Chapter 5 - Almost in the Village
The three big north-men stopped, and exchanged quiet words. Heyermannen nodded.
"Little Rye. Come here. We have a matter."
Ryeamund came right up from the horse he had been talking to and stroking. The horse was pulling the great cart and it's contents, so it clearly didn't need led; Ryeamund was a farmer though, and he liked animals and their company. He would speak to the horse as if it were another member of their company. He rubbed the horse's soft, velvety nose, and promised it he would be back.
"Aye. Trouble?"
Ryeamund scanned the surrounding hillsides. He saw nothing.
Heyermannen said it.
"Nay, no trouble. Just a small matter."
Ryeamund wanted to know.
"What, then?"
He furrowed his brow at 'his ox', as he called his big friend.
"Ye remember, when we said, Little Rye is our friend?"
"Aye. It pleased me."
"Well, that's the matter."
"Oh. We are close to the village, then."
Heyermannen said then, simply…
"Aye."
"You men… like me, on the road. You men… may not like me in the village, then. I will pretend, I do not know you three. I can follow behind. I will not tell. We will meet, later."
Another said…
"Nay."
"Oh."
And Ryeamund just smiled.
"Then… I will have, my things back. You three… whatever ye be. Ye can have yer saplings."
And Ryeamund spit on the ground.
Heyermannen just stared at his… well, now it was his former friend. Or never was. Ryeamund didn't care now which it had been. But, he meant to have his father's things back.
These three, that he had been foolish enough to believe they were his "friends", he was now thinking that they perhaps meant to keep his coins, his father's wagon, and his tools.
"You three… can take your things out of my father's wagon. Or you can watch, as I do it."
His remaining tiny hand ax, they suddenly realized, had seemingly appeared in his hand of it's own accord. He saw the one's eyes follow it.
"Heyermannen! You foolish ox! I told you, this is not wise! Tell him! Tell him now!"
"Tell me what you will… with an empty hand… pig."
And little Ryeamund pointed at the man whose hand had reflexively rested on the hilt of his big sword he carried. He froze, and opened both of his hands up… he did not like the way Ryeamund was pointing at him with his last remaining tiny hand ax. His eyes were following it quite keenly for all his size, armor, and weapons he carried. Rather like a man watching a bee or wasp buzzing near his head.
Ryeamund liked the way his little hand ax kept these three at bay, but once he threw it the game was over. His feet moved him without looking back to the side of his little wagon, and his smaller great ax seemed to jump up on its own into his left hand.
Still pointing at the man with his hand ax, who still took effort to show his open hands to Ryeamund.
Open hands stated politely, but very firmly…
"Heyermannen… I am not amused, any more."
The other chimed in, dryly…
"Aye, Heyermannen. I was amused. Until… he has another ax…"
And now that man smiled, shook his head "no" slowly a few times, and opened his hands up to show they were empty as well.
"Little Ryeamund. Former friend. We are three, and we wear armor. Is this wise?"
Ryeamund smiled and rolled his head around on his neck. His little ax was back in his belt. When he was done rolling his head around on his neck slowly, he took his stance and his hands found their grip of their own accord.
"The smith says… we will test that armor…"
Heyermannen smiled. Smiled quite broadly, and wide.
"The Ox says… you are not our friend… because… we want you to be our brother. We were having sport with you, and that is all."
Heyermannen moved slowly, with open hands, and took off his iron coin he wore around his neck. He held it out. Ryeamund lowered his ax down low enough they knew it wouldn't suddenly appear in one of their chests. Apparently, no one actually wished to test out their armor, at least not while still wearing it.
Ryeamund appeared to them, to be studying their words. They knew he was not stupid, yet he looked as if he was still confused, even after they admitted they were joking. Confused. Somewhat like a child, figuring out what adults really mean. He came up to them, but stayed out of sword range. He extended the handle of his ax, and held it out.
Heyermannen leaned forward slowly, and put the leather string that he wore the iron coin around his neck with upon the handle of the ax. Then he leaned back upright, his hands still up and open. Then he held his palms up and out to his sides…
"Coins, little oxen. My coins…"
Each man obliged him with a large coin. The coins looked to be large and silver. He then continued…
"I told you, I am right. Ryeamund is VinterBluden. See it. No sweat."
"Big ox? Next time, you be the target… then I will be much more amused."
Ryeamund softened, but not all the way as they would have liked.
"How does the farmer know, he can still trust his ox."
"Ryeamund. That, is no worthless coin you hold. That iron coin, is worth more than a bag of gold, up here. You can not buy that coin, with any bag of gold."
The third man, spoke up, smiling.
"Hold. Ryeamund? Where you come from. You have… hurt men. Because you did not reckon, the men's words, were words in jest. Aye?"
Ryeamund suddenly, and much to their relief, sagged his shoulders and lowered his head.
"I am sorry…"
And he put his big ax in his wagon. He gave a wan little smile, and dropped the tiny ax out of his belt in after it. Held his empty hands up. He looked for all the world, to be a lot younger again. Almost like a little kid, in some weird way.
The man continued.
"Ryeamund… do not be sorry. We are sorry. We should have reckoned sooner, you are VinterBluden."
Ryeamund cocked his head, and furrowed his brow at them.
"This word, this VinterBluden. That is your word, for my curse?"
"Aye. 'Winter Blood', or, 'Cold Blood'… yet, it is no curse. It is a great gift. From Odin himself. You… are as a son of Thor."
Heyermannen added to it.
"Aye. Thorson, in deed. Deeds we three have seen, Ryeamund… I am sorry. Is this no matter, now?"
Ryeamund whispered.
"Aye."
"All is well. Now, Ryeamund Thorson… come and embrace us. We are all BluddenBruders. 'Blood Brothers'. We fight together, not against. You are our brother. You will wear the sign of the Ox. Few men would strike this ox. Any man that strikes you, strikes the ox. If it pleases you, you will live with your brothers. You will eat with your brothers. You will drink with your brothers. You will hunt, and you will fight… with your brothers."
"Truly?"
"Aye. Just one tiny matter, Ryeamund Thorson…"
"The matter is…?"
"How… what… Ryeamund, we… we need some way… this does not happen. Have you, some custom? Some… sign."
"Oh, that. Aye. When I cut wood, I cut with men in their beard. I do not cut wood with the young men. After… this happened more than once, the head man of the woodsmen, he made a custom. For my curse. My friends, use the custom."
"Aye… what be the custom. I know I will use it."
"Well… I will take the words. Not the jest, said he. He commanded the woodsmen to show me the 'one eye'. So… I know to look for jest, in the words."
"Ryeamund. Why did you not tell us this?"
Ryeamund cocked his head, and furrowed his brow again.
"I did. When we were drinking wine."
"We drank wine many times…"
"The night you wanted sport with me. To wager."
The one man smiled and chuckled.
"Heyermannen, you great Ox. He says true. Aye, I remember it! Do you not remember it? We wondered what he meant. We thought 'one eye' was some thing of Odin. Some oath."
Heyermannen agreed.
"Aye. He did, he did. Ryeamund Thorson. Up here? Showing the one-eye… that is… wink. You tell a man, he must wink, so… this, will not happen."
"Do I still get my pig, then?"
All three about busted a gut laughing…
"Aye! Salt… sugar… pigs… goats… these matters are small, nay, these are but tiny matters."
"And… the… Sadder Festival. The pig roast. That is also well?"
"Aye, Ryeamund. Aye. We three, are eating pig food, and do not enjoy it, as you enjoy it. We will surely get a good hog, and a good horn. It is, the 'Satyr's day feast', and I will not miss it. You are a brave man, Ryeamund. I want to see you happy, with a belly full of boar. Your lease lord, is a fool for starving men, such as you. We will treat a Thorson right, man, you will see it!"
Ryeamund asked what day it was today. Which from the looks the other three gave each other, it was obviously a good question. Apparently, Heyermannen had the 'day reckoning stick'. A stick with seven deep notches down it, and you tied a string each day on the next notch. From the Sun's day, down through the Satyr's day. Then you started all over again.
As long as a man remembered to move the string… which the other two teased the Ox for not remembering to do. Now they didn't even know what day it was. On the road it didn't matter, there was no feast anywhere. But now back in a village…
Ryeamund had another question.
"What be your names?"
And they all three looked at him.
"I always hear, Heyermannen this, Heyermannen that, Heyermannen what. Heyermannen is the Ox. If we are now brothers, I would know my brother's names."
They all chuckled.
"Heyermannen, is not really my name, Ryeamund. It is my job. I am the 'Higher Man'… I lead my men. My name is, 'Arroch'… or 'The Ox'. Because I am big."
"I am Theyer. 'The talker'. My Father says, I babbled a lot as a child. And, some say, I still do."
"I am Sooth. It means, 'truth'. My mother said I never lied as a child, as children will do. And, my mother's counsel, was to stay as such."
Heyermannen wondered aloud why Ryeamund had never asked before. Apparently, the three hadn't noticed that when out and about, they really didn't use each other's names that much. They had all grown up together, and now all lived and worked together.
When asked, Ryeamund said his father had taught him that when dealing with a herd of animals, to 'bargain with the leader', so he did not have to bargain with each animal separately. He explained that when the animals were unruly, he had but to bargain or strike or bribe the lead animal, then the rest went with whatever the lead animal did.
Theyer wanted to know, if Ryeamund thought Heyermannen was a name and not a job title, how did he know Heyermannen was in charge, now that they all thought about it.
"The animal in front, is the leader. The bigger animal, in front, is always the leader. I bargain with the leader. But once. Less work for me. I had three jobs."
They were walking for a bit, and idly talked of many things. When Heyermannen suddenly realized what had actually happened over the long trip they all took. They were seen by a poor starving lease-farmer who wanted out of his desperate situation going nowhere, no family, and nothing to offer a wife and children except unending poverty and multiple jobs with no pay except food fit only for animals. Judging by his mother's fate, and his father's fate… starved and worked to death was all any of them had to look forward to. That wasn't life; that was living death.
Ryeamund already knew more or less what and who they were, they were the 'handle merchants' to him. He had bargained with everything he had left in his little world, just for the chance to get out.
He had correctly identified the 'lead ox' of the herd, without having to ask. He had already labored for a while, seeing to it they had everything they were looking for, and more. Before they got to their usual destination. He sweetened the deal over and again, to make sure he went with them. He had been waiting for them. Prepared.
Then, long before any serious matter could even arise? He had, and quite skillfully, arranged and engineered a friendly fight. With the biggest and strongest man of the group. The leader. He had then played with him, and tired him out, then when he was… bored? He knocked him senseless. He could have wagered a lot of coin, and gotten odds. He would have cleaned up. Yet, he hadn't. This man? Did not seek coin. Arroch knew that a man who did not seek coin, was a rare thing. As an animal will be lured by some morsel of treat food, so too could most men be lured with the promise of coin. Not this man, though. So, what motivated him? What was the lure. It sure wasn't coin.
Other men were more easily lured by promise of a higher position; they craved a title. The way most men craved gold. Arroch himself had been like this, when younger. He had grown wiser, and grown out of it. He had learned off of men like Wulfgar, that honor was much more important than all the gold and high titles in the world.
What did the man want? Food. Land. But, just what he was used to. Four or five acres, which really wasn't much. Some pigs. Some goats. Cheap animals, that could be eaten, or provide milk and cheese. Animals that no lord would covet and seek to get for himself. A feast every week? Now, that seemed to excite the man. Once again, food.
Okay, Arroch thought to himself. This man had all of that and more coming to him, already promised. Why would he charge into battle, the instant there was a chance to do so? He was traveling with three big fighting men with armor, and swords he knew they were trained to use. Arroch now realized he had been made an example of. So the other two wouldn't get any ideas on the trip, no doubt. He hadn't known them from anyone else before that day.
Then, he was even nicer and even more polite to everyone. He did as much if not more work for them. Why, they barely had anything to do, save for walking. He grazed the horse, he rubbed the horse, he watered the horse. He always had more sticks for firewood than they ever needed. He gathered greens and roots and seeds for their green's bags.
All the while, constantly explaining how he was not a fighter, not a hunter. He made himself not any kind of threat to the bigger men. Then? The instant anything that even smelled like there might be trouble. He was the first to spot it, he was the quickest to get there, he practically single handed killed and drove off the small bandit party.
He nearly did the entire job that Wulfgar, and his large team of men had been sent out to perform. Something wasn't right, something didn't fit, and Arroch could not for the life of him put his finger on it. He was more than content, to see Wulfgar and his men get credit. He was content for the Ox to get credit for helping. He didn't want coin, he kept trying to give away his bag of coins that was everything he and likely his father, had ever had.
Arroch was no great reckoner, he already knew that about himself. Wulfgar himself, had often enough explained to him. He was big, he was brave, and he didn't need to have great reckoning, only great honor. He only had to seek advice and counsel, then decide. Because that's what the king himself did, and that was what Wulfgar did. That was how great men lead, and he was to imitate their example.
Who had he been given to lead? The Talker, and the Truth. It dawned upon him for the first time, this was probably not an accident. Now? He had somehow, some way, attracted this farmer to his little band of men he led. This farmer? Had plenty of great advice. When he didn't have the time to advise? He just acted.
Arroch realized he felt very fortunate he had given that iron coin to Ryeamund. Wow. He had found his very own VinterBluden, and he seemed wise, strong, and brave as a bonus. When young, Arroch had been boastful and somewhat of a bully. As he got older, he saw that men that led other men didn't act like that, or they didn't keep their position very long. He had tried to change, and he finally had.
Odin was rewarding him for having learned his lessons in childhood. He was not good with words, and Theyer was great at that. He was not great at figuring out the truth quickly, but Sooth was the man for that job. Now? He had been sent his very own Thorson. The mighty Thor himself had seen fit to reward him, and send one of his rare son's to him.
Arroch decided, that he was going to redouble his efforts to do everything he could for this new man. Poor bastard had been all but worked to death and starved, and grown up fighting just to be left alone. No wonder the man said he loved farming, he loved the woods, he loved animals.
And, what did the high king constantly call for his men to do? To protect the weak. To prevent petty kings and nobles from using the people like animals and throwing them away.
Arroch suddenly decided, it was his job to get this farmer to the high king himself. So that Ryeamund could tell the high king first hand, what was going on down there. Arroch could about guess what the high king would want done. If he was worthy enough, if he had finally shown over time that he was competent to take good counsel and lead men, then maybe, just maybe… he just might be given a better errand.
Had not Odin trained him to accept wisdom? Had not Thor himself sent him one of his rare sons to aid him? None of the three of them could stand hearing about what went on down there. No, this wasn't about himself, and trying to get a better position out of it. No, this was about doing his job that the high king himself had charged him with.
He was supposed to protect the poor and the weak and the downtrodden. He was born a giant to help men, not strike them down. Had not Thor himself finally learned not to be as prideful and boastful, and to seek to help people, with nothing to gain for his own benefit.
Thank the old father himself, he had learned to spot VinterBluden when he saw it. Had he not had the great fortune to serve under Wulfgar for so long, this would have passed by. Yet, it hadn't… Arroch realized that he was in a unique position to help out an entire land of people, that desperately needed help. Help that only he might be able to bring them.
Everyone wanted the same thing, to impress the High King. Because he was fair and just, and loved by the people. He was a truly great man. There was no higher calling than to serve him; men risked their lives to be picked to serve him, for the honor to bear his mark.
Everything seemed to be coming together, all on its own, unbidden. All he had to do, was wait for the right moment. Odin hadn't put all this together for nothing, he reasoned. Odin had packed the perfect sack, all he had to do was deliver it.
Just over the next rise? They would see the first village. His men already knew it, but no one had told Ryeamund yet. It would make him happy. Arroch decided, that from now on? He would try to start acting like a better leader.
Arroch fell back and walked next to Ryeamund. He told him over the next rise, things would level out a little bit and they could see the first village. That it didn't matter what day it actually was, for them? It would be a great feast. To hell with custom, they had missed how many satyr's day feasts. They would make up for it.
Ryeamund asked why Heyermannen had been so quiet for a while. Arroch said he had been trying to reckon instead of talk, as was usual for himself. When asked what he had finally managed to reckon out for himself?
"Aye, that ye should call me Arroch, or Ox… no more Heyermannen."
"Hmm. Why does the Ox say that?"
"When I was young? I wanted most, to be in charge. No matter how I tried? I was not put in charge of men. Then? I gave up, and just followed. No more trying to lead. Then? Wulfgar and the King put me in charge of a couple men. So? No more Heyermannen. I am just the Ox, and I am a man, walking in front of three men. Nothing more."
"My father once said. when the Ox grows quiet, he grows wiser."
Then Ryeamund winked at Arroch, and smiled.
"See, I give the 'one eye' to you. My father did not know you, the Ox… so, this is funny."
Arroch thought this was far too uncanny. He began to feel… funny.
"Tell me of your father. You repeat him a lot. He was very wise."
"Aye. He was. I think, no other man but him, could have raised me. I was… different, from the other boys."
"Did you father have, other names? That men called him."
Ryeamund smiled, remembering his beloved father.
"Aye. The men often came to him, for advice. They jested and called him, sometimes, 'the oldest father'. Even though he was not so old."
"That's another name for Odin. They… must have respected him."
"Aye. It was in jest, as well, for father had but one eye. A branch, when riding at night? Put his eye out. Father said, this made him grow more cautious. More wise."
"Do you know of your mother?"
"Nay, not much. She died, giving me birth. Father said, it took forever to make me. Father said, he prayed to the oldest father for a son, and then one day? They finally made me. Then… the midwifes, they had Mother in the barn. Father said there was a great storm, and the midwifes… were… deciding."
"Deciding? Deciding what."
"I am a farmer. I know birth. It is… hard to help give birth. The midwifes, they had to decide… I am not so tall, but, I am wide. I couldn't come out… it was, cut me in two, to save Mother, or… I would kill Mother."
"Father chose Mother. They could have another baby. Mother said no, they were lucky to get one, they would never get another. My Mother… chose to die, to have me."
"The storm was bad. Father said a huge bolt of lightning struck very close by, as I was coming out, and… Mother got to hold me, for a little while, before…"
"Father said, Mother's last words, were… I love you. I will see you in Valhalla. Raise the boy right, so it was worth it. We will all meet again."
"If I was not so… strong… Mother would have lived. Father said she chose to die, for me. So, she is Valkyrim now. Father said, if one day I have no choice? I should die well. Then Mother herself will come for me."
"I had problems, with the boys, in the village. So? I was keen on reckoning to fight. So, I did. When I had seen almost 14 winters? One father, always made fun of my dead mother. He said… are ye dim? Ye father couldn't make a child, forever… then suddenly, he prays and has you? Ye know what went on…"
"Everyone laughed. The boys, kept it up. I fought the boys, but, father had said it. Bargain with the lead animal, and you bargain but once. So? That man almost died. I made sure everyone in the village saw it."
"I think Father, died, with a slow broken heart. Young. I buried him, next to mother. They are together, in the north corner of our fields. A couple winters? Here we are."
"Father taught me, most men fight as the first thing. I should fight, as the last thing. I can ignore almost anything. Yet, if I must deal with a man every day? I get it out of the way, so we can get to work. Father says, men were put here to do work, not to fight."
"I came to love the animals. They seem to understand me. I feel, I can understand them. I… feel something, I don't feel with people. I do not let people hurt my animals, for no reason. I almost killed another man, for this. Father, had a favorite cat, after Mother died. You can guess, what happened, aye?"
Arroch thought about it, for about half a second.
"Aye…"
"When I was young, I knew what it was like, to have many boys on me. I will not… tolerate that. Father said, 'the strong must stand for the weak'… so? I do as my father taught."
Arroch took it all in. How many omens did Odin have to send him, and all he had to do was to simply open his eyes and see them. Open his ears and hear them. It was all too plain, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Odin was said to no longer come down to the mortal realm anymore, as himself. When he did so, he only did it as an old man. Every time, a weak and poor old man. Odin wanted to see for himself what was going on, and see who would take his wisdom. So he knew who to reward, and who to punish.
Ryeamund's father was nothing if not poor and weak, and even gained caution and wisdom, from having his eye put out. Just like Odin had, in all the stories.
If Odin checks up on men, and is so displeased that he becomes angered… he sends his son Thor down to earth. Thor, everyone knows, is a mighty warrior. He's also the God of Thunder. Its always during a dangerously powerful storm when he travels down.
The lightning bolt? That was Thor's Hammer, that after sending his son to earth he throws down for Thor to make use of. The hairs on the back of Arroch's neck stood straight up. There was no way Odin wanted him to help. He was not worthy. He was only entrusted with merchant errands.
"Ryeamund? What did ye father, or the midwifes, say of that great lightning bolt. How close did it hit?"
"Aye, the midwifes were terrified, Father said. They were about to flee, when Father begged them to stay, and help Mother. Father and the midwifes always said, it shook the earth beneath their feet."
"How close was it?"
"All the woodcutters know of it, aye, I have seen it myself. Its up on the hill, above my lease farm. Lightning will strike a tree, but, this lightning struck ground. There is a hole, in the earth. It knocked down trees, around the hole. It looks, as if the dirt burned. No fire can do that, any smith knows. Father said, you could hear dirt, fall on the barn roof. The midwifes were terrified. Father said, he had to bar the door to keep them, helping Mother."
Arroch grew quiet. He suddenly wished he had listened more closely to the stories the old women and the old men told them as children. The gods whisper in men's ears, and influence them.
Giant men, are whispered to by the giants. Giants are mostly powerful, yet dim. They tell giant men to show off, to boast of their size and strength, and to take what they want. It is only when giant men are whispered to by Odin, that they learn wisdom. Yet, only if they listen. For giants, though powerful, are easily tricked by smaller, less powerful men. If a giant man listens instead to the whispers of Odin? He gains Odin's favor.
Arroch was a giant, any man with eyes could see that. It wasn't until he served Wulfgar, that he learned wisdom. Wulfgar, as all knew, was a well known Thorson. His bravery was legendary. The mighty Thor was a great warrior, and had many sons. They take turns coming to earth, to lead men in battle.
But this, this was looking more and more as if Odin had grown tired of Thor sending his sons to lead men, and had finally commanded Thor himself to come down and set things right.
Thor whispers to men to be brave, and to seek what wisdom a warrior can grasp. Loki, his brother? Was full of mischief and tricks. When young, Thor and Loki fought many battles together. Loki used his mischief and trickery to aid Thor back then. Together? They were mighty, and won many great battles. Mostly against the evil but dimwitted Giants.
Over time though, Thor grew too proud and boastful and fought only for his own renown. While Loki grew his mischief and trickery, into complete evil. Odin had cast aside Thor until he learned humility, and to aid the weak and the downtrodden. Only then, was Odin pleased. He took Thor back, and rewarded him.
Loki, ever jealous? Whispers to men to use tricks and mischief, to gain earthly rewards. By evil. You had to resist the whispers of Loki, and listen to the whispers of Odin. It was said, that once you heeded the whispers of Odin? It would drown out the whispers of Loki, and the whispers of the Giants.
And what was Thor to do, in every story? He was always looking for his great hammer, to wield it in battle against evil. He sought out his brother Loki, to destroy him.
It was becoming clear to Arroch. Loki was already here, somewhere. He was whispering in the ears of petty kings. Mischief, and trickery… goading them into pure evil. One of these petty kings? Was Loki himself.
All Arroch had to do? Was deliver the package to the high king, who clearly was whispered to nightly by Odin, such was his wisdom and his fame for good works. He had but to guide the mighty Thor, to his mighty hammer, wherever it was.
Then? All knew what happened in every story. Once the mighty Thor had found his hammer, he knew what to do with it. He sought out his evil brother Loki, and destroyed him. Not only was Thor the mightiest warrior, his men around him? Were said to take such heart in battle? They fought as ten men each, or more. That when men were near played out? They went Berserk. They would roar like a bear, and couldn't be stopped. When such men finally were brought down? There were piles of enemies around each and every one of them.
Ryeamund favored a great ax, and he obviously liked the feel of a hammer in his hands. He was, after all, a blacksmith. He enjoyed smith work, even though he was a poor one.
Arroch smiled. Any north-man knows, that a man who is good with an ax? Is just at home with a hammer in his hands. You just had to give them a war-ax, and a war-hammer.
Once the high king learned what was going on down there, in Ryeamund's village? It took no genius to reckon the matter. The high king would send men in ragged cloaks to appear as but common men, to see what was going on from the common people's point of view of things. The High King liked to "play Odin", and check up on men, see what they were really up to when they thought no one that mattered was looking.
It wasn't much of a leap from there. Ryeamund would easily be the best man for the job, he could easily show a few north-men in disguise around. Men the king trusted their words would be true. King's men. Men like himself, that wore an iron coin with a mark. Why, a great talker and a man known for truth? Would be just about perfect.
It was always a small band of men. Arroch had the smallest band of men. That way, it didn't attract attention. He would be there. Ryeamund's homeland. He was Heyermannen to what was perhaps Thor himself. He could easily "command" Ryeamund to dig out what he knew was in that lightning hole.
Because Arroch knew something, that few other men knew. From traveling for adventure to the far north, the land of ice and fire. Balls of fire sometimes struck the earth. The ground shook, and it blew down trees. If you dug in the hole left in the earth? You found a big ball of almost pure iron. It was usually reserved as a gift fit for a high king.
Ryeamund was a blacksmith. He would want to make something out of it. Why, you practically had to tie the man down, to prevent him from doing work. Steel was best for an ax… pure, hard iron? Was best for a big hammer. A war-hammer.
The chill that went down Arroch's spine terrified him. Odin was bidding him to put Mjolnir itself into the mighty Thor's own hand. Arroch did not feel worthy of such an honor.
Because, in every old story? Once the mighty Thor had found his war-hammer that Odin cast down after his son, for him to retrieve? The earth itself would shake. Kings would tremble like children at what was brought down upon their heads. For daring to listen to Loki, and ignoring Odin's wisdom of how to rule.
They had already been instructed, by the High King himself. They had been forcibly shown the wisdom of Odin. Now? Less than a generation later, what were these supposedly great fools doing. Casting Odin's wisdom aside, and deliberately embracing Loki. One of these petty kings? Was Loki himself, leading them. Smirking. Odin himself had come down, as an old, weak, poor man. To see for himself what these great men were doing.
Now, they were going to pay for it. The rucksack Odin had put together for Arroch to deliver? It was practically too easy. Sure, there were many variables to his plan, yet most of them were easily predicted which way they would go.
Only one thing remained open. All Arroch really had to do? Was to make damned sure that Ryeamund was his man. As a Heyermannen, Arroch was permitted to choose his next man. As he had chosen Ryeamund. By giving him his coin to wear, and by Ryeamund accepting it. Wulfgar had almost had Ryeamund. He had given him his coin. Yet, Wulfgar had told Ryeamund it was not his to keep. Wulfgar did not yet pick Ryeamund, though he suspected he would.
The only flaw? Ryeamund would stay his man, and keep his coin… but, only until Arroch's choice was approved. With Wulfgar's and the High King's approval. Wulfgar, led all the Heyermannen. He was the high Heyermannen.
The king's land was bleeding. Here was a cask of ointment that would heal it up. There was but a single fly in the ointment to be plucked carefully out, then it would all come together.
Arroch's great fingers were not up to such a delicate task. He didn't have the wit with his tongue to skillfully guide other men gently to where he wanted them to go, with his rough words. But… Theyer?
Theyer could thread a needle with his silver tongue.
Now, just how in the hell was he going to get Theyer and Sooth to see what he was seeing? They were going to have him declared a madman, surely. He had to try. He feared being declared a madman, and losing his position leading men. But, this was no longer about him, this was about trying to help the people. Like the high king did.
Please, Odin. Grant me just a tiny bit more wisdom, he thought. Then? We can do your will.
And, with that thought and silent prayer? A great calm came over him. His worry left him, as if some great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He smiled. Odin was answering him.
"Ryeamund… there. See that wisp of smoke? That would be the first village. Each village, has a great-house. You would call it a tavern, in your land. Bread… ale… wine… mead… milk and smoked cheese… fine stew… I can almost taste it, man! And I want you to see with your own eyes, feel with your own hands… a whole rear leg of fresh boar in front of us! And wenches to serve us our feast! We have but to enjoy a horn of fine-mead, while we take a nice, long hot bath… to let them prepare the boar!"
"Aye. Sounds a fine thing, Ox Arroch… yet, what coin will this take? I would not waste my pig and goat coins."
"Ryeamund, did I not tell ye. That iron coin, ye wear around your neck… is worth more than a bag of gold up here?"
"Aye… ye did."
"Well, my brother… we are the King's Men! We are not paid in coin, we are paid in respect! We four? We eat in any great-house we wish! We feast as kings when we return from an errand! Your clothes will be washed… your leather will be oiled. Your axes will be cleaned and oiled. Our work is done, man. We will sit in the hot bath house, and relax our tired arms and legs. A horn of fine mead in one hand, a nice, hot smoking pipe in the other! Some fine wench, with strong hands for a woman, will knead your shoulders into dough."
"Truly? This… is for me, as well."
"Aye."
"Will… this last? Or, will this pass."
"Would it matter? Yet, for now… it lasts. I need to get my choice approved. But, you have impressed many men, men that matter… and I will not have my choice, go any other way but that it will last. Take heart, Ryeamund Thorson. You are now home. You sit on the top of the world now. Learn to enjoy it."
"Aye, my oxen! We best get there, before Ryeamund here takes a bite of my horse! This man has been on grain and green for far too long, for my tastes…"
Arroch glanced over at Ryeamund, and winked at him.
"It is our custom, to boast when we are back from an errand. Until men know of your custom, try not to make any matter of it, if ye can. Other Kingsmen, will mean nothing by it. Ye bear my sign, on your own neck. Every man will want to toast you, for ye are a new man."
Ryeamund furrowed his brow at Arroch.
"What, man?"
"Are… are we… noble ?"
Arroch took care to wink at Ryeamund again, then smiled and spit on the ground.
"Pah! We are but men, and we serve our friend, the high king. Nobles? Are down there, underneath us. Pampered twats, perfumed women with beards, is what they are. I give nobility naught but the back of my hand, if they so much as look at one of us wrong. Ye cowardly lords and petty kings? Would piss their linen, and hide under their fine beds, were we four to cross into their land, on a command, rather than a mere errand."
"This is… boast?"
"Not by much, Ryeamund Thorson. Tell me, Ryeamund. Have ye ever knelt on yer knees, in sight of lords and petty kings?"
"Aye. The tax man. Every year, when he comes to rob us."
"Well? I hope ye enjoyed kneeling, because very soon? Ye will never do that again. Once a north-man kneels before the high king? Ye will never kneel before any of those piss ants, again."
"Why isn't all of the king's land… as such ?"
"Aye, Ryeamund… it is supposed to be… and? If the High King and Odin will it? It will be so again."