The Ice Dragon King & The Slave-Queen

Chapter 7 - The Alkebulan Moor

“I wish we could do this every day, Draki. It is always so calming to be here with you. You know I love spending time with you,” King Einar said, turning his head to see his ice dragon's head coming out of the ice-cold lake, as Draki's knowing eyes watched King Einar for a while before he slowly submerged back into the water.

King Einar was lying down on the higher section of the cold flowstone, watching the water from the plunge pool trickle down next to him before it dispersed into the lake. It was mesmerizing to stare and watch the water fall, not even realizing how long time had passed. The mist hung low in this part of the cave, not only because of the thundering water gushing from the crest of the waterfall, but also because of the low temperature in the cave.

King Einar had never cared to ask himself before why the temperature in this cave was very cold. The cold had never bothered him before, so he never really cared how the cave got so cold. When he was younger, he just assumed that the gods made it this way so that his ice dragon would be comfortable in his resting place. But as King Einar lounged lazily on the flowstone and brought his arm to the back of his head, he looked up and his eyes roved along the cave’s ceiling, quite amazed at the height of the cave roof. Then, he noticed that the roof of the cave was actually concave-shaped. In fact, there were many concave shapes on the cave’s roofs, big and small. The roof of the cave was almost white in color, many times lighter than the light blue color of the cave walls.

No wonder it was brighter at this side of the cave, King Einar thought to himself.

Draki, his ice dragon, was swimming happily in the freshwater lake. Once in a while, King Einar would look over at the lake and see waves almost breaking on its surface, knowing that Draki was enjoying himself, swimming and circling fast under the lake before he rushed to the surface. At one point when King Einar almost drifted off to sleep, Draki burst out of the lake’s surface, surprising the king. The ice dragon’s action made ice-cold water splash everywhere — onto the cave walls, the flowstone, even on King Einar’s face and body. But King Einar continued lying there, chuckling at Draki’s playfulness, wiping the water from his face.

A moment later, a large shark was dumped near King Einar’s right unexpectedly. The shark was wiggling, it's jaws opening and closing repeatedly, unable to breathe now that it's out of the water, its tail flapping hard trying to get back into the water. King Einar saw deep holes on one side of the shark's body, fresh blood oozing out of it's body, knowing that it was from Draki's sharp teeth.

Draki slithered out of the lake slowly, his body moving against King Einar’s body, the hard scales of his body making a unique, almost musical sound as it moved on the flowstone. King Einar sat up and placed his hand on Draki’s hard body, patting and looking at his ice dragon’s slick black scales, appreciating how Draki's shiny scales reflected the lights of the cave off it as his oil-like scales slithered toward the shark. King Einar turned his head to look at Draki. At the same time, he saw Draki’s snout pushing the flailing fish onto higher ground, not wanting it to get back into the water, almost teasing it.

“Draki, stop playing with your food, boy,” King Einar chuckled, slapping Draki’s hard body that had now stopped moving beside him.

The ice dragon turned to look at King Einar and then back at the shark as the large shark’s fins continued to flail in front of him, making loud noises as its fins slapped on the flowstone. The scene was so comical that King Einar’s chest started to rumble before he shouted with laughter. Draki turned his head to look at his king once more, his light blue eyes twinkled mischievously. Then, he bared his long, sharp set of teeth and dove head-first into his meal.

“Ugh, Draki. Not on my hair!” King Einar yelled as his ice dragon continued to devour his shark carelessly, making loud noises as he went on. Blood spattered everywhere, even on King Einar’s hair, making him look like he had just gotten out of a bloody war.

But as King Einar wiped the fish’s blood from his arms and hair, he looked at the blood on his clothes and wondered if war truly was impending. Even though he had tried to keep it at bay for as long as he could, he couldn’t deny that the times were changing — not just the Varangian's relations with other kingdoms, but even with his own people. The disagreements that had been increasing amongst his chieftains lately were only one of the many problems that had started to arise within his own kingdom. He was hoping he could settle everything one by one, in its due time, without any blood bath, but his chieftains’ pertinacious nature was not only causing a rift amongst themselves, but also between them and him.

The other problem that was unnerving him was the news of an empire that had recently been dispersed in the southwest. For many years, the Varangians have been more interested in expanding their lands near their current location instead of venturing to new waters. They don't really care about kingdoms in the far south, or east, or west. Varangians especially didn't care about news where the people are different than them.

At the moment, King Einar didn't know exactly what was going on in the kingdoms in the far south or the southwest. However, rumors of people from a broken empire looking for new lands were troubling him. He would not want anybody to come to his shores, making trouble or try to take over his kingdom. He is responsible for all the men, women, and children in his kingdom and, at the moment, his hands are full with peace negotiations with the Celtics, and soon, with the Saxons. The Varangians might bicker with each other, but King Einar believes that if worse comes to worst, his people would always have each other’s backs. He just hoped problems would not arise anytime soon, though.

As he sat there, leaning on his ice dragon’s warm scaly body, his mind drifted back to the two prisoners in the interrogation hole.

“I was told that you do not understand the Norse language, but you understood the Gaelic language. Are you Celtic?” King Einar asked in the Gaelic language as he crouched in front of the white-skinned prisoner. King Einar looked at the prisoner's face intently, trying to catch any tell-tale signs or indication that he understood the question.

From the moment King Einar came near the prisoners' cells, both of the prisoners played dead — or almost dead — by not responding to anything that he said or asked. King Einar is known as a ruthless man when it comes to interrogating prisoners, especially those that he suspects have been involved in his affairs, but he is not unnecessarily cruel. Although gossip about his less than conventional method of interrogation had been spread amongst his enemies, King Einar would only use those specific types of interrogation only after he had exhausted any other possible methods of getting information out of his prisoners. Most of his councilmen and close companions know what a truly patient man he is when faced with his enemies.

Truthfully, King Einar didn't have the stomach to torture anyone anymore. Sometimes he wondered if it was because his age was catching up with him.

King Einar's eyes looked at the white-skinned prisoner's wrists and saw that both of his wrists were binded with iron cuffs. The chain on the iron cuffs was then chained to the wall of the cell. The length of the chain made sure that the prisoner would not be able to lunge for King Einar, where he crouched. But as King Einar asked the white-skinned prisoner one question after another, the prisoner continued to sit on the floor of the cave like a statue, his legs crossed in front of him, his face dispassionate and his eyes vacant. Once in a while, however, his blue eyes would flick at King Einar’s face before they slowly slid past him and became vacant again.

Even after his men stripped the white-skinned prisoner down, leaving him shivering naked in the cave cell, he still did not respond to any of King Einar's inquiries. The king's men looked for signs or marks on the prisoner's body, anything that might indicate he was a pirate of a certain batch or a mercenary from a specific kingdom, but they didn’t find anything to point them in the right direction.

The only thing King Einar had as he looked at the white-skinned prisoner and knew that the other prisoner was in the next cell was that Draki had brought them to him, and in Draki he trusted one-hundred percent.

Physically, the prisoner in front of him didn’t necessarily look like the Celtics but, as Commander Vali suggested, the prisoner could be a mercenary working with them, so his looks didn't really matter. If that was true, however, it would mean that the Celtic king, or whoever was involved in attacking his warship, planned to weaken his defence or tried to break the peace treaty he was making with the kingdoms nearby. Maybe someone is trying to bring chaos to King Einar’s shores and kingdom. Maybe they wanted him to lose control. Maybe they wanted him to point his finger at the wrong person and bring unnecessary war, creating havoc for innocent people.

Whatever their plans were, it just showed that they had greatly misjudged him. Maybe these people’s methods were too transparent to him. King Einar is not a fool. He would never take action without proper cause or evidence. But one thing's for sure, if he is seen to be unconcerned that his warship was destroyed, some people might be brazen enough to hurt his people in the future. This he cannot allow. He must put a stop to the budding idea of war, no matter what.

“You don’t look like a pirate at all, man. You have no marks on your body to show that you are a pirate. Your skin is too clear to be a mercenary. Pirates and mercenaries always carry their marks proudly on their bodies. To show off, I suppose,” King Einar smiled as he gripped the prisoner’s jaws in his large hand, almost crushing it. The prisoner winced a little but no sound came out of him, not even quick breathing or a sigh.

“Tell me who you are and I will let you live,” King Einar continued, smiling sweetly at the prisoner, making empty promises that he knew he would never keep.

The white-skinned prisoner’s eyes flicked at King Einar for a split second before he closed them. It was the only reaction he would give the king after many hours being prodded by the king and his men. King Einar started choking the prisoner but the prisoner didn’t resist, letting the king do whatever he liked. Even when King Einar slammed the prisoner's head against the cave’s wall and blood started trickling down his neck, he didn’t even make a sound and he hardly moved.

King Einar looked at both his commanders. “Let him bleed out. We’ll see if he prefers to die slowly or if he will change his mind and decide to talk.”

King Einar then walked to the prison bar overlooking the other cell. He looked at the dark-skinned prisoner lying on the prison floor with his eyes closed and said, “I commend your companion here. Looks like he is adamant about turning into a mute. Maybe we should take out his tongue and make him one?” King Einar suggested out loud, speaking in Gaelic, directing his words to the dark-skinned prisoner in the next cell, but the prisoner continued to lie quite still on the uneven floor, not opening his eyes.

King Einar had only met a dark-skinned man once in his lifetime. It happened many years ago when he first turned sixteen years old. Varangian boys are considered men when they turn sixteen and fathers would often encourage their sons to explore the world. The men believed that the skills that the boys learned to become a true Varangian at their young age should be put to good use “out there”. King Einar had been waiting in anticipation for the time he would turn into an adult so that he could sail out to sea and explore other lands. He had always wanted to expand his kingdom, foreseeing limited lands as issues that would arise in the future and thought it would be better if his people searched for uninhabited lands to make theirs. So, on the year King Einar and his two best friends, Stig and Vali turned sixteen, they took their longship and sailed out to sea.

Many years ago, during his coming-of-age expedition, King Einar met a dark-skinned trader who was a very friendly man with good wits and a congenial demeanor. They met along the trading route at one of the ports in the far south — one of the furthest lands a Varangian had ever sailed to. When young Einar first came upon the trader, he was attracted to the trader's colorful robes and kufi, a brimless hat that he wore on his head, which he told the man was quite similar to pillbox hats that the Varangian men used when farming.

The trader spoke the Norse language to the three young Varangian boys — and as he revealed later, could also speak six other languages of the world fluently. The trader told them of his own explorations of the world and even shared with the boys his trading routes. He was kind enough to show them the spices that he traded with people from other kingdoms — as far as Asia, he said, where the silk, tea, salt, porcelain, and many others in his possession came from. King Einar was intrigued and accepted the fact that there is more to the world than the things that he sees in front of him. King Einar became heavily influenced by that trader and the experiences he shared with his young friends on his many years of voyages at sea. Then, as soon as King Einar arrived home, the first thing he told his father he would do was to learn as many of the world's languages as he could instead of relying on his ambassador for any translation.

Yet, the dark-skinned prisoner in front of him, the one lying flat on the uneven cave floor, was not as friendly as the trader he met many years ago. In fact, this prisoner looked quite intimidating. The prisoner was heavily muscled and his dark bronze body looked like it had been oiled by the gods. King Einar's eyes moved along his body, estimating that he was as tall as King Einar and slightly bulkier in size. He was bald, but as King Einar brought the torch closer to the prisoner’s face, he could see that there were many scars on his head, like someone had tattooed him with sharp needles, not only on his head but also all over his body.

King Einar opened the dark-skinned prisoner's cell door and stepped in. He walked a few steps over to the prisoner, watching the regular rise and fall of the man's chest. “What is your name, man?” King Einar asked, his voice low, like speaking to a child.

King Einar held the torch high above his head and only after a while did he realize that some of the wax from the torch had dripped onto the prisoner’s thigh. Yet he could see clearly that the prisoner did not respond to the feeling. In fact, he didn't even move an inch. King Einar noted that even though physically the dark-skinned prisoner looked more intimidating than his General, there was something about the prisoner that made him feel like he was not a dangerous man, possibly just a victim in this whole thing. When King Einar is in a conundrum, he would usually listen to the voice in his gut. So far, his gut feeling had never failed him and he hoped this time he was right too.

King Einar recalled the dark-skinned prisoner opening his eyes wide and grinning maniacally at him a few hours earlier. So, the king smiled genuinely before saying in Gaelic, “Did you know, I was a little surprised when you suddenly opened your eyes and gave me that devilish smile earlier? You looked like you could’ve been Hel herself.” Again, no response.

“What is your name?” King Einar repeated his earlier question, but this time he did not speak it in his Norse language, nor in the Gaelic language. Instead, King Einar asked the question in the Alkebulan language, his accent closely similar to the Moors's in Alkebulan.

The dark-skinned prisoner opened his eyes immediately. The effect was once again shocking. Some of King Einar’s companions who were hovering behind him gasped. The dark-skinned prisoner còcked his head to the side a little before he sat up. Even in his sitting position, the prisoner looked like a giant. The prisoner stared at King Einar as if he was an interesting specimen, one he had never met before. His eyes traveled slowly from the king’s golden hair to his feet before they went back to King Einar’s face.

“You can speak my language?” The prisoner asked in Alkebulan, his Moorish accent so thick that it took King Einar a while to translate it in his mind.

King Einar nodded.

“You are the king of the North?” The prisoner asked again. This time his eyes traveled to the king’s companions behind him, assessing them.

“I don’t know about being the king of the North, but I am the king of my kingdom. And we are in the north,” King Einar replied.

“Are you not the king from the prophecies?” The prisoner asked again, confusing King Einar.

“What prophecies?” He asked the prisoner back, frowning slightly.

“Prophecies found in ancient books dating back to hundreds of years ago,” the prisoner said as-a-matter-of-factly to King Einar.

Prophecies are not things that the Varangians cared to dabble with, at least, not King Einar. So, like his ancestors, he had never really bothered to learn about them. He had always believed that everyone has the power to make or change their own fate. Such power of your own fate is taken away by prophecies since prophecies meant the future has been told, a future that has been fixed for you. Why should a man, especially one who came from the blood of kings like himself and one who has planned out his future as meticulously as he could, ever listen to a prediction that is said to be inspired by the divine? Anybody could claim themselves to be the vocation of a prophet, and who could verify such claims? Why would King Einar ever put his fate and belief in someone else?

But King Einar wanted to hear what the prisoner had to say, especially now that the man had started to talk. So, he said to the prisoner, “Go on.”

The dark-skinned prisoner stared at King Einar for long moments and then at his companions behind him. His eyes indicated that he would not speak if they had an audience.

“They wouldn't understand what you're saying. None of these men speaks Alkebulan,” King Einar said.

The prisoner shook his head, adamant not to say whatever prophecy he deemed sacred to his people in front of other men except the king.

King Einar sighed and turned to his men, saying, “Fellas, I need you to wait for me at the front. I need to speak to this man alone.” Although his men were hesitant to leave the king with the prisoner at first, they knew they couldn't deny the king when he commanded them. “It's all right. I will call out if any problem arises,” the king tried to assure them. So, they bowed to the king and watched the prisoner a few times before they left.

After they were alone, King Einar looked at the prisoner, his eyebrows raised. King Einar saw the dark-skinned prisoner close his eyes, his eyelids fluttering slightly, his eyeballs moving from left to right. Then, the dark-skinned prisoner inhaled deeply and spoke flatly, as if reading a text, “It was prayed and presented by a prophet, that there shall be a king from the north who would rise as the saviour of mankind. Born on the night when the brightest moon in the sky grew big and close, its brightness eclipsed by the blood and the ice. The heavens shall smile, sending him companions of ice and blood. On the thirthieth year, blood will spill, fire will consume, ice will melt and he shall rise. The golden king shall once again be re-born.”

Time stopped. King Einar could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest. His head felt a little dizzy, as the words of the dark-skinned prisoner swirled in his head. The dark-skinned prisoner opened his eyes slowly, his grey eyes locked with King Einar’s hazel-gold eyes before he tilted his head a little to the side and smiled.

“Do tell me dear king, could you be the one that the prophecies talked about?” The prisoner asked, his voice deeper now, the vibrations visible in the air.

King Einar watched the prisoner sitting in front of him, like a statue from ancient times, his dark bronze skin highlighted from the fire of the torch, his legs crossed, his arms on his thighs, not caring that he was naked and fully exposed. For a while, King Einar’s mind was jumbled up, unable to think straight. Then, he scoffed and straightened up.

“Are you saying all of this to confuse me, man? Are you making up all these stories so that I will not interrogate you further? Did you think I am a fool?” King Einar accused the prisoner angrily.

Again, a smile spread on the prisoner’s face, changing the way he looked. His eyes crinkled and his nostrils flared. He shrugged at the king before he turned his back and laid back down on the uneven cave floor. The king hovered above him for a while, looking at the prisoner's body, intrigued by some of the more visible markings on his body before the prisoner opened his eyes and stared at the king. They looked at each other for a long time, a staring contest of some sort, until the prisoner exhaled loudly and shut his eyes.

King Einar frowned at the prisoner. He had followed his gut to question the dark-skinned prisoner instead of the prisoner in the other cell, but whatever short interaction he just had with this prisoner was making him more confused than before he came to the hole. His objective was to find out if these men were involved in the burning of his warship, Skadi. But how did his plan to find out who these prisoners were and their connection to his Skadi turn into stories of prophecies? King Einar concluded that the dark-skinned prisoner was a deceitful man and any future dealings with him must always be on high alert.

King Einar blinked his eyes and he was back to reality — back in the ice cave, leaning against his ice dragon's body. He looked at his arms and clothes, realizing that the shark's blood had dried and he was smelling quite bad. His ice dragon was snoring lightly, his large scaly head lying under the heavy plush pool, causing water to disperse everywhere as the heavy waterfall crashed on his head and neck. The other half of Draki’s body was floating in the lake.

King Einar had lost the sense of time. He did not know if it was day or night outside while he spent his time in the cave with Draki. The thing was, he didn’t feel tired, hungry or sleepy. In fact, he never felt any of these whenever he’s around Draki. He didn’t know how to explain it, but the connection he had with his ice dragon made him strong — stronger than any men, even some of his very strong and experienced Varangian warriors. The blood running through his veins felt charged with electric current and his heart felt strong and infinite when he was near Draki. Sometimes, he even felt invincible.

King Einar didn’t want to think about any of the prisoners at that moment. He took off his boots and stood up. He untied his hair as he walked toward the lake. He turned to look at Draki for a second, who was sleeping peacefully before he dived into the clear lake. The water was extremely cold but he swam and dived, enjoying doing laps in the lake. Furthermore, he needed to get the blood out of his clothes and hair. He didn’t know how long the time had passed as he sat idling in the cave. He just wished this moment could last forever.

Draki woke up from his sleep, raised his head, and saw his master swimming. He exhaled loudly, steam coming out of his large nostrils, and returned to sleep.

***

Taryn sat by the window in King Einar’s bedroom. She went into his room after she had had her dinner in her own room. She had been waiting for him for many hours. She had told Lady Riona and Eve earlier in the afternoon that the king had explicitly asked her to wait for him in his room tonight. This brought a huge smile to Lady Riona’s and Eve’s faces. Then, before dinner, Eve had quietly prepared a hot bath for her.

“But I have already bathed this morning, Eve,” Taryn protested.

“Milady, if the king wants you in his bed tonight, we shall have to rub the oil onto your skin and in your hair. It would be best if you took a bath first before I help do that for you,” Eve replied, smiling sweetly.

Taryn did not have the heart to disappoint the young girl.

Yet here she sat, by the king’s window in her thin nightgown, looking out at the horizon, the sky brightly lit by the full moon, all by herself. Taryn stood seated by the window, feeling extremely sleepy and wondered if it would be inappropriate for her to sleep in his bed even though he was not in the room. She sat in the same place as she watched the bright moon rise in the sky and continued sitting there until the moon was out of her sight and still, the king did not come. Taryn was confused. Did something happen? Might there be something else happening within the kingdom that she didn’t know about? Was there an emergency that needed the king’s immediate attention? Taryn was afraid, knowing that uncertainties in the kingdom would also mean uncertainties for her. She was still very new in this kingdom, and no matter what she did, she must remember that her position here is perilous.

Taryn had hoped that if there were issues regarding the king, however, he would have at least sent word to her and not make her sit in his room alone, worrying about his whereabouts. Yet, she knew she did not have the right to feel this. She tried to console herself that if anything had happened to the king — even though she doubted it — she was sure it would have raised the alarm in his kingdom. Since everything seemed fine and at peace tonight, she felt quite confident that everything in the kingdom, including her king, was fine and at peace.

Taryn slept with her head leaning on the cool windowpane that night.