Past this dread Realm, past the Angle of Gron, shssshed the Fjordsmen’s Dragonships laden with their fair warriors, bearing the Olarkith as well as the Harlingar to other shores; for Raiders or Warband, each of their goals lay elsewhere from Modru’s ancient Realm.
Across the great water raced the longboats, now flying due west. One more day they fled thus, until Captain Arik signalled all, and they bore again southward.
And up across the horizon came the foreland where now it was the Rigga Mountains that plunged into the Boreal Sea, where Gron ended and Rian began. And toward this latter Land angled the hard-running Longwyrm, swiftly followed by the other three ships.
It was late foredark when at last the keels cut through the lapping surf and scraped onto the desolate shingle of a meager cove. Crewmen leapt overboard and splashed ashore, haling upon heavy lines to fairly ground the Dragonboats upon the empty strand. And none were there to greet these adventurers: Elgo’s Vanadurin Warband and Arik’s Fjordsmen Raiders.
Straightaway the fiery horses were unladen, prancing and nickering in their eagerness to feel the land. So too were the ponies debarked, little hooves clattering down the gangways and scrutching in the sand. Lastly came the waggons and other Harlingar supplies.
As they set up camp, they traded airs, the Fjordsmen canting sea chanteys, the Vanadurin rendering songs of the plains.
Fires were built from the nearby scrub to provide light and warmth, and heat for the cooking of a great, thick stew.
And as is the wont of young Men in all times and ages, they sat and spoke of many things as the darktide swept o’er the Land, of things remembered and things to be, and things worth living for, as well as those worth dying.
Yet though the Fjordsmen spoke often of their bloodquest ’gainst the distant Jutes, the Harlingar said nought of where they were bound. Instead they spoke of family and of past deeds of derring-do; and not a word of Blackstone or Sleeth or Dracongield passed any’s lips
Elgo talked much of his beauteous Arianne as well as his wee son, Bram, the tiny bairn but a suckling at his mother’s breast-yet already he had grasped the silver hilts of his bold sire’s black-handled sword. “. . liked to have wrenched the blade right from my very own grip.” Firelight danced in Elgo’s glittering eyes. “Ai, but he will be a mighty warrior once he reaches his years.”
At last their bellies were full and their eyes heavy and so they bedded down, all that is except for the Fjordsmen’s beachwatch, and the Harlingar wards of the horses, picketed in a nearby sward.
Early next morn, as the Vanadurin saddled their mounts, the Fjordsmen made ready to set sail. Arik, Elgo, and Ruric stood off away from the others, speaking in low voices.
“Aye, Prince Elgo”-Arik gazed westward o’er the cold sea-“’twill be a drawn-out raid into Jute. Yet two fortnights and a week past Year’s Long Day will find us back on this shore, give or take a day or three. We’ll wait a week or so, if necessary, then sail on should ’ee and yer Warband not be here.
“I’ll not say aught o’ what I’ve guessed o’ yer mission, but again I offer ’ee shares should ’ee sail wi’ me on our bloodraid, rather than set forth on this wild quest o’ yers.”
Elgo laughed and shook his head no. “A fair offer, Captain Arik, yet our scheme is not as jobbernowled as you deem.
“Eight weeks, then, and we will see your great Dragonboats upon this strand, and perhaps we’ll have something fitting to fill their bellies with.”
A fjord horn sounded, and Arik clasped Elgo’s and then Ruric’s grip with his own. “Remember though, Prince, ’tis said that Dracongield be cursed. I’d not like to fill my Longwyrm wi’ doomsgold.” With those ominous words echoing in Ruric’s like mind, Arik broached the surf and boarded his ship.
At his command, again the horn sounded, and the wading crews of each longboat hove the hulls aback, sliding the keels sternward off the sand; swiftly they clambered over the wales, and oars plashed into the waves to the beat of a timbrel.
The Harlingar watched their remote kinsmen back water, then come about, the crew of each ship setting the beitass pole to turn the sail into the wind, catching the braw breeze.
Slowly the Dragonboats gathered speed, till they fairly leapt o’er the waves, heading out of the cove and to the west.
Ruric barked a command, and all the Vanadurin mounted up. Elgo turned in his saddle and raised his black-oxen horn to his lips, sounding a farewell horncry to the distant Fjordsmen: Taaa-tan, tan-taaa, tan-taaa! [Till we meet again, fare you well, fare you well!] And so sounded all the horns of the Harlingar, to be faintly answered by the belling of Dragonboat horns afar.
Then the Vanadurin turned and set forth on a southerly course, moving at a measured pace, a long column of horses, with three pony-drawn waggons trundling in their midst, heavily laden with sailcloth, the bleak stone of the Rigga Mountains looming off to their left.
And so began the next stage of two quests conceived in the long winter nights, when the spectral werelight dances in the crystalline skies. . the ghostly light perhaps dancing as well in the minds and hearts of bold Men: Dragonboats racing to the west, seeking vengeance and bloodgield; Harlingar faring to the south, Dracongield and fame their goal.
CHAPTER 8
Spring, 3E1594
[Eight Years Past]
“They say that she’s as quick as any of the boys, and “what she lacks in strength, she more than makes up with cleverness.” Needles popped and thread hissed through taut cloth as the Ladies of the Court considered Aldra’s remarks. As was often the case, their subject was Elyn, for even though she’d been at it for five years, still, the thought of anyone, much less a Princess, becoming a Warrior Maiden was a thing of wonder and daring to them all.
“’Tis said that none are quicker, save perhaps Elgo.” This comment was followed by a longing sigh, and the other Ladies knowingly glanced at one another, covertly smiling, for it was blatantly obvious to all how young Jenna felt about the brash Prince.
“Perhaps so, Jenna,” responded Aldra, “but at fifteen, they say that her prowess with weaponry equals or betters that of her peers.”
“Fifteen now, but soon to be sixteen: the marrying age.” Lissa’s voice took on a tone and demeanor that mimicked the absent Mala so well that the other Ladies broke out in smothered laughter.
Jenna sighed. “I wonder what it is like, being a Warrior Maiden.”
“Yelling and cursing,” replied Kyla, “that’s what it’s like. Have you not gone by the training grounds and heard Ruric roaring at them?”
At that moment, Mala stepped into the room, moving to take up her customary place at the needlepoint frame before the northern window; a momentary silence fell upon the group, for at least within her sewing circle the spinster aunt of Elyn forbade any discussion of Warrior Maidens. The subject was quickly changed, turning to what songs and tales the visiting bard might sing this night.
And out upon the training field Ruric smiled unto himself, for the Princess was weaving a swift attack upon the lad before her, forcing him back and back and ever back, the tip of her blade a whistling blur. Indeed it was true that what she gave away in strength, her finesse more than made up for. And quick? Ach, none were quicker, save perhaps Elgo.