In Service to Lords of Stone and Iron
Kikax the Ice Walker stood outside his lodge. A large man, he towered a full head over his fellows, with legs the size of tree trunks and arms bulging with muscle. Blond hair, streaked with grey, flowed from his scalp, each strand carefully braided together with thin wires of dwarvish steel. Starkly blue eyes peered out of a face covered in a closely trimmed beard and into the great blizzard on the horizon. Every so often, flashes of red, purple, green, and pink lightning flared inside the storm. The signs were clear, even to him, someone not initiated into the mysteries of omens and prophecy. A season of strife was approaching once again. Training would be redoubled, weapons sharpened and shields polished. As regular as the snow falls, the Lords of Iron and Stone would come seeking those willing to fight the Endless War. Gold for blood.
Turning around, he ducked slightly to get through the door frame. His wife, Rille the Weaver, waited for him inside, idly operating the loom and weaving fine wool into something useable.
"All four colors in the lightning," Kikax said, pulling up a chair to sit beside Rille.
"If they pay your price, will you fight?"
He paused, tasting the word on his tongue. "Yes."
Rille shuddered, taking a halting breath to stifle a sob. "You said… you said last time that it would be your last."
"I said it might be," Kikax replied. "But the season is too soon after the last. Our children are not ready yet to lead and our coffers stand empty from a poor raiding season."
"Those bastard Vargs," Rille said, heat entering her voice, "they couldn't fight you even by yourself so the cowards choose instead to burn our wagons! I had silk on those wagons Kikax! Silk!"
"And they will die for that," Kikax said softly, putting a hand over Rille's trembling fist. "Either by my axe or by our sons' axes."
"It better be by your axe, Kikax. The Corrupted don't deserve to have the glory of slaying you."
"I will return," Kikax promised quietly. "Have no fear of that."
Taking Rille by the shoulder, he gently leaned her against him, letting her face be buried in his shoulder. Gently brushing his hand through Rille's hair, he didn't bring attention to her tears staining his coat.
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"Chieftain Kikax Ice-Walker, the lords of stone are here."
"Very well, show them in."
Taking a breath, Kikax surveyed the great lodge, where his table sat laden with food and his throne occupied the seat furthest from the entrance. Walls, flooring, and ceiling were constructed from hardy northern wood, and it was large enough to hold the whole tribe if necessary. Braziers and fire pits provided light for the hall, with large horns drenched in oil lit the ceiling and walls. It was a sufficient location to negotiate terms with the lords who came to secure his services.
Two young boys, stubble barely showing on their chins, stood next to the large entrance doors watching him like a hawk. He nodded, and they strained to pull open the massive doors. A cold wind blew through the hall as the doors opened while the sound of marching feet approached. Six Lords of Stone approached his throne, each clad in fine steel etched with the lineage of those who had come before them. Two stood in front, their long beards greying at the roots, while four stoically carried a large chest in the back. A chest he knew to be filled with gold and jewels. Even the best man might be filled with greed at such a generous display of wealth. But every tribe remembered the story of the chieftain who sought to take without paying the price. Rumors persisted that the snow was still crimson where his tribe had been slaughtered.
The two Lords of Stone in front stepped forward. One pulled out a scroll from his belt and unfurled it, reading from the words written on it. Speaking in the low grinding language of his kin, he did not cease until the whole scroll was read. Then the other spoke, this time in the common tongue of Kikax's people.
"Chieftan Kikax Icewalker, my name is Drukal Garnetbreaker, if it would please you, I shall translate the words spoken by Yonmot Copperbeard, lead negotiator of Krakka Drakk."
"Please, let us hear what the Lords of Stone say."
"Very well then," Drukal Garnetbreaker said, as he absently combed through his beard. "As spoken by Yonmot Copperbeard,
"'Chieftan Kikax, the Ice Walker, Slayer of Forgrix the Rotten, Defender of the Broken Stone Pass. Your honor is that of polished steel, your resolve like that of tempered iron. We, the kin of mountain and stone, seek your services once again. The Great War returns, and your skills are known to us. For two thousand pieces of gold, we seek the strength of your arm and the cunning of your mind. For another two thousand, we would ask ten of your finest warriors to join you. A blood price, equal to your payment, will be paid as well, should you join your ancestors during this season of war.'"
Cracking his neck, Kikax responded, "It pleases me to hear that the Lords of Stone and Iron have such high regard for me. For it is known that their honor is like a steadfast mountain, their resolve like that of the strongest stone. My counsel has seen the storm approaching, they agree that a Season of Strife is upon us. Yet, I hesitate to accept the bargain of gold for blood. For my people need me, the glory of my deeds stays the hands of my rivals, the tales of my triumphs still the fury of my foes.
"As it is, I could not accept the price of two thousand pieces for my service. Three thousand pieces, however, will stir me from my throne, and I will lend the strength of my arm and cunning of my mind to your cause. For another three thousand pieces, ten men trained at my side will follow, joining their strength to yours. I would ask, also, that the blood price match my offer."
The interpreter spoke again in a gravelly voice to the lead Lord. Stroking his beard, Yonmot Copperbeard paused before nodding and speaking in his language.
"As spoken by Yonmot Copperbeard," Drukal Garnetbreaker said to Kikax, "let it be so. Your words have merit, and your prowess proved. For three thousand gold pieces you will fight by our side. For three thousand gold pieces ten of your men, trained at your feet, will join. With three thousand gold pieces as the blood price should you fall in battle against our foes. This is accepted, and this is sworn."
Standing up from his throne, Kikax Icewalker nodded. "This is accepted, and this is sworn."
A/N: It's been a long time since I last wrote an omake here, but I'm glad I got this one out. I'm thinking that should humans ever colonize the norscan peninsula, they'll separate into two camps. Those that go too far north and follow the chaos gods and those who fight under the mountains of the dwarves. For those who fight with the dwarves, I'm imagining a very tribal and mercenary-like structure where they pledge to fight alongside the dwarves for finely worked tools and gold. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the read!
