“Fighting between the two of you? Any resentments?”
“Oh, we fought. Not to the death though. He always wanted to emphasize how good he was, and that nobody else was fit to be the jarl. Any resentment would revolve around that fact. It’s hard not to begrudge him when all you want is to be left alone with your own interests,” the jarl answered, clearly thinking about the past.
“I want to goad him into attacking with the first wave of his army. That way, I could try for the nullification of the spell. The earlier we face him, the sooner we could determine our course of action – a quick battle with fewer casualties or a timely decision to withdraw. Though the latter option is fraught with risks,” explained Tyler.
“I could try, but I am not that good with insults. I believe I missed that part of a warrior’s education,” laughed the jarl.
Tyler thought quickly. He had to insult the undead leader as much as he could. The rune plate definitely showed the revenant knew how to talk. It was a premise that supported the assumption of the guides that the concentration of power was centered on the entity once known as Bjarte.
“Fine. We’ll get you to talk with him, and then you brag about being the jarl, and he’s not. Then pass the rune to either Tyndur or Otr as your champions. If anybody can goad that being into prematurely attacking, it would be either of those two,” suggested the mage.
“Let’s use Tyndur and let the einherjar pretend to be a mortal. I don’t think insults coming from a dwarf would work well,” noted the jarl and then he laughed. “If I know my brother, he’ll be angrier than a bear with a toothache.”
***
Having briefed the einherjar and the men of the hird, Tyler, the jarl, and Tyndur stood inside a circle protected by the personal retainers of the jarl. Habrok maintained watch on the parapet, while Kobu stood close by, observing what was going to happen. The exile still had a role to play as the military commander of the defense and needed to be readily available. Skarde had taken charge of directly overseeing the men on the ramparts.
Tyler activated the rune and gave it to the jarl. A low, sepulchral voice answered.
“Took you long enough to report, you blasted mortal! Is the mage done with?” asked a voice. It wasn’t a loud one, but vocal enough to be heard by the trio.
“I’m afraid he failed, Bjarte,” answered the jarl.
“Who is this?” demanded the speaker. “Answer, or I’ll rip you apart from limb to useless limb with my bare hands!”
“The Jarl of Hedmark, you useless corpse. Who else?”
“I am the rightful jarl, interloper! Wait a while, until I get there to feed your body to my men!”
“But Bjarte, don’t you recognize your own brother’s voice? I am now the jarl. You died, stupid moron.”
“Geir? You? You? A weakling is now the jarl? You won’t be jarl for much longer, brother of mine. I am coming!”
Tyler then signaled to the jarl.
“Tsk, tsk. I believe my champion has something to say about that,” said the jarl as he gave the rune piece to Tyndur, with a raised eyebrow, a reminder to the einherjar not to include insults involving parents or the realm.
“I am Wilan, the jarl’s champion, you maggot-ridden, slime-eating, rotten piece of shit. Why do you want the crown of Hedmark? You’re dead! The crown would only fit your desiccated waist!
Wilan? The choice of name shocked the mage.
No response came from the rune.
“Speechless? You bony excuse for a mule! The great Bjarte? Probably got stabbed in the balls by a stunted jotunn!”
“YOU!” was all that came out of the magical plate.
“Here’s a skald’s turn for the great Bjarte –
To the Barrens, he went
Banners flying, the jotnar to be conquered;,
To a man, his hird believed
What the great liar had woven
Lies and tall tales aplenty;
A great eldhúsfífl of a leader,
The great Bjarte marched,
Though afraid to fart or sneeze
At night, for fear of a jotunn’s delight;
There, in a land broken and desolate,
Meet the renowned fífl of Hedmark,
Though a stunted jotunn got to him first,
Twisting its tiny knife through balls of butter.”
Even if those were impromptu lines, they’re terrible, grimaced the mage.
“You’ll pay for this, Wilan! By all I hold sacred, I will have your balls for this!”
“And I suppose you’re going to order someone to do it too, hraumi. I am not surprised. Though the skalds are already singing your praises, sliced balls. I do believe that’s the name of the tale,” replied Tyndur calmly.
“I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands myself, you and all the skalds of Skaney! I’ll feed you your own balls, and you’ll watch while I do it!” shouted the ghoul. The energy running through the rune stopped.
“He cut off the energy link,” said the mage.
“And he has this bizarre obsession about tearing people apart with his bare hands. It was all he could talk about,” observed Tyndur. “Clearly, his education was lacking. Either that or your brother was a vámr when he was alive.”
And Tyndur just sentenced to death all the skalds and bards of Skaney.
“Wasn’t that too much?” asked the jarl. “He sounded really mad.”
“Just enough, I think,” replied Tyler. “If I don’t see his banner soon, I’ll get Tyndur to throw in more greetings. Or even get Otr into the act.”
“But first, we have to weather the surges heralding the coming of the storm,” warned the mage.
He walked out of the circle and looked
