Asger's Crown
The personal solar of the priest Obasi was far from what one may come to find within the priesthood of the Order of Light. Where the latter might contain a wealth of decadence unabashedly displayed, here within the quaint confines of the old man’s quarters, there was but a hearth, a few chests of provisions and a bookshelf surrounding a central roughly cut table of pine.
At the table sat the old man, his withered hands clasped upon the splintered surface as if waiting for something. His blind eyes, clouded and pale, stared into unseen depths, though an eyebrow raised as one of his acolytes let Berras in.
Walking in unsteadily, Berras was leaning on the acolyte. Still pale as snow, despite having been awake and moving for over a week now, the man didn’t seem to have recovered much of his strength. As he was eased into his seat opposite the priest, he gave the acolyte a nod of gratitude before bowing his head at Obasi respectfully, even though the man would not see the gesture. “Greetings goði. Thank you for your hospitality to me and the boy these past few months.”
“Yes, yes.” chortled the old man. “Very hospitable indeed, hmm? Near death you were when brought before me. And now, near death still!” The priest laughed dryly. With a wave of his hand, the acolyte poured some warmed goats milk and set before them a platter of cheese and cured meats, before taking his leave.
Taking the goats milk and sipping on it quietly, Berras stared at the cheese platter blankly. “Yes, I feel as weak as a damn babe. Cold all the time to, no matter how close I sit to a fire, or how many clothes I wear.” He shrugged slightly. “I suppose the touch of a wight leaves its mark, especially if I was in the condition that you all say I was when I was brought here.”
Obasi pressed a sliver of meat past his scraggly beard. “Oh yes. Quite right. The wight’s touch will stay with you until the end of your days.”
“I wonder how far away that is…” He muttered pensively. Shaking his head, he forced a smile to his face. “Bah, I sound like a damn Imperial, worrying about when my heart will stop. I owe you my life, as does the boy, so again I thank you. I may not be of as much use as I’d like, but if I can help you with anything all you have to do is ask.”
“Good!” Exclaimed the old man in a sudden show of exuberance, clapping his hands together. “Yes, very good. You may begin by telling me who you are, and that lad who carried you into my care.” The old man’s excitement seemed to wither, as his cloudy eyes seemed to fix on Berras.
Hesitating, Berras licked his lips. Obasi was famed as being wise and fair, but that didn’t mean that he could be trusted… No, if the old man had wanted him and Secundus dead, he would’ve done something already. Besides, the boy had probably been happy to talk about the two of them, knowing him. Nodding to himself Berras drained his cup of goat’s milk and cleared his throat. “I’ll begin with myself I suppose. I am Berras Tacitus, son of an Imperial warrior and the daughter of a Thane of Stronghelm. I have no clan as such, but I suppose you could say I belong to the clan of my mother, the Folkund. They are a minor, but loyal, clan to the Jarl of Stronghelm. I have fought in the Golden Legions of the Empire, but still hold true to the gods of my home.”
He paused to idly pick at the cheese before him, unwilling to talk about Secundus. Pushing aside his misgivings, he popped a small slice of the hard cheese into his mouth and began to speak as he chewed slowly. “The lad’s name is Secundus Maximus. He’s an Imperial, as I am sure you’d have guessed. He’s the third, and youngest, son of the Governor of Three Rivers, Gaius Maximus. He’s under my protection, and I have been tasked with seeing him be trained up into a man his father can accept. In order to do that we have travelled across Mirrorwater and Norseland.” Swallowing the cheese he waited patiently for Obasi to speak, unsure of how the old priest would react. He hoped he wouldn’t care overly much for their names or past details. Things would only become complicated if he did.
Obasi smiled a toothless grin. “I wondered how true you would be, Berras of Folkund. Your ward has already told as much and to many, but I wondered how freely you would speak.” The old man suckled on his cup of milk. “So you are here to make a man of Secundus. I daresay you succeeded. In his short time here he has become well liked and viewed as a fellow Norse. Some scarcely believe he is a Southron. Why here, of all places? I’d hardly call you pilgrims.” The old man laughed again, milk dribbling down his beard.
Sighing to himself, Berras relaxed into his chair. “The boy isn’t, but I must admit I am. I wanted to show him the importance of showing respect to those cultures other than his own. His father may not approve, but his father isn’t here…” He smiled happily at the man’s mention of Secundus. “Though I am glad to hear he has come into his own here. I never thought of all places he’d fit in, it would be in the heart of Norseland. Shows how much I know.” He laughed before coughing violently, the icy cold stabbing at his heart and lungs. Gaining his breath back Berras wheezed weakly before clearing his throat and continuing. “I had thought to take the boy out hunting in the mountains after we had paid our respects here, but the wight stopped my plans.”
“As a wight so often will. So then…” Obasi leaned forward. “Do you wish to see Asger’s Crown?”
Berras sat up in surprise, his one eye widening at the offer. “You’d allow that? Well… Yes, I would.”
The old man clasped his hands together. “Good, come then! I shall lead you to Asger’s Sanctum.” Obasi eased himself up from the table, slowly making his way to the door. “It’s not far, I promise you.”
After some time, and long winded tales of old sagas sketched in the walls they passed, his acolyte following close behind. The two finally came to a large iron wrought door. A great battle was carved upon its surface. Obasi brought a bony hand upon the door, his fingertips lightly running over the carvings.
“The Darkness swallowed him whole, you know.” Obasi said, lost in some distant memory. “Where once stood my king, the shadow passed, and there was nothing.”
The carvings seemed to jump out at Berras. They seemed so familiar, thanks to the tales he had been told as a child. “He died as a warrior.” He said, echoing the words of his mother from all those years ago. “He died as a King should.”
“Did he?” Asked Obasi, the light of the braziers casting a strange glow on the priest. “The shadow is ravenous fog, devouring all flesh it touches. Even after his body was gone he still screamed.” Obasi’s jaw quivered as he spoke, his hand trembling upon the door. “It didn’t take his crown though, oh no. The Dwarf magic was far too strong then. So I took it before Eccleser’s lackies could get their hands on it. I brought it here.”
Berras frowned at the priest’s words. The old King of the great sagas had not perished as they sung. His eye widened in surprise as he whipped his around to look directly at Obasi. The old man was ancient, that much was obvious, but surely he couldn’t be that old… “Goði… How old are you? You speak as if you were there, but that was… centuries ago. No man lives that long.”
“Your empire has kept you ignorant, Berras of Folkund. “Open it.” He snapped suddenly to the acolyte, who heaved the great doors open. “Do you know of the Maegi Order?” The old man asked as the darkness of the room beyond seemed to swallow them.
Swallowing nervously, Berras looked around, unable to penetrate the darkness with sight alone. “Yes…” He said slowly as he stared into the shadows. “They are the religious leaders of the Empire. They show the faithful how to properly worship the Creator, or so they say.”
“They
were,” Obasi replied. “In the days before there was an empire to speak of. Now the Order of Light assumes that sacred responsibility. Pah! A hall of decadence, toadying to that accursed bloodline’s blasphemy. The braziers!” He snapped at his acolyte once again. Obediently his servant lit the braziers, causing the darkness beyond to retreat, revealing a long hall lined with stone carvings, leading to where shadow held still.
“You have no love for Eccleser and his heirs then?” Berras guessed as he looked over the looming carvings, battles from a time long before the Empire immortalized in stone.
Obasi slowly led the way down the hall, the acolyte with a hand on Berras’ shoulder, urged him along. “Those who hunt my people down, claiming it is our tongues that have fallen. Pah! Ours?! Despite all their best efforts, their secret war is for naught, and some of us Maegi live still. Now the son of their chief general has come into my arms, and his ward as weak as a babe.” Obasi looked over his shoulder darkly at Berras.
Berras gritted his teeth, snarling at the priest. “What do you want from us old man? I thought you were looking after us when we needed help.” The words of Obasi rang in his head, filling his mind. Berras was no longer able to protect the boy. Secundus would have to fight on his own. The thought scared Berras more than the wight had. “We have no quarrel with you.”
The old man chortled. “Old man? Now, now, is that anyway for a thrall to speak to his master? I owe you my life, is what to said me. I am not a man who overlooks a debt.” He turned and snatched the torch from his acolyte’s hand, his gnarled tattooed face grim as he ignited the final brazier.
Bowing his head Berras’ mind raced. He was Obasi’s now. He had no strength left to fight. His only goal was to get Secundus out of here, to get him to safety. He didn’t know how he would do it, just that he needed to.
The flames of the brazier licked up brightly into the air, illuminating the altar before them. Resting upon the stone was a crown wrought of white gold and marked with runes along it’s shining crest. An energy seemed to permeate from it, like all around was charged like air in a thunderstorm. “Look upon Asger’s Crown, thrall.” Obasi said in a voice of venom. “Look upon the crown that shall, and forever be, free from your empire.”
Berras stared at the crown, the defeat in his heart lifting slightly. The crown was as truly as majestic as he had been told it would be. The very air felt electrifying, and he could almost hear the crackle of energy. Tearing his gaze from the crown he looked at Obasi with contempt, finding it in himself to fight back against his new master. “The Empire will take this, one way or another, disciple of Loki. The All-Father will not tolerate your kind,
maegi.” He spat the last word, wincing as the ever-present cold once again bit deep into him.
The firm grip of the acolyte seized Berras as Obasi looked on, a face of stone. “A traitor to Norseland I name you. Take him to the lower sanctum, there he will atone.” The old priest pressed against a carved figure upon the wall. With a shudder, it gave way to reveal a darkened stairway. “Give him to the old crone.”
As the acolyte pulled Berras away, the old warrior despaired, not over his fate, but over that of his ward. ‘All-Father watch over him’ he prayed silently as he was led into the depths.
))