Halt and Make Camp.
“What was silent in the father speaks in the son, and often I found in the son the unveiled secret of the father.”
- Friedrich Nietzsche
Jordan leaned forward and patted his horse affectionately on the neck.
They had been riding hard since dawn-light. The horse was snorting heavily and had started to pant. Jordan's hand came away slick with sweat and he wiped it absentmindedly against his thigh. He had pulled up on the verge of a steep hill overlooking a vast open plain that stretched ahead of them. It had once been a great body of water known as Lake Tanganyika, but 'The Purge' had vaporized all the water, and the areas aquatic past was long forgotten. They were deep in the hearth-land, the barren region that marked the boundary of the direct effect of the Skyforge's radiant energy. Rainfall was practically non-existent in the hearth-land and the rivers and lakes that had once flowed across the landscape were a distant memory.
"We make camp here!" He shouted over to his son Sweden when he spotted him crest the hill a hundred yards to the right. He turned and jumped out of the saddle landing lightly on the dusty ground, for all the world like he was just rising from a restful sleep. He was enjoying being out, away from the mundane drudgery of marshaling an army.
Sweden acknowledged the order with a wave. Not a moment too soon he thought to himself. His horse was almost ruined with fatigue.
He signaled the order to halt and make camp to the five riders that had pulled up behind him. With a groan, he dismounted from his own horse. He took hold of the bridal and walked the animal over to where his father stood, hands-on-hips, surveying the surrounding terrain.
"We may need to rest the horses for another day before we set out again," Sweden said to him as he came up beside him. "We have pushed them too hard and the last thing we need is to ruin them."
"I do believe we may be in luck my boy," Jordan slapped his son heartily on the back, ignoring his comment. He pointed to a spot on the horizon.
"Do you see those birds over there?"
Sweden squinted at the horizon. The distant glow from the Skyforge made it difficult to identify details through the soft ember-light haze. A chill ran up his spine when he realized that the distant black specks his father was pointing at were vultures circling something out on the barren expanse of the hearth-land.
"Was that Denmark?" he thought.
His travel weariness fell away as a rush of adrenaline pumped through his system.
"I will ride out tonight father, as far and as fast as my horse will take me." He said through clenched teeth as he clambered back onto his horse. A swift kick of his heels drove the animal forward at a gallop. He steered the horse down the hill, straight for the distant column of carrion fowl.
Jordan watched him go with a bemused look on his face. He turned to one of the other Rangers who was standing beside him, quietly watching the young lord disappear into the haze.
"Follow him." He ordered gruffly, "The fool is not in his right mind. There's no telling what manner of creature will be drawn to the sight of those birds and I doubt his horse will be much use before too long."
The Ranger nodded and turned to mount his own horse.
"I may have lost one son already." Jordan added, "See to it that I don't lose a second. Your own life depends on it."
"No harm shall come to him, my liege." The ranger replied.
With a shout, the ranger spurred his own heavily fatigued horse into a gallop and headed off after Sweden.
It had not occurred to Jordan that Sweden cared so much about his brother's well-being. The two had never exactly seen eye to eye. What little parenting he had done over the years usually involved separating them before the injuries became too severe. He shook his head before turning to the remaining Rangers and barking orders at them to get the camp set up to his satisfaction.
In fact, Sweden was responding to a biological imperative that Jordan could never hope to understand. Being Denmark's twin meant that there was a deep connection between them that was crystallized by the threat of danger. It very rarely manifested itself, but when it did the bond was strong enough to motivate a swift reaction.
Sweden was true to his word. He rode his horse hard and fast toward the caramel twilight of the Skyforge as it loomed over the horizon like a curtain of flame. At this latitude, the Skyforge was an effective light source. Once the sun had set the Earth was bathed in its dusky half-light, warmed like the last glowing embers in the homely hearth of the gods.
The horse managed to carry him a further three and a half miles before finally succumbing to its fatigue. Sweden pulled up and dismounted as it started to stumble. He walked beside the struggling horse for several yards before it collapsed with an excruciating squeal and lay panting and snorting on the dusty ground.
Sweden watched the horse dispassionately as it writhed in agony, legs twitching feebly. He looked up at the circling vultures estimating that he was roughly a mile from their source of interest. He sighed. Walking was so tedious. He stooped down to his dying horse, placed his hand on its head for stability, and in a swift motion slotted his dagger through the animal’s eye socket, ramming the full ten-inch length of the blade deep into the animal's brain cavity. The horse spasmed sharply and lay still.
Sweden withdrew the blade slowly from the horse's head. He examined it curiously as it dripped a viscous combination of blood, eyeball juice, and brain matter. He licked the flat of the blade and savored the unusual, warm salty concoction. Then, with careful deliberation, he wiped the blade clean on the animal's neck and sheathed it back in its scabbard.
He reached over the horse's lifeless body and detached his leather knapsack and bedroll from the back of the saddle. After he had checked the contents of the knapsack and was satisfied that everything was in place, he strapped it on his back. With everything ready, he turned to face the column of vultures. He grunted and took off at a dead trot. He estimated that at this pace he would reach the source in about twenty minutes.
It was then that it occurred to him that being on foot, alone and in the open might be a bad thing. He pushed the thought from his mind and focused on his breathing and stride. It had been a while since he had last had to run for any distance.
