Hrafn – Age 20
Hedeby, Schleswig. The home of the Danish Assassins.
Hrafn walked into the Assassin headquarters. Wearing a moss-green long-sleeved shirt, with a white tunic over it. It had shorter sleeves and was open in front of his legs. Over the white tunic was a dark brown leather vest, which would offer some degree of protection in combat. And even though Hrafn wasn't a member of the Assassins, Lalli had given him a white cowl.
'Hrafn, it's good to see you'
'You too Lalli, why is it you've called me here?'
'Our spies have found one of the men you seek – the one called Frode.'
Hrafn's expression suddenly changed. His face that had been so friendly a moment ago was now dark and serious. He remembered The Quiet Man.
'Where?'
'You can find him in Árós. He's a merchant there, selling pots and plates and the like. According to our informants, he's not located far from the entrance.'
'Thank you Lalli, for this favor.'
'It's the least I could do – your father was a friend to me after all.'
After three days ride, Hrafn arrived at the gates of Árós. He was grateful that Lalli had lent him his horse. Lalli called it Sleipner, after Odin's nine legged horse.
The gates of Árós where grand, and one of the few ways into the city which was surrounded by a moat 20 metres wide and seven metres tall.
As Hrafn entered though the main gate, the sound of people in the streets intensified. People were happy and, as this city was a main trading central, people were buying food, clothes and other goods. Hrafn walked to the biggest market stall he could see and waited until there was less people standing around the stall. When some of the people finally walked away, and Hrafn could get eyecontact with the salesman, he pulled out a purse, seemingly filled with coins. This got the salesman's attention right away, Hrafn signalled to him to follow him and so he did without question.
When they were a couple of metres from the stall and away from the crowds, Hrafn asked if he knew who some of the other shopkeepers were. The shopkeeper was thrown off guard at this question, as he was expecting Hrafn to buy his wares, and not his knowledge.
'Um, yeah I know a lot of these people, I've been here for 7 years.'
'Do you know a man called Frode, from what I've heard he sells pots, and plates – Does this ring any bells?'
'Well, I only know one Frode. Frode Pottemager.'
'Do you happen to know where I can find him?'
The shopkeeper was starting to notice potential customers walking to his stall only to leave again, as they could not see any salesman. This gave him an idea.
'Well, maybe I do – but I have to earn some coin also…'
Hrafn knew what he meant by that, opened his purse and handed him three coins. That was enough to loosen his tongue as he, after studying the coins for a couple of seconds, told Hrafn that Frode's market stall was to be found right around the corner – only about 100 metres or so from his own stall.
'Thank you, I trust you won't remember this conversation ever took place?'
Hrafn said, as he handed the man the rest of his purse.
'I don't even know what conversation you're talking about, sir.'
As Hrafn started to walk to away, the shopkeepers asked:
'What did you say your name was sir?'
'I didn't.'
As Hrafn approached the street corner he pulled his white hood up over his auburn hair, as to hide his face from unwelcome eyes. When he turned the corner, he saw Frode right away. There wasn't the tiniest bit of doubt in Hrafn's mind, that this was "The Quiet Man" – his mind went straight back to the night in 1121, when his parents had been taken away from him. Hrafn had a hard time comprehending that his vengeance was so close. He was getting closer to him now and Frode had not even looked in his direction. When Hrafn arrived at his stall the man looked at him.
'Anything I can help you with?'
Hrafn looked up at him from under his cowl – the man didn't seem to recognize him.
'Yes… I've been looking for something for a while. Ten years to be exact. I was hoping you could help me.'
'Well of course! Anything to be of service! Now what is it you're looking for?'
He seemed a lot more talkative now, than he did back then.
'Blood.'
Hrafn looked deep into the eyes of Frode, who seemed puzzled and had a grin on his face that could only mean, he thought it was a joke.
'Do you remember; ten years ago… A burning farm, two burning people… A young boy…'
Frode had been looking rather nervous when Hrafn when he started talking, but suddenly his face changed. It changed to the face of fear.
Hrafn's fist connected with Frode's face the second after and he landed on the ground. Hrafn sat down on him and kept hitting him. One. Two. Three. Four. Frode's face was filled with blood from his broken nose and open lips.
'No! Please! Stop!'
'Why? Why should I stop after what you and your comrades did?!'
Hrafn grabbed a pot and smashed it over Frode's forehead. And took out his axe. His father's axe.
'I… I didn't know what they were going to do! I didn't know they were gonna… It wasn't what I wanted!'
'Liar! You are a Templar! How could you not know?!'
'I'm not anymore! I left the Templars after that night…'
'Why the sudden change of heart Frode?'
'They told me, that they were going to kill a thief – a murderer… But when I saw you. A little boy… I knew he couldn't have been the lawless man, they said he was… When I confronted them they said, that if I couldn't sacrifice a few people for the safety of others, I should go… And I did. Please don't kill me!'
Hrafn contemplated his choices for a moment. To kill or not to kill?
'I will spare your life Frode Pottemager. But know this: If our paths ever cross again – if you should prove an obstacle… I will not be so kind.'
'Tha—Thank you!'
Hrafn then sheathed his axe, and left Árós.
When Hrafn arrived back in Hedeby, he barely made it inside before Lalli greeted him.
'Hrafn, we have to go.'
'But I just got back from Árós, Lalli. At least let me rest.'
'Knud Lavard is dead. He was a great supporter of The Ásasonar (Assassins). Don't worry it's not far, it's in Schleswig.'
Lalli climbed Sleipner, took the reigns and they were off.
'Seven days… He was born seven days after his father's death…' cried Ingeborg of Novgorod, the widow of Knud Lavard. She was talking about the infant she was holding in her arms.
'We are sorry Ingeborg. Knud's death has been a great loss to us all.' Lalli said.
The widow continued, 'He was really excited to see the birth of his next child… I'll call him Valdemar… That's what Knud wanted to name him…'
Lalli realized that no matter what he said to the crying woman, he couldn't get through to her.
'We will take our leave now… The Thul (Old Wise Man, Mentor)will give you a visit later, to se how you're doing.'
The two Assassins then left her home.
'When am I to meet the Thul, Lalli?' Hrafn asked.
'You will meet him when you are indicted to The Assassins – but you have to prove yourself first.'
'Prove myself? I carried out my business in Árós!'
'But you have not yet killed a man, on the orders of the Ásasonar!'
'Then tell me to go kill someone! Anyone, so that I can prove myself worthy of the Ásasonar!'
'We only kill those who deserve it. We are here to ensure peace and freedom Hrafn – halda ykkarr brandr frá kjótan af ein saklauss (stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent). Always remember the tenants of the order!'
Hrafn bowed his head and said, 'I am sorry Lalli, I did not mean to be disrespectful'.
'It is alright Hrafn, go and get some rest.'