Chapter Four of "The North"

Chapter Four – The Heated Debate
‘I won’t do it’ spoke Broderick calmly. ‘I have a family now to look after’. It was the following day from the attack at the hunting grounds. Broderick, Peter, Nithron, Alavor, Darator and two other council members sat around the table in the throne room, the fire lit the room in a quiet cackle.
‘You have a kingdom to look after’ urged Nithron ‘These attacks are only going to get more and more severe’
‘I hate to say it’ began Darator ‘but he is right, my king. There have been raids in lands around Camble, Thort, and indeed here at home. The Clanlands are tightening their grip’ Nithron continued on from Darator.
‘The clansmen have no families in their savage lands, no real homes or relations. Nothing to lose. They have sat in our shadow for far too long’ Nithron leaned across the table to Broderick and whispered. ‘Strike them at their heart, and strike them hard’. The council members sat quiet.
‘No’ repeated Broderick. ‘As soon as we march north to take care of the clansmen they will send their forces along the coast and take us where we are weak. Besides, why would the two other clans answer to such a stupid call? To reclaim some derelict, infertile land that I, not them, would claim once they spill their own blood for me. They won’t come, they need a good reason and this is not one of them’
The members sat back in their seats and sighed. Darator finally stood, he sprawled a map across the table, and he pointed. ‘Here’ everybody else leaned in and eyed the map intently. ‘The ruins of fort Felecia’ Broderick sat back again and looked at the knight.
‘What about it?’ he questioned cuttingly.
‘Retake it’ said Darator bluntly, he saw Broderick roll his eyes slightly and knew he had to persuade him, he sharpened his tone. ‘If we are not going to crush the enemy we at least need to show them that we are a force to be feared. They have, by our scouts reports double our men, with all the clans united’ Alavor nearly choked on the ale he drank, he spat it out in awe.
‘Double?’ he demanded, gobsmacked. Darator nodded in answer slowly.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. We’ve underestimated the clansmen for far too long. They have been preparing for this. For war. They say they want what is theirs’ Broderick laughed loudly and everyone looked at him.
‘Theirs?’ he repeated musingly. ‘They have got to be having a laugh. They sit in their mud huts, their caves, their fur tents or whatever the hell they want and claim they! They have claim to our land?’
‘That is what our scouts say, whatever you say all three remaining clans have united under a single banner to take the lowlands’ The room fell dead silent, with nothing but the sound of the men’s breathing and tensions.
‘One banner’ said Alavor, ‘what banner?’
‘Keran Farak is his name’ spoke Nithron coldly. We don’t know where his base of operations is yet we do know he is the one linking all the wildmen together. Feeding them with weapons, even armour’ Peter sat forward.
‘What?’ he frowned, ‘The clansmen are barbarians, wandering the wilderness? They use sharpened sticks as spears, how are they suddenly getting these new weapons and armour? And how good are they’ Nithron said nothing but almost instantly, as if anticipating such a question, snapped his fingers and so swung open the doors of the throne room, and in came a large chest carried by two men. The chest was placed on the council’s table and the two men left. Nithron slowly pulled a key from beneath his black robes and clinked the lock free, swinging the lid open. The other men around the table stood to peer inside. Out lifted by Nithron was outstanding, shining armour. Made of iron, it was not fancy yet it was strong. Very strong, almost as good as their own.
‘How is this possible?’ Demanded Alavor fiercely at Nithron, as if it was his fault.
‘Let’s just say they have made friends. The wildmen, have made allies’ Broderick looked up darkly and slowly demanded, in a poisonous, cruel voice.
‘Who?’ Nithron did not flinch.
‘The ones in the north, beyond the Iscrusea, but still further north still. This armour comes from a land plagued with snow and ice. Frost lingers everywhere. It is the coldest place we as men have ever seen. Yet still some norsemen live there. In a single stone city on the southern coast. They hew there the finest armour I have ever seen’ the members, even Darator, looked in absolute shock. Not moving at all. As if they have just been told their very sons had been taken away from them. Nithron spoke again in a cunning, yet sure expression. ‘Now it would seem these norsemen have made a little deal with our here clansmen neighbours.’ Peter was, surprisingly, the first to speak. And he spoke in such a way the others looked at him and thought it was Broderick speaking; though it was the old Broderick. The one before he had a family, the one that was a true leader. And the voice spoke through Peter.
‘Why?’ he continued, head high. Grey Eyes fixed with the uneasy Nithron’s green, so much so Nithron became paranoid by his piercing stare, and could not look at the king’s son in the eyes. He spoke quietly looking at the table.
‘What’s the oldest reason in the world?’ he started, as if speaking to himself. ‘Land. The norsemen supply the clansmen, the clansmen take our lands, and then they can come down from that frozen iceberg they call home and settle here’ Broderick, at the head of the table sat down heavily in his chair and, elbows on the table, ran his fingers through his long, black and grey hair.
‘Now?’ urged Nithron ‘Now, will you fight back?’ Broderick looked up and before he could even say anything Peter stood, solemnly yet determined. Stone-faced and iron-willed.
‘I will go’ Peter announced.
‘No!’ interrupted Broderick, ‘It’s too dangerous!’
‘Why? You said so yourself you have a family to look after’ Peter walked over to his father, ‘and I am not a boy anymore. We must fight’ Broderick looked up at his son, immensely proud. ‘Fight before it’s too late. Let me retake the ruins of Felicia. It is a vital outpost and doubt it will be very guarded, it is a perfect place to strike.’
Slowly Broderick nodded and grasped his son by the shoulder. He spoke then in a stern and curled ambition for his heir ‘Send them to the red hell, son. Send them all’