A Song of Askaldenfirsts and Dragons. Part eight: The New Queen

“Good, good,” Tulvarick said, smoking a pipe with Dragon’s Tears as he walked out of the small wooden house, one of the few that had survived. He walked along the houses, looking at the dilapidated facades of the buildings in the city of Hagradfjod. Some buildings had no roofs and part of the walls, some had only a couple of walls left at all, and everything else was a ruin, just such a building was the house of snonungyarl, it was part stone, part wooden, and it felt like it exploded from inside.

“The city’s been hit hard,” he heard a voice behind him. It was Tarrick. Steam rose from his mouth as he exhaled.

“Yes, but we’re alive. Though, without your friend Henriker, we wouldn’t be alive,” Tulvarick said, inhaling the soothing scent of the smoke.

“You shouldn’t have brought the girls with you,” said Tarrick.

“Girls? One’s a woman, not a girl,” said Tulvarick. “And unlike you, by the way, she addresses me as ‘Your Majesty’. I don’t need it for flattery or politeness, but to remember who I am.”

“We live in a crazy world. Perhaps you no longer have a kingdom, Your Majesty,” Tarrick gazed out at the snow-covered ruined city, and again he exhaled heavily and steam came out of his mouth.

Tulvarick shivered in his furry armor, stopped and looked intently at Tarrick.

“I will be king even for one single tonnebeard, if there is one left. And if it is a male tonnebeard, I will appoint him to the highest position, award him every order there is, if he is worthy, of course. We shall live with him for the remaining decades, and then we shall simply die, but I shall go down in the history of Ermir as the last king of a race of wood brave and wise long-bearded dwarves! But if the only tonnebeard besides me is a woman, then... she will become a queen,” the king said and smiled.

“Or if you marry Isliya and you have half-breeds with her, you will be the founding father of a new race of istersobeards,” Tarrick said, surprised at what he was thinking.

“This is nonsense!” Tulvarick said. “Not a race of istersobeards, but a race of tonnesterses!” and they both laughed.

They retreated to the hill that was next to the frozen river Frosifosgen. The wind blew through them so much that the king regretted his wish to walk. He stopped again and looked over the city.

“Hagradfjod has suffered less than Forsholden,” the king said. “We’re in a fine house now, and–”

They heard a noise and saw the ashklahars. Tarrik took a sword with him, but Tulvarick did not take an axe. Five ashklahars were rushing toward them, blowing snow. Tarrick prepared to attack. When they approached, Tulvarick examined them.

“You are not azdairiks,” the king said confidently.

“And you’re not a snunorf, dwarf!” said the snunorf with curly brown hair and brown eyes, and little stubble. The rest of the snunorfs on the ashklahars laughed, except for one old man who sat on the darkest of the gray ashklahars, though the darkest was not the largest.

“Margritta, Haglund, start with the first line of houses, inspect each one carefully,” the old man ordered. He was an elderly snunorf with white-gray hair and blue eyes, and his hair aged him considerably.

Margritta, a snunorf young woman with blond hair and light grayish-greenish eyes, and Haglund, a northerner with brown eyes, a beard and mustache, and a sly grin, rode off on their ashklahars. They rode their giant animals toward the houses.

“This is an abandoned city,” said Tarrick, “what do you want to find?”

“You are a larmarian, aren’t you?” the old man asked, turning to Tarrick.

“Yes, and who are you?” Tarrick asked.

“I am the one asking the questions here.”

“How did you tame these monsters?” ignoring Tarrick’s dialogue with the old man, Tulvarick turned to the woman next to him. Her ashklahar scowled slightly, as if waiting for a command.

“If you feed them properly, they will be obedient to anyone. For example, we’ll give you to them today, dwarf,” and she laughed.

The old man, the young woman and another snunorf began to point their giant ashklahars directly at Tarrick and the king. The ashklahars waited for the moment and chose a good place to jump.

The king and the larmarian began to back away, and Tarrick bent over to Tulvarick and said, “Run to the river, now!”

And Tulvarick quickly rushed straight down the hill with Tarrick, and they rolled. The ashklahars and their northern riders followed them around, kicking up snow.

Tulvarick and Tarrick rolled about a third of the frozen river, and the ashklahars and their riders had already reached them, ready to pounce at any second, when suddenly Tarrick drove the sword into the ice with all his strength, as one of the ashklahars with the young woman rider was about to leap at him. And the ashklahar jumped. Tarrick dodged, and the ashklahar crashed his body onto the hilt of the sword, driving it even harder into the ice. And the ice cracked.

The ashklahars tensed and froze, but suddenly the ice crunched and crackled, and they fell through. Tarrick managed to jump beyond the ice collapse, and Tulvarick was on the other side. The king and Tarrick ran off in different directions, and the ashklahars and their riders were floundering in the icy water.

“We must save them!” Tarrick shouted to Tulvarick.

“Why?” the king was astonished.

“The two he has sent to scour the city will find Isliya, Shagri and Uldra, and it’s not certain that Henriker can handle them.”

“Even a five-year-old arqilunian can handle those brats. And Henriker can do wonders!”

“Your Majesty–”

“All right, then. I take them out one at a time, you knock them out and bind them with something. But with what?”

“I have the rope with me, Your Majesty,” Tarrick said, and he pulling a huge bundle from beneath his fur clothing.

Tulvarick took off his furry armor, and walked cautiously across the ice.

“Give me the rope,” he shouted.

The ashklahars already drowned, but the old man was able to get out onto the ice at Tarrick’s side, and the larmarian immediately ran up to him, but the snunorf, despite the cold and stiff fingers, shaking and trembling, managed to stand up and pull out his sword. Tarrick, without thinking long, made a lasso of rope and instantly threw it over the elderly snunorf. He didn’t even have time to swing his sword. Tarrick tightened the rope so that the snunorf dropped his sword and crouched. The larmarian ran up to him, cut off part of the rope with his knife, and ran toward the king.

“Tarrick, quick, these are about to drown,” the tonnebeard shouted to Tarrick, and then turned to the young woman, “hold on to my beard,” and he lay down on the uncracked ice, next to the floundering woman, and she could not get a grip to crawl out. Her hands almost didn’t obey her.

The last male snunorf was gone, he had drowned. The woman began to shake, her hands finally no longer obeyed. Then Tulvarick moved further and was able to grab her before she sank. The king pulled her toward him.

Suddenly part of the ice broke and they began to slide into the water, both of them. Tarrick, seeing this, darted; he had already made a circle on the surviving ice, straight for the tonnebeard. He grabbed the king, and Tulvarick held the snunorf young woman, and they pulled each other out.

While the king put back on his furred chainmail, which was frozen by then and gave more discomfort than warmth, Tarrick tied up the woman.

“What were you saying, Tarrick?” the king asked. “You said something about the continuation of my kind. If I were to dip my balls in this icy horror right now, I certainly couldn’t continue anything or anyone, not even my own life!” Tulvarick looked at the young woman and glanced at the other side, at the old man. “We must to think about–,”

“Franz...frit...” the woman could barely utter the words.

“Franz what?” Tulvarick asked.

“Did you… save him?” the woman asked.

“Ah, did we save your fellow warrior Franz?” the king guessed. “It was the handsome man with brown hair, wasn’t it? Did he call the king of the tonnebeards a dwarf?”

“The… king?” the young woman was surprised.

“Yes, dear, the… king!” Tulvarick mocked her, feeling a mixture of mild sympathy and distaste.

Tarrick and Tulvarick suddenly felt the vibrations of the ice, a stomping sound was heard from afar.

“Shh, what is that?” Tarrick asked and looked back at the king.

Suddenly a familiar voice came from the hill.

“Tarrick! Your Majesty!” Henriker shouted.

Tulvarick and Tarrick turned around. And Henriker began to descend. And a giant earth elemental appeared behind him.

“Hey, what are you doing? Stop, stop!” Tarrick shouted to him.

Henriker was dressed in an elegant winter coat, and was himself under a small protective dome. He quickly realized what needed to be done and brought the elemental back to his world, and removed his dome. And behind Henriker a slightly grown Shagri showed herself, she was glad of the small drifts and ran to the river, Henriker grabbed her by the arm.

“Beard King!” Shagri shouted and waved to Tulvarick.

Tulvarick waved back at her. Behind Shagri came down her mother, Isliya.

“Henriker, come here, but without the child,” Tarrick said.

The mage headed toward them, leaving the girl with her mother. Uldra appeared behind Isliya.

“Warm them,” Tarrick asked.

“Just make some powerful shackles first,” Tulvarick added.

Henriker began to cast spells. After a while, the prisoners stopped shaking from the cold, and on their hands and feet formed fetters of magical steel, which even if it chained them in the area of exposed skin, would not freeze to it.

“Let’s go to the house and then we’ll deal with them,” the king ordered.

They all made their way to the house. Near the house lay a gigantic dead ashklahar, partially burned.

Uldra went first, and she opened the door, while Isliya, holding her daughter’s hand, stepped back from the entrance. Tulvarick stepped inside. Right in front of the door lay a corpse.

“Haglund! No!” the captive woman shouted, she walked right behind the king.

“Get a hold of yourself, Breena. We shall have our revenge!” the old man said.

“What the– Henriker!” the king was indignant.

“I didn’t have time to get away, Your Majesty! Frach Ald Thon Drask!” he said, and the snunorf’s corpse went up in flames. And the fire should have extinguished as usual, but this time the fire ignited the leg of a wooden chair. “Hey Mun Lind Far Ack Elif,” the mage cast a small fire extinguishing spell. And the fire went out.

Tulvarick defiantly sat down in his chair, and took a piece of dried meat from the table. He began to chew it and examine the prisoners.

“Ah,” he suddenly remembered. “When you attacked us, you scoundrels, I smoked a pipe with Dragon’s Tear, and now I’ve lost it. So you owe me a pipe at least!”

“I think you killed Margritta too? Then, dwarf, you owe me two lives. One of them will be yours. I’ll leave you a pipe on your corpse. And we’ll be even!” the old man said.

“Two lives, Margritta and Haglund. And what about your third? The drowned man? Doesn’t he count?” the king asked.

The old man grinned. The young woman gave the old man an angry look

“What are your objectives? You just move on ashklahars from town to town, looting towns, villages, and that’s it?” the king asked.

“I already told you, dwarf, I’m the one asking the questions here!” the old man replied.

Tarrick punched him right in the nose.

Shagri was frightened.

“Take the girl upstairs,” Tulvarick said to Isliya. He looked at Uldra, “Uldra, you go too.”

“Tonnebeard scum, larmarian brat, and a filthy isters with her brood! How many of her children are with you, a hundred? They often spread their legs when they’re not even asked–”

Tarrick hit him again.

“I’ve heard that somewhere before,” Tulvarick said quietly. “Almost every day in my royal council someone brought up the subject of the oppression of the tonnebeards in our glorious country. Someone kept telling me that I should kick all the isterses out of my country. Not kill them, just kick them out. And I wondered if I could bring back the flogging that was ancient practice in my kingdom. Back then, however, such aggressive thoughts were in vogue. Almost every tonnebeard dreamed of killing at least one isters, azdairik, arqilunian or snunorf–”

“How many of you are there?” Tarrick interjected, clearly growing impatient with the king’s chatter. He stared at the old man. “I’ll break her knee if you don’t answer,” Tarrick took the hammer and walked over to the bound young woman sitting in magical shackles.

“There were five of us,” the woman blurted out suddenly.

“Breena, shut up!” the old man almost hissed.

“Well,” Tulvarick stood up from his chair and walked over to her, “what’s your name? Breena, is it?”

“Breenhildra Shorvindskar,” the blonde woman replied.

“Well, Breenhildra,” said the king, “what are your motives and goals?”

“The goal is one, and that’s survival. Our group–”

“Shut up already, skarkeshuh!” the old man shouted, and got another punch in the face from Tarrick. This time Tarrick knocked out his tooth, and the snunorf spat blood.

“Our group was engaged in theft and looting,” Breena continued.

“Have you killed anyone?” Tarrick asked.

“Yes,” Breena answered.

“Have you killed those who posed no threat, even innocent ones?” Henriker intervened and clarified the Tarrick’s question.

“Yes,” the woman admitted uncertainly.

“What did you feed the ashklahars?” Tulvarick suddenly asked.

“Those who were killed,” Breena whispered, her blue eyes narrowing.

“Were there children among them?” Henriker asked.

“You’re digging your own grave, Breena,” the old snunorf said quietly.

“Yes,” the woman replied briefly.

“How many children?” Henriker asked.

“I don’t know.”

“How many?” Henriker insisted.

“Many! Dozens, maybe more than a hundred! But there were no snunorfs, larmarians, or tonnebeards among them,” the woman justified herself.

“Ah, there it is, what joyous news!” the king exclaimed, irritated. He stepped back and poured himself a mug of itrasemjor, then he looked at Tarrick. “Finish up here quickly, don’t say all these conventions, that you are a resier, who represents me, who represents the king of the snunorfs, by authority and so on and so forth. That would be harder to justify than what happened in the Larmar Islands. And I doubt very much that there were no northerners, larmarians or tonnebeards among the children they killed. Do what you must, simply and quickly.” He paused and looked at the prisoners. “All in all, it’s a pity you’re looters and murderers.” Then he turned to Henriker, “I’m going to bed, it’s been a hard day, make sure that when I go down or Shagri, Isliya or Uldra, that the place is clean, please.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Henriker said.

Tulvarick began to climb the stairs. And he heard Tarrick read out their sentence.