December 9th- Adventures of Stavish and Haaj Part 1 by DP Patricks

Author’s Note: this story is the sequel to King Haajensen and Ambassador Stavish, the two parts of The Iron Throne that appeared on Day 3 of the 2018 Starsky & Hutch Advent Calendar.

My appreciation to Wightfaerie for the initial image, Hutch on the Iron Throne, which was one of Day 17’s gifts on the 2017 Advent Calendar, plus the subsequent encouragement and betas. Thanks, Kid!

HAAJENSEN

My name is Haajensen and, since the murder of my father, I am a king. The year following his death seemed endless and, at times, I feared for my lands, the people under my rule, and my very sanity. I was besieged on all sides with no real hope of relief. And it was in that frame of mind that I agreed to a meeting with Ambassador Stavish.

Since that fateful day, my advisors have attempted to take credit for his fortuitous appearance. I, however, am of the belief that my prayer to Thor was the cause. Either way, I am more grateful than I can say for his presence. He has been our salvation, militarily, and has retrieved me from the edge of the abyss. At the time, I felt I had no one to turn to. Now, I bask in his friendship, loyalty and trust. His courage is unmatched, and his excellent strategies have allowed our meager forces to repel all recent attempts to capture our lands.

Skirmishes, forays, even full battles have been handled with alacrity and small loss of life, on our part. I am content, more so than I could have hoped to be less than a twelve-month ago.

STAVISH

Why did Radek and I come here? It’s much farther north than we had ever ventured and, even though I have spent many hours in contemplation of that question, no reasonable answer has presented itself. I have never been a believer in gods or the fates and, even though Haajensen has told me he prayed, I find it difficult to credit the idea that I was… guided, drawn, compelled by some deity to arrive in this place when I did.

I had assisted with the peaceful arrangements for a marriage between the young prince of a warlike tribe and the eldest daughter of a neighboring clan. Apparently, no one had considered the option until I pointed out the efficacy of joining the two youngsters, who were clearly already in love, in a union which would, of necessity, bring the squabbling groups into something of an alignment, if only romantically.    

My squire and I took our leave on the morning after the nuptials and, for some reason unknown to me, either at the time, or now, set out on a road that led north. Perhaps I was unconsciously thinking of the Sky Sword. That’s a possibility, I suppose. Since I had first heard the legendary and scarcely believable tales, I had been tantalized. Did such a weapon exist? Did the king who wielded it deserve the praise and laudatory comments I’d heard? Having had commerce with a multitude of leaders, rulers, governors and kings, I had my doubts. I have discovered, during my travels and associations, that most men, under scrutiny, show their more-often-than-not sullied colors. Could this King Haajensen be the paragon I’d heard about? Could the Sky Sword be, in truth, the ultimate weapon? Perhaps I was determined to find out.

And find out I did. From the moment I entered Haajensen’s throne room, I knew my wandering was over. During the past months, I have fallen under the spell of his sky-blue gaze and given my soul into his keeping.

RADEK:

My master and I have been in this cold, cold place for nine turns of the moon and, although I didn’t wish to come here, I’ve never been happier in my short life than I am now. The king has been very kind to me and I have warmer clothes than I’ve ever worn, more food in my belly than is perhaps good for me, and a comfortable place to sleep in a small chamber next to my master’s. And our quarters are right beside the king’s; he would have it no other way. He has proclaimed that my master is his truest friend and will be at his side always.

I have been squire to Ambassador Stavish for six years and, in that time, I have never seen him so devoted to another person. It is as if he, my master, has found the other half of his soul. When they are not actively engaged in warfare in defense of this land, they talk for hours, not just of battle plans and strategy, but of their lives before they met. Even when they run out of words, they seem to converse silently. And, although I have no idea what Haajensen’s countenance looked like before we arrived, I can attest to the fact that he smiles a great deal, as does my master, when they are in each other’s company.  

The king’s squire, Axel, has become my best friend. He is most likely close to the same age I am. I don’t know exactly how old that is, since my mother died when I was very young and she never told me when I was born, but I can remember twelve summers. Axel has hair as golden as the king’s and eyes almost as blue. He teases me about my olive skin and brown eyes but the words are said kindly. When not waiting on our masters, we spend all our time together.

Axel and I are committed to the care of our masters, refusing to be separated from them if they are wounded. Thankfully, this has only happened once and the dagger slashes each incurred during a border skirmish healed well. This was due, I believe, to the swift action taken by my master after the last enemy soldier had fled. Allowing no argument, he saw to the king’s wound, with my aid, before anyone else. Haajensen watched intently, giving no voice to the pain I knew he must be feeling. He asked questions and listened carefully to the replies. As soon as the deep gash in his side had been treated and bound, he insisted on attending, with my help and guidance, to my master’s injuries. They were both up half the night afterward, along with Axel and myself, taking care of our wounded.

You see, on our long journey to this place, my master, by necessity, gained much knowledge of battlefield injuries and how to tend them. With no thought to my being of a lower class, he has shared this learning with me.

The soldiers and knights under this king’s command have nothing but good words to say regarding the care they have received from my master. I have heard them of an evening, sitting around their campfire, praising my master for having saved this arm or that leg, causing a sword cut to close and heal when, under their customary physician’s hands, the loss of a limb, or even death, might have occurred.

Three times, since we arrived, I have carried my master’s arms into battle and remained close to him as he stood by the king’s side. Neither will stay behind the lines – they insist on leading whatever offensive is deemed necessary. They are well-matched, this blond-haired monarch and my dark-haired master; the king always at my master’s right shoulder while they fight together, seamlessly. Haajensen wields his mighty sword with his right hand while my master takes on the enemy with his scimitar in his left. Left- and right-handed daggers complete the wall of steel our opponents must face.

Axel and I, with our dirks extended, discourage any who attempt to come at them from the rear.

So far, the king’s forces have been victorious. But rumors of new incursions surface almost daily and I know my master is concerned, not only for the king’s safety but for that of this small country he seems to have taken as his own.

We have wandered for years, he and I, serving whenever and wherever my master thought he was needed. Never have we stayed in one place this long. And never has my master shown no interest whatsoever in moving on. As this has become my home as well, I am content.

I have heard talk among the servants that Oleg Severssen, one of the most prominent members of the king’s court, is displeased over my master’s close association with the king and is attempting to foment unrest. I must make sure my master and the king understand what he is trying to do behind their backs.

“Axel!” the king calls from the other chamber and, startled, my friend tumbles off the end of my cot.

“Radek!” My master’s voice follows close behind. “Get to sleep, both of you. We march again at daylight.”  

OLEG SEVERSSEN

The newcomer, Stavish — what kind of name is that? — is a thorn in my side. Before his arrival, I was Haajensen’s closest confident and advisor. As his cousin, I was next in line to the throne, since he has no siblings and no heir, as yet. Now, I find the usurper worming his way closer to the king’s side every day. And he is too perceptive, this ambassador. I fear I have not hidden my ambition from him and he may alter the king’s opinion of me. 

During the year following his father’s death, I worked in secret with our neighboring rulers, passing information about our troops’ strengths and locations. It was my fervent hope that one of their raids would result in Haajensen’s demise.

The battle from which he and Stavish have just returned was my most recent endeavor. It failed, according to reports from my informants, due to the cowardly behavior of the man who vowed he would fulfill my wish and end the life of my cousin. Instead, he and his knights ran at the first appearance of our battle force, Haajensen and Stavish at its forefront.

I have not depended entirely on the vicissitudes of battle, however. By subtly planting questions and dissatisfaction about what I, and implied others, considered the outlander’s unseemly access to our monarch into the minds of our soldiers and common people, I believed I could undermine their growing friendship. Such has not been the case, though. People have taken the foreigner to their hearts. They must see something in him that I certainly do not!

Therefore, with no other choice, I have hired trusted assassins — can an assassin ever be trusted? If I pay them enough to kill a king, could someone else not pay them more to betray me? It is too late to think of that, as plans are in motion.

A pair I was told are unmatched and always successful, has been spirited into Haajensen’s chamber and hidden behind the night soil screen. The first moment the king is alone, they will silence him forever. I was assured they have never failed a commission.

Ah, here comes my soon-to-be-deceased relative. But, no, it is the usurper, and he is alone. I expected them to be together, as usual, and part only at Haajensen’s door, with Stavish proceeding to his adjacent chamber. What has happened?

Perhaps I will need to find Haajensen and finish him myself. I am glad, now, that I brought my sword with me this night. I may have use for it.

Was that a sound behind me? No, it cannot be. I have dosed the servants with a sleeping draught. By this hour, they must all be abed. Could someone has discovered my plot? I will not believe that since I’ve been so careful. I turn quickly, knowing I will have to take the life of whoever threatens me.  

A needle-sharp point enters my chest. There is little pain, yet I know I am dead as a voice whispers, “Traitor.”

HAAJENSEN

I would not have believed such perfidy from one I considered a friend. Stavish never trusted Severssen but, had it not been for Axel’s and Radek’s warning, I would have been taken unaware in my bed chamber, and killed.

Instead, Stavish has, by now, dispatched the assassins waiting there and I have extracted payment from my cousin. All three bodies will be displayed on the walls come morning.

I order the corpses removed to the ice house. As soon as this has been done, Stavish joins me in my chamber and we talk for hours. I have never known anyone so attuned to my mind and way of thinking; it’s as if I don’t even have to voice my thoughts and he responds.

When we finally say good night, I drift to sleep only to be startled awake by an unearthly presence. I’m not a religious man and if someone had asked me yesterday if I believed in ghosts I would have scoffed. No longer.

“You make me very proud.” The soft words come from a deeply shadowed alcove and, although he’s been dead for nearly two years, I recognize it immediately as my father’s voice. I sit up, gathering the bedclothes around me, and his form shimmers into the dim light cast by the glowing coals in the fireplace.

“Are you real, Father?” I didn’t know if I was dreaming, or if Severssen’s attempt on my life had addled my brain.

Clearly reading my uncertainty, the figure smiles. “Ghost, shade, spirit, call me whatever you wish but I assure you I am as real as my current state allows me to appear in your world.”

“Why have you come?”

“Your mother urged it because I was hesitant.” He raises a hand to forestall the question I was about to ask. “Oh, not that I didn’t want to speak with you. No, it was because I didn’t want you to think I was available whenever you wished to have converse.”

“I can’t recall that you were ever available at such a time.” My tone is harsher than I had intended and I can only hope he doesn’t take offense.

He laughs, and it is the first time I can remember hearing him do so, except when in the company of others. “No, I suppose I wasn’t. Which is one of the reasons I acquiesced to your mother’s prompting. I wanted to apologize for being distant and aloof when you were growing up. Lars told me I was not paying sufficient attention to you but I always seemed to be involved with diplomatic and martial affairs. I left the raising of you to your mother. And I can see, after this past year’s events, and then last night’s activity, that she did an excellent job.”

My father’s transparent image approaches the bed and extends his right hand. Without thought, I reach for it, encountering only frigid emptiness.

Again, he laughs, and withdraws the appendage. “Alas, we are, evidently, not to be in physical contact. I will have to make do with words, I suppose.”

I pull the coverlet more closely around me. “I am listening, Father.”

Probably knowing he is causing me discomfort, he walks to the arrow slit in the wall adjacent the bed and stares at the thin horn pane. I cannot imagine his vision is able to penetrate the membrane but he stares, nevertheless.

“I watched you take charge of the remnants of our army, and the civilians, after Lars and I were slain, and I ached. I had not anticipated Helgason’s treachery and had no premonition that the kingdom would be yours after that day.” He turns back to me. “Highly capable hands, as it turned out, but ones forced to deal with the myriad of threats for which I had not prepared you.”

“I did my best, Father.”

He approaches again but does not attempt to touch me. “Indeed you did.” His smile warms the chill air between us. “Which is why your mother and I decided I should speak with you before one more hour passed. She and I are proud of you and happy for you. This new ambassador is worthy of you, as he has proved more than once, and most especially this past night. Value him, my son.”

“I do, Father. Please tell Lars I have found his equivalent.”

“That I shall. Even though I believe he is as aware of the situation as your mother and I are.”

Another thought occurs to me. “May I tell Stavish of this encounter?”

He appears to contemplate. “If you think he will believe you.”

Having known Stavish for less than a full year, I couldn’t say I was positive but, somehow, I felt as if he would. “He is my dearest friend and I would like him to know of your approval.”

“Then, by all means tell him.” Again, he smiles. “I shall be watching closely and hope he does not disparage your tale, as many would.”

“You are correct, of course. So I suppose we’ll both see, won’t we?”

A cock crows outside and my father turns to listen. “I have overstayed my time,” he says, turning back, “and must leave. Before I go, however, I will say, again, how relieved and proud I am that the kingdom is in your hands. You are the best of me and, although I never told you, I love you.”

The words take my breath. “No, you never told me. But I am happy to hear it now. I’m not sure if I loved you, sir, but I respected and honored you. Perhaps that was love.”

He nods solemnly. “I’ll accept it as such.” In the next moment, he is gone.

Gradually, the air warms as I sit, knees drawn to my chin, wondering if I was losing my mind. A soft knock precedes Stavish’s entrance – we no longer wait to be given permission to enter each other’s quarters.

“Did I hear voices?”

There is my answer – I had not imagined the visitation. I hold out my arm, he crawls onto the bed and I arrange the covers over both of us. “I just had the longest conversation I’ve ever had with… my father.”

“Ah. I recognized your voice but knew I had never heard the other.”

I am almost surprised. “You believe me?”

“Of course I do. I can’t conceive of a situation where you would lie to me.”

“But… I’ve talked with a ghost.” I shake his shoulders. “Most people think they don’t exist.”

“Most people haven’t had the experiences you and I have. Although I’ve never seen one myself, I’m not about to say they’re not real. If you tell me you’ve talked with the shade of your father, I say, what words of wisdom did he impart?”

I ruffle his hair. “That he and mother are proud of me.”

He nudges me gently in the ribs. “Naturally.”

“No,” I counter, “not naturally. My relationship with my father was not one you would call close. He was the king and this is a beleaguered land. He had no time for me.”

“I’m glad, then, that you have had the chance to learn of his pride in you.”

He smothers a yawn and I suddenly realize that neither of us is getting the rest we very much need. I lift the blankets and begin to push him out of bed. “I’m sorry our discussion intruded upon your sleep, though. Go back to bed.”

Instead of leaving, he remains at my side, pulling the covers around us. “Not sleep. Dozing, perhaps.” He rests an arm, proprietarily, across my waist. “Last night is still much on my mind. You have enemies within your court and we must be more vigilant than we have been.”

“With Severssen’s betrayal, I fear you are correct.”

“You need to tell me all you know about each of your relatives and close associates. Any of them could have decided not to wait for you to die of old age.”

“If Oleg had been successful last night,” I wonder-out-loud, “what would you have done?”

“Killed him.”

“How would you have known who was responsible?”

“Recently, he has had an evil look in his eyes each time he stared at you. You did not see it because he was careful to change his expression quickly enough. Others of your court are not happy with my position at your side, either, but Severssen truly hated you. He wanted the throne.”

“We must pay strict heed to what our squires tell us.”

“And recruit others who do not share Severssen’s opinions and desires.”

I throw back the covers and grab my shearling robe, belting it tightly around me because I’m suddenly quite cold. At the fireplace, I stir the embers and add several small logs. I squat on my heels as the warmth pulses and Stavish joins me, a blanket clutched around his shoulders. We sit side by side on the thick ram’s pelt in front of the hearth.

“Since we both seem to be awake too early,” he says, “and as I have no vellum on which to write the names of potential evil-doers, why not tell the tale of the Sky Sword’s making and your heroic retrieval of it? I have heard various versions, some less believable than others, but not the true one from your own lips.”

I pull a woolen wrap out of a chest and throw it around both of us. “Not heroic, merely desperate.” Without intent, my gaze focuses on the mythic sword hanging in its sheath from the back of my chair. “My grandfather was raised on stories of a star that fell from the heavens many years before he was born. Leading an expedition into the mountains far north of here while still a youngling, and guided by the only man old enough to have heard the legend first-hand, he found a deep, unnatural-appearing depression in the ground.”

“Unnatural?”

“Yes. In that it seemed to be made by humans and not something Nature had contrived. It was too regular, too round, they said, with a raised lip on all sides, for it not to have been a construction of some kind.”

“Go on,” he prompts.

“Embedded at the bottom of that hollow,” I continue, “was a large stone. It was darker and far heavier than any rock ever seen. With much effort, it was dug out and hauled back. After years of attempts to break it or melt it, a very savvy blacksmith arrived from the East, carrying tools he claimed were of his own design and making. He used much higher heat, over a longer period of time than anyone had thus far attempted, and although some claimed he had used magic, not fire, the stone turned molten. The smith shaped the resultant metal by folding and beating it numerous times. When the final form was achieved, it took an edge sharper than any other, and was impervious to damage.”

“How did he give it an edge if the metal was impervious?”

I can’t help but smile. To my knowledge, I am the only person who had ever asked my grandfather that question and it increases my awareness that my new friend is an intelligent, perceptive man. “The smith said his tools were made from the same heavenly material and were, therefore, able to affect it.”

“Thus,” he says, softly, “the Sky Sword was born.”

“My grandfather carried it in battle from the day the hilt was affixed to the tang and was never defeated, honorably. It was said that only treachery could take it from its rightful owner’s hand.”

“Treachery,” he repeats, “such as that used against your father.”

“Yes. A minor king named Helgason, coveted our lands. He laid siege to our northern most village and waited until word had come south and my father responded. What we didn’t know was that Helgason had allied himself with one of his former rivals and, when my father and Lars arrived to break the siege, Sturleson and his heavily armed force attacked us from both flanks.

“Father ordered me and my knights to get our wounded across the river and to evacuate the village, while he and Lars stayed to cover us. I stood on the bank across from the battle, organizing the withdrawal of the villagers who remained alive, as well as our wounded, and saw Helgason and Sturleson overwhelm the king and his knights. My father and Lars were the last to fall. Helgason lifted the Sky Sword aloft and crowed so loudly I heard him above the river’s roar.”

“Is he the one you…?”

“Tricked is the word you’re searching for. Yes, he’s the one. I spread the rumor that my personal guard and I would be reviewing the far outposts I’d installed after my father’s death. We would be a small force, inspecting and encouraging only.”

“And Helgason, being a greedy, covetous fool, thought he’d catch you without sufficient men around you, and end the Haajensen lineage?”

“That was his plan, as I was later told.”

“Did you make him suffer for his effrontery? I hope?”

“I didn’t, no. I sent one of my knights into the outpost, wearing my clothing, and waited until Helgason committed himself and his army. I swooped down from the hills and my retainers decimated the enemy while I took Helgason for myself. Understanding of what he’d done, and that he was about to pay for it with his life, filled his eyes. I wanted to take him close-in so I fought my way through his frantic slashes and thrust my dagger into his belly. I grabbed the Sky Sword from his dying hand and cut off his head with it.”

“Fitting.” Stavish’s voice is filled with satisfaction.    

To Be Continued….