The Rise of Magnus

by Duffman18

Chapter 6

They stood braced against the biting wind, the darkness of night pressing down almost oppressively on the two guards. Their guttering torches provided little relief and served to only provide a small circle of illumination for the guards and their charges. One of the guards turned to his partner.

“Bjorn. Hey, Bjorn.” Bjorn studiously ignored him, unwilling to speak any more than he had to in this cold. Frowning slightly, the first guard reached over and shook him slightly.

“Bjorn. C’mon Bjorn answer me.” His partner sighed heavily, turning towards his partner.

“What is it Eric? What do you have to say that is so important?” Eric cocked his head slightly in confusion before asking his original question.

“Why exactly are we guarding this place?” Bjorn’s palm met his face with an audible slap.

“That’s your question? Seriously?”

“What? I mean we should have some idea of why we’re doing this right?”

“You know we’re guards right? We’re guarding the mine against thieves and raiders.”

“Well yeah, but after the Confederacy why should we have to you know? Aren’t we all unified now?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean we just stop doing our job. Now shut up and get back to watching. We only have another hour or two before our shift here ends. Then we can go back to our nice, warm beds.”

With a shrug, Eric turned back to face the dark mountain pass just in time to receive an arrow in his throat. Bright, crimson blood flowed from his wound and began to hiss and steam as it hit the frigid air. Bjorn turned to face their assailants and only barely managed to turn away the sword of an assailant.

Backing away quickly, Bjorn did his best to keep his guard up but found his reactions dulled by the cold and the many hours of inaction his shift had necessitated. His blade felt heavy in his hand as his opponent struck hard and without mercy, the sharp tattoo of metal on metal beating almost non-stop. Though he made a good account of himself, Bjorn could feel his focus slipping even as his opponent forced him back further and further.

With little hope left, Bjorn gambled everything on a wild offensive that barely fazed the armored swordsman facing him. The swordsman slapped Bjorn’s blade aside with an almost contemptuous ease before slamming the hilt of his sword into Bjorn’s nose. Pain exploded through him as Bjorn lost his footing and fell to the hard ground beneath him. Before he could react, the strange swordsman dealt the final blow and drove his sword through the back of Bjorn’s neck.

Tarik looked at the corpse of the Lightning guard before him. He had been no challenge, and for that Tarik felt disappointment. Turning back towards the pass, he could see the rest of his forces approaching. Easily two dozen warriors marched up to Tarik under the Eagle banner and snapped to attention.

“Go inside and capture any workers inside,” ordered Tarik. “Kill none of them; they are more valuable as laborers than corpses.” With a crisp salute, the soldiers split into four groups and entered the faintly lit mine, their mission clear. Barely an hour had passed before the Eagle banner flew proudly over the newly-claimed mine. Meanwhile one terrified soul fled from the mine, traveling through the darkness as fast as his feet could carry him towards the King’s Lands.

Volksson sat on an elevated, oaken chair, the Council of Four sitting around the table before him. He could feel acutely the weight of the iron crown he bore, but unlike when it first was given to him he was finally growing used to it. Rather than providing a distraction and encumbrance, it was beginning to feel more like a natural part of him and the position he occupied. He allowed himself a small smile at that.

“I suppose enough repetition can make one used to almost anything,” he thought to himself.

It had taken more than four years before he and the other members of the Council had finally settled on a comfortable, effective routine in their new duties. Every morning he would meet with the members of the Council and learn about the daily affairs of the Confederacy and of the tribes that made it up.

Following that would be some personal time to reflect on the information he had just received before he opened his hall to the public, allowing any and all to present their petitions to him and the Council directly. These petitions were many during the first two years of their new lives in this new land. Despite the work and careful negotiations that he and his fellow Chiefs had engaged in to create the Confederacy, their overall resources and usable land was still fairly limited and numerous disputes over these resources were brought before Volksson to decide as there were too many for their individual chiefs to handle while still fulfilling their own daily obligations.

These petitions had finally begun to reduce somewhat as the living conditions and territory and resource allotments began to stabilize somewhere around their fourth year living here. It was by no means comfortable as of yet, but at least the fear of imminent extinction had been put off and that was means for celebration if nothing else. Every small victory was still a victory after all, a step in the right direction that would one day see the human race restored to its old status and perhaps raised even higher than that.

Following these petitions Volksson would adjourn for a quiet dinner and raise a prayer to the gods and ancestors for the continued success of humanity. He would then continue any business that had not yet been concluded before retiring to bed, and sleeping for the few hours available before the next Council meeting.

“ . . . Thanks to the efforts of the Thunder and Shadow Tribes, we have been able to clear another ten acres of arable land in the east and west. Surveyors and farmers have of course already been dispatched to these areas to begin preparations for the next planting season.”

“Thank you Councilor,” said Volksson. “Gentlemen, is there anything else to discuss or shall we adjourn for the day?”

“There is one thing my king.” Volksson turned his attention to the man opposite him.

“Gormensson. What have you to bring before this Council?” Gormensson stood and held out a hand, which an aide promptly filled with a number of sealed scrolls. Gormensson unfurled the scrolls one by one on the table between the councilors. The first was a the most recent map of the Confederacy’s lands. There had been a little expansion in terms of total territory claimed by each tribe, however the truth was these were mostly either watchtowers being built or farmland being reclaimed. The rest of the scrolls looked to be production tallies of metals, food, trade good, etc.

“We have had a fair increase across the board in terms of production, but there remains in issue that has yet to be dealt with.”

“And that is what exactly?” Gormensson looked uncomfortable for a moment.

“We have recorded a marked decrease in metal production being reported over the past week. Of course, we sent a surveyor to see just what was going on. He never returned.”

Volksson frowned at that. Losing contact briefly was one thing, but to have someone never report back for what was specifically a short-term assignment was more . . . troubling.

“Have you any idea as to his fate?” At this Gormensson signaled his aide, who quickly nodded and dashed out through the main doors.

“Yes and no, my king. While we do not know the exact fate of our surveyor, we can surmise what happened based on the report of a single escapee from the mine.” There was concerned muttering all around the table now.

“An . . . escapee Gormensson?” asked Barca. “That is an interesting choice of words.”

“I more than understand Barca, but perhaps it would be better for us all to hear this man’s testimony ourselves.” As he said this, the Lightning aide returned with a man in tow. The man was dressed in the rough clothing of laborers and was clearly shaken from his experiences as his eyes were constantly darting from place to place, as if seeking out some hidden assassin. As he approached, he quickly threw himself into a bow before the king.

“Hail, my king!”

“Rise,” said Volksson gently. “Tell us what has befallen you and your fellows.”

“My lord it happened about one week ago. My shift in the mines had just ended and I had stepped outside to relieve myself before grabbing some rest. However, as I returned to the mines, I heard the sound a bowstring and the clash of iron on iron. What I saw were at least two dozen assailants wrapped in darkened clothes and armor slay the two guards on duty before hoisting an Eagle banner over the mine. Following this I . . .”

“LIES!” roared Arnulf, slamming his fist into the oaken table with a resounding crash. “My warriors are all loyal to their tribe and to the Confederacy. They would never assault their fellow man, especially in such an underhanded and dishonorable manner.”

Volksson looked carefully at both the laborer and Arnulf before continuing.

“What is your name?” The laborer quickly averted his eyes before answering.

“I am known as Maloghurst, my king.” Volksson smiled slightly at this.

“A fine name. Tell me Maloghurst, do you speak the truth about the Eagle assailants?”

“I do lord.”

“He is a liar placed by Gormensson to slander my tribe,” said Arnulf through clenched teeth. “I demand that he face justice for his base accusations!”

“Do you swear this is the truth by the Gods and ancestors?” asked Volksson, ignoring Arnulf’s continued outbursts.

“I swear upon the Gods, and our blessed ancestors.” The room fell silent as he invoked two of the most sacred ideas of mankind. Volksson took the opportunity to do some quick thinking.

There was no way that he would lie and falsify such an oath. To be known as an oath-breaker of this magnitude would almost certainly cause him to be put to death or banished from society. Therefore, he could not be a simple plant. If that was true, than either Arnulf or a fragment of the Eagle tribe was violating the laws of the Confederacy. Sparing a brief glance at Arnulf, Volksson could see that he was angry, but could see little else. Whichever outcome came to be true; it would not be good for humanity. So the only recourse was the direct approach: strangle the problem in its crib.

“Maloghurst of Tribe Lightning. You have proven resourceful and brave in escaping to bring us this information. I would offer you a place as an aide of sorts to me, as a reward for your actions here today.” Maloghurst’s eyes lit up at the prospect and he nodded emphatically.

“Very well then. I name thee Maloghurst, honorary member of the Shadows.” Maloghurst fell quickly into a low bow.

“Thank you my lord!”

“You may rise.” As he did, Volksson could almost hear the grinding of Arnulf’s teeth in his rage.

“My king, my calls for justice have been made. Shall I have the ability to exact justice on this slanderer?” Volksson simply shook his head no.

“I’m afraid not, my friend. Maloghurst is of my tribe now. As a result this is a purely internal tribe matter. I shall decide how to punish him, if at all.” Arnulf’s face seemed to grow a few shades more red, but he backed down. With that one move, Volksson had placed Maloghurst beyond the reach of the Eagle Tribe.

“At any rate,” Barca cut in. “Whether or not these accusations are true or false, there is still the matter of Lightning’s missing surveyor. I motion that we send a small task force to the mine in question to ascertain exactly what his fate was.”

“I second the motion,” Gormensson said. Volksson nodded once.

“The motion carries. Are there any who would oppose it?” None raised their hands.

“Then it is so ordered. A small force of Confederate warriors shall be dispatched to the Lightning mine in question to ascertain the circumstances of the surveyor’s disappearance. This council is adjourned.” As the councilors left, it was clear that Arnulf was still furious at the outcome of the meeting and from his hurried exit and wild gesticulations to his escorts it was clear that he most likely would be alerting his tribe upon his return. Volksson sighed and rubbed his temples. It was clear that another round of problems would soon be forcing their way into his life. Turning back to his new servant, Volksson wondered what to do with him. The decision to induct him as an honorary member of his tribe hadn’t exactly been planned. However it was clear that the coming days would bring serious contention of one type or another, and it would pay to have someone devoted to ensuring that Volksson was always aware of what was going on.

“Maloghurst.” The former laborer snapped to attention.

“Yes, my king?”

“I have an assignment for you. In the coming days, I will need to be sure of everything that is happening throughout every corner of the Confederacy. To that end, I appoint you Listener of the Shadow Tribe. You shall be our eyes and ears throughout the tribes and you will let nothing go unheard. Do you understand?”

“Yes my king. I am your Listener, and I will not fail you.”

----

Volga approached the mine, his troops arrayed behind him. The King and Councilors had provided him with a dozen soldiers with which to investigate the disappearance of the Lightning Tribe’s surveyor. While glad to be of use, Volga was unsure why the Council forces were necessary for this. Surely this was an internal matter for the Lightning? Lost in his thoughts, he was surprised when one of his soldiers came up beside him.

“What is it?”

“Sir . . . do you believe the rumors?”

“That depends, which ones?”

“You know the ones, sir. That the Eagles are on the warpath with the Lightning and killed the surveyor.” Volga shook his head in exasperation.

“No, I don’t. Have they had their problems in the past? Of course, which tribe didn’t go to war with each other at least once? But we are not in those days anymore. The King and Council have brought us together. I refuse to believe without evidence that any of the tribes would be stupid enough to jeopardize humanity because of their own grudges. I don’t want you spreading these rumors around the troops, understand?”

“Yes sir!”

----

Tarik stood outside the taken mine. They had held the place for about a week, but they had been ordered not to leave their posts. Apparently they had wanted them to hold the place against attempted recapture by the Lightning forces, but he didn’t see the point. The only Lightning force they had seen had been a surveyor and his team.

He stretched his limbs, stiff from the cold and inactivity, and began to walk around the perimeter of the mine. His men were on-guard and since the mine had been taken, had been reinforced with another two dozen troops. Large wooden palisades surrounded the inner pathway to the mine, while watchtowers were under construction along the path by a small army of workers. They were almost ready to throw back a concerted counter-attack.

“Troops approaching up the path!” Moving swiftly as adrenaline surged through him, Tarik dashed up to the southern end of the palisade wall.

“How many?”

“Only about a dozen sir,” one of the guards said. “They’re wearing Council colors.”

“Shit! Get ready to fight.”

As the soldiers milling around the camp began to ready themselves for battle, Tarik moved to the gates to confront the Council troops. As they reached Tarik and the wooden gates, the Council troops halted and their leader stepped forward. He wore the symbol of the Council, over well-kept iron armor. His hair was a dark red, and he was of average height and build.

“I am Captain Volga of the Confederate Army. This mine is the property of the Lightning Tribe as decided by Clansmeet. We demand access to the mine in order to investigate the fate of the Lightning surveyor and worker.

“I’m afraid I cannot allow you access. This mine is now under control of the Eagle Tribe. The Lightning Tribe has no authority here.”

“You cannot be serious. It was legally under their administration. This is more than land seizure, this is treason against the King!”

“I refuse to acknowledge the authority that strips us of our sovereignty. Tell your King that if he wishes to enforce his will on us, then he can come himself.”

Anger flashed visibly over Volga’s face as he ordered his men to turn back.

“We will leave for now, but I assure you that we will return to restore proper order.” Tarik smirked at him.

“Good. We will be waiting.”

Comments

[Bronybro 117]

Yay, new chapter.

[Duffman18]

3503134
Yeah. Volksson wasn't trying to do much beyond saving his life. The Listener is something he basically made up/revived to help Maloghurst out.

[Dr_Badass]

Good to see an update. Can't wait for more.