of Lamorkland and of bright-eyed Uts would be decided by trial at arms. The
mightiest hero in all the land would win wealth, wife and dominion by the
strength of his hands.’ Ortzel paused in his translation. ‘What’s a span?’
Talen asked. ‘Nine inches,’ Berit replied. ‘It’s supposed to be as far as a
man can stretch out the fingers of one hand.’ Talen made the quick
computation in his head. ‘Seven and a half feet?’ he said incredulously.
‘He was seven and a half feet tall?’
‘It may be slightly exaggerated,’ Ortzel smiled. ‘Who is this Hrokka?’
Bevier asked him. ‘The Lamork War-God,’ Ortzel explained. ‘There was a
period at the end of the bronze age when the Lamorks reverted to paganism.
Obviously, Drychtnath won the trial-at-arms, and he didn’t even kill too
many other Lamorks in the process.’ Then Ortzel took up his recitation.
‘And so it was that Drychtnath the smith, mighttest hero of antiquity, won
the hand of bright-eyed Uts and became King Hygdahl’s heir.
‘And when the wedding-feast was done, went Hygdahl’s heir straightway to
the King. ‘Lord King,’ quotha, ‘since I have the honour to be the mightiest
warrior in all the world, it is only meet that the world fall into my
hands. To that end shall I bend mine efforts once Hrokka hath called thee
home. I will conquer the world and subdue it and bend it to my will, and I
will lead the heroes of Lamorkland e’en unto Chyrellos. There will I cast
down the altars of the false God of that Church which doth, all womanly,
hold strength in despite and weakens warriors with her drasty preaching. I
spurn her counsel, and will lead the heroes of Lamorkland forth to bear
back to our homes in groaning wains the loot of the world.’
‘Happily heard Hygdahl the hero’s words, for Hrokka, Sword-Lord of
Lamorkland, glories in battleshlfe and doth inspire his children to love
the sound of sword meeting sword and the sight of sparkling blood bedewing
the grass. ‘Go forth, my son, and conquer,’ quotha, ‘Punish the Peloi,
crush the Cammorians, destroy the Deirans, and forget not to bring down the
church which doth pollute the manhood of all Elenes with her counsels of
peace and lowly demeanour.’
‘Now when word of Drychtnath’s design reached the Basilica of Chyrellos,
the Church was troubled and trembled in fear oF the mighty smith, and the
princes of the Church took counsel one with the other and resolved to spit
out the life of the noble smith, lest his design dispossess the Church and
win her wealth to wend in wains Lamorkward, there to bedeck the highbdt
walls of the conqueror’s mead-hall. Conspired they then to send a warrior
of passing merit’ to the court of Hygdahl’s heir to bring low the towering
pride of dark-forested Lamorkland. In dissembling guise this traitorous
warrior, a Deiran by birth – Starkad was his name – made his way to
Drychnath’s mead-hall, and mildly made he courteous greeting to Hygdahl’s
heir. And beseeched he the hero of Lamorkland to accept him as his vassal.
Now Drychtnath’s heart was so free of deceit and subterfuge that he could
not perceive perfidy in others. Gladly did he accept Starkad’s seeming
friendship, and the two were soon as brothers even as Starkad had designed.
‘And as the heroes of Drychtnath’s hall laboured, Starcad was ever at
Drychtnath’s right hand, in fair weather and foul, in battle and in the
carouse which is battle’s aftermath. Tales he spun which filled
Drychtnath’s heart with mirth, and for the love he bare his friend did the
mighty smith gladly bestow treasures upon him, bracelets of bright gold and
gems beyond price. Starkad accepted Drychtnath’s gifts in seeming gratitude
and ever, like the patient worm, burrowed he his way ever deeper into the
hero’s heart. ‘And at the time of Hrokka’s choosing was wise King Hygdahl
gathered into the company of the Immortal Thanes in the Hall of Heroes, and
then was Drychtnath king in Lamorkland. Well were laid his plans, and no
sooner had the royal crown been placed upon his head than he gathered his
heroes and marched north to subdue the savage Peloi. ‘Many were the battles
mighty Drychtnath waged in the lands of the Peloi, and great were the
victories he won. And there it was in the lands of the horse-people that
the design of the Church of Chyrellos was accomplished, for there,
separated from their friends by legions of ravening Peloi, Drychtnath and
Starkad wrought slaughter upon the foe, bathing the meadow’s grass with the
blood of their enemies. And there, in the full flower of his heroism, was
mighty Drychtnath laid full low. Seizing upon a lull in the struggle when
all stood somewhat apart to gather breath and strength to renew the
struggle, the deceitful Deiran found his opportunity and drove his cursed
spear, sharper ‘than any dagger, full into his lord’s broad back. ‘And
Drychtnath felt death’s cold touch as Starkad’s bright steel pierced him.
And turned he then to face the man he had called friend and brother. ‘Why?’
quotha, his heart wrung more by the betrayal than by Starkad’s stroke. ”It
was in the name of the God of the Elenes,’ quoth Starkad with hot tears
streaming from his eyes, for in truth loved he the hero he had just slain.
‘Think not that it was I who have smitten thee to the heart, my brother,
for it was not I, but our Holy Mother Church which hath sought thy life.’
So saying, he raised once more his dreadful spear. ‘Defend thyself,
Drychtnath, for though I must slay thee, I would not murder thee.’ Then
raised noble Drychtnath his face. ‘That will I not do,’ quotha, ‘for if my
brother have need of my life, I give it to him freely.’
”Forgive me,’ quoth Starkad, raising again his deadly spear. ”That may I
not do,’ quoth the hero. ‘My life mayest thou freely have, but never my
forgiveness.’
”So be it then,’ quoth Starkad, and, so saying, plunged he his deadly
spear full into Drychtnath’s mighty heart. ‘A moment only the hero stood,
and then slowly, as falls the mighty oak, fell all the pride of Lamorkland,
and the earth and the heavens resounded with his fall.’ There were tears in
Talen’s eyes. ‘Did he get away with it?’ he demanded fiercely. ‘I mean,
didn’t one of Drychtnath’s other friends pay him back?’ The boy’s face
clearly showed his eagerness to hear more. ‘Surely you wouldn’t want to
waste your time with some tired, worn-out old story that’s been around for
thousands of years?’ Ortzel said. He feigned some astonishment, but there
was a sly twinkle in his eye. Sparhawk covered his own smile with his hand.
Ortzel had definitely changed, all right. ‘I don’t know about Talen,’ Ulath
said, ‘but I would.’ There were obviously some strong similarities between
the culture of present-day Thalesia and that of ancient Lamorkland. well,
now,’ Ortzel said, ‘i’d say that some bargaining might be in order here.
How many acts of contrition would the two of you be willing to give our
Holy Mother in exchange for the rest of the story?’
”Ortzel,’ Dolmant reproved him. The Patriarch of Kadach held up one hand.
‘It’s perfectly legitimate exchange, Sarathi,’ he said. ‘The Church has
used it many times in the past. When I was a simple country pastor, I used
this exact method to ensure regular attendance at services. My congregation
was known far and wide for its piety – until I ran out of stories.’ Then he
‘laughed. They were all a bit startled at that. Most of them were fairly
sure that the stern, unbending Patriarch of Kadach didn’t even know how. ‘I
was only teasing,’ he told the young thief and the gigantic Thalesian. ‘I
wouldn’t be too disappointed, however, if the two of you gave the condition
of your souls some serious thought.’
‘Tell the story,’ Mirtai insisted. Mirtai was also a warrior, and also, it
appeared, susceptible to a stirring tale. ‘Do I sense the possibility of a
convert here?’ Ortzel asked her. ‘What you’re sensing is the possibility of
failing health, Ortzel,’ she said bluntly. Mirtai never used titles when
she spoke to people. ‘All right then,’ Ortzel laughed again and continued
with his translation. ‘Hearken then, O men of Lamorkland, and hear how
Starkad was paid. Some tears then shed he over his fallen brother, then
turned he his raging wrath upon the Peloi, and they fled screaming from
him. Straightway left he the strife-place and journeyed even to the Holy
City of Chyrellos, there to advise the princes of the Church that their
design was done. And when they had gathered all in the Basilica which is
the crown of their o’erweening pride, recounted Starkad the sad tale of the
fall of Drychtnath, mightiest hero of yore. ‘And gloated then the soft and
pampered princes of the Church at the hero’s fall, thinking that their