Berag
called a meeting in the great hall.
“This
is Ahmad Ibn Fadlan,” said Romeeros, introducing the short man. “He is a
warrior priest in the Order of Mahaazad and has travelled from the kingdom of
Byzantium at the request of his king, Kosraw.”
Ahmad
nodded slightly. “Please call me Ahmad.” He spoke in Anglish and his accent was
thick. The hall was filled with quiet conversation as people guessed the
meaning of the Order of Mahaazad.
Romeeros
called for silence. Steve noticed that at no time did the four guards stray far
from Ahmad. He knew that whilst their massive axes were polished, these were
certainly not show pony warriors; they would be able to handle themselves well
in combat.
“Please
also make welcome the four members of the Varangian Guard sent to protect
Ahmad.”
“Only
four accompanied me from the coast,” Ahmad said. “Eighty travelled across the
ocean with me.”
“My
son wishes to march with the host one day,” called a voice from the far end of
the table.
One
Varangian grinned at this. “He may well have his chance if he holds to that,”
he replied.
“What
is the host?” Steve asked.
“The
Varangian Guard,” answered Berag as if that explained it.
Realising
this meant nothing to Steve, Berag added, “When Norse warriors arrived on the
shores of Byzantium a hundred years ago, they were accosted by Byzantium
warriors. Later that day, as word spread throughout the Byzantium kingdom, the
Norse warriors were subject to a full assault by the king’s army. They were
beaten by the Byzantine army but they accounted for themselves well. So
impressed was the king by the Norse that he dismissed his bodyguard and offered
a substantial amount of gold to the Norse newcomers to act as his personal
bodyguard. The king’s guard, six thousand in number, became known as the
Varangian Guard and only Norse warriors can be accepted into its ranks. They use
the long-bearded axe as their main weapon, but can make the shield wall and
fight with swords if necessary.”
“How
do you know so much about them?” asked Steve.
“I
once served amongst them,” replied Berag.
The
meeting continued for another two hours and villagers began leaving the great
hall. The four Australians were asked to remain.
“It
does my heart no good to talk behind the back of my village, but in this regard
it must be done,” said Berag. “Ahmad is the man who can lead you back to where
it is you need to be.”
“Back
to where we came from you mean?” asked Matt. “It is exactly what I mean,”
answered Berag.
“The
portal through which you came is on the outskirts of Byzantium land,” continued
Romeeros. “When you first entered this world, Ahmad felt your presence and
began his journey to us. The crystal you brought with you is the very same
crystal that was thrown into the future by Mahaazad many, many centuries ago,
in a cave that borders Byzantine territory.”
“Mate,”
Steve said holding up his hands,” you’re gonna have to start from the
beginning.”
“Very
well,” Ahmad stepped forward. “I am a warrior priest of the Order of Mahaazad.
However, this sect was once called the Order of the Flame, and Mahaazad was a
member. Mahaazad was a warrior priest like myself, and when the Badawarks,
warriors from a neighbouring land, forged their way into Byzantine land, he was
involved in the last battle of the war. The Badawarks invaded our land because
their king came into possession of a crystal of incredible power. The crystal’s
power made it extremely easy for him to convince them to his point of view. He
wanted control and ownership of the neighbouring country, Byzantium. Our land.
The war that followed raged for over a decade and was bloody and costly for
both kingdoms. Finally, the Badawarks were routed from the field and most fled,
unpursued, back to their country. The Badawark king, however, ran for the hills
and Mahaazad gave chase, finally cornering the monarch at the entrance to a
cave high up in the mountains. There were two soldiers with the Badawark king.
Mahaazad fought them and killed both the guards, but in the process he received
a deep chest wound, the kind from which one does not recover.” Ahmad declined a
drink.
“Even
as he was dying, Mahaazad killed the Badawark king and took the crystal.
Mortally wounded, he nevertheless walked into the cave and found a small
entrance at the back. It led into the very bowels of the earth and a huge
chamber. Realising that his life was coming to an end, Mahaazad performed an
ancient rite that sent the crystal many hundreds of years into the future. It
is said in the legends that he threw the crystal at the wall, where its shape
was forever burned into the rock. The crystal was now where it could never be
touched by the Badawarks again. It is, of course, the crystal you newcomers
have brought back into this world.”
“Fuckin’
great,” said Scott.
“The
cave sounds exactly like the one where we found the crystal,” said Steve, more
to himself then anyone.
Ahmad
ignored them. “It would be advantageous if we were to rid ourselves of this
crystal once more, perhaps even destroy it completely.
But
do you not also seek to travel home?”
“So
if we take the crystal and go back with you to your homeland, you can send us
back to where we came from? And destroy the thing it at the same time?” asked
Steve.
Ahmad
nodded.
“Christ,
that suits us,” said Scott. “When do we leave?”
“Would
it be remiss of us if we left in three days?” Ahmad asked Berag.
“Not
at all,” replied the big man. “I will send Thormdall with you.”
“That
will not be necess—”
“It
is, and it will be,” Berag interceded. “Trust me Ahmad, you might need him.”
The
Arab nodded. “Very well then, thank you, although I have had little experience
with your Berserker brethren.”
“I
should hope not and hopefully you never will. It is your opponents who you will
want to live that experience,” Berag grinned. “With a little luck we will have
a clean run without any encounters, but I am certain the Kadark will give
chase.”
Berag
nodded. “His numbers have been depleted, but he will find more. It will not be
an easy journey,” Berag said. “Three days then,” the Ulfor chieftain announced.
“And fear not, Ahmad, if the Kadark does give chase he shall wish he had not, you
have not seen these Tuatha-Day-Dannan in a fight yet.”
“Yeah,
but we’re almost out of ammo,” added Matt.
“I
shall see you all in the morning,” Berag said, hefting his axe over his
shoulder.
*
* * * *
“It
is hard to lose loved ones,” said Berag. “Have you thought this through? Have
you called upon the gods?” he asked.
Heleena
nodded. She was sitting between Will and Berag in her parent’s house.
“I
have,” she replied. “There is nothing here left for me now. My parents are gone
and I have found the man I will one day call husband.” She smiled at Will.
“I
know your parents have departed this place,” said Berag putting a hand on her
shoulder, “but know that you are part of Ulfor and we consider you a part of
our family.”
“I
appreciate that Berag, but it is not the same. I love the village, I love her
people, but I am the last of my kin. Whilst I am a part of a larger community,
I am the last of my blood. There is nothing left for me.” She struggled to keep
the tears at bay.
“I
cannot stop you,” said Berag softly. “I wanted you to know that you are loved
here.”
“Oh
Berag,” she placed her hand on his. “I know that, and I will never forget Ulfor
or her people. Not whilst I breathe. But my time here is at an end.”
“Very
well then,” Berag said. “You are a lucky man, Will. See to it that you look
after her.”
“Mate,
she doesn’t need looking after, trust me. She’s the most lethal woman I’ve ever
seen,” he pulled Heleena to him and kissed her. “She’s a Norsewoman, of course
she is lethal,” grinned Berag. “You will be missed Heleena Footharksdotter,” he
said.
*
* * * *
The
night before they departed, a feast was held in the great hall. A feast held in
honour the Australians, and the people of Ulfor who had given their lives.
Although no one spoke the words, Steve knew the village people still regarded
them as gods of light, physical beings sent from deep within their mythology.
Berag delivered a speech early in the evening, when people were still sober. He
spoke of the Australian soldiers, and of the battles in which the people of
Ulfor had been involved. No one uttered a word. The chieftain talked of the
first great battle in the valley, and how well the village had fought. He
mentioned the soldiers rescuing him from his Viking captives and how so near to
death he had been. Berag recounted the final Viking assault upon their village
and of the many individual acts of heroism that brought defeat to the Vikings.
He talked of Heleena’s parent’s last and how Marie, outnumbered four to one,
had still managed to fell a raider with nothing more than a short carving
knife.
Berag
climbed onto the far end of the table and slowly, deliberately, called out the
names of each warrior, man or woman, who had fallen to enemy blades over recent
times. There was no doubt that the people of Ulfor had suffered incredibly.
During a particularly heavy raiding season, they might lose between five and
ten people, but they had lost many more during the Australians’ stay here.
Probably more than they had ever lost in living memory. To begin with there was
muttering following each name. But as the roll of honour continued, the noise
became louder. Villagers thumped the table, stomped their feet, or called out
details about the person, such as the name of their sword, how many enemy they
had felled, or the year they had been born.
“Let
us not forget them!” shouted Berag. “Never!” he roared. The Great Hall exploded
with cheers.
Stepping
down from the table, he gestured for the food and mead barrels to be brought
in.
“Let
us eat, let us drink!” Berag yelled.
*
* * * *
On
the third day, the snow had eased and the white blanket covering the land was
thinner than it had been for two weeks, but it was still bitterly cold. The
villagers stood on the outskirts of Ulfor ready to farewell their guests.
“You
have no easy journey ahead of you,” said Berag, gripping Steve’s shoulder. “But
the Varangians are some of the greatest warriors on earth.”
The
chieftain spoke to each soldier and wished them well on their journey.
“Heleena
Footharksdotter,” said Berag. “No matter where you find yourself, never forget
that you will always be a daughter of Ulfor. We shall never forget you and will
always miss you.”
“Thank
you Berag,” she replied. “Even though I travel with Will, I shall never forget
what it means to be a Norsewoman. Not ever.”
Berag
pushed a bone carving of Thor’s hammer into her hand. The small amulet was
attached to a thin leather cord which she put around her neck.
“May
Thor always watch over you and keep you safe,” said Berag.
The
Ulfor villagers lined each side of the footpath into the forest. As the group
moved through the honour guard, the villagers offered their farewells, slapped
them on the back, shook their hands, banged swords on shields, shouted their
names and their praises and invoked the gods to protect them.
“Fight
well boy,” growled Korgoth, dragging Scott into an embrace.
Scott’s
face was firmly wedged into the smelly armpit of the giant Norseman.
Scott
coughed. “Yeah, I will,” he spluttered. “Thanks for everything, mate.”
Leeka
hugged Scott more gently. She smelled much better too.
“May
you always be safe, Scott. We shall not forget you.” Her eyes were glistening
with emotion.
“I
won’t forget you guys either,” said Scott. He kissed her cheek, squeezed her
hand and followed the others.
Within
minutes Ulfor had disappeared from sight. They followed Thormdall into the
forest towards Skrethorg. The Berserker was not dressed for cold weather, but
walked on seemingly oblivious to the biting air. Ahmad and the four Varangian
guardsmen, with massive axes over their shoulders, followed behind.
Several
hours later, Thormdall told them to stop. Without offering an explanation, he
drew his sword and loped off into the distance. He was gone for some time and
when he returned he was breathing hard. Steve noticed there was blood on his
sword.
“We
are not for luck on this journey I fear,” began Thormdall. “The Kadark is back,
but he leads a small group of ragged men who haven’t been fed properly in a
week. I intercepted their advance guard and killed them before watching his
troop from a distance. They are moving very slowly, but they are coming this
way and they outnumber us perhaps five to one.”
No
one spoke for a moment.
“Is
there another way to Skrethorg?” Steve broke the silence. “Unfortunately, no,”
replied Thormdall. “We shall have to fight them.”