Fate of an Empire, Part 3: The Vagrant Prince
Being one of the Chronicles of Cyron
The Gladiator | The Lion | The Vagrant Prince
Arlyn Útlendingur rode through the palisade gate with his hunting party and was surprised to find a dozen foreign horsemen milling about in the muddy streets outside his great hall. The horses, lathered and breathing laboriously, were obviously hard ridden. Their riders looked nervous, sheepishly avoiding Arlyn’s withering gaze.
He stalked up the steps of his hall, threw open the doors, and stormed into the building’s smoky interior.
“What the Devil is going on h…” Arlyn’s words trailed off when he saw his estranged brother’s wife standing with a pair of soldiers at the roaring fire in the center of the hall’s great room. All three glowered in his direction. “Aislin? This is…unexpected.”
Aislin Northam regarded him with arched eyebrows. Her imperious gaze took in his untamed blonde hair and beard, his blood spattered leather brigandine, the Skjald longsword sheathed across his back underneath a fur lined cloak, and the bearded axe hanging from his belt. “My goodness, you really are one of them now, aren’t you? What would your grandfather have to say about this?”
Her haughty attitude cut through the initial shock of seeing her for the first time in nearly a decade. Indignant anger eclipsed his surprise. “Why are you here?!”
One of the men-at-arms accompanying Aislin stepped forward aggressively. “This is the Lady Aislin: Queen of Northam, Guardian of the Northern Wilds and the Caladen Lowlands. You will address her properly!”
“Be silent, lapdog!” Arlyn snarled. “This is my hall, and, here in this country, I am as good as an earl. I will address the woman in whatever way pleases me.”
The impetuous soldier reached for his sword, but Aislin Northam laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“Now is not the time for this,” she hissed. “I have known this man my whole life. As he says, this is his hall, and he may speak to me however he wishes. Within reason, of course.” She gave Arlyn a knowing look. He grunted unceremoniously in acknowledgement.
“Glad we got that all settled.” Arlyn’s eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. “Why did the cur address you as the Guardian? Last I heard, that’s my brother’s title.”
“Yes…well…that’s why I’ve come all this way to see you.” Aislin’s regal countenance shifted abruptly to downcast and sorrowful. “Arlyn, your brother is dead.”
They rode in awkward silence through a spruce forest that surrounded the Skjald city of Vargaholt. Snow swirled lazily through the air. Large flakes nestled amicably into Aislin’s lustrous hair, creating a striking contrast between the bright white powder and her raven black locks. Arlyn studied his female companion as visions of a past life swamped his memory. Her overzealous bodyguards shadowed the pair through the trees some hundred yards behind.
“Why did you come?” Arlyn asked after an interminable silence. “Why not just send a messenger?”
“Are you not happy to see me?” Aislin countered. “There was a time you would have been overjoyed to have me all to yourself in such a wild and remote country.”
“Yes, there was a time. But that was long ago, and I was a different person.”
“I was a different person as well.”
“That’s true,” Arlyn agreed, somewhat ruefully. “You’re harder now, I think. More callous.”
“Ha! You’re one to talk. Have you seen yourself in a looking glass lately? You look every inch a true Skjald warrior. And this” -she gestured to the scar that ran from his left temple to his cheek- “is quite dashing and savage. Again, I must wonder what your grandfather would think of you now.”
“Ah, Old Skjaldbane. The great warrior king who drove the Skjald out of Northern Lochven for good. At high cost to his people…and himself.” Arlyn gritted his teeth against the venomous emotions roiling inside him. “It’s because of him that I’m here in the first place. And because of your father.”
“My father did what he thought was best for me, and for his clan. He made me a queen.”
“I imagine he profited quite handsomely off of your bride price,” Arlyn rasped bitterly. “You were supposed to be mine! I was the one who loved you!”
“What should I have done?! Those decisions were made for me!” Aislin protested indignantly.
“You should have chosen me. We could have built a life together.”
“And turned down the chance to be queen? For what? A hardscrabble life as a vagrant’s wife?!”
“Do I look like a vagrant to you?”
“No. You look like a violent savage. You’re no longer the man I once loved.”
“You hard-hearted bitch. How dare you speak to me of love,” Arlyn jeered spitefully. After several moments of fraught silence, and with his anger momentarily spent, he spoke up once again. “Why are you here?”
“I told you: your brother is dead,” Aislin murmured sedately.
“Yes, but why are you here?”
“Well, believe it or not, it was my father’s idea.”
“Your father, who despises me so much that I was driven into exile because of his hatred, sent you to find me?”
“You are the commander of the most celebrated Skjald mercenary company in the world. And, as you so forcefully impressed upon poor Osbert back at the hall, you are considered an earl by Skjald customs.” Aislin shrugged. “I suppose Father considers you an ally worth having now.”
Arlyn was skeptical. “He didn’t consider me an ally worth having when I was a prince of Northam?”
“A lesser prince who romanced and tried to run off with his only daughter.”
Arlyn grimaced and bit back a sharp retort. Instead, he waited for several beats before saying, “You still haven’t told me what happened to my brother, or how your father is involved.”
“I said before it was Father’s idea to come to you. Truthfully, it was my idea, and he agreed. In fact, he was so keen on it, he gave me the money.”
“What money?”
“Why, the money to enlist the Wolves of Vargaholt, of course.” Aislin reached into her saddlebag and removed a coin purse that was fit to burst. Arlyn was stunned. Aislin continued. “I believe this should suffice.”
“And what exactly is it that you need us for?” Arlyn queried.
“To get revenge on Lord Malphrus for ambushing your brother as he returned from negotiating with the Noverian legions encamped in the Lowlands.”
“Malphrus!” Arlyn spat in disgust. “So…the craven bastard has finally made his move.”
“He massacred your brother’s entire personal bodyguard. Two hundred of Northam’s finest soldiers and their king slaughtered in one fell swoop.”
“I’ve heard about the turmoil within the Empire. I never thought it would reach Northam, though.”
“Malphrus must have been bribed by the Emperor to move against your brother in order to prevent him allying with Atilius now that he’s rejoined his legions. Father seems to think he is next. He wants to be prepared.”
“And that’s where I come in.”
“You command a thousand skilled warriors. My father and I can muster about five thousand between the two of us. However, even with all of us together, Malphrus will still outnumber us by near four thousand men.”
“What of my uncle in Northgaard? He must have almost a thousand soldiers to commit to the fight.”
“He refuses to join. He says he swore fealty to your brother…and your brother only.”
“Treacherous cur!” Arlyn swore. “He wants Northam’s throne for himself. With my brother gone, he thinks he stands a chance of seizing it amidst all the chaos.”
“Which, once again, is why we need you.”
“How do you mean?”
“I want you to temporarily assume the kingship of Northam until my son comes of age in order to protect his throne.”
Arlyn was so blindsided by this revelation that he nearly fell off his horse. “What?! Why?!”
“Because, as you keep reminding me, you were…are…a prince of Northam. It only makes sense for you to be king in your brother’s absence. And, despite everything that has passed between us, I trust you with my life…and the life of my son.”
“I am not the heir. Your son is.”
“Have you not been paying attention?!” Aislin exclaimed with anxious exasperation. “He is only nine years old! He won’t come of age for another seven years. You must rule in his stead until that time.”
”And then what? Am I to be exiled all over again?”
Aislin laughed with genuine, guileless humor. The harmonious sound reverberated throughout the forest. “Of course not, you silly oaf! You will be granted the Dukedom of Northgaard-once we relieve your duplicitous uncle of the position, of course-where you will live out your days as a staunch ally of the throne…with your wife.”
“Wife, eh? Doubtless, you and your ever-scheming father already have some shrill and overbearing harpy in mind to burden me with,” Arlyn grunted dubiously.
“Yes, as a matter of fact: me.”
Arlyn repeatedly paced the length of the firepit in the great room of his hall. Agitated and overwhelmed, his mind reeled at what he was being offered. The warmth seeped into his bones, driving out the bitter winter chill and helping to clear his head. Aislin sat on a nearby bench, impassively watching the man contend with his thoughts, while the impetuously loyal Osbert loomed over her as he glared in Arlyn’s general direction. She knew he would agree to her terms. For all his pride and bluster, she could see that Arlyn still loved her. And the chance to sit upon the throne of his homeland was too great an opportunity for him to pass up.
Arlyn had gathered and consulted some of his most loyal thanes, and they were now situated around the room, anxiously awaiting their revered leader’s decision. At long last, Arlyn abruptly ceased his meandering and turned to face Aislin.
In a decisive and authoritative voice, he declared, “I accept your offer! In three days’ time, eight hundred of my best warriors will march south with you.”
Aislin frowned in consternation. “Eight hundred? I am paying for all thousand of you.”
“Yes, but I have one city, several towns, dozens of villages, and hundreds of square miles to protect. I must leave a garrison behind to discourage my rivals from attempting a coup in my absence. I promise that eight hundred of my men will more than suffice for your needs.” Arlyn smiled surreptitiously. “The Wolves of Vargaholt are at your service…my queen.”
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Romans and Spartans and Tolkienian elves, and now you throw mercenary Vikings into the mix? This is rapidly becoming a world I'm finding a goodly amount of excitement in.
Love these dialogues.