Champions of the Gods (12 page)

Word of Gretzen’s defeat of the undead invaders quickly spread throughout Volnoss. Soon the young warriors, some no more than twelve years of age, began to gather in Fox Village. They hadn’t had individual chiefs since Aurora led them all to war in Agora. The matrons of the tribes had become the leaders in Aurora’s stead, and since no one had returned, they remained in charge. Talk had even begun to spread about naming them chiefs. There were many men who disagreed, but these men were quite old. All male barbarians between the ages of fifteen and seventy had gone to war never to return, leaving only the very young and the very old. The fiercest of female warriors had gone as well, but many had been with child at the time. Now they stood as the strongest of the barbarian warriors. The elderly men could grumble all they wanted, they could even challenge the rule of the matron elders and female warriors, but they could not defeat them all. In the end, only two men remained who were strong enough to assume rule of their tribes. Agrock Silverscale of Dragon Tribe, and Goreng the Mighty of Bear Tribe. The other five tribes were led by women, two of which called Gretzen their chieftain—her birth tribe, Timber Wolf, and Fox Tribe. It was a logical selection for Timber Wolf Tribe, who upon hearing of her return and initial defeat of the undead invaders had spurred them to the decision. Fox tribe had been saved by her twice, which earned her the title without her even trying to attain it.

Three days after the second attack on Fox Tribe, Gretzen summoned all chiefs to her. By the next night they had all arrived. They gathered in Fox Tribe’s Sudroen Hall—a long house of square frame covered in the thick winter coats of the white buffalo.

The hall was large enough to house twelve long tables, each able to seat twenty. But tonight there was no need for such a gathering, for Gretzen had only invited the five chiefs, each of whom could bring one adviser. Azzeal, Krentz, and Raene were called to the meeting as well, along with two matron mothers from the two tribes that Gretzen ruled. They had been the tribes’ leaders in Aurora’s absence, and so were glad to be recognized and included in such affairs.

The five women answered the summons first, meeting Gretzen at the Sudroen Hall on the designated night. Four large fires burned in the hall, their smoke billowing out of the respective holes in the long peak. Billows set upon the roofs operated by lever from the ground signaled to all nearby with patterns of smoke rings, telling them that a
Mannamot
was taking place. The pattern also told them that it was open only to those who had been invited.

Gretzen greeted the five women and asked them to sit with her at the long table set between the center fires. There was
Mungat—
a strong grain-based liquor favored by most barbarians—and food as well to keep them occupied while they waited for the two male chiefs. Gretzen knew that the men would arrive—eventually. To show their strength they would arrive late, with much noise and fanfare.

Azzeal, Krentz, and Raene had no seat at the table, as it would be greatly frowned upon by the other chiefs. They did, however, have seats on either side of Gretzen, who sat at the southern head of the long table. The seat at the northern end of the table remained vacant, with the other chiefs and their advisors taking up the left and right side. Gretzen’s two advisors sat nearest to her on either side as well.

The matron mothers ate and spoke little, eyeing each other from across the table and speaking in hushed whispers with their advisors. They were waiting for Gretzen, who in turn waited for the men. And she spoke not at all.

Raene sat to her left along with Krentz, while Azzeal sat to her right. The dwarf princess was not happy with being kept off to the side like that, and made no attempt to hide her annoyance. Many of the barbarians eyed her with contempt. Usually the people of Volnoss would never have tolerated the presence of a dwarf on their island, let alone in their Sudroen hall. But Gretzen had made it clear that she and the two elves were her guests and not to be meddled with.

“You know you are acting like a child, don’t you?” Krentz asked Raene quietly, eyeing the matron mothers as well.

“Wha…Bah. You ain’t talked to me in days. Now you tell me how to act?” said Raene.

“I did not tell you how to act. I asked if you realized that you were acting like a child.”

“I be a hun’red damned years old. How old ye be?” Raene asked with contempt. “I said I be sorry for what I done. Ye either be acceptin’ that or nay. I ain’t for grovelin’. And I ain’t for listenin’ to yer spiteful words either.”

One of the barbarians was watching Raene closely, and by her red-faced look, she was barely containing her anger. The matron, called Gray Oak by her tribe, was elderly, yet she was a giant of a woman with bones through her nose and ears and a long feather-adorned spear sticking straight up beside her. To her right sat her advisor and daughter, Aewinn Icefang, whose iron war hammer sat ready at her side. A large shield was strapped to her back, bearing the insignia of Snow Cat Tribe.

She suddenly slammed the table and shot to her feet, pointing a crooked finger at Raene.

“This
dvegr
pet of yours must go!” Aewinn cried, clenching a fist around the handle of her hammer.

Gretzen remained seated, gesturing to her advisors to relax, as they too had risen to their feet due to the threatening tone.

“This
dvegr
has fought and bled defending this island. She is a princess of the dwarves of Ky’Dren, an ambassador from that kingdom. I ask that you show her due respect.”

“And the
alfrs
?” asked Heidir Hauknefr, matron chief of Hawk Tribe. “Are we to tolerate the presence of a lich and a dark elf because you command it?”

“I command nothing,” said Gretzen. “They are my guests, and ambassadors as well. I ask that you show them their due respect.”

“An ambassador has never attended a gathering of chiefs,” said Vardveizla Soaringsong, matron chief of Eagle Tribe. She was perhaps the strongest of the women. Young and powerful, she had been one of the warriors who had not gone to war with Aurora due to pregnancy. “You have our respect, Spiritbone, and so we have tolerated them so far. But you lack respect for our traditions.”

“Do you speak of the traditions set forth by men who are long dead?” Gretzen asked. “Men who would never see you as matron chieftain? If you hold so sacred such traditions, then you should be the first to give up your position.”

The women stirred, agitated. They looked to Vardveizla, who puffed out her chest and raised her feathered head high.

“You speak with wisdom, Spiritbone. Rarely has a woman sat at the head of her tribe’s table. The sorrow of our loss cannot be spoken. There are no songs that could be sung that would speak rightly of the pain that we have felt at the loss of our men. I would have died beside my husband the chief had I not been full of belly with his heir. I rule in the child’s stead until such time as he is a man. Then I will gladly give him that which is his birthright. I do not wish to overthrow tradition, and I do not wish for these
ambassadors
to sit among us.”

Gretzen offered her a nod and looked to the others. “Does Vardveizla speak for you all? Will you give up your positions as well when the young men come of age and battle for the highest of seats? Or has a new day dawned, one in which the power of the woman is acknowledged and respected? Shall the chieftain men of Bear and Dragon Tribe find us fighting amongst ourselves like unruly and emotional lasses? Or will they find a united, powerful group of females ready to be seen as peers? The past cannot be undone, but the future is written with every passing moment. What will yours read?”

“It was a woman, Aurora Snowfell, who rose up and claimed herself chieftain of the seven tribes and led our people to war in Agora,” said Vardveizla.

“And so you do not trust women to rule?” said Gretzen. “Why, then, do you expect Eagle Tribe to follow
you
?”

“She speaks the truth, Vardveizla,” said Gray Oak. “A new day has dawned. The ways of the old are no more.”

“Chieftain Spiritbone,” said one of her advisors. “The chieftain of Bear Tribe has arrived.”

A few breaths later, a horn blared in the distance.

“Very well, see him to the Sudroen,” said Gretzen.

The women spoke not another word but stood as Gretzen stood, awaiting the chieftain’s entrance.

Goreng the Mighty strode into the tent, pushing back the flap and stopping at the threshold. During the initial dark elf invasion seven months prior, Goreng had fallen in battle, taking a severe blow to the head. He fell into a three-month coma and had therefore been overlooked by Aurora’s invading army. When he awoke, he found himself the most potent male of his tribe and had quickly claimed the title of chieftain. He wore the furs of a grizzly he had killed with his bare hands. The beast’s head he wore like a crown, and its fur sat over his back like a cloak. The clawed paws he wore like gloves.

He eyed the room full of gathered women and settled his gaze upon an unflinching Gretzen. He spoke not a word, but let the majesty of his nine-foot-tall frame speak for itself.

“Welcome, Goreng the Mighty,” said Gretzen.

“Gretzen the Ancient,” he said with an upward nod of respect.

His one advisor, an old scarred man with a streak of hair spiked down the center of his tattooed head entered beside him.

“Please, Goreng, eat and drink with us while we wait for the final chieftain.”

Goreng had settled his gaze on the two elves and dwarf, and was quite ignoring Gretzen at the moment. He strode toward the head of the table and settled his gaze on Raene. She returned the stare with an unwavering sneer.

“This is Raene, princess of the Ky’Dren Mountains and ambassador of the dwarves,” said Gretzen.

“Rumors of a
dvegr
warrior fighting for Fox Tribe have found my ears,” said Goreng, staring down at her. “If it is true that you are the daughter of a Ky’Dren king, then you must possess the strength of his line.”

“Aye,” said Raene.

“Show me this strength,” said Goreng.

Raene reached into her pocket and gathered three large round stones that she had been working to smooth and mold. With a thought she sent them spinning around her head, never taking her eyes off of the chieftain of Bear Tribe.

He watched the shiny orbs and grinned. “They say that you slew many undead with your rolling boulder.”

“Aye,” said Raene. She spit on the ground at her feet. “Over a hun’red by me reckonin’.”

Goreng stared her down for many moments. Beside her, Krentz stood ready.

Gretzen was the most relaxed. She sat in her big wooden chair, quite ignoring the silent power struggle going on to her left.

“You are very brave to come to Volnoss bearing the name of Ky’Dren,” said Goreng.

“Aye,” said Raene. “And I ain’t come here to fight with yer people. But me will if me must.”

Goreng cocked a brow. “Why are you here?”

“I would see the necromancer Zander fed to the crows.”

“Then we have a common enemy.”

“Aye,” said Raene, letting her stones fall back into the sack.

The chieftain shook his head with a small laugh and moved over to stand before the elves. He got intimately close to Azzeal, staring into the glowing blue eyes. “The
alfr
lich, will he do whatever you say?” he asked Gretzen.

“The lich’s name is Azzeal,” said Azzeal.

Goreng ignored him, waiting for Gretzen to answer.

“His mind is very much his own, as you can see,” said Gretzen.

The chieftain moved on to Krentz. “They say that you are the daughter of Eadon himself.”

“He impregnated my mother, but he was never a father,” said Krentz, holding his stare unblinkingly.

“The dark elves have taken much from us. What is to stop us from taking our revenge out on the daughter of the devil elf?”

A low, slow growl came from behind him. Chief came to form beneath the table. His snout was curled back to show two rows of gleaming teeth.

“I do not think that you want to die today,” said Krentz.

Goreng slowly twisted enough to see Chief’s glowing form behind him. A smirk spread across his face, and he regarded Krentz with a hungry glare.

“I care not when I die, only how.”

There was a long silent moment. Chief waited, tensed behind the giant Vald.

Suddenly a horn blared outside. “Agrock Silverscale of Dragon Tribe!” someone called out in the village.

Goreng turned from Krentz as though he had already forgotten her and strode over to stand behind his seat. The other chieftains had begun to stand as well.

The chieftain of Dragon Tribe pushed through the tent flap, followed by six fierce-looking warriors. At a little over eight feet, Agrock was not the tallest barbarian, but he was perhaps the widest. He wore a suit of armor made completely of black dragon scales. Two large plates that might have once covered the dragon’s own muscled shoulders sat upon the chieftain’s. Six-inch horns pointed up from scaled boots that reached to similarly pointed knees. A thick belt of horns held a sheathed blade with a hilt of bone. Most impressive of all was his cloak, made from two leathery wings that shrouded his scaled armor.