Drinks at the mead hall

‘Ivar my friend! It’s been too long!’ The burly man says, pulling me into a bear hug. ‘It’s only been a week or two at most!’ I respond, grinning. ‘True enough, but still too long!’ Bjørn shoots back heartily. ‘Come sit, we saved you a spot and some ale.’

I let out a roar of laughter. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t drunk the whole cask yourself, you greedy oaf!’ Bjørn laughs with me.

‘I must admit, I was tempted, but I had to save some for Svengal. You can have the drops at the bottom.’

Svengal shoulders Bjørn aside and clasps my forearm. I return the gesture. ‘How are you Svengal, you big ugly brute?’ I ask. ‘Still a smart mouth as always then Ivar?’ He guffaws.

I sit at the table with them and we exchange stories about the things we’ve been up to.

‘Still with Gertrude then?’ I ask Svengal. ‘Don’t get me started on her, by Thor’s beard, she’s awful! Of course, the worst thing about her is that she’s only in my mind.’ He says, unable to keep the grin from surfacing.

Bjørn rolls his eyes. ‘Every time you do this, and it’s no more funny than the last time.’ He says. Svengal and I laugh at his reaction. ‘You just don’t appreciate good humour.’ Svengal says. ‘You have to actually have more than 2 brain cells to get it.’ I add, sending Svengal into another fit of laughter.

The ghost of a smile touches Bjørn’s face as he tries and fails to hide his amusement.

‘What about you Ivar? Got a wife yet?’ He asks, changing the subject. I shake my head. ‘Still playing the waiting game.’ I say. ‘Waiting won’t get you a woman, you need to go out there and get her!’ Svengal says. ‘I will. Just not yet. It’s not the right time.’

The night wears on, and we drink in moderation, not wanting to have a hangover the next day. The topic of conversation changes from stories and joking banter, to more serious matters.

‘I’m sick and tired of Christiansen running New Ambrosia. Nobody likes him, he’s a horrible leader and he needs to go.’ Bjørn says firmly. I nod, agreeing with him. ‘Definitely. But nobody can stand up to him.’ Svengal says.

I look up from the spot I’ve been staring at on the table. ‘I bet we could.’ I say.

‘Bah! A couple of men don’t stand a chance against the entire army he has.’

‘We don’t need to. I’m sure there are lots of people around who agree with us. He needs to go. We just need somebody to rally everybody together and unite us all.’ Svengal nods, catching on. ‘They can’t kill us all!’ He says.

Bjørn strokes his beard. ‘They’d certainly try.’ He says, thoughtfully. He opens his mouth to continue, but a voice stops him.

‘Oi! Arms in the air traitor!’ I whirl around to face the newcomer. The timing really could not have been worse. A rat-faced soldier of Christiansen’s stares at Bjørn, his sword drawn. Flanking him are half a dozen other soldiers. Not great odds to begin with. Adding to that the fact that none of us have ever really seen combat, only training, and we’re practically unarmed, save for the heavy utility knives that we all carry at our belts, it’s easy to see that we’re just about helpless, even accounting for the fact that they likely haven’t seen proper combat either.

‘I accuse you three of treason and plotting against the crown.’ We start to stand and protest, when rat-face’s voice cuts like a whip. ‘Silence!’ The soldiers flanking him draw their swords. ‘Outside! Now!’ He orders. With **** but to comply, we slowly and silently stand and walk towards the door, exchanging a look as we do.

‘Hands behind your heads!’ He yells. We put our hands behind our heads. I nudge open the door with my foot and we walk outside, the freezing cold hitting us like a brick wall.

Even at a moment like this, where my stomach is filled with dread, a part of me revels in the bitter frost of the night air. I’ve always loved the cold.

‘The punishment for the crimes that you are accused of, is ****. Have you any last words?’ My head whips around at his words, the cold hand of fear gripping my heart. ‘You can’t be serious, we were drinking and-’

‘I don’t care, and neither does the Emperor. Anybody so much as considering the idea of overthrowing the crown is a traitor to New Ambrosia and will be executed for their crimes.’ He nods to someone behind me, and acting on instinct, I dive forward.

I hear gurgles of surprise from behind me. Not daring to look for fear of what I’ll see, I crash tackle rat face.

We land in the snow. I throw a single punch to his nose, which echoes around with a sickening, meaty smack. I'm on my feet instantly, sprinting away. I’m sure I broke his nose, but I don’t stay to find out.

I know my only chance is to run, so that’s what I do.

I run, and I don’t look back.