The Saga of Friedrir Black-Hand

Warrior's Tradition

Golbadir looked stunned for a moment, before a thin smile grew upon his lips and he nodded in approval, his hand still grasping Friedrir's shoulder.

"As you wish" king Golbadir granted his blessing for Friedrir's new undertaking. "May Drenthri guard you from this point onwards and, when the time comes, she will call you down to her hallowed hall."

Friedrir's relief was instant and he quickly thanked his king for the opportunity to prove himself. The attendants of the shield ceremony were dispersing by now, gone to carry on with their preparations, however, some remained and gave final blessings and prayers in the names of Fadir and Irascri. Brasannerr was close by and had overheard the words spoken between Golbadir and Friedrir and she quickly moved towards them to check on her friend. Golbadir was the first to notice her arrival and greeted her warmly before departing towards Brondehal, leaving Friedrir and Brasannerr together amongst the moving crowd.

"You'll join them?" Brasannerr began, impatience layered upon her words. "You've never spoken of your devotion to Drenthri."

Friedrir expected Brasannerr's support in his decision, but he could sense that she did not agree with his choice. "Of course. My parents fell as heroes and it is my duty to follow their path. Our traditions are clear and so I will honour all the gods with my sacrifice."

As Friedrir finished talking Tarsannar came closer to the pair and began to speak, although he had not heard their previous conversation.

"The king awaits us in the hall. We are to discuss plans for the campaign ahead and your presence would benefit all." Friedrir and Brasannerr shared a glancing look and then swiftly followed Tarsannar into the hall, where the other peers were already assembled for the council. The three of them took to their seats and the discussion began in earnest. Tarsannar regaled Golbadir with the logistics of the army and their supplies, suggesting how much time should be spent away and how much food would be needed for the trip. However, Golbadir was more interested in Friedrir's input and inquired into his thoughts on the war.

"By now the harsh cold of winter is upon us, and so too is it upon the Sicire. Their soil has hardened, and their air has grown dense with fog and mist. Perhaps their rivers have also turned to ice." Friedrir explained. "The crossings are guarded, and the bridges will be barred, but we may slip past their eyes if we journey to the great mountains to the South West and cross the frozen road."

The peers all voiced their praise for Friedrir's plan, all except Seorastan who urged king Golbadir to dismiss his suggestion. "How can we travel towards the mountains and then still carry enough food to sustain ourselves, the road would be difficult enough without a lengthy detour."

This concern seemed to ring home with some of the others and Friedrir's faith in his plan faltered for a moment. The brief pause ended when Brasannerr spoke in favour of Friedrir. "There is a way to sustain our men. The old fort, Anutor, built as the very first home of the Norbren, still stands in the shadows of the vast mountains. Were we to rest there and recover some of our supplies from that land we would surely be able to outlast starvation."

At Brasannerr's words Friedrir gave her a fleeting look of appreciation, which she returned in kind, before Golbadir turned towards Tarsannar and began discussions once more.

"How many days of supplies are available for our men at this time, Tarsannar? And how would the stores of Anutor help our cause?"

"Our stores can provide a week's worth of food for our men and no more. That is if we ration out what we have. My best guess of Anutor's provisions would be about the same as what we have here." Tarsannar seemed confident in his answer and Golbadir nodded, taking in the information, as he held his chin in his hand.