Tangled Threads Publishing

Category: Web Serial

  • 11.11 – Grim Mists

    11.11 – Grim Mists

    Einarr and Troa were out of the room before they heard Eydri’s footsteps start to catch up. Her complaints registered a moment later.

    “Warn a girl before you take off like that! Whatever happened to sticking together for everything?”

    Einarr and Troa muttered apologies but did not slow. The sound of fighting grew closer, but still Einarr worried they would not reach the two scouts in time. When, not much later, the ruins once again grew quiet, Einarr ran faster.

    When he saw the two, though, in an open space near the edge of the ruins, they were apparently unharmed. Finn stood leaning on the hilt of his blade, and Odvir rested on a tumbled-down section of wall, both catching their breath and staring into the forest.

    “What happened?” Einarr demanded just as Naudrek and Hrug pounded up behind them.

    Finn, straightening as he wiped a forearm across his brow, turned to face his Captain. “Wolves, sir.”

    Naudrek knitted his brow. “Wolves? At this time of day?”

    Odvir nodded and turned to face them as well, evidently deciding they weren’t likely to come back. “Yes, sir. Wolves — half-starved, by the look of them.”

    Troa nodded in understanding. “That makes sense, actually. Not like we saw any sign of game yesterday. They probably survive on squirrels and the odd villager.”

    Einarr sighed. “I don’t like this. Let’s hurry: I don’t want to stay on this island a minute longer than I have to.”

    With noises of agreement all around, they returned to their search quarters with new urgency.

    It was nearly evening, and the light had begun to take on the same sullen red of sunset as they had seen the night before, when Naudrek’s excited whoop echoed through the ruined walls of the old hold.

    Einarr sat back on his heels and breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he didn’t have to pry open another rotting chest.

    Eydri stood up and dusted off her hands. “Shall we go see what he’s found?”

    “With pleasure.”

    Troa stood with a groan. “How can one hold have so many storehouses?”

    Einarr chuckled. “This place must have been rich, once. Which makes the fall into this all the more troublesome.”

    “According to the herb-witch, we can find out what happened now that we’re here.” She was already gliding toward the exit. Einarr and Troa took up positions to either side of her as they made their way across the ruins. By the time they arrived, the light was outright dim.

    The room where they found Naudrek and Hrug still somehow had part of its stone roof, and its walls were filled with chests and scroll cases. Hrug was reading over a curling page of birch bark when they arrived, but looked up briefly to offer Einarr a pleased smile. Naudrek was scanning one of the scrolls.

    “If this isn’t it,” he said as they entered. “Then it’s long gone. Come take a look at this!”

    Troa cleared his throat, a little nervously, and took up a post at the door. Not much later he clasped hands with Finn and Odvir as they arrived.

    “All things considered, my lord,” Odvir ventured. “But shouldn’t we be getting back to camp soon?”

    Einarr looked up and blinked. “It is getting a bit dim for reading.”

    Troa cleared his throat again. “And wasn’t it about this time of day that the drowned draugr caught that fishing boat?”

    Naudrek blinked, stunned. Einarr understood: he could hardly believe he’d forgotten it, even with the excitement of finally finding the hold records. “Of course. If you think you’ve got something useful, bring it. Otherwise we can keep looking in the morning.”

    Without a moment’s hesitation Hrug tucked the tablet under the stump of his other arm even as Naudrek let his scroll roll up and left it on the table. Then they were out, darting across the open spaces of the ruined courtyard as though they were deep into enemy waters – which, Einarr supposed, was entirely too accurate.

    A light mist appeared around them, although the day had been dry. Einarr moved his hand to rest on Sinmora’s hilt and did not slow. It was not ghost light – not yet, anyway – but it did not have to be. They should have gone back to camp ages ago, even before Naudrek and Hrug had made their find. Now…

    Shapes moved in the mist. Their outlines were human, but that was impossible. Briefly the idea of his Wisdom runestone crossed his mind, but he put it aside. Seeing too well could be just as much an issue as seeing too poorly, after all. “Blades out, everyone. Seithir in the middle. Hrug, can you do anything about this mist?”

    The mute runemaster grunted: Einarr hoped that was an affirmative. He heard the rasp of blades leaving their sheathes as they formed a defensive circle.

    “Eydri, be ready. I think we’re going to have to fight our way back to camp.”

    “Of course, my lord.”

    Sometimes Einarr really wished he didn’t know she was attracted to him. It made moments like this awkward. But, in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was surviving the night.

    The first of the figures solidified out of the mist: a stumbling, shambling skeletal figure, still clothed in the tattered, rotting remnants of the clothes it had died in.

    “Draugr,” he said aloud, unnecessarily. He slashed downward across its neck with Sinmora, but if the rattling bones did more than pause he could not see it. “Eydri?”

    The Singer drew in a deep breath to Sing, but before she got more than a few notes out she choked and coughed as though the mist were smoke in her lungs.

    “Eydri?” He asked again, more alarmed this time. Before she answered he heard the gurgle of water from her skin.

    “Run,” she rasped, still sounding raspy and half-choked.

    They ran, striking with blade and foot alike as they tried to clear a path back to the presumptive safety of their camp.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 11.10 – Waiting. Watching.

    11.10 – Waiting. Watching.

    Much to Naudrek’s annoyance, Einarr insisted on taking the midnight watch that night. “This is your quest, Einarr. You owe it to yourself to be fresh for it in the morning.”

    “You’re right. This is my quest. But I deeply mislike the situation I’ve brought you all into, and of all of us there are three who are best equipped to deal with the minions of Hel. Me, Hrug, and Eydri. And I’m the only one who can keep my own watch.”

    “But—” Naudrek tried to protest again.

    “But what? Don’t tell me you’re worried I’ll try to handle too much alone?”

    The other man clapped his mouth shut. Einarr shook his head, chuckling. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you first if anything happens. There will be nights enough when I’m the one sleeping the whole night.”

    “…As you say.”

    Now Einarr sat by the fire, polishing Sinmora’s blade while he waited to see what, if anything, the denizens of this place were going to throw at them this night. When he had relieved Troa’s watch, the man had seen nothing – which under ordinary circumstances meant there was nothing to see, and so far, neither had he.

    A wisp of mist floated past outside the door of the chamber where they had made camp, glowing white. Einarr followed it with one eye: it was interesting, but after dealing with the Althane’s court he was not about to go wandering off after ghost light if he didn’t have to, alone or not.

    From the other direction, a rattling noise caught his attention, but when he turned to look there was nothing there. That might bear investigating. Einarr stood, keeping hold of Sinmora’s hilt in a loose grip, and stepped softly over to the door. When he got there, though, there was nothing to see. With a sigh, he returned to his spot on the wall and polishing his sword.

    Either someone – or something – is watching us, or they’re trying to lure me out. Well, they can watch us sleep if they must, but I won’t be lured. Einarr snorted, and kept a frequent eye turned in either direction.

    When Finn, on the dawn watch, woke everyone come morning he reported with some puzzlement that he had seen nothing unusual. Einarr pressed his lips together and knitted his brow, then sighed. “So that means someone was after me, specifically, last night.”

    Eydri perked up. “Why? What did you see?”

    “Not much. The occasional wisp of ghost light, and once or twice I heard bones rattling. The sorts of things you might do if you deliberately wanted to draw someone out alone.”

    Now it was Eydri’s turn to knit her brow. “And if they wanted to draw you out, specifically, was it fair or foul?”

    Einarr shrugged. “Don’t know. Doesn’t matter, really. When we’re searching today, though, everyone stays in pairs. I don’t care if you’re just going out to shit, you take someone to watch your back.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Now. As soon as we’re all ready, we need to start searching this place, top to bottom. There’s got to be some record of where Grandfather buried Ragnar. We need to stay focused here.” And not get wrapped up in some curse that doesn’t truly have anything to do with you. Get the sword and get home, don’t get wrapped up trying to fix whatever happened here a hundred years ago. The last time he’d done that was on the Althane’s island, and he’d cost the lives of far too many of Father’s crew.

    Finn started pulling wooden truncheons from his pack, and it was only then that Einarr realized the other man had spent a good portion of his watch cooking breakfast. He chuckled. “Three cheers for Finn! What have you boiled for us?”

    Not long after, with the fire thoroughly doused, they split into three teams. Naudrek and Hrug went southeast, Finn and Odvir went west, and Einarr took Eydri and Troa to the northeast. “Eyes open, blades limber. Good hunting,” he told them all in the courtyard as they parted ways.

    “Good hunting,” came the murmured response.

    For hours the three of them combed through forgotten guest chambers, store rooms and workshops. Occasionally they would find a bound scroll of birch bark, or a carved slate, but these all appeared to be inventories of what had once been stored within.

    The sky overhead was still a flat, overcast grey, such that nothing seemed to cast its shadow. Einarr tried not to focus on it as he searched: it sent shivers down his spine. Anyone could be hiding in a place like this: hiding, and watching, as someone clearly had been the night before. He was, he could admit to himself, just as glad to have a third person along – even if he had argued with Naudrek that morning that the scouts were the ones in most danger.

    With a sigh, he blew dust off the top of a moss-covered wooden box that sat, still unopened, in the corner of the current store room. A large tuft of dead moss tumbled down to the ground, revealing the remains of a carving on the lid. He raised an eyebrow: curious, Einarr started brushing away the moss.

    The central image was simple enough: it was a longship – not, so far as he could tell, Hel’s – with a dragon’s head on the prow. He’d seen more than one like it already, and all of them had been worthless to him. This one, however, showed the remnants of runework around the edges of the box. Unfortunately, between the light and the age of the work, he couldn’t make it out. “Eydri? What do you make of this?”

    The Singer, much smudged by the grime of ages, gave him a frustrated look. “Just another recipe box, isn’t it?”

    “Who protects their recipes with rune wards?”

    She furrowed her brow and stood to come look. That, however, was when they heard desperate shouts from the west. Einarr and Troa shared a look and a nod, and took off at a dead run towards the commotion.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Previous
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    Table of Contents

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 11.9 – Stone Circle

    11.9 – Stone Circle

    It was nearly impossible to tell the passage of time in the twilight gloom of that forest canopy. Here and there they would pass near a spot where a tree had fallen, but even in those brief clearings the only sky they saw was a dull, dead grey. It was their stomachs told them it must be nearly noon, and just as they resolved to break on the road for their midday meal Troa spotted the standing stones off to the left, deeper into the forest.

    Einarr sighed. “Nothing is ever easy, is it. All right, gents. Chew some jerky, then Troa, Odvir, and Finn, I need you to look for a track going off in that direction. Would have been a road when Grandfather was a boy, but she said it hadn’t been used since. Everyone else needs to limber up… and under no circumstances is anyone to lay a finger on those standing stones. The herb witch said they belonged to Hel, and I’m not inclined to think that was a figure of speech.”

    There were rumbles of assent from his companions, and they set about their tasks. The three scouts hadn’t been searching long before Finn called out. He sounded troubled, though. “I think I’ve found it.”

    Einarr, still chewing on his jerky, came over to have a look. There, winding off into the forest, was what appeared to be not much more than a pair of deer tracks moving oddly parallel to each other. To Einarr, too, that looked like what they sought. Disturbingly, though, the end of the track was strewn about with sun-bleached bones. Human bones, unless he missed his guess. He cleared his throat. “I think so too. Good work.”

    Why couldn’t Grandfather have just been a young hothead, out for adventure and a name for himself? Einarr sighed. With what they’d heard, and what they saw in the harbor… “Looks like it’s not just the bay,” is what he said. “Let’s move. We need to be encamped in the ruins before sunset.”

    “Yes, sir!” everyone answered – even Eydri, who was not exactly under his command.

    The track wound through the center of the standing stones. As they passed through, Einarr saw twisted, deformed figures of people carved on the stones and, dividing them, what had to be Naglfar. He shivered: were those carved intentionally? He couldn’t imagine who could be persuaded to make such a thing: even the demon cultists were sane enough to shun the grave if they could. “What are we looking at here, Eydri?”

    “A bad sign,” she answered, and clapped her mouth shut. A moment later, she sighed. “We need to hurry on to the ruins. The longer we linger, the more danger there is.”

    Reluctantly, Einarr nodded and frowned. “Should we prepare torches?”

    She frowned now, but it looked like thinking. “No. Not yet, anyway. Based on the bones, I suspect steel will suffice.”

    “You heard her. Let’s move. Daylight’s wasting.”

    Some distance past the standing stones, the track faded into oblivion. Under the forest canopy, one direction looked much the same as any other. The only guide post that remained constant was the single spike of mountain in the center of the island, and in order to check that they had to send someone up a tree.

    The forest twilight took on the color of late afternoon before one of them spotted the tumble-down stones of what used to be an outer wall of the hold and Einarr felt himself relaxing, if only a little. That the safety of the old hold was only relative was never in doubt. Still, though, it was bound to be more defensible than the forest. They picked up the pace.

    The forest had, somehow, still not grown up into the courtyard of the old hold. As they crossed the open land that would once have served as a killing field, the setting sun tinged the crumbling stone walls red.

    Inside, grass grew up between the flagstones, and moss fuzzed the walls. Most of the roof was gone, and the walls cast long shadows beneath their feet. Einarr pressed onward and inward, searching for a room that was still mostly enclosed. He wasn’t taking any chances here, not after what they saw at the circle of standing stones.

    They finally came to a chamber, with four mostly solid walls and only two exits for anyone who couldn’t fly, as the sky overhead shaded from the sullen red of sunset into the deep blue-grey of twilight. “This will have to do,” Einarr said, still looking around. His eyes lingered in the deeper shadows of corners, trying to determine if anything already lurked. “Troa, Finn, make sure the walls aren’t hiding anything. Odvir, we need wood. We’re making camp here, everyone.”

    Eydri slung her pack down on the ground with a groan. “I haven’t walked that far in a day in a very long time.”

    Naudrek snorted. “It’s not the distance. It’s the ownership.”

    Hrug grunted his agreement as he sat by the Singer. He started rummaging around in his pack, and soon pulled out his rune sticks.

    Einarr stood near the center of the room and bounced on his toes. As much as it had been a long march today, still he itched to begin his explorations – even though the light had nearly failed, and even though they knew they trespassed in Hel’s dominion. He shook his head and knelt on the ground, a few feet from the seithir. He gathered up bits of moss and dead grass that came readily to hand and began to kindle a fire.

    By the time Odvir arrived with his first armload of firewood, the kindling had started, and as the sky darkened into a starless black their fire lent the room a cheery warmth to press against the night.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 11.8 – The Grey Lands

    11.8 – The Grey Lands

    As afternoon faded into evening the last stragglers made it back to the Heidrun. Svarek had managed to acquire some cabbages and fresh fish ashore and was currently boiling them into one of his marvelous soups. Everyone looked discouraged. Everyone, that is, except for Einarr’s team and Hrug. They were merely resigned.

    “I’m afraid I gave you some bad advice earlier. Had I known how poorly thought of Ragnar was when Grandfather left, I’d have come up with some other way of asking around.”

    He heard a few scattered grumblings, but no-one interrupted.

    “The bad news is, the only public hall in town is not a place you can – or should, I think – stay. Anyone who doesn’t come with me will have to stay on the ship.”

    Svarek snorted. “Bread’s full of rocks, anyway.”

    “Oh, you too?” Einarr chuckled, then sighed. “The good news is, between the herb-witch and the rune sticks I know both where to go and who to bring with me. Hrug and I will ward the ship before we leave—”

    The sorcerer held up his hand in mute protest.

    “Don’t be so surprised, old man. We talked about this. If we do these wards properly they won’t need you here, and I very well might. I mislike what that old woman said about ‘Hel’s domain.’ I hope she’s just being macabre, but…”

    “But we all follow the Cursebreaker,” Eydri finished.

    “Yes, that. So I’m only taking a handful of people with me, and the rest of you get to stay put and guard the ship.” Against what, he could not guess, but he wasn’t about to put them off their guard that way. “Now. Coming with me – and no arguments, now, we all talked this over very carefully among ourselves. Hrug, Naudrek, Eydri, Troa, Finn, and Odvir. Ready yourselves for the expedition. Everyone else, you know what to do.”

    The sky was shading from pale grey to dark grey. Out over the water, movement caught Einarr’s eye. A lone fishing boat sped across the surface of the water, its oars creating their own wakes in the still surface of the water. Despite the strange, desperate speed of the rowers, however, the boat seemed to be slowing – and sinking. The closer to shore it drew, the lower in the water it sat.

    “Hey, that fisher needs help!” Odvir exclaimed.

    “…Yeah, you’re right.” Einarr was about to order his men to oars, but then Eydri held out a forestalling arm.

    “No, don’t.”

    “What?”

    “We can’t help.” Eydri looked pale.

    The water around the hull of the boat seemed to be writhing, as though grey tendrils reached up and roiled around its sides. They could hear the shouts and pounding of the fishermen aboard as they tried to fight off whatever it was that had now stopped them in the water.

    Then a crack like thunder echoed over the surface of the water and the boat broke in two. Now the voices of the fishermen turned to cries of fear as skinny black bodies dragged the capsized boat and all its occupants beneath the surface.

    “What did we just watch?” Naudrek asked, his voice hollow with sickened wonder.

    “I had wondered,” Eydri started. “What the old herb witch meant when she called this island Hel’s domain. I think… I think we know, now.”

    Einarr grunted agreement, his eyes glued to the place where the water still roiled from the death-struggles of the fishermen. “Be on your guard, everyone. Hrug, let’s get started.”

    The ward Einarr and Hrug laid over the ship was surprisingly similar to the one Elder Melja had maintained over the Crimson Shroud, except that it was set to keep things out rather than in – in this case, things that were not alive. It would draw its power from the entirety of the crew, which would distribute its need to the point that no one should be unduly inconvenienced. This was in place before the midnight watch began.

    At dawn, Einarr and his team shouldered their packs and tramped across to the dock. Svarek would take command while they were gone: the young wanderer had proven himself steady and reliable over the course of the last year. And with that, Einarr led the others back through the town.

    Even dawn could not bring cheer or color to the streets of this town. Einarr noted with interest, however, that now it was the women who were out and about, sweeping yards and doing the ordinary, day-to-day tasks that keep a town from squalor. Still, though, he saw no children. Perhaps, given what they knew about the island, this was rational on the part of the people. It did not make it less unnerving, however.

    The townsfolk, for their part, shied away from the travelers as they passed, and it was plain they did not intend to speak to the strangers. Thus it was that Einarr and his companions passed through the town in silence.

    The forest pressed hard against the edge of the town to the north and fell into the gloom of twilight. Eydri and Finn lit torches.

    The forest was not, in fact, black pine – or at least not entirely – but a mix of hard and soft wood. But, like everything else on the island, the colors were dulled and greyed, only reinforcing the feeling of death and decay that seemed to hang over everything.

    “According to the herb witch,” Einarr reminded them. “We need to follow the old road north until we reach the standing stones. After that things get trickier.”

    “Tricky – how?” Odvir asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

    “Ghost-light, lost in the mist tricky, I’m afraid. That’s why you and Troa are with me, frankly.” They were two of the only ones on board who had faced the Althane two years ago.

    “I was afraid you were going to say that,” Troa groaned.

    “Let’s keep going, though. The sooner we get to the ruins of the old hold, the better.”

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Previous
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    Table of Contents

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 11.7 – A Warm Welcome

    11.7 – A Warm Welcome

    The serving boy – who, if Einarr guessed aright, couldn’t be more than 12, hugged his tray against himself and backed away from Einarr and his party.

    “Now, now. We’re not angry about anything.” Although some would be about biting down on a rock, especially with as uninspired as the broth was.

    “D-d-d- Da!” He shouted over his shoulder, in the direction of the kitchen. Einarr sighed. He hated dealing with insular islands. They always made things harder than they needed to be.

    A little later, after Einarr, Eydri, and Naudrek had sipped silently at their thin soup for a while, a middle-aged man came blustering out behind the serving boy. He was broad-shouldered: in any other land, he would have been large. Here, the shoulders looked outsized on his too-thin chest. His greasy black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and anger roiled on his sallow brow like an uncertain thunderstorm.

    “What is the meaning of this?” the man spluttered. “My boy has done nothing to cause offense.”

    “Never said he had,” Einarr answered smoothly. “Although you might want to speak to your miller. I nearly broke a tooth on that bread.”

    The man drew himself up straighter. “Made from the finest flour on island.”

    Einarr quirked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I stopped your boy to ask some questions: we just landed, you see, and we don’t know our way around.”

    The man immediately slumped back down. “If you’ve just landed, then the only thing you need to know is when the tide will turn so you can leave. There’s nothing here for you.”

    Einarr shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I have reason to believe my great-grandfather’s barrow is somewhere on this island. I am to be married soon, and since my father and my grandfather still live I require his sword.”

    The man shook his head. “It’s not worth it. Probably already rusted away, anyhow.”

    “You don’t even know who’s grave I’m looking for.”

    “No, but you said it was your great-grandfather. That means his blade has been in the ground for at least fifty years. You’re better off having one forged.”

    “I’m afraid there is no time after making this trip. Please. I am Einarr, son of Stigander, son of Raen, son of Ragnar. Do you know anything? Or know anyone who might?”

    “Ragnar?” The anger was back on the man’s brow again, and he peered piercingly down his aquiline nose at the three strangers in his hall. Then he spat on the floor by Einarr’s foot. “Get out of here, the lot of you. The sons of Ragnar aren’t welcome here.”

    “But…”

    “Out!”

    Surprised by the man’s fury, the three Heidrunings allowed themselves to be run out of the hall. Out in the street, Einarr turned to Eydri.

    “Well that was unexpected. I don’t suppose you know of any Singers on the island?”

    She shook her head. “Not that are part of the Matrons’ circle. There’s sure to be a wise woman or a priest or a monk somewhere around, though.”

    Naudrek wasn’t much happier about that than Einarr. With a grumbling round of sighs, though, they set out across the town in search of whoever served as the town lore-keeper. Once or twice Einarr was compelled to identify himself, and each time he mentioned Ragnar the locals grew hostile.

    “I’d really like to know what happened back then,” Eydri muttered.

    “You and me both,” Einarr agreed.

    “I think we might find out soon. There’s the signboard for the old herb-witch.”

    “Oh, thank goodness.” Einarr and Eydri both strode past where Naudrek stood pointing, and he took up his place flanking the Singer.

    Eydri knocked at the door frame, and an old woman’s voice invited them in.

    Inside, the herb-witch’s hut was close but clean-smelling. An old woman, at least as old as Grandfather Raen, stood at a table pouring hot water into a tea pot. “Not very often strangers come here. How can this old woman help you?”

    Einarr took a deep breath. “I seek the barrow of Ragnar.”

    The old woman turned half-blind eyes their direction and raised an eyebrow. “And what would you want with that?”

    “I am to wed soon, but I require my ancestor’s sword for the ceremony.”

    The old woman hummed thoughtfully. “Everyone on this island knows the location of Ragnar’s hold. Not one of them will go within a mile of it. You are here, I presume, because no-one would tell you?”

    “That is correct.”

    “I am not so kind as the townsfolk. I will tell you where it is.”

    “Th—”

    “Don’t thank me, boy. This island has devoured warriors a thousand times stronger than you. If you value your lives, you will turn around and leave before nightfall. This island belongs to Hel.”

    Eydri took a deep breath. “Grandmother… what happened here?”

    “If you live to reach the hold, you will learn.”

    “This man—” she gestured at Einarr. “Is the Cursebreaker.”

    “Tcheh. Poor fool.”

    “He was named Cursebreaker two years ago, and yet he still lives.”

    “Eydri.” Einarr put a hand on her shoulder. He was well aware that he tempted fate with every journey. “That doesn’t help.”

    The old woman looked at him shrewdly and nodded, but did not explain. “Do not attempt to take your whole crew. Those who remain behind will not be welcomed, but it will ensure you have the men to leave again. Ragnar’s hold is far north of here, deep within the forest. You will know you are close by the standing stones. Touch them not: they belong to Hel herself…”

    Einarr swallowed and nodded, committing the old woman’s directions to memory. A small, cowardly corner of his mind wondered if it was too late to send a pigeon to Jorir, instructing him to forge a blade.

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 11.6 – Thorn Deep

    11.6 – Thorn Deep

    A week after their encounter with the accursed ship of the demon cult, a small, dark island appeared on the horizon. According to all the charts, it had to be Thorndjupr.

    The sense of gloom hanging over the island only grew more intense as they approached. It wasn’t just that the trees were black pine: it was almost as though the color had been leached from the world around that island. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, but it was grey and so was the water below. The surface of the island looked to be as smooth as a hilltop on the plains save for one tall pillar of a mountain in the very center. It was as though a giant had stood still on the seafloor long enough that an island had grown up over his helmet.

    As the harbor town began to become clear on the shore, Einarr stood and looked at the island his grandfather had once called home. “Well,” he said, half to himself. “I guess this is it. At least we aren’t going to have to scale any cliffs – not immediately, anyway.”

    He could tell the exact moment when the people in the harbor spotted their incoming ship: it was when the men moving around the docks put down their loads and jogged for shore to cluster in the shadows. Such was the hazard, sometimes, of traveling in a longship. As they drew closer, however, and the men ashore heard no battle chanting, and saw no helmeted heads, they emerged from the shadows to stare sullenly at the incoming ship.

    A hollow pit formed in Einarr’s stomach as he stared back, getting a good look at the people that used to be his grandfather’s… or perhaps his great-grandfather’s. He saw no women about whatsoever, and very few children. These were all older, on the cusp of adolescence, and had none of the vigor of childhood about them. To a head, the people of the town were thin, sallow, and as beaten-down as the people of Breidelstein before their liberation.

    Einarr drew his shoulders back as they drew in by the pier, even as he shared a wary look with Naudrek. The island was already as ill-favored as the name suggested, and they hadn’t even landed yet. Instead, as the Heidrun slowed to a stop by the pier, he stepped forward and called out to a passing dockworker. “Hail, sir! Is the harbormaster about?”

    The man stopped and looked up at him from dark, hooded eyes. “Ain’t no Harbormaster. Ain’t no-one stoppin’ you, either. Come ashore if’n you must, but you’ll find neither treasure nor glory here.”

    “My thanks. I seek no glory, nor treasure of the ordinary sort. I seek a sword of my fathers’.”

    The dockworker snorted and went about his way.

    “That… didn’t go badly,” Einarr muttered to Naudrek and Eydri, who flanked him.

    “It didn’t go well, either,” Naudrek said.

    “I mislike the looks of this place, Einarr,” Eydri answered, her voice low but urgent. “I know I wanted to come, but I would be remiss if I did not mention that there is no shame in having a new sword forged.”

    “No shame, perhaps, but no time once we return either. No: we are here, and we will see this through. This… seems to be what it means to be a Cursebreaker.”

    Eydri snorted, but said no more. At Naudrek’s order, Svarek hopped from the bulwark to the pier and caught the ropes to moor the Heidrun.

    Einarr turned to address his crew. “Alright, everyone. We all know why we’re here. We need to find out where the barrow of Grandfather Raen’s father Ragnar is. I assume, although I don’t know, that they were once the lords of this island. Given the …quality of the people we’ve seen thus far, however, it might pay to be a little circumspect in your questions.”

    A rumble of agreement moved across the crew of the Heidrun.

    “We still need to act quickly, however. We only have a little more than a month before we need to be back in Breidelstein, and most of that time needs to be on the water. So, Hrug, pick two to help you guard the ship. Everyone else, into town. Let’s find out what’s going on.”

    Before long, there were only four people aboard ship: Hrug and his two guards, and Einarr. Eydri and Naudrek waited on the pier.

    “You brought your rune sticks, right, Hrug?”

    When the mute sorcerer nodded, Einarr went on. “Good. Will you see what you can divine about this place? Something gives me the shivers, and I want to know what.”

    Hrug nodded again, and Einarr started down the plank with a wave. “Thanks, Hrug. We’ll be back.”

    The lack of women out and about in town disturbed Einarr on some level. They weren’t even out working in the yards of houses, or serving in the local public hall. He could not afford to leave Eydri on the ship however, even if he was willing to offend her by suggesting it. Thus, as they moved into the town to ask their questions, she was flanked by himself and Naudrek.

    The men in the streets, however, were as uninterested in talking as the dockworker had been. Finally, the three companions made their way back into the public hall and put down some coin for a bit of supper and some information.

    The food that came back to them was a thin seafood soup, more broth than anything, and hard dark bread. Gamely, Einarr dunked his bread in the broth and tried to take a bite: for his trouble, he bit down on a pebble that should never have made it out of the mill. He set the bread back on the edge of the wooden truncheon and looked at the boy who had served it. “Can I ask you some questions?”

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 11.5 – Demon Ship

    11.5 – Demon Ship

    For more than a fortnight they sailed on, following the charts as best they could as they weathered the ordinary spring storms. While there had been more than a few cold, wet nights, Einarr was just as glad that was all they had faced so far: an island that could drive Grandfather out, and that had earned the name of “Thorn Deep,” was sure to have something unpleasant waiting – especially given Einarr’s calling. Thus, he took the blustery weather as a blessing.

    Right up until black storm clouds appeared out of a blue sky off to the north and began speeding toward Einarr and the Heidrun.

    It was Troa who spotted the clouds first, and announced their presence with a dread-laced “Oh, Helvíti.”

    Einarr looked up and understood immediately. “Cult ship approaching! Prepare for battle! Guards to the Singer.”

    Captain or not, heir or not, Einarr was in far less danger than Eydri. Not everyone aboard had experienced combat with the svartalfr cult, but they should at least have heard about it by now. There was a jangle of maille as the warriors dressed for battle and an air of grim determination fell over the ship.

    Please don’t let them have one of those horrors…

    Einarr, too, pulled on his maille and helmet, then stepped up beside Naudrek as the guards formed around Eydri.

    “Ready the fire arrows,” he ordered. “We want to avoid boarding as long as we can.”

    “Yes, sir… Is it really one of those demon ships you talked about?”

    “Probably. Need the arrows ready before we can see that, though.”

    “Of course, sir.” Naudrek was a good man, but he was not as practiced a Mate as Jorir. No matter: Jorir was quite right about where he was most needed now.

    Damn it, though, why did we have to run into one of these things on this trip? Einarr would have been perfectly happy avoiding them for the rest of his days. Unlikely, of course, considering he was a Cursebreaker.

    The black storm cloud that heralded the approach of a demon ship bore down on the Heidrun as they readied themselves. Those who already wore their maille watched the horizon grimly, awaiting the first sight of one of the demon-headed black ships. The wind lashed at their faces. Raindrops had begun to sting Einarr’s skin by the time the shadow of the cult ship appeared in the storm.

    “Brace yourselves, men! Not only are we fighting in a storm, even in death the enemy can kill you – or worse. This first volley of fire arrows is critical: you’ll have plenty of time to adjust your aim for the wind. Steady yourselves, now.”

    There was a general shifting of feet on the deck, but no-one spoke. Visibility dropped precipitously as the two ships closed. The wind began to howl.

    “Light volley!” Einarr shouted to be heard over the wind. “Ready!”

    The archers drew back, the tips of their arrows bright spots of light against the black clouds above.

    “Aim!”

    As promised, he held them at this command for longer than usual, waiting for a steady moment or a break between gusts. At last, one came.

    “Fire!” The arrows streaked through the air like shooting stars, all intent on destroying the evil that sailed this sea. One or two of them winked out under the onslaught of the storm carried in the belly of the demon ship, and one or two more missed their mark, but the rest scored their hit. One caught in the sail, which began to smolder darkly.

    There would be no time for a second volley – not that Einarr had really expected one. The ships were too close now for anything but boarding – or perhaps a ram or Sea-Fire, if this were a dromon. Some detached corner of Einarr’s mind wondered if an alliance with the Empire would grant them access to that sea-fire of theirs. The rest of his mind was focused on the enemy ahead. “Prepare for boarding!”

    Einarr stepped back to join the men who had circled about Eydri. The fanatics hated Song Magic and hunted Singers: that was how Father had lost Astrid. Einarr did not intend to let them have his friend. The rest of the crew scrambled: bows were tossed back toward the command circle, and the archers took up the boarding lines.

    Eydri began to Sing, and almost immediately the red Fury began to pulse at the edges of Einarr’s vision. It was easy to ignore after the last year: Einarr hated how used to it he had grown.

    The black-painted prow sliced through the water and turned sharply. Boarding lines flew from both decks.

    No sooner had the lines drew taught than men from both ships were up, contesting for the right to board the other’s ship.

    Einarr’s men were strong. Much stronger than they had been last summer when they stormed the cult’s island to rescue Runa: some few of the cultist helspawn made it across, but most were on the back foot. Einarr harrumphed even as he slid Sinmora from her sheath.

    One of the cultists rushed the “command” circle protecting Eydri. Everyone’s weapons were out and ready, but Einarr stepped forward with a growl. This was not a man he faced: it was a mad dog, and he would see it put down. He stepped forward and raised Sinmora high over head, his shield firmly in place. On the second step, as the clamor of battle carried across the deck and over the water, he brought his blade around and separated the cultist’s head from his shoulders. Einarr stepped back quickly: the corrupting black blood dripped from Sinmora, and spatters darkened his glove, but had not touched him.

    “No quarter!” He bellowed. A savage yell was the best answer he could have hoped for. Eydri sang louder.

    Einarr strode across the deck to peer at the battle on the other ship and frowned. On the one hand, the demon ships must be destroyed with prejudice. On the other hand… “Fall back!” He ordered as he saw the cultists starting to cluster around the mast. “Naudrek – a torch!”

    “Aye, Sir.”

    The Heidrunings hurried back across the boarding lines, cutting the enemy lines as they went and unhooking (most of) their own. Einarr stood at the bulwark, torch in hand, and waited. When everyone was returned, he tossed the torch on the demon ship’s deck. “Full sail! Get us out of this squall, Naudrek.”

    As the Heidrun sliced through the waves away from the demon ship, purifying flames began to lick up the boards of its bulwark, and a thick black smoke rose up to feed the cloud overhead.

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 11.4 – Farewells

    11.4 – Farewells

    Two days after his conference, at dawn as he was preparing to launch the Heidrun, Einarr looked up and blinked in surprise. There, coming down the pier in her full armor, her spear across her back, was Beatrix.

    “Good morning! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

    The Imperial Princess offered Einarr a friendly smile. “I’m sailing for Kem this morning. I’ve stayed too long already, I’m afraid. Who knows what my siblings have been up to while I’ve been gone…”

    Einarr nodded. “Good luck, then. And safe travels.”

    Einarr hadn’t minded having Bea around, really, and if her work with Father went as well as they thought it had the friendship with the Imperials would be valuable. On the other hand, it was for the best she left before the wedding. The last time she and Runa had been in the same room together, you could have cut the tension with a knife.

    “My thanks. Same to you: I hear you’re sailing off for parts unknown after some sort of relic?”

    “Ah… sort of.” He had no desire to explain what he was after to an Imperial – even Bea – or why the groom should present a sword to his bride at the altar. “Does the name Thorndjupr mean anything to you?”

    She frowned, thinking. Finally, Bea shook her head. “I’m afraid not, although the sound of it makes me shiver for some reason.”

    “Heh. You and me both.”

    “Captain!” Naudrek called from on deck.

    “Yes?”

    “We’re all ready over here!”

    “Understood. I’ll be right there.”

    A karve, almost surely bound for Kem, and almost surely with Bea aboard, sailed away from the pier while the crew of the Heidrun made its final checks. It was less than halfway across the harbor, though, when Einarr gave the order to sail out. Naudrek suggested they “race” the merchant vessel, and with a grin Einarr agreed.

    Once she was away from the docks, the Heidrun fairly leapt through the water, and the longship overtook the deeper, heavier karve. The ramshead vessel came alongside the merchantman, and Einarr called a greeting across to the other Captain.

    “A safe journey to you, and a profitable!”

    “Aye, and to you, my lord!”

    Then the Heidrun surged forward once again, and before long they passed the rock which was the eternal resting place of the Weavess’ bones. Einarr couldn’t quite resist making a rude gesture at the ghastly sight: she would see exactly what the rightful heirs of Raen would make of the country she had nearly ruined. Naudrek laughed, but Hrug shook his head. Mocking the dead was not often wise.

    “Perhaps you’re right, Hrug. And yet, does the witch not deserve all our scorn?”

    The mute continued shaking his head, but did not attempt to press the matter. Einarr put it from his mind. Ahead was nothing but open ocean and blue skies, and the salt breeze at their backs.

    “Make all sail, lads! Weather’s in our favor, we’d best enjoy it while we can!”

    A general shout of agreement carried over the deck of the Heidrun. It felt good to be back aboard his ship and not headed to pacify some overconfident Jarl. Last summer he thought he’d had his fill of adventures, but something about this one had his spirits high.

    “You seem awfully happy for such an ill-planned run.” Eydri’s voice was amused, and when he turned he was not surprised to see a half-smile of enjoyment on her face as well.

    “How could I not be happy with weather like this? This is a perfect day to set out a-viking. We’ll deal with Thorndjupr when we get there. Right now, let’s enjoy our sail.”

    “As you say.” Eydri offered him a slight bow, amusement still plain in her voice.

    An idea struck Einarr then, and a memory of another boat with a much smaller crew. This crew hadn’t sailed together much recently: perhaps it would be a good idea to put the boat through it’s paces.

    “Take oars, men!”

    Grumblings of surprise floated back to him this time.

    “You’ve proved to me we’re faster than a merchant karve. Now prove to me you haven’t grown fat and lazy sitting at home all winter! Show me what you can make her do!”

    Now the enthusiasm was back.

    “That’s more like it!”

    Over the course of the morning, the crew of the Heidrun played at sailing, racing ahead to skid into a turn as sharp as they could make her go, pirouetting and slaloming across the waves. A pod of dolphins came to investigate, later in the morning, and thus was born a sailor’s game of tag.

    Those dolphins followed them long after their game ended, and past the noonday meal, finally bidding them farewell in the mid-afternoon when a school of fish crossed their path. All in all, an auspicious start to their journey… although he didn’t care for the look of those clouds off on the western horizon.

    Well. It certainly wouldn’t be their first cold, wet night aboard ship, and it just as certainly wouldn’t be their last. Still, though, the wind was taking them directly into that bank. Perhaps he could steer them around the worst of it with a little care. “Eydri, the chart if you would.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Naudrek?”

    “Of course, sir.”

    The three moved to Einarr’s awning astern of the mast and fell to planning.

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

    If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 11.3 – Coming and Going

    11.3 – Coming and Going

    That night, Raenshold feasted in celebration of the victorious return of the Vidofnir and the Heidrun. From his seat by Father’s side, Einarr grinned across the table at the unflappable Kaldr and took a deep draught. He was mostly glad to be home, but it was hard to pass up a chance to nettle the man. “What you need,” he said, wiping the foam from his beard with the back of his hand, “Is to relax a little. Isn’t that right, Jorir?”

    The dwarf, at Einarr’s side, chuckled.

    Kaldr gave one of his trademark placid looks to the heir apparent. “I fail to see what is so relaxing about playing the fool.”

    “Ease up, Einarr. That is relaxed.”

    Einarr rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and picked up a joint of rabbit from his truncheon. “You, too?”

    Jorir’s eyes twinkled with mirth. Plainly the dwarf knew something Einarr did not, but he had no chance to press. Stigander nudged his right shoulder and motioned with his head to come off to the side. Einarr stood immediately and followed, taking his meat with him.

    “What is it, Father?”

    “While you were out, we finally managed to learn where the ancestral barrows are.”

    “You have?” Einarr’s eyebrows climbed with surprise – and relief.

    Stigander nodded. Getting anything out of Grandfather Raen was difficult these days, but even before the witch got her claws in him he’d never spoken of where he’d come from originally. “I got a name, yes, and Reki’s confirmed it’s a real place.”

    “Thank goodness. Now all I have to do is get the sword.”

    “All is right. You’ve got two months before the wedding. With a fast ship and no delays, you’ll spend six weeks on the water. And we still don’t know anything about the place.”

    “How is that different from any of our adventures these last few years? It seems like everything went crazy after they got Astrid.”

    His father grunted in agreement.

    “So where am I going? I’ll need a day or two to resupply the Heidrun, but I can leave right after.”

    “Thorndjupr.”

    Einarr grimaced. “Well there’s an ill-favored name.”

    “You’re not wrong. Take whoever you please for your crew: you’ve fought among the men more than I have, recently.”

    “Thank you, Father.” Einarr gave one last, regretful look towards the feast-table with his truncheon still half-filled with food and then turned away from the hall, tearing the last of the meat from the rabbit joint as he left. It seemed his rest would be brief: he now had an expedition to plan, and the first thing to do was consult the sea charts.

    Finally, an ancestral sword was attainable. The wedding could go on.

    And this might actually be fun.

    At dawn the following day, a messenger was sent to the harbor with instructions to resupply the Heidrun with all haste.

    Over breakfast, Einarr called together Jorir, Reki, and Eydri in conference. “I have a location.”

    Reki nodded: she had helped Father find it, after all.

    “Day after tomorrow, I sail on the Heidrun for some place called Thorndjupr, with no idea what I’ll find there save my great-grandfather’s barrow, and as of yet no clear idea about my crew. If Reki’s willing to come along, though, I thought you might like a break, Eydri.”

    Eydri drew herself up as though she were somehow offended. “Is my lord the prince dissatisfied?”

    Einarr rolled his eyes. “Not at all. I only thought that, since you’ve been out for most of these thrice-cursed pacification ventures, you might like to rest a little. And as much as you’ve been out, Reki has been land-bound.”

    Reki shook her head, chuckling a little. “I appreciate the thought, Einarr, but I think I will decline. I have my own matters to attend to here.”

    Einarr nodded at both of them. “As you wish. I wanted to lay the option before you both.”

    Eydri snorted. “We’re going to retrieve an ancestral sword from your family barrow, the sword your bride will hold in safekeeping for your heir, on an island your grandfather left for unknown reasons. And you expected me to pass this up? I signed on to follow the Cursebreaker. This is the most interesting thing you’ve done all year.”

    Einarr sighed. He wished she hadn’t put it quite so bluntly, but she was right. Given his usually fatal Calling, and the name of the island, a quest that was supposed to be straightforward almost certainly wouldn’t be. “And now that we’ve been cursed to peril,” he said, turning to Jorir. “What of you?”

    “Nay, Lord,” the dwarf grumbled. “Take Naudrek, though. He’ll watch your back in my stead.”

    “Oh? And what, praytell, conspires to keep you here?”

    Jorir gave a wan laugh. “You do. Or, rather, your wedding does. I’ll be surprised if you return much before time: someone has to see to your interests.”

    Einarr nodded. It was true: there were few he could trust half so well as Jorir to see it done properly. “Thank you, my friend.”

    The dwarf snorted. “Thank me when you come back in one piece.”

    “I’m sure I will. But that still leaves the rest of the crew.”

    “If you’ll excuse me,” Reki said, standing smoothly.

    Einarr gave the albino Singer a smile and a nod as she took her morning bread and glided across the Hall to where Stigander sat in a conference very similar to Einarr’s.

    “So if Naudrek is acting as Mate, I’ve at least got to give Hrug a chance to come… He’s seemed a bit restless lately, anyway.”

    Eydri nodded agreement, and the three fell to discussing who was fresh, and who had reason to stay and to go. All three agreed that Vali should stay: there was no sense stirring up the dead by bringing a ghost into their midst. Likewise Tyr, who was as old as Uncle Gorgny, and Erik, Irding, and Arring. This was not a quest to take berserkers on.

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    Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

  • 11.2 – Triumphant Return

    11.2 – Triumphant Return

    Einarr staggered a little under the weight of the unconscious Jarl slung over his shoulder as he returned to camp. The smell of smoke hung heavy over the meadow: here and there, someone had set a rabbit or some fish to roast, but the fires from the battle nearly overwhelmed the smell of meat.

    That men were cooking at all surprised Einarr, especially given the blaze during the battle. He paused just inside the ring of their tents and looked about. There should be, somewhere nearby, a prisoner’s picket… and there it was, with Jorir standing stern guard over someone on the line.

    “There you are,” Einarr said as he approached. He set the Jarl down near the end of the prisoner’s picket, and despite his efforts the unconscious man still flopped about like a sack of cabbages. “How went battle’s end?”

    “Back already, are you? Usually takes longer to hunt a hare than that.”

    “I think this hare got himself turned around in his flight. Turned wolf at the last moment.”

    Jorir grunted, pleased but not surprised to see that Einarr had still managed to return unharmed. “Once you took off after Rosta it was all but over, really. Some of his men tried to keep us occupied, but their strength was just about spent by then. …Faugh! What made Rosta think he had a chance to keep his holdings without Breidelstein. From what I’ve seen, the Vidofnir could have taken them alone, before the curse was broken.”

    Einarr shook his head. It had been like this everywhere he’d gone, this past year. Jarls who were dissatisfied with the Usurper and thought that meant they could do without a Thane at all. Not one of them had the strength of arms to protect his own holdings, though. “Can you really fault those who chafed under Ulfr’s thumb wanting to be free? A foolish impulse, perhaps, but an understandable one.”

    Jorir harrumphed. “Perhaps. You’d think they’d be happy changing a bad master for a good, though.”

    “We know Father is a good man. They don’t. But that’s not important right now. Make sure Rosta is ‘comfortable’ for the trip back to Raenshold. The others can be loosed once we’re ready to sail.” He paused. “Let’s leave Arring behind to keep an eye on things, just in case. Between that and holding their Jarl, we should get good behavior.”

    “Yes, my Lord!”

    When the two ships under Einarr’s command returned to Breidelstein harbor, They were met at the docks by only a small throng, mostly of the sailors’ families or those with families in Jarl Rosta’s territory. It wasn’t that Stigander did not have the support of his people in this – he did. It was that, over the last year, not one of the isles trying to break away had put up a fight. The usurper thane had left his holdings weak, and those who chafed under the rule of another underestimated the true-born sons of Raen.

    Jarl Rosta was marched through the streets of the port to much disinterest. Every time he started to puff himself up, though, and look smugly at his captors, someone along the road would take notice – and, invariably, would congratulate Einarr on another successful mission.

    When they arrived at the long, steep climb of the cliff road, he quailed. At the top waited the Thane he had scorned, and whatever punishment the man who had lived as a freeboater half his life deigned to mete out. A man who had already proved himself unconventional in that regard.

    Einarr himself gave the Jarl a nudge from behind to continue on. With his hands bound behind his back, Rosta stumbled a little, but then they began the long trudge up to Raenshold.

    The gate of Raenshold stood open, and on the far side of the gate house stood the actual welcoming committee. A line of warriors who had not elected to go on this mission lined the path. Standing at the end of this, his arms folded across his broad chest, Stigander waited.

    A cheer went up for the returning warriors as they crested the rise. Einarr took the lead as one of his men took the arm of the captured Jarl. He smiled and waved as he strode towards his father, but much more perfunctorily than he had last fall in similar circumstances. Finally he reached the end of the gauntlet and knelt before his father.

    “My Lord.”

    “Welcome home, Einarr. I see you have brought home another prodigal.”

    “That I have, Father.” He stood and turned to stand beside Stigander. “The matter with Urdr has them spooked, Father.”

    Stigander sighed, although he kept his face bright and welcoming for the men who marched the Jarl forward. “They chafed under Ulfr’s rule, and can’t imagine I’ll be better. The matter with Urdr is an excuse.”

    “Of course, Father.”

    Stigander turned his attention to the prisoner who was now made to kneel before him. “Rosta, of Búethold. Welcome to Raenshold.”

    The captive Jarl spat on the ground.

    Stigander sighed. “I see you intend to make this difficult. I will be plain: I mean to mend my father’s holdings, not see them rent further. If you will swear to me, as your father swore to mine, I will send you back to your own holdings with a handful of my own men. You may count the damages to Búethold, whatever they may be, as your fine. Or, if you still don’t believe me, you can stay here and observe, while some of my men administer your lands for you. And pay for rebuilding out of your own treasure. Your choice.”

    Rosta blanched a little. It was, Einarr thought, so far from what he’d expected he couldn’t quite believe it yet.

    “Take your time. Búethold remains a part of Breidelstein, either way, and the men my son left behind will be capable in your absence.” Stigander turned his attention to the men flanking the prisoner. “Make sure he has a place to sleep. He will join us for the feasting tonight, as well.”

    “Yes, my lord.”

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