The Ancient World Order

Chapter 15: Sven of The North

In the great Sigurd's hall, the leaders of Sons of Sigurd, Sven, Caro, Soeren and Runar had convened, the eve before the day of the trial of honour, or rather deathmatch. Gathered around the grand fire, inhaling the smoke of herbs and drinking honey wine as was the custom, Sven felt exhilarated. He had finally been given the opportunity to get revenge against those that had murdered his mother and sisters. In the process, he had also humiliated Ivar the bull, that itself was a significant victory for him. He had prepared well for the coming trial of honour, training day and night to strengthen his body and his mind. Most of all, he had practised in single combat against Soeren and Runar, and other renowned champions. Meanwhile, they had also taken the time to train Caro to become a decent fighter. Being a swift learner, Caro could now even take part in Sven's training as a sparring companion. Although it was still forbidden for thralls to bear arms, but that was the least of Ivar's concerns. Sven had always been more than the average warrior, now as he was highly motivated, he had excelled in his training. He would go so far to say that he now a match for Soeren, soon he might even be able to compare himself to Runar, one of the greatest warriors in the North. The thought had crossed his mind. Once he was done with the Black Mane champion, he might even challenge Ivar himself.

"Do not get cocky tomorrow kid." Soeren said as he raised his stout towards him for a cheer. He was painted with blood in his face, as they had sacrificed to the god of war, Tor, for his blessing.

"Mind your defences." Runar continued. "Wait for him to make a mistake. Do not make any offensive move unless you gain something from it. Just like the strategy of war, only a fool advances, gaining nothing for it."

Joergen Stormcloud raised his goblet in response. "To Sven!" He roared, smashing his goblet fiercely into Sven's. The honey mead was spilt all over them. "Finally, they will get what's coming to them!"

Runar bashed his goblet into Caro's. "To your master!" He laughed, as he was possessed. "I guess Sven can fight Ivar for your freedom once he is done with the Black Manes!"

"Don't say that out loud, Runar!" Sven got nervous. If Ivar heard people talking about Sven challenging him, he might act preemptively. He quickly pushed those thoughts away. Now it was not the time for it. The only thing existing was the trial of honour tomorrow. He pictured his victory in his mind, it made him feel as he was the king of the world, yet a dreaded feeling chewed on him. Anything was possible. What if he got sick tomorrow, or just unlucky? Anything could happen to decrease his chances. Or what if they attacked him before the trial itself? It was quite likely. It has happened more than a few times. Also, he did not know who the Black Mane champion would be. It bothered him greatly.

"To my master!" Caro said before bursting into laughter. He was high on the smoke of herbs as well as drunk on wine. "If he dies in combat, may I follow him into the next life!"

Sven laughed, even though he got sickened by the thought of it. When the Norsemen died in combat, they were welcomed to live with the gods in Varhall, spending their eternity fighting, drinking and whoring. During their funeral, the warriors were burnt with their belongings, as they would follow to the next life. Since thralls were a belonging, they were killed in order to follow their masters.

"Being blessed by the Nido, the king of gods, himself, that can never happen!" Sven roared back, bashing his goblet into the rest of the men. "Long we have waited for this day! Smile to me as my sword will paint the ground red with wretched Black Mane blood!"

"Speaking of swords." Joergen said as he reached for a sword wrapped in sheets, which had been leaning on his chair. He carefully handed it over to Sven. "Here, I guess it is yours in a sense."

Sven pulled the light sword from its sheet. He jumped up on his feet. He felt the blade in his hand before slicing it through the air. The sword was long and thin, perfectly polished metal, the holster, shaped as the head of a dragon, was made of obsidian silver.