As Yelm crested the horizon ahead of them, the companions reflected on the importance of the task that lay before them. Since the Battle of the Broken Tower and their return to Clearwine as victors, the heroes had passed the time in whatever way had seemed best to each. Sandene and Yrsa had spent much of their waking time together; although their cult allegiances could not have been more different, each of them recognised something in the other that was perhaps lacking in herself. Yrsa saw in Sandene a strong warrior who could help her reconcile her terror of open war with her need to protect her friends and community. For her part (although she would admit it to no-one least of all herself), Sandene saw a deep strength and liveliness of spirit in Yrsa that a servant of Death such as herself would never have. Neither of them spoke these words, however; instead, they expressed them through action as befitted their natures: whilst Yrsa stood in the centre of a training ring and showed Sandene how to take her first tentative steps as a horsewoman, Sandene talked of war and the joy of the axe-song.
Randel and Bofrost likewise spent some time together at the Stead. Randel busied himself with strengthening the growing community, ensuring that the cottars working the land gifted by the Clan were settled and their grievances heard. The palisade surrounding the main cluster of buildings grew tall and strong, and the buildings within were dedicated to the Gods as they were completed, one by one. The extent of Randel’s ambition was shown by the presence of a God-house, tended by Kareena the priestess of Orlanth who had travelled from Apple Lane with the other refugees. Two of the alcoves within the building were occupied with shrines to Orlanth and to Ernalda, but there was room for other shrines yet to be dedicated. Randel could often be seen in quieter moments, standing before Ernalda’s shrine, chewing his lip and lost in his own thoughts of his own future and that of his Stead.
As a follower of Llankor Mhy, Bofrost spent much of his time in contemplation of knowledge. Others noted that he spent much of the time alone in his small section of the communal Long Hall, in an area curtained off for privacy. Those who stood near could often hear Bofrost muttering to himself, in words that none understood. If disturbed at these times, Bofrost would snap at the interloper and glower darkly. Yet at other times, Bofrost threw back the curtains and took a full part in the life of the Stead, helping where he could and asking endless questions of herder and farmer alike as to their ways. Most unusually though, Bofrost spent many hours in the company of Jayvis Thunderthroat. This follower of Humakt had accompanied the band back to the Stead following the battle of the Broken Tower, and with him had come the huge Dark Troll. Both had been given leave to stay within the Stead, and they had set up a living space up against a section of the palisade. Jayvis had a simple but comfortable tent, and regularly disturbed the peace of the Stead with ribald songs that made even Terrastal blush. The Troll, however, made do with a simple tarp that it threw over itself during daylight. At night, however, it sat with Jayvis and increasingly with Bofrost. As it talked in a voice that sounded like rocks moving deep in the earth, an eavesdropper would have noted that Bofrost’s voice could be heard conversing in the same inhuman language, haltingly at first but with increasing confidence. Clobgork the Uz was a skald of sorts, or so it appeared, who had been travelling the lands on a knowledge quest before being Enthralled by Idrima. Now, it was caught between its duty to its people and its duty to Idrima, so it sat unhappily in the corner of the Stead whilst the cottars whispered, cast sidelong glances and barred their doors at night.
Where was Terrastal whilst this went on? He fumed and fretted, frustrated with the domesticity of his companions. Restlessly, he travelled to and from Clearwine where he spent much time with Drenyan. He could not understand how anyone could think of creating anything when the Lunar overlords could take it away at any point. All of his hatred of the Lunars coalesced around the fate of Baranthos; as he heard Drenyan’s tales of Baranthos’ exploits and his dedication to Orlanth, he became more determined than ever that Kangharl would not be the victor in this matter. And so it was that when a summons came from the Clan Ring to speak to the Heroes of the Broken Tower, it was Terrastal that urgently conveyed the message and eagerly strode ahead of his companions as they entered the Hall of the Ernaldori.
For the most part, the members of the Clan Ring greeted them warmly; their part in raising the spirit of the Stone Goddess had increased their reputation, and their part in driving back the strongest Chaos incursion for a generation was already the subject of tavern songs throughout the city. Yet whilst Drenyan sang their praises and Morganeth looked upon them with favour, Colymar favoured of Barntar the Ploughman remained unconvinced. He still saw only risk and danger in their exploits, where his nature called out for stability and peace. But Morganeth spoke for the Ring: ‘The omens are troubling indeed. Though the Lunar boot lies heavy on Orlanthi necks, the threat of Chaos is growing. Broo are now at large in the Starfire Ridges, and though all Sartarite hands will be against them they will be almost impossible to cleanse completely. But there are signs of hope also, Idrima is now walking once more, and Jenest and Eirissa will return to the Stone Tower to mark the songlines for Idrima to follow back to the Earth Temple. We plan to finish the song in Dark Season, on the High Holy Day of her mother, Maran Gor. But we must act to strengthen the Clan and the Tribe to survive what is to come. We need strong leaders, Rune Lords and Rune Priests who will stand for the Ernaldori. Whilst the Hidden Gale and the Black Spear preach war, our folk must come first. Therefore, now is the time for you to travel to our neighbouring Clans and secure their support in Baranthos’ trial.’ As she spoke, servants entered the hall, carrying fine cloth and chests of coin and silver platters. Behind them, other servants bore weapons and other treasures of the Clan with reverence. Morganeth and the other members of the Ring fixed the heroes with a steady gaze: ‘You will travel as emissaries of the Clan to the Enjossi and the Konthasos, so will be provided with fine clothing as befits that status. Both Clans have a history of friendliness towards us, but these gifts will show our respect for them in return. When we come to the trial, their votes may be those that save Baranthos’ life. But beware; Kangharl has dispatched his own warriors to the Clans, to gain their support through gifts or threats as needed. Our supporters in Kangharl’s court report that Hahlgrima Snaggletooth has been given this task’. As she said this, her lip curled in distaste. Hahlgrima was a powerful and boastful warrior of the Taraling Clan; she had once been a great beauty, but an Ernaldori axe had changed this during an honour duel and now she took pleasure in thwarting and damaging the Clan whenever she could.
The following day, as the hero band rode towards Konthasos lands, the weight of Morganeth’s words hung heavy in the air around them. The Konthasos were known as the ‘Wine Clan’, as they produced the finest Clearwine in Dragon Pass and Orendal, their chief, was known as a prudent and cautious man who always looked for the path of peace. As they rode, they agreed that an appeal to Orendal’s desire for stability and continuity might be successful. As they approached the edge of Ernaldori lands, they felt the gossamer touch in their minds of their Clan spirit, its wyter. As they crossed the boundary of their Clan lands, they felt a sense of a fond farewell with the promise of a warm welcome on their return. In contrast, as they entered new lands they felt a sense of questioning and wariness as the Konthasos wyter noted their presence. Sure enough, before they had travelled but a mile further on, they were met by a band of Konthasos warriors waiting patiently along their route. Halting a javelin’s throw from the warband, they answered their shouted questions as ritual demanded, and without any unseemly delay the companions were offered Konthasos bread, salt and water as tokens of Clan hospitality.
As she rode, Sandene slumped in her saddle and regarded the backs of their Konthasos escorts morosely. She had approached the diplomatic journey with an air of grim resignation. Her time in Orlanthi lands had been both baffling and frustrating – their obsession with boasting and preening and debating points of honour – as if any of it mattered!
The Mother teaches that there are plants, and animals, and people that are beloved of Earth.
There is evil that wishes to destroy and control that which is beloved of Earth through treachery and lies.
And there are those who also love that which is beloved of Earth, but they must stand apart in order to slay that evil.
In Tarsh the Shaker Temple was large enough that the Axe Maidens were a group apart – Sandene had never spent as much time with those she was sworn to protect. Initially Sandene had travelled with the group because they had clearly been sent by the Mother to guide her back, and the carnage at the Broken Tower had proven that Sandene was fated to protect the daughter of Maran Gor and therefore the Earth Temple at Clearwine.
But the individuals were more interesting than she had thought. Randel and his love of material things – and, of course Eirissa. Brave Yrsa, and her love of horses. Bofrost and his love of knowledge. Even Terrastal, who despite his posturing and bravado clearly loved his community. Although a true Axe Maiden must put aside love lest they begin to fear Death there seemed no reason not to find out a little more about what interests those she must protect?
Anyway, the group had travelled through yet more Orlanthi lands, with Sandene largely riding apart, though occasionally clumsily trying conversation with her companions. Having encountered the clan that Terrestal wanted to influence, no doubt there would follow the usual bragging and presentation of stuff before everyone had some time off to prepare for some even more pointless preening and boasting accompanied by an extravagant waste of food and drink…
As they approached the main Clan settlement, they rode through wide vineyards being tended by well-fed clansfolk who sang as they worked. Although it was yet early in the growing season, Clearwine vines needed constant attention if they were to be fruitful and there was always work to be done. But despite the apparently idyllic scene, Terrastal and Sandene noted that each worker had a weapon within easy reach and that small bands of mounted warriors were dotted here and there throughout the fields, their eyes scanning for danger constantly. Even here, death could be a moment away.
The main Konthasos settlement was built on two hills, with heavily fortified strongpoints on each joined by a high palisade that spanned the saddle between. The folk were wealthy, Randel noted, and would be good trading partners. As he pointed this out, Sandene showed Yrsa the artfully-designed killing zones that lay before the walls. This was no easy target; although the Clan preferred peace, they were clearly ready for war.
Finally, they were brought before a huge longhouse, its beams finely decorated with scenes proclaiming the Clan’s history and heroes. Images of Ernalda and Barntar were everywhere, although they were careful to honour all of the gods. To Terrastal’s satisfaction, there was no evidence of Lunar influence to be seen. As they rode up to the finely-carved door, an older man in rich clothing greeted them. ‘Well met, sisters and brothers of the Ernaldori! It’s always a pleasure to greet those who come in peace and of such high importance.’ Yrsa was puzzled for a moment, but then remembered how her mother had braided her hair and fussed over the outfit she had been provided with by the Clan Ring. Although she had pulled at the unfamiliar clothing to make it more comfortable and no doubt some of her braids had come loose, she supposed she still cut an imposing figure. Stealing a glance at the watching Konthasos, she noted something she had never received before: admiring glances! She felt a deep warmth begin to burn the back of her neck and her face began to flush, and she stared fixedly forward hoping for it all to end.
The older man had identified himself as Orendal, Clan Chief of the Konthasos, and had enquired as to their business. As Randel talked of the upcoming trial and the need for Colymar unity, Bofrost noted that Orendal did not seem surprised at their presence, and he felt a deep sense of foreboding. This sense was deepened as they entered the Clan hall; Konthasos clanfolk were dotted here and there, but a far table was dominated by a group of warriors bearing the marks of the Taraling Clan and those loyal to Kangharl. As they moved further into the hall, a huge woman with rippling muscles, intricate tattoos and a cruelly-scarred face rose to her feet and folded her arms: Hahlgrima had beaten them to it. Instantly, Terrastal began to spar verbally with the scarred warrior, his had straying to his weapon despite the peace knot holding it in place. Sandene moved to stand at his shoulder, deciding which of Hahlgrima’s warriors she should kill first. Randel raised his hands and began to make conciliatory noises, concerned their mission would be over before it had begun whilst Bofrost watched with interest, but before angry words could be spoken Orendal banged his staff on the hall floor and spoke with a voice that would brook no argument. ‘No doubt all are tired after their journey, as this can often lead to short tempers and ill-manners.’ Glowering at Terrastal for his breach of etiquette he continued, ‘but all is well. Take food and drink and rest, for tonight we will hold a feast to welcome all of our illustrious guests and hear their petitions’. With that, clanfolk moved to both groups and led them to where they would be lodged for the night. Randel noted to Bofrost that it was probably just coincidental that they and Hahlgrima’s band were placed at opposite ends of the settlement...
By the time the heroes were summoned to the feast, the hall of the Konthasos was full to bursting. Hahlgrima was already in attendance, and was finishing the presentation of their gifts to Orendal. Although she was no skald, the opulence of her gifts spoke for themselves. In contrast, Randel felt their own gifts were less impressive and he saw this reflected in Orendal’s eyes as he stepped forward. Taking a deep breath and calling on his Harmony Rune, he began to speak in his high, clear voice. ‘We bring you gifts that celebrate the great friendship between our clans, gifts worthy of only the greatest allies of the Ernaldori! This cup was used to capture the blood of the prize sacrifice during the Feast of Beasts before it was fed to the Sacred Earth. May your herds always be strong! This platter was used to serve the Chief Baranthos at his wedding feast. May your unions always be fruitful! And the last and greatest of our special gifts. This is the spear of Jarang the Hunter who kept the Ernaldori fed during the Great Winter. May it keep the wolves from your door!’. Looking around, he heard murmurs of appreciation from the crowd at his words as Orendal took his gifts and placed them atop those of Hahlgrima, smiling. As he stepped down to join his friends, he noted Hahlgrima standing with arms folded, scowling and he permitted himself a small nod in return.
After such a hopeful start, however, the remainder of their evening was less pleasant. Though they did their best to impress the Konthasos by embodying the best of Orlanthi virtues, their relative lack of experience in diplomacy undid them. Although they tried to embody several of the Orlanthi cultural virtues of dance, song and storytelling, none of their attempts had the impact that they wished for. The final blow came as Yrsa wrestled one of Hahlgrima’s warriors to a standstill and was poised for victory only to be undone by a snide and well-hidden stampt to her instep. As she landed roughly in the dust of the hall to jeers and taunts, Orendal looked on, his expression unreadable.
Early the following morning, as the companions made ready to leave for Enjossi lands, Orendal came to speak with them. It quickly became apparent that although he had great sympathy for Baranthos’ plight, he did not feel able to go against Kangharl’s wishes. Although Terrastal argued forcefully for the need to take a stand against Lunar domination, Orendal was unmoved. ‘Kangaharl is a dangerous friend, it is true. But he is and even more dangerous enemy, and I will do what I must to protect my Clan and its lands. I wish I could do more, but that is an end to it’.
With these words ringing in their ears, the heroes departed in a sour mood. This setback made it even more important that they secure the support of the Enjossi. As they rode, however, their mood was lifted by the beauty of the lands they rode through. Whereas Konthasos lands were dominated by ordered vineyards, Enjossi lands were wilder, more untamed and spoke to the Orlanthi love of wild places. The Salmon Clan, as they were known, made their living from the waters of the great rivers and tributaries that split their lands and were fishermen and boatmen without peer. Again, they were met by warriors of the Enjossi as they crossed into their territory. But where the Konthasos had been polite and careful in their words, the Enjossi were more perfunctory whilst obeying the relevant conventions. The heroes didn’t sense hostility, however; rather the warriors seemed distracted and somewhat dispirited. Wondering what this portended, the companions followed along behind, hands close to their weapons. The land continued to fall away before them, and after some time they saw the blue of water glittering in Yelm’s warming rays. As they came closer still, they saw building after building apparently floating above the waterways. As they looked at each other in wonder, Bofrost bought them down to earth somewhat. Whereas most Clans built their strongholds on hills and defensible points, the Enjossi built their homes and halls on long poles driven into the river floor. Any enemy would be showered with arrows and spells cast from above, whilst summoned River Dragons attacked them from below. Despite the apparent fragility of their existence, the Enjossi had yet to be seriously hurt by any raiding party or warband.
As the heroes waited to meet with Griselda, the Enjossi Chief, Terrastal took the opportunity to visit a local tavern whilst his companions watched the fishermen at their nets. Yrsa noted that whilst most of the fishermen worked at least in pairs, one at least seemed to be working alone further along the shore, struggling to bring his boat in and unship his nets. A question died on her lips however, as she was ignorant of local customs and didn’t wish to appear out of place. Of more immediate interest to all of them were the huge holes that seemed to mar all of the nets. Although the fishermen were loathe to discuss the cause, it eventually became clear that these were due to attacks by River Dragons. Noting Randel’s puzzled expression, Bofrost and Yrsa explained that these were huge lizards that could be deadly if not treated with respect. More than this, however, the fishermen would not say.
After a while, Terrastal returned from the tavern wearing a scowl. Much to his annoyance, the locals had been impressed with neither his fine clothes or his tales of the Battle of the Broken Tower. Moreover, he thought the weak ale had been made from some sort of fish, or at least it tasted that way.
With some relief, they were finally taken to the Hall of the Enjossi. As they neared the great building rearing over them on a forest of wooden stilts, they heard sounds that could only come from a forge. Noting their expressions, their escort proudly boasted of Griselda’s prowess as a redsmith, skilled in the working of bronze and other metals. Having climbed the long ladders to the upper platforms, the band were ushered into a forge and the presence of a powerfully-built woman of middle years. She did not react to their presence, but continued to croon to a piece of metal she was working over an anvil, as one would to a baby. Looking at each other, the companions remained respectfully silent. After a time, Griselda shook herself as if awaking from a dream and looked up, noticing her visitors. Welcoming them with every courtesy, they moved through into the great hall where they were greeted as custom demanded. As they presented their gifts and made known the reason or their visit, Griselda listened politely but with a distracted air. As they spoke, the evening meal was served. In stark contrast to the fare provided by the Konthasos, this was poor and thin, water with a few flakes of fish floating within. Noting their expressions, Griselda explained that catches had been poor for many weeks, and that Engizi the River God was angry with them and was sending his River Dragons to destroy their nets. However, they were unable to draw Griselda further as to the reason and after some further stilted conversation she took her leave; before long, the sound of hammer on anvil could be heard in the night air.
As they discussed what they might do to secure the Clan’s goodwill, they were approached by a young woman. Dressed modestly, she was the very antithesis of what many saw as the pinnacle of Orlanthi womanhood in one such as Ernalsulva. Yet she radiated a quiet strength and was clear of eye and forthright of word, and all of them knew they were in the presence of one blessed by the Gods. Named Frieda, she identified herself as Griselda’s daughter and offered to explain what had turned Engizi against her Clan if they would go with her. Eagerly, they followed as Frieda led them out of the hall and onto the riverbank, towards a small hut that stood apart from the others. As they approached, Frieda called out in a clear voice to the occupants and a small light appeared at the window. Entering the lowly hut, two occupants greeted them; one was a bearded man, the one that Yrsa had seen earlier on struggling alone with his boat. The other occupant stopped them in their tracks; although she was strikingly beautiful, her skin was of the brightest blue and shimmered as though sun played on water.
Overcoming their surprise and wariness, the company listened to their story. The man, Parasarlth, was a common fisherman but as a young man he had caught a river spirit in his net. Treating her kindly, he and the spirit had lain together and then she disappeared. Some months ago, Parasarth had woken to find a young woman with blue skin and his eyes seated outside the hut, claiming to be his daughter. At this, the young woman spoke up. Her name was Matlinde, and she was a granddaughter of Engizi who loved her. But her uncle Urgnal had seen her birth as a stain on his family’s honour and had sent the River Dragons to spoil the Clan’s nets. The Clan had tried to placate Engizi with gifts and sacrifices, but still the River Dragons came. The only thing they hadn’t tried was to sacrifice either Parasarlth or Matlinde, but Frieda knew her mother was even now starting to consider it. Frieda begged the heroes to travel upriver to where the River Dragons basked and to either drive them away or to placate the River Gods in some way.
The following day, the heroes travelled upstream with Frieda to the basking ground, steeling themselves for what may come. They found the River Dragons’ resting place without any effort; the Dragons were huge and eyed the interlopers; whether lazily or hungrily, the companions had no wish to find out. As they readied themselves to draw their weapons, a great frothing and foaming disturbed the waters of one of the deeper water channels nearby. As they watched, a great turtle with a shimmering multi-hued shell heaved itself onto the sand, the River Dragons opening their great mouths and lashing their tales in greeting. Petulantly, the turtle identified itself as Urgnal and demanded to know when the sacrifice would be made. Any attempt to reason or negotiate led to Urgnal thrashing his flippers and complaining loudly about how poorly he was being treated. Seeing that even gods could act like spoiled children, the companions headed back to the Enjossi settlement. Perhaps they could find some way to communicate directly with Engizi and avoid Urgnal’s temper tantrums...
Thwack! Their deliberations were interrupted by an arrow hitting the sand directly ahead of them. Looking for the source of the danger, they saw a familiar figure at the head of a group of warriors already moving towards them, weapons drawn: Hahlgrima! Above the sound of their own weapons being readied could be hear one whispered, eager sentence from Terrastal: ‘Oh YES! She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with...’
