Viking - Chapter 19 - Beta (Patreon)

Magnus looked at the city of Kopanes from the docks and wondered how something so massive could survive. 

There had been so many fields that they passed as the shallow boats had carried them upstream.  He and the other men had taken turns using the long poles to propel it ahead during the past two days.

“It’s impressive,” Valgard said.  “It’s been so long since I have been here.”

The shouting of guards and dock workers telling people to move and get off the docks kept the wooden pathways from getting bogged down as many others stared at the city.

Seeing it come into view and the stone walls that were at least twenty feet tall all around it had been even more impressive than the countless farms.

Now the smell of fish, sweat and other things assaulted his nose.

“Let’s hurry up!” Reinn shouted from further ahead.  “I have a place secured and we need to hurry or that bastard Teit won’t keep our rooms!”

Guat was walking with his father, having been here before and didn’t seem as impressed compared to Osvif and himself.  

Moving quickly, he weaved around people and objects on the docks, hurrying to catch up with the others.

For a medieval like society that has magic, surely someone could have done something about the smell…

Everywhere people were yelling and shouting, trying to collect people, items or sell goods. 

Once on the stone street, the group of twelve had to work hard to stay up with Reinn who didn’t seem worried about anyone getting lost in the throng of people.

Each street felt packed and there were still two days before the official tournament started.  Reinn had said it would be worse the night before and the day of as not everyone could get here early.  Missing out on work and spending money on food was going to be hard on many who hoped to be blessed this week.

The buildings near the docks were sometimes made of stone and occasionally made of wood. Streets ran in straight lines, set up like a wheel with roads aimed at the center of town.  The entire city was laid out in a circle, and a river ran on the east and west side of it, connecting at the north and south ends.

“Can we eat first?” Brennor shouted, bringing up the rear.  “I’m starving!”

“No!” Reinn yelled as he forced his way through the crowd.  

Most of the average citizens parted ways as the pack moved.  Reinn kept at the front with Hrein on the left and Guat on the right.  Valgard and Thorketil were on opposite sides while Magnus, Osvif, Arngrim, Hragnelf, Bolla and Thora stayed in the middle.

The large man groaned but said nothing.  He had been eating nonstop this trip.

Glad to be in the middle of the pack where he could just watch, Magnus kept his head on a swivel, constantly scanning the shops, listening to the sounds of merchants selling items or food.  

Some of the city guards in their bright red leather broke up a fist fight between five Vikings down a street on the left, yet in all this Reinn walked like a man who had only one purpose in mind.

The warehouses were behind them, and they came upon the crafting section in the southeast side of the city.  Hammers banged against metal, the sounds of metal on metal and things being made echoed off the stone buildings.  No wood comprised a single building here, the owners well aware of the dangers of fire.

Two blocks seemed to be set aside for the crafters with no real difference that Magnus could spot as his eyes flitted about.  Each shop was making something different it appeared.  Some made armor, another made weapons, while one focused on tools.  There was a shop with stacks of cooking pots and pans set outside, under watch from a worker to make sure no one came by and sampled one for free.

Eventually what he had been hoping for came into sight.

At the center of town was a small version of a colosseum.  Rumored to be able to hold up to one thousand spectators, it was built from stone and Brennor and Hrein had shared so many different stories about fighting there or getting to watch Reinn compete.

It looked to be maybe four stories tall and yet, without any way to tell how big it was, Magnus sighed as the group turned, heading down a side street that led them away from it.

“The Berserkers Den,” Thora read out loud.  “We’re really staying here?”

“If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to find another place to stay,” Bolla replied with a frown.

Shaking her head, Thora gave a small bow and smiled.  

“I just wanted to make sure this wasn’t a fighting house.”

Grunting, Bolla moved inside where her husband had gone, leaving the rest to wait outside.

Wooden planks covered the porch and stone steps were caked in mud from those who had tracked it in. Some side streets only had dirt, having not yet been covered in stone.  It seemed a few guests had taken those, not concerned with the filth or trash they brought inside with them.

Magnus didn’t care about any of the adult stuff as he and Osvif watched the crowd move along the street.  Everywhere were young people like them, waiting for the different events to take place.  Some of their own village people would arrive in the next two days, competing in the crafting competition and hoping to win a rune and position within a crafting house.

“Can you believe this?” Osvif said, shifting from foot to foot. “We are finally here!”

“Are we still betting Osvif is out in the first round?” Guat asked, winking at Magnus.

“Oh, I thought he was going to pass out once he heard the crowd roar.”

“You’re both a bunch of bastards,” Osvif said as he picked his nose and flicked it at them.

“I’m not telling you three again,” Hrein butted in. “Be quiet, stop staring like girls in love and focus. We only got two days to be ready for this moment and you best not run off chasing tail or getting drunk somewhere.”

“He’s only saying that because he might have done that himself,” Brennor said, earning a scowl for his comment.

Laughter came from them all and when Reinn finally appeared from inside, he motioned the group to join him.

The inside was covered in tables and benches, packed people already and appearing to declare that every night might bring more people in than usual.  Giant sets of antlers, pelts and other trophies lined the walls while lanterns hung everywhere, casting a flickering light around the room.

Behind a counter with a sign that said ‘Screw off’ was a Viking who was missing an arm and had a pale eye. Even worse were the claw marks that ran down his face.  

Whatever did that must have been something horrible.

“Don’t stare at Teit,” Reinn said, noticing the three young men.  “He might only have one arm, but he’ll kick all of your rears out of here if he thinks you’re making fun of him. Now everyone follow me upstairs.  You’re going to hate the room but there aren’t any other choices to be had.”

Upstairs meant exactly that.  The top floor would be described as an attic space, now partitioned into three different rooms with some hastily built, cheap walls and doors.  The only good news was the breeze that ran through the top of the walls that stopped after going up only eight feet.  The ceiling was about fourteen feet which left a lot of room above.

“All this is ours,” Reinn said as they stood in the opening before the tiny hallway off to the side. “The last room is Bolla’s and mine.  Brennor, Hrein, Arngrim and Hragnelf you four are in the room next to me.  Valgard and Thora, the room closest is yours but don’t think I’m being kind.  It’s tinier than Osvif.”

Everyone laughed at the joke, yet Valgard and Thora knew how fortunate they had to be even to score a closet to themselves.

“That leaves this spot right here for the rest of you,” Reinn said. “Unload your packs, get things put up, and then figure out who will be keeping guard while the rest of us are out or downstairs.”

Guat and Osvif exchanged glances, but Magnus had experienced this kind of treatment a long time ago.  They were at the bottom of the pole.  

“I’ll go first,” Magnus said.

A single nod came and Reinn turned.  His kindness and temperament back at the village was gone.  Here he had a reputation to keep.

“You sure?” Osvif asked.  “I mean, not that I want to be stuck in here.”

“It’s fine,” Magnus replied, tossing his stuff against the wall facing the stairs.  “Someone must do it.  Besides, I don’t mind resting a little bit.”

“Care to buy something young warrior?”

Magnus shook his head and smiled at the older woman who was trying to sell meat pies from the wooden tray she had hanging from her neck and tied to her waist.

“I would but sadly my parents didn’t give me any money yet.  Maybe next time.”

Osvif and Guat were pushing him from behind, each with a hand on his back, frustrated at how he stopped and talked to most people that called out to them.

“We’re never going to get to see the city or the dueling grounds if we don’t keep moving,” Guat complained.  

Glancing behind his shoulder, Magnus noticed that Hrein was grinning, laughing at the three of them he had been assigned guard duty over.

“I know but remember some of us want to actually enjoy seeing the city.”

A groan came from his friend, and they continued on, pushing through the crowd, using him as a human battering ram.

Each of the buildings they had passed at first were packed with people trying to secure a room.  A few fights had broken out over people swearing they had been promised a room only to find no such agreement still existed.  The guards in their red armor were not getting much rest as they moved from location to location, dealing with the unrest and problems.

“How many are there?” Osvif asked their escort.

“Too many,” Hreinn answered, grunting over the noise of the people on the street with them.  “Just wait, it’s going to get worse.”

The scent of food cooking filled the air as other buildings that specialized in serving food and alcohol replaced some of the ones that dealt primarily in housing.  Smoke rose up from massive chimneys and the scent of smoked meat caused Magnus’s stomach to grumble.

“Perhaps Brennor was right, we should eat something!” he yelled back at Hreinn. “We don’t want to become weak from not eating.  Right?”

Sighing, the red headed warrior flashed a quick grin and nodded, pointing off to the left.

“Four buildings ahead!  Look for the fat Viking on the sign with a golden shield.  We’ll go in there!”

The building was packed with at least a hundred Vikings in a very tiny eating area.  Each bench and table was full and those who wanted to pay a little extra could sit in some of the booths that lined one wall.  

“I wish we could have sat there,” Osvif mumbled as he motioned at the booths, getting bumped for the tenth time in a few minutes as people moved between him and the Vikings behind him.

“If you want to pay the silver for it, be my guess,” Hreinn said as he set down his now empty mug.  “I’ll report to Reinn what I spent so it comes from your pockets and yet somehow I doubt he’ll be excited to see that on the bill.”

Guat laughed and shook his head.  

“I’m not sure father wouldn’t beat me for spending money like that.  He can be a bit tight with the strings on his coin purse when he wants too.”

Hrein laughed and nodded.

“You have no idea boy.  Only a few things matter to him and besides you, money is high up on his list.”

Smoked boar was soon on brought to each of them, stacked higher than usual and served with some fresh bread and a roasted turnip.  Everyone went quiet, devouring the food and moaning as they licked fingers and used the bread to sop of the juices on their wooden plates.

Rubbing his stomach, Hrein let out a massive burp before picking up his cup of mead and draining the rest of it.

“Well then, should we head out? If we don’t get back soon, I may have some parents looking for me and wondering what kind of trouble I have gotten into.”

Nodding, each of the boys stood, groaning happily with how stuffed their stomachs were.  

They got close to the dueling fields but weren’t allowed in the stone structure as the guards kept everyone out.  A stream of workers carrying supplies moved through the large door that led inside.

“It’s like thirty feet tall,” Magnus said as he pointed to the top edge.  “How much stone did they use to build this?”

“That I’m not certain other than a lot,” Hreinn replied. “A long time ago it was a wooden structure but after a few problems with fire, two Jarls before Bior took over the place was rebuilt. A terrible accident led to that after a hundred people I think died.  Horrible thing.”

All three boys moved and stood near the open door that led toward the practice area.

“You boys are competing?” an older guards asked from behind, grinning through his dirty brown beard.

Guat nodded and pointed at the other two.

“We are sir. Just wanted to get a peek at where we would be training a little tomorrow.”

Snorting, the guard nodded and motioned to the group standing outside the gate.

“You won’t get through today.  Those four aren’t going to budge.  Even if you offered them gold, women, or mead, they won’t break.  Jarl Bior’s instructions were clear and no one wants to get on his bad side over this.”

When Osvif sighed the older man laughed and pointed at another group off to the left.  

“They were told the same thing.  Go back to where you are staying and rest.  Trust me tomorrow and the tournament will be more tiring than you expect.”

“He’s right,” Hreinn said. “Now let’s get back to our rooms.  Tomorrow we’ll be here early and you three will wish you had slept in a little longer.”

Giving the guard a nod, Hreinn turned and pushed Guat in the direction of where they were staying.

Magnus didn’t wait for a shove, seeing that there wasn’t a chance to get inside, he was more content to turn in a little early, knowing that Hreinn was being truthful. Soon they would be tired and sore.

“Stop!”

Guat and Osvif stopped their practice, both covered in a slick film of sweat.  This morning was the last day they could practice in the dueling grounds.  

Magnus was sitting in the stands watching the different men and women who were practicing also.  Others like himself were perched around the stone barrier that looked over the dirt arena, studying and hoping to gain knowledge of the ones they would be fighting.  

The variety of body types, height and weapons used seemed crazy to think about when all of the ones here were only sixteen.

Some sported openly the tattoos they had, hoping to inspire fear in their opponents.  Some like himself kept them covered up, not allowing any information to be given away for free.

Guat had two tattoos, one on his right arm and one on his back while Osvif only had two arm tattoos.  Reinn had given each of them an arm tattoo and Magnus had gifted his to Osvif.  While his friend had struggled to accept it, the truth was Magnus didn’t want to use a basic rune.  

The pain and cost of having one removed wasn’t worth the minor bonus it gave in the short term.  

Thorketil had tried to offer some way to pay for it, but Magnus mentioned that it would dishonor their friendship and that ended the discussion right there.

“What are you thinking?”

Without looking at Arngrim, Magnus started pointing out different combatants down below.

“Those are the ones who look best prepared for the fights.  I know that those two over there are more talented, but they keep it in check.  They don’t want to show off what they can really do.”

Laughing, the rune crafter patted his young friend on the back.

“You’re just like them.  You’ve barely practiced and the little you did was just to be loose.  Like a wolf, you’re setting a trap, chasing them into a corner.”

“The real question is who that brute over there is.  Is he really only sixteen?”

Clucking his tongue a few times, Arngrim didn’t have a problem knowing which man they were discussing.

“That one is Skardi Gudrodsson.  He is the son of Unnulf, the Jarl of Bardmannes.  This year the symposia is held here which is better since that boy is competing.  Last I heard he was only a few inches shorter than his father.  Unnulf stands at seven feet tall.”

Grunting and shaking his head, Magnus studied the teen.  He had to weigh at least two hundred and eighty pounds and none of it was fat.  To have the muscle mass he had at sixteen was proof of genetics, nutrition and a solid work ethic.  Even more impressive were the tattoos all over his upper body.  Both arms had different runes and symbols, along with his back, chest, and stomach.

“Does he really have five tattoos?”

“Each of those is at least an intermediate one also.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the chest one wasn’t advanced.  His father is paying to help his son win this thing and all bets are on him doing so.”

“And you’re still ok with doing what I asked of you?” Magnus asked, winking at the rune crafter.

“Odin help me but yes.  I swear you must be related to Loki.  Are you certain you want to risk it?”

“They only give odds after the first fight.  If we want to make anything, I’ll have to do my best.”

Laughing like a goat, the sound drifted across the stands near them, and a few turned, staring at the brown haired man.

“Tonight… everything starts tonight,” Magnus whispered silently as his friend cackled.