The Crystal Shard Read Online Free PDF Page B

hands to their weapons. More than one war had erupted on the plains because the challenge of the song could determine no clear winner.
    Finally, the flap of the tent opened admitting Heafstaag’s standard bearer, a youth, tall and proud, with observing eyes that carefully weighed everything about him and belied his age. He put a whalebone horn to his lips and blew a clear note. Simultaneously, according to tradition, both tribes stopped their singing.
    The standard bearer walked across the room toward the host king, his eyes never blinking or turning away from Beorg’s imposing visage, though Beorg could see that the youth marked the expressions that were upon him. Heafstaag had chosen his herald well, Beorg thought.
    “Good King Beorg,” the standard bearer began when all commotion had ceased, “and other assembled kings. The Tribe of the Elk asks leave to enter Hengorot and share mead with you, that we might join together in toast to Tempos.”
    Beorg studied the herald a bit longer, testing to see if he could shake the youth’s composure with an unexpected delay.
    But the herald did not blink or turn aside his penetrating stare, and the set of his jaw remained firm and confident.
    “Granted,” answered Beorg, impressed. “And well met.” Then he mumbled under his breath, “A pity that Heafstaag is not possessed of your patience.”
    “I announce Heafstaag, King of the Tribe of the Elk,” the herald cried out in a clear voice, “son of Hrothulf the Strong, son of Angaar the Brave; thrice killer of the great bear; twice conqueror of Termalaine to the south; who slew Raag Doning, King of the Tribe of the Bear, in single combat in a single stroke …” (this drawing uneasy shuffles from the Tribe of the Bear, and especially their king, Haalfdane, son of Raag Doning). The herald went on for many minutes, listing every deed, every honor, every title, accumulated by Heafstaag during his long and illustrious career.
    As the challenge of the song was competition between the tribes, the listing of titles and feats was a personal competition between men, especially kings, whose valor and strength reflected directly upon their warriors. Beorg had dreaded this moment, for his rival’s list exceeded even his own. He knew that one of the reasons Heafstaag had arrived last was so that his list could be presented to all in attendance, men who had heard Beorg’s own herald in private audience upon their arrival days before. It was the advantage of a host king to have his list read to every tribe in attendance, while the heralds of visiting kings would only speak to the tribes present upon their immediate arrival. By coming in last, and at a time when all the other tribes would be assembled together, Heafstaag had erased that advantage.
    At length, the standard bearer finished and returned across the hall to hold open the tent flap for his king. Heafstaag strode confidently across Hengorot to face Beorg.
    If men were impressed with Heafstaag’s list of valor, they were certainly not disappointed by his appearance. The red-bearded king was nearly seven feet tall, with a barrel-shaped girth that dwarfed even Beorg’s. And Heafstaag wore his battle scars proudly. One of his eyes had been torn out by the antlers of a reindeer, and his left hand was hopelessly crumpled from a fight with a polar bear. The King of the Tribe of the Elk had seen more battles than any man on the tundra, and by all appearances he was ready and anxious to fight in many more.
    The two kings eyed each other sternly, neither blinking or diverting his glance for even a moment.
    “The Wolf or the Elk?” Heafstaag asked at length, the proper question after an undecided challenge of the song.
    Beorg was careful to give the appropriate response. “Well met and well fought,” he said. “Let the keen ears of Tempos alone decide, though the god himself will be hard-pressed to make such a choice!”
    With the formalities properly carried out, the tension