Unnamed Stream, Groenstrtre, South Quarter, Iceland, Early Summer of 9007
Keld barks with joy, his tongue flapping in the wind, as Olfossa carries him and his master ever-faster as they follow the course of the stream. Barki grits his teeth as he stays leaning forward, reins clutched between his fingers as his legs press tight to Olfossa's sides. The horse bobs his head and Barki quickly dry swallows, his fingers twisting tighter to suppress the shudder and shake.
Horses... A shiver crawls up Barki's spine as That Horse resurfaces in his memories once again. A beast of silver fur with a mane as red as liquid blood. Its hooves wet with fresh wolf-blood and fanged teeth stripping meat from the wolf-corpse as Barki met its gaze. A push on his shoulder sends him stepping near; the presence of his father urging him closer, forcing an introduction between boy and boy-eater.
The sudden intrusion of a wet tongue sliding against beard and cheek yanks Barki from the dark past. Barki turns a smile to his fair companion as Keld sits in his lap, his doggy eyes turned worriedly to his master. The worry fades as familiar fingers comb through gray head-fur, content excitement soon replacing the fear.
Like feet tip-toeing down a set of stairs, the sound of the stream comes trickling through the trees. Olfossa—his shaggy, shedding, semi-summer coat a black void while mane and tail are stark white splashes of color—slows to a trot as eye eyes the way forward. Finding it disagreeable, he moseys on over to the stream bank and dips his head. Long, deep draughts sees flowing water vanish as he drinks it down.
Barki blinks and gives the reins a tug. No response. Olfossa keeps his head down and the water keeps disappearing down his throat. Another tug sees the same result, great.
Looking to the right, Barki eyes where the stream feeds into the river, the splash of water-meeting-water turning the banks into a long stretch of muddy mire—unpleasant for any to cross.
A frown crosses Barki's face as he considers the horse drinking water and the path ahead. While he could hop down and lead the horse across himself, that would horribly slow his speed. Unacceptable, not to mention the horrible impression he'll have on the judges if he shows up covered in mud. Likewise, forcing the horse to cross is likely to result in Barki being mud-soaked after being thrown clear off the saddle.
Left with only one option, Barki carefully picks Keld up and deposits him gently on the ground before doing the same for himself. Walking around to Olfossa's front, he greets the colt's stony gaze with a cautious smile.
"Alright, horse, can you please take me across the mud?" Olfossa rolls his eyes and shuffles to the side to resume his drinking. Barki frowns and works his jaw, a sharp snort escapes as he claps his palms together, "Well, I tried asking nicely."
Olfossa's eyes snap wide as a whinny of shock escapes his throat. Hooves flail as Barki lays palm on his flank and easily hefts him into the air. Spinning the horse around, Barki deposits him on his rump as a pointing finger hovers between his eyes.
"Olfossa," the air chills as the single word leaves Barki's lips, a shudder passing through the named one's flank. The river-wake freezes as every blade of grass quails; all attention turns to the speaker as the wind halts its playful passage through the trees, "I need to go to the Thing. You understand this, correct?"
A passing fish throws up its breakfast as Olfossa manages a nod, his heartbeat thundering beyond the bounds of his body.
"Good," the corners of Barki's lips twist up in what some may call a smile, "I need to go to the Thing, which is across this mud. If you take me and Keld—" who is definitely not sitting smugly at his master's side while this is all happening "—there, then I will give you as much," the hovering finger disappears—hand and all—into Olfossa's saddlebags and emerges with, "salted herring as you want."
"Do we have a deal?"
Olfossa's eyes zero in on the fish held before his face, his tongue running rings along his lips. A quick, sharp nod sees the false-smile turn real as Barki offers the fish in truth and Olfossa happily gobbles it down.
Returning to Olfossa's back, Barki helps Keld up before giving the reins a sharp snap. The trio sets off, Olfossa's hooves deftly traversing the rough mud with skill and grace. It is far from an easy ride, but an easy ride would've never managed this mire in time to reach the Thing.
Halfway across the sludge-like muck, a patch of mud bubbles as it stirs to life. A maw snaps wide as a dozen deep-set eyes open like the waves of the ocean. Like thunder, a grumble escapes the cavernous maw as the mud-beast's eyes turn on easy prey.
It springs into action, mouth bearing down on Olfossa—who whinnies with fear and starts to back-peddle—only for the intrusion of a rawhide-bound shield to stop the beast in its tracks.
Mud splashes against the shield as Barki scowls and Keld bares his teeth. Water streams from Keld's teeth and collects on his cupped tongue as it swirls into an ever-denser ball of highly pressurized water. Like a bow-loosed arrow, the water leaps from Keld's mouth and crosses the distance between beast and best-friend in a blink of an eye.
The mud-beast staggers as the bolt impacts. Its eyes blink in shock as they turn down to see the gaping hole in its chest. One step, two steps, then the beast collapses, melting into a slurry of mud and death. A final scream leaves its throat before turning still.
"Good boy," Keld pants happily as Barki runs fingers through his fur, a job well-done receiving its deserved praise.
Olfossa stares at the melting body, a bead of sweat dripping down his brow.
0~0~0
The Thing of the South Quarter is a bustling place full of activity as Barki arrives well into the afternoon. Men haggle for business deals while the nine Godi of the South Quarter sort out the internal disputes in their godord—the office of a Godi. Booths filled with men at relax and at business crowd around the central mound as some bathe in the banks of the nearby river.
As Barki slows to a trotting halt and takes it all in, however, he's struck with a strange sense of foreboding. Wherever he looks, eyes quickly turn away and conversations fall silent until he looks away once more. Something is wrong, deeply so.
Hopping off Olfossa's back and putting him to bait—a method of binding the legs to make sure the horse can still graze while restricting ability to run off—Barki pauses as a voice cuts through the clamor.
"Who is that I spy riding in on the back of my horse?" The large, familiar form of Dumvald appears as he pushes through the crowd. Eyes once narrowed in suspicion soon widen with pleased recognition as they fall upon Barki's face. "Barki Gunnvaldsson, my dear friend!"
Drawing in close, Dumvald claps Barki on the shoulder as he leans in and lowers his voice, "Where've you been?! The other judges have grown very irate with your continued absence!"
Barki eyes him with a tilting head and narrowing gaze, "Dumvald, I only learned of the summons early this morning."
Dumvald sucks down a sharp hiss as his teeth grind tight. After thinking a moment, he takes Barki by the upper arm and says, "We need to speak in private, for I fear there is much information you lack."
Barki nods and Dumvald leads him through the crowds, pushing a path for both men as they eventually reach the booth of Dumvald. As they reach the stone-floored and cloth-walled structure, the face of Domarr Dumvaldsson—eldest son of the Strong-rider—pokes through the entry-flap's folds. Upon seeing Barki and his father, Domarr is quick to vacate the booth and promises to keep watch for anyone approaching.
The inside of Dumvald's booth is a fine affair, as is fitting for a man of his status. Strong wood supports soft cushions as a cheery hearth burns bright and warm in the center of the room. A chest of good iron bindings sits off to the side as furs rests upon the sleeping benches.
Taking a seat, Dumvald gestures for Barki to do likewise as he starts to speak, his voice a deep baritone, "You said that you only received the court summons this morning?"
"I did," Barki confirms as his fingers play through Keld's fur, the dog himself laying across his master's feet and warming himself by the fire, "Harald Ice-walker delivered the message personally, if I could call that 'delivering'."
Dumvald winces and hangs his head, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, "I would like to give you my deepest apologies, for I was unable to convince the other judges to send a different rider. They believed that having a kinsman deliver the summons would cool any tempers and overruled me when I disagreed."
"You're one of the judges on my case?" Barki says with lifting brows as he puts two and two together. Usually, the Godi attempts to find the most impartial people to fill the ranks of the judges, so the idea of Dumvald being one of his judges had never occurred to Barki.
"I am indeed," Dumvald's lips thin as he speaks, "and I promise to do my best to convince the other judges of your obvious innocence, but I must confess that I fear some of them may have been bought off by your law-foe, for their pockets bulge with silver and they boast of good fortunes on the morrow."
"And what of my law-foe? Who is the man who dares accuse me of such vile lies?" Barki's hand twists into a tight fist, anger sending waves of shivering twitches across his body.
"Unhappily I admit that I know not," Dumvald says as his fingers drum against his knees, a sudden plume of smoke rising from the hearth-pit, "for a proxy is in use and Modolfr Jarnsson is his name."
Barki's eyes narrow at the name, his memories drawing what little knowledge he has on it. From what he recalls, Modolfr Jarnsson is a relatively new arrival to Iceland and, in return for aid in helping him find a place of residence, joined Sterki Godi's godord. It is said that Modolfr is privy to the secrets of hidework, for he is able to tan fine furs even in the height of summer.
However, a proxy? Such has never before been done in Iceland!
"That doesn't make any sense!" Barki near shouts as his brows furrow and Keld's ears perk up. "How can such a thing as using a proxy be legal? Surely you're mistaken."
Dumvald sighs, fingers pausing their drumming to weave together, "I know you pay little attention to the dealings of the Logretta, the law council of the Althing, but just last summer they decided it legal to wield a proxy as long as one's name goes unattached, to prevent the earning of ordstirr, and they pay a hefty fine of three pounds of gold to the relevant Godi." Licking his lips, he leans in closer as his voice drops an octave, "I have my suspicions that our mystery foe had a hand in that dealing."
"Our?"
Dumvald laughs as he leans back in his chair, "You saved the lives of both my sons, Barki. To let such injustice as this go unpunished would be to spit on both their lives and your heroism." With a wave of the hand, he pulls the topic back on-course, "Regardless, this does narrow down the suspect pool quite considerably, for few men could afford to bribe the Logretta and hope to still pursue a case in such a manner. Even I, one of the ten richest men in the South Quarter, lack the necessary funds for such a feat."
Barki rubs at his beard, his fair hair soft against his fingers—the product of sweet Bestla's endless efforts, "Let's visit that topic later, when I've won the case and free to seek vengeance. For now, what manner of evidence does this Modolfr have against me? Surely the word of a new arrival is worth less than the word of a man who has been here for three winters!"
"I fear I must answer inconclusively once more, Barki," Dumvald sighs and smoothes out his already flat hair as it sits dark against his pale skin, "All Modolfr has said is that the box he carries contains the evidence as given to him by his benefactor. He also says that he will only open the box come your arrival, to prevent any more so-called 'thefts' from occurring."
"So his argument relies on the box's contents, does it?" A certain plan starts coalescing in Barki's mind's eye. But first, what stakes does he face? "What might happen should I be found guilty? Would I pay a fine or...?"
One common punishment in the case of theft is for the thief to be given to the victim as a thrall—a fate worse than death for many Norsemen.
"On my honor, I swear that you will not face thralldom," Dumvald is quick to announce as he hops to his feet, storm clouds brewing in his gaze. "I have made it clear to Sterki Godi that he will have me as an enemy should he so much as think of that as a punishment!"
"I would have thought nothing less from you, my friend," Barki says as Dumvald returns to his seat, still somewhat worked up over the idea, "but I still thank you for your efforts."
"No friend of mine will be made a thrall!" Dumvald grumbles as he glowers at the hearth's embers. Taking a moment to compose himself, he then goes to speak only for a young voice to cut through his forming words.
"Father, Barki," the cloth walls of the booth have a sort of muffling effect on Domarr's voice, but his words are clear regardless, "Sterki Godi is coming, and he's pissed."
Not three seconds later, the entry-flap flings to the side as Sterki Fire-eye, Godi in South Quarter, fills the entire opening with his frame. Tongues of flame leak from the corners of his eyes—his pupils lost in the blazing sea—as he casts his gaze across the room. Landing on Barki, he turns to Dumvald and speaks, "Dumvald Strong-rider, why have you taken Barki Gunnvaldsson aside in secret?"
Dumvald rises from his seat and offers a bow to his Godi, "Sterki Godi, I was merely informing Barki of the extent of his case, for he only learned of his summoning this morning and was ill-aware."
Sterki Godi's brows lift as he turns to Barki, "You only learned of the case today? And you made it to the Thing so fast?" A low whistle leaves his lips as he nods his praise, "A feat without a doubt, Barki, find pride in this accomplishment."
Unseen ordstirr settles on Barki's shoulders as his soul accepts it within, strengthening and bolstering his reserves and taking them to new heights. "Thank you, Godi."
Sterki smiles, clapping Barki on the shoulder, "I owe you my apologies, Barki, for I had thought your absence a refusal to obey the law. I see now that I was wrong and I give you my apologies."
"Apologies accepted, Sterki Godi," Barki says as Sterki nods, the flames in his gaze shrinking to a simple puddle rather than the ocean they had once been.
A beat passes before Sterki turns to address both Barki and Dumvald at once, "Friends, I'm sorry to hasten you both to court, but I'm afraid it must be done lest Barki lose all time to make his case."
Barki frowns but accepts the words for the truth they contain. All that's left now is to decide how he wants to handle his side of the case.
[ ] Aggressive
Attack the character of his opposition and attempt to somehow deal with the box before it can open.
[ ] Defensive
Counter his opposition's arguments as they arise and sow confusion amongst the judges.
(+1 Maximum Ordstirr Reserves for managing to arrive at the case with plenty of time to spare, allowing you to gather information and smooth over Sterki Godi's ire)
0~0~0
AN: Not much to say here other than that there is no moratorium and that voting will be called sometime tomorrow or the day after.
