Valkyrie's Shadow

Chapter 12

The interior of Gudrun’s dwelling was nearly as sparse as the face of the mountain looming over it. Its four walls were made from ice, and a few bags were lined along one side. From what she could see of their contents – animal carcasses, mostly – they were filled with food and supplies. What appeared to be beddings formed from piles of pelts filled the back. Unlike the dwellings and encampments of the Demihuman races that Ludmila was familiar with, no fire pit could be found.

Gudrun ushered her in before replacing the slab over the entrance. It fit poorly, though with Frost Giants being immune to cold, Ludmila supposed that all that was required was to keep the wind and blowing snows from making a mess of the place. Using one of the pelts stacked nearby, Gudrun swatted a section of packed ice clear of loose powder before throwing the pelt on the floor.

Is that my seat?

As if to answer her unspoken question, the Giant gestured to the pelt before seating herself.

“The customs of your kind are unknown to us,” Gudrun’s voice reverberated off of the icy walls. “I would also offer you hospitality, but I have heard that Humans prepare their meals in some manner unknown to us.”

With Ludmila’s first impressions of the Frost Giants still fresh in her mind, Gudrun’s behaviour struck a stark contrast. Offering a meal – be it in a home or at a campfire – was a cultural practice that expressed the host’s desire to welcome a guest. It was common amongst Humans, and it seemed that many Demihumans practised such behaviours as well.

“Your people have never encountered Humans before?” Ludmila asked.

The idea had not occurred to her. Ludmila lived in a place where Demihumans lived in tribes along the frontier, and she always thought that she was the one who saw races that she had only ever heard of or were completely unknown. The recent invasion of the upper reaches brought a new race with it, but members of that race did not seem surprised at the existence of a Human. More than that, they all seemed to view her with hostility, speaking of a less-than-peaceful history with her kind.

According to the Temples, Humans were on the verge of extinction before the Six Great Gods came to live amongst them. There were tales of places where Humans were raised as chattel, but she supposed it shouldn’t have been a surprise that there were also places where Humans never came into contact with some parts of the world at all.

“Occasionally,” Gudrun replied, “the tribes to the north raid those travelling in and out of the Dwarf Kingdom. The tales tell of a race similar to Hobgoblins in size and wit, though they mentioned nothing of your habits.”

“If you’re more familiar with the Dwarves,” Ludmila said, “the Sorcerous Kingdom exports food to their nation…”

Her voice trailed off. Trade with the Dwarves also brought Dwarven cuisine, but she couldn’t say that their food was exactly the same. Or even edible by Humans. The Dwarf Bread she had sent her maids out to purchase out of curiosity was essentially a loaf of baked gravel that now served as an extraordinarily durable doorstop.

“...exports?” Gudrun struggled with the word.

“We send food to the Dwarf Kingdom.”

“Then something like a tribute…”

The Giant appeared to grow even more confused at her description. She was probably wondering why a nation with those who could challenge Frost Giants would pay tribute to the Dwarves.

“Do your people not trade between yourselves?” Ludmila asked, “Exchange goods and services, I mean.”

Gudrun furrowed her brow at her question, then slowly nodded.

“Yes,” she said, “we do exchange goods and services, as you say, but I am not certain if it is the same.”

“Do you not with other tribes?”

“No,” Gudrun shook her head, “There is no need. Every tribe is responsible for its own well-being.”

Ludmila fell silent for several moments, reframing how she would have to go about speaking to Gudrun. The Frost Giants were a powerful, self-sufficient warrior race. They were so insular that even fellow tribes did not conduct trade with one another. How did they interact? What sort of culture bound them together? Or was it only strength and violence that dictated order?

“If your people do not trade,” Ludmila asked, “then how did you come to hear of these accounts of Humans?”

“Once in a while,” Gudrun answered, “we send warriors that seek to prove themselves or become curious about outsiders. These warriors are the ones that return with the tales from the north…though it is sometimes difficult to pick out the truth from some of the more boastful tales.”

“What else do these tales say about Humans?”

“They speak of strange plunder and little in the way of prowess. Those strong enough to challenge our raiders are rare…and those powerful enough to defeat our champions are unheard of.”

Ludmila frowned as their conversation turned to matters of violence once again. Tribute; raids; the recognition of martial prowess – everything revolved around the exercise of strength. Frontier nobles – and frontiersmen in general – were often feared by the rest of the populace as men and women who came from a martial tradition. Martial matters, however, were only a part of their lives. Frost Giant culture, on the other hand, seemed to focus heavily on the pursuit of strength and challenge.

“Is strength the only thing that your people respect?”

“Of course not,” Gudrun shifted in her seat. “Honour may be found in many things, but, to all things, there is an order. Strength stands at the pinnacle of order, for order cannot be upheld without strength.”

This, at least, made perfect sense to Ludmila. It was strange that even an isolated Demihuman tribe understood this basic truth when the supposedly civilized nobles in her former nation of Re-Estize did not.

Without strength, all else could be stolen away by someone stronger. The unceasing service of border territories like their own; the unnoticed intervention of the Theocracy’s Scriptures; the mostly peaceful interactions with their neighbours. All these, combined with the legal structure of the Kingdom’s administration, led to the rise of a culture mired in complacency and ignorance.

Compliance was considered peace. Numbers were seen as strength. Wealth was mistaken for prosperity. In the worst cases, nobles followed the path of House Fassett: turning their delusions into a nightmarish reality. Ludmila couldn’t be certain just how far things had progressed in the rest of Re-Estize, but it couldn’t be that terrible everywhere. The nation had stood for almost two centuries: it would have collapsed in mere months if such dysfunctional administrators were widespread.

That being said, things were certain to grow worse until this sort of complacent attitude changed. Rather than taking advantage of their situation, the Re-Estize had, by many accounts, fallen into decadence and corruption. Even the Great Nobles – five of six who were marcher lords – appeared to have mostly lost their grasp on what it meant to be a member of the martial nobility.

Ilyshn’ish’s scathing retort about Human ‘civilization’ and the ‘primitive tribal societies’ of Demihumans echoed in her mind. As Gudrun had stated, strength was required to maintain order. Without the appearance of the Sorcerous Kingdom, the Frost Giants might have continued to exist as they were for countless ages under the unbreakable rule of their strength.

Human society, however, appeared to inevitably fall away from maxims of strength. Frontier Nobles were required to pioneer new lands and defend borders, but the passage of time led to their decline. Those who failed to achieve any progress in development declined. Those who succeeded were supplanted by a breed of the nobility who were incapable of protecting their lands from both external and internal threats.

The Theocracy had seeded the northern kingdoms in the hope that they would bear fruit for humanity, but what had grown instead were nations ripe for the taking. If the ongoing efforts of the Theocracy’s Scriptures faltered, the doom of humanity was assured.

Or it would be, if not for the rise of the Sorcerous Kingdom.

“As a representative of the Sorcerous Kingdom,” Ludmila said, “I would like to gain some insight on your people. How are your tribes ordered? Are there castes or some similar hierarchy?”

“We are ordered in threes,” Gudrun replied.

“Threes?”

“Yes,” Gudrun nodded. “Threes. Three is a number sacred to our people, as is nine – three sets of three. There are three castes. The first is that of the warriors and hunters, whose strength upholds our rule. Second come the priests: keepers of our lore and traditions. Finally, come those who toil, maintaining the daily workings of each steading. Every steading has three longhouses, and every village has three steadings. Each village is ruled by a Baron, and three Barons answer to an Earl, who rules the tribe from his citadel. There are three tribes for each of the three regions of the Azerlisia Mountains – nine tribes after the nine realms of our lore.”

It was a lot of threes, but it did help to make things easy to remember.

“Wait,” Ludmila frowned over a detail in her explanation, “you mentioned steadings and villages – this isn’t your home?”

“This is a supply depot.”

Ludmila turned her gaze away in embarrassment. The savage nature of the Frost Giants that she had been exposed to had set her expectations unreasonably low. In hindsight, there was no way a race capable of smithing armour and weapons dwelled so simply. She wondered if she would be able to see what their homes were like.

“You mentioned nine realms,” Ludmila said. “Does that mean that there are other places in the world with Frost Giants?”

“There are,” Gudrun told her. “Our people are not native to this place. The name of where we came from has been lost to time, but we do know that our ancestors sailed here from over the seas. The tribes of the north still retain the knowledge of crafting our longships and knarrs, though the Dragons have long since destroyed our once-mighty fleet.”

Knarr. It was the same word that Lady Shalltear used for the ship used by Warden’s Vale. Was it possible that Frost Giants once lived in the southern border ranges? It would explain why the same type of vessel was found there. More importantly, she had inadvertently come across potential shipwrights in the middle of an icebound mountain range.

“Is there someone who rules over the nine tribes? A king, or someone similar?”

“We have no king,” Gudrun replied. “It is not impossible, however. I encouraged Sigurd to unify the tribes once in a while, to little result. He was strong, but he had no interest in rule.”

“Then if the Sorcerous Kingdom were to speak to everyone, how would that be accomplished?”

“You would need to make the tribes listen, one by one,” Gudrun told her. “With the great gathering at Thingvellir, this may be accomplished in a convenient way.”

Did that mean she would have to kill scores of powerful Frost Giants just to make everyone pay attention to what she had to say? She had a feeling that burying everyone in an avalanche would only work once.

“This Sigurd – how did he fit into the structure of your tribe?”

“Sigurd was one of the champions of the tribe. A leader of his own warband. I think he would have preferred staying that way, but he ended up fancying me.”

“What was the problem with that? You both seem quite strong.”

“Because we are not of the same caste,” Gudrun explained. “My father forbade the union and implored the Baron at the time to uphold our ways. Sigurd, of course, thrashed the Baron. In doing so, he became the new Baron and was stuck with the position ever since.”

Gudrun chuckled at some memory only she could see, but Ludmila frowned at the account. When the Giant had spoken of Earls and Barons, Ludmila had equated it to the aristocratic systems of Humans. Rather than titles being inherited, however, it appeared that one could just bludgeon their way to the top. It also meant that Sigurd was probably about as strong as Frost Giants became if he could aspire to kingship.

“Then by defeating Sigurd,” Ludmila asked, “who will listen to me?”

“The entire village, at least,” Gudrun answered. “He was a great champion, so the whole of the Frostreaver Tribe would at least listen to what you have to say.”

“What of the other tribes?”

“They are their own tribes,” the air trembled as the Giant shrugged.

Meaning to say, Ludmila would have to defeat the champions of every Frost Giant Tribe just to have them listen. Or would that make her their queen? Either way, it was almost certainly impossible for her. With this information, however, the Adventurer Guild might be able to field Momon or Nabe to accomplish the feat.

“Is there some other way?” Ludmila asked, “As a Shaman, can you deliver my words through other Shamans?”

“Shamans are respected wherever we go,” Gudrun answered, “even Shamans of other races. But it is not the same sort of respect as that which is won through a warrior’s challenge – it is respect for the role that we play in our tribes.”

“Then is there anything at all that I can do?”

“I do not even know what it is you want, Baroness.”

It occurred to Ludmila that, beyond her introduction, she had said next to nothing of herself at all. She just kept asking for information, aggressively looking for a way through. As was the case with many things that civilian nobles were normally skilled at, she was a horrible diplomat. If one of her friends were here, the problem might have already been well on its way towards resolution…if they had someone to fight for them, that was.

“My apologies,” Ludmila said. “In addition to extending its rule over the Great Forest of Tob, the Sorcerous Kingdom has recently entered into amicable relations with the Dwarf Kingdom under the mountains here. The Frost Dragons and the Quagoa were subjugated in the process, and the Frost Giants are the only remaining power of note.”

“I have heard that the Frost Dragons have a new master,” Gudrun said. “So what is it that you want with us?”

“Two of our survey expeditions have been attacked so far,” Ludmila told her, “and your people have a reputation for raiding. The Sorcerous Kingdom has been deliberating over what should be done with the threat to their trade.”

“In that case, I would suggest war.”

Ludmila blinked several times at the immediate answer. War was usually the last resort in diplomacy.

“There’s truly no other way? I believe that my nation would prefer a peaceful solution.”

Gudrun snorted, looking down at her in amusement.

“Peace was never an option,” she said, “and war is the most straightforward way to settle a contest of strength with all of our tribes.”

“But your people will die.”

“All things must die,” Gudrun told her. “Giants, Dragons, Humans. Even the fate of the gods is known. I have seen this before, Human – how those lowlanders living in the mountain valleys and the forests around us seem to believe that simply being alive or dead is all that matters. But simply being alive has no meaning. It is how one lives and how one dies that truly means anything, and to fall in honourable combat is the greatest of ends.”

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