Tundra

The flames of the now useless candles heightened as the night grew long and the silence longer in the demon’s wake. Meanwhile, by the shore of the tundra, the far-off mountains were silhouettes in different shades of blue. They were as large as clouds high above, and as large as the elders that dwelled beneath the waves, Erasmus knew, far down at the bottom of the ocean, where tectonic plates shifted and fathoms of weight were heaped.

Erasmus had an ambition. He would catch one of those elders, but first, he would build a machine for going overland, the kind of machine he had seen once before. No similar thing existed on the open plain, where the biggest burdens were carried on the backs of mammoths. It would take all of his Seafarer tribesmen to build the kind of structure he desired, but thankfully he had plenty of men to spare. He had managed to save at least half the wounded from the massacre, and was now putting them to use, along with the giants and infected mammoth riders the fungus had already bestowed on him.

‘Seafarers,’ he called out, regally announcing his intention to speak. ‘Your High Thane would have words with you! Tomorrow, we all embark on the most significant endeavour of our lives.’ Arms held wide, he surveyed all that he owned in flesh and blood. ‘It is, no doubt,’ he went on, ‘an extremely daunting prospect to know that the fates of yourselves, your families and your entire people will be decided a few short hours from now. Remember, though, what it is that you are fighting for– nothing less than a Seafarer nation. You are fighting for a High Thane who will rule wisely and well. You are fighting for the chance to be something more than a collection of feuding tribes. You are fighting for the culmination of your ancestor’s work. Each and every one of you has an ancestor who, at some stage, said I will not go it alone, I will create something of lasting value. How do you think the tribes were first created, if not by men who sought to build something greater than themselves? You are simply the next link in a great chain that stretches back to the morning of the world.’ Of course, it was all show, all lies.

One man picked up on this. ‘Our ancestors never fought alongside monsters,’ he complained.

Erasmus snapped. ‘Who said that?’

‘They never ate druid-fungus, either.’

Like a ripple over the stroke of an oar, Erasmus smoothed over the interruption. ‘It is natural that you should feel some discomfort with what we are doing,’ he said boldly. ‘After all, it has never been done before. We are building a new world, and we must use unusual tools to do it, but that doesn’t matter. The old order was not working, it deserved to be overthrown, and that applies to the natural order just as much as to the social one. If we have to eat the fungus and row with the spirits to achieve our goals, so be it.

'When our sons look back on this in generations to come, they won’t be talking about how we did things. They will be talking about what we did. The songs they sing of our names won’t have the first thing to do with fungi or spirits, they will be about how we took a handful of disparate tribes and built them into an empire. If you want to know what your ancestors would think of that, look at what they think of your bands today. If they would be proud of a band of hundreds, imagine what they would think of an empire of thousands. They will turn to each other in the hall of heroes, and say look at my descendant. He is helping the first real High Thane save his people.’

The complainer stifled –Erasmus made a sly decision to seek him out later–, a cheer erupted. ‘Hail the High Thane!’ This was more like the treatment to which Erasmus had become accustomed.

‘Indeed,’ he declared, stroking his newly acquired furs, a gift from the Sea Wolf clan. ‘Remember, I do this not only for myself, but for all of you. Now, to business, tomorrow, those of you affiliated with the Sharktooth band, the Sea Wolves and Sons of the Storm, you will take to your ships and row out onto the open sea. Muron knows the way, and I will be in constant contact with him. Sharpshoal clan and Circle Bay clan, once my conveyance is constructed, you will come with me. I assure you, while what I have in mind for you is less conventional than the raid I am sending your brothers on, it is no less glorious.’

There was another cry, and it was collective, triumphant. Erasmus had salvaged his speech well. ‘Hail the High Thane!’