novelraw Chapter 271: Iron King Auction
Chapter 271: Iron King Auction
The Iron King, Ragnar, sat in the center of the vast dais upon the most luxurious chair.
While the gathered kings and dukes took their assigned places upon the long wooden benches carved from the ancient oaks of the conquered forests, they were acutely aware of their own inferior status in the presence of such a legendary warlord.
King Aedh MacNeill of Ireland, a man who possessed immense courage and a lineage of fierce, blood-soaked warriors, sat rigidly in his heavy woolen cloak, his hands resting upon his knees as he beheld the staggering wealth displayed upon the walls.
And so, sitting across the aisle, King Donald the Second of Scotland, who had brought his fiercely loyal dukes and their noble, gem-draped wives from the freezing northern highlands, surveyed the grand hall with eyes wide.
King Donald had fought long, bitter wars among the crags and glens of his homeland, yet he too had ultimately bowed his head to the Iron King’s authority.
Despite the presence of these established monarchs, the most volatile guest in the hall was the newly appointed King of Norway, Erik Bloodtooth, a savage vassal bound to the Iron Kingdom by oaths of blood, honor, and profound fear.
Because of this unprecedented gathering, the doors firmly separated the high-born nobility from the common ranks of society, yet the lesser folk of Wessex were not entirely excluded from the momentous events unfolding within the royal keep.
The streets of Wessex were filled with grand festivities, overflowing with the roasting of whole oxen, the endless pouring of dark ale, and children playing freely in the wide, paved avenues, completely untouched by the fear of raiding hosts or sudden slaughter.
In their minds, the common folk possessed a complete and unshakeable belief that the Iron King was a divine conqueror sent to elevate their realm to the absolute pinnacle of earthly glory, and thus they displayed absolute happiness on everyone’s face.
The food was plentiful, the wagons were heavy with the rich spoils of the autumn harvest, and the people wore thick woolen clothes to ward off the chill of the coming winter, a direct result of the safe, protected trade routes established by the Iron King’s fleets.
Therefore, hundreds of commoners crowded around the outer perimeter of the grand hall, standing upon their toes and hoisting their children onto their broad shoulders, peering eagerly through the narrow, glass-paned windows to catch a fleeting glimpse of the legendary monarchs and the fabled treasures.
They listened intently to the muffled sounds echoing from the high windows, their faces reflecting absolute happiness and unwavering loyalty, for they knew that under the banner of the Iron King, their lands were safe from the raiding longships and the burning torches of hostile invaders.
Of course, the atmosphere inside the great hall mirrored the intense curiosity of the streets, though it was heavily masked by the careful, calculated etiquette of the ninth-century nobility, who were all whispering to each other about what might be sold.
The dukes, the earls, and the vassal kings desperately attempted to discern exactly what rare and powerful items would be placed upon the auction block, and whether the Iron King, a man who had successfully plundered the deepest vaults of the fallen empires, truly required their silver and gold.
With all these desperate whispers circulating through the smoky air of the hall, the true reality of the situation was entirely different from the flawed theories of the lesser kings, because Ragnar absolutely did not need their money.
He wished to lay bare the inventions of his craftsmen, and the treasures he had seized from the corpses of his enemies, solely to observe the reactions of these monarchs.
After securing the absolute, silent attention of the entire hall through a single, authoritative gesture of his mailed hand, Ragnar leaned back into the thick furs of his luxurious chair, signaling that the time for whispers had officially ended.
While the kings braced themselves for the display of power, Gyda, the lawful and fiercely loyal wife of the Iron King, stepped forward from the shadows of the high dais to command the attention of the gathered lords.
"Gentlemen, welcome to the world’s greatest auction!"
Gyda declared, her voice ringing out clear, powerful, and devoid of any hesitation, cutting through the tension and sending a palpable thrill of anticipation through the ranks of the gathered nobility.
Despite the formal, polite smiles plastered across the faces of the dukes and the kings, a fierce, primal greed instantly ignited within their hearts, causing them to shift upon their wooden benches and instinctively drop their hands to the heavy leather purses tied to their broad, iron-studded belts.
They had crossed treacherous, storm-tossed seas and traversed bandit-infested highlands for this singular moment, and Gyda’s welcoming proclamation was the clarion call that signaled the commencement of the bloodless war of wealth and honor.
And so, capitalizing on the rapt, undivided attention of the hall, Gyda began welcoming everyone with formal, highly calculated words of praise, acknowledging the immense courage it took to survive the brutal wars of the century and the great honor they displayed by answering the summons of the Iron King.
She spoke of the unbreakable bonds forged in the fires of battle, and the glorious peace that now settled over the realm, meticulously establishing her dominance over the seated lords of the earth.
After all, Gyda knew that a warlord’s desire was fueled entirely by the promise of superior strength and the prospect of outmatching his ancient rivals, and thus she began deliberately stirring their excitement for the fabled items that lay hidden beneath the heavy, dark velvet cloths resting upon the auction block.
She recounted the legendary tales of the Iron King’s conquests, reminding the audience of the impenetrable armor that had turned aside the finest arrows of the East, and the miraculous, fire-breathing engines that had shattered the ancient stone walls of the greatest fortresses known to mankind.
With all these vivid, overwhelming descriptions filling the minds of the kings, the atmosphere in the room transformed from tense apprehension into a desperate, ravenous hunger, as the Scottish lords leaned forward with unadulterated covetousness, and the Irish warlords gripped the hilts of their daggers, mentally calculating the exact limits of their silver reserves.
While the queen continued to speak her magnificent words to the captivated nobility inside the hall, the conversations in the streets of Wessex reached a fevered pitch of excitement and wild speculation.
The hardened, off-duty warriors, the visiting merchants, and the common folk gathered around the large roasting fires in the paved squares, speaking in hushed, reverent tones about the great auction and the rumors circulating throughout the city.
Furthermore, they shared wild, fantastical rumors regarding the items hidden within the Iron King’s heavily guarded vaults, speaking of great, heavy swords that could cleave solid rock, and suits of armor, crafted from unknown metals, that no cavalry lance or heavy arrow could ever hope to pierce.
They whispered about the captured banners of fallen empires, the crowns of dead kings that would be offered to the highest bidder, and the terrifying, fire-breathing engines of war that could reduce an entire host of armored knights to nothing but ash and bone.
In their minds, the men and women of Wessex also analyzed the gathered kings who walked among them, whispering about the immense wealth of King Donald, and debating whether the savage Erik Bloodtooth would spend his plundered gold or simply attempt to take his prizes through the threat of future violence.
They looked to the distant horizons, filled with absolute faith in their sovereign’s might, asking each other where the Iron King would march his invincible hosts next, fully confident that whatever land he chose to conquer, it would quickly fall to his unmatched power, his brilliant mind, and his undeniable honor.
After exchanging these wild, fantastical rumors and bathing in the joyous warmth of the festival fires, the commoners pressed their faces closer to the glass panes of the great hall, holding their collective breath as they watched the queen turn gracefully toward the largest of the covered crates.
She grasped the edge of the dark velvet cloth with a firm hand, her eyes flashing with the cold, pragmatic confidence of an empire that had already conquered the island and was now merely offering its remnants to the highest bidder.
"Let’s show you our first invention!"