Star Wolves - The Tribes of Yggdrasil: Book 1

Chapter 1

Year: 2128 / Planet: Niflheim / Star: Alnitak Ab

----------------------------

Over-Chieftain Egemen sat on his throne like a well fed lion, lethargic, yet extremely dangerous. The pale, blue skin of his muscled limbs resting on the arms of his throne, his eyes fixating on the two subjects standing before him. Flanking Egemen were various advisors and servants. Immediately to his right sat his son and heir, Devrim, a Hrymar of much smaller stature than his sire--smaller than most Hrymar. Egemen despised the fact his only son was a meek runt among a race that prided themselves on physical prowess and aggression. 

The Over-Chieftain’s advisor, a stalky, milk skinned Dvergar, named Zekil, who was always calculating, spoke up. “My Lord, we have a dispute between two brothers from a minor noble house. Some question over profit from the sale of slaves.” Dvergar were known to be the most ruthless race when it came to business. The whole of Dvergar society was based around the concept of commerce and profit, and in fact they had no separate government at all, only a megalithic corporation. The Sons of Ivaldi Inc. ruled with ruthless fiscal efficiency. Given their economic and technical acumen, many leaders employed Dvergar as advisors.

Two young Hrymar stepped up before the Over-Chieftain and bowed.

Zekil’s eyes explored the forms of the brothers hungrily, a twisted smile forming on his mouth.

“My Lord.” The first brother bowed and the second followed suit.

Egemen asked, "why do you bring this dispute before me today? Did you not try to resolve this by combat?”

“Yes, my Lord, we did,” said the second brother. “We conducted two trials by combat on our family’s holding.” The young man looked away sheepishly. “Both were fought to a draw. We feared a third contest would kill one of us and leave our sire short handed.”

Egemen looked disgusted. “Feared being killed? So your sire would not be short handed? How considerate.” He glanced over at his son. “See how thoughtful such sons are, Devrim? Would that I had such a son …”  

Devrim knew he was being sarcastic, but it stung him nonetheless.

“I will address your problem at once.” He stood and strode down the three steps and stopped in front of the two brothers, looking them up and down, sizing them up. Without a sound he drew the dagger hanging at his belt and thrust it up through the chin of the first brother—so far up, that the tip protruded through the top of the boy’s skull. A sickening gurgle and rush of blood were the last living acts of the young Hrymar's body. 

The second brother stood still as stone, a long wet patch forming on his leg, the smell of piss wafting off him. 

Egemen held the first man's lifeless body, locked eye to eye with him, “How dare you trouble your Over-Chieftain with such trivialities," he seethed. "One of you may have died in combat—with honor, now both of your lives are forfeit.” He let the young man’s corpse drop to the floor.

“Zekil, the other one is for you. Take him as a body slave.” With cruel delight Zekil stared into the young man's eyes. "Let him live long so he can remember what it might have been like to live as a man.” 

Zekil’s appetites were well known at court and this slave’s life would be nigh unbearable, filled with constant shame and horror. 

“Thank you, my Lord, you are most generous.” Zekil snapped his fingers and two guards grabbed the young Hrymar and dragged him out; the boy still stunned and speechless.

Egemen turned nonchalantly, wiping the blood from his dagger on a pant leg, then bound up the three steps to his throne.

A second petitioner was ushered forward, this one an old man. Judging by his simple clothing, no friend to the nobles. With trembling hands he approached Egemen and threw himself prostrate on the floor.