Chapter 27 - Interlude II: The Cache

“Civilization isn’t formed from good intentions and profound ideas. Neither do superior morals or faith in the gods play a vital role. Rather, it is formed by the application of deliberate violence in ways meant to provoke or hinder specific actions. When the untamed man is subjected to the rules of the sword, he either becomes a useful part of the state or falls before it. His opinions on the matter are of no consequence.”

- A Treatise on Royal Governance

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Katla strode into the Jarl’s hall with holy purpose. She was a sword of the goddess, and today she would be freed to act. Too often she had to spend her days on edge, like a hound straining at the leash after catching the scent of a hare. Verbal maneuvers and meaningless small talk, even polite conversation - all of them were a challenge. Her passive Forging made it worse - she processed everything so fast, and no one could keep up with her racing thoughts.

She was pleased to see a dozen House Guards gearing up in full armor, their shields leaning against the nearby tables. It was a mix of armor types based on the wealth of the individual men, but as House Guards who had rights to plunder in war, they were more well off than most warriors. The veterans among the group wore chainmail hauberks, the oiled iron rings resting overtop gambesons to further protect against blunt attacks. The younger men wore a mixture of padded armor reinforced with leather, or in a few cases, scale armor sewn into the fabric in the eastern style.

All of them wore skull cap helmets, riveted together for extra strength, and with nasal guards extending down from the thick brow band. One of the soldiers had an aventail of mail riveted to the back of his helmet, which hung down like a curtain to protect the man’s neck and shoulders.

Katla spotted the mute girl, Aina, sitting in a corner in front of an empty platter. The girl was deliberately androgynous, and Katla wouldn’t have known she wasn’t a young lad if she’d not learned the truth from Lady Solveig. Aina wore her hair tied back in the masculine manner, rather than loose or delicately braided as a maiden might, or in the wimples or practical braids of a married woman. All of that combined to give the girl a look of a boy who’d scarcely seen fifteen winters, rather than a girl on the cusp of her majority.

A germ of an idea struck Katla, so she veered over to the mute girl. By the time she reached her, the idea had been thought through, dissected, and re-evaluated.

“Aina!” Katla stated firmly. She mentally paused, realized her tone was probably too aggressive, tried to think of a more polite way to continue, then mentally shrugged. It had been almost a third of a second. It was too late to start over. She plunged ahead rather than get bogged down in feeling awkward. “I have a plan that needs your help. Will you render your assistance?”

Aina cocked her head to the side, then signed something. Katla kicked herself once again for not paying more attention to learning Hunter Speak. She picked up a few words and could tell she was understanding more than the last time she tried, but it still wasn’t enough to make out what she said. However, Aina nodded in the affirmative, which was enough for Katla.

“Excellent! We’ll head out once everyone is geared. Do you need to get your weapons?”

Mercifully, Aina shook her head in the negative instead of signing.

“Arbiter Katla, the men are ready.” A veteran guard indicated the men behind him. Katla dimly thought his name was Thormod, or Thorgest. He looked apprehensive. Perhaps she should share the plan. That’s what a leader should do, right?

“Excellent. Everyone, gather around. Aina, come over also. We’re going to raid the traitor Sheriff’s warehouse and confiscate his hoard of weapons. Anyone in the building is to be considered an enemy of the Jarl.”

Katla turned to the group of guards and explained her plan in detail. The House Guards looked a bit surprised to hear her spell it all out. Perhaps she was far too abrupt. She wondered if she came across as impulsive, then dismissed the thought. It was irrelevant.

She finished by saying, “My Lady Freya sees all we do today. Your bravery and strength honors her as we strike back against those who weaken this town in the face of the enemy. May your swords strike true.”

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The predawn hour meant that few people were about as the House Guards stormed through town. Katla’s blood raced as she peered out the eye holes of her helmet, which was custom made to fit around the short white horns that curved up from her temples. Unlike the guards, her helmet had a full face guard which narrowed her vision.

They reached an alley that ran alongside their target. The few windows in the building were high and shuttered, out of reach and of little temptation to any who might want to steal from it. Two of the taller men stood against the wall. Aina came over and was hoisted up in a mixture of climbing and being lifted. Katla was momentarily fascinated by the gracefulness of the girl. Aina reached the shuttered window, and after a few minutes of fumbling with a dagger wedged under the shutter, managed to release the locking bar. The shutter swung open, and Aina literally vanished in front of her eyes.

“You two, stay here in case Aina needs to retreat,” Katla instructed. “The rest of you, to the front door. Line up on both sides. Follow the plan.”

Katla had a brief moment of insecurity. What if the plan fails? What if Aina dies because of me? The Stormlord would be angry if his vassal died under her watch. Katla scowled just at the thought of the smug, womanizing bastard. He openly flouted the divine way of the world. Who was he to stand against the Twilight of the Gods? Sure, the Jarl trusted him to a degree, and the maids and thralls loved him - especially the motherly women - but she hated the chaos he represented.

Katla shoved her thoughts and worries aside. She’d have more than enough time to endlessly dissect every word and every action from this assault later. Her faith in the goddess of war and beauty would carry her through, as it always had before.

The men lined up as instructed. Katla took her place at the head of the line on the right, with the veteran Thormod in the lead position on the left. She held her sword at the ready, while the guards hunkered down behind their shields.

Long moments turned into minutes, which ticked by in an endless span of time. Katla whispered a brief prayer to Freya, and her mind calmed. She slipped into the battle trance the warpriests at the temple had taught her, and her focus narrowed only to the fight to come.

A loud clattering announced the fall of the wooden beam that locked the two wide doors of the warehouse. One of them opened, and Aina raced out.

It was time.

Katla kicked the right door just as Thormod slammed his shield into the left. A single lantern, its wick turned low, lit the front of the warehouse and gleamed off her polished cuirass. The bronze finish glowed gold in the dim light. She stormed forward, sword at the ready.

“Surrender in the name of the Jarl! Put yourselves at Freya’s mercy or suffer the consequences!” she shouted.

Ahead of her, she could see the shapes of men scrambling for weapons. They were disoriented from sleep, but a few had seen war before. They charged at Katla and the House Guard.

A feeling of peace came over Katla. She saw the men moving, and understood where the blows would land. In the scant fractions of second before blade met blade, Katla had analyzed the attacks and found their counters. She spun into action.

The great blade sliced under the first opponent’s guard and opened his unarmored belly. Without losing momentum, she swung through the viscera and down onto the sword of the next man. Katla slammed the pommel into the man’s face, which sent him howling in pain to the floor with a broken nose. A House Guard kicked the man’s sword away and stomped on his wrist, which broke it.

Katla was already moving forward, a whirling dervish of gold hued armor as she charged headlong into the last bit of resistance. The House Guard weren’t idle while she moved. They spread throughout the warehouse in a tide of shock and awe. The men who didn’t resist were quickly subdued.

Two more men fell before Katla, both with grievous wounds, when the last holdouts’ will to fight crumbled. Swords dropped and hands were raised in surrender. Katla checked her blows with a disappointed sigh. A quick glance revealed the House Guards had rounded up the teamsters and militia in the building and grouped them together.

Katla took a knee, the point of her sword in the ground as she grasped the pommel in prayer. “My Lady Freya, I dedicate this battle to your everlasting glory…”

After she finished her brief prayer, it was time to see the spoils of her victory. Already, their prisoners' hands were bound and they sat sullenly awaiting their fate. Aina came into the warehouse then, her face green at the sight of two dead men and the howls of pain from the wounded.

Thormod went over to a nearby crate and flipped the lid. That was the sign for the looting to begin. Two guards stood over the prisoners, while the rest began searching the warehouse. Barrels of arrows, a crate of swords, and several large bundles of spears confirmed the Stormlord’s intelligence. The Sheriff had indeed been stockpiling weapons.

But that wasn’t all that was found. Indeed, much of the gear in the warehouse was of an entirely different manner. Pickaxes and grindstones, buckets and scaffolding. Rock crushing gear, bilge pumps, chisels and sledgehammers. Masonry tools by the barrel. A large wagon in the corner.

Aina wandered around the room, looking at everything they found, while Katla found the teamster’s desk in the corner. Cheap, thin wood with a crude inventory scratched into it sat next to cheap vellum sheets that had been re-used almost to the point of unreadability.

Aina came over with Thormod.

“She says it’s mining equipment,” said Thormod. “Makes sense to me. My cousin’s husband worked a mine when he was a thrall. He came here after buying his freedom, but used to tell us about it. There’s a lot of stuff here that you need if you want to mine.”

“There are no mines here,” said Katla. “Is he selling these down river?”

“Could be,” allowed Thormod. “Not like they’ll spoil.”

“No matter. Seize it all. Split any money you find amongst your men, but give me an accounting. The Jarl promised to pay in marks for equipment taken today, so you’ll all get your fair share.”

The House Guards laughed and congratulated each other over their unexpected bonus. Plunder was usually only gained during war or when going a-viking, after all. They happily loaded up the wagon while two of them went off to fetch horses. Undoubtedly everything not nailed down - and maybe a few things that were - would be looted before noon. One of the more seriously wounded prisoners died while the House Guard pried everything of value out of the building, but that just meant the goddess had no mercy to spare for the man. Bandages weren’t to be wasted on traitors.

Katla nodded to herself in righteous satisfaction as the warehouse emptied.

It was a good day.

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Sheriff Hallfred was having a terrible day.

He’d been awoken at dawn by the hammering of a work crew - a carpenter and his apprentices were fixing the hole in the roof over his study where that monstrous buffoon had been dropped. He’d headed for the kitchens for breakfast, and his steward had informed him that the stone mason was unavailable and refused to come fix his floor where that annoying archmage had made a stone stool.

At this rate, he wouldn’t have a proper study again until spring. Of course, he could just pay the carpenter to put in a wood plank floor overtop the uneven flagstones, but that felt like that would let the Stormlord win. The staff in the kitchen cowered away from his obvious displeasure. Hallfred ignored them, however. The heavy bread lathered in butter and salt was sating his hunger adequately.

There was an almost audible breath of relief as he left the room that Hallfred was mostly oblivious to. It was only natural that his thralls and servants defer to his mood, especially when it was a foul one. Any punishments they received when he was angry was to be expected if they did not step quietly around him.

With a full belly and marginally improved mood, his steward once again appeared before him.

“My Lord Sheriff,” began the elderly servant with a tremble in his voice, “the Jarl’s House Guards have seized your warehouse and are emptying it as we speak.”

The Sheriff’s face flushed with rage. How had the Jarl learned of the warehouse? He’d been careful, only using intermediaries and never visiting it in person. When he found the fool that let the information slip, he’d cut their tongue from their mouth. It took a solid minute before his rage dimmed sufficiently that he could unclench his jaw and get words out.

“Get out of my sight.”

The elderly steward fled far faster than his age would imply.

Hallfred stomped his way to Gundovald’s workshop in the small back garden. He scowled at the modest size, which only added to his black mood. It was especially small in comparison to the Jarl’s Manor that he should, by rights, be living in. The work yard was empty of servants, who had all managed to find other tasks elsewhere that needed attending when the Sheriff headed their way.

Without even so much as a knock on the door, Hallfred walked into the workshop. A rough bench stained with oils and marred by tools took up one wall, a remnant of a time when a carpenter had used the space. Odds and ends that Hallfred mostly couldn’t identify were now heaped on the bench in a haphazard manner, with only a small space cleared and lined neatly with small metal implements.

Gundovald sat on a stool in the middle of the space, and a sickly, middle-aged man sat strapped into a sturdy chair before him. The fat mage looked up as Hallfred entered.

“Ah, you have excellent timing, Lord Sheriff,” said Gundovald. He waved a chubby hand towards the grubby peasant that sat vacantly in the chair.

“It better be good news after the morning I’ve had. The boy’s guards seized the warehouse!”

“Oh dear,” sniffed the mage. “That’s unfortunate. We need that equipment to start the crystal mine. No matter. We’ll recover it when you take the Jarldom. Do you suppose the boy learned of the deposit?”

Hallfred’s simmering anger was instantly cooled at that frightful prospect. It was bad enough that the boy had stopped his stipends - not only the extras but also the one he was rightfully owed for his position. If Gunther seized the mines, then the Obsidian Enclave would withdraw their support and he would be left in their debt with no income at all.

“No, No. Of course not. I have the deed in my private papers and I didn’t record the property transfer when I collected taxes after the harvest. I paid the old landlord’s rents and taxes in his name, so there would be nothing in the tax books to find.”

“Good, good,” said Gundovald with a mild smile that belied the danger he represented to the Sheriff. “You know the value we place on having sole purchase rights to your crystal mine.”

Hallfred didn’t reply, for he knew all too well. The Obsidian Enclave was the sole source of the intricately cut aether gems that the Forged used to Boost their powers in the entire kingdom, if not further afield. Instead, he turned to the pathetic husk of a human tied up in the chair before him.

“So it’s done?” Hallfred pointed at the man.

“Yes. Kolskegg, when you are freed, what are you going to do?” asked Gundovald.

“Need… need to find… Captain Haeming…” the man mumbled through broken teeth.

“Why do you need to find the Captain?”

“Found… Know… I saw… murder of old Hrodi?”

Gundovald smiled. “Excellent. What happened?”

“Need… need to find… Captain Haeming…”

“No, Kolskegg. Tell us about the murder.”

Kolskegg shuddered and his face froze for a long moment. “Murder… of old Hrodi… I saw… Stormlord… magick him with fire… behind the manor… then I ran…”

Hallfred frowned. “Is this the best we can do?”

“My dear Sheriff, mind control magic has limitations. The human mind is resilient and resists control, until either the spell breaks or the mind snaps.”

Hallfred turned to the peasant and asked, “Why did you wait to come forward?”

“Wait… Find… Know… I saw… murder of old Hrodi?”

“Did his mind snap?”

“Not at all. He’d not speak at all if he’d broken. It isn’t perfect, of course. But the good Captain Haeming is already suspicious of the archmage. This should be enough to bring the Windrime Clan to our side and against Gunther.”

“Along with our recruits, that should give us a decisive numbers advantage,” replied the Sheriff, his black mood fading. He’d get it all back. His weapons cache, his mining equipment. Uncontested control of the militia and the town. The boy’s head on a spike, and Solveig’s too, if she refused his proposal one more time.

He’d be Jarl, no matter the blood cost.