FicWad

The barren land embraced darkness as an unearthly chill hit its unscathed surface, the wind sweeping dirt into the endless golden sky. The dense air was rank with the smell of rotting flesh as the white mare's coarse mane flapped uncontrollably. The slender man atop squinted at the rugged man who rode beside him.

Iric closed his eyes. In the back of his head he could hear the cries of his unborn child as life enveloped its tiny body, gasping for but one breath. The young man's heart pounded heavily in unison with the sound of his horse's hoofs against the solid terrain, his jaw clenched in perplexity. This harmonious beat was then interrupted by the grunt of a stout man who wished to seize his horse.

"This is your freedom Iric," His voice bellowed sternly. Iric steadied his mount, and looked forward as to acknowledge the conversion was over. He found it best not to open his mouth, when his words are not wanted.

Just outside the commanders ample tent, a strong featured man sat hoarsely whispering to his quivering servant. The general eyed the two men viciously as they dismounting before him.

"You must retrieve Iric," he said grasping his silver engraved pint. He began to bring it up to his parched lips, letting the bitter liquor quench his addiction, not removing his gaze from the two figures. "I have much to discuss with him." his dark eyes narrowed as he let the draught encompass his mouth, finally breaking his stare. His twig-like servant sped off heedlessly in silence.

--------

Warm golden light poured out of the grand opening as a young servant pulled a chord, ascending tattered loose fabric for their entry. Iric stood aside gallantly, gesturing for his eminent lord to enter. Once inside all fell faint as the rugged commander took his place at the head of the illustrious table filled with exuberant quantities of food and drink. Mounds of deer, beef,lamb and pork drenched in wine lay in the centre with adorning side helpings of sloes and brassicas slathered in butter. The mere sight itself was more than one's eye could bear, teasing and tantalizing the growing need to fill the gaping void within. But hungry eyes were now fixed on their leader as he he shouted loud and triumphantly.

"Victory is once again ours," He raised his glass as it had just been filled with the finest of all wine's. "Shall we be bound together as brothers, tonight is in need of joyous occasion!" Cheers from the crowd arose, but Sir Orrin had not yet finished, "Rejoice all you will, but our fight is not yet over, we have yet to defeat our enemy." His voice hardened, "They are weakened we must enforce our strong hold, and not let free until the last breath has ceased." Pure lull was interrupted by the outspoken Geir whom entered the tent abruptly.

"What is the benefit for us?" He scowled, "We have gained our lands we had once lost, the vermin terminated!" He scaled the room eyeing his closest brothers. "We have chased down the Saxons for nearly a decade, we have lost more men than any other venture, and for what, barren territory?" Several heads of exhausted soldiers nodded with muffled grunts of agreement.

"Who dares to challenge my authority?" Orrin growled, "If so one of you challenge me, we shall know who rules this day." None answered his proposition, fore if they were to lose sheer humiliation would be their mark. "Odin himself has demanded to press further, I can taste our victory as it is near."

"Your God? Does he not think of our wives, children, what is to become of them when we have perished?" Geir spit savagely, "What mercy does he supply us?"

"My duty is with Odin, as yours is with me, you shall hold your tongue if you do not wish your head to be upon that pike." Orrin glared viciously. Geir threw his pint angrily against a support, the blood red colour seeped into the wood. He stormed out the path he had entered causing a plymouth of noise to follow.

--------

Iric placed a reassuring hand upon his lord's tense arm. Orrin's anger fled as he sat down, he recollected his thoughts.

"My lord, he is but exhausted as are we all," Iric sighed, "Must we fight now--can we not regain our strength and mind--then end it swiftly?" Orrin's gaze hardened once again, his voice was now filled with a small drop of sincerity.

"I promised freedom," He rubbed his aging brow, "If we do not defeat them now--if not now," he turned and looked his friend in the eye. "Then," he continued softly, "We will never be free." Iric held compassion for his lord, but he could not help but hate his stubborn and selfish ideals.

This fight, this war, would be the end of their existence. There was no question, the Saxons out numbered their troops. It was as if a flea were to attack a lion. Even if they had the greatest warriors of all this land and the will of a thousand men, they could never hope to vanquish the enemy.

"Sire," a shaky voice prodded, "My lord wishes to have council--"

"What lord do you speak of?" Iric questioned the servant with a smirk, the man quivered so much he had thought the man would collapse at his words.

"G-Geir, Sir" he gave Iric a weathered letter marked with Geir's prominent emblem. Iric took it quizzically, opened it with his knife, then read it carefully.

"I will take my leave straight away," he returned the letter gingerly, "Tell your lord he must feed his men properly." With that he plopped a slab of fresh meat into the servants arms. He chuckled as the wide eyed servant accepted it speedily.

--------

Geir sat sipping his wine, his spectacles on, paper pulled up nigh even a fingers length from his nose. He heard the curtain of fabric open. In the entry stood Iric, the one man standing between him and the King.

Iric amused with Geir's personal collection of swords began to unsheathe one at a time, admiring the craft of each one.

"You best interest yourself in what benefits you," Geir said now removing his spectacles. Iric fancied a particular sword he removed it swishing it through the air thoughtfully.

"If I were to do that," he said playfully maneuvering the blade, "All my men would wither away like yours." He smirked now returning the sword to its home.

Geir smiled in humor of the young man but this soon faded. "I'm sure you'll understand if you have one more mouth to feed," this time he allowed the wine to engulf his mouth entirely.

Iric's movement's slowed. The thought of his unborn child returned. His eyes filled with sorrow as he dreamt of dying in battle, never being able to see that smile, those small hands, toes and fingers once more. And his wife, must he never caress those lips one last time, graze her soft skin, or take in her sweet scent.

"You have much at stake now Iric," He was now leaning against the entrances frame. "You deserve to be free." Geir stood up and moved toward his pawn. "You know what must be done."

--------

The air was musky, thick and hot. A man could barely breathe, death hung in the air like the stench of rotting flesh. No one was to be found.

A tent once full of life and cheer now lay drenched in blood and broken dreams. A once beloved lord slain, by none other than his most trusted friend. This day would haunt all and change all. This betrayal will never be forgotten fore his blood stains their souls, torment of their mind being the punishment. All but one suffer, he who devised this plan so vile, now sits up on his throne. He lay to rest his King's son, Iric, and all dear. He now rules, his people paying the forfeit.

--------

Alas, unknown of Geir, one survives. His body nearly captured by the sea. He wakes to the bitter taste, and the burn of salt. The twisting and churning of water against weathered warped wood. His mind then again drifts off, his past no longer known to him.