The Northlander. John E. Elias

weaved his way through the tables crowded into the room until he came to a bench at a far table. Sitting with his back to the wall, he began reading his messages.

      Gibbons, knowing that Björn never drank alcohol, shouted across the room with pseudo generosity, “Can I get you a drink?” Being ignored did not faze him. “The fancy leather pouch is from a king. He wants you to guard his daughter! You have never worked for a princess before. Choose that one and I will give you instructions on how to behave around royalty.” He stepped from behind the bar and skipping nimbly gave a sweeping swing of his arms. “This way, your Björn-ess.” Gibbons guffawed at his own joke.

      “Perhaps someone should teach you not to open other people’s messages,” scowled Björn, pulling a long letter from the already opened, ornately adorned leather pouch. Before looking at the message, he examined the pouch.

      “Never saw anything so fancy, have you?” Gibbons exclaimed. “He should be able to pay a lot if he can spend that much on the message pouch. Maybe there will be enough gold for the two of us. Anyone who works for a princess must have a manservant, and I will happily be your manservant if the price is right.”

      The Northlander tried without success to suppress a grin. “You had best bring along that big club you stash behind the bar for quieting rowdies. Since I am to be a gentlemen mingling with royalty, I will leave it to you to fight the warlocks, ogres, wild beasts and monsters. It would be unbecoming for a dandy like me to engage in such mundane activities.”

      Gibbons flexed his muscles jokingly as he straightened his big frame. “So long as those warlocks, ogres, wild beasts and monsters are small and weak, and the pay is right, I think I can handle the job. So, is that the job you are going to take?”

      “I will have to look at the rest of these messages before I decide.” Björn sighed. “Perhaps I should stay here for awhile and keep Wudo entertained.”

      The young man gave Björn a broad, vacant smile and replied, “Wudo be glad to play with you, Mr. Northlander.”

      Giving a visible shudder at the thought, Gibbons said sarcastically, “With you sitting around here with your happy face, I would not have a single customer left within a week. Pick one of those jobs and go somewhere—wreck the countryside!”

      Ignoring Gibbons, Björn continued reading through the messages. One was from a wealthy merchant wanting his protection during a long and dangerous trading journey. In another, a baron was requesting him to serve as his bodyguard. There was a plea from a mother asking him to bring back her only son who had been conscripted into an army. A rich landowner wanted him to evict unlawful homesteaders from his land. Some monks were desperate to retrieve the gold, silver and jeweled religious icons stolen by brigands who had stormed and plundered their monastery.

      Björn glanced away from the messages, picking up the pouch from the king. It jingled, and he turned the pouch upside down, dropping five gold pieces onto the table. Looking up at Gibbons with his eyes twinkling, he said, “I wonder where the rest of them are.”

      “I knew you would say that so I added three to the pouch,” Gibbons said.

      Björn laughed at the thought of the barkeeper giving money away, but he also knew Gibbons would not steal from him.

      Reading the message, Björn was even more intrigued. King Brewster reigned over the kingdom of Kallthom. He had promised his daughter’s hand in marriage to the elderly king of Carigo. Carigo was a far distance across the plains from Kallthom, and between Kallthom and Carigo was the kingdom of Delph, a kingdom Kallthom had been at war with for centuries. The marriage of King Brewster’s daughter to Carigo’s king would form an alliance between the two kingdoms that would give Kallthom the upper hand so Kallthom could finally defeat the Delphs. King Brewster proposed to send his army to surround the princess and Björn, keeping the Delphs away from them all through the journey. He needed Björn to act as the princess’ personal protector.

      While not sympathetic to the purpose of the request, Björn was fascinated by the thought of working for a king. He had never even met a king. Speculating about the young princess, he wondered why she would agree to a marriage that would take her so many miles from her home, especially marriage to an elderly king.

      He tapped the edge of the message pouch on the table, musing, “At least I can meet these proud people before deciding.” He imagined he would most likely refuse, for he had no interest in helping them win a centuries-old war.

      Rising, he walked to the bar and dropped all but the ornate pouch in front of Gibbons, along with another gold piece.

      “Wudo,” he asked, “Do you think you can find the king of Kallthom for me?”

      The lad trotted to him, nodding his head vigorously. “Yes,” he said enthusiastically, “yes, I find him, Mr. Björn.”

      Björn wrote quickly on the back of the king’s letter, stuffed it back into the pouch and handed it to Wudo, placing two gold coins in his outstretched hand. “Find him as fast as you can, and do not get lost!”

      Wudo raced up the stairs to his sleeping quarters to begin packing.

      Watching Wudo charge up the stairs, Gibbons said, “I know the lad is simple, Björn, but he is a good reliable boy. He will deliver your message.” He broke into a wide grin. “So! You are going to work for a king! I promise we will treat you with the respect you deserve when you return. We will clean up this tavern and even whitewash the outside! We will have the ground in front swept clean. Wudo and I will even wear fancy uniforms!”

      Björn smiled ever so slightly and slipped silently through the door without responding.

      In Kallthom, King Brewster paced the floor with heavy, jerky steps. His typically florid face was redder than usual, and anger radiated from every movement of his large body. While given to fits of quick anger and sudden violence, he rarely maintained that anger. Usually, his mood was boisterous and full of humor. To him, life was to be embraced, lived, loved and enjoyed. Otherwise, what was it worth? But he did not enjoy this kind of anger, which promised to be slow in passing.

      Rathe, King Brewster’s son, was alone in the opulent study with his father. Lounging in an overstuffed chair, Rathe regarded his father with love and trust, but primarily with silent laughter, somewhat as a loving, indulgent parent might look upon a beautiful spoiled child throwing a tantrum.

      King Brewster crashed his huge fist down on the massive desk. “This man should have been here at least three weeks ago—where is he? His man said he would be here soon. Before he arrives, that old king in Carigo could be dead! How can Aleanna marry a corpse?” He continued his frustrated pacing.

      Despite King Brewster’s behavior, his mood was more than anger it was fear. He had never been fearful in battle; on the contrary, he reveled in fighting. With his big body, incredible strength and considerable fighting skills, he had often led his men into victorious battle. But this was different; he had decisions to make, and decisions that involved the safety of his daughter frightened him. Even though he was still a powerful man, his once heavily muscled body had deteriorated somewhat with age. He feared he might not live many more years, and death seemed nearer. He had never contemplated his own death—in reality, he rarely contemplated anything. He was a man of action, not a man of thought. Now, at this time in his life, when he needed to depend on his wits, he felt unprepared.

      King Brewster dearly loved his two children. He loved them more than hunting—which was his passion—and even more than battle. Their mother died when they were very young, and even though governesses, nurses, and later servants were the primary caregivers of Prince Rathe and Princess Aleanna, the three were very close. Their relationship was more as siblings than father and children. Certainly, he had spoiled them, but he devoted a great deal of time to them. Either because of—or in spite of—his parenting, both grew into fine young adults of whom he was enormously proud. His fear now was that, when his children needed him most, he would be least prepared to help them. At his age, it was even possible