Tattered

Chapter 20

Hrothgar called a council immediately. The battle had been short, only an hour or so, yet the damage was catastrophic.

The Western gate was smashed to bits, even the great iron hinges broken off from the castle walls. There were no men who could be spared to rebuild it, and regardless there was no timber to be had. The forest, visible just over the hills, and a mere league away, was now known to be troll territory. No one was willing risk going out there.

The castle smiths had forged a row of sharp, iron posts to be put in the gate's place. The men hammered them into the dirt, their spiked tips glinting and sending a clear threat to any who would approach. It was better than nothing, but did little to quell the growing fear and panic in Heorot's people. The western gate was still completely exposed. It might delay them a minute or two, but in the end, the iron spikes would do nothing when the trolls decided to attack again.

It was a question of when now, not if. Any doubts about that had been destroyed along with the Western gate and nearly a quarter of the fighting men who had remained. Hrothgar ordered that the bodies be collected and built a proper pyre. Those men had died fighting enemies in battle and their souls would be dining in Valhalla as we mourned them. Still, the living were obligated to burn the bodies. It seemed that even in the midst of chaos and hopelessness, Hrothgar was a superstitious man; he insisted that the proper rites still be observed.

The council meeting was held in a smaller chamber rather than the Great Hall, in order to keep the matters discussed private. Only Hrothgar's closest generals and thanes were present. I'd been half surprised when he'd requested my presence as well. Perhaps he was beginning to realize, now that so much of his army was gone, how desperately he needed my strength.

Hrothgar sat in wooden chair in the back of the chamber. He still wore his chainmail from the morning's fight, and he looked bedraggled and weary. Freydis stood behind his left shoulder, looking radiant but somber in a dress the color of mulled wine. In the corner of the room, Breca sulked, his posture tense. There were dark bags under his eyes. I wondered whether he had taken part in the battle, or if he had cowered behind the castle walls as I would expect of him.

"Nearly sixty men dead," Hrothgar said. "The western gate exposed, and our defenses rattled. No help from other kingdoms likely to arrive in time, and our enemies grow ever bolder."

The room was silent at his pronouncement of the dire circumstances. Hope, if there had ever been any, had left with the trolls' attack.

"Your highness, we must send couriers to the other kingdoms and ask for help," A younger thane with a drawn face said. "Without reinforcements, we are doomed."

"Many couriers have been sent since the beginning of our siege," Hrothgar replied. "Yet no help or contact has come. We must assume that the trolls have been killing our messengers to keep us isolated."

At this he met my gaze and nodded slowly- a recognition of sorts, and perhaps the closest thing I'd get to an apology for accusing Geatland of ignoring his call for help. I nodded back, and he went on.

"There is only one recourse left to us," Horthgar said. "We must attack the trolls before they see that they can finish us off. We have hidden behind these walls for too long." A nervous murmur echoed in the room, but Hrothgar ignored it. "We will take the bastards by surprise and kill Grendel. Without a chief to unite them, they'll scatter back to their gods-forsaken mountain."

"My lord, there is another way." All heads turned to Freydis as she spoke. I couldn't remember ever hearing her speak in such a way before Hrothgar's men. Silence was traditional for a queen, and it surprised me that she would be granted such power. Hrothgar pursed his lips but did not object to her speaking. "We could send a message to this Grendel and seek a truce with the trolls."

The room burst into affronted cries and protests.

"Make peace with the trolls!" One thane exclaimed with a laugh. "Your highness, such a thing is a fantasy."

"And even if it were possible, it is too despicable to consider," Another added, sneering. "Those monsters aren't humans, but demons who have killed our men and destroyed our homes. No one can forgive such creatures."

In the back of the room, I scowled. I understood Freydis' fear and desperation. I imagined what she would be thinking of: our inevitable defeat by the trolls, and the violence and death that would follow. But I, like the other men, bristled at the suggestion. The trolls had terrorized us for too long. The only acceptable outcome was victory.

As if reading my thoughts, another thane chimed in. "But what if victory is not possible?" he asked. "The trolls outmatch us in every way. They are stronger, faster, deadlier. How can we ever hope to defeat them?"

Hrothgar held up a hand, signaling for silence from the gathered thanes. They obeyed instantly, all voices falling quiet. Once again, I felt a begrudging respect for Hrothgar and the authority he commanded so well. They respected him and served him with a fervent loyalty that few kings could boast of.

"If we take them by surprise, then we will defeat them." His voice was hard as stone, filled with such unmovable conviction that even I was drawn in, wishing to believe every word. "It is true that the trolls' strength is superior to that of humans in almost every way. You saw it during the battle as well as I did. They overwhelmed us, destroyed us, and all with almost no effort on their part." The eyes of the gathered men darkened at the fresh memories Hrothgar's words conjured. I saw a few of them shudder. "But we were notdefeated," he pressed on. "We held, because we have our own strengths: warriors capable of fighting the trolls and winning."

Hrothgar's intense gaze darted to meet mine and my muscles tensed.

"Brynhildr of the Geats and Siegfried of Skerith, step forward."

I had not even noticed Siegfried's presence in the room before Hrothgar called his name, but now I caught sight of him, standing stiffly among shadows in the corner. For someone with such an intimidating figure, his presence was surprisingly faint. After a moment of heavy silence, he stepped forward as Hrothgar had commanded.

I inhaled deeply and did the same. The eyes of the thanes turned to stare at me as I moved through them, taking my place before Hrothgar. Siegfried and I both kneeled before him, showing the proper deference due to the king. I kept my gaze on the floor.

"Siegfried," he spoke, voice booming across the small, crowded chamber. "Warrior of Skerith and killer of dragons. Your skill with the sword is unrivalled in all of the great kingdoms, and dragon's blood has granted you divine invulnerability. In our battles with the trolls you have saved countless lives and proved yourself capable of standing against our ancient foes. You have served Heorot and defended it well."

It was lavish praise. Anyone would have been thrilled by such words from a king, but Siegfried only nodded stiffly. "Thank you, your grace," he said.

I did not move my gaze away from the floor, but I knew Hrothgar must have now turned to me. My stomach churned with mingled nervousness, fear, and excitement. I waited for him to speak again, hardly daring to breathe.

"Brynhildr, daughter of Volsung and princess of the Geats." At the king's announcement of my name, I forced myself to look up. His eyes were hard as iron, steely and dark.

"You and your men came to the defense of our fortress in its hour of greatest need, and when no others would," he began. "It is clear that Odin himself has blessed you with his favor. You possess the strength of ten men and the boundless courage of a lion. You alone amongst all Heorot's warriors have fought and killed a troll, proving your might."

I didn't think I had ever received such praise, such recognition, in all my life. I felt my shoulders straighten, my chest swelling with pride at his words. Perhaps it was shallow, to be so affected by his flattery, but I found myself craving more of it. If this is what a small taste of glory was like, I could understand why heroes died for it, killed for it. It was an addictive, mesmerizing thing.

"You two are the only ones strong enough to face the trolls, and the only ones capable of killing Grendel," Hrothgar continued. His stern gaze darted with meaning between us now. "I charge you now with this honorable task: kill Grendel and defeat the trolls once and for all. Kill Grendel and save us."