“Do I speak falsehoods?’ Sæmundur shouted, and defended himself against the junk that rained over him, tried to overpower the noise. “Have they not, with biplanes and the flying fortress itself, ruled over the skies since they arrived?’
He wanted to keep going, but held back. He was dangerously close to being eviscerated, gouged with a beak or a claw and turned into a trophy to be hung from someone’s hertygi.
“Did they not ruthlessly kill brave blóðgögl without retribution? Well, I offer you the ultimate retribution!’ Sæmundur shouted in a grave voice. “I will bring down Loftkastalinn – in the name of Those-who-pluck-the-ram’s-eyes!’
The assembly laughed. A cascade of mocking, ugly sounds, horribly mimicking the human emotions behind it. Only Rotsvelgur did not caw at Sæmundur, staring heavily at him. The noise died down and the náskárar turned towards their hersir for an answer. Rotsvelgur remained silent, which Sæmundur took as a sign he could continue.
“Loftkastalinn is an abomination. A machine of war and destruction, drawing its power from the sorcerous energies in the land itself. Violence must be met with violence, fire with fire. This, every being knows – the náskárar doubly so. I will do what must be done to bring it down. I will make an abomination to bring down the abomination. For you I will raise a níðstöng, Rotsvelgur.” The word slithered through the air like a malevolent spirit. “A svartigaldur so potent it will remove the flying fortress from the face of the earth.”
“Þérr err-at with honour,” said Rotsvelgur, his words echoing through the hall, “to come hérr, to vor hall, deman’t to pay’t skuld wit’ forneskju ok ruin the honour of Krxgraak’úrrtek.”
Sæmundur bowed deeply before the hersir.
“I did not intend to disparage your honour or the honour of Those-who-pluck-the-eyes-of-the-ram. You are without denial the strongest tribe in the greater Reykjavík area. But that doesn’t change the fact that the Crown makes a mockery of you. It is obvious how great a thorn they are in your side. The truth does not belittle anyone. But I can change that. I can help you reclaim the sky.”
Rotsvelgur still remained elusive to Sæmundur. He was hard to read. Still, years of camaraderie had something to show. He knew Rotsvelgur was intrigued. He only had to find a way to get him to accept without losing face.
“I know that galdur is an affront to your ways. But I am not suggesting that Those-who-pluck-the-ram’s-eyes sully their talons with it. It is a low, dishonourable weapon – a human weapon. One human weapon to be used against another. That seems just to me.”
“Þérr lie’t,” he said. “Þérr megn-at that galdr.”
“I am not lying.”
Rotsvelgur ignored his claim.
“Hví shoul’t þérr raise forneskja against Kalmar?’ asked Rotsvelgur. “Ok hví on vor behalf ?’
“The debts I seek to pay are great, which calls for a great offering. The people who fought with you also need your help in the battle to come against Kalmar. Ensuring your supremacy over the skies will be in their benefit for the long term. Besides, we have a long history of mutual, beneficial trading.” Sæmundur tried not to sound as if he was attempting flattery. “I must uphold my honour – and yours. It is clear to me that Kalmar is now the only thing standing in your way. Which means that Loftkastalinn was the only target that could ever be considered. That is why I offer my chosen profession – galdur.”
“Lies!’ one náskári screeched in skramsl.
He was an ancient blóðgagl with such a great and heavy lump of iron on his beak that he could barely keep his head up. His feathers were faded and tattered, spots of rust in his iron claws and beak.
“If this human is telling the truth, if he can raise a níðstöng and contain –’ Sæmundur didn’t quite catch what he said – “-then it is for nothing!’
The corvian jumped down from his rock sill, stumbled towards Sæmundur in his odd three-legged gait and stopped right in front of him. It took everything Sæmundur had to hold his ground and not retreat from the threatening charge.
“Nothing!’ the náskári screamed in his face and turned to Rotsvelgur. “Where do you think the Crown would look first? Where would they next point their spears?’
Sæmundur had a hard time keeping up with the skramsl. If only human vocal cords were capable of properly pronouncing the náskárar language; he would be able to connect with them so much better if he spoke their tongue.
What about Bektalpher? he thought to himself. Would he be able to? Surely he must be able to generate non-human vocal sounds. He had to experiment on this later, in private.
“That’s enough, Græðgnir,” said Rotsvelgur, but the old warrior kept on.
“It is not our way, krrxgkh-hraak. The malevolent poetry has been forbidden for generations!’
“Hold back your tongue, as you only speak what every single one of us is thinking!’
“Krrxgkh-hraak, I only—”
“I said silence!’
For a moment it was as if Rotsvelgur himself had flared up in a roaring blaze. The entire assembly recoiled, some náskárar letting out involuntary caws. For a moment, Rotsvelgur’s voice and posture had commanded such fear and dominance that the entire room had succumbed to it. Græðgnir ruffled his feathers and tensed, as if he was about to challenge Rotsvelgur, but then flew up to one of the alcoves. Sæmundur suspected why Rotsvelgur wasn’t entirely satisfied with the galdur he’d bound into the helskurn. It seemed way too potent, and possibly volatile. Rotsvelgur tilted his head, weighing the matter.
“Sólsvertnir!’
The hunched skrumnir came hobbling from the shadows behind the hersir, a wretch dressed in tatters. He looked like a runt next to the other proud warriors, but Sæmundur noticed that they still gave way, avoiding confrontation at any cost. They were frightened. It
