Chapter 15: Chapter 13: Bloody Politics

Rael swerved out of the way from the fist, keeping their center of balance low to the ground. The young raider twisted on his feet, trying to throw another punch towards Rael as they danced away. Rael frowned in concentration, two warring instincts budding into a third. For the first time since the encounter with the fae, Rael was getting comfortable in how they moved.

Ruen had moved like a panther with too many old wounds to get hit. An ambush predator, ending fights in seconds through deception and accurate blows. Bjorn was the opposite, more akin to a wild bear using it superior strength to crush its foes. He would allow himself to be bloodied and take hits if it meant that he could terrify his opponents into fleeing.

Rael circled around the raider, careful to keep a few paces away from the circle marking the fighting area. They cut out the sounds of hollering Faulk, tossing coins from as far away as Doub to Kip as he took bets. Instead, their focus was trained on the raider, his own mask of concentration not slipping. He leaned forwards. Rael mirrored him. They rushed at each other. Rael held their right fist back, rearing up for a punch. Their opponent matched them, but he was slightly faster. The punch sailed towards Rael, their quick dive causing the blow to glance off their back.

Before he could back away, Rael hooked their foot around his ankle. He looked up in surprise as he stumbled slightly backwards, realizing Rael’s right hand was a feint. Before he could recover, Rael delivered a quick jab into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Rael jabbed twice more on his side as he began to fall. The Dragonward stepped back as the raider landed on the ground, gasping for air.

“You good?” Rael kept their stance low in case he wanted to continue.

“Yeah.” The man rubbed his jaw, where Rael had punched him two fights ago. “But maybe I’m pushing myself.”

“C’mon, one more!” Rael still had adrenaline rushing through their veins. It wasn’t often that they weren’t the one on the ground.

The raider smiled and shook his head. He nodded his head towards Kip as he gave out winnings, keeping a sizeable chunk for himself. “I think your friend has made enough off of me.”

“Kip, will you cool it with the betting?” Rael rolled their eyes when the young captain guffawed, juggling heavy coin purses of his earnings. “You didn’t have to constantly yell about how badly I did every match.”

“How else would I get ‘em ‘t vote against ya?” Kip chortled, turning around to the crowd of Faulkie travelers, raiders, and crewmen. “Now who else is brave enough to fight a Demonslayer?!”

Azmond stood next to him and joined the throngs of people roaring in approval; Rael turned away from them to help their opponent up. He clasped the hand and patted Rael on the back. He had a small smile when he noticed Rael’s burning face avoiding the crowd.

“You fight well for one so young.” The raider stretched, his back popping in several places.

“I’ve had great teachers.” Rael found themselves saying, embarrassment at the attention fading. “The way you fought reminded me of Captain Derrol’s Tome-warrior.”

The raider’s eyebrows raised high enough that Rael thought they might pop off his forehead.

   “To be likened to Thorgan the Unkillable is high praise. You honor me.” He bowed his head and walked off the circular platform, leaving the Dragonward confused and mouthing the name Thorgan in confusion. The audience respectfully made ay for the fighter, receiving a few hearty claps on the back for his good performance. Rael was left alone on the dais, avoiding the crowd’s attention to focus past them and into the easter mountains. Rolling green hills congregated into massive spires of stone, the mountains of the Spine reaching high above the fog. Yet the memory of the Edge dwarfed the titanic mountains, which seemed to reach desperately into a sky they would never surpass.

Beyond them lay the Bergin empire. A threat on the horizon that Rael thought they could ignore once they laid low. It wasn’t as simple as that. They were now embroiled with a people who rushed headfirst into war with Bergin, and Rael could not let them go alone. No matter how much they just wanted a peaceful life for Az and themselves.

“I’ll fight!”

Oro cried out. The young man jumped on stage and got into position. His meek smile widened as Rael turned around with their own excited grin, glad to be free of their thoughts. Rael hadn’t seen him for a while.

“Two days for you to gather up the courage for our first spar?” Rael got into a similar pose; the one Ulric had taught them. “What took you so long?”

“You’re more intimidating than you think, Dragonward.” Oro said as the two began circling each other, the hubbub of their audience drowning out of their awareness. “Few would choose to follow the philosophies of the Great Champion as closely as you have.”

Rael’s smile faltered for a moment. Thankfully, Oro either didn’t notice or choose to take the opportunity. Rather than let the thoughts distract them, Rael paid attention to Oro’s movements. His center of gravity was low and his legs were firmly and evenly placed. He held both of his arms up in a defensive position, and his fists were clenched. He wasn’t thinking about grappling, then. Instead, his shoulders were tense, so he was probably going to start with a few quick jabs to prod Rael’s defenses. They could use that to give him a false idea of how well they dodged before locking his joints and slamming him to the ground. A risky play, but one that might be necessary since he knew more about how Rael fought than anyone else who’d been in the ring. Not to mention Rael had been fighting without any break for almost thirty minutes.

Rael frowned in concentration. Oro made his first step towards them…and a red-pelted deer bowled him over. The crowd’s cheering turned to confused exclamations. Rael blinked a few times as the deer bucked about over the sputtering young man. They rushed over and pushed the deer away, the strange creature almost squinting angrily at them, and then bounded away.

“Thrice-cursed deer!” Oro groaned, nursing a swelling hoofmark on his cheek. He rolled to his feet and stood up with a dejected expression. “Sorry about that, Dragonward.”

“No worries, Oro.” Rael held up his arms and investigated the quickly forming bruises. “You’ve got no broken bones. Nothing serious.”

“It never does any lasting damage.” Oro limped off the platform. “Except for my pride. I should talk to some fae soon. Maybe you can—”

“Dragonward Rael!” A familiar voice called out. Captain Klai was pushing through the crowd to stand at the edge of the stage. “I challenge you!”

“Did you not see what just happened?” Rael glared down at the captain. “My last opponent—”

“Your last opponent lost. Now it’s my turn.” Klai ripped off his shirt, revealing his thick musculature and complex blue tattoos. Rael wanted to say something about being wasteful, it was a perfectly good shirt, but the obstinate captain continued. “Face me or be forever branded as a coward.”

“Oro could choose to go again.” Rael asserted. Klai sent a glare that could chill a serpent’s heart in Oro’s direction. The younger man flinched and slinked off dejectedly. “That was unnecessary. You could have waited your turn.”

“So you could claim to be too tired when you lose?” Klai barked in laughter. “Fat chance!”

“The more you talk, the more I want to punch you in the face.” Rael grit their teeth and Klai’s smirk simply grew. Oro had already disappeared into the crowd, his long blond hair lost in a sea of gold. Kip was of no help either, eagerly taking bets again. “But I get the feeling you want that, and I really don’t want to make you happy.”

 Azmond was jumping in place excitedly, cheering Rael on. He gave Rael a thumbs up, a slight frown crossing his features when he looked at Klai.

“Are you as cowardly as him, then?” Klai said in a sickly-sweet tone, clasping his hands together in mockery. “Awww, poor thing. Couldn’t get a chance to ru—"

“Enough!” Rael’s eyes flashed with indignation. “Get up here and let’s get this over with.”

Klai eagerly jumped onto the stage, flexing his muscles before the crowd, and swaggering around the stage. The wind turned, filling Rael’s nose with Klai’s sweaty, acidic smell. The Dragonward scrunched their nose in disgust.

“Flinching at the sight of a real warrior?” Klai smirked.

“More from the smell of puke. When was the last time you bathed?” Rael got into position, holding up their arms defensively.

They ignored Klai’s scowl, sizing him up instead. The two were about the same height, but the man had arms as thick as tree trunks. A higher center of gravity would mean he would be easier to topple, but the captain’s pose was lower to the ground than Rael’s. If he got Rael in a grapple, they did not think they would be able to escape. However, his legs were not as thick as Rael’s. This suggested he never worked as a rigger, but rather as an oarsman. He was unlikely to use kicks. The two paced around each other like predators, a knowing glint in Klai’s eyes.

Slowly, Klai’s patience began to wane. He grew restless, legs jittering from waiting. Rael continued to convey an air of cool confidence, even though the adrenalin leaving them let them feel the soreness they’d built up from the spars so far. The longer they could wait, the more their tired limbs would slow them down. But their eyes continued to dig into Klai, digging at his vulnerabilities and picking at Klai’s uncertainty.

He got tired of waiting. He rushed in, throwing a quick jab at Rael. The youth stepped out of his reach, bouncing on the balls of their feet. Klai jumped forwards again, aiming a few more quick jabs into Rael’s side. The first blow glanced off their ribs, Rael dancing away again. Klai continued his onslaught, throwing a wild swing towards their gut. The Dragonward slapped the blow away, grabbing onto the back of the man’s head and slamming it into their knee.

Klai stumbled back in a daze, the clamor of the audience drowning out his curses. Rael frowned. They should have drove the knee harder into his face. The man’s nose was bloodied and his eyes were watering, but he was still standing.

“You’ll pay for that, bitch.” Klai pointed a finger at Rael, who was half-tempted to reach out and break it.

Rael made the ‘come at me’ motion. A vein pulsed underneath one of the larger scars on his forehead. The stout captain charged again, putting his whole back into the punch to deliver a haymaker in Rael’s chest. The youth was taken aback; he seemed to be moving faster. They narrowly avoided the blow, turning with the blow to twirl around and kick the man in his head. Astonishingly, Klai caught the leg. He hadn’t expected much force behind the blow, surprise on his face as he stumbled away. Thinking quickly, Rael jumped up with their free leg, kicking off the man’s knee to pull themselves out of his grip. They backed away from Klai, their vision swimming.

‘Did I overwork myself again?’ Rael concentrated on Klai, noting the ever-present smirk and tired eyes. ‘Something is going on.’

Azmond was intrigued as well. To him, it seemed as if Rael’s reactions were slowing down since the fight started. Which was odd because Rael normally got that tired after an hour! He frowned in Klai’s direction again. His horns had been prickling ever since the red deer ran onstage. But the deer was gone, so why was the feeling still there?

He cheered loudly as Rael landed a solid kick after a successful feint. Then winced with the crowd when Klai slammed his fist into Rael’s chin. The Dragonward stumbled and fell to the ground, eyes out of focus. Klai rose a fist to slam it into Rael’s head. A moment of lucidity shone through, and Rael rolled out of the way, staggering to their feet.

Something was wrong. Azmond pouted. When he concentrated on the feeling in his horns, he could feel more of the prickling on his right horn. The sensation moved around with his head, the feeling growing stronger the more he moved in a certain direction. The crowd, enraptured, did not notice the Child of Dragons pushing through the crowd. 

Azmond followed the feeling in his horns, pushing around people until the sensation covered his horns entirely. In front of him was a man that stood completely still. Unlike the rest of the audience, he did not cheer, or even shuffle around. He was as still as a statue. There was nothing in his eyes, his mouth whispering words Azmond could not hear over the crowd.

“Hey, this is a Tome!” Azmond realized. His words pierced through the crowd and the people began to mutter among themselves. Klai paused his battle, nervous expression quickly masked.

“I thought we was allowed to use spells.” Klai asserted, barely mollifying the audience.

“Thass’a load of bull!” Kip had a white-knuckled grip on the sacks of coins he’d won.

“Then why were you hiding your Tome with us?” Someone called out.

“Not hiding!” Klai held up his hands and sheepishly smiled. “There wasn’t enough room for us both.”

“Klai.” Rael’s voice was ice cold. Azmond recognized it as the quiet fury Rael had carried with them on the ship. “Will you concede for breaking the rules?”

“As I said, I didn’t know we were doing traditional sparring.” Klai shrugged. “How is it my fault?”

“Then will you at least release the spells you have cast on me?” Rael’s smile was beautiful and serene. Azmond shivered. He’d never seen Rael smile like that. “So we can fight honorably.”

Klai cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. “I suppose that’s only fair for an honorable fight.”

Rael’s Tome appeared in their hand a moment later. Klai frowned but said nothing, instead summoning his Tome beside him. The two positioned themselves again. And the fight began anew, Rael dodging more than before as they summoned blobs of water to beat back Klai and his Tome. Klai, no longer needing to be subtle, flung out his own flashy spells to crash against Rael’s. It became a battle of attrition, Rael’s superior efficiency with their water spell closing the gap Klai had made between them. Not completely, but enough that they were evenly matched.

Someone tapped Azmond on the shoulder. The child turned around to find a shaman in semi-ceremonial dress smiling at him.

“You are Azmond?” The lanky man asked as he crouched down.

Azmond nodded, his head cocked to the side. The audience around them cheered as the sound of several meaty thwacks echoed from the stage. Azmond was tempted to turn around, but his instincts told him to keep an eye on the shaman. He was younger than Bak, probably no more than thirty. But where Shaman Bak gave off the impression of a wise turtle, this shaman felt more like a snake, unblinking and constrictive.

“There’s a special man who wants to meet you.” He held out a hand with a warm smile.

Azmond shook his head and stepped back.

“Rael told me to stay close.”

“The next High Jarl wants to meet you.” The shaman extended his hand further. “Don’t you want to learn more about the Dragonborn?”

Azmond backed away again, a subtle twitch in the shaman’s eye the only evidence of his real feelings.

“Come now.” His hand snapped forward and grabbed the Child of Dragons by the forearm.

Rael was tired. They’d had to prioritize avoiding Klai’s blows to prevent him from doing anything more to them. Rael had shot so much water that the platform was nearly slick with water. They didn’t have a lot of energy left, but the furnace of rage in their heart kept them going, the sound of their heartbeat in their ears a comforting metronome counting down to the moment they’d bash Klai’s face in. The captain wasn’t doing much better; Rael’s strategy, though exhausting, was effective. A strong blow to his ankle made sure he couldn’t move as fast, and a quick [Minor Cut] to his Tome’s achilles tendon crippled its movement as well. If they continued like this, Rael wasn’t sure they’d win. ‘Ulric showed me using the environment to my advantage could do wonders. What if I made an advantageous environment?’

Rael channeled one of their weakest spells to settle over the surface of the dais.

 “[Minor Chill].” Rael whispered.

It wasn’t a powerful spell, but it could reliably bring down the temperature of a wide area past water’s freezing point. Eventually.

A weird instinct pulsed, their eyes scanning the crowd for Azmond. They couldn’t find him in his usual spot. A tinge of worry grew within Rael’s chest, beaten aside under Klai’s fresh onslaught of attacks.

‘Where is he?’

That moment of distraction was almost enough to lose the fight. Klai charged, embracing Rael in an iron grip around their midsection. Rael struggled to free one of their arms, panic and wooziness threatening to steal their mind. He lifted them up to slam them into the ground, his Tome-warrior approaching. A kick sent the Tome stumbling back. Rael elbowed Klai between the shoulder blades. He staggered but continued to lift. Another blow landed in the back of his head. Klai’s grip shifted enough for them to free their other arm. Clasping both hands together tightly, they brought down their full strength onto the back of Klai’s neck. The captain collapsed into the near-freezing puddle at his feet, Rael twisting out of his grip.

“Can we stop for a second, I can’t find Az.” Rael said, but the Captain just smirked woozily.

His Tome rushed to grab them from behind. Rael, enraged, snarled and whipped about, driving their Tome-dagger deep into its gut. The dizziness spell was broken, but Klai’s Tome was not out of the fight. It gripped Rael’s hand, keeping the knife in place as it used its free arm to bat at Rael. The two exchanged a flurry of strikes, Rael unwilling to unsummon their Tome and release the spell they were casting. The cold water shook Klai out of his daze faster, pulling himself up woozily. Rael grimaced when he shot them a grin of victory. He took a step forward…and slipped on the ice. Klai looked down in confusion, his bloodied face staring back at him in the frozen reflection.

Rael let their dagger go, kicking against the Tome and tackling the confused Klai. Unprepared for the slippery ice, the captain fell on his back. Rael straddled him. Klai opened his mouth to say something, but Rael punched him in the face.

Azmond struggled out of the shaman’s grip, the man stumbling to try and keep control. A staff appeared in his hand and the sound around them faded away. The curious people around them had begun to turn around to see what the commotion was about, but their eyes grew hazy and unfocused. The child tried to scream, but no sound came from his mouth. The shaman’s cruel laugh was silent and mocking.

 

 

Azmond couldn’t run. Remembering Ulric’s lessons, he put his whole body into a punch. The blow landed on the shaman’s side, where Ulric said the liver was. Maybe he aimed a bit high, because Azmond felt something crack under his fist. The shaman’s silent howl scared Azmond, the guilt and fear driving him to run away in the moment the shaman let go. The enraged shaman was too quick, grabbing Azmond again by his shoulder and pulling him close. Azmond still struggled, the wincing man gritting his teeth and casting another spell. Arcs of pain ricocheted throughout Az’s body, silent tears brimming in his eyes. The shaman pulled the scared child close.

Until a bigger hand clamped around the shaman’s arm like a vice.

“Where’s Az?” Rael roared from the stage, still straddling Klai. Their head swiveled through the crowd in a panic.

“Right here, Rael.” Derrol voice rang from the crowd. The captain was squeezing the shaman’s arm tighter as he pulled his arm up to release Azmond. “He was being led away by this man.”

“Not true!” The shaman’s Tome-staff dissipated. “He was—GAAAGH!”

Derrol’s jaw was clenched as he squeezed tighter around the man’s wrist.

“None of that.” He growled. “I saw you casting [Silence], then another spell to hurt him.” Derrol’s knuckles whitened as he squeezed tighter and tighter, until he felt the bones crack underneath. The shaman cried and Derrol blinked in surprise. He let go, the shaman nursing his broken arm.

“Jarl Erikar will hear about this.” The shaman spat.

“Erikar?” Rael frowned. They slowly turned their head towards Klai. “Did you plan this?”

Klai’s smile was bloody and missing a few teeth. Enraged, Rael punched him again. He was still smiling. Rael punched him again, and again, and again, the fury bubbling over as the captain began to laugh deliriously.

“Rael!” Derrol snapped. “Enough. You’ve won.”

The red haze lifted from their eyes, noticing for the first time that Kip had been trying to pull them off the mad captain. His face was red and purple, swollen beyond recognition. Rael hyperventilated, getting up and stumbling back. Their hands were slick with blood. The crowd around them had long faded into silence, the only sound being the hacking laughter of Klai as his compatriots dragged him off the stage. Rael searched desperately for Azmond, finding the boy hiding behind Derrol. His eyes were red with tears, and he flinched away from the sight of Rael’s hands.

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When Rael moved towards him, Azmond flinched. It felt like Rael’s heart had ripped itself out of their chest. They walked to him slowly and got on a knee.

“I’m sorry, Az.” Rael said in a shuddering breath. “I was…scared. I thought…I was so worried.” A strangled sob almost erupted from Rael. Tears blurred their vision, blinked away into nothingness. “I don’t want to scare you.” Slowly, Azmond stepped closer and finally rested his head on their shoulder. He hugged Rael, who returned the embrace, bloody hands pulling him tightly against their body. “You know I’ll never hurt you, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’d split the Edge to keep you safe.” Rael blubbered into his ear.

“Shh…It’s okay.” Azmond whispered.

The two comforted each other in their hug, holding each other so tightly they might become one. After a long moment, Rael broke the hug and stood up. They wiped away their snot and took a few deep breaths.

“The Norns have requested your presence.” Derrol’s voice was low, but the crowd nevertheless heard, whispering among themselves. Rael’s eyes flicked behind Derrol, where a nervous Bak was standing awkwardly between two white armored guards.

“Me, personally?” Rael pointed at themself.

“They want to speak to the Dragonward, yes.” Derrol waved his arm. “Let’s go.”

The captain moved stiffly as he led Bak, Rael, and Azmond away from the dispersing crowd. Kip watched curiously, moving to follow. One of the guards stopped him and shook his head. The young captain frowned a bit but nodded in Rael’s direction before he disappeared into the crowd. Rael opened their mouth to ask something, but Bak held up a finger to his mouth. Rael raised an eyebrow, and shaman mimed a complicated set of gestures. Rael couldn’t even begin to parse what he meant. They just shrugged. Azmond looked between the two with a confused expression.

“Are you okay, Derrol?” Azmond asked, Bak slapping his forehead.

“…No.” He responded gruffly.

“Why?” The Child of Dragons may have been a quasi-religious figure in many societies, but he was still a child. When he asked ‘why’ to someone who’d never had children before, he condemned them to a loop of never-ending questions.

“Loads of reasons.” Derrol stomped across the bridge leading down a few floors of the closest Omrad. Derrol’s fate was sealed.

“What reasons?” Azmond’s questions were innocent, ignorant of the captain’s souring mood.

“Big ones. Scary ones. Important ones.” Derrol huffed, his expression alone cleaving a clear path through the thickening throngs of people gathering close to the Norn’s Hall.

“Like what?” Azmond increased his pace so that he was on Derrol’s heels.

“Like family troubles. Like the war we’re planning. Like the High Jarl succession. Like finding someone beating a man into a bloody pulp, who I gave my word would cause no problems.” His eyes were dark and angry when he turned to look at Rael. The Dragonward shrunk under the captain’s gaze.

“You saw what they were trying to do.” Rael said through pursed lips as they looked away. “They wanted to kidnap Az, after cheating in the sparring match.”

“I know. But the truth doesn’t matter.” Derrol shook his head as he jumped down the steps two at a time to land on solid ground. “Only how it is presented. Especially here.”

“What should I have done instead?” Rael stomped next to Derrol, the Norn Hall casting a shadow over the group. “Let them take Az? Lose the fight?”

“Yes!” Derrol swiftly turned around and roared in Rael’s face. “You should have conceded the second you smelled a scheme.” Derrol waved a sausage-sized finger in Rael’s face. “Don’t let yourself become ensnared in their stupid games of pride. They know the rules better than you do, they know how to twist them to their advantage to make you seem the fool, the aggressor, or the weakling.”

“Ulric said that—”

“Ulric says a lot of things!” Derrol turned his back on Rael to lean on the wall of the massive ark structure. “He’s obsessed with gaining recognition, and Kip is all too eager to lap it up. Merit and honor are all good, but do not let it blind you. It is possible to lose a battle gracefully to win the war. Ask Jarl Feldon. Hells, ask Shieldmaiden Edith!” He sighed and stood up again. “Let’s go. The Norns are waiting.”

The doors opened to him, the darkness inside a stark contrast to the bright, jovial atmosphere they encountered when they first came. A gentle hand settled on Rael’s shoulder.

“Don’t take it too personally.” Bak whispered. “Captain Derrol has much rage in his heart. It’s why he feels such kinship to you. You, the brazier burning bright, and him, whose embers have yet to fade, share a similar type of anger. One that lashes out in every direction, a wildfire that roils against injustice. Yet neither of you could hurt those that set that fury alight, no more than fire can burn lightning.”

Rael trembled and bit their lip. “What do you know?”

“I know that Derrol was much like you when he was your age. I know that he doesn’t want you to be like him when you’re his age.” The flowers in his beard made way for a bright smile. “Now go and show the Norns that you are worthy of being Dragonward.”

The doors closed behind Rael, the chilly darkness sliding down Rael’s back. They reached out instinctively to find Azmond’s hand there, waiting and open. A small light appeared over Rael and Azmond, bobbing gently. It began moving, leading them forwards so they would not be left in the darkness. The two walked in silence, feeling unseen gazes track them as they walked past. Nine lights appeared over the Norns a few meters away. Derrol was already there, kneeling. Rael and their ward got closer until the light stopped moving. Rael kneeled, pulling at Azmond to do the same.

“The Child need not bow.” Norn Astrid’s gentle voice washed over them like a wave.

“He is not Dragonborn yet.” Norn Halbrand scratched his moustache. “I think he does.”

“I don’t care.” Norn Thorgrim’s ever-present scowl deepened. “We’ve already said he’s the real deal. I want us to make sure this Marnesian is capable of being Dragonward.”

“They are both Marnesian, though?” Norn Laouig chuckled softly; his voice smoother than unfurling velvet as he waved an arm around.

  Thorgrim growled, his dark eyes staring holes into Rael. He snapped his fingers, and two guards carried a giant hoop into the light. The white ring had to be over two meters wide, etched with fine inscriptions. They tossed the hoop into the air, where it hovered for a few seconds, humming ominously as it turned. It slowly settled over Rael and then around them, a lightheadedness began building in Rael. It felt much like the time they had found Jorge’s secret moonshine stash and drunk themselves into a stupor.

“Do you confirm everything skald Pequit sung of you to be true?” Thorgrim leaned forwards, keeping his amputated arm in the shadows.

Rael’s words moved faster than their sluggish thoughts.

“Most of it.”

“Most of it?” Norn Arngunn propped her head on her arms. “Pity, it was a lovely song. What part was inaccurate?”

Again, Rael felt compelled to answer before their brain could try and censure them.

“There was a long-winded description. It said I had ‘eyelashes thicker than raven wings, nestling eyes sweeter than chocolate.’ Pequit also described a ‘body of a warrior princess, thighs that could—'"

“Aside from your physical description, are the tales of your exploits true?” Norn Thorgrim huffed, pointedly ignoring Arngunn’s giggling.

“Yes.” Rael’s face felt hot. Were they blushing?

The Norns spoke to one another in hushed whispers. The elders rose their voices and a few even threw out some rude gestures. After a few minutes of discussion, Norn Thorgrim turned around and continued.

“How do you feel about Azmond?” He scratched at his white beard, pulling at the few hairs of faded red.

Rael could feel the ring’s presence try to pull something from their mind. It could not find a simple word or emotion.

“Back home I had a younger brother. His name was Tipple, and like me, our parents did not favor him. Tulip’s Hold did not like our family much either.” Rael’s body was stiff. A part of them struggled to break free of this compulsion, to prevent the words from leaving their mouth.

“At times, it felt like it was Tipple and I against the world. I would protect him from the children that would try to hurt him, protect him from our father’s bouts of rage. When his Tome manifested before mine, he quickly found new friends. And I was alone.” Rael’s emotions struggled against the hoop’s mental magic, a glacial fear supplanted by the shame of bearing their heart to not just the Norns, but those who hid in the dark.

“When I first spotted Azmond on that slave ship, I thought that he was a bit odd. I had resigned myself to being alone. But all of us were bound together in chains, then in secrecy as we planned our escape. Spellmaster Wollow, his last ward, pushed us together. We grew close. When the escape happened, I found myself protecting Azmond as I would my brother.” A small bout of relief flooded Rael. Their secret was safe. Their initial panic had shaken their consciousness free from the shackles the hoop had imposed of their will and Rael felt the magic be pushed back. A small spark arced off the ring, spinning noticeably faster.

“You see him as a brother.” Norn Thorgrim hummed. He turned around to deliberate with the others again, but Rael had managed to wrest control of their mouth from the ring.

“It’s more than that. Deeper, somehow.” Rael continued, the light in their eyes growing stronger as more arcs of energy sparked off the hoop. Murmurs of worry and confusion slithered from the dark. “Maybe it was the time we shared adrift. Maybe our adventures with the fae. Maybe it’s fate, or destiny, or whatever.” The Norns watched with rapt attention, the hoop spinning faster and faster, sparks bouncing off it. “Whatever it was, I’ve decided to keep him safe. Be warned or suffer the same fate as Captain Klai.”

“What did you do to my Captain?” A voice thundered from the darkness behind Rael. The ring revolving around Rael sparked brilliantly, a flash of light illuminating the speaker for but a moment. The man stood taller than Rael, bulging with muscle. What little of his skin that wasn’t covered by ornate leather armor and long, blonde hair was decorated in complex tattoos. Rael saw him only for a moment, the man striding forwards with hate in his eyes disappearing in the shadows again. Rael kept their mind focused on maintaining control, clenching their jaw like a vice. ‘I need to get my version of the story to the Norns first.’

“Jarl Erikar will sit down!” Norn Thorgrim roared, slamming his fist on the table. There was a moment of tense silence as Rael waited for Erikar to emerge from the shadows. But he did not come. Thorgrim nodded and motioned to the youth in the ring. “Rael, explain what happened between Captain Klai and yourself.”

Rael went over the events of the morning from their perspective, detailing what they expected from their fight and how Klai used his ignorance as an excuse to use spells in a non-magical duel by hiding his Tome in the crowd. They went into depth on how they lost Azmond in the crowd, how they asked Klai to stop to let them find him, but he kept going. They explained how he had seemed to admit colluding the shaman trying to kidnap Azmond. Once they finished their recounting of the events, the Norns discussed among themselves again. After a few minutes of hushed conversation, Norn Thorgrim turned around and waved his hand. The guards approached Rael with sticks. Rael clenched their jaw and continued staring the scowling elder in the eyes. The guards rose the batons high in the air…and the ring followed, moving up and away from Rael. They breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as if a vice had been released from their mind.

“Dragonward Rael.” Norn Thorgrim spoke the title as if it left a sour taste in his mouth. “With two votes abstaining, two against, and five supporting, you are hereby recognized by the Norns.” Rael’s heart swelled and they smiled brightly for a moment before controlling their expression once more. Thorgrim blinked a few times, his scowl deepening as he leaned forwards. “Let it be known that the exuberance shown in the duel will not be tolerated again. This is your first and last warning.”

Rael flinched away from the old man’s glare and nodded. The Norn of cripples, the elderly, and survivors leaned back down and sighed, his large frame shrinking slightly. He held up his remaining hand and observed it slowly, appreciating ancient calluses and growing liver spots. For a second, he seemed to reminisce on days long past, a softness entering his eyes that melted the eternal scowl on his face. He clenched his fist, and it disappeared as quickly as it came. He snapped his fingers and the light over Rael disappeared, casting them in darkness. Only the Norns could be seen in the Hall.

   “With Jarl Feldon’s merits accounted for, we still have ten candidates for the position of high Jarl.” Norn Thorgrim recited. “We cannot waste much more time, as eager Aspirants and Captains launch retaliatory raids against Bergin, we stand to lose more and more forces. We are forced to assess Bergin as a foe unlike any we’d fought before.” Thorgrim’s words echoed throughout the hall, whispers of understanding emanating from the hidden Jarls.

“Attacks with intent to seize riches will not work, and any attempt to hold land will result in significant pushback. Our only recourse is a series of quick, devastating attacks in key locations to cripple supply lines and cause as much chaos as possible. It has been decided that we will choose the last five candidates to lead the war against Bergin in the following three days, through a series of tests.”  Murmuring in the hall grew louder, and Thorgrim spoke over them rather than demanding silence. “These challenges will be given by us to determine the capabilities of your crews, be it in battle, in magic, or in craftsmanship! Prepare yourself, Faulk! The Norns have spoken!”

The light returned in the Hall and the Jarls began filing out. Shaman Bak and Captain Derrol stood by the Norn’s table. Azmond waved his arms wildly to get the two’s attention, and he to follow Rael heading their way. The Norns walked (and in some cases, hobbled) down from their elevated platform, a few of them passing by Azmond to bless him in the Faulk fashion. Interestingly, Derrol watched Thorgrim pass expectantly, his shoulders sagging when the old man did not acknowledge his presence. The last to come down was Astrid. She beckoned Rael and Azmond closer, the two helping her walk down the stairs.

“Thank you, dears.” The spindly woman smiled, and Rael flinched. She had dentures made of crocodile teeth filed down into the semblance of human ones. “For strangers on our shores, you’ve adopted well to our customs.”

“It isn’t unique to the Faulk to help others.” Rael said as the Norn patted their hand.

“Perhaps.” Astrid nodded. “But few people are willing to help the Faulk.”

“Because we are isolated, Norn Astrid.” Bak jumped in, his beard tickling the tips of Azmond’s horns. “We choose to separate ourselves from the rest of Galladia by hiding in our swamps.”

“Outsiders wouldn’t understand.” The woman waved a hand dismissively.

“How can they?” Bak pushed again.

“Enough.” Astrid held a finger to Bak’s face. “We will not discuss this now. These two must be brought to the Dragonneedle. They have much to learn.”

Norn Astrid shuffled towards the exit, a confused pair of youths supporting her. Bak trailed behind as he cracked his joints nervously. Rael ventured a look behind them, spotting Captain Derrol sitting dejectedly by the stairs as Feldon and Edith approached him.

 

 

“What’s with Captain Derrol?” Rael asked once they were outside.

“I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell.” Bak looked back at the glum captain and sighed.

“The boy is waiting for something that will never come.” Norn Astrid grumbled as she patted Rael’s arm again. “Waiting for a dead man to acknowledge him.”

The group walked down a flight of stairs carved into the hill, the smell of mead and meat that permeated the hall and its environs dissipating with every step. Though Rael and Azmond could feel her impatience, the old woman took each step slowly and carefully.

“What did you mean by that?” Rael pressed, but the Norn held up her hand again.

“Nothing you need to worry about, dearie.” Astrid smiled gently, taking a bit more time on an uneven step.

Rael and Azmond looked at each other. Rael bit their cheek to stop themself from demanding an answer from one of the few friendly people in Stone Circle. Azmond was more placid, his eyes darting between Rael and Astrid as if he was waiting for the former to keep digging. Rael shook their head softly, but the child continued to nod his head in Astrid’s direction. The two continued their silent argument, passing by longhouses, warehouses, and smithies as they climbed down winding staircases. Crowds flocked around them, a hubbub of people trying to sell their wares. Doub sand-shearer cloaks, Nizian glassware, Zirconian midnight silk, even a few enchanted Audye daggers.

“Has Bak explained what is expected of you?” Astrid waved away a man trying to sell his wares.

“Only that we’re not sure what I’m supposed to do.” Rael tried to do the same to, but the peddler was stubborn. It took a snap of Astrid’s fingers for him to scamper away.

Norn Astrid hid a wince on the last step down the northern side of the hill. The fading clangs of smithies beating metal into shape was the only sound of civilization this side of the hill. Stone buildings and wooden palisades were replaced by huts of woven roots and dried mud, formed into neat hemispheres. The road was neither trodden earth, nor planks of wood like the rest of the Stone Circle. Great care had been made in placing smooth stones closely together into a puzzled path snaking its way to a stone gateway made of three obelisks. Furthermore, there were no inns nor taverns that populated every other part of the Faulk city, the normally near-riotous conditions softening into grove of sobriety and calm. Shamans strode about, discussing magic quietly, whispering into the shrubbery, or manipulating plants and mounds of earth to form more huts.

“Your duty is simple.” Astrid kicked off her slippers, her coarse feet settling comfortably on the smooth stone path. “Keep little Azmond safe. You’ve done a good job at it so far.” She let go of Rael and Azmond’s arms, swaying slightly until a gnarled staff appeared in her hands. Her Tome appeared faster than any Rael had seen before, except perhaps Wollow’s thick leatherbound book. ‘Wait, why didn’t she use a cane since the beginning?’ Before Rael could voice their thoughts, the Norn pointed her staff at Azmond.

 “We need to discuss Azmond’s duties when he becomes Dragonborn.”

“Norn Astrid, with all due respect…” Bak stepped in front of the crone, a flicker of equal parts irritation and amusement dancing in Astrid’s eyes. Shaman Bak balked for a second but continued. His position attracted the curious glances of the nearby shamans. “Imposing such a heavy burden on a child would be too much.”

“He is no mere child.” Astrid tapped her staff on the ground to punctate her statement. “He is a Child of Dragons.”

   “A Child of Dragons is still a child.” Bak said, the wayward glances of the shamans shifting into poorly concealed expressions of interest. “I should know, I’ve watched Azmond since he came to Feldon. He’s bright, full of energy, and curious, but also naïve and impulsive, like many other children. It would be best to let him have a childhood before we take it away in the name of tradition.”

“Your claims border on heresy, Shaman Bak.” Astrid clutched her staff tightly. “To question the divinity of the dragons is to question the very foundations of Faulk belief.”

“The dragon’s divinity is irrelevant.” Bak stood taller, either ignorant or unabashed by the attention he was garnering. “Even if Azmond were half-dragon or half-god, he would still be half-human. That affords him the right to play among his kin, the right to form his own opinions, the right to become his own man. Not be grown into what we need him to be, shaped as we would our huts or the Omrads.”

“The survival of our culture may depend on him!” Astrid slammed her staff into the ground, gnashing her crocodile teeth.

“If the Jardoms would willingly a child’s freedom for their continued existence, they are not worth fighting for!” Bak’s furrowed eyebrows and stern voice was a side of him that neither Rael nor Azmond had seen before. They looked at him with wide eyes as he breathed heavily. The quiet around him made the shaman realize that he was the center of attention, and he patted his beard as the red faded from his cheeks.

“By Arafell, this is not a conversation we should be having in public.” Astrid side-stepped Bak in a huff. “What would your former master think?”

“Apologies, Norn.” He bowed stiffly. “I seem to remember her enjoying our debates.”

Norn Astrid stopped on the path. The eavesdropping shamans peered from their huts and their benches. A baleful stare from the old woman had them all turn away and continue about their business.

“Like Derrol, you cling to a past that no longer exists.” Bak opened his mouth to say something, but the crone shook her head and waved her tome in the direction of an ancient hut near the giant stone archway. “Enough. The three of you go inside, I will have my assistants gather what we need.”

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