The news precedes Gungnir by several days, with Swedish messengers riding south through the night to bring word to Uppland. The greatest enemy of Sweden was coming to lay his sword at Erik's feet.
Yelizaveta is ecstatic, the hard-faced old woman laughing and dancing around the palace like a maid in spring. She is currently twirling about one of the pillars in the throne room. Erik smiles a little at her. She must have been a great beauty once, he realizes. "I told him, I told him," she sings, and she laughs again. "And now we'll be together again."
Months ago, when she'd come to his court to beg for asylum, he had thought she might be some trick of the cunning Norsemen, some spy sent to snoop out their secrets. He did have her watched, of course, and her letters to Gungnir were carefully read for any information about the realm. But in truth, after talking with the old Russian hag for five minutes, anyone could tell she had no trickery in her. Yelizaveta was as subtle and sweet as a fist in the face. The woman had a relentless, blunt honesty that the Vikings must have found quite charming.
Erik had not been charmed. He had, however, been glad to have the wife of his most dangerous enemy in his custody, and over the long months he had begun to feel pity for the penitent duchess, alone in a land far from her home.
And the church, at least, found her change of heart heartening. The bishops were constantly nattering on about what a wondrous thing it was, to see a lost soul come back into Christ's light.
Now they will see another, it seems. Twice Gungnir had come to Uppland, and twice he had sacked the province. Now he is coming to surrender?
Erik can scarcely believe it, nor is what belief he has without reservations. His guards are on full alert, waiting for the slightest sign of treachery from the jarl. But if Gungnir is playing at something, he is playing a very long game. During Erik's succession wars, he had heard tales of how the Templars swept unchallenged through Norrland, crushing a nation that dared not resist. Rumors had run across the north that the proud Viking spirit was broken at last. Erik did not think less of them for it. After sixty years of endless war, there was no shame in bowing before destiny.
A herald calls him back from his thoughts. "Your majesty, Jarl Gungnir comes seeking an audience."
Erik nods. "We give Jarl Gungnir leave to enter into our court."
The herald turns back, and the gates open, close, then open again. In marches a full troop of royal guards, bristling with steel. Within their ranks stand a dozen dozen unarmed Norsemen, most of them towering over their captors. These must be Gungnir's Vidar Guard. Erik's soldiers open ranks, and in their midst Erik sees the old jarl himself. He looks smaller than Erik remembered. Perhaps he has lost some muscle. Perhaps he has lost some pride.
Erik raises his hand to set his soldiers at ease. "Why comes Gungnir to the court of Sweden?"
"Gungnir comes to pledge to you his service, and arise a duke of the realm," the jarl booms.
Gasps throughout the court. All are feigned, Erik is sure; even the cooks have heard news of Gungnir's coming by now. Rolling his eyes a bit, Gungnir asks, "Why should Gungnir pledge his service to Erik? No friend has Erik been to Gungnir."
"Not true, o king. That ransom you paid me was most helpful." Seeing Erik scowl, Gungnir hurries on. "My lord, permit me my bluntness. I have no smooth tongue such as you southern men favor; I have only my heart, and my Viking honor. I come to swear my service to you because it is the only option left to me."
"Three times I have watched Valhalla burn. Last year, in Livonia, I witnessed what awaits all who stand against the kings of the Christ-men." The old barbarian shrugs, anger in his eyes, and defeat. "Your god is strong. My people can no longer deny that. It is better that we bow of our own will than that your knights cut our legs out from under us."
Erik considers this. It is much as he had guessed, but it is still stunning to hear his old foe say the words. The jarl had been the monster who haunted Erik's youth; to see him shown to be only a man, much less a humbled one, feels unreal. "But your people are strong, capable of weathering many storms. We ourselves learned that well," Erik says, with a smile that does not reach his eyes. "Why do you come before us now, and not then?"
Gungnir grits his teeth. "It took losing what was most dear to me to see what must be."
At this Yelizaveta breaks in, rushing forward between Gungnir and the king. "My love, it is so good to see you! I knew you would--"
"BE SILENT," Gungnir thunders, his rage reverberating around the great hall. Breathing heavily, and with obvious effort, he contains his anger. "My lord, I ask that you remove
that from our negotiations."
Erik considers, then nods. "Gently," he tells the two knights who come to escort the duchess out, amid her pleas to Gungnir.
"So." Gungnir says, when she is gone. "Now you know why I do this. What I have lost is lost, but I would lose nothing more. And if I can spare my people any further woe . . ."
Erik studies the jarl. "You would renounce your freedom, and swear your life and your house to the crown of Sweden, as long as you shall live?"
Gungnir's fists shake at his sides. "Yes," he says softly, then louder: "For my people, yes, I'll do that. I swear by my god and my god's honor that I will in good faith serve the crown, and be faithful to all its heirs, and be fierce to all its foes."
Erik thinks over the words carefully, but he can find no fault with this oath. "Then we accept your oath, Duke Gungnir of Norrland. Kneel before your new king."
Slowly, Gungnir obeys. The hunchback king slowly steps down from his throne, hobbles to Gungnir, and draws forth his sword, tapping it on both Gungnir's shoulders. "Henceforth you shall have protection of our sword. Now rise, and let every heart be glad."
Cheers break out in younger courtiers in the great hall, some of which actually seem sincere. The older lords who had fought during the long war with Norrland are silent, either in anger or astonishment. As their new peer rises before his new king, he leans forward to clasp Erik's arm, and says softly: "We have much to discuss."
* * *
Shortly thereafter, Gungnir and Erik sit in the royal study, watched by a pair of royal guards.
"So, old foe," Erik says, "let us speak of the return of Norrland to Swedish rule. When you swore to serve me, did you speak for your people?"
"Of course not," Gungnir snorts. "All are too proud, and none too wise. Oh, my own house will fall in line with me, and between us we hold most of the power among the tribes. But the rest? They fell to rage when I told them what must be, and would have slain me, if not for my quick wits."
"What did your quick wits tell them?" Erik asks.
"Nothing," Gungnir says, shrugging. "Still, most seemed to believe I said my journey here would be a sham, and that I've come here to kill you." He grins unsettlingly at the king. "Since clearly you'll turn your back on me, trusted servant that I am."
"I wouldn't count on it," Erik says. His voice is like old ice.
"Neither would I," Gungnir agrees cheerfully. Erik does not relax. "Oh, come lad. Do you truly believe that if I were here to kill you, I would announce my coming, hail down your soldiers for an escort, let them disarm me, swear an oath not to kill you, and tell you about my plan? You do not truly suspect me of being the worst assassin in the world?"
"Did King Torfinn suspect you?" Erik asks.
"King Torfinn would have invaded Norrland and set my whole realm ablaze in his zeal. You will be sparing us." Gungnir is exasperated. "I do not mind the slights against my honor, but spare me the slights against my intellect."
"Certainly," Erik answers. "Out of respect for your intellect, know that my guards will be watching you for every moment you stand south of Medelpad."
"I feel so safe," Gungnir murmured. "Now that that is out of the way, let us discuss plans for putting down the uprising."
"What uprising?" Erik asked.
"The one my people will attempt in one month, when I still haven't killed you," Gungnir grinned. "Now. The chieftains likeliest to rebel are Bagge and Rjodblot . . . "
* * *
Soundtrack
It is much later. Erik has had his guards escort Gungnir back to the guest quarters, with instructions to treat him as befitting a duke. Specifically, as befitting a duke who might also be a lying, traitorous scoundrel; he is to be watched by four men at all times.
As for Erik, he orders a bottle of wine brought up, then sits alone by his study's fireplace, sipping thoughtfully from his glass. His new duke is cunning. The mind that made fools of Anund's best generals is still very much intact. But Gungnir is still a barbarian, and while he is clear-sighted in war, he is dangerously myopic in politics. Erik still cannot believe such a fierce foe could so easily be tricked to his doom.
He will help Gungnir put down his rebellions. With the information Gungnir has given him about Norrland's defenses, that much will be easy. And months later, after Gungnir's loyal soldiers have fought their own people to exhaustion, and alienated all his support among the tribes, then Erik will call him back to court. And then, by the law Gungnir himself helped pass, Erik will strip the infidel duke's titles from him and claim all of Norrland for his own rule.
What Anund wasted twenty thousand lives trying to do, Erik will accomplish with a mere sprinkling of Christian blood. When he is despised by his own people, Gungnir will be unable to resist, unable to do anything but accept his fate. Perhaps Erik will let him keep Vasterbotten, if there is anything left in that forsaken wasteland after its twelfth conquest.
Erik laughs to himself, then chokes. Some of the wine has caught in his throat. He coughs, and blood spatters to stain his carpets. Erik frowns, then spits out a solid stream of red.
. . . Poison? Now? But why? He tries to rise, and stumbles to the floor, cracking his jaw. "Healer!" he shouts, as loud he can. "Get the healer! Quickly!"
But his voice is muffled beneath another torrent of blood. No one will hear that. No one is coming.
Damn it. Such a stupid way to die. Was this Gungnir's work? Or one of the other dukes, seeking to frame the barbarian? "Doesn't matter now," he whispers to himself. "But my son . . . my son will avenge . . . "
"My lord?" An old chambermaid stands over him, somehow. She must have wandered in from--well, it didn't matter. "Get help," Erik gurgles.
"My lord, your son is already dead. So is your daughter. Your dukes are dying. There will be no one left to avenge you," the old maid says.
What?
The maid leans in close to place the mistletoe on his chest, and the last thing Erik sees is his guest of the past months: Yelizaveta the Gardener, High Priestess of Loki, the Spymistress of Norrland.
* * *
The servants spread the word throughout the palace: the king was dead, slain by agents of Audvald of Smaland. No one can find Erik's marshal; in his absence, the panicked Swedes seek the officers of the royal guard, hoping they will restore order.
They are not doing a very good job. Within an hour, the palace is in uproar. Gungnir fidgets in his chambers, wondering what is going on. To their credit, his guards remain at their posts. "It's for your safety, duke," the sergeant says blandly.
When a southron messenger finally climbs the stairs to the guest quarters and breaks the news, the sergeant merely nods and eyes Gungnir. He clearly suspects his charge is somehow responsible for this, and he's not going anywhere. The jarl is beginning to worry something has gone wrong when a dozen other messengers come trampling up the stairs, shouting that the king had been murdered. They clamor past the guards into the tiny room, then turn, draw their daggers, and slit the guards' throats.
Gungnir nods. "Gods' friends?"
"And the whole world's enemies," the first messenger agrees, reaching out to shake his hand.
* * *
Minutes later, Gungnir stalks down the halls of the royal palace, flanked by his Victual Brother plants. It is past midnight; Mjolnir's longships should be hitting the docks now. In these dark times, the two thousand Viking warriors he brings will be of great help to the patriotic Duke Gungnir, in his quest to restore order to Sweden. That is when he notices an old maid stepping out of a niche in the corridor. "My lord? My lord, will you save us from this madness?"
Gungnir stops dead in recognition. In a heartbeat, he has swept up the old woman in his arms. There is a laugh and a creak of old bones as he lays a deep kiss on Yelizaveta's lips.
They do not break away until one of the Brothers gives a faintly disgusted cough. "Apologies, lads," Gungnir says. "At our age, you take what time you can."
* * *
Over the next week, the Christian nobles of Sweden whisper of the Night of a Thousand Knives. That night, all across the kingdom, the greatest lords of Sweden were slain in their keeps, their bodies found covered in mistletoe.
By the time they were properly buried and their heirs had been crowned as dukes, the word from Uppland had come: following the death of the king and all his heirs, the new Duke Gungnir had taken charge of the royal palace to resolve the matter of the succession.
The very next day, he'd called for all the elector dukes to join him. The day after that, he sat alone in the council chamber, waiting patiently until sunset for the other electors to arrive. When twilight fell, he rose from his seat and summoned all the lower nobles that had gathered in Uppland. Gungnir announced that after counting the votes of all present, the patriotic Duke Gungnir had been unanimously acclaimed as the new King of Sweden.
* * *
When the news came, the Christian lords of Sweden were undecided on how to greet it. On one hand, their new king was already a legend in Sweden. He had been the young Jarl they had seen fighting alongside Old Thord during the Great Norrland War. The bane of the Finns. A barbarian so great, his shadow covered the whole gulf. Some nobles reasoned that if he had fought so fiercely as a foe, as a king he would bring utter ruin to Sweden's enemies.
There were, of course, many who worried that a man who would so blatantly murder the highest nobles of the realm would not scruple to do the same to the lesser lords. But even among these, there was doubt that they could stand against the dire lord of Norrland, so what were they to do?