Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 28

Chapter 28



It had been a particularly dreadful winter in the southern lands of Xalimfal. It was the home of the Hunsvald clan; his clan. Baard drew in the cold winter air as he looked out into the distant twilight of the north. The shimmering expanse of the snowy plains stretched to the horizon that sliced through the fading twilight. Somewhere out there, the Dwergar readied for their attacks. He could feel it in his bones. He could smell it in the chilling air.

Niflheim remained as it always had, through the might of Xalimfal. There were none that could challenge their strength or their lands. Those that did, fell to the hungering snow.

The Dwergar had claimed much of his lands. His women and children were slaughtered without mercy, and homes were burned. Wherever they went, tragedy followed ever behind them. They were ruthless creatures, and ones that ever cast a shadow on the lands of Xalimfal. Niflheim, there lands, remained through the darkness and their attacks. The might of the three greatest clans stood little chance against them, and though they were strong men, they paled in comparison to the Dwergar.

They’d been fighting the beasts since he was little older than a child. In his teens, he tasted his first battle with them, it was then that he lost his father. The once great warlord, Kull, was cloven in two by the great axe of the Dwergar leader and Niflheim’s king – Hel. It was that day, that he rose to his position among the Hunsvald people. He was their warlord, and they followed him without question.

Hunsvald was a poor land with many peasants and starving people, but they admired him. He had always fought to gain favor among the king and his court. Though they had ever gone unnoticed, he knew that soon he would recognize his strength.

Hjalmar was an arrogant ruler, ever claiming to uphold the laws of old, despite the knowledge of the changing times. He refused to involve himself in the quarrels of the lands, for that was against his rule. Disputes were carried out as they always had been; with war. The clans never seemed to come to agreement on much of anything. The only thing that they shared was their common enemy – the Dwergar. Still, they could not bring themselves to stand together against them, and what little aid the king sent was hoarded by the other clans.

The Hjalgaard and the Skald clans were ever starving for the king’s favor. Their war had brought great hardships to all the sons of Xalimfal. Trade between the western lands of Tarkan had ceased, and most of their food stocks were destroyed in their battles. Though crops could be sowed once more, and livestock could be bred anew, those that relied on what they had, starved. Hunsvald had ever remained neutral in their squabbles, and they relied on trade from each of the clans.

The southern lands were a particularly difficult place to grow crops and hunt. The soil was hard and filled with rocks, and the forests were thin and ever haunted by the beasts of Niflheim. Though Hunsvald stood in the shadows of the great southern mountains that offered endless supplies of iron, weapons were useless to a man when he was starving. They needed food, now more than ever. Winter seemed to cling to his lands like a vice, and he knew it would be long before the snow thawed and crops could be sown.

The Dwergar attacks had claimed what little they had left. His lands stood in smoking ruin in the south. Those that survived, took refuge in his city, and starvation had grown from a problem, to a killer. With each passing day, the dead piled ever higher. Famine, sickness, and war were claiming his people, and he knew that without help, they would not survive to see the next spring. Hunters did their best, but each night they returned, one more lingered behind in the forests – dead. Though wolf and bear could feed many mouths, the wave of refugees grew ever more famished. Hunting could only feed so many, and though he did his best at distributing food, it did not stop the violent, sometimes deadly disputes that erupted for it. Rations were all he could manage, and he upheld them with firm resolution. His stomach growled each day, for he too, ate only what was distributed.

Meals came in scarce intervals. It would be days before he tasted meat again, much like many of the people that sheltered themselves from the hardships of the south. Still, he could not bring himself to break his own law. He was the warlord of the Hunsvald people, and he needed his strength, but to steal what little food was there from another mouth was unacceptable. He would sooner forsake himself to the gods than forsake his people.

With the wave of refugees, came sickness and disease like he’d never seen. Filth of all kinds scattered through the streets of the city. Blood, feces, and urine filled the snow and with it, death lingered. He knew that sickness came with unsanitary living, but they could do nothing. There were far too many people to maintain order, and far too few to maintain their wake. They brought new forms of suffering with them. He knew it was not their fault, but he knew they were the cause. There were too many people living in such unfit conditions to not bring sickness with them. Homes were filled the best they could be, and those that remained slept in makeshift tents on the cold ground. He could not accommodate all of them, and the king did little to see to his requests for aid. They were alone.

He looked down upon the hovel of homes that stood against the snow. The hill overlooked the small city, and though the snow was heavy, he could see everything. Hobbled men and women gathered around small fires. Great iron pots dangled over the flames and scraps of wolf, bear, dear, and whatever else they managed to scrape from the forest stewed within the bubbling broths. Guards stood at each gathering of people. Baard despised having to resort to such ruthless measures, but he had no choice. If the food wasn’t guarded, riots would erupt among the people.

Cries of sorrow and agony filled the howling wind and fell upon his ears. It hurt. His people were seeing their final days on earth and anguish filled him. Occasionally, angered shouts would erupt from one of the clusters of people, and fighting broke loose. The guards did their best to maintain order, but like the rest of them, they were starving. He knew, when the shouts evaporated into the cold night air, at least one was lying dead upon the snowy ground. He could do nothing against it. The people were fighting for their lives.

Sharp palisades wrapped around the perimeter of the city, and guards stood close together along the inner fortifications. It was a poor excuse for a proper defense, but it was all they had. Stones scattered through the snow from what remained of the once mighty walls. The Dwergar had come, and their might saw the end of the defense. Though they managed to beat them back, they were now more vulnerable than ever. Palisades would slow the advance of an enemy, but not for long. Stone was the only true defense against attack and it lay upon the ground in disarray.

Eventually, the Dwergar would come again, and he knew it would be their final strike. What little defenses they had, would be brushed aside in their attack, and the starving, sick populace would die upon their blades and claws. It was a cruel death to be had, and not fit for even the most detestable man.

Hunsvald were proud people, and they deserved a death worthy of their ancestors before them, but he knew it would not come. Twilight fell upon his lands, and soon it would be darkness. Hardships would remain until the bitter end, and the only thing that would remain is the ruins of his once beautiful city.

“You know, if you keep worrying, you’ll be dead before your due time.” Her voice came to him like a soft summer breeze.

He allowed a smile to reach across his face before turning. “Thank you for the advice.”

Haggra was a wonderful woman. She was both strong and wise, and his dearest of friends. Though she was a Skald, he welcomed her to his lands with open arms. His people feared her, but they accepted her into their homes. Gothis were often given great disdain where they tread. He did not understand why they were feared so, but people were often like that. They feared anything they did not understand.

She stepped forward and placed a soft palm on his stomach. “You haven’t eaten in days.” Her eyes sparkled in the twilight as she handed him a small parcel wrapped in tattered cloth. “Take this.”

He unwrapped it and salted venison revealed its pleasant aroma in the cold air. He handed it back to her. “I can’t. It’s yours.”

She smiled at him. “I want you to have it.”

Her smile was always encouraging. It brought him his only comfort, and he welcomed it, for there was little comfort to be had in the southern lands. “You too have to eat, Haggra.”

She shook her head. “I’m already full, and even if I weren’t the people need your strength more than they need mine.” She pushed his hands back.

He scanned her up and down for a moment. She was a lovely woman, very unlike the other women of Xalimfal. Though they too offered much beauty to the harsh lands, they did not possess her elegant features. She was a short woman, her head barely reaching his chest. Fiery red hair fell from her hood and cascaded down to her bosom. Her bright blue eyes stared up into his as she offered him her comforting smile.

He sighed and shook his head. “We’ll share it.” He bit a chunk off and chewed before handing it back to her.

She brushed patches of snow from the wolf fur that draped over her shoulders before accepting the meat. Her hand touched his as she took the meat.

She bit off a small chunk and turned her eyes to the city. She shook her head as she chewed. “They grow restless,” she said, without bothering to swallow.

He nodded as his eyes returned to the homes below the hill. “I fear that they realize that this is their end.”

“End?” Her shot him a fiery glare. “What end do you speak of?”

“You know what I mean, Haggra. We’re starving, and the Dwergar push ever forward through this snow. When they come, we will not have the strength to fight.” His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. It was cold to the touch, and his fingers were numb in moments. He ignored it.

“You speak of what you do not know, Warlord. No one can see the future.” She wrapped her soft fingers around his wrist as she looked down at the people.

“Perhaps I cannot see what is to come, but I can feel it. This will be our end.” He shook his head and sighed. “The king refuses to heed our cries for aid.

Skald and Hjalgaard supplies have stopped coming, and medicines and black powder from Tarkan have not come in months. We’re alone here, Haggra.”

She sighed. “Perhaps we’re alone, but we’re not dead yet. The gods have not forsaken you, Baard. They only wish to test your strength. The western port still stands against the Dwergar. Whatever aid the king has, has surely been spent there. Winter has claimed all of Xalimfal, and I’m sure everyone needs supplies as much as we.”

He nodded. “Skald and Hjalgaard don’t need supplies. Their lands have gone unnoticed by the Dwergar.”

“Yes, but their war has claimed much of their food. Trade will come again, when the king resolves their feud.”

He shook his head. He felt fire burning within him. “The king won’t resolve it. He’s never stepped between their quarrels. His laws have always been to allow the clans to fight out their differences, and we are the ones that suffer from it.”

He looked up to the breaking clouds. The moon had finally pierced through the stormy blanket. If anything, at least the snow would stop falling for a while.
“Hjalmar rules as he should. He cannot set aside his own laws, that would be unbefitting of a king. Perhaps his laws no longer work, but who are we to know that? He will realize it on his own.” She tightened her grip on his wrist.

Her hands were comforting, as were her words. She may very well be right, but he couldn’t see the sense of it all. Haggra was wiser than any he knew, but still, what he saw before him spoke forever against her wisdom. “I doubt the king will take notice of what is happening to his lands. He busies himself with maintaining the favor of the people of Gjaalarbron.”

He knew his words to be true. The city of Gjaalarbron was the heart of Xalimfal, and the home of King Hjalmar. The voice of the people was strong and loud, and without their support, his rule would fall. They were a society of aristocrats that hungered for wealth and luxury. Taxes placed on the outlying lands grew ever heavy as they demanded more from their king.

Though the struggles were hard, he knew that the king had no choice. He was only a warlord and head of his clan, but he knew as well as any, ruling was not an easy task. If the people did not support their leader, he would fall. Still, the king did what was necessary to maintain his crown, and Hunsvald suffered from it.

“You’re one of his advisors, same as Aksel and Ingvarr. You have as much say as any man.”

Aksel and Ingvarr were indeed advisors to the king. Their clans were the life blood of Xalimfal. Without the Hunsvald, Hjalgaard and Skald, food and supplies would not come to the city of Gjaalarbron. Still, the aristocrats of the capitol had their own advisors, and he knew, they advised in their own interests.

He shook his head. “The clans’ voices grow ever more quiet to the ears of the king. He no longer listens to those that serve him. The only words that reach him are those of the capital.”

She loosed her grip on his wrist as she turned to the southern sky. He watched as her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. He spun on his feet and focused on the thing in the sky. A dark shadow slid across the pale light of the moon. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before.

A great pouch floated in the air, and beneath it, what looked like a longboat was lashed with ropes and chains. It was a flying ship! It was larger than any boat he’d ever seen. It’s shadow passed over, and the snow darkened to a deep, glowing purple. It hissed like a great viper as vapor spewed from steel. Voices carried themselves on the air above him as it descended toward the earth.

It was a chariot of the gods. Their Valkyries had finally come to help. Cries echoed from the city behind him, and he knew they too saw the great behemoth that flew in the night sky. Shouts of astonishment and fear howled through the winds as he took in the ship’s magnificence.

Shadows of men stood at the bow. They looked down upon them as the thing loomed above, inching ever closer to the snowy expanse at his feet.

Haggra looked up at the thing in equal awe. Her eyes never blinked as she stared on. Her hands trembled and her body stiffened. He did not know if it was fear or amazement, but he did know that tonight, he would dine with the gods.