The Silence emerged onto another gray and desolate plain much like what the Wolf called the Dark Lands, although this time there was no sun. Instead there was a thin fog that stretched into the distance, until the foothills of a towering mountain range, the peaks of which disappeared into a gray sky. The river they had landed in ferried small blocks of ice that occasionally bumped into the Silence's hull.
The Wolf approached, wiping his sword.
"All accounted for?"
Akkarulf looked back over the ships. They seemed to have only taken flesh wounds from the demons of the border-realm. The elf captain looked even paler than before, while his trousers were darker, but he seemed relatively untouched by the ordeal.
"Yes yarrl. I'll just check that nothing got aboard the elf-ship and that the lines are still there."
"Good. Then lengthen them and secure her stern to the Silence's prow as well."
Akkarulf paused.
"To the pr- We're taking to the air?"
"To look for the man I'm here to find, aye. He's around here, but won't be near the water."
Akkarulf gave the orders, and the elf-ship was soon stern to prow with the Silence. At the Wolf's command, the Silence lifted ponderously out of the icy waters, the dragon's head screaming aloud. The mastless Morathi's Hand followed soon after, swinging to and fro before stabilizing under the Silence's keel. Ice water continuously dripped onto the lower deck.
"Eyes open. He has to be around here somewhere."
After some time spent wandering, the lookout shouted and pointed off the starboard stern. With a snarled order from the Wolf, the Silence turned about.
Akkarulf looked in the direction Ulfnarr had pointed. Among a sea of dirty yellow, dark figures were moving, a red-clad giant in their midst. Looking closer, Akkarulf saw the ground was actually the debris of hundreds of skeletons spread on the ground like a morbid beach.
As the Silence approached, the figures gathered around the red one, until Akkarulf saw they were men, of much the same brutish type that served the Wolf, with larger armored figures assembling in a wall around the leader. From the Wolf's teachings he knew them to be among the greatest warriors of Norsca, those upon whom the gods looked with favor.
Their leader dwarfed them all, in ornate armor much like the Wolf's save that it was blood-red. He wore a menacingly spiked helmet and held an enormous warhammer in one hand, a similarly oversized shield in the other.
"Akkarulf, put some men on the elf-ship and get your bow. No reason anything should go wrong... but if it does, kill those standing between me and the ships."
"Not the big one, yarrl?"
"You'll just make him angry at you. When I return, drop the ladders on both ships."
The Silence stopped moving, the Druchii ship underneath rocking back and forth a while longer. The Wolf descended on a rope and approached the warband with measured step, arms wide apart and hands empty.
From above, Akkarulf saw the warriors shield their leader, then move apart to allow the Wolf passage. The two giants spoke to each other for some time, the Wolf making sweeping gestures. Some agreement appeared to have been reached, for the warband let out a cheer that could be heard even from the air.
Then the red-armored giant moved, and the Wolf turned around. Akkarulf nocked an arrow to his bow. The warband formed a circle, one of their number joining the two men in the middle.
The red giant stepped back, the other man drawing his sword. The Wolf, however, turned his head to his counterpart, who nodded. He seemed to yell something to his men, and the spectators closest to the ships joined their comrades, leaving no man standing between the Wolf and the ships.
Akkarulf let the bowstring slacken. The rest of the Wolf's crew was now at the railing, clearly expecting a show. The duel started when the red giant smashed his warhammer into his shield.
Even without hearing the words it was obvious the Wolf's usual tactics were on full display. Akkarulf watched his victim- a huge man with pale skin, red hair, a tentacle in place of a right arm and a gaping maw in the middle of his bare chest- flush red to the litany of insults that fell from the Wolf's mouth. The mutant continuously struck at the Wolf, his sword parried or blocked at every turn but his tentacle curving around the Wolf's shield. At last the Wolf grabbed the marauder's tentacle and rammed it into his chest-maw, to appreciative cheers from the crew. Before the mutant could respond, the Wolf's sword flashed once, cleaving his head from his shoulders.
There was another cheer from the warband, and they started moving towards the ships, the Wolf forcing the mutant's head on a hook near his left pauldron. Akkarulf put down his bow and called out orders.
"Lower the ladders!"
The crew he had posted to the Morathi's Hand let down the ladders at the same time as those on the Silence, and for a confused moment both ships rocked from side to side under the armored weight of the marauders climbing up to the elf-ship.
The Wolf climbed up last, only pausing to yell at the mutes on the lower ship to return to the Silence.
"Ready to leave, Akkarulf?"
"At your command, yarrl. Unfurl sails!"
The sails dropped and billowed in the wind as the remaining mutes swarmed up the ladders to their ship. The wound between worlds opened before the ships and closed on them.
The Silence and its cargo left the border-realm once more. There had been fewer demons on this trip, perhaps they were attracted to the warriors carried below. Even the horrified shrieks of the dark elf captain had not been enough to bring them all to the upper ship, for which Akkarulf was secretly grateful. He looked out to their new surroundings
It could have been a sea frozen in time, vast golden dunes rising high above the ships like the waves of a storm. And like a lighthouse stood a monolithic obelisk the height of a castle wall, turned blood-red by the setting sun. There was a single massive square at its base, flanked by a pair of statues representing hooded snakes with human skulls for heads. The heat was nigh-unbearable, the dying sun still striking down without mercy or respite.
He shifted his furs off, then saw the Wolf looking at him.
"Don't get rid of those yet, Akkarulf. We attack at dawn, but it gets surprisingly cold at night around here."
The ship trembled and listed to starboard, the armored chieftain pulling himself laboriously up and over the railing. He appeared to ask the Wolf a question. Whatever the Wolf's response, it seemed satisfactory, and he stood at the railing, looking at the obelisk in the distance.
"Who is that, yarrl?"
"Harald Hammerstorm, the greatest slayer of wights and walking bones the world has ever known. I would have taken him against the cold dead, but I couldn't find him in time."
The Wolf shrugged bad-humoredly.
"Damned Crow brothers and their nigh-eight hundred corpses."
"Wights?"
Akkarulf could not keep the quaver out of his voice as he remembered the relentless hordes of Winterfell. There he had been saved by the intervention of the true gods, but there would be no such rescue now if they proved too many.
"Aye. Though these are less of a nuisance to kill... or so I hope. Bring up the crew, I'm going to tell them what we face."
After the Iron Islanders had assembled on the deck, the Wolf stood with the setting sun giving his skin an unnaturally red tint.
"Ironborn! Hear me."
"The craven Euron denied you battle against the dead. He sent you to massacre defenseless ships. He pulled out your tongues because he could not bear to hear a word spoken against him. You remember the fate his cowardice earned him! You are worth more than him by far, and for this the true gods will reward you!"
"You have fought the Druchii, and emerged victorious. Now comes a grander battle, for tomorrow we fight the ancient dead of the Southlands, for glory in the eyes of the true gods... but also for the gold they hoarded in life!"
"The dead are many, but they are weak. They think themselves protected because they have no flesh to feel pain, to blood to spill, no life to lose! You will bring them the oblivion they have cowered from for so long, the blessing of the Ruinous Powers! At last, the dead will know fear!"
The men whose tongues had been torn out by Euron could not speak, but they certainly made their approval known with guttural cries and thrusting their weapons in the air.
"Now..."
The Wolf walked up to and among the assembled crew, pointing at some of them, who stepped willingly forward. Soon a third of the mutes of the Silence stood apart from the others.
"You will join the Hammerstorm, and follow his wake to glory. The rest of you..."
The Wolf turned to address the remaining crew, who looked hopeful.
"… will remain to crew the ship and man the engines."
For once the Wolf appeared to correctly understand the reason for the outraged expressions resulting from his words.
"Fear not, Ironborn, there will be plenty of chances to prove your worth to the gods. If anything, the fighting will be fiercer up here, though the enemies fewer. Harald!"
The red-armored giant turned his head. On seeing the Wolf point to the chosen crewmen, he nodded curtly and turned his gaze back to the horizon.
"Worry not about your share of plunder, Ironborn: The dead of Khemri carry so much gold and jewelry on them it's a wonder they can even move! Tonight we feast, for tomorrow comes death and the favor of the gods!"
After the crew returned to their duties on Akkarulf's command, he approached the Wolf.
"Where will I be, yarrl?"
"Prepare a few pots of pitch, Akkarulf, you're going to need it."
Akkarulf nodded.
"Fire arrows?"
The Wolf nodded in turn.
"Fire arrows. They've been dead and dry so long they'd light up underwater."
"But... won't the dragonglass be enough?"
"That's what we're here to find out... But I have every confidence that they'll be as useful here as against the cold dead."
Akkarulf looked to the rapidly-darkening desert. Save the obelisk and the statues, there was nothing but sand wherever he looked.
"Where do we stay the night, yarrl?"
"We'll go to ground a few miles out for the Doomdrinking, then drop anchor behind those dunes."
"The... Doomdrinking?"
"Harald wants to be sure he'll be fighting alongside real warriors. I want everyone without regrets if they die tomorrow. This works out for everyone."
A bonfire had been lit from the elf-ship's stores shortly after nightfall, with both crews assembled around it. One of the Hammerstorm's marauders struck his shield once, and three others brought immense jugs and massive earthen bowls. One carried a metal flask with a pair of tongs and an air of obvious apprehension. Another jabbed a long iron rod into the fire.
There was an air of religious ceremony as they worked. In the first bowl the officiants poured the contents of the jugs, with the other two were filled to the brim with water. Akkarulf took a whiff of the fumes as the wind shifted, and nearly gagged. There was a reek of strong drink, and other, more disturbing odors besides.
The warband and crew of the Silence lined up before the bowls. Finally the last officiant approached the first bowl, another uncorking the flask. Akkarulf saw that he too looked pale as he did so. The tongs turned slowly, and a single drop of brownish liquid fell out and into the bowl.
The bowl's contents fizzed and boiled as soon as the mysterious liquid landed. The officiants hurried away, just before the bowl erupted and caught fire. A marauder removed the rod from the fire, dipped it swiftly into the bowl, and flicked a drop of it into the next. The second bowl started shaking as well, exploding in a shower of flame. The marauder moved another drop from the simmering contents from the second bowl to the third, which boiled over but did not burst into flame.
The officiants now poured the boiling liquid into drinking cups, which the warband eagerly took and drank, the Ironborn joining in with gusto.
The air soon filled with the sound of retching, laughter and cheers as the drinkers collapsed, ran in circles or even managed to remain standing, to their comrades' undisguised admiration. The elf captain had been loosed from the mast and the drink forced down his throat, his horrified choking and spitting causing much merriment among the Norscans. The Wolf, however, looked melancholic even as he took his cup. Akkarulf looked at him curiously.
"Is something the matter, yarrl?"
The giant sighed.
"No, nothing of importance... But I would have liked for the Shield-slayer to be here, I'll wager he could have drunk of the stuff two or three times without issue."
The Wolf downed his drink in a single gulp and belched loudly. Akkarulf felt light-headed as it passed over him. There was a hiss and a splash as the first bowl was dissolved by its contents, the sand beneath it fusing into a solid mass.
"Your turn."
Akkarulf steeled himself. He just had to get it over with quickly.
He held his breath, turned to the officiant holding a cup, took it from him, and quaffed it back as the Wolf had done.
When he opened his eyes to the starry sky, Akkarulf's head felt as though a thousand demons of the true gods were all in his head and fighting to get out through his throat. He struggled to get up, fell over, and succeeded on the third try. The Wolf was watching similar scenes impassively.
"Don't throw up, it just makes it worse."
Akkarulf closed his eyes and squeezed the hilt of his sword until the world stopped spinning.
"What the hell's in that stuff?"
"Apples."
The Wolf frowned.
"Well, mainly apples. The Seven Crows tribe think leaving a dead sheep floating in it a year or two improves the flavor. There's others who swear by gorebull blood, the ash of an thunderstruck oak tree or the seed of a stallion."
"And just drinking it is proof enough of courage? Seems-"
The Wolf pointed to a marauder whose lower jaw appeared to have melted off. The corpse's sightless eyes were wide as saucers.
"Hroth over there will save them a spot in the halls tomorrow."
Akkarulf fought the urge to throw up now that he saw what it could do to flesh. The Wolf was right: had he known what the stuff could do, he would never have touched it.
"We'll go back to the obelisk before dawn. Get some sleep."
With a hiss, the second bowl collapsed into mud.