Tempos find a place in his field for your bones!" deBernezan tried futilely to match the iron gaze of Heafstaag. He cleared his throat and spoke as loudly and confidently as he could. "When the towns are conquered and their wealth secured, you shall need one who knows the southern marketplace. I am that man."
"At what price?" growled Heafstaag.
"A comfortable living," answered deBernezan. "A respected position, nothing more."
"Bah!" snorted Heafstaag. "He, would betray his own, he would betray us!" The giant king tore the axe from his belt and lurched at deBernezan. Beorg grimmaced, knowing that this critical moment could defeat the entire plan.
With his mangled hand, Heafstaag grabbed deBernezan's oily black hair and pulled the smaller man's head to the side, exposing the flesh of his neck. He swung his axe mightily at the target, his gaze locked onto the southerner's face. But, even against the unbending rules of tradition, Beorg had rehearsed deBernezan well for this moment. The little man had been warned in no uncertain terms that if he struggled at all he would die in any case. But if he accepted the stroke and Heafstaag was merely testing him, his life would probably be spared.
Mustering all of his willpower, deBernezan steeled his gaze on Heafstaag and did not flinch at the approach of death.
At the very last moment, Heafstaag diverted the axe, its blade whistling within a hair's breadth of the southerner's throat. Heafstaag released the man from his grasp, but he continued to hold him in the intense lock of his single eye.
"An honest man accepts all judgments of his chosen kings," deBernezan declared, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.
A cheer erupted from every mouth in Hengorot, and when it died away, Heafstaag turned to face Beorg. "Who shall lead`?" the giant asked bluntly.
"Who won the challenge of the song?" Beorg answered.
"Well settled, good king:" Heafstaag saluted his rival. "Together then, you and I, and let no man dispute our rule!"
Beorg nodded. "Death to any who dare!" deBernezan sighed in deep relief and shifted his legs defensively. If Heafstaag, or even Beorg, ever noticed the puddle between his feet, his life would certainly be forfeit. He shifted his legs again nervously and glanced around, horrified when he met the gaze of the young standard bearer. deBernezan's face blanched white in anticipation of his coming humiliation and death. The standard bearer unexpectedly turned away and smiled in amusement but, in an unprecedented merciful act for his rough people, he said nothing.
Heafstaag threw his arms above his head and raised his gaze and axe to the ceiling. Beorg grabbed his axe from his belt and quickly mimicked the movement. "Tempos!" they shouted in unison. Then, eyeing each other once more, they gashed their shield arms with their axes, wetting the blades with their own blood. In a synchronous movement, they spun and heaved the weapons across the hall, each axe finding its mark in the same keg of mead. Immediately, the closest men grabbed flagons and scrambled to catch the first drops of spilling mead that had been blessed with the blood of their kings.
"I have drawn a plan for your approval," Beorg told Heafstaag.
"Later, noble friend," the one-eyed king replied. "Let tonight be a time of song and drink to celebrate our coming victory." He clapped Beorg on the shoulder and winked with his one eye. "Be glad of my arrival, for you were sorely unprepared for such a gathering," he said with a hearty laugh. Beorg eyed him curiously, but Heafstaag gave him a second grotesque wink to quench his suspicions.
Abruptly, the lusty giant snapped his fingers at one of his field lieutenants, nudging his rival with his elbow as if to let him in on the joke.
"Fetch the wenches!" he commanded.
4
The Crystal Shard
There was only blackness.
Mercifully, he couldn't remember what had happened, where he was. Only blackness, comforting blackness.
Then a chilling burn began to grow