Chapter 2

  His long, black beard was soaked with chilling blood yet he was warmed by the fires of his heart. The occasion? A day like no other.

  Election Day.

  In a crowded, cobbled street that ran slick with the gore of the western coast, Haakon stood across from his foe. They were to square off in a pit formed by the gathered mob. He was here, of course, to defend his office.

  Once every four years those holding civil positions throughout the city would duel any would-be usurpers in single combat. Official challenges were laid bare, terms agreed upon, and a time set. This was Haakon’s seventh duel of the day. Each of his challengers, dead men one and all, had staked their claims against the High Thane of Vestergatt, a title he had held for thirty years. And so he met his final foe, a man whose name he had not bothered to memorize.

  Haakon’s blades were drawn, still dripping with blood. The terms of combat were read to them by an old man in a black leather trench coat and boots above his knees.

  “‘Tis Election Day lads.” He said. “Ye know the drill by now, I would reckon. Two men enter, only one of ye leaves. The rules are as follows: No hidden weapons. Ye are to be equipped with only the weapons provided and nothin’ more. And no involvin’ no bystanders; this is one against another. Understood?”

  “Aye.” Said the challenger.

  He was a tall man of broad chest and a finely groomed handlebar mustache. He wore a brown felt vest, buttoned across from hip to shoulder, and rolled up white sleeves as he held tight onto a spiked morningstar.

  Haakon nodded.

  “Then the bout to determine who will hold the title of High Thane, second only to Haugust himself, will be settled here and now.” The officiant stepped back and gauged both combatants. “Our challenger, from the lowest branches of the docks, Leif Olsson!” The crowd booed fiercely as Leif proudly raised his morningstar. The officiant smiled at Haakon knowingly, “And our incumbent, of whom ye lot are no stranger, is feared far and wide. Known as the Scourge of the West long before enterin’ Haugust’s employ, we welcome High Thane Haakon the Black back into the pit one last time on this hallowed day!”

  The crowd erupted as Haakon brought his weapons to bear. A pair of broad cutlasses, with thin hand guards and curved blades, graced his hands. He was dressed in tall, black leather boots with white linen trousers. He had a black belt with a broad, golden buckle filigreed with a hawk swooping low. He had white linen shirt layered over with a buttoned green vest. Over all of it was an most iconic piece, a red coat trimmed with black and gold and twinned tailcoats. In the thirty years of office his attire had not changed, only his beard had begun to gray.

  “Begin!”

  Leif charged him with his morningstar held across his waist. Instead of bringing the mace down upon him, he feinted, thrusting the blunt object. Just narrowly, Haakon ducked the blow.

  This bastard knows what he’s doin’.

  In a twirl, Haakon spun with his cutlasses, landing a light cut upon Leif’s upper arm as he pedaled backwards. Though, the blow was not without cost as Haakon was struck square in his chest by Leif’s boot, sending him flying onto his back.

  “Ye’ve gotten old, Haakon.” Leif taunted. He raised the morningstar high and slammed it down, Haakon rolling out of its way. “Old. Slow. Weak.” Leif continued, crunching the cobblestones with each word. “When is old too old, I wonder? We hear ye whisper to yer dark faith, foul magics that’ve kept ye hale and whole fer far too long. Ye sully Haugust’s name. No longer.”

  Leif threw himself on top of the older man. Pinning Haakon’s arms to the ground with his hands, Leif gazed directly into Haakon’s steely, black eyes. Below him, Haakon cackled.

  “Tell me, pup. O’ fabled man of strength ye purport to be, what color are my eyes? Do they shine blue with the call of Hel? Am I to be finally swept away in glorious death?”

  “Ye’ve lost yer mind.” Leif whispered.

  “No? Then it is not I who will be dyin’ this day. And it is certainly not yee who would deliver me!”

  Haakon lurched forward, slamming the peak of his skull into the bridge of Leif’s nose, shattering it as the large man crumpled. Haakon rolled away and regained his footing.

  Blindly Leif swung, his morningstar cracking the stone of the street where it struck, though Haakon was too swift. With another reared blow, Leif swung overhead onto Haakon in a rage.

  In a single movement Haakon brought one cutlass across and the other thrusting in as he spun. In a spray of blood Leif’s right hand went flying as his heart was pierced by Haakon’s blade. Wordlessly, Leif collapsed to his knees, Haakon following suit as he kept his cutlass buried deep.

  “Oh…I don’t see it, Leif.” Haakon whispered. “Yer eyes, they don’t glow blue. Ye’ve no glory to call ye home. Rest now, and be forgotten.”

  And so it was, with the roaring cheer of the crowd and the blood of his enemies soaking his clothes, that Haakon won his election.

  The officiant, looking somewhat relieved with the whole situation, stepped forth.

  “Toss the body, I want this street sparklin’ by sundown!” The man barked.

  Haakon stood slowly. “So, it seems I’ve purchased yet another four years of yer torturous company.”

  The officiant laughed as he patted Haakon on the back, “Seems so. No time to be celebratin’, Haugust has already sent word for ye.”

  Haakon’s eyes narrowed. “So soon? Did he mention what for?”

  The officiant shrugged, “He didn’t. Only that it was urgent.”

  Haakon sighed and turned away from the blood and the crowd as he began the trek back to the Aviary.

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  Vestergatt was a city designed by a madman. It was built upon a steep hill which abruptly met the sheer edge of the coastal cliffs. From one end to the other, its streets were an uphill crawl. As dense as it was steep, the city was a clustered network of spires built atop one another. Like a forest, only the tranquil calls of birds and beasts were echoed in the rancid screaming and shouting of the poor who littered the streets.

  Each spire was a neighborhood in and of itself. At the base of each was the poorest homes and shops, gradually growing in wealth and stature as one ascended. Once high enough, one could travel between the towers using the sprawling web of rope-walks and scaffolded bridges that spanned the city's skyline.

  At the base of each tower were four elevators operated through a series of machinery powered by a rare substance mined at the base of the cliffs the city was built upon: ruby powder. Such powder could burn nigh endlessly when treated properly, powering Vestergatt’s many mechanical assets.

  The ruby powder was also the source of two other key technologies closely guarded by the city, snapsticks and their newly designed airships. The powder, when ground fine enough, would ignite and launch projectiles at high speeds, allowing Vestergatt to fashion small arms and cannons with the materials. The airships were different, however.

  Only one had yet been constructed, a feat of great ingenuity piloted only by the High Thane himself, The Baker’s Daughter. The airship was docked upon the Aviary, the city’s gleaming capital building.

  A spire taller than all others and set upon the cliff, merging the city and its great lift. A construction of gleaming steel that burned with all the raging light of the setting western sun. At its peak was a platform with a great loop, two prongs welded together with a bearing at the joint that offered Haugust ample space to perch. Beneath the loop was a hovel, dense and squat.

  Below the Aviary and stamped into the side of the cliff was a massive lift of cast iron powered by great golems. The lift was the fastest way up from the coastline but was reserved only for dignitaries and elites. Everyone else had to take the docks.

  The dockline of Vestergatt was a marvel of both engineering and raw, unopposed optimism. A sprawling canopy of wooden docks, sticking straight out into thin air and zig-zagging its way across thousands of unbroken, slight ramps suspended only by the hopes and dreams of ruby powder balloons. So vast was this network, so expansive, that the ground below was black beneath its shadow.

  The people of Yvaheim were wary of Vestergatt. For it was a city of madmen, each having lost themselves in their climb to the top, led by a madman, driven to die.

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  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Haakon the Black, the Helsought, a name forged over fifty years of dread and violence, was a man chasing the shadow of his own death. Not out of fear, like a sniveling coward, but out of a zealous desire to see it fulfilled.

  Haakon demanded to die.

  Not any death would do, for the gates of Hel were fastidious and the demands of his ancestors intense. Yet strive he did, obsessively, to fashion himself a death worthy of those who would judge him.

  Haakon was been born to a small, reclusive village not far south of the Ashen Valley, close to the coast. The village’s name was Hel, not because it believed itself to be of any importance, but out of reverence for their pagan faith.

  Those of Hel believed that the purpose of one’s life was to devote themselves entirely to making their deaths as grand and as glorious as possible. They believed that only a life recorded in song and a death remembered in stone would grant one entrance into Hel.

  Hel was their afterlife, whereupon the worthy dead would eat and sing and fight to their heart's content for the rest of time. Moreover, they believed that this was the only afterlife. Failure to gain entrance was to be punished with an infinite end.

  For those of Hel, it was merriment or oblivion.

  Such beliefs were not conducive to keeping young men close to home, and so Haakon had set forth to make his name known far and wide. He had spent his youth as a pirate, sailing the western seas with one ragged crew after another, before claiming a vessel for himself. So fearsome a reputation did he gather, so disruptive was his presence, that he had obtained the moniker of “The Black,” after the color of his boat’s sails.

  Though, one day he was bested. The first and only loss he had ever suffered. So upset was he that he threw away the lifestyle in its entirety, instead turning to Vestergatt and challenging the High Thane for his position in a suicidal parlay. To his surprise, he won. And so he had stood ever since, chasing the ever flickering trails of Hel that guided him towards his glorious death, burdened by the weight of his only failure.

  Such thoughts never left him. As he stood alone in the great elevator, roaring as it ascended the Aviary, he wallowed in them.

  “Never again,” he whispered as light flooded the chamber.

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  “And so he has returned to us. Congratulations are in order, I presume?” Haugust spoke to him from the highest point of the Aviary.

  The great hawk’s voice was soft and hoarse, with gentle tones and monotone inflection. Despite this his steel-blue gaze, unblinking in its predatory inquisition, disquieted even Haakon’s hardened spirit.

  “It just means ye aren’t rid of me yet.” Haakon replied as a gust of wind shoved his beard to the side.

  They spoke to each other upon the apex of the Aviary. Haugust was perched atop the ringed clasp above, Haakon just in front of the squat hut with legs stiffly braced to withstand the winds.

  “This gladdens me, old friend. I would not relieve you of your service so soon,” Haugust replied with sweet tones of amusement.

  The God of the Winds was a hawk, to be sure, but such was a severe understatement bordering on blasphemy. His body was the size of a galleon’s hull and his wings like great sails each. His feathers were striped ivory laced with black, cresting below the neck. His beak was curved like a sickle and black as night, his talons polished granite.

  “Aye, and fortunate I would be to stay in yer employ,” Haakon stated with a gracious bow. “Why have ye called me?”

  “Afisk is missing.”

  Haakon’s eyes widened. “Are ye certain? Can’t ye simply, I don’t know, feel him out?”

  “I cannot,” Haugust affirmed. “I do not know why. This concerns me. I imagine my siblings feel the same. But, it is not my brother’s disappearance that has called you here, Haakon. At least, not directly.”

  “Oh?”

  “Enter the chamber. We have a guest. He states that he is from Sindhome. Find out what he knows about my brother. Find out what he wants. Report to me once you are finished.”

  Haakon bowed again. “So as the wind wants.”

  Satisfied, Haugust lifted off of the perch with a tremendous cry. With a great flap of his gargantuan wings he launched himself into the skyline of the city below. At such speeds, he was quickly out of sight.

  Haakon pushed against the door of the hovel. The inside was a single, square room with a rounded table. A wheeled platter with a dozen lit candlesticks was balanced upon its center. Along the outside were a dozen chairs, each empty save for one. Sat upon the point farthest from the entrance of the chamber, directly opposite of Haakon, sat a man.

  He was bald and dressed in thin black fabrics. The sleeves were cut, revealing slender arms tightly toned. His face was smooth, though it featured prominent piercings. A chain connected a nose ring to his left eyebrow.

  “Ah, the High Thane himself!” He said standing as Haakon entered.

  “Aye.” Haakon answered curtly, motioning him to remain seated.

  “Truly an honor. Zachariah Volsson, at your service. I come bearing word from the east.” His voice was smooth, silken, almost serpentine.

  Haakon raised an eyebrow as he sat. “Volsson, you’re a bastard of the Academy?”

  Zachariah shrugged, “In the distant past. Though I have long since left those days behind me.”

  “You’re a Voljar.”

  “Technically.”

  Haakon waved dismissively. “Forget it. Why have ye come to Vestergatt, Mr. Volsson?”

  “I have come on the behalf of my benefactors in Sindhome and in lands beyond to speak directly with you, High Thane.”

  “I speak only on behalf o’ Haugust. Anythin’ ye say to me shall be shared with him.”

  “All the better!” Zachariah insisted. “I come under two banners. I bring you the warm wishes of the Hymnal Church and the good will of my own company, Lokisella.”

  Haakon raised his gaze in contemplation, trying to remember.

  I know o’ the church. It’s a large institution, and powerful, though distant and wholly foreign. But the other?

  He suddenly snapped his fingers as he rocked forward, “Lokisella! Ye’r the folks that run the gamin’ halls!”

  “I’m flattered that our reputation precedes us.”

  “That they do… The Hymnal folks are from far down south. Ishan, if I be recallin’ correctly.”

  Zachariah smiled. “I should have expected as much from a well-traveled man.”

  Haakon leaned back with spread legs. “Why is a purveyor of such delights dealin’ with the likes o’ the church?”

  “Our business is private. They do, however, have a proposition for you and Haugust both. You must have heard by now that Afisk is missing.”

  The air tensed, the candle flames burning stiff.

  “Aye.”

  “We do not know where Afisk has gone, nobody does. But we believe that his absence has granted us an opportunity. A vacancy, one that must be filled.”

  “What are ye playin’ at?” Haakon asked bluntly.

  “We believe that Afisk’s absence will destabilize the region. We have reason to predict and that this will have a cascading effect on the entire country, leading to full-scale civil war as the powers that be make their plays to fill the vacuum he has left behind. We would like to secure a partnership between Sindhome and Vestergatt. Help us keep the peace, so to speak, and you and Haugust both shall be rewarded handsomely.”

  Haakon scoffed as he stood up from his chair. “This is ridiculous. Ye want Haugust and I to help ye stage a coup in order to install a foreign power on Yvan soil?”

  “Nothing quite that severe, but close.”

  “And why would we do that?”

  Zachariah grinned widely, “Because I know what drives you, Haakon the Black.” He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a discarded wax seal. Pressed upon it was the visage of a great bear, the official sigil of the Berserkir. “I know whose face you see in the dark.”

  Haakon, rage flaring in his eyes, restrained himself. “Ye don’t know a damn thing.”

  “I know that the High Thane has only once faced defeat.” Zachariah continued softly, playfully, plucking Haakon’s heartstrings with every twist of his tongue. “It was at the hands of the last Berserkir, was it not? Aya. So tragic that she passed before you could settle the score.”

  “I’d watch yer tongue-”

  “But she had a daughter and she’s the Jarl now. Jarl Sigrid. The new Berserkir.” Zachariah gave a broad, twisted smile. His teeth grew jagged, his lips cracked as his skin stretched. “I know that there is neither coin nor treasure enough in this world to sway you. But this-” Zachariah flipped the wax seal up into the air, caught it with his hands, then held it in the flickering flames of his candlestick as it melted. “Might interest you.”

  Haakon leaned forward. “And what exactly is it ye offer?”

  “Power. We offer you the strength to slay even the mightiest of foes. Perhaps, even the Berserkir. We offer Haugust the strength to soar above his kin, and to assume his rightful place as the one true god of Yvaheim.”

  Haakon leaned back for a moment and breathed deep. “Alright. What would ye have us do?”

  Zachariah smiled again, terrible and cruel, as he pulled another trinket from his pockets.

  It was a silver armring, to go around the bicep. A ruby was pressed upon the outer band, and around its coursing form were little barbs, sharpened to a point, facing the inner edge. He recognized it immediately.

  An oathbairn, a wicked tool of subjugation.

  “I would have you deliver a gift. Do this, and our agreement shall be as written in blood.”

  “Why can’t ye do it yerself?”

  Zachariah frowned. “This ring, this band, is our single best chance to prevent civil war. It must be delivered in secret and without suspicion.”

  The fire of ambition flickered in Haakon’s dark and distant eyes. “Who am I to give this to?”

  “Deliver it to the Thrahyggian Academy. With Haugust’s speed you should be able to make the journey swift enough for no one to notice. There, his brother shall retrieve it.”

  Haakon gasped, “Eigir knows about this?”

  Zachariah laughed, “Whose idea do you think this was?”

  He sat with the thought for a moment.

  If Eigir was complicit with a foreign power, then there must be some sense in all this.

  “Alright, I’ll bring it to him.”

  “Good. Do this and our partnership between us begins in earnest. And remember, only Eigir can know. No one else must spot you.”