“You left the Drisriaks,” said Abrogastes.
“In such ways tribes begin,” said Ortog.
“But you have lost,” said Abrogastes.
“Yes,” said Ortog, “I have lost.”
“And there are costs to be paid, penalties to be exacted,” said Abrogastes.
“I am ready,” said Ortog.
“You are a traitor to the Alemanni, to the Drisriaks,” said Abrogastes.
Ortog did not respond.
“You should have been your own champion, or have chosen another, fairly,” said Abrogastes.
Ortog looked at the slave, lying at the side of the chair of Abrogastes, but then looked away.
She did not meet his eyes.
“He can kill you?” asked Abrogastes, indicating Otto, who stood back, Julian a little behind him.
“Yes,” said Ortog, angrily.
“I would see what a traitor can do,” said Abrogastes.
“Wolfung!” he cried, rising up from the chair, and pointing to Otto.
“Milord?” asked Otto.
“You will fight,” said Abrogastes.
“Am I invited to do so?” asked Otto.
“Yes,” said Abrogastes.
“It will be my pleasure to accept,” said Otto.
“He is no executioner!” cried Julian to Abrogastes.
“Be silent,” said Otto.
Julian, startled, stepped back.
“Let the king of the Ortungs choose his weapon,” said Otto.
“The prince of the Drisriaks may choose his weapon,” said Abrogastes.
“Free me,” said Ortog.
His bonds were severed.
“I choose the ax,” said Ortog.
“You may choose the ax, or some comparable weapon, one neither clearly superior to nor inferior to the ax,” said Abrogastes to Otto.
“This,” said Otto, striding angrily to the workman and tearing from his startled grasp the bloody adz, “is my weapon!” He brandished it, angrily.
“That is not a weapon!” cried Abrogastes.
“I have chosen it as my weapon,” said Otto, “and the challenge has begun!”
“It is a weapon, so chosen, milord!” said the spared clerk to Abrogastes.
Abrogastes turned an angry glance upon him, and the clerk put down his head.
“He is right, milord,” said a man.
“You are a clever rogue, Wolfung,” said Abrogastes, resuming his seat.
“It is a weapon!” cried a man.
“Those who perished by the adz feast now in the halls of Kragon!” said another.
The Drisriak warriors lifted their hands, and weapons, and cheered.
Abrogastes looked about himself, scowling.
“It is so, milord!” cried men, joyfully.
“It seems only fair, milord,” said Otto, “that if you would permit your son to perish by a weapon, for you did not know what he or I might choose, then, so, too, you should be willing to permit his followers to have similarly perished.”
“Yes, milord!” cried men, eagerly.
“I have chosen the adz,” said Otto. “Is it a weapon, milord?”
Abrogastes looked at Ortog, narrowly.
“It seems, my father,” said Ortog, “that you bear me love still.”
“Yes,” said Abrogastes. “It is a weapon.”
Men cheered.
An ax was brought and placed in the hands of Ortog.
“I am grateful to you, Wolfung,” said Ortog.
“It is controversial,” said Abrogastes, angrily, “the matter of weapons and such.”
“Some claim, milord,” said the clerk, “that only those who die in battle are worthy of the halls of Kragon.”
“Others, milord,” said a man, “that only those who die with a weapon in their grasp.”
“And in such things, milord,” said a man, “it is said that it is only warriors who may enter the halls of the gods.”
“Perhaps they will need their clerks,” said the clerk.
There was laughter.
“And what of women, Father,” asked Gerune, suddenly. “Have they no place in the halls of the gods?”
“Doubtless some serve there,” said a man.
There was laughter.
“But they cannot earn their way there?” asked Gerune.
“No,” said a man. “Those who are there are selected to be there, as choiceless as women purchased at a market, to serve as cupbearers and slaves.”
“I see,” said Gerune.
“Perhaps the gods have no concern with us,” said Abrogastes.
“Perhaps there are no gods,” said Ortog, bitterly.
“What think you, Wolfung?” asked Abrogastes. “Are there gods?”
“I do not know, milord,” said Otto.
“What think you, little Huta?” asked Abrogastes, looking downward, to his right.
“I do not know, Master,” she said, frightened. “I am only a slave.”
“It is a suitable answer,” said Abrogastes. “Do not cover yourself,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Much is obscure,” said the clerk.
“The adherents of Floon claim to know the answers to all,” said a man.
Floon was a gentle, itinerant teacher, a humble salamanderlike creature, from a largely aqueous world, who had preached peace and love, and such things. He had died in an electric chair, or, perhaps better, a burning rack. Already the first wars in his name had been waged.
“They are fools,” said another man.
“They grow stronger,” said another man.
“Let us consider the suns, and rocks, and iron, and ships, and the blades of weapons, and gold!” said Abrogastes.
“Yes!” said men.
And then he looked down at Huta, to his right, “And the bodies of women!” he added.
Huta looked down, frightened.
Gerune stiffened.
“Yes!” said men.
“They are real,” said Abrogastes.
“Yes, yes!” said men.
“Fight!” said Abrogastes to Ortog and Otto.
“When have I obeyed you, Father?” asked Ortog.
Then he turned to Otto. “I salute you, Wolfung,” he said, “for the honor you have shown me, undeserving though I have been, and for the respect you have shown my people, the Ortungs, unworthy though we may have been.” Then he struck down at the stump with the ax, half burying the blade in the stump. Then he turned to Otto. “Strike,” he said. “I am ready.”
But Otto lifted the adz and with a mighty blow drove the head of the adz deeply into the stump, to the very socket of the weapon. Men cried out with wonder, seeing the force of such a blow.
Hendrix and Gundlicht cried out with joy.
Ortog turned to Abrogastes. “I bid recognition for the Ortungs, my father,” he said. “Let the Ortungs be. I would be reconciled with you.”
“Come to my arms,” said Abrogastes, rising.
Ortog, tears in his eyes, advanced to his father, his arms open.
He stepped to the height of the dais.
Huta screamed.
Ortog fell back, stumbling from the dais.
Abrogastes, on the height of the dais, his eyes terrible, looked down upon his son, now fallen to the earth.
In the hand of Abrogastes, gripped there, was a bloody knife.
“Do you think I am so easily cheated?” asked Abrogastes of those within the tent.
“My brother!” cried Gerune, and fled from the dais, to kneel beside Ortog.
“He was your son!” cried a man.
“I have many sons,” said Abrogastes.
“He wanted reconciliation!” said another.
“Now we are reconciled,” said Abrogastes, wiping his weapon on his thigh, then sheathing it.
“A blade was used,” said a man.
“Even now Ortog enters the halls of Kragon,” said another.
“It is for the best,” said another.
“Perhaps we will meet again, each in the beauty of our youth, in the halls of Kragon, my son,” said Abrogastes. “And we may then dispute these matters properly.”