The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Every Day a Walk In The Park... Options

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The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Part Seven

Darius, according to Master Demnevanni, ran his office out of the Madach Tradehouse in Gnisis. So, after translocating there after breaking my fast, I made my way into the lower half of the “shell” that comprised the Tradehouse. Darius was short, stocky, and clad in gorgeous armour – all gilded metal with a flowing red cape. He looked up at me and said, “So, you want to join the Legion do you Citizen Vahl? Well, it’s true that we have a shortage of Manpower ~ and Merpower for that matter. You look capable enough. Tell me, are you capable of following orders?”

“Excellent,” he said when I assured him I was. “It’s a Mer’s life in the Legion. Every day a walk in the park, every meal is a banquet, every pay check a fortune. It’ll make a Ma... Mer of you. Right, Recruit Vahl, here is your regulation-issue chain cuirass. You will wear it when you address a superior officer, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes… sir,” I replied.

Darius shook his head. “The first and last word I want to hear out of your mouth when you address me is ‘Sir’. Now sound out like you got a pair. Do you understand me?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” I said in a clear voice, desperately trying to ignore the sniggering Orc in the corner of the room.

“Outstanding,” he said. “Now get that cuirass on and I’ll give you your orders.

“You might be wondering,” he said once I’d got the chain cuirass in place, “why I am billeted in the Tradehouse? Well, it’s because we have no room to expand. The widow Vabdas has a parcel of land the Legion needs to expand. I want you to come back to me with the deeds as quickly as possible. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes Sir,” I replied, turning to march out of the room. As I went up the stairs, I heard General Darius addressing the Orcish Trooper, “gro-Khazor, what is your major malfunction?”

Vabdas had a house just west of town, out past Arvs-Drelen, so it wasn’t difficult to get to. Her reaction, when I spoke to her about the land-deed was to slap me across the face ~ hard. I suppressed the spells that roared into my mind and, speaking carefully, said, “you would be wise not to do that again.”

“Why?” she snapped, and now I could see the tears in her eyes. “Because you’ll kill me like you did Mansilamat?”

“I assure you ma’am,” I told her, “I had no part in the death of Mansilamat. Tell me what happened…” Bit by patient bit, I dragged the story from her. It seems that her husband, the aforementioned Mansilamat, had gone to the Egg-Mine at Gnisis to get some eggs. There, according to the widow, the Legion had killed her husband.

As I walked back towards Gnisis, I reflected that whatever power controls my life has an infinite capacity for capriciousness. What should have been the simple acquisition of a deed to some land had now become a murder investigation. Of course, that was how General Darius saw it and he told me to obtain proof that the Legion had been involved. Fortunately, the guard at the door of the Egg-Mine proved amenable to my charming behaviour and, after checking that there was nobody watching, he gave me the key to the door.

There was a familiar stink about the mine, one that I remembered from the Mudan-Mul Mine. Drawing my sword, I advanced with some care. Fortunately, whatever was blighting the mine was confined to the lower quarters and the Scribs in the upper chambers were not aggressive. I wish the same could be said of Trooper gro-Ogdum. The Orc gave me a three count to get the Oblivion out of the area he was guarding. As quickly as I could, I chose one of the passages and headed off down it. From up ahead I could hear the drip-drip of water and a strange noise ~ like wind. As I rounded the corner, I came upon the source of the sound. There, in the middle of the passage, was an Ancestral Spirit.

“Hear me Mortal,” it moaned, as I made ready to swing my sword, “Stay your hand ~ I am Mansilamat Vabdas, I was murdered, most foully, by the Orc Lugrub gro-Ogdum. I beg you, avenge me…” The last syllable was drawn out as the spectre faded from view. I knew that the word of an apparition would carry no weight with General Darius: I needed more proof. I found it in the depth of the pool nearby ~ the corpse of Mansilamat and a notched Imperial axe.

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“Ye have your loyalty to the Skaal proven,” Tharsten said. “Now I must ask ye tae take the test o’ wisdom. I’d like ye tae consider the case o’ Engar Ice-Mane. Rigmor Half-Hand has accused Ice-Mane a theft, a most heinous crime here amidst the Skaal. Engar, naturally, has said that he’s innocent o’ thieving the furs. Tae ye, I leave the investigatin’ of the matter ~ report tae me when ye have a conclusion come tae.”

As I turned to leave, the Shaman whispered urgently in Tharsten’s ear. With a rueful grin, he called me back, saying, “I damn’ near forgot, this tae ye now belongs.” Forgot my ear, I thought as I accepted the mace of Aevar Stonesinger from him and thanked him politely. Once outside, I took the opportunity of examining the massive object. For all its size, it was surprisingly light and easy to handle ~ the damage would be done by the massive jagged ridges that adorned the head and the massive frost-based enchantment the weapon bore.

The guards outside the Great Hall proved amenable to answering a few questions. From them I learned that Engar Ice-Mane, although protesting his innocence, had chosen death rather than be exiled from the Skaal village. This surprised me, and I quizzed the guards further. “‘Tis a terrible thing, an exile tae be,” one of them informed me. “Tae have every hand turned against ye. And the loss of honour…” That seemed to be a major point with others I spoke to, the Skaal seemed to dread loosing their honour.

From other sources around the village, I learned other interesting facts. Many, if not all, of the people I spoke to expressed doubts that Engar would have resorted to thievery: descriptions of his nature and character invariably included the phrases ‘fine warrior’, ‘brave Skaal’, and ‘honourable man’. There seemed to be slightly less enthusiastic responses where Rigmor Half-Hand was concerned. Most people spoke of him as ‘a valuable member of the community’ or ‘a very clever Man’. I was deliberately avoiding questioning the two protagonists until I’d done some background checking ~ I had a feeling that my responses on this case were going to be scrutinised closely and that much more than I suspected hinged on them.

I’d not been surprised to discover Rigmor Half-Hand wasn’t married but Engar Ice-Mane was, so I went to speak to his wife: Risi. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she was adamant that Engar hadn’t stolen the furs. “He’s an honourable man, Engar,” she protested, “tae think o’ him thieving is… well, impossible. ‘Tis my guess that Rigmor is feeling the jealousy and has made out of whole cloth these charges.”

I’d been looking around the hut while Risi was speaking ~ it certainly seemed well appointed as rude wooden huts go. Thick furs covered the well maintained floor, heavy tapestries hung over some of the walls and over the door. There were logs aplenty in the fire grate and even shutters on the insides of the windows. Two large, fur covered beds were partially obscured by a thick woollen curtain. And, interestingly enough, there was a crumpled scrap of parchment by the side of one of them. Before Risi could notice or intervene, I span and swooped down on the crumpled ball, smoothing it out. It proved to be most illuminating, throwing a very different light on the matter to hand.

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Dearest Risi,

Why will you not see me? You know how I feel, and I know you feel the same about me. Please, simply consent to speak to me. Just a word, a moment with you, would ease my soul. If I cannot be with you, I will have to resort to something drastic.

Please, consider your feelings. Your husband is a lout, away for weeks at a time, with no consideration for your needs. I have always been there for you, and I always will be. We should be together, dear Risi.

R.H.

“Interesting,” I commented, looking at the now ashen-faced Risi. “Would I be correct in guessing that Rigmor Half-Hand is the author of this note?”

“Aye,” she said, sinking down onto a nearby chair. “Ye must understand. I was of Rigmor enamoured afore I met Engar. We had a… dalliance. But, this I swear, it stopped when I met my husband. But…” The poor woman started sobbing into her cupped hands.

“Let me guess,” I said, squatting beside her and speaking kindly. “Rigmor was unwilling to leave the situation at that. He wanted you to continue the affair, even though you were married?” Sniffling and teary-eyed, Risi nodded. “I think that I’d best show this note to Tharsten, don’t you?”

With Risi’s permission to show the note to the Chieftain, I went back to the Great Hall and presented my evidence. Tharsten listened impassively as I told him what I thought had happened but, when he read the note, he nodded. “Aye, ‘tis the truth of it there ye have,” he said, frowning heavily. “All charges against Engar Ice-Mane I’ll drop. But now we have the matter of Rigmor Half-Hand afore us. ‘Tis a crime most grievous tae make a false accusation an’ carries wi’ it the sentence of the crime falsely spoken. Will ye no go and get Rigmor here? And, whilst ye do, I want ye tae think hard on his punishment, for ‘tis up tae you tae decide it.”

“Aye, ye have the truth of it,” Rigmor sighed as I told him what I thought had happened. “I thought that, wi’ Engar out a the way, I’d… Ach, never mind: ‘tis all gone awry. Lead me tae Tharsten lassie. “ As I led him across the village towards the Great Hall, he placed his hand on my shoulder and whispered, “if ‘tis a consolation tae ye, I bear ye no ill will for my crime exposing.”

Which made what I had to say next even harder. When Tharsten had pronounced that Rigmor Half-Hand was guilty of the crime of falsely accusing Engar Ice-Mane of theft, he turned to me and demanded that I speak the punishment to be meted out to the accuser. Swallowing a lump that had formed in my throat, I said, “I sentence Rigmor Half-Hand to death.”

“So moot it be,” Tharsten intoned. Two burly warriors stepped from the sides of the hall and, gripping Rigmor by the shoulders, led him outside. With a nod in my direction, Korst Wind-Eye also made his way outside. Tharsten glared at me and I realised that I was required to attend the execution as well.

Feeling sick, I made my way outside and joined the crowd of people that had gathered around a wooden pen. In the centre of this stood Rigmor Half-Hand, stripped to the waist and carrying two small daggers. Korst walked up some steps that led to a platform overlooking the pen and spoke strange words that I didn’t understand. In a swirl of red mist, five massive wolves appeared in the pen and, snarling ferociously, launched themselves at the hapless Rigmor.

“Dinnae look away outsider,” a firm but kindly voice said as a hand gripped my shoulder and prevented me from turning away. With a shaky sigh, I turned back to watch the carnage in the pen ~ the wolves tearing into Rigmor and bearing him down to the ground. A sudden splash of crimson stained the snow, accompanied by a scream of anguish. With an unearthly howl, the wolves raised their snouts to the sky and faded from view. Four guards rushed into the pen and covered the body of Rigmor Half-Hand with a fur rug before bearing him from view.

Engar, he of the firm hand and kind voice, patted my shoulder as the procession crested the hill nearby and vanished down the slope towards the coastline. “‘Tis an idea I have, but that you’d better speak tae Heart-Fang afore ye speak tae anyone else,” Engar suggested. “So that what ye’ve done this day will be clearly understood by yourself.”

“That was a bonnie thing ye did,” Tharsten said as I entered the Great Hall. “Tae let Rigmor die wi’ such honour, and him not being a warrior at all.” I began to understand the Skaal in that moment, and understood that I had passed the test of wisdom. Tharsten confirmed that, “ye have proven that ye’re as canny as ye are loyal,” he said, “traits needed in abundance by any warrior. This helm a symbol is, worn only by warriors trusted and true.” The helmet was made of fine steel but mounted on it was the head and fur of a large black wolf. “The Helm of the Wolf’s Heart,” the Chieftain said, “a symbol tae all Skaal that ye a great warrior are.

“Ye have proven tae me that ye are loyal and wise,” Tharsten said, settling back into his throne-like chair. “But a warrior must strength have. We have a test for ye, Vahl Dark Elf, so that ye may prove ye have the strength tae match your wisdom an’ loyalty. On the shores of Fjalding, there ye’ll find the Shaman. He will tell ye what must be done.”

I knew something was wrong long before I reached the shores of Lake Fjalding: the glow from the huge plume of fire that rose, impossibly, from the middle of the lake was visible even from the hill by the village. Fearing that Wind-Eye had, somehow, caused this conflagration, I hurried to the shadowy form of the Shaman standing on the shore.

“I nothing tae do with this,” Korst assured me in response to my frantic questioning. “‘Tis the work o’ the Draugr Lord Aesliip who dwellings beneath Fjalding has. So, this your test o’ strength is ~ tae go beneath Fjalding and Aesliip destroy. I pray tae the One that it is naught but that old maker o’ mischief that this has caused.”

Wind-Eye wouldn’t tell me what he meant by that, instead instructing me to rest for the night and prepare for the morrow. Rather than return to the Skaal, I set up my tent ~ a procedure that seemed to amuse the Shaman no end.