Her world was dark, filled with oily shadows that slithered through the air around her. Often, she heard voices speaking in a language she felt she knew, but could not recall. She shivered, the icy touch of the wind seeming to follow her even into her dreams.
“Cranberry, can you hear me?”
Rye’s familiar voice echoed in the shadows. She turned round and round, looking for him, but could not see him anywhere. She moaned in distress. She felt something liquid and hot pouring into her mouth, and swallowed gratefully. Then the blackness reached up again and dragged her back down into the depths.
* * *
“Will she be okay?”
“The worst has passed, Equestrian. Now, the rest is up to her.”
She twisted, writhing against the grip of the shadows. She wanted to reach the voices, to speak, but the words did not come to her. She was drowning in the cold darkness.
Suddenly she felt warmth as something pulled over her. She snuggled underneath it, feeling the soft touch of fur on her skin.
“Hang in there, Miss Cranberry.”
She smiled. The soothing tones of Inger’s voice seemed to briefly banish the shadows. But the reprieve was not long, and soon they came for her again.
* * *
Cranberry woke to find herself in an unfamiliar tent. It was relatively small, with only enough room to fit a few ponies inside. She was lying on a sleeping pallet, covered with a thick fur blanket. She blinked, lifting a hoof to her head. She discovered that from her forehead up it was wrapped tightly in thick bandages. Looking around, she found she was not alone.
Inger, sound asleep on the floor beside her, was wearing a thick cloak over his golden armor. He had in his mouth a small cluster of brightly colored sedge flowers picked from the tundra. She smiled to herself. Rye had been right; Inger was a bit of a sweetheart once you got to know him.
She peered around the tent, trying to figure out where they were. When she found the symbol of a raven sewn into the tent flap, she knew.
Saddlestead. I guess we got to them after all. She yawned, stretching her legs above her head. The sound woke Inger, who jerked upright, blinking.
“Miss Cranberry! You’re awake!”
“Good morning, Inger,” said Cranberry, beaming. “It is morning, isn’t it? I can’t really tell.”
“Yes, we’re probably breaking camp in an hour or two—but you’re awake!” he repeated, smiling. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, I think,” said Cranberry, rolling the blanket off. “How long was I asleep?”
“You’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last three days.” Inger’s face drew in with concern. “I—We were afraid we were going to lose you. It was touch and go for a while, there. Ponies aren’t meant to survive this kind of cold without protection.”
At the memory of the biting wind, Cranberry shivered. “Where are we?”
“We’re traveling with Eberhardt Snowmane, the chief huskarl of the Thane of Saddlestead. He’s taking us back to the hall to meet with the thane.”
“Oh, yes!” said Cranberry with giddy delight. “I’ve always wanted to see Saddlestead. How far away are we?”
“I think about a day. We came out of the mountains much further west than we’d thought. If we hadn’t run into Eberhardt we’d probably still be wandering around the tundra.”
“Or dead.”
Inger winced. “Thankfully, the Nordponies’ hospitality is not lacking. They’ve been quite good to the three of us so far.”
“Where is Rye, anyway?”
Inger laughed. “He’s off with the cook as usual. I think they’ve finally started warming up to each other. I’m amazed at what he’s been pulling off with these limited supplies.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it. I’ll send somepony for him. Excuse me for a moment.”
Inger left the tent as Cranberry laid back down on her pallet. It seemed that despite their horrible detour under the mountains, they were back on track. She grinned again, giving a little squeal of happiness. Saddlestead! She’d first read about it as a little filly, but even then the images of the rough, worn wood and rock had captured her imagination. She was finally getting to live her dream.
The tent flap pulled back as Inger re-entered. He was carrying a bowl of some kind of porridge. He set it down next to her and took a seat.
“So what’s up with the bandages?” asked Cranberry, leaning down and munching on her breakfast.
Inger looked apprehensive. “Um… well, you made it out of the cold remarkably unscathed, all things considered.” He smiled briefly. “It’s good to see some pink back in that coat. But, well, no non-pegasus can go that long in such low temperatures without it leaving some scars.”
She leaned back from her porridge, putting a hoof up to her head again uncertainly. “What kind of scars?”
“Your ears. They’re, uh, a bit smaller, now. They tried to save you from the frostbite as best they could, but…”
She touched one of the lumps in the bandages where her ears were bound. “Oh. My.” She blinked. “Well, as long as I can read and talk, I’ll be fine, right?”
The tent flap burst open to admit Rye, wearing a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Around his neck was a heavy fur cloak with a raven-shaped clasp. He looked happier than she’d seen him in a while. “Cranberry!”
“Hey there, Rye,” she said brightly. “Can you believe it? We’re really here! In Sleipnord!” She gave another giggle. “I can’t wait to meet my first Nordpony. What are they really like?”
Rye laughed. “They’re a bit brusque, but they started warming up fast once they tried my honeyed oats.”
Inger shook his head. “Where’d you even find that honey?”
“It was Yarvisteil’s private stash. I managed to convince him to lend me some.”
Cranberry leaned back onto her pillow, bemused. “You sound like you already know them pretty well.”
“Oh, I’m getting real popular,” said Rye. “Yarvisteil’s a decent fellow, but there’s no art to his cooking. These warriors are learning to appreciate civilized food.”
She snickered. “It’s funny, Rye, I never pictured you as much of a cook yourself.”
The pegacorn affected a modest shrug. “If you spend seven years living with Apricot Strudel, you pick up a few things.” He looked to Inger. “So, the gang’s back together. The only thing to do now is talk to Thane Heimjar and get that army. Cranberry, what can you tell us about the thanes?”
“Well, to start, you say their first name with the title, Rye.”
“Oh. Thane Braki, then.”
“Right. As for the thanes, they’re a group of feudal lords similar to the kind Equestria had before the Princesses. There are three major halls, each belonging to one of the older houses of Sleipnord: Saddlestead, ruled by the house of the Raven, Hoofnjord, ruled by the house of the Serpent, and Aenir, ruled by the house of the Elk.”
“Why ‘the Raven,’ instead of the house of Heimjar?”
Cranberry sat forward, adopting an academic tone. “The system works a bit differently than Equestria’s. The line of succession is not blood by default. Each thane personally names his successor before he dies. Of course it’s typically a relative, but it’s not unheard of for them to give one of their most honored warriors the responsibility instead.”
She finished off her porridge as she talked. “The houses aren’t really a government the way the provinces are. They’re more like a collection of landowners who agree to live by a short set of common laws in exchange for peace between each other’s settlements. They don’t have any sort of regular legislative process or governing body.”
“Well, the only thing that matters is whether or not they’ll abide by the treaties,” said Rye. Inger nodded.
“Their ancestors signed those at the end of the war,” said Cranberry, “and the Nordponies value their word more than their lives. I’m sure the thane will follow the promise of his forefathers.”
“I’m not,” said Rye uneasily. “He’s in the middle of a war with the Thane of Aenir. They’ve been fighting over the tundra for the last year or so.”
Cranberry frowned. “Well we’ll just have to tell them to stop, won’t we? They can’t sit up here wasting warriors against each other while the griffons take Equestria.”
“I doubt it’ll be that easy, Cranberry.”
The tent flap opened again, and another pony entered the increasingly-crowded tent. He was a bit taller than Inger, his blonde curls falling around his ears with artful abandon. Cranberry’s breath caught. Her first real Nordpony!
She looked at him and bowed with barely contained excitement. “Valyir ha. Ser sik Cranberry Sugar se Equestria, dottir se Featherquill, dottir se Strawberry.”
The Nordpony gave her an amused glance. “Well,” he said in fluent Equestrian, “your accent is atrocious, but you speak the language well enough.”
Cranberry’s mouth closed with a hmpf as she folded her front legs. “I take it you’re a translator.”
“Vasijeil, at your service.” The Nordpony sharply bowed his head. “Eberhardt sent me to tell the three of you that we’re packing up camp. We’ll be on the move in an hour.”
“We’ll see to it,” said Inger. The Nordpony bowed again and left. Inger looked between the two of them. “Come on; let’s get the tent rolled up.”
Cranberry stood for the first time since her collapse. She yawned again. “All right.”
“Here,” said Inger, reaching behind him. He pulled out a thick fur cloak in the same style as the ones that he and Rye were wearing. “You need this more than both of us combined.”
She wrapped the cloak around herself gratefully, clasping it together about her neck. “Thanks. You two go on out, I’ll pick up in here.” They nodded and exited through the tent flap.
She gingerly worked a hoof under the bandages around her head, and unwrapped them. When her ears were free, she gave them a wiggle. She ran a hoof over the top of her right one, discovering that the top half was almost entirely gone. That was going to feel strange for a while.
She’d been remarkably lucky to escape with so little damage. She shivered again, and pulled the cloak over her head. Cranberry reached down and picked up one of Inger’s flowers, sticking it behind her ear with a smile. She rolled up the sleeping pallet and left the tent to find Inger and Rye already busy pulling out the stakes from the frozen ground.
Cranberry looked around her, taking in the beautiful tundra. They were far enough southeast now that the ice had yielded to hard dirt, and she could see shrubs and other hardy little plants poking out of the ground. In the far distance she could just barely make out the edge of the Dragon Lake.
The sun was just rising in the east. There were no clouds to be seen, and the warm rays bathed her face in light. Cranberry took a deep breath of the brisk air, exhaling with a happy sigh. She couldn’t wait to tell Inkpot about this once they got back to Canterlot. Her sister was going to kill her for running off like this, but it was so worth it to see the north.
A Nordpony, bigger than the first, trotted up to the Equestrians’ tent. He looked at Rye and spoke gruffly. “Rye, Yarvisteil seylvn ter gritya sika fieyrot.”
Cranberry was startled. “He knows your name? You have been busy, haven’t you? He said ‘Yarvisteil says your breakfast is burning.’ ”
“Oh, horseapples. I’ll bet he set the griddle too far into the fire again.” Rye rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I’m not really that hungry anyway. Just tell him to take it out and give it to somepony else if it’s not too burnt.” Cranberry passed on the message to the Nordpony, who looked quite surprised to hear her speaking his language. He nodded and ran off.
Behind her, Rye and Inger had finally disassembled the tent. Inger was rolling it up tightly while Rye gathered the stakes together in a bag. Eager to be useful, Cranberry helped Inger compress the tent and tie it off. He lifted it over his back and had her wrap a cord around to secure it.
“Eberhardt’s letting us borrow this tent, along with the cloaks and some supplies,” explained Inger as they worked, “but he did ask that we carry it all.”
Rye tossed the bag of tent stakes around his neck and knotted its cord. “Well, let’s get moving, then. We’re nearly there.”
Cranberry squeaked. “I still can’t believe this is actually happening. We’re in Sleipnord. I told you this would be fun.”
“You’re not the one carrying the tent,” said Inger dryly. He shifted the weight up on his back and grunted.
The three of them walked into the east, where the rest of the Nordponies that had already packed up were waiting. They had a long day ahead of them.
* * *
They caught their first glimpse of the hall of Saddlestead that afternoon. They stood on a hill overlooking another flat stretch of the tundra, surrounded by the throng of Nordponies. As they pushed forward, Cranberry craned her head to see.
“Rye! Rye! Come look!” She pointed excitedly. “See that black smudge on the horizon over there, by the coastline? I think that’s it!”
“Uh, Cranberry…” Rye looked at her with amusement. He was far too short to see over the Nordponies surrounding them.
“Oh, right.” She glanced at him, embarrassed. “Uh, I could give you a boost, if you wanted.”
“Pass. I’ll see it soon enough.”
“Suit yourself.” She kept moving forward with the press of Nordponies, trying to get a better look at the distant great hall. As they drew nearer, the pace quickened. The warriors were eager to return to their home. Within the hour, they were close enough that Cranberry could make out the details of Saddlestead, barely containing her delight.
The hall was built on a huge outcropping of rock that jutted from the shore, standing tall above the waters of the Dragon Lake. It was less a single building than a miniature city. The wooden walls of the dozens of buildings that climbed the side of the rocks were stained with the spray of sea salt, the wet stones glistening in the daylight. The main hall stood at the peak of the rock, its roof nearly a hundred feet above the tundra.
Cranberry stopped in awe as the Nordponies shouldered around her. She looked up at Saddlestead, taking in all the details of the woodwork; the carved horseheads over every roof standing their eternal vigil.
“Look at the walls, Rye! See the carvings?”
“Yeah,” said her friend, openmouthed.
“That’s a detailed history of all of Sleipnord. Over there on the left you can see the old pony tribes, back when we all used to live up here.” Cranberry pointed. “And over there is the first giant war… and there’s the rise of the enemy… and over there’s the Great War! Look at the detail on those griffons!”
“Hm,” said Rye. “Maybe after this is done we’ll have a place up there.”
“Ohhh, this is so exciting!” Cranberry was shivering. “Come on, I want to see the inside!”
They reached the gates at the bottom of the rocky plateau. The gates swung open to admit the returning warriors, as cheers rose up from inside the city. They entered, surrounded by the exuberant Nordponies. The inhabitants of Saddlestead rushed out to greet the army. Mares and stallions embraced as foals raced through the streets, whooping. Cranberry smiled.
From behind, she felt a nudge. She turned to see that she, Inger, and Rye had been joined by a tall Nordpony wearing a sword.
“Is this Eberhardt?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Inger. He looked to the Nordpony expectantly.
Eberhardt bowed his head to them and spoke. «You can understand me, can you not? Welcome to Saddlestead, Equestrians. You stand in the greatest hall in all of Sleipnord. »
“Thank you,” said Cranberry. “It’s magnificent.”
Rye looked impatient. “It is, truly; but when are we going to speak to the thane?”
«Soon enough, » said Eberhardt. «But first, we will celebrate our victory over Erik. The festivities will last all night, I expect. Would the three of you do us the honor of dining at the thane’s table tonight? »
Inger looked apprehensive, but Cranberry nodded eagerly. “We wouldn’t miss it for anything!”
Eberhardt was pleased. He bowed to them and took his leave, walking up the street toward the main building at the top. Cranberry looked between Rye and Inger, trying not to jump for joy. “Can you two believe it?”
“This is good,” said Rye. “I’ll be able to talk to Thane Braki during the festivities. Hopefully he’ll be in a receptive mood once he’s had a few ales.”
“You’re such a spoilsport, Rye. We’re standing in Saddlestead, and we just got invited to sit at the thane’s own table! I, I, well, I’ve just never been this happy! Ohhh!” She squealed, running off to the stairs.
Rye and Inger caught up to her as they entered the main hall. It was a massive building, big enough to hold several hundred ponies with room to spare. The celebrating Nordponies were already taking their seats at the tables, roaring victory cries to each other. Cranberry looked to the far side of the hall, where a long table sat on a platform slightly raised above the rest. A particularly large seat cushion sat behind the central place at the table.
Eberhardt appeared again and showed them to their places at the high table. He sat Rye at the position left of center, and himself took the right. Inger and Cranberry sat to Rye’s left. She sank into the soft seating cushion, enjoying the change from the hard tundra ground.
The hall continued to fill, hundreds of Nordponies entering and sitting by the tables. Cranberry took it all in, her hooves firmly pressed to the cheeks beside her enormous grin.
To think, just three weeks ago I was shopping for Sleipnordic carvings in Canterlot. And now look at me! Sitting in Saddlestead itself!
She gave a dreamy sigh and rolled her eyes up. “If I’m asleep, don’t wake me up.”
Rye snickered. “Try not to burst, Cranberry. I’d hate to have to mop you off the walls.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Look,” said Inger. “The thane.”
Cranberry craned her head to see. He had just entered the hall, still standing in the grand door. As the thane approached, she felt butterflies jumping around in her stomach. He was a huge pony, nearly as tall as Princess Celestia herself. He was thickly built, his shaggy coat hanging over his hooves like a blanket. His blonde mane was streaked with gray, but his cool blue eyes were alert and observant.
Thane Braki ascended the platform, walking behind the table to his seat. He paused to greet Eberhardt, who quickly introduced the Equestrians. The thane looked calmly at Rye, Inger, and Cranberry. “So you are Celestia’s messengers,” he said, in Equestrian. His voice was a steady baritone, his accent thick and exotic but still easily understandable.
“Yes. I am Rye Strudel. This is Cranberry Sugar-“
“Pleased to meet you!”
“-and Inger of Canterlot.”
The Nordpony nodded to each of them in turn. “I am Thane Braki Heimjar of the house of the Raven. Welcome to my home.”
“It’s our pleasure,” said Rye. “Might we have an audience when the feast is done?”
The thane looked at his horn and wings curiously. “I think it would be better to wait for tomorrow. But I will hear your message, then, Rye Strudel.”
“I…” Rye sighed with frustration. “I suppose that will have to do.”
The thane turned to the rest of the hall. He spoke, his voice suddenly booming above the other noise. All the other Nordponies fell silent as their leader talked.
«Warriors of Saddlestead! Today we celebrate a great victory over the treacherous Thane of Aenir. You have served your hall well. Tonight, let us eat heartily and drink to the memories of those brave warriors who fell to put an end to Erik’s madness. All hail the fallen in victory! »
The Nordponies roared back, «All hail the fallen in victory! »
The thane looked over his warriors. «But words do not do justice to the deeds of those gathered here today, or the memory of those now gone. I have spoken enough. Let the feast begin! »
There was a thunderous stamping of hooves as the warriors shouted and hooted. Doors at the side of the hall burst open to admit dozens of ponies pushing carts filled with food. Cranberry watched, thrilled by the energy in the air.
When the cart passed by the thane’s table, she helped herself to a plate of alfalfa. She looked over at Rye, who was giving the food a critical eye. He bit into it warily, then his brows rose in surprise and he nodded. She smiled and took a bite of her own meal.
The hall was soon filled with songs and toasts. There was a loud cheer as the first of barrel of ale was rolled out. The thane took the first mug, holding it aloft and pronouncing his satisfaction.
Cranberry grabbed herself a mug and sat back down at the table. Rye looked at her with surprise.
“Cranberry, you don’t drink,” he said with a disbelieving laugh.
“Well,” she said with a shrug, “when in Sleipnord…”
Two refills later, she was leaning on Inger’s stoic shoulder, crying with mirth. “So then, I tell him that he looks less like a Firewing and more like a dog someone’s slapped gold paint on. He flips out and starts chasing me with Apricot’s favorite rolling pin, but—” she burst out laughing again, wiping away tears and taking another swig of ale. “But he trips over his own hooves and goes flying out the door, wham! Right into the unicorn outside. Just so happened she was a traveling wizard visiting Canterlot to do some research on battle magic. She zapped him so hard he was still crying about it a week later.” She banged on the table, her chest heaving with laughter.
To her right, Rye was nursing his own drink with an amused expression. “Hey Inger,” he said, snickering. “You should try this stuff. Cranberry seems to like it.”
“I’ll be fine, thank you,” said Inger, as Cranberry fell over, clutching her sides. Inger shook his head, turning his eyes up to the ceiling.
Rye kept trying to talk to the thane throughout the night, but as far as Cranberry could tell he wasn’t having much luck. He was telling the story of their journey from Canterlot, but the thane didn’t look very enthusiastic.
Cranberry heard the words to an old Sleipnordic battle song rising up in a chorus from some of the warriors below. “He-eey, I know this one!” She leaned forward onto the table and yelled as loud as she could. “There once was a pony who lived by the seeeea—”
Beside her, Inger put a hoof to his forehead. Cranberry kept singing, belting out the lyrics in a mish-mash of Equestrian and Sleipnordic and waving her leg half a beat off-tempo. There were a few raucous calls and a whistle or two from the ponies below.
At last even Inger succumbed to the celebratory air and cracked a smile. He and Rye held a discussion about the Firewings while Cranberry talked with Eberhardt, asking him about life in the north. She found that the Nordpony was quite talkative, once you got him going. As the night wore on, sleep claimed more and more of the celebrating Nordponies, but the feast was still going on well past midnight.
Together, Rye and Cranberry continued cajoling Inger, who finally gave in and relaxed with a mug of his own. It wasn't long after that before he was telling them embarrassing stories about the Princess.
“This one time, I accidentally walked in on her in the bathtub while delivering her morning tea. You’re not going to believe me, but I swear she had a rubber duck in there.”
Cranberry fell to another gale of laughter. “The royal ducky of Canterlot. Ha, that sounds funny.” She waved an unsteady hoof. “Ducky, ducky!” She looked down to find her cup empty. She stood to get another drink, but Rye tugged on her cloak.
“I think you’ve had enough, Cranberry,” he said with a look of admonishment.
“Nonshense.” She shook her head. “I can hold my—” Suddenly she felt the strangest sensation of wooziness. “Oh, wow, that’s weird.” She held up a hoof and stared at it, feeling a tingle. “Rye, is this normal?” The next thing she knew she was leaning sideways, her eyes closed and a loud snore on her lips.