Written by Elfhild, Angmar and Gordis
As soon as the dim predawn light filtered through the trees, Algeirr started his search for weapons hidden the previous evening by the accursed Tarks. He was in a foul mood, yesterday's disaster becoming more stinging with every hour that passed. And this tasty little morsel, this pretty wench... why hadn't they rolled her over right away, instead of quarreling like some silly pups? Stupid Griss... Blasted Tarks...
By ten o'clock Algeirr managed to find one knife and two swords. He hadn't found his own, though, and it maddened him. It was bad luck to lose your sword, no matter how, so the loss made him uneasy. But one sword was as good as another, Algeirr reasoned with himself, as all of them belonged to the Arthedain army and were made of sharp, gleaming tark steel.
Finally Algeirr decided it was time to go to the camp and introduce himself to Broggha. At least now he was well-armed, and had two horses, so it was not necessary to tell the Jarl about the unfortunate incident of yesterday.
Algeirr packed all the scattered belongings of his own and the other men's on a spare horse, and mounted the other one. He cast the last glance at Gunni's grave. Yesterday, Algeirr piled some stones on top of the body, building a small cairn. Gunni was killed in a fight, as a man should, so his soul must be well on its way to the White Mountain. The man was a brute and a fool, but now he was safe.
On his way, Algeirr mused idly about Uffi's fate. The wound looked bad, but a tark healer would have saved him. Only Algeirr doubted that one was available in Broggha's camp. The absence of Griss was equally disconcerting; the man promised to join him in the morning, but hadn't.
Soon he recognized the landmark Griss told him about - a huge fir-tree, leaning over the road. Algeirr noticed a wide track, branching from the main road and leading North. Resolutely, he turned the horses and rode towards Broggha's camp.
---
Aewen ran through the woods, darting around trees and leaping over fallen logs and brambles, her long legs making good distance. Her eyes darted from side to side, desperately surveying the horizon of her view. Surely there must be some place to hide from her pursuers! She heard them behind her, crashing through the underbrush, their rough voices shouting, their breath coming hard and heavy.
Though she ran and ran, still she was not quick enough, for when her legs began to weary, they quickly gained upon her. When one of the men came up beside her, seizing her, she kicked and struggled, but soon his fellow came to his assistance, and quickly had her arms bound behind her back. Laughing and taunting her with threats, the two men led her back towards the way the others had gone.
It was the middle of the morning when three arrived at Broggha's camp. Aewen swallowed hard when she saw that familiar sight. She tried to bolster up her courage, but the thoughts of Broggha's wrath made her quake in her shoes. They passed the leering sentinels and went further down the path towards the longhouse. A goodly number of men were gathered about in the assembly area, and towering above them all stood the massive hulking form of the Jarl. Aewen's whole body quivered in dread.
Broggha looked in her direction, and his angry face flushed a livid red. In his hand was a medium-length, one-strand whip.
"Take her to the whipping post!" he bellowed.
Soon the terrified Aewen found herself being dragged in the direction of the pole, upon which she had seen many men punished for disobedience. Sometimes the beatings were light ones; at other times, the weals were deep and bloody; and occasionally, a man was flogged to death. Almost idly, she wondered which hers would be. Never before had he punished her in public! Always before, he satisfied his malice in the longhouse, away from the gaze of onlookers.
Trembling with rage, the Jarl was soon upon her, quickly untying her hands. Before she could realize what was happening, he had flung off her cloak, hoisted her skirts up and lifted her dress aloft. Taking the rope which had previously bound her hands behind her back, Broggha yanked her arms up and tied her wrists together, winding the rope about the iron ring which was used to hold prisoners securely as they were being punished. Her face pressed up against the wooden pole; her feet danced helplessly about its base. She turned her head to the side and saw Malaneth among the crowd which had gathered to watch. The woman's face was pale and she looked on in horror.
"Please, no!" Aewen wailed.
"You will get what you deserve, wench!" Broggha snarled as he brought the whip down upon her back. A scream tore itself out of Aewen's mouth.
Again and again, the lashes rained down upon her back as she screamed and wailed and begged for mercy, the tears streaming down her face, her rapid breathing threatening to choke her. The cool autumn air chilled the blood on the scratches caused where the whip-marks crisscrossed across her back, but her skin was so on fire and the strikes of the whip came so fast that she scarcely differentiated between the sensations of hot and cold.
At last the grueling ordeal was over, and Aewen limply slumped against the pole, her chest heaving with her panting breaths and soft sobs.
Pulling her head back by her hair, Broggha forced her to gaze up into his face. "You will never try a trick like that again, wench!"
Cut from her bindings, Aewen slumped to the ground, gasping and panting.
"Get up, wench!" Broggha toed her arm with the tip of his boot. "Cover yourself and go back in the house! This little chastisement does not excuse you from preparing my supper tonight!"
The woman struggled to her feet, grasping her garments to her bosom. As the men jeered and called to her, she began stumbling away to the longhouse.
Malaneth looked fearfully to the Jarl. "May I be allowed to help her?" Broggha nodded his permission. Soon Malaneth's hands were upon the woman's shoulders, helping to support her.
Broggha crossed the assembly field as his men followed him. Taking his seat on his fur-lined "throne" - a giant log carved out in the shape of a chair - he looked over the gathered men. Excited over just seeing a whipping, they were certain that there would be more entertaining things to follow.
"Men, bring the felon before me so that he may receive justice!"
The men laughed at that. Broggha's sense of justice was always certain to appeal to their baser tastes. The men pressed closer towards Broggha's throne. Soon the well-trussed Kvigr stood before the Jarl. His garments stiff with gore, his wounded arm bound with a blood-soaked bandage, the young man's face was pale, his eyes bright, perhaps a sign of an impending fever.
"You are brought before me charged with the crimes of murdering an innocent man with malice aforethought and the kidnapping of one of my thralls. What do you have to say in your behalf?" The sound of the Jarl's fingers tapping on the arm of his log throne sounded like drums in Kvigr's brain.
"I have nothing to say," Kvigr said, little defiance in his voice, for it was true - he had slain Sterki. "But I did not plan it ahead of time," was all he could think of to say in his own defense.
"Griss, come forward. You were in charge of the rescue party." A low murmur of laughter rose up from the crowd of men. "Tell us what you saw."
Grinning slightly, Griss stepped forward and bowed. "Poor Sterki was lying there as dead as a butchered hog, his brains smashed in." Griss forced his face into a solemn look and pulled a dirty handkerchief from his left sleeve and brought it to his eyes. "Truly a sad sight." Griss dabbed an unseen tear from his eyes as he tried to conjure up a sob but failed. The men howled in laughter as Griss turned back to them and grinned broadly. "As I said, there the deceased was, an oozing puddle of brains around his head. Aewen was there, embracing her little rooster right near the body of poor Sterki." That wasn't true, but it sounded good and added to the drama. "He is as guilty as a dog caught in the act of sucking eggs!"
"Griss, this court is grateful for your truthful testimony. You may take your place back amongst the men." The Jarl did not even try to hide his chuckle. "Obviously Kvigr has committed two crimes - one, a base murder; the other the abduction of a woman for unwholesome deeds." The men's laughter rose in a crescendo, some of the men slapping their legs as tears came to their faces.
Griss backed away into the crowd, an expression of proud amusement on his face. The man beside him whispered, "You should have been a play actor!"
"It is nothing, I tell you. Just natural talent," Griss grinned, to which the laughing man slapped him on the back.
"Before this court pronounces judgment," the Jarl intoned in a mock serious voice, "the accused is allowed a witness to his character. Should there be any valid argument that can be brought forward, now is the time to speak." The Jarl looked around the throng but no one stood up.
Griss caught sight of Algeirr in the crowd. Smirking, he spoke up. "This is Algeirr, a good friend of the felon Kvigr."
"Algeirr, come forward," Broggha's voice boomed.
---
When Algeirr reached the camp, the sentries were obviously expecting him. They let Algeirr in without questions and took him directly to the Jarl. Algeirr was impressed by the man's sheer bulk, but even more by his piercing blue eyes beneath the bristling red brows. The Jarl seemed pleased to meet him, but some dangerous flicker in his eyes when he looked at Algeirr and the predatory grin, plastered on his lips, warned Algeirr of the impending danger.
The mercenary found himself tensing, as before a battle, and stood not far from the Jarl, surveying the scene with wary eyes. A large crowd was gathered in the clearing, cheering and hooting as a naked woman was being flogged by the Jarl himself. In the crowd, Algeirr noticed the ashen-pale Meldun, but couldn't see any of his other men. Meldun caught his eyes and drew his hand across his throat in warning. Algeirr swallowed, but his wooden face showed nothing of the panic rising in his heart.
Soon, Algeirr's puzzlement was over. The man who was brought before Broggha's throne for trial was no other than the pale, but defiant Kvigr, his hands bound behind his back and a bleeding wound on his arm.
"What have you done, stupid, stupid pup?" thought Algeirr dismally.
The charges were deadly: murdering of one of Broggha's men and kidnapping of one of Broggha's own women. Algeirr felt cold dread creeping along his spine when he heard Griss's testimony. One look at the Jarl's face told him, that whatever Kvigr's reasons might have been, there would be no mercy.
At this moment, the Jarl intoned, mocking a standard Tark trial. "Before this court pronounces judgment, the accused is allowed a witness to his character. Should there be any valid argument that can be brought forward, now is the time to speak." Then the Jarl's fierce blue eyes caught Algeirr's, and he beckoned.
"Algeirr, come forward," his voice boomed.
The mercenary, his long face unreadable, stepped out of the throng and stood before the Jarl looking unflinchingly into his blue eyes.
"What have you to say?" the Jarl asked, his voice surprisingly smooth.
"This Kvigr here has always been a stupid pup, weak and silly. I was not even going to bring him to you, my Jarl, but let him go home to his dirty village to milk cows. He was never of any use. Do what you want with him, I can't care less."
Algeirr heard Kvigr gasp in disbelief behind his back, but he didn't turn to look. The mercenary knew, that, over the years, Kvigr has grown attached to him, as he would to a second father. Algeirr had a soft spot for the bright lad and liked his liveliness and invariably cheerful mood. But that was over now, over and done with. Kvigr was as good as dead, and Algeirr had no wish to follow him to Njamo.
Jarl Broggha nodded solemnly to the witness Algierr and then stood up.
"Are there any other witnesses who are unknown to this court, who might have any words to say, either as evidence or as a witness to this man's innocence?"
The Jarl waited, looking around the assembly, and the faces that he saw resembled grinning wolves which had surrounded a victim.
"There being none, it is time for this court to pass judgment upon the accused."
The crowd grew deafly silent and the men's lust for blood was obvious on their faces. Griss licked his lips in anticipation, while Heggr, in his enthusiasm, forgot for a few moments the pain in his teeth.
"Because of the gravity of the crimes - sedition and rebellion, the murder of an honorable warrior, and the abduction of a member of my household - the punishment must be in keeping with the seriousness of the offenses." All knew the harshness of Broggha's judgments. Now, though, in these days before he assumed his position on King Tarnendur's council, he determined that he would establish an even fiercer reputation and make any man who sought to oppose him think twice before he did. The tension was palpable as the men waited to hear the nature of the punishment. They sensed that this execution would be something quite out of the ordinary and very memorable.
"Upon the morning of October 8 of this year, the prisoner is to be taken to the place of execution, where he will be first hanged by the neck; then while still alive, he is to be emasculated and his entrails extracted, the parts being delivered over to the fire where they will be consumed before his eyes. Then he is to be quartered and beheaded, his head being delivered to his village of birth, and the sections sent to the villages closest to the northern, southern, eastern and western borders of Rhudaur."
The crowd roared its approval.
Inside the longhouse, Aewen screamed.