Chapter 31 - Loyalty

“The real hubris of nobles is that they believe the privilege of their birth means they are immune to the consequences of their actions. I believe recognizing this flaw is key to truly measuring up to the virtues of one’s lineage.”

- Letter from Dom Francisco de Oliveira e Dias, Marquês de Viseu, to King João de Andrade, six months before dying in a failed coup attempt.

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Aina felt numb.

At first, after she cleaned the blood off her seaxes and sheathed them, Aina had felt triumphant. She had felt vindicated. She had even gone so far as to offer a quick prayer to Hel offering up her actions as penance for being unable to pray for her mother’s soul on the last day of the funerary mourning period. But as the rush of the hunt wore off, she truly began to recognize the reality around her once more.

The shocked crowds had thinned, and yelling could be heard in the distance. A smell of wood smoke grew stronger, but Aina hardly noticed that. Wood smoke was the ever present stench that permeated everything, especially with every garden and alley being warmed by the flames of refugee cook fires. Still, more than a few watched her fearfully, unwilling or unable to flee. Others had rushed off to where the yelling was at.Then a half-dozen militia were pointing spears at her, before she could properly collect her thoughts to figure out what to do next.

The Stormlord would be so disappointed.

With that cold realization washing over her, Aina handed over the seaxes without a fight. They felt too heavy to carry right then anyway. Instead, she let them lead her back to the manor, only this time with her wrists bound in front of her. They put her in a room in the root cellar, her only company sacks of carrots and crates packed with potatoes cushioned in sand. A cool draft came in around her feet somewhere, chilling the room but unable to cut through her warm clothes.

For hours, Aina was left to stew over her actions. She had agreed to help guard the Stormlord, and had abandoned her post. Instead, she’d gone and slain a man in the streets, in front of a crowd. She would have to plead her case before the Jarl and explain why she’d acted as she had, and hope he’d accept the weregild for the slain man. That at least she could do.

What could she say to Lord Taliesin? He’d taken her in, healed her, fed her and clothed her. He’d given her a place in his retinue and asked little of her, only that she keep watch with his varingjar while he worked - and she’d failed even that.

But who was he to judge her? She hadn’t asked to be included nor sworn any oaths. He could have healed her and let her chase her vengeance. How could Aina, in any fair world, forswear vengeance on the man who tried to murder her? He’d waited until she was too weak to fight back and robbed her of the coin she’d made from selling her mother’s morning-gift. Then he dragged her out of town and dropped her in a ditch in the snow to die. Most damning of all, Samuel had stolen her mother’s personal cloak. Aina couldn’t think of a single winter in her life when she hadn’t seen her mother wrapped up in its fabric, and to see it tainted… That bloody Celt got what was coming to him!

But the guilt had crept in as the hours ticked by. Lord Taliesin and his people had accepted her in a way that the folks from her village had never done. They even started to learn Hunter Speak for her. The loss of all that… was a terrible price. But her mother’s soul needed its place at Hel’s side, and Aina couldn’t let such an insult from a thrall pass by. In the end, her regret was something she’d have to live with.

The cellar door opened. It hadn’t been locked; the door didn’t even have a latch. She hadn’t even thought of trying to escape anyway. If she had meant to strike unseen, she could have. Aina would accept the consequences, then figure out what to do with her life afterwards. Perhaps she could move on to another town or village. Everyone needed hunters.

The guard motioned her out of the cell, pantomiming as if she were deaf. She sighed and motioned for him to go, so she could follow him. He seemed satisfied that his bad pantomime had explained what he had been trying to say, but she’d lost him when he did something with his fingers on the back of his hand then hopped in place.

Together, they wound their way back upstairs and through the kitchens, to the wing where Lord Taliesin’s quarters were at. Her room was just down the same hallway, but was only a single room with a small closet for the jacks. Taliesin’s quarters, on the other hand, appeared to be a suite of rooms befitting a noble. The main room was large, with a deep alcove behind a heavy curtain that hid the bed. Two doors on either side of the hearth were closed, but were likely small quarters meant for servants. How the Stormlord used them, she could only guess.

Lord Taliesin was seated before the fireplace in a large chair with a thick cushion on it, and a soft looking wool blanket in his lap. In smaller chairs around the fire sat Viggo and Runolf, who looked at her with hard gazes and impassive frowns. An empty seat was left open, but she was not invited to sit.

“Ah, Aina,” said the Stormlord. “That is quite a statement you made this afternoon. Would you care to explain why you chose to cut down a thrall in the street before a dozen witnesses?”

Aina gave a half-shrug, but then realized she wasn’t ashamed of her actions. In fact, she felt justified. Her regrets were about the opportunity she’d miss out on now because of what she did, not the vengeance itself.

“I’m sorry I ran off from guard duty. I didn’t mean to let you down. You’ve been good to me.”

Of all things that Aina anticipated, she hadn’t thought the Stormlord would seem amused. It was hard to tell, for he wasn’t laughing or smiling. He clearly didn’t seem angry, which confused her. Instead, he seemed to be studying… her.

“You have been my guest since we found you, and you have jumped in and participated as a retainer on many occasions. As a retainer, by your actions you have failed me. In this failure, if any of my people would have been hurt…” Taliesin’s face darkened terribly for a fraction of a second. ”However, me and mine were unhurt, this time, and you aren’t truly sworn to me, or anyone so far as I know. So tell me, what is the meaning of all this? You didn’t truly answer my question, did you?”

Aina shook her head, her throat choked up. The Stormlord had kicked away the meager crutch of self-righteous anger she’d been using to help justify to herself that it was acceptable to go back on her word, her willingness to help, so easily. Sure, her vengeance was just, but did it have to be at that moment? She’d heard from the House Guards that she’d missed an attack. But now she felt she owed Lord Taliesin an explanation, one she was reluctant to give. It meant sharing how she’d come to be at her most vulnerable.

“I was sick after my mother died. He stole my mother’s morning-gift from me, then dumped me in the ditch outside of town to die like a dog when I was too weak to defend myself. Then he stole my mother’s cloak and paraded around town with it on his back.”

At this, Runolf stopped frowning and Viggo looked sympathetic. Aina paused, but now she wanted, no, needed to really get to the heart of the matter.

“It was the last day of my mother’s funerary rites.” Both Runolf and Viggo shared a long look and Runolf snorted angrily - but strangely it seemed to be angry on her behalf, while the Stormlord no longer looked amused. “I had to shiver and pray in a ditch to Hel for my mother’s eternal place at Her side. It was so cold. If I had died there, like that bastard wanted, who would have done the rites for me? He nearly damned me to an eternity in Niflhel, the lowest level of Niflheim.”

“Do you know my purpose, Aina?” asked Lord Taliesin.

Aina deflated. The Stormlord had heard her reason and ignored her need for logic. At least she had money in her purse and, if she were allowed to retrieve them, her old seaxes in her room. She could only hope she could afford the weregild, or she’d wind up a thrall herself. Could she slip away? Perhaps, if Lord Taliesin wasn’t watching for her. As the back of her mind began to make contingency plans, she answered him.

“You want to save human lives, to protect them from the Twilight of the Gods.” The sheer audacity of his goals were astounding. He was willing to stand up to the gods themselves. It still shocked her, and she’d been hearing about it since she first met him.

“Indeed. That is my mountain to climb, so to speak,” he said with a small smile. “Yet there is one seeming contradiction to my self-imposed mandate. Do you have any guesses as to what that might be?”

Aina looked at him quizzically, then shook her head. Her contingency planning was forgotten for the moment as she tried to understand just what he was getting at.

“Not every life is worth saving.”

Now the Stormlord was openly smiling at her befuddlement, and Aina was once more astounded. “Do you mean…”

“Some men will always place themselves above others. They will work against the greater good for their own enrichment. They may even actively court the enemies of men and choose their own avarice as their fellows die because of their actions. This kind of person is a type of evil that is an insidious poison to the society we live in and wish to preserve.

“I believe that greedy thrall was just that sort of villain. I also believe that your vengeance was justified, and striking him down was the right course of action. Sometimes, the ends justify the means. Sometimes, killing someone in cold blood is the right thing to do.”

Neither Runolf or Viggo looked surprised at the Stormlord’s words, but Aina was flabbergasted. He… believed she was right?

“I only have one problem with what you did today,” intoned Lord Taliesin somberly.

“What… is that?”

“You were sloppy. You let your emotions run wild, and went rogue. Your second Forging allows you to turn invisible and stalk your prey. He should have died without seeing you, or at the very least, died without witnesses. You could have used other people to help you track him down. You could have worked with us, your allies, to aid you, instead of working against us.”

Aina’s face burned with embarrassment then. He was correct. She could easily have stalked him. She was a huntress and the former thrall had been her prey. You don’t rush a hunt, or the prey could spot you and escape. In that same vein, she could have gone back to the old hunter, Hjorvath, who had promised to help find him. Aina could have talked to Runolf about her vendetta, and he could have freed her of guard duty at the very least. She’d only caught the celt because he was clumsy and tripped.

“I’m… sorry?”

“Next time, do better,” advised the Stormlord, and Runolf chuckled. Viggo looked uncomfortable but nodded along. “Now, as to the dead man. I’ve paid the weregild to the Jarl. As he was just a freed thrall, it wasn’t very much, but you owe no debt. But that leaves us now at a critical point. Until now, you’ve been a guest. But if you’re strong enough to slay a grown man in the street, you’ve clearly recovered your health. What would you do now? If you are willing to support my cause, I would have you join my retinue.”

Aina felt like crying. Her emotions had jumped all over the place since she’d entered Lord Taliesin’s quarters. Despite everything, despite leaving him to chase her vengeance, despite abandoning him as the town came under attack, he still believed in her. Lord Taliesin still trusted her and wanted her help. No one other than her mother had ever treated her with even a fraction of the kindness he had. Aina knew that failing the Stormlord again would reap terrible consequences, but she refused to let herself fail again. She could ask for no better lord to swear fealty to, and she would dedicate herself to his service and earn the trust she’d been granted.

Aina went to one knee, and, using the oath she had heard the House Guard’s captain swear to Jarl Gunther, she signed, “Lord Taliesin. From now until I am called to serve as Odin’s einherjar in Valhalla, I shall be your loyal retainer. My blade shall strike without question whoever you command, so I swear before all the gods.”

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The mood in the Stormlord’s rooms soon shifted into something much happier. Viggo called for refreshments, and Aina was offered the empty seat. Runolf handed her the manasteel seaxes that the House Guards had confiscated from her, and Aina, still in a bit of a daze from the emotional seesaw she’d just been on, sheathed them on her belt gratefully.

It was only after a young maid served her a mug of small beer and called her “ma’am” that Aina realized she’d been put in the Stormlord’s circle of trust. She didn’t quite understand why, and she certainly didn’t feel like she’d truly earned it, but Aina had a newfound resolve to demonstrate her loyalty from this day forward. Her liege had done right by her in a cold and uncaring world, and she would not let that go unrepaid.

Talk was loose and undirected. Aina picked up that the attack had really been sabotage against the last unwarded section of wall. A new attack in the next day or two was expected, before repairs and wards could be complete. Conversation wandered between plans for the Stormlord’s men - both varingjar and recruits - and where Lord Taliesin himself would fight.

After conversation came to a lull, Viggo said, “I just wish we could understand the Sheriff’s aims in all this.”

“He wants to be Jarl,” grunted Runolf. “What more is there?”

“Oh of course, but that’s not what I meant. Why is he acting as he is? He had a warehouse full of mining equipment, of all things! How did he secure a promise of support from the King? He’s just a common subject in a remote town with few connections and modest wealth.”

“Does he own land? Maybe he found iron or tin,” asked Lord Taliesin.

“No. Brant went through the property records. The Jarl owns most of the farmlands, but there are a fair few plots of land owned by landlords as well. But he didn’t find any transfers to the Sheriff. He said no property was sold in the last few years.”

A memory tickled at Aina. Back when she’d helped gather information for the Stormlord, she’d spent a lot of time eavesdropping on gossip and conversations as she wandered the town. The major bit of information she’d learned was about weapons being sent to the Sheriff’s warehouse. But there was another tidbit she’d heard.

“I heard gossip in town. A landlord died, and his son fell into gambling. He had to sell off his father’s estate to pay his debts.”

“Recently?”

Aina shrugged. “They didn’t say, but the way they talked… I think it was recent.”

“Who handles land records?” asked Lord Taliesin suddenly. “I mean, if a sale happens, who records it for the Jarl?”

“That rotten bastard. The Sheriff handles contracts and taxes,” swore Viggo. “He bought it and didn’t record the new deed in the Jarl’s records. If he’s clever, he even paid the taxes on it in the dead landlord’s name so the Jarl’s books were balanced.”

“Don’t help us much. Still don’t know what he’s doing,” rumbled Runolf as he cracked some nuts and dropped the shells in a bowl on a small side table.

“Hmm, I wonder if it’s all tied together,” mused Lord Taliesin. “He’s got support in the King’s court, a piece of land he might want to mine, and he’s got a mage to help him. Aren’t mages normally sworn to a noble directly?”

“Yeh,” said Runolf.

“Almost always,” added Viggo. “They have an order in the capital. The Obsidian Enclave. They stay independent because they control all the Forging aether gems that people can use to Boost their abilities. They hold the secrets of their making tight, for it is their freedom from noble control.”

Taliesin laughed. “So not so hard to figure out after all. Are these gems mined?”

Viggo gave a malicious smile. “That they are, milord.”

“I bet not many landlords died last year,” offered Runolf.

“What reward do you think the Jarl might offer if we gift him the knowledge of a potential mine for Forging gems?” asked Viggo.

“Let us focus on the matter at hand before we speak of rewards,” reminded the Stormlord, and the mood sombered immediately. “There is still a battle to be won.”

At that thought, a chill ran down Aina’s spine. The army that she had fled from as it ruined her village, the same one that destroyed so many others, was coming. And this time, there would be no running.