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  “Dear lady Euphrosyne,” called Emperor Alexious, as if he were oblivious to this sort of thing happening, or perhaps more likely Gathelaus decided, that it happened all the time. “We have a need to speak to this Northman, right now. We may have some good sport.”

  Alexious was followed by the grinning, dark-bearded Varangian guard, the same who had asked who Gathelaus was in the dark hallway’s minutes earlier. A score of Varangian’s waited behind, and all but the giddy emperor looked ready for blood.

  “This is not the time,” said Euphrosyne, icily, as she reached for her skimpy robe that lay on the divan behind Gathelaus.

  “Murzuphlus said I would find you two together. And here we are,” said Alexious. “Perfect timing, I think.”

  “Hardly.”

  Alexious chuckled and said, “Well. I could watch life made or I could watch death made, and I’m much more in the mood for death at the moment.”

  12. The Fisher King

  Niels and Eudokia raced down the circular tunnel going so far in the dim lamplight that he was sure they were well beyond the palace walls. It reminded him of a hare’s warren with all the twisting dark passages and possibilities.

  “How much farther is it?”

  “We are almost to the exit, but I will have to watch and be sure no one sees us using it. Then it will only be another quarter of an hour of walking to get there,” she said.

  When the tunnel ended abruptly, she looked through a tiny flap for perhaps an entire minute until she was sure the street was deserted.

  “I must be sure no one, and I mean no one finds this secret passage.”

  “I understand,” said Niels, wondering why he should be allowed to know unless there were contingencies for him as well.

  The door swung open and they were outside in an alleyway beneath the stars. She watched for a moment to be sure yet again no one had seen anything, and they continued on to the north east.

  The palace Niels saw ahead was not nearly so grand as the great palace still visible and reaching to the sky behind, battling against the stars, its dark form corrupting the glory of the heavens.

  Eudokia spun about explaining, “Blachernae palace sits upon the Seventh Hill of the city and is almost as far from the Great Palace as you can get and stay within the city walls. Emperor Isaac is a strange man, he is blind, but you must convince him to give you the key.”

  “What makes him so strange in this place?” asked Niels.

  “He thinks he knows the secrets of the universe. He is quite mad,” said Eudokia. “Be careful what questions you ask him, but he will assuredly prefer boldness over weakness.”

  They passed through a tower that bore the name of Isaac and Niels saw the interior of Blachernae. It was simple and modest in comparison to the decadent wealth of the Great Palace. Several halls flanked a central forum. Some few lamps were lit within and these glowed with eerie light. Eudokia bade Niels wait while she went inside a darkened chamber through a portico to the right. She came back out shortly and then led him through oval passages to yet another wider but unassuming room. Naught but a comfortable throne and broken stool was inside.

  “I had best wait outside for you, Isaac hates my mother,” said Eudokia.

  Niels sat on the stool and waited, twirling his mustache and beard.

  A moment later a strangely dressed man in Avaran purple robes came out holding a staff. “State your business.”

  “I am to express to the emperor, the dire nature of negotiations with both the doge of Kentsia and the baron of Rekez, commander of the Tolburnians. They demand immediate payment of debts owed them by Alexious the Fourth.”

  “Don’t speak the animal’s name in my presence!” shouted an old man, who now came shambling out of the dark hallway. A silken scarf was wrapped over his eyes. “He is no son of mine, the fornicating heathen!”

  Niels was startled at the emperor’s various state of undress. The old man wore only a loose robe and loincloth and looked as if he had been sleeping in the street.

  “Are you Isaac the second? I was expecting something a little more…grand.”

  Getting a better sense of Niels’s position, the blind old man tottered to him only to rap him across the arm with his fishing pole. “Why? Because I live as any man and not a depraved heathen? Feasting upon my lusts? That boy is the worst kind of sinner, he is pride, vanity, lust and sloth in one weak willed demon. So we are both called emperor’s now, so what? Euphrosyne runs him now as she used to run my usurper, only now she is worse. A real harpy,” he burst out at the last. “I am lucky they haven’t left me in the dungeons.” He paused waiting to hear the Niels’s breath. “Who are you anyway?”

  “I am Niels von Eschenbach, a knight of Hawkton. I was to go and fight in Vjorn for my lord but the dice of my life keeps rolling into strange lands.”

  “Niels eh? This is my astrologer, Kyot. He sees dark portents ahead. What say you? Can you espy a way round the darkness that engulfs us?” The old man looked sightlessly at the wall before letting his fishing pole fall against it.

  His pain was apparent, and Niels hoped to say something to ease his wounded mind, heart and will.

  “It was suggested by the doge and baron that perhaps a certain holy relic might be given in trade to us. The Tolburnians and Kentsians would then leave your shores.”

  The old man wailed an insufferably loud and hideous note of despair. His toothless mouth opened wider than Niels thought possible.

  “No, that cannot be done. It cannot be spoken of. Such is the cruelest heresy my son has ever suggested. Are you the lackey to wound an old man’s heart with this sacrilege?” asked Isaac, as he vainly swatted at the air with his fishing rod.

  “I meant no harm or disrespect. I am merely relaying what I was told.”

  “Perhaps when you are older you’ll understand. All I wanted when I was young was to fish and watch my children grow. All things change and death evens us all, the fisher of men now sweeps his net over us. You too will feel its grasp noble knight.” The old man shook as he spoke, waving a hand over invisible waters.

  “I don’t doubt it,” responded Niels.

  “Are you to steal from us to avert a war?”

  “If needs be, yes.”

  “You would take our sliver of perfection of paradise? You would purloin that from our midst? Of sorrow you must understand nothing,” lamented the blind emperor.

  “How can I avert these things which are already bearing fruit?”

  The old man jerked his mangy head as if sight had returned to him and tore the scarf from his head. Empty sockets stared blindly at Eschenbach. “If you could but ask the right questions, I could give you the right answers.”

  13. The Holmgang

  Gathelaus faced the emperor and his squad of Varangian bodyguards. His hand was on his hilt as the murderous stares of the other Northmen spoke volumes.

  “You are the herald of Kentsia and the Tolburnian commander are you not? But you are still bound by the rules of your homeland, correct?” said Alexious, obviously pleased with himself. He was drunk, the wine bottle tipped from his hand. “Heimdal, tell him what you told me.”

  “No,” said Euphrosyne. “He is helping us, what he can accomplish tonight is for us. Any trouble in the palace is bad for all of us. Do not allow this.”

  “You need to relax dear lady this is just for sport, Heimdal told me.”

  “There are no sports with such men,” breathed Euphrosyne. She threw her jeweled hands up to end the confrontation.

  Gathelaus took three paces from Euphrosyne. He glared at the Varangian’s.

  Before she could call a halt to the will of the crowd, Heimdal, the lean dark-bearded Varangian stepped forward to meet Gathelaus’s challenge. “I am as good a man as you,” he said directly to Gathelaus, before looking over his shoulder to his kinsmen. “In fact, I’ll wager I am better than you. Serving the dog Tolburnians like a thrall. Do you even have a man’s heart? Or do you have a dog’s heart?” He laughed as di
d the Varangian’s behind. All save for the older Aldrethman, who had been a part of the escort of the gate.

  Alexious laughed too. “See Euphrosyne, it’s all sport, nothing more. Though I’ll admit I don’t understand the half of it, but everyone is laughing.”

  “You fool,” snapped Euphrosyne. “Your jokes will ruin our plans.”

  Alexious frowned at her calling him a fool but did not respond as Gathelaus’s voice drowned out all sound like the crashing waves of the Frozen Sea on the breakers.

  “You want blood? I’ll give you blood,” Gathelaus’s eye twitched as a sinister smile spread across his face, “you’ll drown in it. I call you to the Holmgang,” announced Gathelaus. “Right now.”

  “I gladly accept,” roared Heimdal.

  “What is that,” asked Alexious, wondering why all the Varangian’s were now so excited.

  “One of their barbaric customs. A duel,” she said.

  The Varangian’s went out toward the gardens. Multitudes of people followed, near the entire serving household of the palace. Alexious and Euphrosyne were seated upon silken divans high above, prime spots to watch while the others crowded about in a wide circle, just behind the tall Varangian’s. Murzuphlus however was nowhere to be seen.

  An ox-hide was staked out on the ground, a peg driven into each outstretched leg. The spot designated was carefully considered as being a point in the gardens where paths met and crossed each other. An odd statue with the heads of three women combined stood near overgrown with ivy; few would have noticed the offerings of nuts and cakes at her feet.

  “I don’t understand it, but Heimdal said it was good sport,” said Alexious again.

  “Your sport ruins our plans. If he dies what are we to do about the relic? It must be blamed upon one of the Kentsian’s men. Boha-Annu swore to me it must be the Northman,” said Euphrosyne. “She needs a clean yet unbelieving soul. His blood must be spilled upon the altar-while still hot with the fire of combat.”

  “Why this man?”

  “Boha-Annu wills it. That is enough for any of us to know.”

  Alexious shivered at the mention of the goddess of darkness. “Should I stop the duel then?”

  “No fool, it’s too late. Your walking wine bags would rebel at the thought of their precious honor of Thule being broken. We all make mistakes. You allowed the dog Heimdal to sway you, while I allowed Murzuphlus to let his jealousies thwart the greater design.”

  “It’s not my fault,” whined Alexious. “Haven’t I done all you asked of me priestess?”

  “Boha-Annu accepts no excuses.”

  The mention of Boha-Annu, the dread goddess of night, cowed Alexious. “Tell her, I serve…I serve.”

  “Pray now that the Northman defeats your favorite warrior, or the goddess will be angered. You’ll be rewarded with burnings and taste the flame’s embrace.”

  Alexious gazed at the stretched ox-hide and prayed to every god he knew that he would not have to meet the one that he served.

  Two warriors faced each other across the ox-hide. Eyes glaring hate and retribution, courage and malice. The Aldrethman alone stood beside Gathelaus and was his shield man.

  “What weapons shall you choose, liar?” scorned Heimdal.

  “The ax,” replied Gathelaus, cold as the glacier.

  Heimdal snorted and spit on the ox-hide.

  Gathelaus responded, “You wish to bathe first? I could piss all over you and save time.”

  Heimdal didn’t respond but took up an ax and shield from his own man. Gathelaus did the same.

  They knocked the flat of their ax blades against the shields twice with a dull thump and then circled each other on the stretched skin. Just three strides long the ox-hide made for a confined combat space. When the first blow was struck, a wild flurry followed chopping away at both oaken shields.

  Gathelaus had initially expected Heimdal to be quick and attack with finesse. To deny him use of his favored sword was a calculated plan on Gathelaus’s part. As the challenger for the Holmgang he was allowed to choose weapons and any advantage might as well be taken. Choosing the ax was to limit his opponent’s specialty and gain him his own. The ax was like the roaring wind in Gathelaus’s hand. He swung with the instinct of a born slayer. After breaking Heimdal’s first shield and granting him a reprieve to take a second, Gathelaus brought more hammering blows.

  Heimdal, to his credit, was not intimidated. He launched back with his own attack, always going low if he could, sweeping at Gathelaus’s legs. This allowed the taller man to rain down on him but also keep his distance but Heimdal hoped to lure the foe in with over confidence.

  Crafty as Loki, Heimdal waited until he could feel his shield about to break. The iron rivets were popping along the outside rim and the leather handle was barely containing its hold on the oak, by the next blow it would shatter. He wanted it that way.

  Backing himself to far side of the ox-hide, Heimdal waited as Gathelaus took a brief respite to breathe from the exertion of the blows. The Varangian tried to appear beaten and timid to lull Gathelaus into a false sense of security and superiority.

  Gathelaus stepped forward and Heimdal threw the shield at his opponent’s face. In mid-air the shield broke in twain and was a missile with a leather handle holding the two sides of oak together.

  Right behind, Heimdal with murderous glee charged, both hands on the haft of his ax to slam into the foe.

  Cunning as Heimdal was, Gathelaus had never allowed his full speed and strength to show until he could better judge his enemy. Sidestepping to the right and letting his shield ward off the missile and incoming ax, Gathelaus swung his ax with as much reach as he could muster. He let his right hand pivot on the bottom flare of the haft and sent the ax-head swinging with as much speed and power behind the ax-head as the gods would allow.

  The head buried in Heimdal’s side, biting through the mail shirt he wore. It hit hard enough that as Heimdal fell it wrenched from Gathelaus’s grasp. Tossing his borrowed shield to the Aldrethman, Gathelaus took hold of his ax and yanked it from Heimdal’s broken frame.

  “I still live,” moaned Heimdal. “Send me to Valhol . . . please, with a weapon in my hand.”

  Gathelaus’s lips curled into a snarl. He reached down and took Heimdal’s head and gave it a sharp snap.

  14. The Key

  “The astrologers warn that the stars are not right and dark things lurk under the black moon this night,” said the blind emperor Isaac.

  “What are you speaking of,” asked Niels.

  “It is a cold time when the goddesses’ quarrel over who rules the night and the city. The one thing holding each at bay is what you wish to steal from us, without it we would be turned back to the dark ages again.”

  “What makes today so enlightened? Things haven’t changed so very much. They are much the same as they ever were,” responded Niels.

  “Don’t try and cloud the situation with your semantics correct as they may be. I talk of elder things that seek dominion once again. Things that whisper stronger in the night and during the phases of the moon when the fabric separating our worlds and realms are thinnest. Do not mock an old man’s fears because he has seen more than you will ever know,” rasped Isaac. “When Craddock borrowed from one to another, he angered the true matriarch of the city. Even now she holds court with witches and foreign demons from Thule to eliminate her rival and seal the doom of good men.”

  “But who are the good men and what can avert this doom?”

  “Now you are asking the right questions,” laughed the mad man. “When the blood that was spilt for us is again remembered peace will come…if it is forgotten…it will rain in the streets. Avoid the crossroads and stay from the sepulcher unless you would see her loosed.”

  “Who is she?” asked Niels.

  “That wasn’t the right question at all,” laughed Isaac, sitting back deep into his throne. “Time was an old man could gain what he needed when asking.”

  “How can I help yo
u?”

  The crazed emperor produced a key from the folds of his robe and held it out. “This opens a door that should remain shut. But to journey on down the road perhaps we could allow some shades to be greater than our humble souls. There may be time to change these paths we are on.” He stared sightless at Niels and grinned with bare gums.

  “Who else knows these things?” asked Niels, leaning forward from his stool.

  “There was another poet once. He made fanciful aspersions but he never finished the book,” taunted Isaac. “He knew of the cup, he drank deep from that well.”

  “Are you speaking of de Troyes? He’s a hack!” shouted Niels.

  “People remember the first, they forget the last.”

  “He wasn’t the first, Geoffrey was first!”

  “Well, fools don’t believe his words any longer. But they were true. Maybe you can be the last to tell the tale.”

  “There is never a last,” retorted Niels.

  Isaac leaned back on his tarnished throne. “To all things comes an end. Some things that were buried best stay forgotten and the gods of yester eve should remain devils for today and the days to come. Some fight that.”

  “Are these some, people of the palace?”

  “They are,” said Isaac.

  “Will they want more than me and my friend are willing to give?” asked Niels.

  “Oh, that they will boy, that they will indeed. Blood spilt upon her altar is more than any man can give and survive. The cup holds her powers in check. Once the cup is gone and the blood is spilt, she will reign. There isn’t much time-the moon’s power rises.”

  “What can avert this coming to pass?”

  “The sacred stone that fell from the heavens can heal us as well destroy the enemy.

  “Just give me the key.”

  15. Salvation

  Caressing Gathelaus’s cheek, Euphrosyne said, “Thorgrimson, I asked the doge for a non-Paladin to retrieve the holy artifact from the Church of Holy Apostles. The relic inside the altar is unguarded and it will take a strong man to remove the altar’s lid, after the key opens the lock of course. You seem more than suited to the task.”