Chapter 2 #2
“It’s my turn now. But I will answer with my own: Have you ever worn Gothi robes?” His fingers flutter over his robes. “I can carry on my days swaddled in the softest velvet.”
“How in the continent are you the strongest warrior we have ever seen?” Gunni demands, only receiving a toothy smile from Edmund.
“Alright, Iss Drengr, why did you never remarry?”
“Why would I desire to saddle myself against another wench?” He leans back in his seat. “How did you end up fleeing your temple?”
Edmund shifts along the bench, not meeting his gaze. He clears his throat, breaking the silence between them all. “I may have convinced the Head Gothi to arrange an orgy at the great temple to Gullveig and then fled.”
Calder shakes his head in disbelief. “How?” He stops for a moment in thought. “Hold on, are you also running from the Goddess of Order, too?”
He twirls his finger along the edge of his flagon, dark eyes focused on the past. “Yes and no. I didn’t enact the deed, but still led the Head Gothi down a path of unforgivable sin. Who knows,” he chuckles, “perhaps helping the Iss Drengr destroy a Draemonium in Skalor will earn me bonus points?”
“Of all the Goddesses, Gullveig is least likely to show benevolence even on a good day.”
Edmund pales, and he pushes his plate further away.
“As I live and breathe.” Standing behind Gunni’s shoulder is Jarl Guy, a tall, lean man with chiseled features and a perfectly sculpted beard the shade of rich brown, quite unlike the salt streaking in Calder’s hair and beard.
“Jarl Avardsson emerged from terrorizing his people in the ice caves of Kaldrgataness and brought a fellow Salt warrior? And, my word, is that a Gothi? Did no one else fancy to escort their Jarl? Perhaps they all hoped you would perish on the journey.”
Calder sips his mead, sighing deeply into his flagon. “Gunni, Edmund, meet Jarl Guy of the Crescent Hold.” He sets his cup down. “What can I say to remove you from my sight?”
“Since you are here and cannot avoid my messengers, I hoped to discuss a more direct trade route. As you know, King Sigvid of Treland has been chomping at the bit to connect with new trade partners.” He adds with a puff of his chest.
“Let me guess. You want me to cut a route through my land, clearing the way for you and then providing my warriors as protection for your goods.”
“Your words, not mine.” His smile widens.
“We have not been properly introduced.” Edmund swings his legs over the bench and stands.
He extends a firm hand to Guy, who gapes as if he’s never seen someone quite like Edmund.
“Lord Edmund Slodesson-Alexandrite of Treland. Yes, the Alexandrite that makes me blood-related to Queen Avina Redwood.” His lips twist into a dazzling smile.
“She and Uncle Sig entertain us in Blackwood once a month. I would hate to report any bad blood among the good Jarls of Skalor. We would hate to trade if there’s a threat of discord. ”
Guy shakes his head, clearly flustered by the turn of events. “Of course not, your lordship. I am only seeking an alliance with my fellow Jarl and the great King Sigvid.”
Edmund releases Guy’s hand, which Calder notes is quivering.
“And this good man is another Drengr of Uncle Sig,” he pats Gunni’s shoulder with a sneer, “just as you know, Jarl Calder pledged the oath. You see, Jarl Guy, we owe our allegiance to Skalor as much as we do the prospering country of Treland.”
Calder stands, dwarfing them both. “Thank you, Jarl Guy. I will discuss this with my council.”
Guy smiles uncomfortably before scurrying off to his large contingent of around two dozen soldiers.
“I see you are useful.” Calder refills Edmund’s mug.
“Cheers!” Edmund lifts his mug, and the three clink theirs together in mock celebration.
Entering the hall is a tall, willowy woman with wild red hair and an impressive stature. Calder excuses himself to greet the newcomer with a rare smile.
“Jarl Clementia,” he inclines his head.
“Calder!” She barks. “Tell me this shithole has decent ale. We traveled quite a distance.” Despite her serious expression, he knows her to jest regarding her ride north as her Hold neighbors the Core. Roaring laughter from the shieldmaidens at her side answers her.
“It will do the job.” He returns her embrace, savoring the familiar warmth of one of the rare supports in his life—a woman who has been like a mother to him.
The older shieldmaiden holds him at arm’s length with crinkles in the corners of her eyes. “That gray will not quit your beard.”
He strokes his hair with a chuckle. “I fear it’s taken over my head as well.”
She pats his cheek. “Well, I find it regal. When my Reinfeld went gray, I found him far more distinguished.”
“Where is your husband?” He notices several of the shieldmaidens are Clem’s daughters. To think the woman raised seven children, all girls. Despite her warrior prowess, her husband could barely lift a shield.
“The youngest is sick with fever. Although marrying a Healer was the best thing I ever did.” She claps Calder on the back, and they return to his table, where Gunni and Edmund stand.
“Gunni! You old bastard.” She grabs him in a rough hug. “And who is this long horn of mead? I never took you for a religious type, Calder.”
“Lord Edmund Slodesson-Alexandrite, my lady.” Edmund bows low.
“What a mouthful! Slodesson, huh? But an Alexandrite? Not often you hear the Salt and Ridge folk mixing.”
“Queen Avina is my aunt.”
“Ah. Well, that explains your connection to Calder, then.” She glances around the table. “Alright, boys, I need a plate stacked with a meat pie and a flagon of ale. None of that mead shit. If I wanted to drink something sweet, I would lick a honeycomb.”
Clem and her Borg Hold shieldmaidens settle in with their trio. Only one Jarl had yet to appear, and Calder hoped the man was eaten alive by a bear.
At last, one of Lavinia’s girls saunters inside.
She clears her throat several times before the room quiets, and a saccharine smile graces her features. “Her Majesty, Queen Lavinia, asks only the Jarls, their Seconds, and one other companion to please join her in the neighboring antechamber.”
Calder stands only to have a hand press on his shoulder. Clem’s serious expression has his stomach tightening apprehensively.
“Yes?” He raises a brow.
“Whatever happens in there, you are your own person, Calder. You’ve been the closest I will ever have to a son over the last decade and a half.” She glances around before leaning closer. “I have a bad feeling about Lavinia’s motives.”
Anything related to her is wretched.
The Seer’s words resonate through him. “So do I.”
He motions for Edmund and Gunni to follow. “Stay close.”
The four Jarls and their companions follow the young woman down a corridor, stopping inside another high-ceilinged room with five chairs and a throne arranged in a circle. There are no windows inside, only a massive hearth with a roaring fire.
Lavinia reclines on the high-backed throne, looking like a portrait of a Queen in a floor-length gown likened to the shade of the Bay of Souls. A dark cloak covers her neck. Her usually carefully maintained hair is awry, and her crimson rouge is slightly smudged.
Sitting directly across from her in the circle is the fifth Jarl.
Rolf.
Two equally disheveled soldiers flank him. His arm lazily drapes over the chair back, looking like the cat that caught the canary.
Calder instructs Gunni on his right and Edmund on his left as the Jarls sit in their respective seats. He takes a deep breath while waiting for everyone to enter.
“Don’t tell me Rolf is fucking your mother,” Gunni grunts in his ear.
Thanks for furthering that visual.
Sex is her favorite method of seizing control, apart from her manipulation tactics. Once, Calder even saw her make an advance upon the Lord Commander Sigvid. He defended his wife, Queen Avina, and his honor, almost saving everyone the trouble by decapitating Lavinia.
Almost.
For that, she has never forgiven the Treland King, despite her insistence that the neighboring country has forsaken them as an ally. Her actions are yet another manipulation tactic as the winters grow longer and food becomes scarce.
Lavinia’s cold gaze rests on Calder as Jarl Odo’s booming laugh fills the space before he settles between Lavinia and Jarl Guy. She arranged the room to spread them out.
Once the door shuts, an eerie silence falls over the group.
“Welcome, my loyal and dutiful Jarls.” Lavinia sweeps to her feet. “I trust you all had a safe journey. I had my Gothi sacrifice one of my best girls to ensure you each arrived unharmed.”
What sick game are you about to unleash?
“Here, here!” Odo raises a flagon with his drink sloshing onto the floor. His pudgy face was a bright pink, no doubt from his early imbibing.
Lavinia offers a twisted smile. “No doubt many of you wonder why I have gathered you today.” She moves about the room, lingering around each attendee.
“After many long winters as your Queen, I wish to remind some of our younger Jarls,” her hands caress Jarl Guy’s neck, “of my humble origins and the issues that still plague our great realm.”
Calder crosses his arms over his chest and extends his legs before him. He cracks his neck. Too many memories of her cruelty and manipulation of him and his father leave a bitter taste in his mouth.
“As you know, I grew up the eldest child of a fisherman. One day, he never returned home, forcing my mother to take drastic action to ensure our family’s survival.” Lavinia pauses for dramatic effect. “She sold her body.”
Interestingly, in this rendition of the story, it is her mother who has become the harlot, not Lavinia.