were dwarven tailor-mades. They were obscenely comfortable. Even my loincloth was designer.
Women admired my finery and men admired the way I carried myself. I was not the biggest man, but years of sparring against elves had given me an enviable grace. I was lean and light on my feet. This was clear to the other freemen, who nodded as I passed.
“It’s good to be back,” I said to Cruix. “It’s such a lovely day, too.”
“It’s fucking cold,” he said. Steam blew out of his hood, which he’d pulled up to hide his elven features. “I can’t feel any of my extremities. And I do mean any of my extremities.”
“This is merely brisk weather for Heorot,” I said. “Did you wear enough layers?”
“If I put on any more, I’d be waddling. That would ruin the whole Dark Lord effect I’m going for here.”
“You know that your cloak is beige-ish white, right?”
“It is the average colour of the universe.”
“It’s more of a light cream. That would make you, like, a Cream Lord.”
Cruix laughed. “Heronimo, did you just crack a joke? You surprise me.”
“I may not be as clever as you, but I’m not stupid.”
“I’ve seen you put your hands on a kettle to check if it was hot enough. Which it was.”
I blushed. “I was distracted.”
“Forget it. There are a lot of halflings here, aren’t there?”
“There are always a lot of halflings,” I said.
“But in Brandish they aren’t so poorly-dressed. Or so famished-looking.”
It was true. “But these are just thralls. Slaves. You can’t expect them to be as well-dressed or as well-fed as the people who own them.”
“Why not?”
I honestly didn’t know, and I said so.
“I am reminded of our secondary objective, to gather information,” Cruix said. “Elves know little about the Northlands.”
“Shit, they could’ve just asked me,” I said.
“There’s something to be said about gaining an outside perspective. Who better to do that than me, the eternal outsider?”
I clapped him on the back and half-hugged him. “You could’ve just said you were lonely!”
“Urrrgh!” He tried to wriggle free.
Garvel’s fortress stood on an artificial hill. It was ringed by a wooden palisade, a ditch, and an earthen wall. Though primitive by elven standards they were still formidable defences, and far from crude. They had a simple beauty. Motte, stockade, ditch, and embankment were all perfectly round. That last feature was covered in sod.
Gates stood at the four cardinal directions, their paths meeting in the centre. Inside were forty-eight longhouses, their roofs like overturned boats. There were four in a square and there were three squares in each quarter. Twelve courtyards. From above, Garvel’s compound would have looked like a grid within a circle.
We stood at the South Gate.
“Cosy-looking place,” Cruix said.
“Isn’t it?” I said. “I lived here for a while.”
“When did—” Cruix said, but then there were hoofbeats behind us. A column of riders was approaching. Hunters, from the looks of it. I recognized the leader, so I stepped into their path and held up my hand.
“Halt!” I said, switching to Norse. “No redheads shall pass!”
“What?!” the leader bellowed.
“You heard me. No green-eyed freckle-faced carrots allowed in this fortress, by thunder!”
“Heronimo?”
“Ardel!”
Prince Ardel vaulted off his horse and tackled me. We rolled on the ground, laughing and wrestling.
“I never thought I would see you again!” Ardel said, after we had finished greeted each other.
“This is amazing!”
“It is very good to see you,” I said, helping him up.
“And who is your friend the cream lord?”
“That is Cruix, the last dragon,” I said. “Cruix, this is Prince Ardel, King Garvel’s son.”
“Just Ardel, if you please,”
Women admired my finery and men admired the way I carried myself. I was not the biggest man, but years of sparring against elves had given me an enviable grace. I was lean and light on my feet. This was clear to the other freemen, who nodded as I passed.
“It’s good to be back,” I said to Cruix. “It’s such a lovely day, too.”
“It’s fucking cold,” he said. Steam blew out of his hood, which he’d pulled up to hide his elven features. “I can’t feel any of my extremities. And I do mean any of my extremities.”
“This is merely brisk weather for Heorot,” I said. “Did you wear enough layers?”
“If I put on any more, I’d be waddling. That would ruin the whole Dark Lord effect I’m going for here.”
“You know that your cloak is beige-ish white, right?”
“It is the average colour of the universe.”
“It’s more of a light cream. That would make you, like, a Cream Lord.”
Cruix laughed. “Heronimo, did you just crack a joke? You surprise me.”
“I may not be as clever as you, but I’m not stupid.”
“I’ve seen you put your hands on a kettle to check if it was hot enough. Which it was.”
I blushed. “I was distracted.”
“Forget it. There are a lot of halflings here, aren’t there?”
“There are always a lot of halflings,” I said.
“But in Brandish they aren’t so poorly-dressed. Or so famished-looking.”
It was true. “But these are just thralls. Slaves. You can’t expect them to be as well-dressed or as well-fed as the people who own them.”
“Why not?”
I honestly didn’t know, and I said so.
“I am reminded of our secondary objective, to gather information,” Cruix said. “Elves know little about the Northlands.”
“Shit, they could’ve just asked me,” I said.
“There’s something to be said about gaining an outside perspective. Who better to do that than me, the eternal outsider?”
I clapped him on the back and half-hugged him. “You could’ve just said you were lonely!”
“Urrrgh!” He tried to wriggle free.
Garvel’s fortress stood on an artificial hill. It was ringed by a wooden palisade, a ditch, and an earthen wall. Though primitive by elven standards they were still formidable defences, and far from crude. They had a simple beauty. Motte, stockade, ditch, and embankment were all perfectly round. That last feature was covered in sod.
Gates stood at the four cardinal directions, their paths meeting in the centre. Inside were forty-eight longhouses, their roofs like overturned boats. There were four in a square and there were three squares in each quarter. Twelve courtyards. From above, Garvel’s compound would have looked like a grid within a circle.
We stood at the South Gate.
“Cosy-looking place,” Cruix said.
“Isn’t it?” I said. “I lived here for a while.”
“When did—” Cruix said, but then there were hoofbeats behind us. A column of riders was approaching. Hunters, from the looks of it. I recognized the leader, so I stepped into their path and held up my hand.
“Halt!” I said, switching to Norse. “No redheads shall pass!”
“What?!” the leader bellowed.
“You heard me. No green-eyed freckle-faced carrots allowed in this fortress, by thunder!”
“Heronimo?”
“Ardel!”
Prince Ardel vaulted off his horse and tackled me. We rolled on the ground, laughing and wrestling.
“I never thought I would see you again!” Ardel said, after we had finished greeted each other.
“This is amazing!”
“It is very good to see you,” I said, helping him up.
“And who is your friend the cream lord?”
“That is Cruix, the last dragon,” I said. “Cruix, this is Prince Ardel, King Garvel’s son.”
“Just Ardel, if you please,”
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