The Battle for Skandia- Character Reaction

39

After a moment, the book was passed along. Lydia took it next, eyeing the Araluens with new respect.

RAGNAK'S BODY WAS CREMATED THE DAY AFTER THE BATTLE. The Oberjarl had died in the final moments, before the Temujai had begun their withdrawal. He had died battling a group of eighteen Temujai warriors. "Eighteen!" Gilan exclaimed. Two of them survived—so badly injured they could barely crawl away from the terrifying figure of the Skandian leader.

Erak smirked. "Thank God for the berserker rage."

There was no way of knowing who had struck the fatal blow, if, indeed, there had been one. They counted over fifty separate wounds on the Oberjarl, half a dozen of which could have caused death under ordinary conditions. "Gorlog's beard," Gilan breathed. As was the Skandian custom, the body was laid on his cremation pyre as it was —without any attempt to clean away the blood or the mire of battle.

The four Araluens were invited to pay their last respects to the dead Oberjarl and they stood silently for a few moments before the massive pile of pitch-soaked pine logs, gazing up at the still figure. Then, politely but firmly, they were informed that the funeral of an Oberjarl, and the subsequent election of his successor, was a matter for Skandians only and they returned to Halt's apartment to await events.

Halt sighed. The part of his banishment had slowly begun to creep back in, and he had no desire to endure Crowley's stinging glares again.

The funeral rituals went on for three days. This was a tradition that had been established to allow jarls from outlying settlements time to reach Hallasholm and participate in the election of the next Oberjarl. Obviously, there were few jarls expected from the areas that the Temujai had already passed through, and the majority of the others had already been summoned to repel the invasion. Halt snorted. "I'd hope so." But tradition called for a three-day period of mourning— which, in Skandia, took the form of a lot of drinking and much enthusiastic recounting of the deceased's prowess in battle.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Now we know that funerals are parties," she said lightly. Svengal and Erak both laughed.

And tradition, of course, was sacred to the Skandians—particularly tradition that involved a lot of drinking and carousing late into the night. Thorn made a face. It was noticeable that the amount of liquor consumed and the degree of enthusiasm in the recounting of Ragnak's prowess seemed to be in direct correlation.

On the second night, Evanlyn frowned at the sound of drunken voices raised in song, counterpointed by the splintering sounds of furniture breaking as a fight got under way.

It was a few minutes before the laughter died down enough for the reading to continue.

"They don't seem very sad about it," she pointed out, and Halt merely shrugged.

"Of course he did," Will quipped.

"It's their way," he said. "Besides, Ragnak died in battle, as a berserker,
and that's a fate that every true Skandian would envy. It gains him instant entry to the highest level of their version of heaven."

Evanlyn twisted her mouth in a disapproving pout. "Still," she said, "it seems so disrespectful. And he did save our lives, after all."

Everyone exchanged a glance, but no one dared to say it out loud.

There was an awkward silence in the room. None of the other three could think of a tactful way of pointing out that had Ragnak survived, he was sworn to kill Evanlyn. Cassandra let out an uneasy chuckle.