Chapter 6

Day 2:

John woke up the next morning to Deni calling his name.

“Jonmorgan! Jonmorgan! Wake up! My father says you must come meet the council. Wake up, Jonmorgan!”

“I’m up, I’m up.” He muttered, sitting up on the fur-covered pallet in the tiny cell they’d given him. “Tell Rorik I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yes sir!” Deni said from the other side of the cloth they’d hung in his doorway for privacy.

“Damn, I could use some coffee.” He muttered.

Good morning. He heard. We didn’t want to distract you last night, but everyone was cheering when you won. Both times. He recognized that oily voice: Johnson. We do recommend you make a trip back out to the stone platform and arch. If you can get it to save your progress so you won’t lose the weapons you got, that would be worth the walk.

Good point. I’ll see what I can do. He sent back.

He put on all his clothes and armor. If he was going back out into the cold, he’d be ready. He stepped out into the corridor, still sliding his weapons into place and came face to face with someone new. Unlike the pale skinned, blond haired villagers he’d met the previous day, this man was shorter, with skin redder than the worst sunburn he’d ever seen. Dark red eyes, pointed ears which stuck way out to each side of his bald head, and two bumps above his eyes made John think ‘demonic’ about this character. He was wearing pitch black leather armor. Studded like Rorik’s, but in a completely different style, with very thick fur lining. An ornate, basket-hilted saber was sheathed at his waist. John would’ve figured it for a ceremonial weapon, but something about the shape implied it had seen real use.

“Hello.” John said, in Norse.

“Peaceful greetings.” The man replied. “I do not speak the local language. Do you know the Trade tongue of men?”

That was obviously in the Trade language.

No shit. He replied.

“I do.” He answered in kind. “May you live in peace.”

The man cocked his head. “I have not heard that response before. Where do you hail from that says that? You have no issue with me? Even here, my kind are barely tolerated.”

John shrugged. “It seemed the thing to say. As for you, I judge people on their actions, not their skin color. Where I’m from ... we pride ourselves on it.”

Be careful.

Back off. He sent back.

“And where is that, if I may ask?” The man pressed.

“A little ways off. To the south.” He dodged.

“Mammoth Ford? Frozen Oasis?” The man kept trying.

“No.” John decided if this guy couldn’t take a hint, he’d keep his answers short, or not at all if it came to that.

I need a back story. He sent.

Our knowledge of the geography in your area is limited. We do not know where you are in relation to it, but there is a city populated mostly by Alfyr. It’s a port, where a river comes into a bay. We think the forest surrounding it is made up of local evergreen trees. No leaves on them. Spines, longer and sharper than on pine. The city straddles the river mouth, and is called Two Courts. Or Two Kings, we’re not sure which. Maybe both.

“Have you heard of the Alfyr port, Two Kings?” John asked.

“Two Kings? I have not.” The man replied, with a frown.

“I’m from that area.” John said.

“Do you mean, Two Courts?” The man asked. “I have been there.”

John played it off. “I’ve heard it both ways.”

“Which court did you serve? The Dukalfyr or the Lusalfyr?”

What does that mean? He sent.

We’re not sure. Dark and light maybe. That last was in Melvin’s voice.

Hope you’re right. Thanks Melvin. John sent back.

“Neither the dark nor the light.” John replied. “I stay out of politics.”

“Truly?” He sounded skeptical. “With your coloring and obvious martial prowess,” he waved a hand at John’s chest and waist, “you did not serve in the Lusalfyr Legion?”

“Nope. Sorry. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” John guessed.

He offered a hand. “I have not introduced myself. You are so fascinating, I completely forgot. I am Halphis. Explorer and Challenger, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you.” John shook it. “I’m John.”

Halphis looked down at their handshake, then back up at John.

“I thought the hunter’s son called you Jonmorgon?”

John let go, and had to twist his to get Halphis to do the same.

“My full name is John Morgan.” John accented the pause between names. “But I am usually known as just John.”

“Ah, I understand. Morgan is a family? Clan? Name?” Halphis asked.

“Family, yes.” John agreed.

“Even more fascinating. I have not heard of any Alfyr with such a name. Do they not use Class and Clan?”

“I never said I was an Alfyr.” John reminded him.

Halphis chuckled. “You did not. And you claim kinship with a famous Mage. You are not like the others—may”

“Jonmorgan!” Deni clattered up the stairs. “Hey, you leave him alone!”

The teen marched over and glared at Halphis.

“He’s got an important meeting with the council. If you want to stay here again tonight, I suggest you get out of our way.”

Halphis appeared unfazed, but stepped to the side, gesturing for them to pass and return down the stairs.

“I’m sure we will speak again, Shon of the Morgans.” He promised.

“Don’t let that guy bother you.” Deni said, obviously loud enough for Halphis to hear. “And don’t trust him.”

“Why do you say that?” John asked.

Deni furrowed his brow. “Because he’s a blasted, dragon-cursed Infernal! That’s why!”

Rorik met them at the top of the stairs. “Everything all right, Jonmorgan?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “I was just talking to Halphis.”

Rorik scowled. “Be careful.” He warned John softly.

“I will.” John assured him.

“This way.” Rorik escorted him down to the biggest table, where six other men sat, with tankards in front of each. All wore white fur-lined clothes, but only two others wore what John would call armor. None were armed with more than a small belt knife.

“Councilors, I give you our hero, Jonmorgan! Without him, we would surely have fallen to the draugyr.” Rorik gestured for John to sit.

“Hello.” John bowed before taking a seat next to Rorik.

The man pointed, and Deni moved to the bar and filled a tankard for John.

“Jonmorgan.” The oldest-appearing man began. “I am Sloveng, Village Chief and head of our Council. According to Rorik here, you fought gallantly. He told us of your slaying the draugyr and that he believes you slew the varg you brought in as well. More importantly, he says you stood between his son and the undead when it obviously meant to kill the boy. Though we do not know you, your actions in combat show you to be an honorable man.”

“And a capable warrior.” One of the armored ones interjected.

“Yes, yes.” Sloveng waved that away. “We wish to ask you of yourself, so we may get to know you. Are you willing?”

John looked back at the stairway, then leaned in to Rorik.

“Is it me, or do you think Halphis is listening to us?” He whispered.

Rorik grunted, nodding. He looked over at Sloveng.

“Give me a minute.” He asked, putting his fingers over his mouth.

The men all nodded. None looked surprised. No one spoke.

Rorik went back to the stairs and called up.

“Halphis! Come down here!”

After a few seconds, they heard his tread.

“Yes, mighty hunter, what may I do for you?” Halphis bowed deeply.

“We are having a council meeting. You will leave until we are finished.” Rorik instructed.

Halphis straightened. “But I have purchased the use of my room, for two more days yet. Where should I go? None would open their home to me, and the sun has not yet risen.”

Rorik nodded. “You will have to leave, but!” He waved over his shoulder. “Deni, take Halphis to the guard barracks. Stay with him so those on watch do not force him to leave.”

He turned back to Halphis. “Heegan will tell you when we are finished.”

The other armored man at the table with John nodded.

“Very well, please allow me to retrieve my cloak and I shall depart.” Halphis bowed. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Everyone waited patiently until Deni escorted Halphis out. They closed the now-repaired door behind them as Rorik sat down.

“You did not wish for him to hear your answer?” Heegan asked.

“He was very curious about me. Too curious. I don’t know why.” John replied.

“Because he’s a dragon-damned Infernal!” One of the others announced, as though that was explanation enough. “All they seek is advantage. Insufferable filth.”

“Still,” John asked, “will you keep what I tell you from him?”

“We will, Jonmorgan.” Sloveng swept the table with his eyes. All bowed their heads in acceptance. “Please, what can you tell us? Where are you from? How and why are you here?”

“Well first,” John clarified, “my name’s just John. Morgan is my uh, family name. I didn’t mean to confuse you.” He glanced at Rorik. “Where I’m from it is customary to give your given name and family one when introducing yourself.”

“The weapon accepted your use. You did no wrong.” Rorik assured him. “We will speak more of them later.”

“Okay, thanks.” John said.

Fuck it.

“I’m from a place very very far away.” He said. “I arrived here at that stone thing, with the arch,” he waved in the general direction he’d come from, “last night during the storm. You were the only lights I could see, and I couldn’t stay out too long in that weather so I came here. On the way, that varg thing attacked me, and I killed it. Your guards let me in, and I’m guessing you know the rest.”

What are you doing?! Johnson’s voice. You can’t tell them that! Melvin, stop translating!

Look, fucker, John sent back. I told you I’m doing this my way. I need allies. You said all your other testers flubbed things, got killed and quit. So whatever rules you’ve been following don’t fucking work! I know how to make friends with locals, I was damned good at it. Lying about where I’m from, when I have to ask questions any local would already know the answer to, only alienates these people. I don’t really know the language, and I damned sure don’t know the culture. I need consideration for that, and the only way to get it is to tell some truth.

You can’t let them know you’re—fr Johnson cut off.

Pancake, you do what you need to. I have your back. John couldn’t place the voice, but using his old call sign told him there was a fellow Operator on the other end.

He wondered who it could be. It wasn’t Ellis, he’d know the Sergeant Major’s voice anywhere. Didn’t sound like one of his former troop-mates. He really hoped it wasn’t, if only because he’d be embarrassed to not know who it was.

Wilco, thank you. John replied.

It was nice to have backup, but with all the practice, and now being immersed in the language, John felt he’d actually be able to speak Norse directly within a few more days.

“Are you okay, Jyon?” Rorik asked, after he’d been silent for a few minutes.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He assured them. “Anyway, I got here with just the clothes I had, and that knife, so thank you for letting me in.”

“How far away is your home?” Sloveng asked. “Are you from one of the villages near the Eternal Forrest?”

“Imagine the place farthest away that you can think of, and double the distance.” John tried to explain. “That is but a tiny fraction of the distance to my home.”

“I have seen maps of the mountains which ring our lands, and how large they are within our world.” Another spoke up. He was possibly the frailest-looking member, and the only one with glasses. He observed John over the top of the half-circle, wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Are you a scholar, sir?” John asked him.

“I am, my name is Cacy.” The man replied. “I have traveled outside the North many times, and all I have seen confirmed those maps.”

“Do you believe the world is round?” John asked.

“It is.” Cacy confirmed. “The mountain ring that the dragons raised to contain us fills nearly one half of our world. We do not know for sure, but many Islander explorers I know believe the rest of the world is covered by the Unending Sea. An ocean so vast it is not possible to traverse it. If you say you are from farther away than I imagine, you claim to be from another world.”

“That would be the best way to put it, yeah.” John agreed.

“And you traveled here via the funeral arch?” Sloveng asked. “How is this possible?”

“We have always theorized that the funeral stones were originally used for something else. No one knows what that was, or why there are no tales about them.” Cacy pointed out. “And we do not know what happens to the dead after the stones take them. This man, Jyon has the appearance of a Fey-descended Nord. Maybe he was dead on his world, and their funeral stone sent him here.”

Sloveng turned to John. “Is this what you looked like before you came here?”

“No,” John admitted. “I was crippled. I had no legs below my knees, and my left forearm is—was gone. I am horribly disfigured, with only one eye and ear.”

The men appeared shocked.

“How did you come to be like this, and yet live?” Cacy asked.

“My world has great medicine.” John told them. “After I was blown up, my countr—people gave me the best medicine they had. It couldn’t replace what was gone, but healed what was left.”

“Blown up?” Rorik asked. “What breath could rip your limbs off, yet not kill you? Even a dragon couldn’t do that, and if it used fire, you would’ve been incinerated.”

“No, in an...”

No translation.

“Do you have any powder which burns, very fast when you put fire to it?” John asked.

“Of course.” Cacy replied. “Alchemists make it. Very hard to do.”

“Have you seen what happens if you put a lot of that powder into a container, close the lid, and light a fire?” He tried.

“Ah, you mean an...” Cacy nodded.

We think you just found their word for explosion. Good job. Melvin sent.

“I do.” John said. “My enemies were preparing to use that to kill many women and children as a sneak attack.”

“Why would someone do this wicked deed?” Sloveng asked. “Were your enemies undead, or Infernals or something?”

“They believed it would weaken us, make us not want to fight them.” John summarized.

“But women and children are not warriors.” Sloveng protested.

“Except the Valkyries, and Sygraid.” Rorik reminded.

“Except Sygraid.” All the men repeated, like a mantra.

“Uh, who’s Sygraid?” John asked.

“The Shield—m” Sloveng waited to reply, and was interrupted by the door slamming open.

The woman who strode in was quite possibly the fiercest-looking female John had ever seen. A head taller than all the men, she wore a blend of metal and leather for armor. It was fur-accented, but short-sleeved. She carried a hunting spear, with a silver, rune-lined, black shaft and tip, a round shield as big as a table-top, divided into quarters of alternating white and black, with a polished metal knob in the center, ringed with white. She had two short swords plus three long knives sheathed on her belt. Her hair was white as snow, braided into corn-rows that extended down her back, almost to her waist. Her face was beautiful, though her cheek bore a small upside down V scar. Her arms were corded muscle, which flexed as she hung her spear and shield on hooks without looking. Her skin was fair, with a deep blue tinge, but not cyanotic-seeming. Gray eyes, like Veronyka’s scanned the room, and landed on John.

The council all jumped to their feet, and Rorik spread his arms, stepping between John and the woman.

“Sygraid, welcome back.” He cried. “How did you fare?”

Except Sygraid indeed. He heard Melvin mutter.

Be silent if you are not translating. The other voice commanded.

Yes colonel. Oops, sorry. Shutting up now. Melvin stuttered.

In reply, the woman snatched a volleyball-sized leather bag from the back of her belt. She tossed it easily onto the table they were standing around. It landed with a metallic crash.

“Two Ice Trolls, and a Mountain Giant who was terrorizing Mammoth Ford. Lord Tygus was pleased. The trolls went to him, but I allowed the Giants to take their kin.” Her voice was deep, though still feminine in some way John couldn’t describe. “What is this I hear of a draugyr? In town? How did this happen?” The threat in her voice was real as she scanned the council for answers.

“Runa! Bring some mead!” Rorik called. “Please, Sygraid, sit and we will tell you.”

She grabbed the largest stool in the room, one John assumed they kept just for her, and shoved it between John and Rorik.

“Sygraid.” Rorik warned.

She huffed, but moved around to John’s other side and pushed the councilor who’d been there aside. That man, whose furs looked better tailored than everyone else’s, just sighed and made room.

“Now,” she purred, like a lion, “who are you? And why do you have my husband’s weapons in your belt?”

“Your husband?” John sputtered. “But I thought...” He looked at Runa as she plopped the biggest tankard he’d ever seen in front of Sygraid.

“I have two wives.” Rorik explained.

“Is that your normal custom?” John asked.

“It is not not-normal.” Rorik hedged. “Hunters and warriors lead dangerous lives. Should a widow from one wish it, a man’s friend may marry another time and keep her family as his own.”

Heegan spoke up. “Sygraid, since Rorik won’t do it, I give you Jyon of the Morgan family, as we say. He came to us last night, and according to Rorik stood between the draugyr they slew and your son while he was defenseless.”

“You protected Deni?” Sygraid arched an eyebrow.

“Sure.” John replied. “Kid was in a trance or something.”

“What is this?” She looked around. “And where is he?”

Sloveng spoke up, giving a brief description of the fight. His version stressed John’s bravery, skill and selflessness, much more than John felt was strictly necessary. He made sure to also mention that John had killed the varg whose skull was currently mounted in the center behind the bar.

“And where is my son now?” She inquired.

“I sent him to the barracks, while we have council.” Rorik told her.

“To watch the Infernal.” The councilor on the other side of Sygraid added snidely.

“What!?” Her fist slammed the table, making them jump.

“Cayne has Watch Command today. He will keep an eye on the boy.” Heegan assured her. “Deni’s probably busy sparring with whoever’s on duty.”

“Maybe.” She upended her tankard and drained it in a gulp.

She stood up, one hand heavy on John’s shoulder. She pulled a knife, which looked nearly identical in size and make to the one John already wore, save that the hilt and blade were slightly longer, and smacked it down on the table in front of John, blade pointed away from him.

“You protected my son with your life against the undead. My blade is yours, as is my command.” She turned to the table and bowed to their incredulous faces. “Councilors.”

She dropped the sheath into his lap and departed back outside, taking her spear but not her shield. The men all exhaled in relief.

“Uh, what just happened?” John asked into the silence, eying the blade in front of him.

“Sygraid is...” Rorik began.

“Sygraid.” Heegan finished.

“A ... woman of strength.” Rorik ignored him. “Strong body, strong will, strong heart. She sets much by how people treat her child.”

“So, I should take this.” John pointed at the knife.

“You should.” Rorik agreed. “And you should expect that she will be watching your back from now on.”

“Until when?”

Rorik smiled. “Until she tells you her debt to you is repaid.”

“How long will that be, do you think?” John inquired.

Rorik shook his head. “As long as it takes. You have been here a day and already fought two of the most difficult adversaries in the North. She may consider it repaid by tomorrow, at that rate.”

John laughed. “So I take it this isn’t something you normally do around here?”

“We are hunters, not warriors.” Rorik admitted. “Sygraid is a Nord like you. Valkyrie mother and, in her case I believe a frost giant for a father. She was left at Heegan’s father’s door when still a babe, and grew up with him here. After her tenth Long Night, she took a position in the Wardens. She’s always accepted their hardest assignments, and Lord Tygus rewards her richly for her success. He imported the Dvergyr who made those weapons I gave you just to make her equipment. Our area of the Crag is the least dangerous to traverse, all the way down past the Emerald River.”

“Because of her?” John confirmed.

“Because of her.” Heegan agreed.

John sheathed his new dagger, and slipped it onto his belt. Sitting next to the other one, he realized Sygraid’s knife was nearly a short sword in length. He made a note to ask her what she called it.

“Uh, what else would you like to know?” He asked them, after a moment.

“I say yes.” Heegan said.

“Aye.” The other armored man said.

“Yes.”

“Agree.”

“You know my thought.” Rorik put in.

Sloveng looked at the man who’d sat beside Sygraid.

He sighed, looking away. “Fine. Do as you wish.”