The Axe and the Throne (61 page)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keethro looked at Titon. It was Titon to be sure, with a raised and glintless axe in hand, yet he had trouble recognizing the giant that now stood before him. The expression he wore was a familiar one. Keethro had seen it countless times—mostly on the faces of Dogmen, just before they shit themselves. He had seen it most recently on the face of the butcher as he diced up the tails of river dragons. But he had never seen it on Titon. It was the look of defeat, and it put a ball of writhing maggots in Keethro's throat to witness it. He did not know if the revulsion he now felt was owed more to this King Veront, the breaker of men, or to Titon, the man Keethro foolishly thought could not be broken.

“Don't miss,” Keethro advised his executioner. Titon nodded solemnly in response.

So this is what it is to know you will die
, Keethro thought. He wondered if perhaps it would be worth it to try and yank one of the guards that held him into the path of the blade as it swung. Would another man's suffering or death comfort him in his own? Or would Titon's warrior's instinct follow his motion, resulting only in an equally fatal, but more torturous death? Keethro decided it would make little difference.

For some reason it felt as though he had forever to ponder his fate and reflect on his mistakes.
I was a fool to come here, knowing that such an end would be in store. In that, Kilandra was right. But I have not failed her, nor have I failed myself. It is my daughter whom I have failed
, he concluded. To have let Red be shaped and molded by that spiteful woman he called wife was beyond shameful. Images of his daughter consumed his thoughts: her birth, her first words, and the first time she'd cursed at him the same way in which her mother did.
She was not the seed of this man before me. It simply could not be. That was a lie I told myself to ease the guilt of never truly being a father. If you Mighty Three should exist, and I do not believe you do, take me to your hell. Let me feel the wrath of the Dawnstar's flames so that Red may grow to be a better woman than her mother. Do that, and I will be in your debt.

“Wait.”

The distant voice could have come from the Mountain himself, for it seemed to have no origin. Keethro was adrift in his thoughts. Titon was frozen, however, as if he, too, had heard it.

“I needed only know that you would do it. Your friend's death will not undo the death of mine.”

It was the king. Expecting Titon would look relieved, Keethro was surprised to see nothing but boiling hatred. Titon closed his eyes, and his expression mellowed for the moment.

“He will be confined to the prisons until you return from Strahl victorious. Three thousand men is a significant portion of my army, and I must be sure to have more than just your word to bring them back.” Veront motioned for the guards to fulfill his implicit command, and they wasted no time walking Keethro back down the hall, toward the massive doors that had given him and Titon entry to this place of misery.

“How long of a march is it to Strahl?” Titon had found his voice in time for Keethro to hear a few last bits of their conversation.

“Two weeks in good weather.”

“Then expect me back and with the heads of the men you desire in no less than a moon.”

At least now Keethro had a timeframe, albeit a hopelessly optimistic one typical of Titon. In the off chance that he actually returned and King Veront honored his words, Keethro could not imagine a scenario where he and Titon could again consider each other brothers. Not after what had just transpired.

The more Keethro thought about it, the more it infuriated him. Titon had nodded in acknowledgment to Veront's implication that Titon had been with a woman the previous night. Was it the shorter serving girl? The very one that Keethro had confided in Titon his affection for?
No wonder you were so eager to see your drunken friend to sleep
, thought Keethro. It was becoming more and more apparent that the legend that was Titon son of Small Gryn, paragon of virtue, fearless leader, and faithful husband, was no more than a myth. The Titon Keethro knew and loved would have never considered chopping him down as commanded.
Perhaps
Sir
Titon now requires an audience of thousands for his heroics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a heaving boulder where his belly should have been, and it pulled him down, pinning him to the hard bottom of his seat.
How is it that asking a fellow Galatai for a formal alliance can cause more apprehension than an actual battle?
Decker wondered if it was because he had only seen battle against Dogmen, but upon further reflection decided it would cause him less anxiety to raise axes against this man, rather than continue at his current task.

Decker was seated in one of eighteen chairs that surrounded a circular table. Behind every chair, hung high on the wall, was a two-handed axe not unlike his father's. To his right sat Kilandra, adorned in her usual furs. Her clothing that he'd once found to be so tasteful and refined was fast becoming an annoyance, as were some of her mannerisms. He could not help but wonder if he would have been better served by her remaining at home.

Directly across from Decker, seated in the only chair that differed from the rest with its high back, was Ivgar son of Kaun.

“I can have some pickled milk fetched for you if the mead is too strong.” Ivgar distinctly reminded Decker of another giant man as he spoke those words, but where Titon had long auburn hair and a wild beard, this man had a mane of dull grey and the hair upon his face was cropped short. He stared at Decker with cold blue eyes that questioned his very competence.

Decker downed the contents of his mug and placed it gingerly back upon the table, returning Ivgar's stare. “I have not come here to drain you of all your winter mead. I am here to offer—”

“You offer an
alliance
,” said Ivgar, cutting him off. “You've said as much already. And how many clans have agreed to join you so far?”

Decker took his time before answering, letting this man know he was not pleased with having been interrupted. “Six of the eight clans I've visited have already agreed.” He was stretching the truth, but it seemed necessary. Of the leaders who had not refused outright, only Joarr and two others had given him a definitive yes. “And with even half our people, I can achieve this conquest that is long overdue. Yours is a strong clan. You do not want to be remembered as one who did not share in the glory.”

Ivgar was unmoved. “Long overdue? How can a boy of what—fifteen, sixteen years—judge anything to be long overdue?”

At least he believes me to be older than I am.
“I do not claim to have come by this idea myself. Winters grow longer and harsher each year. Some may disagree, but our elders do not. We cannot remain in the North forever.”

Ivgar furrowed his brow. The skin on his face was like beaten metal, scarred and pocked by battle and the elements. Decker found himself wondering who would be the victor if the two did battle. A man of his age would no doubt have learned many tricks that might give him the advantage over Decker's youthful speed.

“We cannot, can we? Perhaps it was your harlot here who told you it was wise to come into a man's home and tell him what he can and cannot do.”

Decker's anger surged—and worsened still as he felt Kilandra place her hand atop his wrist as if to calm him. He inhaled deeply through flared nostrils and summoned what little restraint he had left before speaking. “My words are honest truth, not some petty insult.” Decker glared at the clan leader. W
e may have an answer as to who is the greater warrior after all.

Ivgar merely grunted. “The winters grow longer, do they? One would think your family would remember the last winter that was truly bad. It nearly killed your brother from what I understand.”

My brother
is
dead
, thought Decker, but he did not think Ivgar meant to anger him given his apologetic tone.

“My clan has done quite well for itself in spite of these increasingly grim winters you speak of,” continued Ivgar. “And we have more goats to be affected by such conditions.”

Decker watched the sand cascade down the spiraling dayglass that rest at the center of the table. Such a piece might be worth more than all of what they had brought back from their epic raid. He did not believe this man to be lying about his prosperity. It was known that the clans farther north, just below the permafrost, had more flatland for grazing when the thaws came. Decker's father liked to say that he had no wish to be a herdsman, but that boast was never made during the winter.

“Our people were united once. You know this, no?”

Decker did not move to answer, as he had none.

“Perhaps, then, you require a lesson in history that your father neglected to teach. Many years ago—many
hundreds
of years—our clans were united. And united they went south and conquered kingdoms—kingdoms with armies mind you, nothing like the Dogmen whelps you have faced. They brought back riches and stories of grandeur: farms and rivers as wide as seas, deer fat as pigs, and eternal summer.” The man's face hardened. “But they also brought back with them the ways of the southern kings.” Ivgar paused to drink from his cup as if recounting the story pained him. “You truly know nothing of this?”

Decker looked to Kilandra for an explanation, but she shook her head at him dismissively.

“Our own leader, Vloki was his name, built for himself a throne and began to demand that clansmen pay him a share of their belongings in return for his protection.
His
protection. Tell me, how can one man claim to be the power that protects when it is the other men and their sons who do the fighting—the same as those he pretends to safeguard?

“It was those of my blood who were first to rebel, and others soon followed. My ancestors took the tyrant's head and tore down his throne. And in its place they built the modest fort that you now sit within.”

Decker had never heard these stories of their people's past before. What he knew of their history did not extend so far back. All he knew of were valiant battles fought in the previous hundred years between clans for pride and lands. He had never thought to question why, although they fought over bordering lands, none of the clans had ever sought to truly conquer another. The revelation of this sordid history of Galatai acting like southern oppressors was disturbing in its own right, but the idea that he was now thought by some to be attempting to become the next Galatai tyrant was appalling. His brother had often made Decker feel young and stupid, but this was something worse. Ivgar might as well have been a thousand years old and speaking to Decker, an infant.

“We are Galatai,
men of the glacier
,” Ivgar went on. “We belong in the North and nowhere else. Harsh winters will come, as they have before, and harsh winters we will endure. But my clansmen have no want to go south. Nothing good has ever come of it.”

Decker's stare had not moved from the dayglass, and he fought a sudden urge to shatter it into a thousand pieces. The support he had acquired from Joarr and the others to the east meant little now.

Decker swallowed hard, tasting defeat for the first time in as long as he could remember. “I have much to think about,” he said.
And many to question.
“I apologize for coming here in this way. Thank you for your wisdom…and mead.” As Decker stood, Ivgar did as well—an unexpected show of respect.

“I knew your father's father.” Ivgar stared at Decker as if he was both sad and angry. “He was a great man.”

Ivgar's praising a man Decker had never known meant little to him.
My
father
is a great man.
But even as he formed the thoughts, he was pestered by the fact that he had never heard these stories from the man—not of Small Gryn nor of a Galatai history tainted by tyranny.

Decker nodded at Ivgar and signaled for Kilandra to follow him as he moved to leave.

Kilandra avoided Decker's gaze and cleared her throat. “I will stay for a few moments and discuss matters pertaining to—”

Decker saw no need to allow Kilandra to finish. She had done this before with all the clan leaders save Joarr. Decker thought nothing of it at first, but the smirks of the men outside the halls when he exited alone had worn his patience thin. He did not think Kilandra so brazen as to actually do anything illicit behind his back; however, staying behind—no matter her purpose—was disrespectful and undermined his position as a leader. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her from the chair as though she were a child.

“What did you hope to accomplish by that?” Kilandra demanded of him as soon as they were out of earshot of the men stationed outside the fort. “Should you ever lay a hand upon me like that again…” Her face was full of fire.

“You have embarrassed us both enough with your flirting. You will remain by my side always or not at all. I will not have you crippling my leadership with your insistence on being alone with every man of power we come across.”

“How dare you accuse me—”

“I have not accused you of anything,” growled Decker. “I have merely revealed a shameful truth. And why is it that I had no knowledge of the things Ivgar spoke of? Why have people of your age not seen fit to tell us?”

“People of
my age?
Perhaps you have no knowledge of it because you are a naïve little boy.”

“Perhaps I am just a stupid boy—the one you seduced and convinced to set out on this task of uniting our clans only to look like a fool. How could you allow me to enter a man's home and ask him to form again a union that his family is so proud of destroying?”

“I was not aware that the mighty Decker son of Titon needed permission to do anything, let alone from a woman. There are a great many things your father has hidden from you, and you will not blame me for your own ignorance.”

I envied Keethro in his having her… Now I am beginning to envy him in his having left.
“You are right. I might be better served by a woman closer to my own age and ignorance. I believe your daughter may also agree.”

Kilandra's hand shot out like the string of a dry-fired bow and cracked against Decker's face with similar violence. Had she hit someone her own weight with such a blow, it would have knocked the person to the ground, but Decker merely let it sting his cheek with the indifference of the Mountain himself.

“I would strongly advise you reconsider any pursuit of my daughter lest you anger the Mighty Three with your incest. There is a
great
deal
that your father has kept from you.” With that, she turned and left.

As the large flakes of new snow fell around him, Decker remained a statue of thought, trying to deduce her meaning. He might have believed she was implying that Red had become like a daughter to him now that he and Kilandra had shared a bed…which in some ways Red had. But Kilandra's having stressed that his father had withheld knowledge could only mean that Titon himself was somehow involved.

It is impossible
, thought Decker.
He would never betray Mother.

Titon was more than a father to Decker. He was the embodiment of what a man should be. His honor and virtue was unquestioned. Had a man accused Decker's father of such a thing, he'd likely have died where he stood.

Kilandra may have been gone from sight, but her venom remained. It flowed through Decker's veins, eating at the very foundation of his beliefs. His father would have been a young man then, but it still would have been after Decker's brother had been born. Surely his father had already formed the unbreakable union with Elise that Decker had always known them to have.
Red.
Her very name clawed at him. Such bright red hair she had as a child, a trait not shared by either parent. But the man whose honor was now in question did, and it was so obvious Kilandra had no need to even point it out.

It was a lie. It had to be. But awash in a sea of snow and in an unfriendly land, Decker had no one to turn to for reassurance. In times like these, Decker would look to his brother for logic and answers. Titon would no doubt be able to determine if Kilandra spoke truth or lie. He would have read some trick in a book to test for blood relation or come up with some such method himself. There was no riddle Titon could not solve. But that was before Decker had smashed the life from him, robbing Titon of all his joy and their clan of all his gifts.