The Norns retreated to the Hall to deliberate. The High Jarl candidates congregated outside as they waited for their answer. They were accompanied by their friends, family, and strongest warriors. Jarl Feldon had dragged Rael along to watch him pace about with his wife. Feldon had the same stony face as always, but his pace was not as measured as it always was. He wasn’t alone; the other Jarls picked at their nails, distracted themselves with food and drink, sharpened weapons…Jarl Moryn and Erikar were the only ones who seemed nonplussed. Moryn sat cross-legged on a bench, as serene and elegant as a swan. Erikar kept his eyes on the other Jarls, his gaze darting between them as he sneered at a few.

“You’re going to wear a circle into the road.” Edith was far more composed. She had her arms crossed, leaning back against a wall with a bored expression.

“We got fourth in the contest of might.” The Jarl huffed. “I’m not sure it’ll be enough.”

Despite Jarl Moryn’s enchanted weapons, Erikar’s men gained the most points thanks to a final push in the last few minutes. Moryn and Trygyve’s men scored so closely that they tied for second place. Feldon had indeed won fourth, even if his warriors never captured a zone above the eighth level, followed closely by Jarl Karl and Jarl Gilda, in fifth and sixth respectively. Jarls Venka, Enyrd, Carkud, and Aida picked up the rear.

“Worrying about it now will do nothing.” Edith grabbed Feldon by the top of his head and pushed him to sit down next to Rael.

“I can do nothing but worry.” He tried to get up, but the Shieldmaiden pushed him back into his seat.

“How are they choosing, anyways?” Rael almost nudged Feldon, pausing when they thought it might be improper.

“There was the crafter’s contest, which you participated in. We got second place there.” Feldon held up a finger and frowned. “You missed the regatta. The race was a fiasco.”

“Foul play.” Edith growled from behind them. “Our lines snapped when we tacked.”

“We can’t prove that.” Feldon shook his head and counted two more fingers. “When it came to the contest of magic, Shaman Bak debated with every one of the judges about theories and processes.”

“Argued, more like. I told you he had too much to prove.” Edith slammed her fist against the wall.

“With the battle, we’re somewhere below fifth place.” Feldon held up four fingers and leaned back on the bench. “But I don’t think it’d be that simple.”

“It’s never that simple with the Norns.” Rael nearly jumped out of their skin when Derrol appeared from the alleyway to their right.

“Derrol.” Feldon let out a relieved smile as he got up to clasp his arm. “Where were you?”

“Tying up two Kip’s. Couldn’t tell which one was Skald Meayetti, so…” Derrol shrugged as his Jarl slapped his knee and laughed.

“The lad was upset?” Feldon wiped a tear from his eye.

“I could have let them fight to figure it out…but Kip would’ve gone overboard.” The captain patted Rael’s shoulder and leaned on the wall beside Edith. The Shieldmaiden squinted at him, but Derrol ignored her.

“How do we know you’re not Meayetti?” Rael turned around to poke him in the stomach.

“Smart response.” Captain Derrol smirked and leaned forwards, whispering so only Rael could hear. “Nobody else knows about that time I threw you so hard that you skipped on the water, losing your pants in the process.”

The Dragonward groaned. It was him.

Rael wanted to talk more, but the doors of the Hall opened. All the Jarls perked up, snapping their attention to the entrance. The Norns strolled out, the white guards following g them with chairs and tables. The undercurrent of whispered conversations surrounding the Hall fell silent.

“Listen up, I’m only going to say it once.” Thorgrim didn’t bother raising his voice. He sat down as the chair was placed behind him, his fellow Norns following his lead in a wave. “We are deciding the last five candidates rather than choosing a High Jarl now because we don’t know how the Bergin knew where Hightown Trygyve was. Should we accidentally choose someone who worked with the Empire, we would be giving ourselves to them without a fight.”

Thorgrim paused to glare at all those gathered, causing Jarls and warriors who’ve fought hundreds of battles to shrink away. “If one of you did betray High Jarl Fraya…we will find you.” Rael was among the many that shivered, Norn Thorgrim’s presence choking them in an oppressive blanket.

“Now that that’s clear…” The one-handed man cleared his throat loudly of phlegm and spat a vivid glob onto the ground. He picked up a sheet of paper to read. “Jarl Aida, fail. Jarl Carkud, fail. Jarl Enyrd, fail. Jarl—” Thorgrim caught the apple Norn Arngunn threw at his face. “What?”

“Don’t you think you should give some praise?” Arngunn pointed at the three whose names he’d called out. Each of them were sulking, dejection clear on their faces. “We wrote their successes on the page as well.”

“What a waste of time.” Thorgrim grumbled and rolled his eye. He frowned when he looked over the page again. “And you spoil them with compliments. So be it. Jarl Aida Stormrender, while your ship was swift, Jarl Moryn’s was swifter. Take pride that your men could rival a crew with a better ship. Your exploits as a navigator are recognized throughout the Jarldoms.” The Jarl stood up straight, her chest swelling with pride. She deflated at his next comment. “A pity that you are lacking in other areas.”

“Jarl Carkud Goldtooth, your men fought well on the Omrad, and proved to be competent blacksmiths. Although you may not become High Jarl, your experience in raiding Bergin trade routes will help us during the war.” Carkud whooped happily, his men shaking him around.

“Mistake.” Derrol murmured and shook his head. “He hates that.”

True to his word, Thorgrim scowled.

“But compared to the others, it makes me wonder why the other Norns would even allow you the chance to become High Jarl.” Thorgrim tutted. “We must be desperate.”

Carkud looked as if Arafell himself had come down to tell him he wasn’t worthy of his name. His legs gave out from underneath him, collapsing into a pile of broken dreams. Thorgrim moved on.

“Jarl Enyrd Windbane. The weapon your smiths made was sharp, the ship you sailed was fast, and your shaman performed admirably. Not the best, but never the worst.” Jarl Enyrd bent his head in a low bow, hiding his smile.

“Jarl Erikar. To no one’s surprise, you qualify.” Erikar’s men cheered quietly, cowed by the Norn’s piercing stare. Jarl Erikar nodded curtly, as if it was a given. “Your ship may have been slower than most, but your shaman proved himself knowledgeable, your smiths skilled, and your warriors bloodthirsty. Not to mention your long list of successful raids. You would be an acceptable High Jarl.” Norn Thorgrim squinted at the paper in his hands.

‘He skipped over the failure of the ax.’ Rael noted with a frown.

“My peers insisted that we move onto the obviously qualified for ‘dramatic effect’. Jarl Moryn Bloodruby, you qualify as well.” Moryn’s compatriots were quieter than Erikar’s but were just as giddy. “Although your shaman wasn’t as experienced as most others, your showing at the regatta and the crafting competition proved you and your men to be among the very best. Your history of trades spanning across all Galladia brings us great pride.” Jarl Moryn’s crew began to bubble with excitement, whispers growing into hushed exclamations of joy. “The fact that your subpar fighters could claim such a high place in battle is a testament to the effectiveness of their weapons.”

The building enthusiasm sank just as quickly as it came, most of the crew flinching away from the Thorgrim’s bite. The Norns at his sides shook their heads at Thorgrim’s comments. ‘He can’t help kicking people down.’ Rael found Derrol grinding his teeth and staring blankly into the distance. When he noticed Rael, he turned away abashedly. ‘What was that about?’

“Captain Brenwyn will be happy to learn that despite his absence, his half-brother qualifies. They have consistently placed high in the contests, never below third.” For a moment, it seemed as if Thorgrim’s baleful eye honed in on Derrol. But it was so quick Rael thought they might have imagined it. “The consistency of your placements may explain why the last High Jarl was so keen on Jarl Trygyve.”

The warriors shuffled uncomfortably from the last comment. Brenwyn looked away and pursed his lips. At Thorgrim’s sides, Astrid and Halbrand elbowed him. The one-eyed man ignored them, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth.

“Jarl Venka Evergreen, you did neither good nor bad in any of the contests. A middling performance. Despite your exemplary services hunting in and tending to more land than any Jarl before you, what we need now are warriors, sailors, and shamans.” Venka nodded as the Norn sighed. “Had these been more peaceful times, you would be a worthy contender. Especially after High Jarl Fraya. You will have an important part to play.”

“Pity. She’s one of the more reasonable ones.” Jarl Feldon grimaced.

“Did she actually have a chance?” Rael’s eyes widened when Derrol and Feldon nodded.

“Some of our history’s greatest High Jarls were once farmers and hunters.” Derrol explained quietly. “An overabundance of food and space is hard to nurture in our lands.”

“Jarl Gilda Stonecutter,” Gilda held a breath when her name was called. “Your shaman performed admirably in her contest. Your craftspeople made a weapon that cut deeply without breaking. Your warriors managed to hold a zone on every level of the omrad, which is an admirable feat. And although your airship lagged behind, Norns Laouig and Jaxxon insisted that it was because the wood hulls hasn’t been properly balanced. You qualify.” Gilda let out the breath she’d been holding and hid her smile.

The rest of the Jarls focused on Karl and Feldon. Only one of them could qualify. The older members of the audience shifted their attention not just between those two, but also between Derrol and Thorgrim. Cold fury danced behind Erikar’s eyes as he glared at Feldon. He nursed a mug of ale, bringing it up slowly to his mouth. Norn Thorgrim yawned and smacked his lips, basking in the tension.

“Jarl Karl and Jarl Feldon have done well for themselves. Karl Swordswallower came third in the regatta, but his blade was too brittle to even leave a good scratch. Feldon came in fourth for the omrad battle, but dead last in the race due to a catastrophic failure that occurred while tacking.”

“Of course he’s doing us last. He didn’t even use your title.” Derrol said in an exasperated tone as he rubbed his eyes. “Spiteful old man.”

“We knew he was like this.” Feldon stretched his arms. “He enjoys watching people squirm.”

“Karl’s shaman answered promptly and knew most of what was asked of him. Feldon’s shaman was more interested in arguing with the judges than showing us what he knew.” A few people joined in as Thorgrim chuckled. “Karl’s men performed adequately during the Omrad battle, fighting brilliantly…although they had trouble holding zones long enough to matter. The only note-worthy event Feldon’s people managed in the contests was making wavesteel.”

Rael grit their teeth. ‘This is bullcrap. He’s ignored all the incredible fighting the captains did, as well as the strategies they used. ´ Rael wasn’t alone in their irritation. Edith’s knuckles were clenched white around her elbows, her body tense with anger. Derrol and Feldon looked as if they were somewhere between resigned and in suspense. Even the Norns at the table were sending Thorgrim looks.

“But the position of High Jarl is not won through contests, but merit. Jarl Karl has shown aptitude in trade and war. Jarl Feldon has shown us…much more.” Thorgrim spat out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. “Jarl Feldon qualifies.”

Before Rael had a chance to grab Feldon and cheer, the sound of a mug shattering broke through.

“I contest it!” Jarl Erikar shouted, jumping to his feet.

“Here we go.” Feldon sighed quietly and stood up.

“Why do you contest Feldon’s candidacy?” Thorgrim leaned his chin on his stump. His voice darkened. “Are you questioning the judgement of the Norns?”

“No.” Erikar grimaced and pointed a finger in Rael’s direction. “I contest the rights of a slave.”

A pit burned in Rael’s stomach. They opened their mouth to shout but Feldon stood in front of them. Edith patted Rael’s head as she stepped over the bench to stand by Feldon’s side.

“Former slave.” Feldon clarified as he stepped forwards. “My past has nothing to do with my competency.” The Dragonward’s simmering temper settled. Erikar wasn’t after them.

“How can someone who has served as the lowest rule as the highest?” Erikar spat, scowling as he approached Feldon.

“Jarl Feldon’s status was determined long ago.” Norn Halbrand cut in. “He has proven himself worthy.”

“You are protecting the man who killed my father!” Erikar exploded into motion, his tome-warrior appearing behind him.

He lunged towards Feldon, Shieldmaiden Edith jumping between the two. Just as the two titanic warriors were about to meet, a wall of force stopped Erikar in his tracks.

THUMP!

Jarl Erikar slowly slid down the invisible wall in a sound like wiping glass. The enraged Jarl backed away, smashing his fist into the wall again. His blow stopped a few centimeters from Edith’s unflinching face, his hand glowing with arcane energies that threatened to erupt at any moment. It pulsed with a soft orange light and faded away. Erikar grunted, letting his hand drop to his side. Shieldmaiden Edith kept her focus on him as he stepped away from the magical wall.

“Jarl Erikar.” Norn Astrid had her staff extended towards them. “Do not attack your fellow candidates.”

Erikar backed away from Feldon and Edith and let out a vicious snarl. His men, amassing by the stairs, thumbed the weapons in their hilts as they shuffled in place. Erikar shook his head slowly and took a deep breath, his anger melting away.

“Apologies, Norns.” The tall Jarl faced the Norns with restraint. His glacial blue eyes darted to Feldon for a moment. “I do not like working with kin-killers. Nor would I want to serve one.”

“Enough, Erikar.” Halbrand’s mustache ruffled. “Jarl Feldon was justified. Not just that, but Norn Thorgrim wasn’t very accurate in presenting Jarl Feldon’s qualifications.”

“I could believe that.” Erikar barked out sarcastically. “Who else but his former Jarl would protect him?”

“ERIKAR!” Norn Halbrand slammed his hands on the table. “You have embarrassed yourself enough! Questioning Norns. Needling Feldon about debts long repaid. And now, you call into question Norn Thorgrim’s integrity?”

It felt as if everyone sucked in their breath at the words. Accusing a fellow Jarl was one thing, but to doubt one of the Norns? One as renowned as Thorgrim? It spat in the face of Faulk hierarchy. It cast doubt onto Thorgrim’s very position. For his part, Thorgrim grinned and shrugged.

“I don’t care about a berserker’s opinions.” He got up, his crooked smile stretching eagerly across his face. “But if you want to fight…” Erikar immediately bowed and backed away. Thorgrim slowly sat back down, disappointed. “Now that we’re done with that, it’s time we discuss what will happen going forward.”

The Norns had not spent the past few days just organizing contests but assessing the weaknesses and strengths of every crew. The next week would be spent upgrading the fleet. Every bit of scrap iron or steel would be melted down and reforged, every saggy sloop replaced with a pristine drakkar. The shamans would commune with the fae and brew potions. Farmers and hunters would raid their stores to donate rations. People would exchange spells. Every man, woman, and child would be working from dawn to dusk to ensure that the Faulk were ready for war.

After a reasonable explanation of how each of the candidates would be chosen to complete specific missions against Bergin, Norns Halbrand and Arngunn made a few speeches about honor, duty, and the betterment of all Galladia. Rael heard enough. Their mistake was believing they left alone.

“They’re both good at it.” Rael jumped away, already summoning their tome. They stumbled, their joints stiff and tome throbbing in pain. Jarl Erikar rose an eyebrow as he looked over them. He kept talking, gaze pinned on Rael’s tome-dagger. “Halbrand and Arngunn, I mean. They can speak well, but they lack the strength to back up their words. Halbrand did once, before he was Halbrand.”

Rael eyed the Jarl, backing away from him slowly. ‘It always feels like someone is trying to strike up a conversation with me nowadays. Worse yet, so many of these conversations don’t make sense.’ Erikar kept following Rael, content of the distance between thew two.

“I understand you don’t like me.” Erikar sighed, unbuckling his belt. The deepening pit in Rael’s stomach twisted in confusion when they realized he was removing his longsword and leaving it against the wall. “Feldon poisoned you against other Jarls, twisting words and scheming like always.”

Rael relaxed but kept their tome in their hand, ready to summon any spell they could muster. They ran their free hand through their hair as they struggled to keep their composure. This was the man who insulted Feldon, set his attack dog on Rael, and tried to have Azmond kidnapped. Rael’s fist ached desperately with the need to lay into the Jarl, torn between aiming his yet-unbroken nose or between his legs. Rael took a few deep breaths, trying to let the anger pass through them as Astrid had taught them. It was difficult, but when they looked at Erikar, Rael could only see a man. A man who’d led a life of anger and violence, his face marred by scars of rage that dwarfed the pale physical blemishes.

“The actions of your people tell me more about you than anything Feldon has ever said about you.” Rael hummed away their simmering angst. “Not that I’ve ever heard him talk of you much.”

“You mean Captain Klai and Shaman Jexer.” Whether he clenched his jaw at Rael’s barb or thinking of his subordinates, they weren’t sure. “I first sent Klai to test your mettle. My warriors are the best of the Jarldoms and I wanted to see how you measured up. I had no idea he would take it so personally against you. I also questioned them thoroughly about whether they were responsible for your injury.”

‘Nope, that was my dumb idea.’

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you wanted to embarrass Feldon?” Rael changed the subject and kept walking away.

“I’ll admit, that played a part.” Erikar admitted easily. Rael paused in surprise before they continued their way. “But you were a foreigner to us. To have a shrinking violet as the Dragonward would have been…embarrassing.”

“I’m glad I passed your tests.” Rael walked faster, but the Jarl kept up. “especially for one who was ‘among the lowest’, like me.”

“There was only one test. Which brings me to my apology.” Erikar’s words stopped Rael in their tracks. They hadn’t expected that. “I am sorry Klai and Droll tried to take Azmond from you. I only requested that Droll bring him to me so I could talk to him. They have been punished.”

“How convenient.” Rael scoffed but turned to face him again. “And if they brought him to you without me, would you have asked any questions?” Erikar frowned and pursed his lips. “I thought as much.” The Dragonward spun around (a bit awkwardly) and walked away.

“When you see Feldon for who he truly is, you and Azmond are welcome to join me.” Jarl Erikar stopped following. “You have talent for battle. You would be wasted following a man who killed his kin.”

Rael didn’t bother turning around as they flipped him off. Yet his voice still lingered.

“We will speak again.”

The youth didn’t let the foreboding claim get to them. They half-walked, half-limped to Bak’s hut, a dark cloud hanging over their head. As much as they didn’t like to admit it, Jarl Erikar didn’t seem too bad. His apology did seem genuine. Maybe his men really were over-enthusiastic. All in all, he was a man with a big chip on his shoulder against Feldon. And he had certain views regarding slaves… ‘Never mind, the guy’s just a self-righteous jackass.’

Rael opened the door and found Norn Astrid sitting comfortably in Bak’s chair by the fireplace. Her three mute assistants were busy preparing tea in the kitchen, each involved in a separate task. The youngest ground tea leaves, her violet eyes sparkling with every turn of the mortar. The oldest held the teapot in her hands, her magic steadily heating it. The middle of the three assistants, the brunette with elaborate braid, passed her tome-staff over the teacups to clean them.

They’d only ‘met’ them a few times, but Rael had grown accustomed to the Norn’s three followers, enough to recognize the sidelong glances, grunts, huffs, and subtle movement of their fingers as a language on its own. The two eldest trilled their fingers against table and teapot, a subtle clinking of their silver rings reminiscent of laughter. The youngest blushed and hid her head into the silk scarf she wore around her neck.

“Ah, our Dragonward appears!” Norn Astrid pulled herself up and waved to her assistants. “Now you two, stop harassing poor Youngest, we have company.”

“I was worried you’d forgotten about me.” Rael rolled their eyes and picked up the teacup Youngest offered them with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Just the opposite, dearie.” Astrid ground her staff into the floor. “I’ve found myself quite busy these past few days. Took me a while to find some information on your condition, and with everything going on—"

“I get it.” Rael sipped the brew, contently basking in the fragrance. “I saw you working the unity spell for the contest of might. Must have taken a lot out of you.”

“Oh, for most people it comes down to a lifetime of practice.” Astrid was still standing, the graying Oldest holding her saucer. Astrid’s knowing smile was benign, but it still irked Rael on some level. “As for the spell I gave you recently, I was hoping you were in good enough form to cast it. It is nice you have your tome ready.” Rael blinked in surprise, realizing they were still holding onto the dagger from their conversation with Erikar. “The amazing thing about [Dreamwalk] is that it’s a spell that requires very little energy to use. Most spells with negligible effects on the physical world are like that. Go on, cast it.”

Astrid’s smile was a bit too sweet. ‘One, two, three, four. Four of them, so not the skalds. Maybe.’ Rael bit their knuckle and put down their tea. They were paranoid, true, but they never got the sense that Norn Astrid would put them in any danger. Rael’s instincts told them Astrid was going to do something, but nothing harmful. ‘Might as well get this over with.’

“[Dreamwalk].” Rael felt a small pull of magic. Although Rael’s weakest spells ached in their state, [Dreamwalk] had an almost negligible drain that was only a little uncomfortable. Though Rael also expected something to happen. “What now?”

“Now, you go to [Sleep].” Astrid cackled as Rael’s eyes rolled backward.

“Of friggin’ course…” Rael groaned, the waking world fading away.