[i]An Encounter at Sea and the Raid on Old Boot[/i]
[b]King Wolfheart Lami Ynndyron of Anxwe (72 - 145)[/b]
[quote=Haxwas Leafsinger of the Red River, Chief Chronicler of the Court of Ynndyron, 126]In the name of the Wolfheart, Ynndyron-King, Lord of the Liana Hall of Anxwe, Raid-Captain of Aeserd and the Far Seas, True Lord of Greenmountain and its principalities and client territories, Blessed Spear of Jax, the Wolf, and Odo, the Elk, mighty Prince of the North-and-of-the-West-and-of-the-Rivers, dread Warlord of the Greenlands, Lord of All Trees, Blood-Prince, most fabulous King of the line of Ynndyron, I write this to enlarge your glory, which already is sung to the very peak of Greenmountain, to the stars themselves, to the very branches of Rud Tree-Father's silver trunk, and upwards to resound in Heaven amongst the cooing of the fountains of Ibasa. I offer unto you the sacrifice of ten white deer, along with the measly portion of my own humble blood, sweat, and tears shed in toil over the making of this manuscript.
 
This work was begun by my father, the venerable Thwildirod Leafsinger of Red River, who no longer walks this earth, but who instructed me in all the arts of writing, of verse, of lore, of balladry, and of history. And the work shall continue by the hand of my son, Dirhal, and by his son, Yewd, and by all the sons of the line of Leafsinger so long as we might enjoy the favor of the mighty lords of Ynndyron and persist upon this earth. It is my noble father to whose glory I also render the sacrifice of ten white deer, for every man is ruled by two lords, his liege lord and his father, both dreadful and benevolent in turn, who guide us as surely as the polestars of Heaven.
 
Ynndyron! Greenmountain! I beseech you to turn your eyes to Heaven! See there writ the deeds of your noble Lords and Kings! It is the stars to whom I have turned for guidance, whose timbre I have struck, whose illumination imbues the words of this holy work, to whom I now raise my eyes having accomplished the work of chronicling of the Wars and the deeds of Wolfheart, King of Ynndyron, the toil of my life.
 
Blessed Wolfheart, I offer this work, myself, my sons and my house, to your mercy and grace. Do with us as you will.[/quote]
 
[quote=Haxwas Leafsinger of the Red River, Chief Chronicler of the Court of Ynndyron, 126]This I saw with my own eyes, for in those days, though on in years, I was still able to carry a spear and ride an elk and ply the waves and give battle, and my father yet lived.
 
King Wolfheart had only recently been anointed as lord of the realm, but he was full of war-lust, and desirous of a spear-meeting, with whom it was of no consequence. But he did not yet wish to cross spears with Thanesrow, for he had greater designs for them which he was not yet willing to enact. And so, wanting to shed blood and offer up homage to Odo and Jax, he devised a war against the Oaklanders, and it was thus: 

Some fisherfolk of ours, unbeknownst to us, had some years past been shipwrecked in one of the Channel’s infamous tempests on the far side, where the Oaklanders, thinking them to be pirates or spies, had taken them into captivity. This is the custom of not only the Oaklanders, but in Ynndyron as well; I recall only a year or so past some fisherfolk from the Meadland foundered off the rocks of Yvander and were impressed into servitude for having encroached upon our fishing grounds. These fisherfolk, having lived some time in the Oaklands, had found the leafy women to their fancy, and forsook their fatherland, and offered up their labor to King Greenshield; but not all. Recently, some gallant patriots, having broken the yoke of the Oaklanders, fled back across the Channel to friendly shoals, where they requested audience with the King and told him of these grave tidings. He said that the majority of them lived in the village of Old Boot. 

Then Wolfheart drew up a letter to his cousin King Greenshield, and related these events, and expressed his grievances and desire for these folk of his to be returned to the bosom of Ynndyron. After some moon’s turning, however, no reply came to Anxwe, and the King was wroth. But secretly, with his councilors and retainers, he spoke hotly of his appetite to war with the Oaklanders, and plunder their fat keeps and rich coasts. Pyndwal the Mantle urged caution, however, saying that the Oaklanders were known for their martial prowess, and their fearsome axe-lords that were skilled in the felling of trees and men at the trunk, and their war-druids who spoke thunder and conjured fire in the bellies of their drums. But Wolfheart laughed at Pyndwal, and called him milktoast, and said that he feared nothing in the world save for the gods and a long life. 

“To live longer than one’s time is the deepest of sorrows. A man’s body, previously beautiful and hardy, becomes drooped and decrepit, and in the end he cannot even lift a spear or lie with a woman or drink beer till the stars fall down. One becomes unwanted and unneeded, and full of bitterness at the way of things, and everyone around him begins to think, ‘When will he finally die? When will that old man let the rest of us have our turn?’ And when one does finally die, they will say, ‘It was his time.’ No! Let me die at the time of my choosing and not at the appointed hour, in the magnificence of youth, with a strong and stout body, spear in hand and full of beer, after having seeded fresh sons in my lady’s belly! Let death do as it will with me! Let me die when it is not my time, when I elect to die, in glory and in war!” so said the King. 

We knew that they were the words of a young man full of fire and lust, drunk upon youth, without sons or wives, but still we cheered, for we too desired to live as he did, without care or fear of death. 

So the King, receiving no reply from his cousin Oakland-King, proposed a raid, in which we would abduct the wayward fisherfolk and bring them back into the fold, and claim much booty in the process. And thus Wolfheart called upon his warriors and spear-masters, his councilors and retainers (including, I am proud to say, myself) and had built new longboats, their boards blessed with the elk blood and the seed of the elk-shamans, which is said to make a ship sail more swiftly and hold itself more stoutly upon the waves. On the third day of the third month, we rode out from Anxwe to the port of Loxwich, where our boats awaited us. We rested for one day, arraying ourselves for war and feasting the King. On the fifth day of the third month, two bells past midday so that we could arrive at midnight on the far shore, we launched our boats from Loxwich.

I was on the King’s boat. The sea was calm, eerily so, for it was the month of tempests and convulsions of air, and none but fisherfolk dared to ply the waves at this time for fear of foundering. But Wolfheart was not afraid, and said that this would be to our advantage. There was little wind, and thus we rowed furiously, making no progress. By sundown, after four bells of labor, we were but a quarter of the way across, and the men were near exhausted. The pilot suggested that we had been snared in a contrary current, but being familiar with the currents of the Channel, he was skeptical. Pyndwal, taking his spear in hand, roared that the men at the oars had not been laboring hard enough. But the King calmed him, and said that every man had given his all, were all soaked with sweat and panting fiercely, and that none had failed him. The horn was sounded, asking where the other boats were, and they all reported that they too had been caught in this queer current. 

But we could not tarry. After a brief respite, the horn was sounded again, and were once more underway. But after two bells of rowing, we had barely progressed, and the men were dead tired, having spent their strength for six bells without result and in contrary seas. The King called for the other boats to pull alongside us, and there a moot was held to determine the cause of our delay. None presented itself, though many ideas were bandied. Finally it was decided that we let loose our sails, and await a wind that would allow us to move, whether it be towards the far shore or no. And thus we waited, to no avail. Horns of beer and ale were drunk, and songs were sung, and there was a festival atmosphere. Libations were poured out to Iga, God of the Winds, and prayers offered up to Odo and Jax; but no matter what we did, no wind filled our sails. At midnight, the men began to doze off at their posts, and the King declared that we would try the oars again in the morning unless a wind rose in the night, and ordered a watch to be set. And so we slept at our oars, bellies full of beer, exhausted from the day’s work. 

Then, in the depths of the night, we awoke to a cry from the watchmen and, I swear upon my spear, we beheld a sight not of this world but of the Other: a longboat, glowing with pale blue light and crewed by phantoms, pulling up alongside us, a figure conjured from the stars themselves. Strange music emanated from the craft, pipes unlike any I had ever heard and drums deep and terrible like the howling of a storm. Those of us who did not cower in fear raised their spears, and threatening the approaching ship, but the phantoms merely laughed; suddenly our implements flew from our hands, and were suspended in the air. 

The ghastly music ceased suddenly. A ghostly voice called out, “What manflesh trespasses upon our domain? Know you not with whom you contend?” And a hoary spirit, red bearded and stuck full of arrows, set his boot up upon the bow, and struck our boats with a spectral whip, whereupon we were all pulled by some unseen force to dock alongside them. 

Wolfheart, unafraid, presented himself at the bow of our ship, and hammered his fist upon his breast and replied, “And you, phantom, know you not with whom you contend? I am Wolfheart, King of Ynndyron, Lord of the Liana Hall of Anxwe, Raid-Captain of the Aeserd. Was it you who has barred our passage across the Channel? If you relent now, we shall be merciful, for in my land we respect the dead.” 

At that, the phantom guffawed, and let out a riotous laugh which hurt his belly, and the crewmen laughed along with him. Holding back chuckles, he exclaimed, “Ha! You, a king? There is no king in Ynndyron! You are hardly more than a mewling pup, still hungry for his mother’s teat!” 

But Wolfheart shook his head, “Say what you will, phantom. The blood of Umbrix the Anvil flows through my veins, and a hundred thousand warriors are at my beck and call. All the isles of Ynndyron I have as my domain, and all the waters of the Aeserd. You, phantom, are the trespasser, not I. The lord of these waters wishes to pass. How old are you, how long dead, that you have not heard of the deeds of Ynndyron? How mighty you must hold yourself to be, to speak thus to a king.  Move aside, phantom, or you shall know the meaning of my wroth.” 

The phantom laughed once more, but now he was of a foul mood, for he had much pride, and took no insult lightly. “And how mighty you must hold yourself to be, wolf pup, to speak thus to your better. I am Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, Lord of All Oceans, who reigns still beneath the earth. Knew you not who I was, lordling? What feats I performed when the world was yet young? Has Ynndyron lost all reason?” 

And then, looking him up and down once more, we gasped and were amazed, for it was as he said; indeed it was Gilgabeld, the renowned pirate-lord, who more than a millennia past had terrorized the Greenlands, and who is known to us through the Lays of Yolanda. He had finally been slain by Yod the Hungry with his mighty bow Greengut, and only after he had been struck by thirteen red arrows. 

The King, bowing his head in deference, said, “Forgive me, dread Gilgabeld, for my error. I knew not that I parlayed with the Lord of All Oceans, Terror of the Greenlands, whose name lives in infamy.” 

“That is more like it,” Gilgabeld said, twirling his ghostly beard, “That is the proper respect to be shown to the lord of the waves!” 

“Yet, most terrible Gilgabeld, I must ask: why do you waylay us? We are in haste to reach the far shore, where we intend to throttle the village of Old Boot. You are familiar with it, I imagine?” 

“Familiar with it? Oh yes, quite familiar. Once I slew all of its menfolk, and took all of its womenfolk as concubines, and the little ones as galley slaves. It is a good anchorage, and rich with good trees for felling and sweet springs. Pretty women, too,” replied Gilgabeld, chortling, “But you simply cannot pass, little lord, for you have not paid the toll. Once you have, I should be glad to tow you to Old Boot.” 

The King smiled despite himself, “And what, oh horrible Gilgabeld, is the price that you would have us pay?” 

Gilgabeld was deep in thought, and paced back and forth, stroking his beard all the while. Finally, he grinned broadly, and leaned towards the King, “Despite your size, little lord, you have impressed me. Thus, I shall be merciful. The toll shall be all of your hearts. My men and I are mighty hungry, and it has been long since we have had anything to eat. You may keep your souls, the usual fare, though they be more filling and sweeter of taste.” 

The King sighed deeply, thought for a moment, and replied, “Well, we cannot contend with you, as you have taken our weapons from us, and if you cannot be persuaded, then we shall have to relinquish our hearts.” 

We cried out in disbelief, and lamented, for we could not believe that the King had surrendered himself to the phantom so easily and without a fight. But Wolfheart was crafty, and already had concocted a gambit to liberate us from our fates. He called out to Pyndwal, “My gracious lord, bring to me a horn of that sweet ale, so that it may be the last thing that I taste before I depart from this earth.” And Pyndwal brought the King’s drinking horn. 

Wolfheart raised the horn to Gilgabeld in toast, and said, “It is not so terrible a thing, to be slain by Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, Lord of All Oceans, Terror of the Greenlands. I offer this toast in your honor.” And he drank deeply. 

Gilgabeld eyed the King with great interest, and said lustily, “Long has it been since any ale passed our lips.” The King, sighing happily and smacking his lips, replied, “Oh, is that so? Would you like some, oh wretched Gilgabeld? We have ale aplenty, though if you do indeed intend to take our hearts, we shall cast it into the sea.” 

Then Gilgabeld was wroth. “No!” he cried, stomping his feet, “How foolish could you be, to waste so much good ale! How stupid! I forbid you to toss out that ale!” 

But the King merely shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Your price is our hearts, not our ale. You may have the former but not the latter, for it is very precious to us. You may drink of it, but only if you leave our hearts. We think their value to be equivalent.” And this was very artful of the King, for he knew that in the Lays of Yolanda it was said that Gilgabeld esteemed beer and ale above all other drinks, and treasured them, and went out of his way to get them. 

“Or we could take you, souls and hearts and ale and all, without striking such bargains,” snapped the phantom. Then a splash was heard, for the King had given a sign, and some casks of ale were thrown overboard into the dark waters. The pirate-lord roared and beat his breast, and hurled a spear from the air towards the King’s boat at a speed faster than the eye could perceive. A great hole had been opened in the hull, and the cold seawater began to flood in, and a great many men fell in and drowned. 

But Wolfheart, wreathed in starlight, was not moved. Sighing, he said, “I have insulted your pride, great Gilgabeld, and for that I apologize. But I have thought of a way to satisfy both of our desires.” And he made a sign, and the men, now drenched, rolled some casks of ale to the King. He perched himself upon one of them and, crossing his legs as if he had not a care in the world, he continued, “I propose a wager, abominable Gilgabeld, a drinking contest. In your time you were known for your bottomless belly. In a thousand years your tolerance has not waned, I trust? Let us see who is the greater man, for what greater contest of manhood is there, even greater than contests of arms, than contests of drinking? If you are the victor, atrocious Gilgabeld, you may take not only our hearts and our ale, but our souls too, and have a great feast. But if I am the victor, imp-like Gilgabeld, then we shall keep all, and you shall tow us to Old Boot and leave us be thereafter. What say you to that?” 

And Gilgabeld laughed, and slapped his belly, and all of his oarsmen fell into fits of hilarity. Finally settling down, wiping spectral tears from his eyes, he replied, “You have just consigned yourself to doom, little lord. No greater drinker is there in all the world than Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, Lord of All Oceans. I could outdrink Idd himself, if he had the stones to challenge me! Fine, I say! Let us drink till the stars fall down, and may the better man triumph!” Then, he leapt into the King’s boat, and the water flowing into the ship was suddenly staunched. The King laughed heartily, and roared, “Aye, may the better man triumph!” A drinking horn was procured for the pirate-lord, and all the oarsmen took up their horns too, and golden ale was poured all around, and a great toast offered up to the gods of the seas and the winds. Then the first horn was drunk, and the contest begun. 

“What sweet ale this is! How divine! How glorious is its fragrance! Oh! How I have yearned for the taste of ale upon my lips once more!” exclaimed the pirate-lord. And the King, drinking deeply and sighing noted, “It is the finest ale of Ynndyron, brewed in the halls of Anxwe for the lips of lords alone.” And he topped off his horn. 

“But let us not bandy words, fell Gilgabeld, for we are in haste and yearn to reach the shores of Old Boot before dawn breaks.” 

And the second horn was poured and drunk, and the third, and the fourth, and so on, until ten horns had been drunk by both man and phantom. By the eleventh, the phantom, even glowing blue as he was, began to grow red of cheek and slurred of speech. Wolfheart, though scarlet, held his ground with princely bravura. The eleventh was downed, and the twelfth, until finally the thirteenth was poured. The two toasted, drank, and once finished, Gilgabeld, the Lord of All Seas, dropped upon the boards stone drunk. It seemed that in a thousand years his tolerance indeed had waned. A cry was thrown up by the King and his oarsmen, and another round drunk by all. Some of the ghostly oarsmen floated swiftly over to our boat and pulled their lord up, but to no avail; the contest was done, and Wolfheart declared the victor. 

Stumbling about, the phantom finally collected himself and addressed the King, slurring his words all the while, “Wolf-King, you are the victor, though I would sooner damn my own bloody boots than say that you are the better man (both crews were confused about the meaning of this remark, and why he held his boots in such high esteem). We will tow you to Old Boot, and leave you alone thereafter. But grant me one request, little lord: leave me with some of that sweet ale, so that we might drink of it to quell our aching hunger, and dream of life.” And the King nodded and said, “You shall have all that we have, if you keep your word and tow us safely to Old Boot.” And so our boats were lashed with spectral cords to the great longship of Gilgabeld Sweetwaters, and with the speed of ten rushing elk we set off towards the far shore of the Channel. And the King, having put on a noble effort, fell down to the boards, drunk as a dog. We cheered for him, and drank his glory, for he had saved all of our lives.  

We arrived off the shore at Old Boot in less than one bell. It was still dark, and the stars were out, and dawn was yet far away. As promised, all of our ale was unloaded into Gilgabeld’s boat, and the phantoms rejoiced and drank a round in celebration. The cords were untied, and drunken goodbyes called out. Gilgabeld, still drunk, drew himself up in the bow and saluted Wolfheart, who returned the courtesy, and cried, “Farewell abhorrent Gilgabeld, Lord of All Oceans, Terror of the Greenlands! May you rot in peace!” And Gilgabeld roared heartily, and raised another horn of Anxwe ale to toast Wolfheart’s glory, and drank it down. 

Then, suddenly, the phantom ship was gone. 

Of the raid on Old Boot, there is little of interest to tell. The men were all drunk, and dead tired, and full of lust for plunder. When we pulled our boats up to the shore the fisherfolk had not yet awoken. For them it would be a red morning, and they would catch no fish. We ran ashore, our spears brandished, with torches in hand, and fired the hovels which the miserable folk inhabited. Women ran out, babes at their breast, and were either slain or taken as concubines. The men we interrogated, asking if they had come from Ynndyron; those that said they had not were cut down where they stood. It was bloody business, and wretched, and I care not to record more of what I beheld. But by the break of dawn, twelve traitors to the fatherland were brought before the King to plead for their lives. None were pardoned, but their lives were spent then and there on the sand. Thirty-three women were claimed as concubines, and fifty children as slaves. What objects of value that could be found were loaded onto the boats, and plentiful stores of flour, oil, dried fish, ale, mead, beer, and wine. The hovels were all set aflame, and a pennant of the House of Ynndyron planted on the shore amidst the smoke and ruin. Then, we we set out again towards home, our eyes barely open, the light of dawn just breaking on the horizon. 

And thus was begun the war with the Oaklands, which, despite the laughter and merriment in which it was forged, would bring us, and the King, much sorrow.[/quote]