Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 42: Tall Tales

Fenris hated the dark. Hated it like he hated the fear hammering in his chest, the torchlight he so desperately relied on for guidance, the man holding said torch, always dancing along the corners of his patience, stuffing his head with lies.

Harald Hadrada. The name tasted bitter in his mouth. Fenris scraped his tongue with his teeth and spat, and yet it still lingered. The man had been a constant thorn in his side since the day they'd met, made even worse by their current predicament, skulking like rats beneath the tunnels of Holsted.

It Took everything Fenris had not to keep his teeth from chattering. Not by the cold, for the earth itself was surprisingly warm around them. No, it was the little fear he couldn't quite place, the one wriggling in his head, making it pulse with pain.

The sound of boot scraping stone sliced through the air as Harald slipped over a slick rock, nearly losing the torch in the process as he flailed around, shadows dancing all around them.

"Watch where you're farking walking, old man!" Fenris hissed. "I swear to the stars I'll use your beard as kindling if you lose the damn torch!"

Harald paused to catch his breath, a flicker of...something in his eyes. Not quite anger, but not quite fear, and it put Fenris on edge. Like seeing the tip of a knife poke out beneath your best pal's cloak.

The old man continued to stare, saying nothing, smoke filling up with silence with its acrid stink.

"Just...be more careful next time," Fenris said as he looked away.

"You're the type of man that likes to make jabs at others when they're nervous. Aren't you?" Harald turned his back and started walking again.

"And?" Fenris demanded as he hurried after. "Your point? Maybe you should learn to fight back every once in a while."

Harald snorted. "I dare say I would have, back in the old days. Looking back on it now though, it never really served me much good. Made me feel worse in the end, to be honest,, but I guess we're all made different, each fueled by one passion or another. You remind me a lot of a particular guardsman I serve with once. Loved to stir the pot, loved to make trouble, a true menace."

That put Fenris in a curious mood. Truth was, not many people in Danic knew what'd happened to High King's brother when he'd disappeared a quarter century ago. Many thought he'd simply died, but here now was the chance of a lifetime to learn more about the lost years.

Fenris could, at the very least, use it to his advantage later, once he'd finally escaped Loken, Harald, and the insane nightmare they'd nearly lured him into.

"I do?" he asked. "Who is he?"

"Hah!" Harald laughed. "You wouldn't know the man, but he was this tall, skinny, little, bald bastard by the name of Culter. A Tribune just like me, back when I served in the Vangen Royal Guard."

Fenris couldn't help but notice the conviction in Harald's words, the glow in his eyes, and not just from the torchlight. Truly the man in question must have been a great warrior.

"And he was a right cunt," Harald said matter of factly. "Loved to stab people with the sharp end of a word or with his little toothpick of a knife, but I'd be damned for saying he wasn't a good fighter when it counted."

"What happened to him?" Fenris asked, a little baffled over the exchange.

"He died, as all good guardsmen are supposed to do. He gave his life so the Captain and I could kill a tyrant and toppled an entire city."

"You.." Fenris paused, his mind racing to catch up from earlier. "You.toppled a city?"

"A year ago I think," Harald grunted as he slid between two narrow stalagmites, tunic scraping against stone and revealing the black metal breastplate beneath, its deep, nebulous surface speckled with streaking, white stars.