Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 3 Rewrite

Chapter 3



Steel rang in high symphony as King Hjalmar slashed at him. Loki blocked the attack with his own blade, spun to the side, and brought the blade in an upward, aggressive arc. The King jumped backward, and his blade bit nothing but air. He grinned at him with wild eyes; the eyes of a killer intent on murder. Hjalmar slashed again, in a downward attack. Foolish, quite foolish and slow to say the least. Loki sidestepped the attack, and the tip of his sword rested on his King’s shoulders.

Hjalmar nodded as he drew in ragged breaths. “Damn good my friend.”

Loki offered him an equally mad smile and nodded. “Again?”

“Of course.”

They backed away from one another in slow, careful steps. Eyes never left each other as they held their weapons forward, ready to strike a single, and deadly attack. Loki knew that they wouldn’t ever draw blood in the dueling room, but this practice felt more real than any he’d ever done with the King. Both of them slashed with all their strength at one another, as though they were fighting in the wars of the north and south. Loki wiped sweat from his brow, as he swallowed harsh breaths. Rather than cool his throat, they burned like he was breathing smoke. They had practiced since the morning, at the King’s request. It was a long time since he found himself dueling with his long-time friend, for the affairs of state had claimed much of both their time. It was an exhilarating feeling to swing a sword again. Though he felt rather sluggish from age, he still remembered the art.

Parrying, blocking, and slashing were all of his first found abilities. Hailing from the northern clans had taught him early on the art of swordsmanship. When Hjalmar succeeded the throne, he left his old life behind, and came to the castle of Dustaffnage to serve his sovereignty a different way. Though it took him some time to learn the arts, he became a skilled politician, just as the king expected him to be. He told him it was in his blood to be a leader rather than a warrior. Loki knew that as well, for the Aesir clans were the first to hold the throne of Xalimfal, and though his house was ragged and forgotten, they still carried royal blood, and he was their patriarch.

The Aesir clan, however, was a long forgotten memory. Most sons of Xalimfal scarcely knew of their history. With the exception of the Tribunal, the king, and himself, none offered his house much respect. Clans were intended to be large and powerful, and his was stretched thin, with only a handful of men left. The king however, was quite familiar with their history, and as such, was more than willing to offer him his position as Jarl, the second most powerful man in Xalimfal, until the Temple rose to their position.

Hjalmar took a long and healthy gulp of mead and slammed the cup on the table. Following the old rituals, Loki did the same.

“I’m surprised you still know how to handle a sword, old man.” Hjalmar offered him a light grin.

He nodded. “Aye, I’m quite surprised myself.”

The king tapped his sword against his armor, and Loki did the same. In a flash as fast and powerful as lightning, the King was upon him once more. Steel clashed against steel as they circled around one another. He did exactly as he knew, he never allowed the man to gain even a foot on him. The king was equally skilled, for he too, fought for his throne. The late king hadn’t granted it to him. He won it with the power and strength of steel.

Loki swiped hard at Hjalmar, but the man was quite fast. His blade bit only steel as the king blocked his attack, and returned one of his own. “You know better than to attack the sword hand,” he said through ragged breaths.

“Just testing you.”

Hjalmar thrust hard at him, but he spun to the side, and his boot rammed into his backside. The King stumbled forward, and he fell upon the stone floor. Hjalmar rolled over and raised his own blade to defend against his downward strike. Another high pitched ring echoed off the stone walls, and the King kicked him away and gained his feet once more.

Hjalmar twisted his head, and bones in his neck cracked. “If we keep this up, one of us is going to injure themselves.” He smiled at him.

“Most likely.”

That did not stop him. He lunged forward, and steel sliced through the air, blow after blow. Each strike sent shockwaves through his arms, as the king hacked at him. He was losing ground against the strikes, but they were too fast, he could not step aside. He felt the cold touch of stone against his back, as he stepped into the column, and the final strike stopped on his shoulder. The tip of the sword sent cold shivers down his spine as it kissed his neck.

Hjalmar smiled at him. “I’m aged, but I still remember the old ways.”

Loki nodded as he gulped cold air. “Aye. You haven’t lost your strength.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Resting my ass on a throne all day has surely taken its toll.” He turned round, and stepped to his corner. He drew in a healthy gulp of the mead, but this time, he set it on the table as though any force would shatter the cup. “I miss wielding a sword, Loki.”

He nodded. “As do I.”

Hjalmar combed his fingers through silvery hair, wiped mead from his beard. “There’s not a day that I don’t think about being a Warlord again.”

Loki smiled. “And there’s not a day that I don’t think about kicking a Skald’s ass into the snow.”

A hearty and ragged laugh escaped the king’s lips. “Aye, the Skalds, ever the problems of a King’s succession.” His smile faded. “A lot has changed. Being a king makes me realize that they’re every bit as needed as the other clans.”

Loki nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, it’s true.”

“Still, I can’t help but hope my brother sends them back to the damned forests where they belong. They have no business in the plains.”

“Aksel is a strong leader. I’m sure he will do just that.” He turned to his own table and helped himself to a healthy gulp of mead.

“I was hoping to see my other brother rise to his new position. Ragnarr is young, but he’s smart and strong. Governing those islands would have been a perfect job for him.”

He hoped he wouldn’t bring it up. Thinking about the Temple taking the islands, and stopping the expedition was frustrating.

“I know you hoped to see this expedition through, but I’m afraid the Temple would not allow it.”

Loki nodded. “I only wished to see a new beginning for this kingdom. Those islands would have given us food, and iron, and perhaps gold. The Temple has taken that away from us.”

Hjalmar took another gulp of the mead, and motioned for an Ymirjar to refill his cup. He wiped away the golden trails that streaked through his beard. “The Temple has good reason to oppose the expansion, Jarl. The law is in place to appease both sides of this court.”

He clenched his fists. Before the Temple had gained a seat in the court, there was only one side, and it was the only side the people needed. The Tribunal was ever working to aid the people. “With all due respect, your majesty, one day we’ll find ourselves so entangled and law and politics that we’ll pay no notice to the army marching through our cities.”

Hjalmar nodded. “Law is an evil force. I know that better than anyone, but sometimes we have to use evil to accomplish good, and the Temple is perhaps against the expansion, but they serve the people.”

“They serve their own interests, as they always have.” It was a bold statement, but he had to say it. The Temple was not for the people at all, they were for their own power.

The King held his cup to the servant, and waved at the small man when he filled it to his liking. The Ymirjar shrunk back to the corner before the King turned back to him. “The people follow the church, Loki. If I am to have their support, then I have no choice but to follow them as well. Sometimes being a King requires that I must also be a servant.”

“Those are quite cynical words you speak.”

The King shook his head. “You know as well as I that we’ve been robbed of a language that speaks of anything but religion. The church is a powerful force, and they must be heeded to, just like the people that support them.”

Loki waved the servant to him, and the man hustled to his table. He filled his cup to the rim, and stepped away. “The people that support them do not know what they need. That is why the Tribunal is here. We’ve ever worked to aid the populace.”

Hjalmar nodded and gulped a hefty drink. “You’ve done all you can, Jarl. We’ll find ways to end this hunger, and perhaps the Temple can help us with that. The Gothi are wise in many ways that we don’t understand.”

He helped himself to a draught of mead before he set his cup down once more. “Forgive me, your majesty, but religion has no place in the making of law. As you can see, it has stolen our one clear chance at ending this starvation.”

Hjalmar shot him a glare. “Perhaps, but the spring is almost upon us. Crops will be sowed once again, and the stomachs will grumble no more.”

“When we harvest those crops. What do we do until then? That law signed away the solution to the problem, and now the Temple has gained even more power in the court.”

The king chuckled. “I doubt that a stretch of islands has given them any sort of power, Loki.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps not, but what will they ask for next? They have complete autonomy in the lands, they are ever begging for gold, and now they’ve been gifted land. Soon they’ll be demanding the throne. Perhaps it is not my place to say this, but if we do not control their greed, this court will soon be nothing more than a conglomerate of Gothi, drunk with wealth, and fat from the only food we have.”

Hjalmar shook his head. “I doubt it will come to that.”

He wanted to strike him then and there. The King was afraid of losing the faith of the people, but what he was doing was madness. The power of the court was diminishing to the church, and he ever groveled at the feet of the Gothi. “They are not our allies, your majesty.”

“That is not for you to decide.” His voice was harsh. “Those islands are sacred. I’ve granted them those lands because we cannot stain our ancestors’ legacy. You know better than anyone the past of our people, would you be willing to simply abandon that history?”

“In order to serve our present populace? Of course I would.”

The king nodded. “Then perhaps the throne should be yours.”

Loki chuckled. “I’m as unfit to rule as the servants.”

“Blood of the kings of old fills your veins, Loki.”

He nodded. “But the kings of late do not share my bloodline. I’m quite happy with the position I have, your majesty.”

“As you should be, but it is your house that deserves this throne.”

“My house is spent. You know that. It is time to look to the future rather than the past.”

“What would you have me do?” Hjalmar asked the question almost sarcastically. “You are the rightful king after all. Whether you like it or not, there is lordship within you.”

Loki smiled. “Perhaps, but it is not my crown or throne.”

“Indeed it is not, but the question remains.”

Loki sighed, and took another drink of the mead. “Call the Pantheon to order. I feel that we need to discuss this law with the people.”

Hjalmar nodded. “That’s a wise decision, but you know how this will happen. The people support the church. I doubt this will play in your favor.”

“Then repeal the law!”

Hjalmar shook his head. “You know I cannot do that. I would have a rebellion as soon as the herald called the news.”

That was probably true, but the king had the final say in the laws, and the people could not question him. Rebellions happened and sometimes they won, other times they lost. It was the way of the world, and though every king had rebellions of their own, Hjalmar had ever worked hard in avoiding it. Still, there was good reason to repeal the law, for more than just the church’s power. The law itself aided in the starvation of the populace. Though the common minds did not see it that way, it was the truth.

“Then my first answer stands. Call the Pantheon to order.”

The king nodded. “Very well, Jarl.” He took another drink of the mead, and slammed his cup on the table.

Loki sighed, and did the same. The swords clicked against armor, and once more, they fought as though their lives hung in the balance.