Thor's Hammer - First Part of chapter 1

Chapter 1 (First Part)


It was a sunny day in the town of Dansburg.Most people went about their usual business, but as in any town there were always some strange, and forbidden activities occurring in hidden places. The group of women who sat around three large candles in a deliberately darkened first floor room of a respectable Merchants house were one such group. They were deep in a trance around the red, white and black candles, when they were all roused by the sound of heavy boots coming up the stairs. One girl blew out the candles, plunging the room into gloom as the door splintered open from the charge of a heavy shoulder, and light from torches in the hall illuminated the frightened faces of the women and the rushing forms of six of the city Guard in their unmistakable red cloaks and chain-mail. The women were roughly pulled to their feet from where they were cowering on the floor. One fainted and was simply dropped to the ground, where she struck her head heavily. Another screamed and was backhanded heavily across the face. The captain of the Guard told the men to;
“Tear off their witches robes.”
The guards did this with sniggers and leers, roughly pushing aside weak resistance. The captain ordered one guardsman to gather up the robes and candles as evidence, as well as their ordinary clothes, which were on a dresser in the corner.
“They can put them on in the cells. For now we will march them naked through the streets, so their fellow townsfolk can see what witches look like.” The guards laughed along with their captain, except for two that knew some of the women personally.

Toren Jenson was leading his sheep into their pen for the night when he heard the calls of his friend Sigurd. He turned to see his friend running up the path.
“What is it?”, Sigurd asked, but something about his friends face made him fear the reply.
“Margit.. She has been taken.”
“Taken?” Toren grabbed his friend by the shirt, “What do you mean?”
“The Guard, Tor, they took her and others for practicing magic.”
Toren dropped his friends shirt. He felt bile rise in his throat, he knew it was true. She had, for as long as he could remember worshipped Sif and wished to be a priestess until such things were outlawed. The whole world seemed to spin for a second, and something burst within him. Toren went to his hut, with his friend following behind, his questions unheard. He brushed aside the rushes underneath his bed, and pulled out the clothbound sword. Casting aside the cloth and tying it to his waist he looked his friend in the eye.
“Maybe father was right, curse his cowardly hide. This is no life for a man. I am going to free her.” Sigurd grabbed his arm. “I am with you, but there is a smarter way. Other’s may join our cause…”
“I've no time for politics, the people are scared. I will commit myself to Odin and Thor. Farewell old friend.” As Toren said this he held his friends arm in turn. A thunder of hooves made him turn to the door, his senses alight.
Opening the door Torn saw a group of Horsemen come from the foothills, their rough clothing announcing them as hill-men or bandits, the gathering night making it difficult to see any faces clearly. One man, larger than the others drew his horse to the front, and pulled back his hood, to show a care worn face with bright intelligent eyes and a full red beard speckled with grey. Toren felt shock again overcome him. It was his father, returning like an apparition out of the falling night.
“I see you have decided to join our cause.” He looked meaningfully at Toren’s sword, hanging half-forgotten at Toren’s side. Toren’s newfound rage found a new target.
“I would not join you, Father. You deserted us. I don't want your help.”
“I am riding to free Margit. I hoped you would join us.” Toren looked up at his Father, who sat impassive in his saddle. Even through the red fog of his anger he knew that this offered the sanest course right now, and a real chance to save Margit. With an effort he swallowed his pride, turning his eyes from his father.
“For Margit’s sake then.”
“Take this horse.” Toren's father indicated a mount led by a man behind him. Toren said no more but climbed into the saddle, and they were away, galloping for the town of Gundar.

In the Gundar Guardhouse, four guardsmen sat idly playing cards while a fourth did some tasks at the front desk. There were four cells, and in the two largest were the group of followers of Sif, now back in their clothes, not without some groping from the soldiers who ‘assisted’ them. These soldiers now gave occasional glances to the women full of lecherous intent, as they played cards and drank ale. The women could sense danger in the air, and knew that as the soldiers continued to drink and cast more lecherous glances, that they would be in real trouble. There was an argument going on at the table, one soldier obviously uncomfortable with the suggestions of the others.