51. With Friends Like These
When he woke, Cranberry and Inger were still asleep. Rye stood beside his bed, stretching blood back into his limbs. It was going to be a long, boring day, filled with hoofshaking and bowing, and he was already beginning to dread having to learn thirty-seven names in an unfamiliar language.
Oh, this was a bad idea. He dragged a hoof along the side of his face, rubbing away his sleepiness. Glumly, he slid on his Aurelisk mail. He really was going to have to get some holes cut in the back, his wings were starting to cramp up. he reached under his pillow and removed the hammer. He stared at it with distaste, before hooking it at his side.
He left the longhouse quietly, planning to wait for Breyr’s pony outside, but when he opened the door he found to his surprise that the thane himself was standing beside the door.
“Thane Breyr!” Rye blinked. “I’m honored.”
Breyr smiled and bowed his head. “Last night I was told about your difficulty at the gates. I thought I should make it up to you.” A single guard accompanied the thane, staring warily at Rye’s horn. Breyr, however, simply raised a hoof and gestured about. “Come; let me show you my home.”
They set off into the quiet town, walking past the cozy line of houses that stood between Saddlestead’s longhouse and the main road. Rye felt an almost forgotten sense of comfort. Walls and buildings were a welcome return from the vast expanses of terrain he’d traveled through in the last months.
“So,” he said, tearing himself away from thoughts of home. “What’s the fallout from yesterday?”
Breyr tilted his head and sucked his breath in. “Well, you made it fairly clear that you don’t support Erik, so I suspect most of his supporters aren’t happy with you. Tyren, Baldern, Vittica…” He rattled off a series of names that Rye soon gave up trying to follow. “I can’t say for sure if they’ll try to talk to you today.”
Rye’s ears flattened guiltily. “And Braki’s supporters?”
“There are fewer of those, but you can be sure they’ll be trying to court you. A few of the lesser thanes might try to convince you of their worthiness, but—if I might say—I doubt any of them could hold Sleipnord together in a crisis.”
They crossed into the main road, still empty at this hour. They began walking up it toward the hall. Breyr pointed out different buildings, including the town’s bakery. Rye resolved to see the inside of it, later.
As they passed by the gap between the bakery and the next building, Breyr paused. Rye looked over and saw a lump of cloth huddled in the alley’s mouth. The lump shifted, and he realized that it was a pony. Even the bulk of the tattered clothing could not conceal the pony’s gaunt face. The small bowl at his hooves contained a single copper piece.
Rye felt a pang of pity. Beggars were not common in Canterlot, but he’d seen them before. Whole gangs of parentless children roamed the poorer quarters of the city, stealing food to survive the winter. He wondered if Inger had been one.
The pony looked at him and began to hold up his bowl. Rye shook his head. He had nothing to give the beggar. The pony turned to his companion and his eyes widened. “Tyane Breyr!” He bowed his head stiffly, letting the bowl fall back to the ground.
Breyr’s face softened. The thane reached into the small pouch at his side and removed a silver piece. He dropped it into the pony’s bowl, then turned and walked on. Rye followed.
“Kind of you.”
Breyr scowled. “A liege lord’s duty is to protect his vassals. A fact few seem to remember, these days.” He blinked. “And I’ve been hungry before.”
Rye gave him a curious look. “If you were that unlucky at one point, then how did you become Thane of Hoofnjord?”
“Certainly not the usual way. Normally, thanes are great warriors, but I… well, I was rather small, as a foal. My great-grandmother on my mother’s side was Equestrian, in fact. I inherited her mane and her height, much to my chagrin. They used to call me half-breed.”
Rye felt his wings twitch. “Really.”
“Yes, but I was lucky. I had the fortune to meet the Thane of Hoofnjord one day when he returned from an Aurelisk hunt. I was standing on this very road, watching as the gates opened and the victorious hunters entered with their prize, dragging the carcass behind them on wooden slats.
“I was a ragged looking thing. My mother had sent me to buy bread for the week. Thane Helmsfir stopped on the side of the road to drop a coin into my saddlebags.” Breyr smiled. “I asked him if he had another, because bread was rather expensive.”
“He declared you his heir after that?” Rye snorted. He was beginning to like Breyr. The thane had an uncomplicated, down-to-earth way of talking, far removed from the formality of Braki.
“Actually, he hit me. While I lay there bleeding in the snow, he asked me if I’d learned my lesson. I looked up at him and told him that I’d had worse beatings. He looked angry for a moment, then laughed. Apparently I’d impressed him. One thing led to another, and I found myself with a position scrubbing floors in the scullery.”
He shrugged. “It sounds bad, but it was a step up from wandering the streets. And it got me closer to the thane. I followed every bit of the maids’ gossip, and fairly soon had an understanding of the thane’s political friends and enemies.” Breyr smiled. “Never underestimate the house servants. They can be a valuable resource.”
“I still don’t see how a floor-washer rose to your position.”
“As I said, I soon learned who Helfsmir’s enemies were. One in particular, a nasty fellow named Henkkir, caught my attention. I’d seen him around the hall, meeting with several of Helfsmir’s guards. A little probing and I soon discovered he’d been bribing them for some unknown purpose. Then, one day, I heard him discussing a plot to assassinate the thane.
“I took my suspicions to Helfsmir, who had Henkkir brought before him. After a brief trial, the traitor was exiled, and I was given a post in the thane’s court.” Breyr shrugged. “I performed many services for Helfsmir, among them organizing our stores of food for the winter every year. He relied on me more and more as the years passed. By the time the thane lay on his deathbed, he announced that I was to be his heir.”
Breyr looked around sadly. “But, as I’m sure you’ve seen by now, Hoofnjord is poor. My ponies have scarcely enough food to eat, and with the Blood Fields in the middle of a struggle between Braki and Erik, well…” He sighed. “I’d put a stop to it, if I could, but my warriors are few compared to theirs. If I had the other lords behind me, perhaps. But that’s unlikely to happen.”
“Speaking of the other lords…” Rye ran a hoof down the haft of the hammer at his side, feeling it clink against his armor.
“They’ll be coming to the hall to meet you. Not all at once, of course. I’ll introduce you to each, in turn.”
They entered the hall and made their way to the thanesmoot chamber. Rye breathed in deeply, enjoying the warm air. The grass felt good under his hooves as he stood beside the Whitestone. Breyr had a guard bring him a seat cushion, which he accepted gratefully. Not long after, the doors opened and the first thane of the morning entered.
It didn’t take long for Rye to realize that the thanes were little different from Equestria’s own aristocracy. The first one spent three minutes complimenting his mane before Rye’s eyebrows managed to communicate his impatience. The third tried enchanting him with stories about his vast stores of gold. The seventh wouldn’t stop mentioning that his daughter was single, and of marrying age. After that, the bribe attempts grew even less subtle. He was grateful when Breyr called a break for lunch.
A guard appeared carrying a tray of sandwiches. Rye bit into his and chewed vigorously. Breyr took a more delicate bite. “So, hammer-bearer? Have you found any likely candidates?” Breyr gave him a slightly crooked smile.
Rye rolled his eyes. “If I have to listen to one more offer of acreage in the Giant’s Forest, I’m going to walk out. What could I possibly do with Sleipnord land?”
Breyr shook his head. “You have something every thane would sell their own mother to possess. They’re just testing the waters, trying to find the prize that would tempt you. But I get the feeling you’re not interested in any of it. Tell me, Rye, what is it that you want?”
“I just want to save my homeland,” said Rye wistfully. “But for that, I need warriors. And I’m starting to think nopony here can give them to me.”
“Not enough of them, no. Only one of the most respected thanes could give you the army you’re seeking.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.” Rye frowned. “And where is Erik? I half-expected him to be here today.”
Breyr’s eyebrows narrowed. “I’m not certain. I thought he’d at least have sent one of his warriors to speak with you. Perhaps tomorrow. Do you wish to continue today?”
Rye grimaced. “No. We’ll pick back up tomorrow.” He stood, stretching his legs. Breyr followed suit, nodding to a guard, who removed the seat cushion.
“As you wish, my friend. I’ll have one of my ponies take you back to the longhouse, then.”
He bid the thane farewell, and exited the thanesmoot chamber accompanied by a pony in green. As he left the hall, Rye was struck by the smell of bread once again. He gestured to his escort, following the road up to the bakery. He opened the door and stepped inside.
It was a small shop, with a dirt floor and rough wooden shelves that contained the loaves and pastries. He was surprised at the variety; he’d expected mostly the dark loaves that signified rye as the chief grain, but several of the loaves were white. The Blood Fields must be better farmland than he’d thought.
The counter was unattended. He presumed that the shop’s owner was in the back, putting more bread in the ovens. He leaned in over the counter and inspected a little plate of apricot strudel, smiling. It was, naturally, his father’s favorite dessert to make.
These were a solid effort, probably better than Rye could do himself, but his father’s work outshone anything in this little bakery. His critical eye noted the uneven powdering of the sugar on top of the strudel, the slight lumpiness of the pastry layers. The filling looked like it had been slightly overripe, but apricots were long out of season by now. Frankly, he was surprised they had any in Hoofnjord at all.
He heard a startled noise, and looked up to find a pony wearing an apron with sugar dust and dough on it—the baker, presumably—looking at him. The baker looked at his horn, and his eyes widened. Rye stood upright, preparing to leave, but the baker’s face broke out into a smile. “You… Equestria ambassador, na?”
Stifling his surprise, Rye nodded. The baker looked down at the strudel he’d been inspecting. “You want?”
“Sorry, I haven’t got any money…”
The baker shook his head, smiling cheerfully. “Take! Vij na tind je veriten.” He whipped a bag out from under the counter, scooping three pastries into it. “Vij ten aleje te sintiv je hamarrhendr.”
Rye shook his head in protest, but the baker pressed the bag at him, beaming. Embarassed, Rye took the bag, bowing his thanks. He bid the baker good day, then left the store. The smell of the apricots wafted from the bag in his mouth, making him smile despite himself. When he reached the longhouse, he nodded to Breyr’s guard, and entered.
Saddlestead’s warriors were talking to Braki in the foyer, muttering in Sleipnordic. They stopped as Rye entered, and cast wary looks at him. Braki simply gave him a curt nod, which Rye returned. Eberhardt was among the warriors, and his face was filled with uncertainty. He gave Rye a pleading look that sent pangs of guilt through him. Rye pressed pass, and made his way to the bedroom.
As he pushed open the door, he heard Cranberry gasp. “Rye! You’re back!”
He set the bag on the table, smiling. “And I’ve brought dessert.”
Cranberry and Inger looked happier than he’d seen them in a while. Last night’s rest in a real bed had done all three of them a world of good. Cranberry was looking as pink as ever, her eyes bright and alert. Inger’s face had finally lost the tired edge it had acquired in the wastelands after the caves, but Rye was pleased to notice that the dour frown had not returned.
“Where’d you get these?” said Cranberry around a mouthful of strudel.
“A gift,” said Rye. “I’ve been getting a lot of gifts thrown at me today.”
“I can imagine,” said Inger, grinning. “Find any good choices?”
Rye sighed, shaking his head. “None of them strike me as leaders. Maybe tomorrow’s batch will be better.” He took a bite of pastry and smiled sadly at the achingly familiar sweetness of the apricots. “So how did your trip to the market go?”
“Wonderful!” Cranberry was beaming, as usual. “You have to go at least once before we leave. It wasn’t very big, but they had so many interesting things to see! There was a weaponsmith, with these beautiful axes and swords, and a jeweler that had this Aurelisk-bone necklace with a sapphire set right in the center, and there was a map shop.”
Rye smiled. “Any maps of Equestria in there?”
“A really old one, from back before the Great War. Oh, but the best stall was the one selling carvings. They had dragons, and warriors, and cities, and…” Cranberry sighed wistfully. “I’m just happy I finally got to look at some real Sleipnordic wood sculptures.”
“About that…” Inger had a small, nervous smile. He went to his bed and knocked aside one of the pillows. He lifted up a small, wooden statuette of what was unmistakably an Aurelisk.
“Inger! How did you…” Cranberry’s face was lit with delight.
Inger shrugged bashfully. “We didn’t lose all our money in the caves. I had a small pouch hidden in my armor, in case our funds got stolen along the road.”
“Oh, it’s beautiful.” Cranberry took the little carving and clutched it to her chest. She looked starry-eyed. “I’ll wrap it up and put it right next to the Tyorjan book.” She began digging in her pack.
Rye shot Inger an amused glance. The pegasus blushed and shrugged. Cranberry’s head popped up from her saddlebags. “Oh, Rye, I meant to ask… did you talk to Erik?”
He shook his head. “I’m almost afraid he’ll show up tomorrow. After the, uh, magic comment, he didn’t look too happy with me.”
Cranberry winced again. “What were you thinking?” She sighed. “Well, he’ll get over it if he wants the hammer badly enough.”
“Yes… we’ll see if the chance to become Hrafn Erik is enough to calm him.” Cranberry gave him a puzzled look. “What, did I get the title wrong?”
She blinked. “Hrafn doesn’t mean king.”
Rye leaned back and spread his hooves in irritation. “Then why do they call it the Kingshammer in Equestrian?”
“Because ‘Ravenshammer’ doesn’t have the same connotation in our language.”
“Rav—” Rye coughed. “Ravenshammer?” Oh, great. No wonder Braki thinks he deserves the blasted thing.
“The very first pony to wield the hammer was the founder of the House of the Raven. He built Saddlestead with his bare hooves, so they say. He used the hammer to slay Phileostryx the Black at the end of the creation wars. I thought everypony knew that!”
Rye pulled up the hammer and gave it a respectful examination. He’d forgotten in all the politicking the real purpose of the weapon. He touched the weathered head, feeling the smoothed corners. “This thing killed Phileostryx?”
“There’s whole ballads written about it. Even an opera, I think. Uh… none of them are in Equestrian, though.” Cranberry looked apologetic. “I guess that’s why you’ve never heard of it before.”
“Hm.” He slid the hammer beneath his pillow again. “Well, I’d better get some sleep. I have a long day of refusing bribes ahead of me.”
The other two stayed up for a while, chatting merrily. Rye feigned sleep, feeling the hammer under his head. Ravenshammer. I’m starting to think I’ve made a mistake. Maybe Braki really is the rightful king.
* * *
The next morning was near-identical to the first. He met Breyr’s escort at the door, and followed him to the hall. Hours passed as thanes introduced themselves and sought his favor, and Rye grew more and more uncomfortable. Not all of them groveled; some decided that thinly veiled threats and intimidation would work better. Rye had merely to remember facing the guardian’s wrath for their bluster to lose all effect on him.
As the last of the day filed out, he placed his head on his hooves. “This isn’t working, Breyr.”
Breyr gave him a sympathetic grimace. “I did warn you. None of the lesser lords are going to fit your criteria.”
Rye sighed, hefting the hammer idly. “Braki means war, Erik means despotism. I need a third option.”
Breyr remained silent. Rye turned to him, forcing a cheerful smile. “My friends told me I should see the marketplace while we’re here. Would you be kind enough to give me a tour?”
“I’d be delighted to. In fact, I’d planned to invite you there this afternoon, anyway.” Breyr stood. “Unless you wanted to meet the last dozen thanes today.”
Rye coughed. “Let’s go.”
Breyr, Rye, and a pair of Hoofnjord guards reached the marketplace in the early evening. It was a collection of market stalls and carts, filled with ponies who shifted between them, shopping for trinkets or food. It couldn’t hold a candle to Canterlot’s market, but Rye felt another wash of homesickness anyway.
“Over on that side of the square is the food. The produce this year isn’t as good as it has been, I’m afraid. With the Fields contested, little from this year’s harvest has reached us.” Breyr led him around, pointing out various stalls and telling him about Hoofnjord’s trade.
“We’re closer to the Giant’s Forest than most of the other holds. I run several woodcutting camps on the fringes, and we ship out the wood for building material, fires, and various other purposes in exchange for food and furs.” Breyr gestured around. “Some of the finest ash trees in the world have built Hoofnjord.”
Rye was seized by a sudden curiosity. “Do you get any rowan trees up here?”
“Not often. They tend not to grow this far north.”
Biting back a laugh, Rye said, “Cranberry’ll be happy to hear that.” He looked back in the direction of the longhouse. The crowd had begun to thin as night approached. The market around them was nearly empty by now, save for a hooded pony at the map-seller’s stall a few carts down. “There was this merchant back in Canterlot…” The hooded pony had turned and was approaching them.
“I’ve been trying to get the borders open to trade for years, now, but Braki and Erik always oppose me.” Breyr waved an airy hoof. “Protecting our culture, they say.”
“Um, Breyr…” Rye had a bad feeling about the stranger. The pony was nearly on them, walking straight toward Rye in particular.
“I think they’re just afraid of losing the control that their grip on the Blood Fields gives them over the other lords—”
The pony broke into a gallop. Rye’s eyes widened as he saw the flash of a knife in the stranger’s mouth. It happened too fast to think. The assassin leapt forward, knocking Breyr out of the way. The knife plunged down, and Rye felt a sharp pain in his side. Stunned, he tipped backwards and fell.
The Hoofnjord guards slammed into the assassin and took him to the ground. The knife spun through the air to land in the snow. They wrestled on the ground, as Rye watched in shock. One of the guards lifted his spear and brought it down, and the assassin’s movement cut to a halt.
“Rye!” Breyr had regained his hooves, and was kneeling by his side. “Rye, are you hurt?”
“I don’t…” Rye touched his side, where the knife had stabbed at him. The comforting hard scales of his Aurelisk mail were all that he felt. “I don’t think so. It didn’t get through.”
“Thank the gods. Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Breyr dragged him upright, looking around. “How did this happen?” His face twisted in anger. “Whoever’s behind this is going to pay for it. Nopony attacks my guests.”
“Why… Why would?” Rye blinked, still reeling. “Who would want to kill me?”
“It could be anypony,” Breyr said as they began hustling away from the market. “Erik, one of the lesser lords, trying to make a move…”
One of the guards called from behind them. “Tyane Breyr! Je tiefen ten tiez en heim.”
They stopped and waited as the guard approached. He handed something to Breyr. The thane looked at the item and sucked in his breath. “Rye…”
Rye felt a chill. “What?”
“He had this hidden in his clothes.” Breyr held out a tiny, black, raven insignia.
“That’s… no, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t possibly—”
“You’re not safe anymore. I’ll find you another place to sleep, we have to keep you away from—”
“No!” Rye’s eyes widened. “I can’t. If… if he really was working for Braki, then I can’t leave my friends alone in that house.”
“Hammer-bearer, we can’t risk—”
“Absolutely not.” Rye shook his head. “And… leaving tells him that his plan has failed. How many witnesses were there?”
“You, me, my guards, the few shopkeepers still in the marketplace…”
“Can you buy their silence?”
Breyr looked troubled. “Yes.”
“Do it. If the assassin thinks his pawn is still waiting to strike, he won’t make another move for as long as it takes him to realize the plan has failed. We can buy some time, at least.” Rye hurried through the streets with the thane in tow, headed for the longhouse. “I have to warn my companions.” They were walking through the last alleyway before they would reach the Saddlestead lodgings.
“Very well, Rye. Are you sure you don’t want guards to…”
“Yes. We play it cool.”
Breyr looked worried. “But spending the night under his roof—”
“I’ve got better security than you can provide, Breyr. The Firewing won’t let me come to harm.”
With a sigh of resignation, Breyr bowed his head. “Then I will take my leave. There are witnesses to bribe, evidence to erase. Be safe, my friend.”
Rye nodded his thanks. “To you as well, Breyr.” He watched as Breyr turned and walked back out of the alleyway. Rye breathed deeply. The raven clasp wasn’t hard evidence—it could have been some other thane, trying to frame Braki, but…
He walked quickly out of the alley, focused on the longhouse ahead. He barely had time to react as he was grabbed from the side, and a hoof pressed over his mouth. He found himself face to chest with a red-cloaked pony twice his height. His eyes widened.
Erik had his hood drawn over his head, but the pony was unmistakable. He stared down at Rye with cold, blue eyes. He whispered, “Don’t yell. I need to speak to you.”
Rye nodded, and Erik removed his hoof. Rye immediately began to scream “Hel—” before Erik slapped his hoof back over Rye’s mouth, scowling.
“Blast it, Equestrian. I’m trying to help you.”
Rye’s eyes narrowed, and he slowly nodded again. Erik removed a wary hoof, and this time Rye remained silent.
“Let’s cut to the point.” Erik looked around, but they were alone. He hadn’t even brought any guards, to Rye’s surprise. “We have a lot in common, hammer-bearer. We both have magic in our blood, however faint. I don’t like you, and I’m fairly sure you don’t like me either. And we both have something the other wants.”
“So what bribe have you come up with?” Rye said wearily.
“I’ll give you the same offer Braki no doubt has. Aid in your war against the griffons. But Braki can’t deliver it. He’ll be too busy trying to fight my warriors to lend you help in time to save your precious homeland. I, on the other hand, have the influence to unify Sleipnord, and to march us as a single army to Canterlot and even Grypha itself, if necessary. And when we’re done, we’ll return to the north, and I’ll rule as king, as I should.”
Rye felt the hammer bump against his side. “I…”
“Choose wisely, Equestrian. And don’t trust the Thane of Saddlestead’s empty promises. Only I can get you what you want.”
“He said the same thing, oddly enough.”
“And who do you believe?” Erik gave him a thin smile.
“I’ll…” Rye swallowed. “I’ll consider your offer, Thane Erik.”
“Consider fast. You have one day left, Equestrian. Braki will be getting desperate. Even that slithering fool in green won’t be able to protect you from him if you incur his wrath.”
Rye took a step back. “You’ll know my decision in two days, Erik.”
“I hope for your country’s sake it is the right one.” Erik gave a stiff tilt of his head, and turned away. He vanished behind another of the alleys, leaving Rye shaken in the snow.
That was damned convenient timing. Was Erik behind the attack in the market? It was a comforting rationalization, but not one he could trust. When it came to politics, he was starting not to believe in coincidences.
Shoving the raven insignia into the front of his mail vest, he pushed his way inside the Saddlestead longhouse. Paranoia gripped him as he looked around at the warriors. Eberhardt nodded to him with a smile, which he returned with a sick feeling in his stomach. Surely Eberhardt wouldn’t support an assassination attempt, would he?
If he knew about it. Distracted, with a fearful look over his shoulder, he pushed open the bedroom door, stepping inside and swiftly closing it.
He turned his head to find Inger and Cranberry locked together in a fiery kiss. Their eyes popped open at the sound of the closing door, and they leaped apart with their cheeks blazing. Cranberry stuttered, “Uh, h-hi, Rye!”
“Starting the New Year’s celebrations a week early, are we?” He didn’t smile. He threw the hammer onto the bed and began undoing his cloak. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got problems.”
“Um…” Cranberry was hastily combing her mane out of her face. Inger was finding something very interesting to look at on the other side of the room. “What kind of problems?”
Rye pulled out the raven insignia and tossed it to the floor. Cranberry and Inger looked at it, then back up at him. “Er…” Inger looked confused. “What, did your cloak clasp break off?”
“That,” he said, pointing at the insignia and feeling sweat beginning to creep down his neck, “Was found on the body of a pony who tried to kill me in the marketplace today.”
Cranberry put a hoof to her mouth. “Somepony tried to kill you? Sisters, Rye, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Saved by Saddlestead’s armor, fittingly.”
“We have to get out of here,” said Inger, standing upright.
“I don’t think it was Braki,” said Rye. “After the attack, on my way back here, I was pulled aside by Erik himself. He tried to convince me to give him the hammer.”
“I don’t know, Rye… From everything we’ve heard about him, he doesn’t seem like a very subtle pony.”
Cranberry stomped a hoof. “It can’t be Braki, it can’t. Eberhardt would never have anything to do with this.”
“Cranberry…” Inger looked apologetic. “He wants to be the king. Ponies have done worse for less.”
“Not… not the Thane of Saddlestead. He’s too honorable!” Cranberry shook her head to deny it.
“I don’t think we should leave,” said Rye. “The assassin doesn’t know his plot has failed. If we show our hand now, he will, and you can bet none of us will leave this city alive. If I end up dead, it’ll be all-out war for the hammer. Our best bet right now is to lay low, and try to figure out who was behind it.”
Inger frowned nervously. “I’d gladly investigate, Rye, but I don’t think either Cranberry or myself can pass ourselves off as Nordponies. Nopony’s going to tell foreigners anything useful.”
“The investigation’s going to be Breyr’s responsibility. I’ll bet he has guards on it as we speak. You two just need to stay out of the way and be safe, okay?”
Cranberry nodded soberly. “What about you?”
“Business as usual. Make an appearance, act like nothing’s wrong, suffer through another series of meetings, and wait to see if the assassin reveals himself. If he does, he’ll be considered unworthy of following, and his opponent should have no trouble securing his warriors’ aid. Then we take our army straight back to Canterlot.”
“Okay, Rye.” Cranberry looked more scared than she had since their escape from the Jotur caverns. “Be careful.”
“I think we should set a watch tonight,” said Inger. “You need to sleep, Rye. I’ll take the first half of the night.”
“Okay. I’ll take the sec—”
“No you won’t,” said Cranberry. “I will.” Her lips were firmly set, but her eyes belied the worry behind them.
Rye gave her a grateful smile and nodded. “Then good night to both of you. It’ll all be over in a day, one way or another.”
* * *
Overnight, Hoofnjord had transformed from a quiet hamlet to a town of warriors. They walked the streets, decked out in red and blue, eyeing each other warily. Guards in green were everywhere, but Rye wasn’t sure they would be enough to keep the peace if weapons were drawn.
He walked through the cold dawn air, feeling the eyes of every pony in the city upon him. Neither the red- nor the blue-cloaked ponies had friendly expressions. By the time he reached the hall, he was feeling twitchy.
Breyr welcomed him into the thanesmoot chamber, and the introductions resumed. The thanes were subdued today. The presence of the warriors outside was a reminder that the lesser lords had no real chance to claim the hammer. Only one made any attempt to convince him, and even that was a half-hearted offer of a cut of his hall’s fur profits.
As the last thane finally exited the hall, Rye fidgeted. “So, Breyr. Have you—”
Breyr held up a hoof. “Not here. Remember the chamber’s design.”
Rye clapped a hoof over his mouth. He’d completely forgotten that everything they said in here was being broadcast throughout the rest of the hall. Breyr beckoned him to a side door, and they entered the left wing of the hall.
“Now,” said Breyr, shutting the door behind them, “We can talk without being overheard.”
“Why are the streets crammed with warriors today?”
“A show of force, obviously.” Breyr frowned. “I fear I may not have silenced all the shopkeepers from yesterday. Either we missed one, or the sum of money was insufficient. If word of an assassination has spread, even as a rumor… the situation’s getting dangerous, my friend.”
“Have you found the source of that assassin yet?”
Breyr shook his head regretfully. “That raven might well have been planted on him by his employer, but he could just as easily be one of Braki’s dimmer servants. We can’t know for sure. None of my investigators have returned to me with anything useful yet.”
Rye licked his dry lips. “So I have a fifty percent chance of crowning my would-be assassin king tomorrow.”
“You could always choose somepony else,” said Breyr. “You’ve met all the thanes by now.”
Rye looked at the thane. “Honestly, Breyr… you’re the only pony in Hoofnjord who I think would make a good king.” Breyr’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’d give you the hammer if I could, but I can’t be sure that Erik and Braki would submit to you. I’m sorry, but I can’t take that chance with my homeland at stake.”
Breyr blinked, then slowly nodded. “I understand. But make your choice soon, Rye. The city’s ready to explode into violence, and my citizens are going to be in danger.”
Rye felt another pang of guilt. “I’m sorry. I never intended to endanger your ponies.”
“Just make the right choice in the end, Rye.” Breyr stood. “I don’t think we’ll be touring any more of the city today. It’s not safe.”
“Agreed. I’ll head back to the longhouse immediately. If you learn anything, send for me.”
“I will.”
Once again, Breyr personally escorted him back to the Saddlestead lodgings. Rye felt only a little safer in the thane’s company. The blue and red warriors watched them with narrow eyes. Shops were closed, doors locked tight. There was no more smell of baking bread.
“A storm is coming,” said Breyr, looking to the sky. “Can you feel it?”
Rye wasn’t sure if he was being literal or not. He sniffed the air. “How bad?”
“Very. The first true storm of winter, I suspect.” Breyr frowned. “Another complication.”
They reached the door of the longhouse. Rye rested a hoof on the door and sighed. “Thank you for your hospitality, Thane Breyr.”
“Rye…” Breyr looked more serious than Rye had seen him in the last three days. “Please. I must know. Who do you intend to choose?”
He shook his head. “I truly do not know, Breyr. I’m sorry.”
Breyr sighed slowly. “Very well.” His face grew taut. “Sleep well, Rye.”
“And you, my friend.” Rye smiled once, and entered the longhouse.
Braki was waiting at the table. Rye shut the door behind him, looking around. The room was empty save for the thane.
“Tomorrow is the day, Rye Strudel. The day I become king, and the day you receive the aid I have promised you.”
“Indeed it is,” said Rye, thinking of the raven insignia.
“Remember the deal.” Braki glared at him. “Do not disappoint me again.”
“I won’t,” said Rye, with a bow. “Good night, Thane Braki.” The thane stood and ascended the stairs in the back corner of the room, headed for his quarters on the second floor. Rye waited until the sound of the thane’s hoofsteps had vanished. He turned to the side and entered the bedroom.
Cranberry and Inger were waiting, in a rather less embarrassing position than last time. They were sitting around the table, deep in conversation, wearing worried expressions. They looked up as he entered.
“It’s bad out there, Rye,” said Inger. “These ponies are one centimeter away from breaking out into a full scale street war.”
Rye nodded, grimacing. “It’ll all be over tomorrow, one way or another.”
Cranberry was twiddling her hooves. “What are you going to do? Who’ve you chosen?”
“I wish like hell I could give it to Breyr,” said Rye. “He’s the only one who wouldn’t tear the country apart, it seems. But we need Aenir and Saddlestead’s warriors as soon as possible.” He flopped down onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. “I need to think. I’ll take the first watch. I’m not going to be sleeping anyway.”
Cranberry and Inger got into their beds quietly. “Good night, Rye.”
“Night, ‘Berry.” He sighed, pulling out the hammer, and watching the candlelight play off its head.
The minutes passed, and soon he heard Cranberry snoring softly. Inger followed quickly enough, and then he was alone with the hammer and his thoughts.
He twisted and turned, willing himself to make the decision, weighing the fates of two nations in his hooves. Braki and Erik, Erik and Braki. Neither were appealing, and both might have recently tried to have him killed. But one of them would be Sleipnord’s next king.
The candle had burned down to nearly nothing. Outside, he could hear the howl of wind as the storm approached. Flurries of snow blew past his window. Sleep continued to elude him. He rolled back and forth on the bed, trying to make the best of bad choices.
Faintly, he heard the sound of something heavy landing on the wooden floor. He looked at the door, puzzled. Shrugging, he returned to his ruminations. He rotated the hammer idly above his chest, frowning.
There was another thud from outside the room. Rye crept out of his bed to investigate. He reached for the door, only for it to open outward before he could touch it. Standing in the doorframe was a pony in a red cloak, with a bloody axe held in his mouth.
Rye recoiled instinctively, which saved him from the first sweep of the axe. “Inger! Wake up!”
Inger and Cranberry snapped awake. The Firewing leapt out of his bed, rolling to his hooves. Rye scrabbled backward from the red-cloaked warrior, avoiding another swing. Inger flashed past him, tangling with the assailant. They spun around and there was a sickening crunch of snapping bones. The warrior dropped to the floor, and Inger stood above the body, panting.
“Inger!” Cranberry looked terrified. “Rye, what’s happening?”
Rye heard shouting from outside the room. “Erik’s making his move. Get your armor on, Inger. Cranberry, grab your things. We’re not safe here anymore.”
The three of them rushed to pack their things, while Inger hastily buckled on his golden armor. A scream echoed into the room, and Rye froze. “Come on, we have to get to Braki!”
They raced out of the bedroom, nearly tripping over the body of a blue-robed guard. Rye realized with a wince what the thumping sounds had been. Another red-cloaked pony was lying in a pool of blood by the longhouse’s entrance. A torch had fallen in the battle. The main table was on fire, and the flames had already spread to the rafters on the ceiling. The entire longhouse was going to burn down in minutes.
The sounds of clashing metal came from the upper floor. “Go, go, up the stairs!” Inger went first, charging ahead. Rye was close behind. As they skidded out onto the top floor, Rye saw the aftermath of carnage all around. Bodies of Aenir and Saddlestead ponies lay strewn about on the floor. Two more red-cloaked ponies came out of the door to their right, wielding axes.
“Get back!” Inger yelled, flaring his wings. The first warrior charged forward, swinging his axe. Inger dodged easily, whipping around and flattening the attacker with a well-placed hoof to the back of the head. The second came on at a more measured pace, whirling his axe. Inger and he circled the blood-slick floor, warily eyeing each other.
Inger moved first. He jerked to one side, then to the other, and the red-cloaked pony reacted. He rushed in, sweeping his axe at Inger’s neck for a clean kill. Inger tilted his shoulder up and caught the blow between his neck plating and his shoulder armor. The axepony’s eyes widened as Inger gave him a cold smile. He smashed his hoof up into the red pony’s chest, and the pony fell back with a whuff of air. Inger spun around and bucked the Aenir pony in the face with both legs. The pony’s neck instantly snapped, and he fell like a bag of bricks.
“Damn,” said Inger, wincing, “He was wearing chainmail.” He shook his hoof.
“Braki!” Rye raced forward, bursting through the door. He skidded to a halt. The thane was lying on the bed, the sheets damp and red. Eberhardt was kneeling beside him, surrounded by the bodies of blue- and red-cloaked ponies alike.
Rye rushed to Eberhardt’s side. “Thane Braki!”
Braki’s eyes opened. “Eberhardt… Rye…”
“No, no no no no, no,” Rye shook his head. “This is not happening. This is not happening.”
Eberhardt’s face was utterly blank as he held his thane’s hoof. Braki’s eyes turned to see his most favored huskarl. “Eberhardt… Erik cannot… win…” He coughed, and more blood stained the sheets. Rye took another look and realized that a knife was firmly embedded in the thane’s belly.
“Eberhardt! You have… have to…” Braki’s eyes were losing focus. “Saddlestead needs… a protector. And you are my… greatest… warrior…” He was taken by another coughing fit. When the wracking coughs subsided, his gaze turned to Rye. “And you… hammer-bearer… have borne witness to this. I beg of you… save… my…” Braki’s breath gasped out in one last puff. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he sank back into the pillow.
Rye blinked in disbelief. “No, that’s… this isn’t…”
Eberhardt snarled. “He’s dead.”
“Eberhardt, I… I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Rye shook his head, openmouthed. “I just wanted to help Sleipnord…”
“This is not your doing, hammer-bearer.” Eberhardt’s eyes blazed. “Erik is going to pay with his life.”
“Rye!” Inger’s head burst into the room. “The entire building’s on fire! We have to get out, now!”
“Come on, Eberhardt, we have to go!” Rye grabbed the huskarl and pulled him to his hooves.
Eberhardt took his bloody sword and wiped it clean on the unstained edge of the bed sheet. His face was icy calm, but his eyes were filled with fire. “I am going to Aenir’s longhouse. Erik will die this night.”
“Eberhardt, be serious! We have to get out of Hoofnjord, now!” Rye pulled on him frantically.
“Vriska na kilevar, bannegir jerai!” Eberhardt smacked him away, and his face twisted up in rage. “This treachery cannot go unpunished.”
“Eberhardt. Your entire retinue is dead. We’re the only ones left. If you want to martyr yourself in a one-pony assault on Erik’s longhouse, you’ll just be throwing away Saddlestead’s only protection. You heard Braki. Come on, let’s go.”
Eberhardt’s eyes widened. “I…” He sheathed his sword, slamming it back into the scabbard. “Go.”
Rye turned and led him out of the room, only to find the stairwell below was already ablaze. “Inger, we have to get out of here before this floor collapses.”
Inger ran to the wall and delivered a solid kick to the window, shattering the glass. Cold wind rushed into the room, followed by snow. The storm outside had turned into a full-on blizzard. Rye heard the groan of breaking wood and looked behind them to see Braki’s room collapsing into the floor below. The thane’s body was lost in a pile of ash and broken beams.
“Cranberry first,” said Rye, pointing. Inger nodded and grabbed the pink mare, ignoring her protests. The two of them vanished through the window. There was another groan, and the stairs began to give out. Rye and Eberhardt backed toward the window. Flames licked the ceiling, and the roof tumbled in. Rye dodged a falling beam, wincing at the heat of the flames.
Inger reappeared, grabbing Eberhardt and vanishing once more. Rye had to dive away from the window as another beam fell down, smashing a hole in the floor. The fire was everywhere. He could feel sweat dripping from his mane like rainwater.
“Rye!” Inger was hovering outside the window. “Rye, I can’t get to you! The fire’s too hot!” Inger’s face was filled with fear.
Rye looked around. The house was coming down around him. He felt the floor beneath his hooves sag. “Inger!”
It gave out all at once, and he tumbled down into the inferno. He crashed to the floor in a pile of wood and debris. By some miracle he had not been buried. Flames and ash filled his vision. There was no air to breathe, and he covered his mouth as he stood shakily from the rubble of the floor. There was only one way out.
He threw on his hood, tightened his cloak, and plunged into the flames, racing for the entrance as they reached out to grasp him. He burst through into darkness, falling into the freezing snow and rolling around, trying to extinguish the flames that had caught on his cloak. He lay gasping for air, watching as the building was consumed by fire.
“Equestriar! Nilj verbode mortilij!” He looked to his right and saw two red-cloaked ponies headed in his direction. He scrambled to his hooves, still dazed from the fall. He stumbled away, thinking escape escape escape escape—
There were a pair of thuds from behind him. He collapsed, unable to go on without a moment to catch his breath. He felt a hoof on his shoulder, and winced in anticipation of the axe blow. Inger’s voice, warm and familiar, said, “Rye! Come on, Rye, get up. We have to go.”
With heroic effort, he stood. He looked back to see the two Aenir ponies lying in the snow. Eberhardt was standing over one with his sword drawn, looking around for more. “Where’s…”
“Rye!” Cranberry was suddenly in front of him, wide-eyed. “Thane Braki’s dead, all the Saddlestead ponies are dead or missing, I don’t—what do we do?”
“Run.” Rye bent double as he tried to breathe. “Get out of Hoofnjord. We’ll… we’ll figure something out. We have to go before Erik realizes we’ve survived.”
They moved quickly through the streets, fleeing from the burning wreckage of the longhouse. They were not accosted as they approached the gate. They arrived to find the doors already thrown wide open, the bodies of the Hoofnjord guards lying motionless in crimson snow.
Plunging into the darkness of the storm, the four of them galloped away from the city. The hammer banged against Rye’s side with every movement of his legs. They ran on without stopping, not daring to look behind them.
At last, they came to a rest, breathing raggedly and bending their heads against the fierce wind. Rye looked into the storm, through the wind and the snow, and saw two tiny glowing embers in the distant city of Hoofnjord. The longhouse fire must have spread to another building. He panted, his mind too scrambled to think. The wind howled as the snow blew past. It seemed as if Sleipnord itself wailed at the death of the Thane of Saddlestead.
All their trials, all their efforts, all their sacrifices, had led them here. Rye stared at the bright lights silently, feeling the building despair finally begin to overcome him.
The four ponies huddled together in the cold, bleak wintry darkness. All they could do was watch the flames beyond, the burning candles fueled by all the hope they had left.
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See what happens when you procrastinate?
Holy crap! You're cranking out new chapters like crazy!
Well... he was procrastinating for a good reason... Pity Braki's security wasn't as heavy as Erik's...
Good news... this limits Rye's choice to one.
AWWWW YEAH!!! This is a really epic chapter :D can't wait for more :D
MOAR!!!
Well, Erik's definitely not being chosen now. And neither is Braki. Erik must intend to get the Kingshammer from Rye's corpse, so Rye has to find another option real quick-like. I see two options at this point. Consider Eberhardt, the most likely next Thane of Saddlestead, to be a more desirable potential King than Braki was, which isn't likely since he now has a very personal reason to want civil war against Erik. Or find Thane Breyr, and convince Thane(?) Eberhardt that Breyr would be a good king and would be worth following, and to have Eberhardt convince Saddlestead's reamining followers to back Breyr as a king. Erik probably wouldn't follow him, but he might maybe hopefully be less aggressively opposed to a King Breyr than a King Braki and Equestria might get it's aid anyways? Maaaaaybe? Probably not worth banking on, actually... And all of this is assuming Braki didn't bring enough warriors to Hoofnjord to cripple Saddlestead should they all end up dead. With the chaos of the ending of this chapter, I really don't have enough information to be confident about anything, really... something I'm not expecting is probably going to happen. dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/emoticons/shrug_Twilight_future.png
Shut up Firefox, I don't care if you don't like all these fictional words.
1741648
AH HA HA OH HO HO HEE HEE HOOOO.
You did a really good job on this chapter, can't wait 'till the next one!
Awesome. Although the assassin could have worn the raven for treasons sake. Although I feel like Machievelli would say to give it to whoever has the biggest army. But, what does a 400 year old Italian know? Fantastic job, chief.
1741809 I seriously doubt one of Braki's supporters would've attempted to kill the Hammer bearer.
1741662
I seriously don't know what awkward laughter is supposed to signify, especially twice in a row. Are you trying to get me to stop making guesses?
me gusta
1741834
Not at all! I quite enjoy it, actually. It's just that you're so close.
1741332 2 actually
1740978 Procrastination is like masturbation: Fun while it lasts until you realize you just screwed yourself.
Rye should weild the hammer D:
1742322
Then I shall continue to guess closely, but not quite correctly! a.deviantart.net/avatars/s/a/salute2plz.png
Late reply is super late.
I kind of want this to be made into a movie.
bah
i know who is going to be king already: Morgan Freeman
It has been awhile since a fic has kept me on the edge of my seat. keep it up!
You might as well just get to looking into how much support Breyr could get. It should be pretty clear to you already that Breyr is the only possible dark horse (dark pony?) candidate, and it's not like you need to do any more research on Braki or Erik.
That was not Braki's assassin. The very idea is preposterous, it's such an obvious framing job. Well, at least, I don't think Braki would send an assassin to get caught while carrying his symbol on the assumption that Rye would conclude it was an attempt at framing by Erik. It doesn't seem like his style, and it's a pretty risky plan to make Rye dislike Erik when Erik basically introduced himself by announcing that he wouldn't help Rye if he were king. On the other hand, were Rye to die, I would expect that Erik would be in a good position to get the hammer, and he probably agrees that he and Braki are the only possible choices for king, which means that an assassin bearing a raven benefits Erik no matter what happens. So I think it's pretty clear that this attack originated from Erik or one of his supporters.
This could be good, actually. Attacking another thane during a thanesmoot and attacking the hammer-bearer is probably a big enough faux pas to make Erik lose a lot of support. With any luck, this can fix the dilemma that Erik doesn't seem very trustworthy but he's got enough power to be a major problem if he isn't chosen.
Which means that nopony's going to believe you because the evidence burned down. Life is never easy in stories.
Or he could take over Hoofnjord completely. That works too.
This chapter is so edgy, I cut my finger on it.
Rye's putting a lot of trust in Breyr right now. He's learning his politics, but I don't think he's quite at the master level just yet. Breyr's putting on the eyes of a friend, and those are the eyes to be trusted the least. Of course, my suspicions could always be dead wrong, and if so I'll b happy for it, but at the moment? Trust nopony.
Ooooh no, two fires is not something to ignore. Another thane died this night, I'm betting. Might have been Erik. At any rate, I think it's blatantly clear who will be King of Sleipnord now.
Hope that Flame of Hope doesn't burn out
.