Chapter Four Felnir #3
“Not too close. And I’ve a sense his uses are not yet expended. He still knows much about the other Ehilkun, and recalls the Silver Dove from when she was but a callow maiden. Such knowledge could aid us, in time.”
“Or aid his own design. Whatever that might be.”
“His design was revealed as folly at the standing stones. He wanted a second Velgard to unite this realm of unworthy heirs to the lost king’s greatness.
Instead, he got me.” Felnir paused, turning to regard the northward road.
“I thought my brother dead, Sygna. I know not what the sword is, or what purpose lurks in its steel, but I know in my heart it showed me truth. Guthnyr lives, and he needs my help. And yet I can’t simply take the Dehlgra and sail off to find him.
Every time I even consider it the sword’s glow turns dark, the dreams it places in my head allow for but one course.
I must go north, and claim the lands of the Silver Dove, even if it costs me all I have won. ”
Sygna came closer, clasping his hand and pressing herself to his side.
“I love Guthnyr, you know that. And I’ll lend myself to this task, my love.
But know this.” She stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss upon his cheek.
“If I suspect for one instant that sword is leading you to your death, I’ll throw the fucking thing in the sea. ”
“Where is the Gyrwald of the Greencrest?”
In response to his king’s question, Tulvik Ahrkun Nyra lowered his head.
He might have bowed if he hadn’t recalled Felnir’s dislike of such servile customs. “Gyrwald Arnhilt sends apologies, my king,” Tulvik said.
“But regrets his age and infirmity prevents such a journey. At his instruction, I hereby swear the fealty of the Greencrest to the Sea King’s rule.
Also—” he turned and extended a hand to the several dozen ships now crowding the waters of Taerahardt harbour “—he sends five hundred warriors and many ships to aid your cause.”
Something the old craven didn’t do when we set out to rid this land of the Ahrkun, Felnir thought, resisting the urge to speak it aloud.
Tulvik bore Arnhilt Volksora’s blood but was blameless for his ancient kinsman’s actions.
Still, the Gyrwald’s failure to come and swear fealty in person rankled.
Felnir concealed his anger by clasping his hands behind his back and walking a few paces along the jetty, ostensibly to cast a critical eye over his newly acquired fleet.
They would be useful, as would the warriors they carried.
Thankfully, Taerahardt had fallen without a fight, although the wealthier residents had sailed away with much of the port’s treasure before his menda could properly invest the town.
While Felnir’s host stood at close to ten thousand swords now, his northward march left him in constant want of more.
Every keep and town captured from the Silver Dove required a garrison, and he was running short of slow-footed veterans.
“I trust you informed the Gyrwald of our object,” he said, gesturing for Tulvik to come closer.
“I did, my king. He trusts these warriors will be proof of his loyalty, and fervent hopes for your success against the Silver Dove.”
“And did he, perchance, offer any insight into our enemy? She is as ancient as he, is she not?”
“My kinsman has no great love for the Silver Dove. But the Greencrest and the northern lands have never been at war. He knows her only by reputation. Were my king to find himself at war with the Black Gull, that would be a different matter.”
The Black Gull, a name Felnir had heard with increasing frequency since claiming overlordship of this land.
Most Gyrwalds had been quick to send emissaries hailing his ascension, but as yet he had heard nothing from the Ehilkun who held sway over Mahra Isles.
“The Gyrwald many call a pirate,” he said.
“They do, and with reason,” Tulvik confirmed.
“Especially in the Greencrest where he has done much raiding and seizing of ships. A treacherous dog, my kinfolk call him, although I’ve heard that his warriors do not kill without reason and they steal only goods, not people.
Also, while he has a long-standing animosity towards Gyrwald Arnhilt, it’s well known the hatred that exists betwixt the Black Gull and the Silver Dove is unmatched. ”
Felnir detected a clear suggestion in Tulvik’s tone.
When it came to matters political, Felnir would usually turn to Beyorn for advice.
Tulvik, and his famed battle rage, made him more an instrument of war.
Now it appeared the Sea King may have underestimated this young man.
Also, he appreciated that Tulvik displayed none of Beyorn’s awe for the Sword of the Altvar.
“Come with me, my Scourge of Ravens,” Felnir said, clapping the warrior on the shoulder and leading him along the jetty to the wharf. “I’ve finally found an alehouse in this realm with a brew that doesn’t taste like dog piss. We’ll sup some, and you can tell me more of the Black Gull.”