The Iron Price
It was cold in the Glittering City.
Sudica's broad and curving boulevards were filled with frost and howling wind. The many colored tiles and domes of the cities palaces and temples were thick with gleaming ice and groaning under the weight of the snow. The pulse of the Goddess' heart was less than it had ever been and the shards of the sun lay dim in the holy cradles.
All because of the disunity and weakness that had infected them, from the top to the bottom. Even the priesthoods had traitors in their midsts. Even the highest one, the Scepter of Sudica herself, speaker of the hierophant herself had spoken treason!
Maksim let out a heavy breath and it misted in the air, crusting his beard with frost as he firmed his stance and shoved the haft of his halberd out, forcing the press of bodies back from the stairs of the temple. "Return to your homes!" He bellowed. "The temple is closed, by order of Protector Ludomir!"
The heat had been fading day by day, for many months now, It had gone from the great hall of the Althing first. The roaring shard of the sun that burned in its heart guttering down to embers. It had left the palaces next, then houses of the guilds and little gods. Soon the heat of the city lingered only in the homes of the lowest, in hovels and bunkhouses.
The noise of the crowd stretching out into the great plaza of the gods struck him like physical force. There were words, countless shouted words, but they were so many that there was only meaningless noise. All but the closest, those shouted in his face but red faced, desperate men and women, gazing up at the roiling sky and the darkened temple of Sudica with a manic desperation.
"Traitors!" "Blasphemers!" "Beasts!" Release them! Release them!" "Kinslayers!"
Maksim felt fury in his heart for these people, these pathetic unblessed mortals screaming at their protectors. They were the rampart, those who stood against the Outer Night! And this was their thanks!
Bad enough the outer cities, the lesser cities defied the Protector. He who had held the Gates on the day of the Black Sun, who had mantled the Thunderer in all of his wrath, and driven the daemons fleeing back into the Void. They had dared to raise close their coffers, they had dared to defy his laws. And now the great hero was to be condemned merely for putting down rebels? They, the Black Guard of the Gate, were shouted at and spit on by peasants?
The Lord Protector had slain two cities, and the Polar Nation was stronger for it. The others had bent the knee. They did not need squabbling, they did not need a hundred whining councils when the daemons beat at the gates.
Maksim shoved outward, and men tumbled like pins before his strength. "Begone! The traitor priestess' have been uncovered! The sun will return so soon as the Lord Protector breaks the daemon-bringers curses!"
The cathedral of Sudica loomed large behind them, dark and silent. The Hierophant towered higher still in the now frozen gardens beyond, her gown of bristles and needles white with frost, her high and craggy branches reaching like silent claws into the sky.
The true depth of the treachery had become clear when they returned from the pacification. At the gates of the city, the Scepter of Sudica had met them, and denounced them for kinslaying and tyranny.
"Get you to the north, son of the Thunderer. Cleanse your sins, shed the man and become the land as you should have long ago."
So many traitors had stood with her. He had enjoyed seeing their expressions crumple as they were clapped in irons and sent to the depths below, their possessions stripped and given to proper, loyal men and women of the Gates, who understood the necessity of unity.
The Priestess they had been more courteous to, by necessity, sent back to the temple to commune and clear her head.
But no.
The heat began to leave. She was brought forth again, and had only the same words for the Protector.
"Get you to the north, son of the Thunderer. Cleanse your sins, shed the man and become the land as you should have long ago. It is not yet too late."
So it had gone as the city froze. Again and again, the Protector had gone to the priests of the city and demanded that they tell him the gods true will.
And always the answer was the same.
The daemons had truly sunk their claws in deep that even those who should be most exposed to the gods would be twisted to their will. The only thing to do was place the priests under arrest and forcibly cleanse the temple of demonic taint. There would be no more false speakers. The Protector would speak to great Sudica, god to god.
Maksim snarled, drawing on the mantle of the Thunderer and his son the Protector as bodies pressed him back, letting out a great shout that had the rioting fools covering their now bleeding ears. All along the lines his brothers, garbed in the gleaming black Ice of the guard did the same, shouting over the cacophony forcing the crowd back from the steps. He knew things could not be much better at the palace at the Gates, at any of the strongholds. The length of the curse laid upon their city was driving its citizens mad with daemon-rage and fear.
Maksim was growing grimly certain that they would need to crack down if even the citizens of the great Glittering City were so malcontent, it would only encourage the others to rebellion.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something fly past. Saw one of his brothers stiffen as a chunk of ice shattered off his helm, hurled by an impudent mortal. Maksim saw the haft his halberd sweep out, and knew that the bloodletting was coming as it arced toward bald pate of a wild eyed old man with a spit flecked beard shouting denunciations of their supposed blasphemy.
He expected to see the old man's skull burst like a melon. Instead he saw him flung down the steps, bruised and bleeding, there was a crunch of broken bone,the man stirred then went limp, dead then even for his strange resilience.
The wind, Maksim realized, had stopped blowing. The snow fell straight, like a pale white curtain. There was a ripple of confusion and milling silence from the crowd as it receded like the sea.
But Maksim felt a terrible dread in his gut. They stared at him with hate still, these rioting things, barely more than beasts in human skin. There was steam rising from them. He felt it beating down like a great and gathering cloud of wrath.
It was hot, he realized. As hot as the day he had stood in battle over the fires of the underearth in the south. It was hot, and growing hotter.
The branches of the hierophant, towering above, groaned and shuddered, spilling countless tons of snow and ice. There was a shout, a young man springing to his feet from where he knelt over his fallen father, the old man at the base of the steps.
He hurled himself at Maksim's brother in arms, untrained fist pulled back for a wild blow. The flick of the halberd blade was contemptuous.
It bounced off the young man's side like it had struck steel, and there was a resounding crack as steel forged ice cracked in a glistening spider web, and Kasim's comrade stumbled, more in shock than anything, raising a hand to a now exposed, bloodied lip.
Every window in the cathedral burst outward in a shower of glass. He heard Protector Ludomir roar in rage, his power radiating outward, the thunder shaking the earth.
But it was so much smaller than the deafening, all consuming thunder that was the voices of a city raised in wrath. The peasants… the traitors surged up the steps, an endless sea of bodies. Maksim roared back in the teeth of their fury. He laid about him with the fury and poise of a warrior of three centuries. He battered them, bashed them, cut them down even where he could, muscles bulging with the force of the Thunderers' fury as he carved into what daemonic force was empowering mortal flesh. Even as he failed to call the thunder into his skin, to draw on the greater power of his mantle. For the first time since he was a boy the storm did not answer his call.
They ripped his halberd from his hands as he retreated up the steps. He saw his fellows dragged down by the screaming crowd, their screams barely rising above the din of the riot's fury. Back, back toward the doors of the temple. The Lord Protector would…
He glimpsed the sky as he craned his neck back, his blood running cold as he saw the hole in the sky. In the sheet of iron gray a single perfect circle stood out, the bright full moon shining down, and silhouetted against it was a vessel of stone, which no son of the Polar Nation could mistake.
A stone struck his helm, and he went spinning to the ground as ice shattered, and he felt the hot splash of blood across his face.
Then there was no more sky. No more sky, only faces twisted in rage, fists and commoners' tools raised to pummel.
Maksim felt his teeth shatter under the blow of a masons hammer. Felt a butcher cleaver carve into his thigh. He struggled, bellowing, pushing against dozens of hands pinning him to the steps of Sudica's temple.
Did they not understand? Everything. Everything was for the nation, to bring them together, to stand against the daemons! It had to be, they could not have shed so much blood for anything else….
Could they?
His only answer was the shovel blade swung down upon his head
Sudica's broad and curving boulevards were filled with frost and howling wind. The many colored tiles and domes of the cities palaces and temples were thick with gleaming ice and groaning under the weight of the snow. The pulse of the Goddess' heart was less than it had ever been and the shards of the sun lay dim in the holy cradles.
All because of the disunity and weakness that had infected them, from the top to the bottom. Even the priesthoods had traitors in their midsts. Even the highest one, the Scepter of Sudica herself, speaker of the hierophant herself had spoken treason!
Maksim let out a heavy breath and it misted in the air, crusting his beard with frost as he firmed his stance and shoved the haft of his halberd out, forcing the press of bodies back from the stairs of the temple. "Return to your homes!" He bellowed. "The temple is closed, by order of Protector Ludomir!"
The heat had been fading day by day, for many months now, It had gone from the great hall of the Althing first. The roaring shard of the sun that burned in its heart guttering down to embers. It had left the palaces next, then houses of the guilds and little gods. Soon the heat of the city lingered only in the homes of the lowest, in hovels and bunkhouses.
The noise of the crowd stretching out into the great plaza of the gods struck him like physical force. There were words, countless shouted words, but they were so many that there was only meaningless noise. All but the closest, those shouted in his face but red faced, desperate men and women, gazing up at the roiling sky and the darkened temple of Sudica with a manic desperation.
"Traitors!" "Blasphemers!" "Beasts!" Release them! Release them!" "Kinslayers!"
Maksim felt fury in his heart for these people, these pathetic unblessed mortals screaming at their protectors. They were the rampart, those who stood against the Outer Night! And this was their thanks!
Bad enough the outer cities, the lesser cities defied the Protector. He who had held the Gates on the day of the Black Sun, who had mantled the Thunderer in all of his wrath, and driven the daemons fleeing back into the Void. They had dared to raise close their coffers, they had dared to defy his laws. And now the great hero was to be condemned merely for putting down rebels? They, the Black Guard of the Gate, were shouted at and spit on by peasants?
The Lord Protector had slain two cities, and the Polar Nation was stronger for it. The others had bent the knee. They did not need squabbling, they did not need a hundred whining councils when the daemons beat at the gates.
Maksim shoved outward, and men tumbled like pins before his strength. "Begone! The traitor priestess' have been uncovered! The sun will return so soon as the Lord Protector breaks the daemon-bringers curses!"
The cathedral of Sudica loomed large behind them, dark and silent. The Hierophant towered higher still in the now frozen gardens beyond, her gown of bristles and needles white with frost, her high and craggy branches reaching like silent claws into the sky.
The true depth of the treachery had become clear when they returned from the pacification. At the gates of the city, the Scepter of Sudica had met them, and denounced them for kinslaying and tyranny.
"Get you to the north, son of the Thunderer. Cleanse your sins, shed the man and become the land as you should have long ago."
So many traitors had stood with her. He had enjoyed seeing their expressions crumple as they were clapped in irons and sent to the depths below, their possessions stripped and given to proper, loyal men and women of the Gates, who understood the necessity of unity.
The Priestess they had been more courteous to, by necessity, sent back to the temple to commune and clear her head.
But no.
The heat began to leave. She was brought forth again, and had only the same words for the Protector.
"Get you to the north, son of the Thunderer. Cleanse your sins, shed the man and become the land as you should have long ago. It is not yet too late."
So it had gone as the city froze. Again and again, the Protector had gone to the priests of the city and demanded that they tell him the gods true will.
And always the answer was the same.
The daemons had truly sunk their claws in deep that even those who should be most exposed to the gods would be twisted to their will. The only thing to do was place the priests under arrest and forcibly cleanse the temple of demonic taint. There would be no more false speakers. The Protector would speak to great Sudica, god to god.
Maksim snarled, drawing on the mantle of the Thunderer and his son the Protector as bodies pressed him back, letting out a great shout that had the rioting fools covering their now bleeding ears. All along the lines his brothers, garbed in the gleaming black Ice of the guard did the same, shouting over the cacophony forcing the crowd back from the steps. He knew things could not be much better at the palace at the Gates, at any of the strongholds. The length of the curse laid upon their city was driving its citizens mad with daemon-rage and fear.
Maksim was growing grimly certain that they would need to crack down if even the citizens of the great Glittering City were so malcontent, it would only encourage the others to rebellion.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something fly past. Saw one of his brothers stiffen as a chunk of ice shattered off his helm, hurled by an impudent mortal. Maksim saw the haft his halberd sweep out, and knew that the bloodletting was coming as it arced toward bald pate of a wild eyed old man with a spit flecked beard shouting denunciations of their supposed blasphemy.
He expected to see the old man's skull burst like a melon. Instead he saw him flung down the steps, bruised and bleeding, there was a crunch of broken bone,the man stirred then went limp, dead then even for his strange resilience.
The wind, Maksim realized, had stopped blowing. The snow fell straight, like a pale white curtain. There was a ripple of confusion and milling silence from the crowd as it receded like the sea.
But Maksim felt a terrible dread in his gut. They stared at him with hate still, these rioting things, barely more than beasts in human skin. There was steam rising from them. He felt it beating down like a great and gathering cloud of wrath.
It was hot, he realized. As hot as the day he had stood in battle over the fires of the underearth in the south. It was hot, and growing hotter.
The branches of the hierophant, towering above, groaned and shuddered, spilling countless tons of snow and ice. There was a shout, a young man springing to his feet from where he knelt over his fallen father, the old man at the base of the steps.
He hurled himself at Maksim's brother in arms, untrained fist pulled back for a wild blow. The flick of the halberd blade was contemptuous.
It bounced off the young man's side like it had struck steel, and there was a resounding crack as steel forged ice cracked in a glistening spider web, and Kasim's comrade stumbled, more in shock than anything, raising a hand to a now exposed, bloodied lip.
Every window in the cathedral burst outward in a shower of glass. He heard Protector Ludomir roar in rage, his power radiating outward, the thunder shaking the earth.
But it was so much smaller than the deafening, all consuming thunder that was the voices of a city raised in wrath. The peasants… the traitors surged up the steps, an endless sea of bodies. Maksim roared back in the teeth of their fury. He laid about him with the fury and poise of a warrior of three centuries. He battered them, bashed them, cut them down even where he could, muscles bulging with the force of the Thunderers' fury as he carved into what daemonic force was empowering mortal flesh. Even as he failed to call the thunder into his skin, to draw on the greater power of his mantle. For the first time since he was a boy the storm did not answer his call.
They ripped his halberd from his hands as he retreated up the steps. He saw his fellows dragged down by the screaming crowd, their screams barely rising above the din of the riot's fury. Back, back toward the doors of the temple. The Lord Protector would…
He glimpsed the sky as he craned his neck back, his blood running cold as he saw the hole in the sky. In the sheet of iron gray a single perfect circle stood out, the bright full moon shining down, and silhouetted against it was a vessel of stone, which no son of the Polar Nation could mistake.
A stone struck his helm, and he went spinning to the ground as ice shattered, and he felt the hot splash of blood across his face.
Then there was no more sky. No more sky, only faces twisted in rage, fists and commoners' tools raised to pummel.
Maksim felt his teeth shatter under the blow of a masons hammer. Felt a butcher cleaver carve into his thigh. He struggled, bellowing, pushing against dozens of hands pinning him to the steps of Sudica's temple.
Did they not understand? Everything. Everything was for the nation, to bring them together, to stand against the daemons! It had to be, they could not have shed so much blood for anything else….
Could they?
His only answer was the shovel blade swung down upon his head
