Everything in this story belongs to Disney. I have nothing to do with them and this story is in no way used to make any money.
A BARBARIAN'S LIFE FOR ME
Chapter 3
When Osred and Mildburh's son was born, it was obvious that he was different from every other child in Odiferous. His skin had a pale, almost sickly tone and he was smaller than any child the parents could ever remember seeing. He looked like a doll in Mildburh's arms.
Other than that, there was nothing wrong with him. He had no deformities and was by no means an ill child. He had inherited his mother's eyes and his father's raven hair, and they both agreed that he looked very much like his late grandfather.
"He will grow," Osred said in determination as he looked at his child. "He has to."
Mildburh smiled. "I'm sure he will," she assured, though she didn't feel that certain. The old woman's words had been echoing in her head for the past months, and she was positive that their child would have a dark future. Messing with magical people never turned out well.
She handed their son to Osred. The child looked awfully small in the barbarian's enormous hands, and Osred frowned in worry.
"He's so little. I feel like he might break if I'm not careful enough," he said.
"I'm sure every new father feels that way," Mildburh said with a gentle smile.
They named their son Runtar to honour Osred's father who had been a skilled warrior. Maybe they also hoped that the name would give the child good fortune and help him along in life. If the old woman's threat became reality, the child would need it.
Time flew fast when you were a new parent. Mildburh's days were filled with caring for their son, keeping the house in order and feeding her husband. She had never been that busy in her life, and yet she couldn't recall happier days. Every day was the same, and her life was in perfect order.
Runtar turned out to be an easy child to look after. He wasn't cranky, ate well, and rarely woke up at night. He was like a dream and Mildburh couldn't have wished for a lovelier child. She hadn't forgotten about the old woman, but had grown to think of the event as if it had happened to someone else. She was too happy to worry about it anymore.
"I saw Antav today. A son was born to him and his wife two days ago," Osred said one night after returning from the mountains.
"Really? How wonderful. They've been waiting for this for years," Mildburh remarked. Antav, who was her husband's close friend, already had four daughters. Everyone knew how much the warrior wanted a male successor to take over his weapon shop.
Osred nodded. "He said the boy is healthy and strong. For a moment they thought Irnil would give birth to twins," he said. His eyes shifted to the wooden cradle he had made. Mildburh knew what her husband had to be thinking, and she bit her lip.
Their son hadn't grown much in the past months nor had he started looking better. He was happy and curious about everything new, but he hadn't shown any signs of starting to look like a barbarian child. Mildburh knew that there were newborn babies who were bigger than her Runtar was at his five months. She didn't mind -- even if there were people who wondered if Osred really could be the father of such a small child -- but sometimes she caught her husband looking at the child with a thoughtful expression on his face, like at the very moment.
"He'll be fine," she assured him.
"Will he? He doesn't look like he'll ever make a decent warrior. Or a blacksmith. Or a hunter. He has to be strong to survive in Odiferous. I'm afraid he doesn't have what it takes," Osred said. He walked over to the child who was sleeping peacefully.
"Rubbish! He's only five months old. Anything could still happen," Mildburh said. She didn't like having to defend a child to his own father. It made her feel like Osred wasn't pleased with his son, and that was something that almost broke her heart, and would do so to Runtar when he grew a little older.
Osred didn't say anything to that, merely turned away.
The next few years brought along no change. Runtar was the smallest child in Odiferous and didn't grow, no matter what they tried. They had taken him to the local healer, given him the best cheese in the kingdom, and shown such care that nobody else in Odiferous could claim the same.
At the same time, all other children prospered, grew strong and loud with a healthy blush on their cheeks. They were the apples of their parents' eyes.
Osred knew that some of his fellow men and women pitied him and his wife. Having a weakling of a son was the worst nightmare of every barbarian. There were times when he wanted to punch his friends for talking the way they did and remind them that his son had been the quickest to learn his first words. Runtar had also taken his first steps sooner than most other children.
Still, he had to admit that the others had a point. Runtar would not grow to become a man fit to survive in the Odiferian society. He wouldn't be anything without physical strength, or at least he wouldn't gain a high social status. The idea of his son having to do petty chores and dirty work for the others made Osred's heart ache.
He wanted to see his son grow up to be a man who could take care of himself. He wanted to be proud of Runtar. How could he ever do that when his son had no future at all? Also, it would bring shame to the family if their oldest son didn't make a name for himself. While that was something that didn't matter that much to him, he was worried about how Runtar would take it when he got older.
His life will be one big disappointment, he thought to himself as he sat in front of the fireplace. It was an early morning, but he wasn't going hunting today. Everyone else was still asleep, so he had time to ponder to himself in the dim house.
Maybe it was the lack of light and sound that was making him feel that way. It was as if time had stopped. Remains of a fire were still smouldering in the ashes. Osred found himself staring at them. He was playing with his beard in thought.
He hadn't really paid much attention to the old woman, but now he couldn't stop thinking about her. She had put on the curse because he had lost his temper. He hadn't believed it back then, but what else could have caused this? It only meant one thing. He was to blame for any future suffering of his son.
"Arrh!" he let out a sudden growl and jumped to his feet. Why couldn't his son be big and strong like everyone else's? Why was he suffering for something his father had done? Why had something that had been supposed to be the greatest thing in his life turned into the biggest disappointment he could imagine?
He ran his fingers through his black hair and drew a deep breath, closing his eyes from the world. Why could he not help but feel disappointed in his own son? Every time he saw Antav's son or heard his friend tell about how his child was already able to pick up one of his axes, he felt a hot wave of emotions inside him. Jealousy, anger, and frustration.
I can't take this anymore, he thought. He had to get out.
It was wrong, he knew it, and it only made it worse. There was nothing more disrespectful than a father who couldn't appreciate his own son. He really wanted to feel the right thing, but there were too many things reminding him of the harsh reality. No matter what happened, Runtar was unlikely to ever do anything to make him proud.
Fresh morning air greeted him as he rushed outside, careful not to make too much noise. It was quite cold for that time of the year, but Osred knew that the first rays of the sun, already peeking at him behind the eastern mountains, would make everything pleasantly warm in a few hours.
The sight of the mountains told him what he had to do, what he wanted to do. If it hadn't been for Mildburh, he would have spent all his time in the wilderness. There was nothing he loved more than wandering around the rocky paths, climbing to reach dangerous tops, and simply observing the wildlife. The smell and sounds of pure, untamed nature always helped to soothe his soul when he was feeling distraught.
With most of the city still asleep, it wasn't difficult to find his way undisturbed to its edges. When he reached the yaks, most of them still dreaming as well, he was finally able to let out a sigh of relief. Here, with the morning sky of different shades of dark blue and orange and the smell of humid grass, it felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
He passed the yaks and headed for the path to the mountains. He had left his weapons home, so it was a stupid thing to do alone. At that moment that was the last thought in Osred's mind, however. In fact, he wasn't thinking about anything. His steps became longer and longer until he was running, not knowing where he was going.
It didn't take long before he was gasping for breath. His fur clothes felt hot and wet on him and sweat dripped down his beard. He was in good shape, but running in the mountains was a heavy exercise for anyone. Finally, when he was unable to go on anymore, he collapsed against a large rock and closed his eyes.
Perhaps he was being stupid, but he felt like the only way to clear his thoughts was to get away from everything and use all useless energy. Both were ways of making sure he wouldn't hit anyone when his thoughts became too heavy for him to bear.
Osred wiped sweat off his brow and opened his eyes. The sun was dawning and painting the sky with brilliant orange, yellow, and blue. The view from the mountains was breathtaking. The city and yaks looked like small dots and it was easy to think that they didn't really exist.
I wonder if I can ever bring the boy to see this, Osred thought to himself. Runtar would have trouble climbing this high. Osred recalled his father had brought him along when he had been just five. They had wandered together for hours, looked for goat tracks, and his father had taught him how to handle a bow. The thought of not sharing that kind of bond with his son saddened him, though even now he was doing his best at not letting it show.
Antav would have a great time with his son. His friend didn't have to worry about anything. Osred ran his fingers through his thick hair. What should he do? He didn't want his son to lead a miserable life.
While the rays of the sun kept growing stronger, the expression on Osred's face became darker and darker, until he was scowling to himself. Maybe it would have been the best if Runtar had never been born at all. At least then he wouldn't have to watch how his son struggled to live in a society he didn't belong to.
The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. If his son was going to have a miserable life, wouldn't it be better if had none at all? He wouldn't have to suffer and everyone's life would return to normal. The problem was, there was no way to achieve that.
A sudden, shrill sound caught his attention and woke him up from his grim thoughts. Osred jumped to his feet and looked around, ready to face anything. He had instantly recognised the voice as a wild goat's, but there was no telling what else could be there.
There was another baa which he started following. The path grew narrow and steep; it was hard to keep walking. Small rocks were sent flying over the rocky edge when he almost slipped. The higher he got, the harder it was to keep going, even for an experienced hunter like him.
After a few minutes, he finally saw the source of the noise. A wild goat lay on the ground with its leg caught between two fallen boulders. The animal eyed him warily and tried to get up and run away, but it was unable to move. It let out a helpless baa when Osred took another step closer.
"Shh, don't worry," the hunter said. One look at the goat told him that the animal was still very young, probably spending its first weeks without mother's guidance. He took one more step towards it, hoping to get close enough to take a look at the leg.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he murmured softly. It always worked to soothe tame animals, but he wasn't sure if it would have the same effect on animals not used to people. The goat baaed in panic and tried to escape again, but Osred quickly caught a hold of the thick fur and held the animal down. The goat struggled, but it was not much of a fight with one leg trapped.
"Now, let me take a look," Osred said. He moved one of the rocks as gently as he could and examined the damage. The goat flinched in fright and pain as he touched the leg. He stroked its shaking form.
It didn't look good. The bone was clearly broken. It was a clean fracture and would heal on its own in time, but Osred doubted the goat could survive in the wild using only three legs. He couldn't take it back home with him either because he knew its spirit would never be tamed.
I wish I had brought my weapons, he thought. The goat wouldn't survive and it was a shame to let the meat go to waste. He pondered if it would be a good idea to wring the animal's neck with his bare hands.
"Baa!" The goat caught his attention. It was trying to get up again, and he hurried to move the boulders away.
"That's not going to work. You're too weak," he said, as if the animal might listen. The goat stopped to look at him for a moment and then continued the struggle. Finally, it got to its shaky feet and tried taking a few steps. At first it stumbled and almost fell back down, and Osred looked at it, shaking his head. Then, to his amazement, the goat managed to skip a little, using only three of its feet. After only a few seconds it was gone, having disappeared down the path.
Osred had always known that wild goats were able to adapt to almost any situation up in the mountains, but he hadn't thought they could be that skilled. He had clearly underestimated the little goat and considered it doomed too early.
Still, it was impossible to say if the little one would survive. Knowing what dangers it would face in the mountains, Osred couldn't help but feel impressed by the animal's determination and will to live.
Then his smile froze on his face. Suddenly, he realised what a complete fool he had been. This was exactly how he was supposed to feel about his son. His responsibilities were down there, giving Runtar support and all the help he'd need in life.
Nothing had ever seemed that clear to him before. Osred turned around on his heels and started a mad run back to the city.
"Now, now, be patient, Runtar," Mildburh advised her son.
"I want it now," was the child's reply. He was sitting on the floor and playing with a little wooden yak. His black hair was a mess, the result of a struggle they had fought when Mildburh had tried to get him dressed up.
"I'll send your father to buy cheese when he gets back," she sighed. It seemed to her like Runtar was becoming more demanding with every day. They'd have to be careful before he became too rude.
"When?"
Mildburh wished she knew the answer. She knew that Antav's son was already learning to ride a yak and that it had made Osred very upset. Runtar was far from being able to control the mighty animals. She couldn't help thinking that this might be the reason why her husband was gone.
She couldn't really say a bad word about him. Osred had been a good father to Runtar. He had never got angry when the boy failed to accomplish the same as others and hadn't hit him. On the other hand, sometimes Mildburh thought that was part of the problem. Osred never encouraged Runtar to improve. It was as if her husband had already learnt to accept the fact that their son would never grow to become anything.
"When?" Runtar asked again, sounding a lot more impatient this time. His little brows were burrowed, and he glared at his mother with an expression that demanded everything right now.
Mildburh opened her mouth to reply, but just then the door opened and Osred stepped in. He looked exhausted; he was panting hard, there was a deep flush on his face and sweat trickled down his forehead.
"What happened? Are you alright?" Mildburh asked in alarm. Something had to be wrong. She rushed to him and looked at him with worry in her dark eyes.
Osred merely patted her arm and smiled. It didn't quite have the effect he wanted because it only caused his wife to get more concerned. Anyone could have seen that something had shaken the hunter.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Osred said in a hurry. Then he turned to look at Runtar who had paused his play to look at his father. "Ah, there you are, my boy."
Mildburh watched how Osred scooped Runtar into his arms and lifted him easily on his shoulders. It was the first time she saw her husband smile like that around their son. Little Runtar seemed to be just as confused as his mother, as Osred had never been a very active father. However, he was able to look past it and embrace the change with childish enthusiasm.
Whatever had happened, Mildburh was glad about it.
General Gouda gritted his teeth in pain, but incredibly remained silent when the hot iron was pressed against the wound in his side. The horrible stench of burning flesh filled the small room, but nobody complained. The barbarians were hardened warriors and used to much worse than that.
"There," the barbarian with the iron said as he put it away. "It should be fine now, but you still have to lie down for at least a week. You've lost a lot of blood," he said.
"I don't have time to hide here like a weak coward! There is a battle to be fought outside!" Gouda said, though he didn't attempt to get up. He knew just as well how bad his condition was, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
Antav shook his head sadly. "It doesn't look good. The enemy has taken over the castle and imprisoned Uncouthma. They also have Brawnhilda. Nobody has the courage to attack them because of what might happen to them," he said.
"Cowards!" Gouda spat. "Uncouthma would be ashamed! He'd want us to defend our honour no matter the cost!" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. In his eyes, the only option they had was gathering all men and marching against the enemy to destroy them, or to die with honour in the process.
"Yes, but we have to think beyond that! What good will it be to any of us if Uncouthma and Brawnhilda are killed? The enemy leader has strange magic, and our weapons are no match for him. We have to be careful," Tanrid said. The former tavern owner was getting old, but his hair and beard showed no signs of turning grey. He didn't look a day older than his two sons.
Gouda cursed to himself. He had been wounded early on in the battle and had missed most of the action. His friends had brought him to safety, so he hadn't been imprisoned. From what he had heard, the enemy had thrown the best Odiferian warriors to prison in order to keep the situation under control.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"They have closed down all weapon shops and are forbidding smiths from forging any new weapons, unless it's for the enemy's use. There has been no news about what they're going to do about the imprisoned," Antav said.
Gouda recalled someone telling him that Antav's only son, Barnak, was among the captured men. The old barbarian was holding himself together very well; nothing in his behaviour betrayed the worry he had to be feeling.
"This doesn't look good," he had to admit. Already he was thinking about gathering his best men, or what was left of them, and taking the enemy by surprise. No matter what the others said, that was the only good way of solving the matter.
"There's still one thing," Antav said.
"What?" Gouda didn't think there was much that could have made the situation any worse.
"The traitor, Runtar, has joined the enemy and is selling his services to them," Antav explained. Now he couldn't conceal his feelings anymore and the disgust in his voice was evident. Gouda couldn't really blame him. Runtar was the only son of Antav's late best friend, and seeing what a pathetic, weak traitor the man was had to be painful.
"That's not a surprise," he snorted. "Runtar has been rotten for as long as I can remember. But what does he matter? He is weak."
Tanrid frowned at that. "It is true that he is no warrior, but he is cunning. We should not forget that he used to be the royal advisor. He knows things the enemy can use," he said.
"True," Gouda admitted. He hadn't thought of that. He still didn't think Runtar possessed a threat, but the man was a despicable enemy and would have to be dealt with. That wouldn't be a problem, though. Runtar was so weak that he wouldn't stand a chance in any fight. "Runtar is not important at the moment. We can deal with him later. This time prison won't be enough for his crimes."
The next morning, Runtar got up early and headed for the royal castle. He wasn't entirely sure what kind of advice Chadrik was expecting of him, but he was certain he'd have it ready. If he didn't know something, he'd lie. That had always been a good way to get out of tricky situations.
The rest of Odiferous was also awake, though everyone still looked like they were walking in a dream. Faces were twisted in anger, and eyes revealed the flaming anger in the barbarians' hearts, but nobody was taking action. Several enemy warriors were keeping an eye on the scene and reminding everyone of that Odiferous was no longer a free country.
"I'll take two pounds of onions," a woman said in a strained voice as Runtar walked through the marketplace. A few people glanced at him, but nobody was curious about why a traitor was walking free again. Everyone had more urgent things in their minds. While Runtar was happy about being left alone, he couldn't help feeling a little ignored. He had almost killed Prince Uncouthma and yet he was still treated like a common nobody!
Someone bumped into him and sent him flying to the ground. He got up and ran after the other barbarian who hadn't even bothered to stop.
"Hey, watch where you're going!" he snapped.
"Sorry, I didn't – Hey, it's you!" the barbarian said. He brushed thick locks of grey hair from his eyes and eyed Runtar warily. The significantly smaller man realised that he had just collided with Antav, one of his late father's old friends.
"What do you want?" he asked, already putting up his defences. He had never liked Antav very much, not even when he had been a child.
"I think it was you who called out to me. I thought they put you behind bars," the older barbarian said.
"The new ruler let me go," Runtar replied. That was a mistake he realised a split second too late when Antav threw his axe to the ground and grabbed Runtar by his tunic.
"You call that wimp a ruler? He is nothing but a dirty coward who would have never defeated Prince Uncouthma in a fair battle! Calling him our ruler is like striking Uncouthma down yourself!" Antav raged, face read with anger.
"Isn't that exactly what he tried to do?" a brown-haired barbarian remarked. Antav's outburst had attracted the attention of many and a small crowd was gathering around them.
"He's just as bad as the foreigners! He should have never been let go!" someone else offered. Cheers and shouts of agreement grew louder by every second. It was like the barbarians had finally found a way to express their stress and frustrations about the situation. Or maybe they had always wanted to get Runtar for what he had done. Either way, the small barbarian was starting to get enough of the sudden attention.
"Osred would be so ashamed if he were still alive. It's hard to believe that such a good man could have raised the worst kind of traitor. After all Uncouthma did for you, you still weren't satisfied and had to stab him in the back!" Antav snapped.
"Well, haha, it's not quite as bad as you think…" Runtar offered weakly, hoping to be able to get away from the other barbarian's grip and find his way to safety. Unfortunately, the only way to distract these people was to awe them with physical strength, so his chances didn't look very promising.
"Really? Maybe you could tell us the real story, then?" one of the oldest barbarians in the crowd suggested.
"Umm…" Runtar didn't have any idea what to say. Usually he was able to worm his way out of any situation, but the only way to make the situation look favourable to him was to make Uncouthma look bad. He wasn't stupid enough to even consider that; one bad word about the beloved prince would send him right away to an early grave.
Thankfully, he never had to come up with a clever reply. The foreign warriors had been following the scene's development for a few minutes and had finally had enough. Three of them approached, led by the same man who had taken Runtar from his cell the day before. The barbarian recalled his name to be Daunus, but that was it.
"Stop this uncivilized banter and let the man go. He hasn't done anything wrong," Daunus said in a deep voice.
"Nothing wrong? He betrayed his people and tried to kill Prince Uncouthma!" Antav snapped. Then he seemed to realise who he was talking to and shut up.
"According to the new laws, opposing the former ruler is not considered a crime anymore," Daunus announced. "Now, let him go before I arrest you for harassing an innocent citizen. Or maybe I should inform our new king and propose him to make a decision about Uncouthma's execution?"
Antav looked from Daunus to Runtar and back. Then he snorted in disgust and threw Runtar to the ground. "Pathetic," he muttered. "I have better things to do than waste my time on any of you."
"Oww…" Runtar muttered as he picked himself up and rubbed his sore knee. He looked up to Daunus. The man had sent his warriors away and was currently glaring at Runtar with an unreadable expression on his tanned face.
"Thanks, I guess," Runtar offered. He figured he'd better learn to get along with this man if he wanted to have a high position in the new society.
Daunus nodded briefly. "I believe the king is waiting for you," he informed. Then he turned on his heels and marched back to his men. Runtar frowned angrily at being ignored again. Perhaps he should try to find a way to get rid of that arrogant fool instead of making friends with him.
He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Right now he was in a hurry to meet Chadrik so that they could discuss their next move. He doubted the man was the patient type, so he resumed his trip towards the castle.
It took a while before he arrived there. The new guards at the gate were suspicious of him, but once he told them that he was expected, they let him in. He made his way to the throne room where Chadrik was already waiting for him.
"You're late," was he first thing the main said. There was a deep scowl on his face and he looked a little paler than on the previous day. He lifted his hand to cover his mouth when he couldn't suppress a yawn.
"Bad dreams?" Runtar dared to ask.
Chadrik shot a glare at him. "That is none of your business," he snapped. He brought his fingers together and leaned back on the throne. "Now, what can you tell me about your society? What is the best way of showing everyone that I am indeed the true ruler of this land?"
That was a question Runtar didn't have to think about. It was one of the first things every barbarian learned in their lives. "He who controls the cheese, controls Odiferous," he announced proudly, straightening his short form and lifting his head.
It was a pity that Chadrik didn't look very impressed. "Excuse me?" he asked with a blank stare in his dark eyes. "What does cheese have to do with anything?"
Looks like I have the upper hand now. He knows nothing about the country he has chosen to rule, Runtar thought. All the better for him. "Cheese is the spine of Odiferous. We not only eat it, but also worship the ancient lords of cheese and our everyday lives revolve around it," he said.
"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of in my life! Are you telling me that the stinking filth they tried to pass off as food is the be and all of everything around here?" Chadrik rubbed his eyes tiredly. "That's the first thing I'm going to change."
Runtar couldn't help it, but he foreigner's contempt for cheese was annoying him. He had never been one to treat the old traditions as some sort of holy law, but this was cheese they were talking about! Only foreign wimps could say that it stank or didn't taste good.
"I doubt that's a very good idea. These barbarians love their cheese and taking it away from them is the fastest way to get them to riot. Instead, you should take control of cheese and eventually gain their respect," he said. He didn't want to make Chadrik think that he liked cheese just as much as everyone else. That might have lessened the man's opinion of him. If he wanted to remain as the wizard's advisor -- the highest position he'd probably be able to get in the near future --, he'd have to make clear that he was different from the barbarians he despised.
Chadrik's mouth was twisted like he had just tasted sour milk. It was obvious that he hated the mere idea of having anything to do with cheese. He let out a sigh.
"The cheese will have to go," he insisted. "Maybe not now, but eventually. It will be replaced by some of the fineries from my land." He stopped to ponder for a moment before speaking again. "Tell me, how do I control the cheese?"
This conversation was making Runtar think back to the time he had tried taking over Odiferous. If one really wanted to lead the country, there was only one way to go.
"You need to marry one of the maidens who are in control of taking care of the yaks and making cheese. Like Brawnhilda. By marrying her, Uncouthma secured his claim for the throne," he said.
"No. That's completely out of the question," Chadrik decided. The unhappy frown on his face told Runtar that the wizard was growing severely sick with Odiferian customs.
"Why?" he had to ask. "They are the most beautiful women in Odiferous. Brawnhilda was regarded the purest of them," Runtar said.
"Your women look like country girls compared to the ladies in my land. This Brawnhilda showed the kind of arrogance and defiance that doesn't suit a woman of her status. I have no interest in such… creatures," Chadrik snorted.
"Then you should step down and give up the throne," Runtar muttered. This was impossible. Someone who obviously despised everything Odiferian would never be able to have the kingdom under his control.
"What was that?" Chadrik asked.
"Uh, just that we need another plan, then," Runtar said quickly.
"What do you propose?"
"We could throw a party!" Alright, he was making things up now. Yet that was, he realised, a particularly clever idea. He hurried to explain more, "These barbarians love parties! It would take their minds off the current situation and if we use the opportunity well, it might make some of them more accepting towards your… our cause."
Chadrik frowned and tapped the armrest with his finger. "That might work," he admitted. "I will arrange food and entertainment from my country to show everyone what this land could be like. Once they see the glory of Anzara, they will want to forget their old customs."
Runtar quickly memorized the name of Chadrik's home country. He had never heard of it before and his curiosity began to stir. He should have heard of it because he had been required to know everything about every possible country when working as Uncouthma's advisor.
It was a difficult task without a proper library, so mistakes were understandable. He could still remember how Uncouthma had returned from Agrabah and told him that all of Runtar's advice had been useless.
"And you told me throwing wine on the host would be bad! Haha, tried to trick me, friend?" had been the Prince's comment.
"Is there a problem?" Chadrik's voice broke through his thoughts.
"No, not at all!" Runtar said quickly. "Where did you say Anzara was located again? I need to know, so that I'll have an idea about what we could serve."
A crooked smirk crossed Chadrik's face. "You don't have to worry about that. I will send some of my men to bring everything I need. What I want you to do is to organize everything here and spread the word. Make everyone enthusiastic about this," he said.
Harder than you think, Runtar thought.
"Is there anything else you need?" he asked with a small bow.
Chadrik gave him a negative answer, so the little barbarian left the throne room. He had a lot of planning to do if he wanted to have even slight success.
When he was making his way out of the castle, a familiar voice called out to him. He froze and turned around on his heels, only to find himself face to face with Brawnhilda.
The woman had changed little since he had last seen her. She was the perfect image of what every Odiferian wanted a woman to be; tall, strong, and independent with lovely golden hair and blue eyes. Even Runtar had to admit that he found her attractive, though he didn't love her. He had only wanted to marry her to get the throne.
He noticed that she had tied her hair with red and white ribbons, the traditional way to show that a woman was with child. It didn't surprise him, but it felt strange to think that there would be a little Uncouthma running around eventually.
"I thought we had locked you away," the woman stated warily. Runtar didn't even want to count how many times that had been said to him already.
He waved his hand like the matter was utterly irrelevant to him. "Yes, yes, yes. The new ruler let me go," he said.
Brawnhilda frowned and a flush rose to her cheeks. "Uncouthma is the only ruler around here! That pathetic impostor is going to get what's coming to him!" she snapped.
"Shouldn't you be imprisoned somewhere?" Runtar asked, ignoring her outburst. He hadn't thought Chadrik would be stupid enough to let someone as spirited as Brawnhilda walk around freely.
The comment made the woman drew a long breath. "I am. In this castle," she said, though she sounded like talking about it was a great struggle. Runtar realised that she was too terrified to do anything as long as Uncouthma was being held captive. Also, treating Brawnhilda relatively well was a good way of not angering the barbarians any further.
"But what are you doing here?" Brawnhilda asked. She didn't sound suspicious anymore, merely curious. It was amazing how she could keep her cool when talking with the man who had tried to murder her husband.
"Oh, I'm Lord Chadrik's local advisor," Runtar announced proudly. He knew it was stupid to admit it, but he couldn't help himself. Gloating whenever possible had always been one of his weaknesses.
The only visible change in Brawnhilda was the slitting of her eyes. "Excuse me?" she asked much too sweetly for Runtar's liking.
The barbarian took a quick step back and glanced at the doors, happy to find them open in case he had to flee fast. "It's not quite as bad as it sounds. I'm only helping him around a little. And you have to understand that being an advisor is the only thing I know and --"
"How dare you do that? I thought trying to kill your Prince and friend was the worst anyone could do, but you have sunk even lower! You have betrayed everyone!" Brawnhilda snapped.
"But I --" Runtar tried to explain, but shut up when Brawnhilda flashed an utterly disgusted glare at him. Nobody had ever looked at him like that and the realization made Runtar froze for a second.
"I don't want to hear it," Brawnhilda snapped, turned her back on him, and marched off to her rooms.
Runtar blinked, then frowned. He brushed imaginary dust off his tunic and snorted to himself.
"Stupid woman."
Daunus tapped his chin in thought. He was standing tall and proud on the square that served as a marketplace in Odiferous. The goods looked, smelled, and tasted foreign to him, and he had no desire to learn to know them better. With a sigh, he recalled the lovely wines they had back at home.
Even the air smelled different here. It was much colder and there was a horrible odour floating around everywhere. He couldn't quite put his finger on the smell, but he suspected it was caused by those horrible creatures the locals loved.
A mess of swear words and yells reached his ears, and he turned to look. Yet another fight between these savages. Thankfully, his men handled the situation and Daunus didn't have to leave his post. There had been a dozen similar fights within the past few hours only. The barbarians were getting more and more restless and Daunus could sense the danger.
He didn't like this at all. It was dangerous to invade a country with such a small army as theirs. He knew that the only thing that stopped the enemy from crushing them was the fear for their leader and his wife. He could only guess how long it would take before even that wasn't enough to hold them at bay.
Then there was the little local man. Something in him bothered Daunus greatly. Runtar might act like he was on their side, but something in those little black eyes told him that the man couldn't be trusted. In his opinion, Chadrik was a fool to have someone like that by his side.
"There will be trouble," he murmured to himself and decided to keep his eyes open, just in case.
Uncouthma groaned to himself. He felt too tired to even open his eyes and thinking straight was almost an impossible task. A wave of pain went through his head as he tried to move, and his entire body was sore, as if he had pushed all his muscles to their limit.
He tried to roll over to his side, only to discover that he was unable to move more than a few inches. Sudden panic took over him and he opened his eyes. There was only darkness.
"Hello?" he called out, but nobody replied.
He struggled to remember what had happened. At first everything was blank, but then things started coming back to him. He remembered the battle, the invaders, and their strange leader. The last thing he could recall was the realization that magic was being used against him, the sharp pain, and then nothing.
Where was he now? What had happened? Worry for his comrades, country, and most of all, Brawnhilda, filled his heart. The rational part of him knew that everyone in Odiferous was capable of taking care of themselves, but that did little to calm down his fears. He had to get free and help everyone!
"Nngn!" he growled as he tried to break free. Sadly, he had to give up after a while. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get himself free. He could feel the chains that tied him to the floor and knew that they had to be made of the legendary mythril. Nothing else would have been strong enough to hold him down.
With a sigh, Uncouthma gave up and rested his head against the cold floor. It was difficult for the barbarian, but he realised that he could do nothing until someone came to see him. Maybe then he would get answers and even better yet, his chance to escape.
To be continued…