son of an Emperor, in his best years. And yet it didn't feel like that. Perhaps it was the family he had made with the woman he loved, or perhaps it was being the middle child of the Emperor of the North. He didn't feel unhappy, far from it, but it was nonetheless a bizarre feeling. He lived a life he could not have fathomed to live when he was, say, fourteen or so. He had imagined being a commander as a boy, leading the Empire's armies while Erwin was Emperor. Their youngest brother, Giddeon, did not dream like them, he had always lacked their ambition. Not that they minded, but the Empire's had been safe for generations, and the last War the Empire fought had concluded before he was even born. It was an age of prosperity, an age which had spanned for all of Wilfried Flavius' life.
It was that age of prosperity that he wed Laurent Inaria. How he came for her hand of all hands was quite surprising: Her brother Verus was a prominent chariot racer of the Blue Team in the Hippodrome of Königsgrab, which (after a rather successful bet on Giddeon's part) caused his brother and Laurent's father Veronius to meet that day, three months before the Saturnalia of 686. Subsequently, the man made acquaintance with the Emperor, who agreed to wed his second oldest to his daughter. Wilfried was surprised more than anything upon receiving the news, as it wasn't unusual for Patrician men to marry Plebeian women, though it was unusual for a member of the Imperial family to marry into a rather lowly Patrician family.
And Although Wilfried had his doubts about Lady Laurent, it turned out she was very cultured, a woman knowledgeable in the histories and arts, rhetoric and persuasion. In almost every field except swordsmanship (in which Laurent usually enjoyed watching her husband do sparring with another man) Wilfried found himself matched by his spouse. The usual Lordling might have sensed aggression on her part from time to time, but Wilfried felt intoxicated by her intelligence and quick tongue.
So the pair was wed on the day of the new year 687, and the same year she was already with child. Both were seventeen when their first child was born, a girl, which they named Matilda. His second was born three years later, on the 15th of March. It was a black haired boy, which they named Wilfried's second name, Flavius. Having his two children changed Wilfried as it would any man. He loved his children, as any father would; he played with them, read them stories; he took them almost everywhere, to chariot races, the markets by the harbour, out on the estates of the family outside of Königsgrab during holidays or special occasions. No matter what, they always behaved themselves, which he was very proud of. The children were loved within the palace, especially by his brother Erwin, the eldest, who would sometimes go out of his way to see them. Perhaps it was because his wife, Lady Claudia, was now with child, but his brother's affection towards his children never ceased to make him happy.
Wilfried walked up the stairs and through the halls of the third floor. He passed some servants and then entered his chambers. There she was, sitting by the fireplace, writing something in her notebook, deeply absorbed in her own world. Lady She didn't even notice him closing the door behind him and approaching her, only doing so once he sat by her side.
Lady Laurent was a beautiful woman. Like him, she had dark eyes. She had long, dark hair and a shade of olive in her skin. Her family, the Inarians, were among the Southern Patricians who settled the Northern lands after the conquest, and, as seen in her, occasionally retained their Southern features.
"Any news on the Davians?" she immediately asked once he sat down.
Wilfried smiled, their thoughts were in the same place after all. "Unfortunately not, dear," he said, taking her left hand. "I've talked to Erwin just now. They should be on their way, probably near Junbach. What have you been doing?"
Laurent put down her notebook and put her other hand on his. "Not much. Verus came today."
"Really? What for?"
"Oh, just something about the game yesterday, I believe."
"Oh, that." She was talking about the riot after one of the green chariots crashed into the walls, killing one of the two drivers and four horses, obscuring the bets of the Green Team. "It was quite amusing to watch."
"So he told me. When will the next race be?"
"Well, the Green team will have to be compensated…" Willfried thought aloud. "I'd give it a week."
There was a short silence between the two as Wilfried got comfortable in his chair and Laurent came closer to the fire. "When were the Davians exiled from their homeland?"
Wilfried thought hard, trying to remember Lord Andreus entering the palace. "Fourteen years ago, I believe."
"And when will Konrad Davius arrive?"
"I would say by the last week of February. They will probably stay for a week, and then return to their land."
His lady smiled. "How interesting. Have you ever been to the Ingram?"
"No, never," Wilfried said, looking at the smouldering fire. "The furthest north I have ever been to was Junbach."
"Oh, Junbach. I love the country there, it's so… serene and calm compared to the city here. Have you ever been to Kirtzen?"
"No, my lady, I have not. I don't believe I would have any business there, at least now."
"Yet it was for a brief nine years the seat of the Northern Empire." There it was, the knowledge she had that he adored. Wilfried couldn't help but smile again. He raised her hands up, placing a kiss there. Laurent laughed. "Your great-grandfather, if I'm not mistaken," she continued.
"Valentinian the First," Wilfried said, "Emperor and husband to Agrippina Deber…" He didn't show it, but saying the name made his skin crawl. The woman who had murdered his grandfather and seized the throne was now long dead, yet her name still echoed through the halls of the palaces and keeps. What was it about that woman which had captivated the tongues of so many? Was it her execution? The throne going to another woman for fifteen years? Or perhaps it was her resemblance to the Last Empress. "Are Flavius and Matilda sleeping?" he could only ask as the thoughts waged war on one another in his head.
"Yes. Flavius said he wasn't tired, but it's already dark."
Of course he would, Will thought. The boy was full of life, he would run all around the palace and streets, away from his father and mother, and into the unknown of the world. Just like he had been.
- - -
It has been a long month, Waldmar thought as they approached Chief Gaggin's home, a small meadhall in an open field, surrounded by forest and houses. A hundred were with them, though most wouldn't attend the feast to honour his father. Only a dozen men, the men closest to Jarl Khym Ragnarson would attend, and even then Waldmar was unsure if they'd all fit inside the wooden meadhall.
It had been a tough month and a long way since they arrived at the lands of Skugenhem, the lands of forest. The Bare Lands lied between the twelve Jarldoms of Forsthem and the forests. Passing them had always been the hardest part in a journey south. The earth there was hard and dry. Nothing grew on the lands but for bare grass, only good for their mules. Many starved, many froze, many perished in quarrels. Rapers, brigands and swindlers were put to the sword, not by the Jarl's men but by ones who seeked their own justice. Such was the way of the children of the sky.
But the children of the sky were a hearty people; that, he knew. All of them shared song and mead, iron and blood. The winter was cold and unforgiving, but they would continue in spite of it all. The children always banded together, always. Except, of course, in situations where brother fought brother. Waldmar thought of the recent months, but he concluded that they'd come too far to return now. Any challenge in their way they'd meet with iron and courage.
Once they came, there were clashes between the native folks and them, with the children of the sky prevailing again and again, leaving trails of blood wherever they went. There were some of Skugenhem who saw the futility of resisting and offered them much needed tribute: wheat and cattle. This Chief of the forest was but one of many submitting to the Jarl of Yoorenhall.
The children of the sky had taken refuge in a vale the children of the forest called the Wayward Vale. It sat by the slopes of the mountains, lush and forested. Even lukewarm in March, as though the cold dared not to enter the vale. Its opening gazed south, in the horizon the river Arrim was visible. They had been a city on the move for a little over a month. And with makeshift huts, they had turned the vale into a small city overnight.
But Waldmar knew they would not stay there long. His fathers gaze was set on the south, the fertile lands of long summers.
The lands the Chief Gaggin ruled over, they had learned, was called Gagginholm. Waldmar thought it to be very fitting. He wondered if all children of the forest named their towns after men. Or perhaps they named men after towns.
Whatever was the case, Gagginsholm was a small town. They were tens of wooden houses scattered across the field, some deeper in the woods than others. The children of the forest lived all together, which meant sharing their water, food, cattle and clothes. If one house was weak, all of them were.
In the midst of it all were a couple of stones stacked on top of one another. Some children of the forest were kneeling by the stones, Waldmar counted six women.
"You think they're praying?" Waldmar asked his brother, Ailek.
Ailek was a youth of nineteen, three years younger than himself. He was a blonde man with short hair, with blue eyes and a fine jaw.
"Probably," Ailek said, "What else would they be doing, kneeling like beggars?"
"All who pray are beggars." old Kagn, one of his fathers skuhns, a title given to esteemed warriors and commanders, said.
"But to whom are they praying?" Waldmar pondered.
"Their gods, our gods, what does it matter?" the old skuhn said, his disdain clear in voice.
Waldmar gave no reply, they were now close enough to the hall.
The Chief stood at the door of his small hall, surrounded by twenty ragged men, standing in a line, holding crooked spears. He was a short man, the Chief, shorter than any man Waldmar had ever seen. Still, his face was hard and weary. The forest could turn dwarves into men.
"I greet you, Jarl of Yoorenhall," the man said, in their tongue no less. "I, Gaggin of the Gagginsholm, welcome you."
His father raised his hands and everyone stopped. The warriors backed off with their spears and swords, and the ones the Jarl had designated to come with him stayed as they were. The Jarl alone went forward, tall as a tower. Waldmar looked at Ailek, standing beside him. Ailek looked as though he was about to laugh uncontrollably, and Waldmar himself tried hard not to laugh when he saw the Chief look up to his father.
"You speak our tongue, Chief Gaggin of the Gagginsholm?" the Jarl spoke.
"I do, Jarl Khym, my mother was from Soonna."
The Jarl laughed, this time Ailek and some of them couldn't help but laugh too. Waldmar, though, kept his mouth shut.
"A good Norse port, plenty of good wenches there too!" This time many more laughed, over fifty men, Waldmar reckoned. "I'd ask you to kneel but I don't think your legs would allow it!"
The Chief smiled. "I thank you. A height of mine, we consider it a blessing. You must have come a long way from the Wayward Vale, I ask you to be my guest."
"Very well, I accept." The Jarl turned and shook his head, gesturing to them to move on. The armed children of the forest made way and they passed right through into the hall.
The mead hall was certainly bigger inside than it looked on the outside. The large table took up more than half of the room, stretching on to the back, where there was a cooking spit, where a goat was spinning above hot flames. It was warm inside thanks to the fire.
Chief Chiggen walked past the seats and towards the cooking pit with one of his men and a woman, while the rest of them sat.
"They don't like us one bit, do they?" Waldmar whispered to his brother.
"Of course not," Ailek whispered back, "We come here with sword and threat. Be on your edge, Waldmar. When they have their chance, they'll stab us in the back."
Despite being brothers of the same father, Waldmar and Ailek had their differences, both physically and mentally. Ailek had a bloodlust, a side of which Waldmar didn't always like to see. He loved his half-brother, sure, but he could never see eye to eye with his brother on killing. That's what father liked about Ailek more than Waldmar.
He remembered Ailek skinning a bunny when they were boys with such eagerness Waldmar had vomited into a helmet in front of father. Father had struck him then, causing him to vomit again. He shouldn't have felt disturbed by it, being the son of a Jarl, but he couldn't help it. Waldmar's mother was long dead. He imagined her to be a kind, gentle soul. Father had even told him once that she could read.
But, especially in his youth, his father and his grandfather, Jarl Ragnar Harikson saw use in him. Waldmar had been gifted in the mind, Ailek in the sword. In the Siege of Uriksen, just six years ago, Waldmar had overseen the supplies of Yoorenhall while Ailek stormed the gates of the castle with his father. The feast after the siege was one to remember, Waldmar had never before felt so proud.
And yet all of that was in the past. Yoorenhall was now a ruin of ash and snow, Uriksen held by another Jarl. He'd never see his childhood home again, never ride along the rivers and plains. He sighed deeply as the man and woman following Chief Gaggin served them hot soup.
The feast began. It was not a feast in the manner the crows of Yoorenhall were used to, but a feast nonetheless. They could hardly complain after a month on the move. First they ate the soup, water with crushed wheat and some milk. Then, the goat was served to them with some turnips and ale. It wasn't that tasty, the meat was chewy and dry, the ale too sour. But they wouldn't refuse the food, children of the sky would never disrespect their guests.
Meanwhile, the Jarl and the Chief had been conversing, sitting side by side at the edge of the table by the cooking spit. "Tell me," the Jarl said, having drunk two tankards of their ale, "Who was your father? You've told us of your mother but not of your father…"
This ought to be fun, Waldmar thought. He hadn't seen his father drunk in months.
"He was Gaggins of Gagginsholm." the Chief responded, not too sober himself.
The Jarl laughed hard. "And his father?"
"Another Gaggins of Gagginsholm. We have a thing for the name."
"You have a thing for names and short men! " Khym laughed harder.
"A short man needs less to eat, Jarl Khym." The Chief raised his tankard. "But he can drink all the same!"
The hall erupted in laughter as they took thirstful gulps of their ale. Soon, they finished their roasts and the men continued to drink.
Waldmar remembered laying his head down onto the table before feeling his brother shaking him. "Brother." he could barely hear Ailek's hard voice.
Waldmar irked up, his eyes wide open. The table was largely empty,
"You're a fine man, Chief Gaggin. A short man, maybe, but a fine man!" That was father's voice. Waldmar looked to his left. The Jarl was holding the Chief by the shoulder.
The Chief laughed. "You're a charmer, Jarl Khym Ragnarson. Please, stay for the night. The journey to the Wayward Vale is perilous at night, especially for drunkards!"
"Drunkard?" Khym laughed. "Bah, what more am I now? Eh, boys?"
"Yes, father!" Ailek said and took another swig.
"Ah, Gaggin, I'm thankful for your hospitality. Please, if there is anything I can do, speak of it and it shall be so!"
"Oh, my Jarl, it has been a hard winter…"
"You're right, it has been. Let it be known that your people… your people shall only give… ten sacks of wheat."
The Chief's face lit up in joy. He took the Jarl's hand and shook it ferociously. "Thank you, thank you!"
"You've dined us as well as you could and now you offer us a roof above our heads for the night. That is the least I could do." He let go of the Gaggin's hand. "But there is one more I must ask of you before our night ends. Tell me about the south."
The Chief took a deep breath. "What is it you wish to know of?"
"Tell me about the Empire and their Legions."
"There's a lot to tell," the Chief said, "us of the Frozen Lands try to be amicable with the Northern Empire."
"Northern Empire?" Ailek asked.
"Yes, boy. There are four Emperors and one Empire. Emperors rule over the North, the South, the East and the West. The North is the realm beyond the Ingram. They were once independent from the Empire, though they were conquered centuries ago. Now they share the beliefs of Miklagard, the Eternal City. They're hard people, compared to those of the south."
"What about the East and West?"
"I know not much of the East, the Karlsmountains lie between us. I've met only one man who's ever been beyond, he said it was a wealthy land. Though, I must say, all lands under Imperial banners are wealthy. Except for the West."
"The West," Waldmar joined the conversation, "That is the island, is it not?"
"Yes, yes." The Chief closed his eyes briefly, before looking back at the Jarl. "The West is a poor land, ravaged by war and strife. They had a big war there, just twenty five years ago, I believe. Mountainfolk live there, they're a cruel people who do unspeakable things. Whenever the Western Legions march out to meet them in battle, they disappear into their mountains. But, they say, they have a city on the other side of the mountains. A grand port, the only port watching the Western Ocean. Novisportum, they say. It was once an Imperial settlement, captured centuries ago." The Chief laughed. "Centuries ago, I keep saying that."
"Tell me about the Northern Empire, then." the Jarl said.
"Oh yes, the North. They have many provinces there. The ones closest to you will be the Hinterland or the Folds." The Chief paused. "The Hinterland is the one we're closest to, and it is the most vulnerable. Sure, it is a hilly land, but they are far from Imperial reach and barely garrisoned. They have a town right in the middle of the province, Sarus. The only resistance you could face are the outposts by the Arrim. They have twelve of those, but are lightly armed. They're there to deal with us, you know?" Gaggin laughed. "Anyway, if you are to invade the Empire, I cannot suggest that you cross the Ingram. The Legions have the finest soldiers, the finest steel and horses."
"Pah, like we don't have the fiercest of hearts!" the Jarl said loudly, raising his tankard once more.
"They won't care for your hearts, Jarl Khym!" The Jarl looked at the man, and his tankard slowly lowered. Waldmar couldn't tell if his father was drunk or angry. Perhaps both. "Legionnaires are silent killers, they stick together, they're shields are strong! They are not mere warriors, but soldiers."
The Jarl looked at the Chief as cold as any man could, this time Waldmar could see it.