The Black Fox

Tulla looked again at the two strange ships floating in the harbor. They seemed so forlorn, having come from so far away, and appearing to have no company.

"It still makes no sense to me, Father," he said.

His father Torta shrugged between the falls of his hammer on his anvil. "Vitta has spoken, my son. The strangers are not welcome here."

Tulla was no boy. He was old enough to understand that adults sometimes did or said things that were unwise. Age could make a man unwise, as could fear, or simple foolishness. He wanted to know which of those was the master of the mind of the town's headman.

"Why would Vitta decide that?" he asked.

"You heard the Ildyn. The strangers come from the land to the west. The last time folk came from the west, they were casters of spells. They fought the folk of the Mountain Kingdom. It took the lifetimes of two Ulfdyn, and many lives of the folk they ruled, to turn back the attempt to conquer our land."

"That is what Vitta said, Father. What I mean was, what's really behind his decision?"

"You'd best not ask such a question outside of the shop, my son."

"Others are asking the same question."

"Then let one of them be the first to ask such a question out loud."

Tulla frowned. "Is Vitta so frightening, Father?"

"He was appointed by Borga, who by right of birth wears the Golden Crown and holds the title of Ulfdyn."

"That does not make him a good man, Father."

His father said nothing in response. Tulla was not surprised that his father couldn't defend the town's Ildyn. No one wished to defend Vitta for any reason. Though he was only an Ildyn, and of a modest port town, he acted as though he was Ulfdyn of the whole Mountain Kingdom.

Nothing made that more clear that the boots nailed to a pole not far from his father's blacksmith shop. The boots had been new when Vitta had arrived to assume his duties as Ildyn. After being in Varkon for only a handful of days, one of the women in town spilled urine on the Ildyn's new boots.

It was an accident. She was carrying a bucket of urine to the dyer, as the waste was an important ingredient in the dyes used to color folks' clothes. Vitta chose to interpret the accident as an insult to his new post. He had the smelly boots nailed to the pole, and the pole raised in the center of Varkon. Everyone who passed by the pole, Vitta proclaimed, for whatever reason, had to look to the boots and nod their head.

At first few took the proclamation seriously. What sane man would demand respect be given to a pair of smelly boots? The first few lashings of men who ignored the order, and the brief increase in the seasonal tax, convinced the folk of Varkon to obey the order. It was the first of several such self-important actions by their new Ildyn. A few folk traveled to speak to the Ulfdyn about Vitta, but Borga did nothing about the complaints from the folk Vitta ruled over.

"Perhaps I should go out into the wilderness again," Tulla said, breaking long period of wordless work his father was engaged in.

"You haven't yet sold the last furs you brought in," Torta countered.

"There's only two left, and they're rabbit furs. I ought to look for better."

"So long as you stay in the wilderness."

"I always do, Father."

Torta put down his hammer. "I know you camp near that old castle half a day to the north and east. It's not a safe place, my son."