• Published 27th Feb 2012
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The Age of Wings and Steel - DSNesmith



When Equestria is threatened by politics and war, a crippled pony must rise to its defense.

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35. The Deal

Rye swished his tail impatiently. His hooves thudded faintly on the wood as he paced. The doors remained closed.

“You look like your mother when you do that,” said Inger. The pegasus was lying a short distance away, his head resting on one of his front legs. He moaned. “My head is killing me.”

“Lightweight,” scoffed Rye. He forced himself to sit. He studied the carvings in the wooden door, silently willing it to open.

Inger yawned. “I’m not the one that passed out on your plate.”

“Where is Cranberry, anyway?”

A faint smile crept onto Inger’s face. “Getting acquainted with the outhouse, I think.”

“Well, if she’s not back in fifteen minutes, I’m going to track her down and dump a barrel of water over her head. I need her at least half-sober if this meeting’s going to work.” Rye pulled a scroll out of his saddlebag and unrolled it for the third time that morning.

“I doubt the words have changed, Rye.”

The pegacorn frowned. “I know. I’m just burning energy.” He gave a tense sigh. “He has to help us.”

“He will. Didn’t you hear all that talk about honor and glory last night?”

Rye rolled his eyes. “They were celebrating, Inger. You expect them to talk about defending the homestead and harvesting crops for the winter while downing ale?” Inger shrugged and fell silent.

The creak of wood drew Rye’s attention like a lightning rod, but the door ahead remained shut. Instead, the one to his back was opening. Behind them, the sharp report of hooves and a vaguely unpleasant smell told him that Cranberry had finally arrived.

“Rejoined the living, have we?” he asked, turning his head back down and scanning the treaty.

Cranberry walked up beside him and gave Rye a halfhearted kick. “Shut up.”

“No witty retort?” Rye grinned despite himself, and looked up. “You look terrible.” Cranberry’s face was miserable, her normally well-kept mane unkempt and frayed. She had dark bags under her eyes, and an unfamiliar scowl.

“Shut up.” She walked over to Inger and lay down beside him, putting her head on his back.

Annoyed, Inger craned his head back. “Excuse me—”

“Shut up.” Inger looked at Rye with exasperation. Rye just raised his eyebrows in amusement.

Clearing his throat, he sat back and rolled up the treaty again. “Now that we’re all here, I think we need to go over the audience again.” He gave Cranberry an uncertain look. “You up to it, ‘Berry?”

Not opening her eyes, Cranberry mumbled “Yes.”

“Okay. Thane Heimjar—”

“Braki.”

“Right, Thane Braki is bound by the word of his ancestors to follow these treaties and send Equestria troops. But we didn’t expect him to be in the middle of his own war. I’m worried that he won’t be willing to give us the help we need.”

“They just had a major victory, didn’t they?” Cranberry blinked, finally opening her eyes. “Surely he’ll be amenable to diverting some troops now that the pressure is off his farmland.”

“Eberhardt said that we’d need all three of the thanes to support us if we wanted the numbers we need. What do you know about the other two, Cranberry?”

“It’s not like I’ve been reading the Sleipnord news, Rye. My information is only good up to around five hundred years ago.”

“Well then, what can you tell me about the houses?”

“They’re noble houses. What more is there to say? The ranks and marks of prestige may be unique, but they really aren’t that different from the Belles or the Bluebloods. Although political weapons in Sleipnord tend to be a lot more… literal.”

“Let’s just hope they can get along better than the Duke and Duchess,” said Rye with a grimace. “Though from the looks of things, I doubt it.”

“Before we go in, you should know some basics about an audience with a thane. His entire court will be in there, all his huskarls and the chief farmers, and maybe some higher ranking servants. There are a lot of little etiquette things for you to know.”

Rye dragged a hoof along his forehead. “And you think now is the best time to tell me?”

“Shut up.”

“Go on, then.”

With an ahem, Cranberry sat up. “First off. Basic courtesy rules. Never speak unless spoken to by the thane. I think as an ambassador you technically have more status than any attendants he may have, but it’s probably better not to push our luck, so don’t talk to them either. Always make eye contact when you’re talking, looking at the ground is a sign of disrespect. Keep eye contact while bowing, too. Don’t kneel, he’ll think you’re patronizing him.”

Rye glared at her. “Anything else?”

“It’s customary to bring gifts, but since we lost all our possessions in the caves, I think we’ll get a free pass on that. He can speak Equestrian, but he may use a translator for formality’s sake. Oh, and, uh…” Cranberry coughed. “You’ll have to smoke the pekkeir.”

“The what?” Rye crooked an eyebrow.

“It’s just Sleipnordic for ‘pipe’. A long time ago, it was a popular assassination tactic to poison a rival lord’s tobacco. So, to show that he means you no harm, the thane will take a puff on the pipe, and then give it to you to do the same. It’s a symbolic gesture.” Cranberry looked uncertain for a moment. “At least… it was, five hundred years ago.”

“Assuming I don’t choke to death, is that the end of the posturing?”

“Aside from the customary dance of peace.”

Rye stared at her. “You’re joking, right?”

“Of course I’m joking. After the pekkeir ritual, the thane will ask you to present your request, allow you to speak, and then give you his answer.”

The door swung open. Eberhardt stood on the other side, holding out a hoof. “This way,” he said in his thick Equestrian.

The three Equestrians followed him inside. The audience chamber was much smaller than Rye had expected. It was a short hall ending in a raised platform, with a single seat cushion. Thane Braki sat alone, without any servants or guards aside from Eberhardt. Unless his court was hiding in the rafters, they weren’t here.

Cranberry…

As they drew nearer, the thane spoke. “Approach, Rye Strudel.” Inger and Cranberry held back with Eberhardt as Rye stepped forward. Keeping his eyes on the thane’s, Rye bowed.

The thane bowed his head in return. “Tell me, Rye Strudel se Equestria, what brings you to this distant land of ice and rock?”

Rye blinked stupidly and said the first thing that came into his mind. “What about the pipe?”

To his surprise the thane roared with laughter. “The pipe? We haven’t bothered with that since my grandfather’s grandfather’s time!”

Behind him, Rye heard a whispered “whoops”, but he cleared his throat and pressed on. “The remnants of the Gryphan Empire have risen in the south, and threaten my homeland. Princess Celestia has sent us to call the north to stand by the treaties you signed in ages past, to help us defend our home against the southern invaders.” There, short, simple, and to the point.

The thane’s reply was equally blunt. “I cannot help you.”

Rye stared. He’d expected the thane to be a little less direct. Still, he was prepared for the answer. He pulled out the weathered parchment. “This treaty binds the ponies of Sleipnord to, and I quote, ‘render all available aid against any and all griffon threats upon the request of any of the nations gathered at this signing,” which includes Equestria.”

Thane Braki shook his head regretfully. “I have no available aid. My soldiers are hard-pressed to defend my own lands against Erik. If I send them to help the Sun Queen against the griffons, my own lands will fall. I am sorry, Rye Strudel.”

He hadn’t come through forests, caves, and wastelands to be brushed aside like a beggar. “Then call a meeting of the thanes. Settle your differences, and fulfill your promises.” Rye tried to think of a more compelling argument. “Prove your honor. Help us in our time of need.”

“A thanesmoot is no light request, Rye Strudel. And I doubt that Erik and I could resolve our conflict with talk. The bad blood runs too deep.”

Rye snarled in frustration. “There has to be some way to get you two to stop killing each other long enough to help us.” Braki frowned disapprovingly. Behind him, he could practically feel Cranberry wincing.

Suddenly, the thane gave a rueful snort. “We are warriors. One might as well stop the sun from rising.”

“That’s happened before,” said Rye quietly.

The thane peered at him. “Not forever.”

“Nothing’s forever. Not day, not night, not peace—but that doesn’t mean they’re worthless.”

Braki considered this for a moment. “So you want a truce between myself and Erik, just long enough to fight in your war? He would never keep his word.”

“When he lends me his soldiers, he’ll have no choice.”

“You think highly of your diplomatic skills, Equestrian. You presume he’ll give you any troops at all.”

“It’s not presumption, it’s hope.” Rye stared bleakly at the thane. Quietly, he said “It’s about all I have left these days.”

Braki sighed with a forlorn expression. “Peace is… a fine notion, but a naïve one. Erik will never stop. Perhaps if the House of the Snake stood with me… but Thane Breyr is a slippery one. I have no real authority over him. But perhaps—” The thane looked sharply up. “Eberhardt. Vaiar jer riem.”

The huskarl bowed and began ushering Inger and Cranberry out of the room. Cranberry looked back over her shoulder curiously. The door shut behind them. Rye turned back to Braki, crooking an eyebrow.

“Tell me, Rye Strudel,” said the thane, leaning close with an intense expression. “What are you?”

Puzzled, Rye said “A pony?”

“Are you Breivikk? A unicorn?”

Somehow, Rye had hoped that it wouldn’t matter outside Equestria, but it seemed that even outside his homeland, his bloodline draped heavily around his shoulders. In a voice weary with practice, he said “No. I’m a pegacorn. My mother is a pegasus, and my father a unicorn. I can’t fly or do magic. My wings and horn don’t work like other ponies’.”

“No magic?” The thane sighed and sat back. “None whatsoever?”

“None.” Something in Rye’s gut gave a twang. The Nordponies hated magic. Revealing even the smallest ability could alienate Braki. Yet somehow he felt he should be honest. “Except… I can light my horn.”

“Show me,” whispered the thane, his eyes focusing on Rye’s forehead.

Rye closed his eyes and let the magic flow. The walls of the room glowed warmly as the soft orange light filled the air. He heard the thane exhale softly.

“At last.”

Puzzled, Rye broke the spell, and the light vanished. “At last?”

Thane Braki stood, and walked past Rye. He looked meditative, staring into space. “I see a way that we can help each other, Equestrian.” Rye waited expectantly. “You know that the thanes are not kings. Sleipnord has no single ruler.”

“Yes.”

“It was not always so. Long ago, when the lesser gods still walked the Earth, and the three tribes of the ponies kept the sun and moon, the Nordponies were ruled by one leader, a king of sorts. He was the greatest warrior of all the Earth ponies, the one most fit to lead them in battle against the unicorns and the pegasi. The king had no crown. Instead, the king wielded a magical weapon—the Hrafnhamarr. Kingshammer.

Braki paced, now. “It was forged by the gods of the mountains and the forests, made for a mortal champion to do what only the gods had done: the Kingshammer was the weapon of a dragonslayer. Mortals chosen by the gods fought alongside them against the dragons in the beginning, when the world was young. But it became the symbol of the king of Sleipnord. Whoever was worthy of wielding the hammer was worthy of ruling.”

Rye had a vague idea of where this was heading. “But the hammer was lost?”

“In a sense. In a great battle against the unicorn tribes, the last king of the Nordponies was slain. His son took up the hammer, but he was young and inexperienced, and he too was killed. The unicorns routed the Nordponies, and took the hammer as a token of their victory.

“They placed it deep within a vault, buried inside a mountain. Mount Jormundr, the roof of the world. They placed many enchantments upon the hammer, and the city in which it resided. No pegasus or earth pony could open the gates of that fortress. Only one with the gift of magic can hope to retrieve the Hrafnhamarr.

“And this is where I come in.”

“No unicorns have set foot in Saddlestead for hundreds of years. Magic-users are distrusted by my people. Even pegasi are held in low regard. Equestria has forgotten the times before the endless winter, but we have not. Unicorns are turned back at the border, or killed if found in our lands. I had given up all hope of ever finding one to undertake this task.”

“What about Erik? Doesn’t he have elk blood?”

“If any of their old magic remains within him, it is far too weak to break the barriers of the ancient unicorns. No, only a full-blooded unicorn can pass those gates.”

Rye coughed. “I’m only a half-blooded unicorn.”

The thane bit his lip. “It will have to be enough. We have little choice. The only way to ensure my hold is safe from Erik is to unite the thanes under my rule. He would not dare to move against me with Breyr and the lesser lords at my side. Only then, after I have bound the thanes together in peace, we can send our troops to aid the Sun Queen.”

Slowly, Rye let out his breath. “So I risk my life to make you the most powerful pony in Sleipnord?”

Braki shrugged. “Only if you want my help against the griffons.”

Rye considered his options. He could try talking to Erik or Breyr instead, but he doubted they would be any more helpful. Erik in particular was starting to sound like a raving lunatic. Besides, he doubted Braki would lend him the supplies to make it to Aenir. He could refuse, but that would leave him back where he’d started, with no friends or allies aside from Cranberry and Inger. They might be brave, but he doubted the three of them could make a difference against thirty thousand griffons.

With resignation, he nodded. “All right. I’ll get your hammer.” He glared at the thane. “But I want my army.”

Braki gave a smug bow of his head. “Of course, my Equestrian friend. I will call the thanesmoot in ten days. After that, it will take a week for the thanes to assemble. We will meet in Hoofnjord, Breyr’s hall. That should be sufficiently neutral ground for Erik. You will have two and a half weeks to get the hammer and meet us in Hoofnjord. With the hammer in my possession, the thanesmoot will declare me king, and I can give you your troops.”

“I’ll leave tonight.”

“I’ll be sending Eberhardt with you. He can lead you to Mount Jormundr, and he will bear the hammer back to me.”

“As you wish.”

Rye swept past the thane and through the doors. He passed Inger and Cranberry, who immediately fell in step with him.

“Well? How’d it go?” Cranberry trembled with barely contained excitement. “Did he agree after all?”

Inger was more apprehensive. “You don’t look too happy.”

Rye frowned. “I’ve just caught a bad case of politics.” Cranberry looked confused. “The thane has agreed to help us if we can find him some old magical artifact.”

“An artifact?” Inger looked skeptical. “He’s willing to give us his army for an artifact?”

“Not just any artifact. Something called the Kingshammer. It’s the symbol of the Sleipnordic kings.”

Cranberry said “The Kingshammer? That’s just a legend.”

“He seems to think it’s real enough.”

Inger frowned. “And he’s sending us after it?”

“Us?” Rye stopped and looked at both of them. “I’m not forcing you two to join me.”

Giving him a dry look, Cranberry snorted. “I think I’ve already demonstrated how well leaving me behind works.”

“Face it, Rye,” said Inger. “If you wanted to travel alone, you should have left us in the caves.”

Rye smiled. “I figured as much. We’re leaving soon, if not tonight, so pack what supplies you can. We’re headed to a place called Mount Jormundr, any idea where that is?”

Cranberry whistled. “That’s about a week’s journey from here. I’ll check around for a map, there’s bound to be a few in Saddlestead.”

“Equestrians.” The three of them turned to find Eberhardt behind them. He spoke in Sleipnordic, saying «Thane Braki has offered you food and drink, along with traveling supplies and shoes. You’ve also been afforded a great honor: a set of Aurelisk scales each, to match your cloaks. Please, follow me.»

* * *

“Rye, I’m really not sure this is a good idea.” Cranberry let out a whimper as the Nordpony blacksmith lifted one of her legs onto a wooden block.

“Look, do you want to make it back to Canterlot with your hooves intact, or not?”

“I don’t see how nailing bits of metal onto them is going to help.”

Rye rolled his eyes. “It’s not like it hurts.” He tapped one of his new shoes against the wooden floor. The iron might be crude, but it would protect them from the rock-hard tundra dirt. After a quick inspection of the damage his hooves had already taken on the trip from Canterlot, he’d quickly agreed to the shoeing. Inger had declined, gold-embroidered shoes already being part of his armor. Cranberry had taken a bit of persuasion.

Was taking a bit of persuasion. “Just hold still. You can’t feel a thing.”

“But what if he misses?”

“He won’t miss if you hold still.”

Cranberry closed her eyes and braced herself. “Fine. Just do it fast.”

The Nordpony farrier hefted a wide, flat hammer in his mouth, and leaned in. He began nailing the shoe on, as Cranberry opened one eye and glanced at him. “Huh. I guess you’re right. That doesn’t hur—OW!” She let out a whinny.

The farrier looked up with irritation. “No. Move.”

After another twenty minutes of fussing, they finally escaped the smithy. Cranberry kept complaining about the strangeness of it, but Rye enjoyed the sound of the metal on the wood. It felt exotic, somehow.

Eberhardt guided them to Saddlestead’s armory, where they found Inger. He was inspecting a set of mail. It was the same kind Eberhardt and his warriors had worn, and it was unlike anything Rye had seen in Equestria. Rather than metal, it appeared to be made out of scales.

Inger tapped it with an armored hoof. “What is this, anyway? It can’t be as good as steel.”

“Aurelisk,” answered Eberhardt. The Nordpony was trying to practice his Equestrian, but Rye could still only understand half of what he said. “Is big, uh… lizard.”

“You use lizard scales for armor?” Inger looked incredulous.

Eberhardt nodded. “Sleipnord iron, uh…”

“Unrefined?” offered Rye.

“Trash,” said Eberhardt. He pointed a hoof at the weapon racks. Taking a closer look, Rye realized that most of the axe blades were nicked and bent, and the spear points dull. “Aurelisk scalear—scales; not-trash.” Eberhardt took a hammer from the rack and smashed it against one of the mail coats. It left no mark on the dull blue scales. Inger’s eyebrows rose respectfully. Eberhardt gestured around at the coats of armor. “Will need, where we go.”

“We’re not planning on fighting anypony, are we?” Rye swallowed.

The huskarl rapped a hoof on the scales. “Aurelisk. Big lizard.” He touched his cloak. “Though…. Useful.” He searched for the words before giving up with a sigh and speaking in Sleipnordic.

Cranberry translated. “He says they make the fur cloaks out of the Aurelisk hides, and sew the scales into their clothing for armor. It’s not as strong as steel, but it’s tougher than the iron up here. It’s also slightly flame retardant.”

“How could a lizard live in a climate so cold, even if they have fur? Wouldn’t they freeze to death?” said Rye.

Cranberry grinned as she translated the response. “It probably has something to do with the way they breathe fire. Aurelisk translates loosely to ‘little dragon-cousin’.”

“Great,” said Rye. “We can burn and freeze to death at the same time.” He shook his head, and he and Cranberry began trying on different suits. Rye shrugged on a set of scale armor. It was, of course, too large for him. After four more failed fittings, he began searching for the smallest set of scales he could find.

“Ooh, look at me!” Cranberry did a little twirl in her new mail vest. “These scales are pretty.”

“You’ve gone native on us,” said Inger with a smile. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” she said, blushing. Suddenly, both of them were distracted by Eberhardt. The Nordpony had burst out laughing.

Rye was standing at the far end of the armory, dressed in another suit of mail. “It’d be nice if I could cut some holes for my wings, but I think it fits pretty well! What’s he laughing about?”

Eberhardt said something in Sleipnordic, and Cranberry giggled. “He says that armor belonged to Yarvisteil’s sister, before she retired to work her farm.”

Rye shrugged ruefully. “Well, I doubt any of the stallions' armor will fit me.” He posed in front of the dingy wall mirror. “Rye Strudel, warrior of the north! Fear me!”

Cranberry snickered. “Quite fearsome. No kneecap will be safe from your reach.” Rye gave her a pained look. “If you’re done preening, we’re hitting the kitchens next.”

“Oh!”

“I thought that might get your attention.”

The three of them reached the hall’s kitchen just after four, and by the time Rye had finished ransacking the cupboards for ingredients it was nearly dinnertime. Against his protests, Inger and Cranberry pushed him out of the cook’s way and out of the kitchen.

They ate in the hall with the rest of Saddlestead, and then stopped in the storeroom to get a tent and more traveling necessities. Inger, perhaps a bit vindictively, left carrying the tent and bedrolls to Eberhardt and Rye. Instead he took the bags containing the food. Cranberry somehow escaped with a map as her only load.

After a brief discussion, they decided to leave that night. Cranberry wanted to stay in Saddlestead as long as possible, but Rye and Inger overrode her by reminding her of the griffons. She quietly acquiesced at the thought of her sister facing down an angry horde of the southerners.

As the sun vanished into the horizon, the four ponies trod over the tundra. The hard dirt crunched under their hooves. Rye gave a long sigh. “Off we go again.”

Cranberry gave him a nudge. “Perk up. Thane Braki’s agreed to help us. Once we get the hammer for him, we’ll be back to Equestria in no time!”

Rye looked south. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

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