Albion chapter 3
The Wolves of Norseland first came to Albion more than three hundred years ago. They came from the north, from across the Narrow Sea, sailing to Albion in ships they call longboats. At first, the Wolves were content with brief raids along the northern coast - they would plunder riches from village meeting halls, from private homes, from churches and shrines. They were only interested in gold, silver, jewels - and food, as well. They only hurt or killed the folks of Albion when threatened. Then, after each brief raid, they would sail away.
However, as the years passed, the Wolves grew bolder, and the raids grew fiercer. They began to burn villages down, not simply plunder them. They began taking captives. And sometimes they would slaughter folks - males as well as females. They killed Earls, and soldiers, and farmers, and merchants - often for no reason at all. They even slaughtered priestesses of the Sisterhood (as well as the priests and shamans of Albion's Old Religion). Raids lasted longer - sometimes months in duration. The Wolves began sailing down the eastern and western coasts, raiding, pillaging, slaughtering as they went. Eventually, they began making their way inward - sacking and burning villages deeper and deeper inside the interior of Albion.
As we all know, Albion had no King back then - back during the time of the Empire. Instead, there were dozens upon dozens of Earls, each controlling a small area of land. Those Earls found it very difficult to unite, in order to fight back against the Norseland raiders. For one thing, the Earls who held land not yet threatened or attacked did not take the Wolves seriously. For another, the Earls who were affected - who were hearing, constantly, the cries and pleas for help from their subjects - had a hard time putting aside their petty grudges. They were so invested in fighting each other, they (at first) had no ability to unite against a common foe.
Another problem was this: the Wolves were a new and different type of threat. They were no invading force, bent on conquering Albion. They had no interest in conquering, or ruling. Instead, they were simply raiders - they would come, and then they would go. At the time, the Earls had no strategy for fighting such enemies.
As we also know, those first raids occurred during the last century of the Empire, a time when the decline had already begun. The Emperor - who lived, of course, very far away from Albion - had troubles of his own. He refused to send help to Albion. However, when he passed, his son declared that the Wolves were a "major threat." Troops were sent to Albion, and the new Emperor began making plans for an invasion of Norseland. And then . . . he was overthrown, and killed. The Emperor who replaced him recalled the troops, and dismissed Norseland from the list of the Empire's concerns. The folks of Albion were on their own.
**
It was only during the reign of King Roland (the current King's father) that a full peace - and a full alliance - with Norseland was achieved. Thus, it has only been forty or so years that the Wolves have been our true friends.There are Animal Folk among us who can recall childhoods where their grandparents would tell them stories about the fierce raiders from the north.
-- Two excerpts from "The Wolves of Norseland" by Elenna of the Sisterhood.
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There were those who were tempted to describe the Earl of Eldershire as "average" in appearance. He was a Ram of average height, after all, and of average build. His horns were of average size. However, if you looked into his eyes . . . if you spoke to him . . . you would quickly learn there was nothing average about his personality. He was charismatic, and bold, and brave in battle. He inspired those around him. He had a fierce temper, as well, and you most certainly did not want it directed at you.
The Earl had seen more than fifty years. He'd thought he'd seen everything, or near enough. He'd been to the King's lavish, ornate castle. He'd traveled far and wide throughout Albion, and he'd seen many natural wonders. He'd seen mages and witches doing things that should've been impossible. As a young male, he'd had a spiritual experience, which had caused him to abandon the pantheon of the Old Religion and embrace the one, true God of the New Religion.
As well - and this was a private matter, not something the Earl would ever discuss with anyone - before his marriage, he'd been with many females, and he'd done - well - everything, or so he believed. Some of those females had shared with him tricks, positions, physical acts he didn't know the names of (and if he did, he couldn't have spelled those names, educated and erudite as he was).
He thought he'd seen everything.
And yet . . . and yet . . .
He found himself face to face with three of the soldiers in his army, plus one of the Wolves sent by the King. One of those soldiers - the young Lioness - had, impossibly, drawn the sword of King Alaric from the stone which had held it for more than a century. At least, that was what the Earl had been told. Who knew what the truth was. _Someone _had drawn it - the female currently held it in her hands, as she stood there, calmly, looking at the Earl.
"Did you draw the sword?" The Earl asked her.
"Yes," she said, simply, and the Earl felt she was telling the truth. Her posture, the look in her eyes - she seemed calm. Not nervous, or skittish, at all.
He wanted to ask How, next. After all, so many folks had tried, over the years . . . Instead, he looked around, and asked:
"And who witnessed this?"
"I did, m'lord," the Wolf said, stepping forward. He pointed to a Fox and a Pit Bull. "And these two trustworthy soldiers, as well."
The Fox and the Pit Bull - they looked young, in the Earl's eyes - both began stepping forward as well, but the Earl turned to the Wolf and asked him a question before either of the young soldiers could speak.
"Trustworthy?" the Earl asked, a bit sharply. "Have you seen them in battle? Do you know them personally?"
"Well, no," the Wolf admitted. "We only just met. But I know Sierra quite well." He gestured to the Lioness.
"Yes, I know her name," the Earl turned his attention back to the female soldier. "I know who she is."
The Earl looked around. A crowd was starting to gather. His camp was in utter chaos - the rebels had used treachery to get inside, and their surprise attack had injured or killed many, many folks. And yet, the survivors were starting to gather nearby - soldiers, nobles, merchants, spouses and other family members. Servants were gathering, and prostitutes. Doctors were showing up, even though they should've been tending to the wounded. Word had spread through the wounded camp that the Lioness had drawn the fabled sword. Sierra kept to herself, mostly, and she (apparently) had few friends - one of whom seemed to be the Wolf standing next to her. However, everyone in camp knew of her - because she was the only female soldier in the Earl's army.
The Ram turned to Sierra, meaning to ask her another question. He noticed that the other witnesses - the Fox and the Pit Bull - had quietly placed themselves behind the Wolf. Who _was _this Wolf, the Earl wondered. He had an air of command about him, but, he wasn't the captain of the unit of Wolves sent by the King.
"Is this a trick?" Someone in the crowd called out, suddenly.
"Is she a rebel?" Someone else yelled.
"Did she use magic?" A third voice shouted.
More shouts followed, more voices raised in query.
The Earl raised his hands, asking for silence from the crowd. He turned back to Sierra.
"I was fighting the rebels," she told him. "My sword broke. I needed a weapon - I didn't think - I never _decided _to pull the sword, I never even _thought _about it. I just did it without thinking."
"She's no rebel, m'lord," the Wolf spoke up. "I will vouch for her."
"No need," the Earl replied. "Like I said, I know who she is . . ."
"Please, m'lord," the Lioness looked alarmed. "don't . . . please . . ."
"What is your name?" the Earl asked the Wolf. "I should know it - my apologies, but I don't."
"Trajan, m'lord."
The Earl lowered his voice, so that only Trajan and Sierra could hear his next words. To his great annoyance, the Fox and the Pit Bull leaned in, so they could hear as well.
"Trajan, are you aware of who she is? She's nobility. Pretending to be a commoner. She really is a solider, however - she's a warrior, through and through - but she's also nobility. I know her father quite well, in fact."
For a moment, the Wolf had no words. Then he turned to the young Lioness, his eyes wide.
"_Minor _nobility," Sierra protested. "My father is a minor Earl, one of many on the western coast."
"Minor or major, it makes no difference," Trajan found his voice. "An Earl is an Earl, nobility is nobility. You should've told me."
"Yes, probably," Sierra snapped. She felt a bit embarrassed, and a bit annoyed. "But we have more urgent things to discuss."
The crowd, meanwhile, had grown even more restless, and they began to shout again. Show us the sword, some shouted. Who is she? _Others yelled. _Can she be trusted?
The Earl felt like everything was getting out of control - or, things already were _out of control. The rebels had used treachery to get inside the camp, and the battle which had followed had been savage. The Earl's forces had won that battle, but the camp was now an utter mess. And, now, here were all the survivors, gathered in a crowd. The Ram wasn't surprised by that - after all, _someone had pulled the legendary sword from the stone. The thought of it - the knowledge, the reality of it - filled him with wonder. What _did _surprise him was this - that some folks in the crowd were suspicious, concerned (or afraid) that something was wrong. Not looking at the crowd, sensing rather than seeing that they were leaning forward, the Earl felt uncertainty ripple through him.
He opened his mouth, to again ask for silence, but before he could speak . . .
"_Can _she be trusted?"
It was Calvert who'd spoken. The old Tiger was the Earl's closest friend, and one of his best military strategists.
"Yes," the Earl said, simply yet forcefully.
Sierra, suddenly, had a feeling of certainty wash over her. She knew what she had to do. But what if she was wrong? She looked down at the sword, Valerian, which she still held firmly in her right hand.
Calvert was saying something to the Earl - something regarding the small number of witnesses to what Sierra had done. Some in the crowd were agreeing. Sierra barely heard any of it, though she knew the gist of what the Tiger (and others) were saying.
"You're right," she said softly. She raised her eyes from Valerian, looked at the Earl. "Everyone needs to see."
Before anyone could say or do anything, the Lioness strode the few, quick paces to the rock which had held the sword for more than a hundred years . . . and then, before she could change her mind (as she was tempted to do) . . . Sierra slid the sword back into the stone. It went easily, without the need for force or struggle.
The crowd gasped and went silent.
Sierra felt a lightning bolt of fear - or perhaps panic - race through her, and she fought to subdue it. _What if the sword won't come back out? _she thought, almost dizzy from the sudden rush of fear (or panic) that'd struck her. She'd always considered herself a _practical _female - someone who prized rational thought, rational actions. She'd never considered herself a . . . a romantic. And yet - the sword Valerian, held in her hand, had given her feelings that could only be described as poetic, if not mystical.
It was, she reflected, somewhat selfish to feel that way. The sword, after all, was meant for great things - it was meant to serve as much more than the treasured possession of one Lioness. That meant . . . that meant . . . if she were to listen to her rational side, rather than her emotional . . . she'd be able to see that the sword, free of the stone, could be a force for good (for the light, some distant voice spoke up in her mind) in this world.
Taking a breath, calming herself, Sierra looked at the Earl again. "My lord? Would you please ask someone to try?"
Calvert, the old Tiger, looked at his Earl, his need plain in his eyes. The Earl nodded, and Calvert went to the sword. Three times he tried, heaving and pulling as hard as he could. Three times, he failed. He looked, Sierra realized, angry.
Then the Earl of Eldershire himself went to the stone, and the crowd drew in just a bit closer. The Earl said a quick, silent prayer, a request for grace from the God he now followed. Then, he grasped the sword, he attempted to draw it, and . . . the sword remained firmly in place. Instead of disappointment, or anger, the Earl felt a measure of happiness. He knew, suddenly, and without being able to explain _how _he knew, that the Lioness would be able to free the sword again.
Carrion birds were circling overhead, a reminder that there were dead in his camp. There were injured soldiers, as well, and they were - at the moment - unattended, as the doctors were standing in the crowd that had gathered. His camp was suddenly vulnerable, and the remaining forces of the rebels (who were still out there, somewhere) could attack at any moment - and were, perhaps, planning to do so. Many tents had been damaged or destroyed by fire, and the rebels had either looted or destroyed some of the camp's medicines and food supplies. Everyone was in danger, and everything was a mess.
And yet - and yet - there was that measure of happiness. What had happened - whatever was about to happen - it all paled beside the knowledge that something miraculous had occurred.
The Ram looked at Sierra, and she placed her hand on the sword. Easily, she drew it from the stone. For a moment - just for a moment - the Earl felt like everything else faded away - the crowd seemed far away, the smells of smoke and death wafting on the air were hardly noticeable, the cries of the wounded were distant and remote. For a moment - just for a moment - all the Ram could see was Sierra, the young Lioness, standing there and holding high the sword Valerian.
Then everything else came back, and the crowd, which had pushed in even further, gasped again. Some of them cheered.
The Earl began addressing the assembled folks, reminding them they were all witnesses.
Trajan was the only one who noticed that Calvert had a look of suspicion in his eyes. For some reason, he didn't trust Sierra, it seemed. Trajan surveyed the crowd, and he saw others who had the same look. Not everyone was cheering, the Wolf noted.
In his twenty and nine years of life, Trajan had spent a good amount of time in Albion. He thought he knew what the fabled sword meant to the folks who'd been born and raised here. And yet - that sword was no longer held by the stone. Now, it was free - which meant that everything had changed. And, there was that prophecy, or whatever it was - something about the one who drew the sword being the 'true ruler' of Albion. At some point, someone was going to bring that up - and, by the gods, _that _would cause a stir, wouldn't it? How would the King react, for one thing?
Thinking these thoughts, and looking carefully at the crowd, Trajan felt certain that Sierra had just made some enemies.
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After the Earl dismissed the crowd, sending them off on various missions in order to see to the safety and repair of the camp, he turned to the four folks remaining.
."M'lord," Trajan spoke, before the Earl could say anything. "I must invoke the right of Pack."
"Oh?" the Earl was surprised.
"These three - the Lady Sierra, Rutger the Pit Bull, and Riley the Fox - are not only my friends, they are now under my protection, as well."
"I hereby recognize your right, and your Pack," the Earl replied. After a slight hesitation, he added, "And I pledge to protect your Pack." Only the first part of his response had been required - the Earl knew he was only called upon to recognize. The second part - his protection - had been in no way required, and yet the Earl had felt a need for it.
The Ram was greatly curious why Trajan had felt the need for such a thing as the right of Pack, which he knew was something Wolves took very seriously, but Trajan offered up no explanations.
Well, perhaps he was simply being cautious. In many ways, Wolves were a mystery to the Ram. He hadn't had many dealings with them - until the King had sent a company of them to aid in the Earl's mission of stopping the rebels.
"Thank you, m'lord," Trajan said. He tapped his chest twice - an ancient gesture from the old, old days of Norseland.
Again, the Earl felt a twinge of curiosity, but he pushed it aside. He had much to do, after all.
"I'll send word to the King, about . . ." the Ram looked at the sword, now housed in Sierra's scabbard.
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When the four members of the new Pack were alone together, they stood, for a moment, in a loose circle. All had tasks to attend to, tasks given to them by the Earl, and yet they lingered, for a moment. Sierra wanted to introduce herself - properly - to the Fox and the Pit Bull, two soldiers she'd just met under the oddest of circumstances. She decided honesty, and a bit of humor, was in order.
"If anyone calls me m'lady," she said, "I'll punch him. I'm Sierra, a soldier just like you."
The two males both smiled, and gave her their names. The stocky Pit Bull had a look in his eyes - he was trying to hide it, but Sierra had seen it before, in the eyes of other males who'd found her pleasant to look it. The look worried her, but Trajan trusted these two, and so she would as well.
"We'll have much to talk about," Trajan was saying. "Not now, of course, we've much else to do. For now, shall we consider this a good beginning?"