Realm of Monsters

Chapter 597: House of Goldelm Part 1

  The dawn revealed a dim sky covered in grey clouds. Only yesterday had the sky been a clear pristine blue, the sun had shone down on the execution of the warlord and his lieutenants for the whole city to see. But now, in the Goldelm’s family cemetery, there was only a dull light. It settled a little too well in the grim atmosphere.

  The late Zorn Goldelm’s funeral was a private affair, only the family had been invited, alongside the servants and priests who carried out the funeral rites. Zorn had 8 children and almost twice as many wives. Most of his wives were dwarves, a couple were human, and there was a vampire and drow as well, all of them were beautiful. Like so many things, Zorn had surrounded himself with beautiful things, his wives were no different.

  Freya watched with little emotion as her father’s gilded casket was lowered into his final resting place. She had wanted to cry, some part of her told herself that she needed to. Her younger siblings sobbed openly, even Cedric cried, albeit silently and with a solemn expression.

  But try as Freya might, she couldn’t find it in her. The night her father died, her heart had been ripped open. She had cried herself to sleep for several nights afterwards. Now, whatever emotions she had left felt dim like the morning sky. She felt spent and only a dull ache was left in her chest.

  A shriek caught Freya’s attention. It was one of her father’s wives, the vampiress, throwing herself at the casket. Three of the servants had to hold her back as she wailed. Even a dainty woman like her still boasted the strength of her species and it was clear the dwarf servants were struggling to hold her back. Finally, the woman fell to her knees at the side of the grave and just whimpered quietly.

  Freya felt guilty that she was actually surprised at the woman’s display. Some part of Freya had always assumed that the women her father had married didn’t care much for him. They had married him for his wealth, or their parents had arranged a marriage for a powerful trade treaty or a noble alliance. Her own mother wasn’t much different, it had been a simple noble marriage, nothing more. 

  But this vampiress was different. She had clearly loved Zorn. How tragic then, that she had never bore him a child. Now that he was gone, only the women who had children with the surname Goldelm would have any power within the House. They would leverage their children’s status to solidify their continued position within the family and they would push out any who could not do the same. No one would care what happened to a vampiress with no ties left to the family.

  The priest spoke over her father’s grave as the servants shoveled dirt over the hole. His words were a faint blur to Freya. All she could think about was the inlaid gold and jewels that covered her father’s casket. Even in death, all he wanted was to be surrounded by beautiful things. It was a symbol of power to him, a display of his obscene wealth, the richest House in all of the Ebon Realm.

  Zorn had always adorned himself in rare silks, expensive furs, and valuable jewelry. He wore rings on all his fingers, golden bracelets as thick as his thumb. Golden beads crafted and enchanted by the greatest brown mages were wrapped around each of his braids, in his hair and beard. He was a walking treasure vault, with more wealth in his hand than a minor lord might own in his entire life.

  Power was grounded in perspective and belief, Zorn had taught Freya that when she was a child. If people believed you were powerful when you walked past then they would treat you as such. His appearance was a constant reminder to all who laid eyes on him of the power House Goldelm wielded and how they existed above them. 

  Freya had believed in the power, she had been proud of the way her father dressed, and had often emulated him. Now, as her father’s gilded casket was being buried, it all seemed a gaudy sham, a facade. They weren’t a different breed, a cut above the rest. In the end, they died just the same as the commoners and no amount of gold would ever bring him back. 

  In the past, the Goldelms had chosen to be cremated in the same fires they had used to wrought their great enchanted works. Though Lady Vael Goldelm II hadn’t founded their House, she was the one who had taken it from a minor dwarven House in the mountains of Frost Rim to the Great House it was today. 

  Vael had been a mage smith, apprenticed to Ebon Lord Koval himself. She had dedicated her life to the art of enchanting and smithing. Koval had gifted her Oginum in the pursuit of that dream. Freya stared at the golden hammer now lying across her back and waist. How could a single hammer cause so much trouble?

  When had a House of magic and smiths turned into a family that only pursued wealth for the sake of it? When had they begun to believe their own lies of power? When had they become so arrogant?

  Freya scoffed at the thought. She had been no different. She believed her noble blood had made her special and she had flaunted the Goldelm name wherever she went. Until a certain goblin had almost murdered her in front of all her classmates. It had been the first time she had truly felt her mortality.

  Now, as she stood in their family’s graveyard, she was reminded once more of how fragile life really was.

  “—ya… Freya?”

  Freya glanced up at her mother’s voice. At some point, the priest had finished the burial rites. The other wives were huddled around their children, while the motherless wives huddled around each other. Only the vampiress sat alone, next to the grave.

  “Freya,” her mother said once more. “You should talk to her.”

  “Jessica?” Freya glanced at the vampiress. 

  Her mother frowned. “What? No. Ingrid. Go talk to her.”

  Freya glanced at her aunt, Ingrid, standing on the other side of the funeral procession. Ingrid had left Frost Rim as soon as she had heard of her brother’s death. She had only arrived last night. The family had held off on the funeral until her arrival. Ingrid was the only other child Freya’s grandmother had ever had, more importantly, she was the 9th and final living member of their House’s main branch.

  In the event of a succession dispute, the living Goldelms of the main branch would vote as to who was the rightful heir. Cedric had convinced two of their siblings to side with Freya, the other three had sided with Aric. Ingrid was the final vote.

  “Stop wasting time, go and talk to her, before it’s too late.”

  Freya nodded absentmindedly at her mother’s words. Aric had a servant push his wheelchair up to Ingrid. He was chatting with her and from the calm expression Ingrid was making, it didn’t seem as if she was rejecting him.

  It didn’t bode well for Freya’s chances. She glanced at her siblings, where once they were all smiles, now half of them gave her the cold shoulder, and the other half wore anxious expressions. Cedric had told her she needed to appear more confident to inspire leadership among the family, but Freya wasn’t interested in leading.

  In fact, Freya had never wanted the Goldelm throne. Cedric had been the one to thrust the title on her when all she had wanted was to give Oginum to Aric. Their father was dead, Aric’s spine had been broken, and half their army was dead. The last thing they needed was a succession dispute.

  And yet, here Freya was, at the center of it all. She glanced at Jessica, the vampiress, on her knees, shoulders shaking, head bowed, crying quietly. Freya’s father was dead and it seemed all anyone could think about was who would be the next lord. She had never felt so alone. “I’ll talk to her later, Mom…”

  “Wait, where are you going—?”

  Freya ignored her mother’s words and marched up to Jessica. She placed a gentle hand on the woman’s trembling shoulder, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Jessica looked up, stunned. “Lady Freya…?”

  She grimaced. “Please, just Freya.”

  The woman nodded and wiped her tears with the edge of her sleeve. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a commotion, I just—”

  “No, you did nothing wrong.” Freya forced herself to smile, then walked away. If she lingered any longer, Aric might begin to believe that Jessica had thrown her lot in with her. The least Freya could do was not drag anyone else into her problems.

  Freya left the family graveyard at the back of the manor and made her way back to her room, but she ended up stopping by the gardens. She found a small, secluded spot and sat down on a stone bench.

  Unhooking Oginum from the straps on her back, she hefted the hammer in her hands and looked it over. It was a work of art, of that there was no doubt. Every sigil, every ounce of enchanted steel glowed with a soft light as she held the hammer. But Oginum was more than a masterpiece, it was a powerful weapon meant for both smithing and combat. It was the symbol of House Goldelm and it was now a painful reminder of her family’s division.

  Freya sighed and planted the hammer on the grass. She wanted to see Kegrog and Nora. The former’s recovery was going well, he was starting to walk again. The healers weren’t certain he ever would again after his fall, but Freya never doubted it. Anyone who could survive a beating from Stryg, let alone several, wouldn’t go down so easily.

  “There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you,” said Cedric.

  “What do you want?” Freya muttered without bothering to look at him.

  Cedric smiled wryly, “Do you still hate me?”

  “Hm, let me see, you pledged your allegiance to me in front of Aric, against my wishes. And now half our family hates me and thinks I want to steal his inheritance.” She glared at him. “What do you think?”

  “I think the other half of the family wants you to lead them. It’s been almost three centuries since Oginum’s light graced a Goldelm.”

  “I never asked for Oginum.”

  “It chose you anyway, or perhaps it’s one of the reasons why it chose you.”

  “I wish I could just give it to Aric and be done with all of this.”

  “You know it’s not that simple. Oginum is not its sister, Krikolm. You can’t just pass it on to your heir through a blood bond. Oginum is bonded to your soul and it will never be unbound until you are dead.”

  “So what? Aric can still carry it around, can’t he? Like you said, it’s not Krikolm. Anyone can pick it up.”

  “Sure, but the hammer will never burn alight for him. Everyone will know he was not chosen. Carrying Oginum now would only be an embarrassment for him, especially after his injury. He is no warrior, not anymore.”

  “Don’t say that about him,” Freya snapped. “Aric has always protected us ever since we were kids.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he did in the past. Like Father always said, power is in perspective. When people see him with Oginum, all they will see is a cripple carrying a hammer he can’t even swing. Before he might have made it work anyway, but Oginum is the symbol of our House and everyone now knows that it has its proper wielder. If Aric takes Oginum he will seem like a fraud, his legitimacy will be questioned for the rest of his life. That sort of weakness leads to dissent and the downfall of a House.”

  “You’ve really thought this through,” she said dryly.

  “I’m just stating the truth you’re refusing to look at. So long as you live, you will be a threat to Aric’s rule.”

  “I don’t want to rule.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want. Oginum chose you. Somewhere along the way, the Goldelms lost themselves. I know you see it too. We’ve lost ourselves to this vanity of gold and prestige. That’s why Oginum’s light disappeared.” Cedric walked over and knelt down on one knee in front of her. “I didn’t think anything would change. But when I saw you charge at hundreds of barbarians all alone with only Oginum at your side for the sake of protecting those who could not protect themselves, I saw hope for our House born again. You could help us find our way once more. You could lead us.”

  “And what if I don’t…?”

  Cedric looked her straight in the eyes. “Then Aric might kill you.”