Battle Through the Nine Realms - Chapter 33 - A Champion (Patreon)

The path to the dueling fields was lined with people wishing each and every one of the nineteen finalists their congratulations.  Trampled flowers lined the streets, and people showered them with even more flowers.  Guards stood every so often to remind the people to stay behind the marked white lines.

Somehow, amid the throng that pressed against each other, no one stepped over, knowing that doing so would end badly.

“They’re going crazy,” Guat shouted over the din.  “I’m not sure Thor himself would get this kind of attention.”

Magnus just smiled and waved, ignoring that obvious lie.

Up ahead of the stone arch, they would enter, for the last part was only half a mile away, but he wasn’t in a hurry.  For once, being celebrated was okay.

***

“Citizens of Kopanes and guests! Please take your seat! The ceremony will begin in one minute!”

Five short blasts from a horn came after the announcer called for people to settle, and like ants scurrying around their pile, people began to move with haste, making sure they were in position when the time came.

Magnus looked at Skardi, who stood next to him.  The giant was dressed as he was and had given him a single nod.  Neither had spoken, but the air was a lot less tense than it had been for a week.

In a row, each person was lined up by their final rank in the top nineteen, and behind them were chairs that became more ornate as they reached Magnus’s rank.

The last chair for him stood out above all the others. It wasn’t a throne, but the chair was older and worn by age, yet it had fine cloth and runes decorating it.  Red and purple cloth was draped over it, and the dark wood was a stark contrast compared to the other chairs, all made of light-colored wood. There was no way to know how old it was, but knowing that the top warrior every year the Symposia was held here sat in it made it even more special.

The horns blew again, and one last big cheer came before going silent.

Across from them all sat Bior in a massive chair that resembled a throne. Antlers came off it from every angle of the back, almost reminding Magnus of the sword throne he had seen on a tv show.  

Jarl Bior was dressed in the finest armor Magnus had seen so far.  Runes lined it, and the cloak he had this time was fur lined around the top, deep red in color, and silver embroidery of runes lining the edges.  A sword and an axe sat on either side of his chair.

Next to him were three of the largest Vikings Magnus had ever seen and a fourth one that seemed smaller but whose green eyes had a different intelligence behind them.  Each sat in a chair slightly set back from Bior’s, but ornate in their own ways.  Some had furs of animals draped over theirs, from creatures he had heard of but never seen.  One was made of bones that had to be from a giant, based on how long two of the main pieces were.

These were the four Hersirs.  They were the leaders of armies and commanders of the men who led warbands for them.  

Rising from his seat, Bior smiled at each boy in turn, moving from the nineteenth to Magnus.

“Today, we celebrate the ending of the Symposia! For over a week, we have watched our newest warriors prove to our gods and us that they are worthy of the title of dreng, and some shall soon reach the title of thegn!”

A cheer came, and Bior waited for a few seconds before using his hand to silence the crowd.

“As is custom, I shall honor all the nineteen who stand before me.  They shall each receive a moment to shine as the warrior they are.  Behind me are the men who represent countless victories in the other realms.  Today, they will offer the men before you a chance to join their warbands and rise to the levels of renown and skill that have marked every warrior under their command.”

The jarl stopped talking and motioned a bit to the first of the servants in line off to the side.  One moved forward and had a wrapped package in their arms.

“Today, we honor our first warrior! Orest, rise and come claim your prize!”

Without delay, the dark-haired boy Magnus had defeated by simply challenging him to the death rose and moved to where the jarl stood.

He had been granted the lowest spot for not fighting, but it was still an honor to be there.  

“In this package is your token to one of the men behind me.  They have recognized the intelligence you demonstrated as well as your skill with a weapon.  Show us all in the coming years that you are the warrior Midgard needs!”

Bior held out his arm, and they clasped each other for a moment, the jarl whispering something in Orest’s ear just for himself before taking the gift the servant held and handing it to Orest, who took it.  The boy grinned ear to ear and nodded at the crowd as he moved back to his seat.

Warrior after warrior progressed through the line of those who had earned the reward of defeating so many and displaying talent and heart.

When they reached number twelve, Magnus leaned forward, knowing that it was time for Guat.

“Warrior Guat Hagisson!”

A roar louder than the last came, and Magnus smiled as his friend, once an enemy, flashed him a smile and strode to where the jarl stood.

Raising his hands, the leader of the city ended the noise of the crowd and stood there a moment smiling.

“It is not often that a village produces two fine warriors, but this year, your father, Reinn Hagisson, Lendmann of Kroppr, did just that.  Not only did they produce three amazing warriors, one just as gifted as his father stands before me today.  I could sing of his father’s actions, but instead, I will tell everyone gathered here that soon I look forward to hearing our bards and minstrels tell stories of what Guat Hagisson has done that makes his father’s pale in comparison!”

Applause and the stomping of boots echoed as the jarl motioned to the servant who brought the gift prepared for Guat.

After clasping arms and a moment of whispering, Bior took the gift and handed it to Guat.

“In this gift, earned for your deeds and the skill you showed on this ground, three tokens are waiting for you to choose from!”

The crowd erupted in an extra loud roar. The honor of three tokens coming before the top ten was rare, but everyone knew the fight had come down to the end and could have gone either way.

Smiling like he had won the whole thing, Guat took his gift and moved toward Magnus.

He watched as his friend came toward him, surprised at what was taking place.  

Guat stopped a few feet away and gave a bow with his head, pulled the axe off his hip, kissed the blade, and then set it down at Magnus’s feet.

“If ever you need, my axe is yours to call.”

A few tears slipped free from Magnus’s eyes, and he jumped out of his chair, embracing his friend before slapping him on the shoulder a few times.  

Each of them gave the other one more nod before Guat moved to his chair with his gift from the jarl.

The reaction of the crowd had been hushed reverence, seeing one pledge themselves so early to another. When Guat moved back toward his seat, the stands erupted in an even louder celebration of what they had seen.

***

“Warrior Skardi Gudrodsson!”

The tall teen rose from his chair, a few squeaks coming from the wood from the weight it had been under.

With slow and deliberate moves, the young man came to stand before the jarl, who smiled at him.

“The son of Jarl Unnulf stands before me today, no longer the son of a jarl but a warrior in his own right.  We have seen the power behind his swing and the love of battle this man has.  His size is almost as big as the heart inside him.  Skardi came and showed us many great things at this Symposium.  One of which is growth.”

Jarl Bior paused, turned the giant around, and put a hand on his back.  

“Skardi and I have spent a few hours talking the last few days, and I can promise you that the man and warrior who stands beside me right now is not the same boy who entered this ring a week ago.  This is what we desire for our warriors! To grow stronger not only in their fighting ability but also in their maturity and mind.”

They clasped hands, and a few chuckles came as Skardi had to bend over a little so that Bior could whisper into his ear. 

When they broke, each of them was laughing and gave the other a slap on the arm.

Four servants came forward, each of them loaded down with large packages, each almost two feet thick, tied with rope.  The number of gifts and their size grew with the last five.

“All four Hersirs have given a token to this man, offering him a chance to join their ranks and show the lands just how strong the blood of his family is.”

Loud cheers came as Skardi raised his hands, smiling as the crowd roared for him.

After a moment, Bior tapped the giant on the back, and he moved toward his chair, angling slightly to where Magnus sat, the servants tasked with carrying his gifts in tow.

A hush came as Skardi stood before Magnus, four axes on the ground now.

Smirking, the giant hefted his larger one-handed axe from his belt and gave it a few tosses, catching the handle each time.

“You’re a prick, Einar Sibbison, but I cannot argue that you are a gifted one,” Skardi said, winking once as he spoke.  “My father has told me that you will one day be a man worthy to follow.  I’m not sure if you believe me, but I can now see that he is right.  Forgive me.  One day, you will be a warrior I will gladly fight alongside.  If you want me, just call, I shall answer.”

With that, the boy bent down and set his axe on the pile with the others.

Magnus rose from his chair and offered his arm to Skardi, who hesitated a moment and then took it.

“I look forward to the day I can say Skardi Gudrodsson fought alongside me, and we brought the realms to heel under our weapons.”

Grinning, they gave each other a single arm slap, Magnus getting the worse end of the deal.

The crowd celebrated with joyful cheers, seeing their top two warriors come together at the end of such a brutal week of fighting.

When Skardi was seated and the crowd had gone silent on their own, Jarl Bior smiled and focused on the blond-headed young man waiting for his turn.

“Warrior Einar Sibbison!”

The deafening roar of an entire city, both inside the dueling fields and those outside who heard from the noise that the final one had come, filled the city.

Magnus rose and walked slowly to where Bior stood.

A nod came from the older man, who almost seemed to have sighed, knowing that in just a moment, this week would end, and things would return to the normal problems required of running a city and a large portion of Midgard.

Bior moved to where Magnus stood and turned him so that they could stand side by side.

“If you had told me a week ago that this young boy from Kroppr would be the winner, I would have locked you in a cell and declared you crazy!”

Laughter came from everyone gathered at the truth of that statement.

“Even by the second day,” Bior continued when the crowd went quiet, “I wasn’t sure this young man would make it past the third or fourth day.  That was because, like all of us, we didn’t realize the beast that stands beside me!”

Shaking his head, the jarl chuckled.

“Just ask the houses in charge of the betting and odds given for who will make it this far or win.  It appeared that at no time did the people from his own village ever doubt his ability with the axe! Right now, many Vikings wish they could drown their sorrows in a cup of mead, but unfortunately, they lost all their money and can’t afford one!”

More laughter and cheers came as the truth of that statement rang true from more than one coin purse.

“But let me tell you the truth of what we learned about Einar Sibbison!  This warrior not only has a gift with a variety of weapons, but he has a heart for his friends and those he fights alongside! No leader or other warrior could ask for more than to know the warrior under their command will protect another, even if it means their own death!”

The four Hersirs all stomped their feet in agreement with the jarl’s statement.

“Now then, let me introduce to you one more time the Viking who won the Symposia and most of your daughter's hearts, your champion, Einar Sibbison!”

Everyone rose from their seats, cheering and shouting.  The other eighteen combatants all stood and cheered also, each knowing the difficulty of the task Magnus had completed.

After allowing the celebration to go on for almost a minute, Bior extended his hand, and the two clasped arms. 

“The world is yours right now,” Bior whispered. “Do not lose the momentum you have built.  Pick the path that is best for your growth.  You and I both know you still have a lot to learn, but I see in you the material that could one day make you a jarl if you chose to pursue that path.

“Resist the temptation to believe you are ready just yet.  Get stronger, find more runes, and learn from those who can teach you how to fight in the woods, in the snow, and in the fires.  The sea is calling, and you must spend time out there, learning everything it means to be a Viking.

“Last, I have one more piece of advice,” Bior said as the crowd began to die down.  “Be careful of those who will seek to use you.  Many will offer you great things, promising you the impossible.  You are blessed to have a group of friends and family that can support you.  Not every axe that was laid before you should be called upon, but one day, you may have no choice. Until then, be the man I see before me.  Change Midgard and remind us what Odin called us to be.”

The older man slapped Magnus’s back and leaned away.

“Thank you again, Jarl Bior,” Magnus replied.

Laughing, the leader of the city shook his head. 

“Don’t thank me yet.  Things are going to get far harder in the coming week.”

Motioning to the servants, five of them came this time, each gift even larger than Skardi’s, hiding the one carrying the package.

Jarl Bior then turned and motioned to the Hersirs who were sitting behind him, and each man motioned to a servant who came and picked up a package that was hidden behind their seats.

“Each Hersir, as well as myself, has a token for Einar! May he find a family of warriors and be the one Odin has chosen him to be!”

The crowd cheered once again as the four Hersirs came, each smiling and greeting Magnus with a nod.

One by one, they approached, taking the gift a servant held and giving it to the champion before turning and allowing the next one their chance.  

Standing there, holding fur-wrapped items, Magnus felt overwhelmed, knowing the fur alone was nicer than anything he had ever worn or touched so far.

Jarl Bior came up once more, stood beside Magnus, and silenced the crowd one last time.

“All hail our champion! Einar Sibbison!”

With nowhere to go, Magnus stood there for four-plus minutes, basking in the sound of a city calling out his name.