Chapter 3: After The First Flow

A Chapter by Albert Freeman

The Vihkiery begin to stir for the first time in more than a decade upon hearing of the death of the Emperor

Chapter 3: After The First Flow

(Location: Along the coast of Vihkierost near the Tears of The Frost Gods)

Scalti Redson paced back and forth before one of the many great bonfires that dotted the beach like a storm of fireflies. On occasion he looked out at the turbulent Doryian Ocean with a longing to sail its treacherous waves. He was anxious to get back to the business at hand. Known as the "Scourge of the True Believers", he prided himself on having sacked ten and one hundred of their schools of knowledge in his twenty and then some odd years of raiding. He was known as an expert on the subject, something he took a fierce pride in. He remembered fondly the time he had captured one of their bishops. Ah, the screams they could make. He had been on the look out for another ever since, and now came world that the emperor Charles had given the gift to his Gods.

Scalti turned away from the fire and walked down the beach acknowledging the calls of his brothers in arms. He ran a hand through his thick red beard playing with the gold strings woven throughout it. He inhaled the salty air and took up the chant of hundreds of other Northmen in the Song of Inli. The call of vengeance was keen in his heart. The rage in the song, in the rhythm, seemed to pulse through his body. It called out for the blood rage to come forth forcing him to call back the need and the hunger. The Armeran's and the empire they served would pay dearly for defiling the Noreth Hammar.

Scalti crossed his arms together and gazed in the direction of Armeran. Soon the time would come. The empire would be in turmoil, no longer able to have its fleets protecting them. Gergar's vengeance would be witnessed. The visions of the Wold Witch would guide them.

"Scalti?" a rough voice called out. "Scalti, what in the blaze are ye' doin'? Do ye be daydreamin' your life away?"

Scalti turned around with a laugh. "Broga!" With a roar he gave the other man a bear hug. He stepped back from Broga with a somber look. "You came sooner than I thought possible. Last I'd heard of your adventures you where in the south giving the Burlbornn King hell."

Broga the Red was a good six inches taller than Scalti just under topping the seven-foot mark and he weighed at least fifty stones more. The man carried more scars on his body than anyone living should possibly have and still be doing the types of things he did. Broga's darkly tanned leather armor was decorated with heads of human hair and he had six necklaces of human teeth around his bull neck to go with his widely known good luck charm: the thumb bone of the War God Thulivar.

Broga shook his golden blond braids out of his eyes and smiled at Scalti. His eyes flashed their redness-giving hint as to why he was called the Red. A gift of the God's as was told at the Grand Telling's.

"There is good huntin' down south," he said. "Made more so from the wave of the death of ye' know who." He laughed, the laughter cold as the north winds. "We did pick up a couple o' real beauties. I could sell a few o' them to you at a discount. Two o' them even claim royal blood. They act it as well. Told the men not to touch them yet." He flashed his teeth at Scalti. "You should see them." With a look over Scalti's shoulder, Broga nodded his head. "Speakin' of those who could pay much for what I have, here come the Raykeljik twins."

Scalti shrugged. Every one knew that Broga did more shady deals that Eeiloth, God of Thieves and Tricksters. He turned to look at the twins before looking back at the ocean. The twins where fierce fighters and merciless killers, but he thought they did too much thinking. He had always said letting the mother influence the son would chase away the wolf. They did more in trade with the south than was healthy. He didn't entirely trust them.

"Broga. Scalti," Cogelief said, coming up before the two men. The only way you could tell him from his brother was by the frost tattoos upon his neck.

"It has been long since we met," Broga said. He eyed the twins in a measuring way. "I grieve for your mother. I would have followed Eilven into Gorm's mouth if he had asked."

Surgisiv dipped his head in acknowledgment, his eyes flashing to his brother before lighting on Scalti. Scalti gave him a challenging look. He was unimpressed by the symbol of the Dreamer worn around Surgisiv's neck.

"Have you heard of the troubles down south?" Cogelief asked.

Scalti snorted. "Who has not heard? I see how they scramble about like kragen hounds after the scraps of its masters. It is an omen of luck that Charles did not have the mettle to kill what he should have killed. Now they will reap each other apart and the old ways will return."

"Are you so sure the old ways are what is best?" Surgisiv asked. "I have thought long of this and seen the dreams. Long have we clung to the past even as the empire pushed us further and further back with their new ways and new weapons. No Scalti. I grieve for the old ways, but see the wisdom in the new."

"Someone has the gift of oil on his tongue," Broga grumbled. "I do not care what is done, so long as the song is answered. I'll not stall while debate takes place like ol' wives before the winter hearth."

Scalti glared at Broga. "You will hear none of that from me. I will say my piece at the Wer Guild and abide by the vote. I will say this," he added staring down the twins. "No quarter for the Armeran's. The price will be exacted."

"The price will be paid," Cogelief murmured.

"As was written so it will be," Surgisiv added.

Broga cracked his knuckles. "My time has come. I see Truga wasting the ale. Do not forget me Scalti." He made his way off with a nod to the twins. He called out to Truga, threatening bodily harm to the man if he spilled more of the ale.

Scalti watched him go then turned to look at the twins. They stared back at him measuring him as he measured them. Their long silver hair seemed to glow in the light of the fires and the moon. He did not trust them to do as they said. The Gods sang of old, not of new. Could they not see in the breakup of the empire? The old would always prevail as the new came as the tides to be washed away as the next wave came.

"Remember the dreams," Surgisiv said finally. "The dreams never hold untruth." With a last look at Scalti the twins left him.

He scowled after them. It was just like them to get the last word in. They would bear watching at the Wer Guild. He also desired to find out how long Surgisiv had walked the dream. With that power and the frost rage of Cogelief's it seem that indeed they were making their power move. He berated himself on not having foreseen this turn of the events. Their mother was Lokil's messenger through and through.

He made his way down to the waters edge dropping down to stir the cold water. In the distance he could see the ice flows, ever dangerous. Soon they would melt and the ways would be open, the vast ocean not as unforgiving. Then the winds would howl and foretell the coming of the old ways. Terror and fear would once again make their enemies docile. The gold and silver would poor in and the blood spilled would cause much rejoicing of the people, causing the Gods to favor them again. No amount of talking would change that.

He closed his eyes as a breeze whipped around him, the cold making him feel alive. He wondered if the Wold Witch would be there. A chill akin to fear ran through his body. If she were there to speak for the Gods then indeed the omens would point in their favor. The blood would run thick and hungry this spring.