Authors: Brock E. Deskins
Aniston sighed and shook his head. “I am sorry, but that is a bad idea. I could certainly get you the medicine, but The Guild is not going to be patient with you in producing Gordon’s heir. If they think you are barren, I foresee you having an ‘accident’ within months.”
Evelyn’s smile was devoid of humor. “I have an altogether different idea. Gordon showed me the true depth of his character when he murdered my friend. She gave her life for me, and now I know what true sacrifice is. I will produce an heir to the throne, but it does not have to be Gordon’s. They only have to think it is his until your friend and my brother return.”
“What…oh!” Aniston stood and stepped several paces away. “I don’t think…I mean…Oh, hell, I don’t know what I mean.”
“I am sorry if you do not fancy me, you know…if you are a fancy boy or something. It would just be a duty to perform.”
Aniston’s jaw dropped and his face colored. “I’m not…why do people think I’m…? I find you very attractive, but you are the Queen!”
“And you are a handsome man of good breeding. As you said, I am the Queen. Are you not my most loyal subject?”
“Of course I am.”
“Then do your duty as I command.”
“I…I don’t know quite what to say.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, is quite sufficient.”
Aniston swallowed and tried to ignore the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Ow, you stupid sonofabitch, stop hitting me!” Adam cried.
“Then learn to block a swing!” Garran shouted back.
“I have only been practicing a few days.”
“How long does it take you to figure out getting hit hurts?”
“Beating me with a stick is not going to teach me how to wield a sword!”
“You’re right.” Garran lowered his practice weapon and turned his head toward Albrekt. “Get us some swords.”
“We can’t use real swords! You’ll kill me!”
“That’s how I was taught.”
“That explains why you are so terrible at it,” Albrekt called out.
Adam grinned. “See, you suck as a teacher.”
“Maybe you just suck as a student,” Garran countered.
Albrekt lifted himself off the stump he was sitting on, walked over to the sparring pair, and laid a hand on their shoulder. “You are both trying very hard, but you both suck equally.”
Garran looked away. “This isn’t my chosen weapon.”
“Your chosen weapon is a gardening tool.”
“No it’s not! It’s a tree trimming tool, and it has served me very well.”
“Yes, I am sure the trees around your home are as terrified as they are immaculate. Let me teach the boy.”
Garran threw down his stick and stalked away. “Fine, I have better things to do anyway.”
“I think you mean better things to drink,” Adam called after him.
“It’s the same thing!”
Albrekt took the lead on Adam’s training while Garran busied himself with things of which the deposed prince preferred to remain ignorant. Albrekt’s training was less painful than Garran’s approach, but it was far more exhausting. The Hillman ran him through hours of routines and exercises before they ever crossed sticks. Even these they performed with slow and deliberate movements that his instructor explained would gradually speed up over the coming weeks and months.
Exhausted and sweating profusely despite the frigid air and thick snowpack, Adam returned to the small lodge the Hillmen provided for them to ride out the winter. He pushed open the heavy leather flap serving as the outer door, parted the lighter inner curtain separating the small vestibule from the interior, and stepped inside.
Adam paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the candle-lit room and stared at the monstrous contraption of copper canisters and coiled tubing. “What the hell is that?”
Garran looked up from where he knelt affixing one end of a condensing tube to the boiling chamber and smiled. “It’s a still!”
“It’s a monstrosity, and it is taking up half of my living area.”
“Yeah, beautiful isn’t it?”
“It’s big enough for every man, woman, and child in this village to drink themselves into a coma.”
Garran’s grin nearly touched his ears. “Yeah, that’s the plan. Not the coma part, but the rest of it.”
Adam stretched out on his bunk and massaged his temples. “Why do you think we need a still much less one of such ridiculous size?”
“I figured that if we are going to have a fire burning in here all night and day for the next two or three months, why not maximize its use? See, I’m a man of efficiency.”
“You are a man of self-abuse.”
“There you go, limiting my scope of vision again.”
“Drinking a bad batch of booze does a good job of that too.”
“Not going to happen. I am an expert in all things intoxicating from its production, distribution, and most of all—consumption.”
Adam sat up. “Aside from your depraved habits, again I ask, why did you build one so big? Surely our hosts are not bereft of liquor?”
“They make a decent ale and strong spirits, but not in the quantity I desire. You went from being a prince to a priest. In neither of those vocations have you had to work or barter for anything.”
“I do not think being born into royalty qualifies as a vocation.”
“You’re right. That implies some sort of work. Regardless, people just gave you whatever you wanted. You no longer have that luxury. You are now like an ugly woman.”
“I hate to ask, but in what way?”
“You’re going to have to work or find a way to trade for the things you need, because no one is just going to give them to you. Therefore, there are two things you can trade—a product or your body. I assume you are still opposed to that sort of bartering?”
Adam sighed. “Vehemently.”
“That’s a damn shame. With your pedigree and girlish figure, I could make a fortune off you. Anyway, we need to earn our keep, and this is how we’re going to do it. We also want to soften up the other clan chiefs if we are to have any hope of persuading them to our cause.”
“Do you honestly think the clan lairds will send hundreds of their men to fight, where some will surely die, just because you got them drunk?”
“You would have to be a heartless prick to do it sober.”
“So alcohol is nothing more than a method of accepting inexcusable behavior?”
“Of course, why else would people drink something that tastes like the devil’s fiery piss? It’s how I’m able to live my life without apology or regret.”
Adam blinked several times. “You have no regrets?”
Garran thought a moment. “I can’t think of any.”
“You pushed me down in front of a bear where I got mauled and almost killed.”
“Alcohol withdrawal made me do it. I wasn’t in my right mind.”
“Amazing.”
“It is isn’t it? Booze is the one true cure-all.”
“It’s a cover-all that masks the symptoms of a poisoned soul long enough for it to kill you.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty great.”
Adam scrubbed the top of his head with his fingers in an attempt to scratch Garran’s words from his mind. “They are celebrating winter’s first day tonight. The feast should be starting soon.”
“Damn, is that tonight?” Garran gazed at his still and frowned. “My first batch won’t be ready for a few days.”
“I am sure there will be enough alcohol to suit even you.”
“Sure, tonight, but what about tomorrow?”
“You will just have to pace yourself.”
“How do you live with being so boring?”
“Healthfully and with a long life-expectancy.”
“Ugh, both of those sound awful,” Garran muttered as he followed Adam from the lodge.
Several bonfires illuminated much of the huge steading. Ten-foot timbers stacked on end to create tall, flaming cones cast most of the village in an orange, flickering light. People streamed into the great hall and reemerged bearing plates of food and large tankards of ale. They took seats on the ground around the fires, ate, and talked merrily. A few took up simple instruments and played music while scores of others sang along.
Albrekt strode up behind Adam and Garran and clapped each flatlander on the shoulder. “You boys had best make the most of tonight. There won’t be another celebration like this until winter’s last day. It gets mighty boring once the first real snows drop on us.”
Albrekt guided them past the tables laden with food before leading them to one of the larger bonfires. They sat just a few feet from Laird Melkior and ate. Next to Melkior sat his wife and two sons, Aage still stiff and conservative in his movements.
“I am glad to see your son is recovering well,” Adam said.
Melkior laid a hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled. “Aye, he’s a true Hillman, and we’re a hard bunch to keep down. I likely wouldn’t have him if it weren’t for you. No matter what the other lairds say to your proposal, I’ll always call you a friend.”
“Thank you, it makes me proud for you to do so.” Adam looked to Aage. “You will have some nice scars to tell your story.”
Aage nodded. “Yes and thank you for what you did. Hedin, our Truth Speaker, says you are god-touched and that you used your magic to heal me.”
“That’s right.”
“Am I tainted now with the Almighty’s stolen power?”
“Aage…” Melkior rumbled.
“Stolen power?” Adam asked.
“It’s a story our people created during the wars,” Melkior said.
“Tell it to me, Aage.”
“Go on, son, tell it,” Melkior urged with a nudge.
Aage’s eyes traveled from Adam to the roaring bonfire. “When the flatlanders found themselves losing the Hillman Wars, a clever flatlander thief sneaked into the Almighty’s sacred hall and stole a piece of his power from the world forge. He brought the ember back to his king who used it to create the god-touched and the transcended.” Aage grew heated. “That’s what the flatlanders do; they see something they want, so they take it even though they already have more than they need!”
“Aage, he is our guest. Maintain our customs.”
“Sorry, Father.”
Adam smiled and ducked his head. “You are right, Aage, at least partly. Some people, like those who murdered most of my family and stole my father’s throne, always want more no matter how much they already have. It is why I want to stop them and give back what they have taken. Not just from my people but yours too. I do not think anyone stole power from God. I believe the sparks from what you call the world forge resides in all of us and in everything around us. A few people, like the transcended and me, know how to blow on that spark and fan it into a flame. I simply used the flame that has always burned within you to heal your wounds. You are not tainted. You are brave and strong, and that is why I was able to help you.”
Aage watched the cinders of the bonfire float upward toward the star-filled sky. “Then I am not corrupted?”
“No, you are perfectly fine.” Adam glanced at Garran. “Garran is the one who corrupts everything he comes in contact with.”
“You got that right,” Garran quipped. “Tonight, I think I’ll see about corrupting that big-breasted beauty over there.”
Adam followed Garran’s eyes. “I think she belongs to that giant sitting next to her. You best leave her be.”
“Naw, Hillmen share everything and are largely communal. Haven’t you seen how the goats and sheep just wander about? No one claims them.”
“Goats aren’t women.”
“You’ve never been to Wooder’s Bend have you?”
“I find it hard to believe that your disgusting personality is a regional trait.”
Garran shrugged. “I’m a product of my environment.”
“You are the product of some unholy union and set upon mankind to spread malfeasance.”
“My mother liked to tell me that I was the product of too much wine and a late pull out.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“I know, right? Like there is such a thing as too much wine.”
Albrekt, sitting next to Garran and listening in on the discussion, laughed and slapped his knee. “He’s right, boy. We hill folk don’t claim much, but what we do call ours, we defend with great ferocity, as you well know from the war. Garran, if you want to bed Ernsta, you’ll have to get her attention.”
“How do I go about doing that? I doubt my usual courtship ritual of dropping a few dinarins on the nightstand will work here.”
“Our women value strength and courage above all else. If you want to bed her, You’ll need to fight her husband Dyre.”
Garran smiled. “No problem. Which one is he?”
Albrekt pointed to the enormous, dark mass sitting behind Ernsta.
“Good God,” Garran exclaimed, “I thought she was fetched up against a boulder!”
“Garran, you can’t possibly fight that man. He’s bigger than our cabin,” Adam said.
“My brain strongly agrees with you.”
“Good.”
“Unfortunately, my penis just called my brain a coward and now both demand satisfaction.”
Adam slapped his hand over his face and shook his head. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah, there’s going to be a lot of that going on tonight.”
“Fight!” Albrekt shouted as Garran strode confidently around the bonfire and approached Dyre.
Several others took up the chant and cleared a huge ring within the clearing.
Melkior stepped into the circle and raised his hands. “Our guest has challenged Dyre to a fight for bedding rights!” The crowd cheered and the chieftain looked to Garran. “Weapons or barehanded?”
Garran craned his neck up to meet Dyre’s smiling face. “Weapons, definitely.”
Another Hillman entered the ring bearing an armful of what looked like staves. Dyre chose one resembling a lodge pole while Garran selected a pair of shorter rods.
“The battle ends when one admits defeat or can no longer fight,” Melkior proclaimed.
The laird left the circle as Garran and Dyre squared off. Adam knew Garran was a capable fighter, but the Hillman was enormous, and the pair of sticks gripped in Garran’s hands looked laughable in the face of a man topping seven feet tall.
Albrekt nudged Adam’s shoulder with his elbow. “This should be good. It’s been a long time since a transcended fought a rager.”
Adam’s eyes flared open and his jaw dropped. “He’s a rager?”
“Yeah. Biggest, meanest one in all the clans.”