Hello friends,
It is not without ponderous and lengthy deliberations that I disclose to you the fruits of my past several months. In the end, my excitement and, though I know it baseless, pride for what my efforts have brought to light persuade me to enter, confidently, the public forum.
On March 17th, while trudging across the tundra, mile after mile, I stopped for a quick drink from my canteen. My head ached from the cold: a deep throb behind my eyes. The thick gorse stretched a mottled canvas nearly to the horizon, which the blue of a seasonal alpine lake cut abruptly three hundred yards to the north. I hadn't planned on going much farther than the lake, but the last steps were, fortunately it turns out, too much for me without a break. As I crouched to conserve warmth, I noticed a discoloration in the grasses, and, spurred by my curiosity, gingerly wiped the mud from the cover of a partially-preserved, leather-bound manuscript. Rather than risk damaging such a strange find, I wrapped it carefully in my sleeping bag and did not examine it further until I had hastily returned to more controlled conditions.
Decay had claimed many pages of the tome, handwritten entirely in an Old Norse dialect and dating from the 13th century, but some remained intact. The translation of these extant passages has consumed my waking hours for the past months, and it is the longest and only intelligible section of the book that I will set down here. Any lilting sections of language, I can say without modesty, are entirely the fault of my limited translation skill. The Old Norse is poetic and beautiful, and I have tried my best to capture it here. I've inserted editorial comments in square brackets, but kept to a minimum. Enough now. The text.
Chapter The Fifth
In which Thrain and Fundin hold counsel of their advisers in the face of war.
Six silent nights passed, yet Thrain perched unmoving on his lofty balcony staring south across the wounded fen. Thrain's broad shoulders slouched under the weight of his exhaustion, which hung like a yoke around his neck. When the bright moon, sister of the earth, had risen in the clear sky, Fundin came again to Thrain's side and spoke, saying, "Great Thrain, all the wealth and pleasures of the kingdom would be no succor for you who have lost so much, but I beg you put off your watch and tend to your health lest you do yourself a grave injury." Three times Fundin beseeched, and three times Thrain withheld response, his gaze locked on the horizon.
Fundin turned back into the hall, gaze lowered, and sought his bed. He lay sleepless until the antlers of the day's fiery elk crested the mountains in the east, worry clouding his mind.
At last he arose, and his path brought him again to Thrain's balcony. His heart jumped, for Thrain no longer held his watch. Presently the horn sounded, and Fundin raced to the council chamber and took his seat beside Tor and Ymnod among the gathering assembly. Then Thrain spoke, his voice no weaker from his weariness.
"A traveler, who seeks shelter from a coming storm, must make a hastened step. Yet should fog cloud the path, the wise traveler will take care to keep his way. So with haste we must take care, and take care with our haste. Fair Baldr and his hordes of men will be upon us soon. Should we again prepare for war or hope for Baldr's
[several lines of text missing here]
And never would the beasts overrun our mighty castle's gates." Dulm finished his entreaty and returned to his seat. The assembly grumbled rough assent, but Fundin stood next, gazing at the floor as he spoke.
"True, no man has breached our outer wall. But we cannot count on Fjalar's aid. Lacking his strength we would surely fail, and he is not easy to convince."
Dulm again rose, saying, "Trust least the snake whose eyes you cannot see!" and the assembly again murmured approval. [I have no choice but to translate the idiom literally, lacking the proper cultural context to infer its true meaning]
Fundin, sensing impending defeat implored Thrain to reconsider. Thrain responded, "My friend, we have seen much together, but the council has spoken," and Dulm set the city to work.
The chapter's bulk ends here, with only shards of sentences filling out the remaining pages. Indeed, these words seem to indicate the cataloging, at great length and with meticulous detail, the citizenry of the city, the number of spears, horses, arable fields, able men, hectares of swampland, and the like within Thrain's reach.
I cannot dream of a more thrilling discovery, and I hope that, by sharing it with you, you have some greater appreciation for the work I do. If you have questions on the remainders of the textual fragments, or would like to see the original (supervised by myself of course, and by this I mean you no offense), please do not hesitate to contact me at my office.
In pursuit of Truth,
Mortimer Fairweather