Chapter 16 - Arroch's Audience I
Arroch was more than a little nervous to be summoned by the North Star. Being summoned by 'death', IE Wulfgar, was one thing. He was more or less used to it, or as used to meeting death as a man can get to appreciate. It was the vacant eyes, devoid of emotion. Nothing good. Nothing bad. Simply… nothing. Being a Heyermannen meant that he slowly got used to dealings with Wulfgar. True, of late he had gotten to see another side of the Wolf that few other big-men even realized existed. Yet it would not do, to ever forget who and what he was. Fear and respect be damned, Arroch thought… there should be a word for when a man commanded both emotions in men.
Being summoned by the high king's own wise steward, well, as long as a man had done nothing wrong? Nothing to fear there. Usually little more than a tea party. Some questions, some answers. The wise steward, was as anyone would tell of him. Not a more pleasant man to be found anywhere in the kingdom.
Now, the North Star himself? That was a different matter altogether. Almost all knew him by reputation only. People like Wulfgar, and the High Lords, and a smattering of others. Sure, they had dealings with the great man. Yet, those were great men themselves. Almost all of them had fought side by side with the North Star in the Great Forging of the nation. Then again, during what people called first The Reforging, then ultimately, simply The Troubles.
Men like Wulfgar, had even all but grown up with the man. They understood him better. They trusted each other more. Arroch didn't. Hence, he was nervous about meeting him.
Then, there was something more to it, wasn't there? Sure there was. Arroch knew what it was. So did practically everyone else. It was no closely guarded secret. It was openly whispered about.
The High King, the very North Star himself? Was well known to be a declared madman.
Some said he was completely and utterly insane. Some said he had wicked mood swings. That he could be playing dice smiling one moment, and marching around and thundering on about whatever issue, the very next. He might be laughing and jovial for a time, then get melancholy. He was said when really happy, to march around highly animated. Of course, he could be the same when mad. Other times? He was said to simply sit there. Staring slowly around. Studying people, and intently. This was said to make people highly uncomfortable.
He had fairly normal sleeping habits, his quiet night preference aside. Fairly normal, not completely normal. It was sometimes claimed that on occasion and for seemingly no real reason any normal person could detect, that he could and would stay up for two to three days straight. Or alternately, to sleep for two to three days straight… and not necessarily the former then the latter. Stringing days awake or asleep with no rhyme or reason.
At other times? It was said that he was as normal as everyone else in all ways.
But, simply everyone, from the high lords down to the lowest and most unimportant pickle to be found in the furthest away barrel anywhere in the kingdom? Loved their mad king. Mad or not, his works were true.
They just didn't necessarily want to be around him.
This was the first high king they had. It was way better than having to deal with a laundry list of petty kings every ten steps you took. Differing weights, measures, laws, customs, coinage. It was said that in those days? A man could not piss without worrying about two different petty kings. In other words, you took your piss on one petty king's land, and the piss landed on the next petty king's land.
Dealing with one admittedly insane man, was preferable to dealing with many kings, who really ran the gamut. Some drunkards, some greedy, some wicked. Some even what was thought of as good. All of them were by necessity plotting and planning against one another. Fighting one another. Those that were not in on that, were always worried about defending and holding off all the various kings that surrounded their own little kingdom. Alliances shifted like the sands of a desert, and could change radically literally overnight. Diplomacy was complicated beyond comprehension, usually conducted at sword-point at best and by war at worst. Violence could and would erupt like a volcano out of seemingly calm peace. This lava of violence could last one day, or three years.
Constant violence, meant constantly having an army at the ready. Sudden and unpredictable violence, combined with the sand-shifting alliances that changed with the wind? Meant conscripting the pickles and making them fight. You built bridges for commerce and trade, then they had to be burned for protection. Crops were burned as a tactic. When not at war? Life was nearly as bad. High taxes were needed. To pay for the standing armies and weapons and provisions. To buy food when crops were burned. Armed guards at every way in and out of your little kingdom, to prevent pickles running away. To turn away refugees you couldn't support. Life was harsh and often short for everyone from the petty king, down to the last pickle.
The pickles imitated their petty kings. Men from one village would go and fight the men from the next. Doing to each other, what the petty kingdoms did to each other. One petty kingdom endured what they called the "water wars". Tired of the burned and stolen crops? A village decided to dam up the stream, and to raise fish. Hey. Food that couldn't be stolen or burned. The next village had no water in the dry season, because of the dam. The result was obvious. Inter-village warfare. Then? The loser attacked later on for revenge. After several winters of this, the petty king had to fight his own pickles to settle things down. Which weakened his kingdom. The petty kings on either side invaded him, then fought each other over it.
As the high king declared after setting his own district straight, and claiming his first petty throne? It was like trying to herd cats when dealing with it.
'Aye. Odin himself does not want this job. Wisdom is all but useless in dealing with these matters.'
The high king? Put a stop to all of that shit. It was also said, that if all his trophies were put in one place at one time? His own great-room in his own great-house might not even hold all the heads. This was a man that had a pickle barrel of petty king's crowns as a trinket. He was both a giant himself, and a giant slayer. You don't take such a man lightly.
Once again, Arroch wished there was a word for when you both held a man in high respect and in equally high fear. Go figure that Wulfgar and the high king really hit it off. They were both all but death incarnate. But, at least Wulfgar had his slightly human side. Eira and her ladies in waiting, for instance. They even gave Wulfgar lip service and teased him, particularly Eira. But then Eira was a kingmaker, and enjoyed a special relationship with him from a toddler. Wulfgar had an extended family, and they all spoke of him as little different than other Ravens. Quaint. Quiet. Polite. Those were the three watchwords his extended family awarded him.
The high king, however? No wife. No real wenching. None that anyone knew about anyways. Some said when younger, he was a normal man that way, but that it had tapered off quicker than with other men. No family, no extended family. Only child, dead parents. Something of a recluse, other than work related relationships. Even foreign kings and emperors? Dealt with the steward. Now that said volumes, obviously.
Arroch took a deep breath. Worked the big knocker at the front gate. Closed his eyes. Silently said to himself…
"Odin. Will ye guide me through this matter? I would appreciate it…"
"Yes ?!?!"
A deep voice had boomed out, and it snapped his eyes open. The face door was open, and a man tall enough to have to lean down to speak out of it, was wanting to know who was there knocking at the high king's gate.
"Heyermannen Arroch. I am under summons."
He knew the face, that was the wise steward. Arroch heard the big bar being pushed over, and the steward leaned into opening the giant door on its oiled iron hinges. It swung open, but very slowly.
"Come in, come in… the North Star is expecting you."
"Aye."
Arroch followed the steward in.
"Arroch… Arroch… ah, yes! The Ox, am I correct?"
"Aye, steward. We met some winters back. When I was declared a Heyermannen. The steward's memory is great."
"Pah… comes from all the reckoning. Now then, how are all your men doing. And your new… oxling. All well, I trust."
"Oh, aye. Theyer and Sooth are well. The new man, Ryeamund? We three FarstGefted a small farm to him. Make him feel at home."
"Well then, that's all well, is it not."
"Aye. Steward?"
"Yes, Arroch."
"Is there… any gossip today? By that I mean, is the high king… in a good mood this evening."
"Oh… you haven't met the man before, have you? I forgot about that."
"Nay, I have not had the honor."
"Well then. Come, follow me. I will make us some tea, and we can talk for a bit before your audience. Perhaps a snack."
Arroch followed the man into the big great-house. There was a little room before what was surely the great-room, the giant doors told him that much. The steward had some tea water boiling. He brought over a platter he quickly prepared. Two little drinking bowls for tea. A loaf of bread already sliced. Sliced meat and cheese.
They both sipped the tea some, and ate a little bit before talking.
"Now then. Perhaps you would enjoy some gossip on meeting the high king for the first time, yes?"
"Oh… aye."
"Do not worry about it. Now, myself? I honestly do not have that many dealings with the North Star himself. I am the steward. The high king? Generally prefers the night and the cool air, and the quiet it brings. He claims, he heard too much noise and commotion. The Forging? The Great Troubles? He prefers things quiet, as you can imagine."
"Aye."
"Now myself? I much prefer the warm air and the sunshine. I enjoy meeting people and dealing with them. The North Star, is generally up and about and handling affairs in the night, and, I perform my duties generally in the day. We meet every morning, and every evening, and I keep him informed of that which he needs to know. In fact, I am about ready to retire for the evening. I need my rest. A reckoner's work is simply never done. Would you like some more tea, Arroch?"
"Ah… aye, surely."
"There we are… now, I want you to help yourself to tea and morsels you see about, after I leave you. The high king? Is a rough and coarse fighting man, and as you can imagine, his manners are not mine. If you want anything, just grab it. The man will take no offense. Trust me, our pantry is overflowing, we get far too many gefts of food we could never eat."
"Now then, as I said, I am about to go lie down. I will tend to my short words with the North Star, and then? You will meet him. Now, keep a few things in mind. He is a… loud man. Given to boast. Big man, big voice, but with a big heart. Do not bow, do not grovel… he hates that pig shit. There's just one more thing."
"Aye?"
"Try not to stare. When you meet him, I mean. No man likes to be stared at, pointed at, what have you. And simply… try not to be scared. He is a good man, trust me."
"How… how big is he? I heard, he is a full fledged giant."
"Oh, that. Aye, he is a big man. I believe, that is why I have the dealings with so many. I myself am not a small man, yet… I am a Gentle Man. A man of high reckoning. I live for my scrolls, you see. The North Star? He is a little bigger than I am. Yet? I see the Ox is no small man from the out-lands. It is no matter."
"As you say then, wise steward."
"Just remember, when you first meet him… try not to stare."
"Aye."
"Well. I bid you a good night then. As I said, remember to help yourself to what you see that you want. The North Star should be out in a bit."
And with that, the steward was off. He went thru a side door and closed it. Arroch heard some brief talking he could not make out. A lighter voice, surely the steward… and a deeper voice that resonated. Arroch sat there, wondering. Do not stare at him… do not stare at him… what the hell? It had to be important, the steward told him twice.
Maybe, the big man had some great scar on his face. After all, he did lead the Forging and the Great Troubles. By Odin, it would not be out of the question for a man that had seen that much action, to be missing a portion of his face, by this point. Simply everyone knew, the great man had ridden right in front, into the very heart of every battle.
Yes, probably a great scar. It would account for a lot. The reduced and ceased wenching. No wife. Preferring quiet. Preferring to be up all night when most men preferred the daytime. Sending a steward to handle all the affairs of state… yes, a bad scar or injury was likely the thing.
A giant man, missing a portion of his face? Would tend to put some kings and dignitaries off a bit. Hell, he was probably kind of sensitive about it. Arroch knew, that even true giants… have feelings.
Arroch heard rustling coming to the great doors. This was likely the high king himself. He swallowed, and closed his eyes. Silently begging for wisdom in his head.
"Odin? Grant me the wisdom to remember, not to stare at the poor man's injuries."
Then, the great doors simply burst open. Arroch got his first look at the North Star, the great man himself. He smiled, nervous. He did seem to be a hair bigger than the wise steward. He was dressed in the old style of furs and leather. He was a true giant, just as the steward was a giant. Both were well over 7 feet tall. And… thick.
Not thick in the style of the pure north-men, who were very tall and muscular, yet had a layer of fat, gristle, and hair all over them. Oh no, this giant was a Rhyshian giant. Rippling muscle. The steward must hide his musculature with his clothing he chose, this man showed it off proudly.
He had thrown open these great doors easily, not slowly like the steward had to put effort into the gate doors, and these were every bit as large. It was a great-house befitting a king. This was a great-room? Befitting a high king.
Arroch was trembling. He didn't know exactly what the hell to do now. He couldn't kneel, or bow… the man hated that. He didn't want to insult him. He was told not to stare, but he also didn't want to be rude and look around the room at everything else but the only man there.
He suddenly wished the steward was here. The wise steward. Easier to deal with. Polite as the year is long. But that wasn't going to happen, the steward had gone away to bed. Arroch had to look at him, to be polite, but… how could he look at the only man in the room with him, and not be staring? He had been told twice. Don't stare, he doesn't like that.
Should he talk first? He wished he had been announced, the way other petty kings usually handled it. Damned steward, gone. He decided to wait to be spoken to. Surely, that was polite. Perhaps, he was to be seen and not heard. Maybe, this scary giant would simply tell him what he needed to know, and he could scurry off.
He kept his nerve, as best he could. He didn't piss himself at least. He had heard rumors, that was sometimes a "problem" for men meeting the high king. That he was so intimidating and scary. Now how would it look to the high king, if one of his own Heyermannen couldn't keep his water simply sitting there.
It wasn't the sheer size and rippling muscles of the North Star that frightened him so much. As a big fighting man himself, Arroch had been around other true giants. Most were somewhat pleasant in general, excepting the Bear of course and a few others about the various villages. This was the high north, they had giants walking around. Real ones. No, that wasn't what ratcheted his guts into tight knots that actually hurt.
The wise steward? Had a physical peculiarity. "Crazy eyes", people called the condition. Not insane eyes, not scary eyes. Two different colored pupils. The steward would even make jokes about it to put you at ease, such was the high manners of the man of learning. Half pure north-man, half pure Rhyshian… the steward had one ice blue eye, and one brown eye. One of each of his lineages.
No. When he met the giant's gaze? It wasn't the gaze itself that frightened him like a wee child in a bad thunderstorm and lightning strikes close by and rattles the ground and your bowels. Not that the man's gaze was not scary; it was. Somewhat terrifying, actually. The eyes simply blazed with what was obviously… pure distilled madness.
Arroch was for a brief instant, sure he was mistaken. Arroch had met identical twins before. And for that brief instant, he had thought that was what happened. Until he quit scanning the face for the great injury he had convinced himself was there. There was no injury. The man had a fair face. He was quite sure, that women found him handsome to look at.
But, when he was done scanning the face for the non-existent injury or scar? That was when he was truly terrified. You could tell, just by the eyes, he was a madman. He had that blazing strength in them. Way worse than looking into Wulfgar's eyes. Wulfgar? Would forever be a happy memory now, Arroch was sure of that. This man? Before he even spoke, he gave off some kind of scary energy. Waves of it. That you could feel coming off of him. Like… waves of mild heat of some kind.
The North Star? The high mad king? Had one ice blue eye, and one dark brown eye. He was no identical twin to his steward. Nothing that rare could be shared by even identical twins.
He was a complete, raving, madman.
They were the same man… and "they"… obviously were insane enough, that "they" did not know.
Arroch now understood completely. For… who would even try to tell "them" about the issue? No one, that's who. Absolutely nobody at all, was going to even think about attempting to grease that pig up and set it loose.