Tangled Threads Publishing

Category: Web Serial

  • 11.1 – Tafl

    11.1 – Tafl

    Smoke rose from the roof of Jarl Rosta’s hall, but Einarr was certain his men were not the ones who set the blaze. All around him, men roared in the grips of the battle fury as Rosta’s rebels spat defiance at Einarr and his war band. The man he faced, broad-shouldered and red-faced, bellowed and raised his axe to charge.

    Einarr settled into his stance and readied his shield. At the last possible instant, he punched forward with the edge of the shield. The axe was deflected harmlessly as Einarr’s shield struck the man hard against the bridge of his nose. Einarr heard a satisfying crunch as the man’s eyes rolled up in his head and he crumpled. What is that now? Tólf? Threttán?

    It didn’t matter: the next warrior who thought to end the fighting by taking out the War Leader had arrived. Einarr blew through his long red mustache and reset his stance yet again.

    This was a tall, tow-headed man who gave Einarr a large, toothy grin even as he raised his axe in both hands. He carried no shield.

    This is ridiculous. Einarr charged this time, and struck out with Sinmora from behind his shield to take the man in his exposed thigh. This man, too, fell, clutching the gushing wound in his leg.

    “Breidelings, forward!” Einarr cried, pressing the attack. If they didn’t take Jarl Rosta soon he was liable to escape, and if he escaped they were going to be stuck here on Búethold for gods only knew how much longer.

    Arring’s characteristic berserker scream rang over the field of battle.

    “Forward!” Einarr called again, although he needn’t have bothered. Already the Heidrunings and Vidofnings surged forward, giving chase to the latest batch of would-be freeholders.

    Einarr pressed himself faster, even, than that. He wanted to look the Jarl in the eye before he was subdued.

    The smoke grew heavier, much heavier, and Einarr realized it wasn’t just the Hall on fire: the forest was beginning to catch. Or had been set alight. Either way, it just became that much more urgent to end the battle. He raced to the front of the press, scanning the fleeing warriors for any sign of the Jarl.

    Movement caught his eye off to the left. A glint of sunlight off of polished metal: not a warrior, that. His men had the pursuit well in hand: he veered off to follow this hidden figure.

    He was quick, whoever he was. The figure led Einarr on a merry chase through the wood, crashing through stands of trees and ducking behind bushes, all in an attempt to lose his pursuer. Still, Einarr gained.

    Finally, at the far edge of a clearing in the wood, faced with a wicked looking bramble and out of breath, the figure turned to face his pursuer.

    The man standing, panting, before Einarr wore a heavy leather jerkin and had a longsword strapped to his side. Despite being plainly old and somewhat tattered, though, his clothes were of fine cloth, richly dyed. “You are Jarl Rosta?”

    “I am. Or was, I suppose.”

    “Your cause is lost. Surrender now, and my father the Thane may be merciful.”

    “What, so I will not be executed, the way the Weavess was? Will he merely make me outlaw until the end of my days?”

    “That remains to be seen. But my lord father and those of us from his crew would have peace and prosperity in these islands again. You could not even defend yourselves against two ships of Breidelstein: how long do you think your freehold will last without our protection?”

    “Ulfr was a usurper and used us badly. But it had been a full generation since he took power. Stigander is untried and old, and the very first thing he did on taking the throne was exceed his authority. Casting that woman out into the wilderness as an outlaw would have been as sure a death sentence, and yet her bones are still chained to a rock in the harbor. You would have us gamble on the mercy of such a man?”

    “Aye, I would. Do you deny that there was justice in her death? Remember that her magic allowed her not only to see but to change the future, and she did so without compunction. Not one but three Singers agreed that was the best possible solution. The sons of Raen wish to end the discord in this land. Will you surrender, so that we can talk about this like civilized men?”

    Jarl Rosta hung his head. For a moment, his shoulders stooped, but then he shook his head in violent denial, still looking at the ground beneath his feet. With a desperate growl he jerked his sword free of its sheath. He held it raised in both hands at his back shoulder, and the look on his face was pure despair.

    “So be it.”

    Einarr raised Sinmora as the man committed to the only cut he could possibly make from that charge and the blade was deflected easily. The Jarl hopped backward, and Sinmora’s blade sliced across his heavy leather jerkin rather than through it. The Jarl was a more practiced warrior than Einarr had expected: he settled down into his accustomed stance.

    After his first mad charge failed the Jarl, too, settled into a more sustainable stance. Einarr was not sure if the man typically fought without a shield or not, but he suspected not. A Jarl was too valuable to risk on the field with such an aggressive style.

    Einarr advanced cautiously, judging where best to strike. Even in his more cautious stance the Jarl was full of openings. He frowned. Father would still want the man alive, if at all possible. He pulled back to punch the man with the edge of his shield.

    That was when Jarl Rosta made his move. Had it not been for the brokkrsteel maille Jorir had insisted he take, Einarr might have taken a mortal blow. As it was, he was sure his ribs would bruise from the blow.

    The Jarl was not quite so quick to recover that time. Einarr brought Sinmora’s hilt down hard on the back of his head and the Jarl crumpled to the ground.

    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.

  • Book 11: Einarr and the Island of Thorns

    Book 11: Einarr and the Island of Thorns

    A year has passed since Einarr and his allies retook their homeland from the vicious Weavess Urdr and her son, Ulfr. Over the intervening months, they have put out many fires and consolidated their hold over the lands Raen had once unified.

    There are two months until Einarr is to wed his beloved Runa, but he still lacks one thing he needs for the wedding: a sword belonging to his ancestors, to present to his bride during the ceremony. Only, Grandfather Raen has never spoken of the land he came from, not even to Stigander. Now Einarr must venture back to the land of his ancestors and discover what drove his grandfather out in the first place.

     

  • 10.49 – Epilogue: Feast Days

    10.49 – Epilogue: Feast Days

    Hi, everyone. Allene here. This marks the last chapter of Book 10: Einarr and the Ice Wolf – a book that is nearly half again as long as any other book! This wraps up the first half of the story fairly neatly, and so as opposed to my normal one-month hiatus, I am going to take TWO months in order to plan out the second half of Einarr’s story. I hope, since you’ve stuck with me thus far, that you will return on November 10, 2020, to see Einarr get married and find out what happens with the cult and with Jorir – not necessarily in that order. Thanks for reading!

    The second day of the Thing began with the recitation of the law by one of the town elders – a far more festive event than Einarr had expected it could ever be, but more than a decade of misrule may have made a difference there. Afterward everyone was free to attend to their own business, and there was business aplenty to be had. Merchants had set up stalls within the walls of the hold and were displaying the best of their wares. Jarls took tankards together and sat in serious discussion over matters of trade and of weddings and funerals and ships.

    At some point midafternoon, Einarr received a summons to attend his Lord Father in the Hall. He had expected this, in truth, but still his guts churned like water.

    When he arrived, the doors stood wide open to allow in light and air, but even with the open doors and the torches burning over near where Stigander and Jarl Hroaldr sat in conference the Hall was dim and smoky. Einarr took a deep breath and strode across the hall to the bench where they conversed.

    “You sent for me, Father?”

    Stigander peered up at his son from under heavy blond brows and smoothed his beard. “Einarr. Have a seat. We have some business to hand, do we not?”

    Jarl Hroalr harrumphed. “So it seems.”

    Einarr pulled a stool up and swung a leg over. “After everything that’s happened, and you’re still against it?”

    Hroaldr grumbled something unintelligible and waved his hand at the other two.

    Stigander chuckled. “It’s more that he finds himself in something of a sticky situation. The son of his Thane has also made overtures for Runa’s hand, you see, while we were away, and Runa is his only child. Whoever she marries gains control of Kjell.”

    Einarr frowned. “But after everything that happened, Kjell could justifiably cut ties with Thane Thorgnyr and become one of our holdings.”

    “Son. I know you’re too young to know this, but even at the height of Raen’s power our control didn’t stretch even halfway to Kjell. When Thorgnyr tries to take back his holding, we will be too far away to do anything about it. And probably otherwise occupied, besides. And Thorgnyr will assume he needs to do that when you marry Runa.”

    “Oh, aye, it is a when,” Hroaldr agreed irritably. “I can’t very well deny you’ve met my conditions at this point.”

    Einarr brightened. He had been ready to argue that exact point, and here it was conceded without a fight.

    “Now we must set a date,” Stigander broke in. “Set a date, and set the wheels in motion.”

    Einarr cleared his throat. “If that is the case, aren’t we missing someone?”

    The two older men looked at each other – Stigander blankly, but Hroaldr chuckled now. “Runa knows exactly what this meeting is about. She is with the Princess Beatrix and Aema, drafting the first of the letters that will need to be sent. Her idea.”

    Einarr could not quash his smile. “It seems like most things are, doesn’t it?”

    Now Stigander laughed. “Get used to it, son. Women are good at that.”

    The date was fixed for midsummer’s day, a year hence. Einarr had argued for a shorter span as hard as he dared, but it seemed there was no way to get through all the preparations before then. Even without counting the thorny political situation (and getting thornier – Bea’s continued presence made him antsy, even though she had thus far been a reliable ally), apparently wedding mead was supposed to ferment a full nine months.

    Not that he recalled his father waiting that long to wed Astrid. Einarr shrugged the thought off: there may have been other considerations there, and he was sure to be occupied in the interim. It’s not like there wouldn’t be plenty to do while he waited: Einarr was sure he was going to have to go knock some sense into some of the jarls who hadn’t come to the Thing.

    But, all of that was a matter for another day. Right now, he was home for the first time since he was six years old. He had old friends to celebrate with, and new friends to make.

    There, off on the edges of the festivities, Jorir and Kaldr each sat on a stump with a flagon of drink, watching the revelry before them. Jorir’s expression said this was exactly how he wanted it, so Einarr left them to it.

    Cheers erupted from a broad field near where Urdr’s spells had quite literally come unraveled, and so he wandered that way. The smell of roasting meat tickled his nose, but after the discussion he’d just had food was the last thing on his mind.

    “Einarr! There you are!” Erik’s voice boomed across the field. “The glima tournament’s already started!”

    With a grin, Einarr broke into a trot. He hadn’t had a chance to wrestle much since his bout with Trabbi. “Count me in! Who’s up next?”

    “Me!” Irding shouted, standing shirtless on a stump with his chest puffed out like a rooster’s, grinning like a loon.

    Einarr laughed. “You’re on! Just try not to hold a grudge when I swab the deck with your head.”

    He arrived moments later and stripped to the waist. Irding stood ready on the far side of the ring, still grinning.

    There was much yet to be done, to restore Breidelstein and the glory of Raen. But as Einarr’s boots joined his tunic on the grass, and his feet pressed into the ground, he knew in his bones that he was home.

    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.

  • 10.48 – The Thing

    10.48 – The Thing

    Over the course of the next three weeks, something more than half of all the jarls who once swore allegiance to Raen arrived in port at Breidelstein or sent pigeons explaining why they couldn’t. Stigander made a point of greeting each and every Jarl personally, after which they would spend some time in hushed conversation while their crews unloaded barrels of ale and mead and other contributions to the coming festival.

    Tyr, Kaldr, and Jorir had disagreed with Einarr’s thoughts on taking oaths, and in the end their thinking won. The renewal of vows would take place after the trial of Urdr.

    Thus, at the end of three weeks, when careful note had been made of those Jarls who had not arrived for the Thing – excuse or no – a true Thing was held in Breidelstein for the first time in more than a decade. When the Jarls assembled in a circle around the courtyard, they stared at the figures in the center with grim solemnity.

    A wooden seat had been brought out for Raen. The old man sat, stooped and feeble but alert, and he stared about himself with childlike wonder. Many was the man who winced to see their former Thane in such a reduced state – and winced again when Urdr was brought forth in chains, led once more by Arring and Erik and Thjofgrir. Raen physically shrank away from the crone. Gorgny, who attended him on the stage, comforted him like he would a child.

    Einarr, from his place at Stigander’s side, fought to keep a straight face at the sight of his grandfather. He could see from the corner of his eye the knotting of muscles in his father’s jaw. But the two of them had to remain neutral, despite being among the aggrieved.

    “This Thing is assembled,” Stigander intoned. “Before you are Raen, your former Thane, and the Weavess Urdr, who is accused. Gorgny, you may state your case.”

    Raen’s oldest and most loyal liege-man straightened, leaving a comforting hand on Raen’s shoulder. “Men of the Thing, this woman and her son are solely responsible for the current state of these islands. She used her Weaving to bind the fates of all Breidelstein and unseat Lord Raen. In his place, she installed her son Ulfr, and the two of them have taxed the citizens beyond all measure. She has imprisoned and tortured Lord Raen, whom she claimed was her husband, as well as countless others who have passed through the dungeon here. She has practiced Black Arts in order to hold power for herself and her son. Free men of the Thing, I lay all these things at the feet of this woman.”

    A low rumble passed around the assembled Jarls. Then Stigander stepped forward. “Weavess Urdr. You stand accused before the Thing of high treason, treason against your Thane, practicing the black arts, murder by means of magic, and of practicing the torturer’s arts. Among your accusers, your victims, are members of this Thing. Have you any defense?”

    The crone straightened, haughty and defiant even now. “You dare to try me here, with my accusers among the judges?”

    “I see none in this circle who have added to the weight of charges laid out by Gorgny.”

    “And yet you yourself are a son of Raen. Does that not make your judgment invalid?”

    “It is not my judgement you have to fear. You will offer no defense, then?”

    A cold stare was his only answer. Stigander shrugged. “Are there any present who would stand in her defense?”

    No-one stepped forward. On its face, Einarr thought Urdr’s claim had merit. Unfortunately for her, that was the nature of crimes against a Thane, and there was no way to call an Althing. Her tricks would find no purchase here.

    “Very well,” Stigander boomed. “The penalty for any one of these crimes is death, and so I put the question before this Thing. Did this woman conspire to overthrow the rightful Thane of Breidelstein?”

    A chorus of “Ayes” rang around the circle.

    “In the overthrow of the Thane Raen, by whom she bore a son, did she practice the black art of curse-weaving?”

    Once again each man in the circle answered aye.

    “Was the rightful Thane, a man she has called her husband, tortured by her hand?”

    There were fewer ‘ayes’ this time, likely because the Jarls hesitated to confirm a charge that was not so self-evident.

    “Very well. Based on the determination of this Thing, who have witnessed the actions of the accused, the weavess Urdr is guilty. You shall be stripped of all you posess and chained to a rock in the harbor, where you may look upon the lands you so desired until your bones fall into the sea.”

    “Arring. Erik. Thjofgrir. See to it.”

    The three men named snapped off an “Aye,sir,” as though they were still aboard ships before leading the crone out of the circle of the Thing. If there was one thing that could be said to her credit, it was that her pride did not desert her as she was led to her death. She held her head high and stared defiantly forward.

    “Now that the unpleasantness is concluded, there is one more bit of formality to handle before the festivities begin. Kaldr Kerasson, step forward.”

    Kaldr moved with the calm grace that everyone who knew him was accustomed to and knelt before Stigander.

    “Earlier, during the fighting, you laid your life before me. Now I will have your oath.” Stigander drew Grjóthrun from the scabbard on his baldric and held the hilt out toward the man called the Ice Wolf.

    The reswearing of those whose bonds had been severed, first by the witch and then by Einarr, took until it was full dark. A bonfire – a real one, this time – was lit in the field, and the feast table laid near it. Musicians from the town had offered their services for a place at the table and been welcomed.

    It was a night of celebration and the reforging of bonds long tested. Finally, Breidelstein could begin the long road toward rebuilding its former glory.

    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.

  • 10.47 – Unbinding

    10.47 – Unbinding

    A light like golden dawn shone from the grass behind Einarr, illuminating the faces before him. Those who were bound most loosely by the curse – Stigander, Kormund, most of their crews, Kaldr – watched in respectful silence, as they would a grave ship. Among the townsfolk, some looked pained. Others, nauseous. That was a result of the dissonance, and would pass in time.

    Those who had fought under Ulfr had, in general, stronger reactions. Some vomited. Others dropped to their knees, clutching their heads. A bare handful had been bound so tightly their minds could not accept the dissonance and they fled into the forest. Einarr watched calmly, hiding his surprise that there were any of those here to witness the ritual.

    Urdr had aged a century in a little over ten minutes. Einarr had called her a crone before, but the destruction of her work sapped her of vitality. Once again he stifled a pang of pity: for what she and her son had worked on Breidelstein, this was only a partial measure of justice. Arring stood behind her, holding her on her feet to witness the undoing of her schemes.

    Eventually, those with homes in the city below began to drift towards the gate house and rest. Of the warriors who remained, those who were less affected aided those in greater distress towards rooms where they might rest. Arring, Erik, and Thjofgrir led Urdr to the dungeon, where she would await the convenience of the Thing.

    The bonfire of tapestries continued in the center of the circle. Stigander’s eyes did not rest, searching over the faces that remained, plainly looking for someone, although Einarr could not guess who.

    He was not needed here. Einarr drove the end of the distaff into the rune circle. For just a moment, the ivory inlay flashed with the same light as the working below. He was not entirely certain what that meant, but now that it was there he did not think he should move it – at least not until the working was finished.

    The Örlögnir stood on its own. With a sigh and a mental shrug, Einarr left the bonfire of light to join the rest of his crewmates.

    When dawn broke, Einarr rose from his sleeping couch not quite able to accept that it was his. The odd sense of displacement, though, he knew was temporary. More urgently, there was work to be done.

    Einarr followed the smell of wood smoke to a cookfire outside the hall, where he found his father and an older man crouched near the fire, speaking in hushed tones. Einarr thought he recognized the man, but with the haze of long years he couldn’t be certain.

    “His Lordship is resting in town, under the care of an herb-witch,” the old man was saying.

    Stigander nodded in understanding. “I only saw him for a moment. He looked weak. How is he, really?”

    The old man looked up and straight at Einarr, his eyes suddenly hooded. Stigander turned around and waved for him to join them.

    “Uncle Gorgny, you remember Einarr, don’t you?”

    Uncle Gorgny! So that’s why he looked familiar. Einarr smiled.

    Gorgny looked poleaxed. He finally stammered out “The Cursebreaker is your very own son?”

    “My very own.”

    “It’s not that surprising that he wouldn’t recognize me, Father. Last time I saw Uncle Gorgny, I was just a small boy.”

    Stigander turned his attention back to Raen’s closest advisor. “Well? How is my father?”

    “…Weak, as you say, Lord. I have reason to believe much of the blood in those tapestries was his. But that was not the only way in which she tortured him. Now that she is gone, and he is free, I hope he will recover.”

    Stigander set his mouth grimly. “I understand.”

    “You are not surprised.” Gorgny watched Stigander for confirmation.

    “I suspected. Last spring we paid a visit to an Oracle: she left me virtually certain.” He sighed, then shook his head. “We will need to visit him, sooner rather than later, and not just because he’s family.”

    “Then…” Einarr couldn’t finish the thought.

    “Trying to give your grandfather back his seat is likely to be impossible, based on everything I’ve heard.”

    “Unfortunately true,” Gorgny agreed. “Even if Raen were as hale as you, the years under the usurper cost him a great deal of support, and even more honor.”

    “That should be mitigated once the Jarls realize Ulfr didn’t actually have Grandfather’s support.” That his grandfather was still alive was nothing short of miraculous. Unfortunately, it also made what came next complicated.

    “Not enough, I’m afraid,” Stigander rumbled. “But it’s moot anyway. Be thankfull, Einarr, that your sorcery in the harbor brought Kaldr to his senses. You are no more prepared to be a Thane than your uncle was. How long before the Thing can be assembled?”

    Gorgny sighed. “At least a week. More likely two.”

    “Good. I want careful count kept of who comes and who doesn’t. Clans have fractured over less than this.”

    “Of course, my Prince.” Gorgny pressed his hands against his knees and rose, allowing himself the luxury of a groan. He, too, was getting on in years, but he had not been subjected to the witch’s tender ministrations. “There is much yet to do before the Jarls begin to arrive. If you will excuse me.”

    “Of course. And, Uncle Gorgny, it’s good to see you again.”

    The old retainer offered Stigander a tight smile. “It’s good you came back.”

    Einarr furrowed his brow. Once Gorgny had crossed half the courtyard, he turned his attention back to his father. “What’s wrong with him?”

    Stigander sighed. “You heard it too, then. I have never questioned his loyalty to your grandfather, not once. I suspect he just has some soul-searching to do. He may blame himself. He may be worried about Father. Maybe it’s all of the above.”

    “You should start taking men’s oaths, Father. The sooner the better.”

    “You’re not wrong. But that won’t help him.”

    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.

  • 10.46 – Unweaving

    10.46 – Unweaving

    Einarr set about drawing the rune circle he and Hrug had devised while the Usurper’s former thralls made trip after trip from Urdr’s workroom, each time returning loaded down with tapestries which were then piled haphazardly in the center of the circle. “Draw” was perhaps a misnomer, though: the area he chose for this was in the center of a small grassy field. No chalk or charcoal would do: he cut the lines into the soft soil with the end of the Örlögnir. The distaff felt warm to Einarr’s touch as he worked: he hoped that meant that the Lady Frigg understood.

    At some point during all this, Arring arrived with some proper iron shackles for the old woman, and even distracted Einarr did not miss that he brought both arm and leg irons. Well. Based on his answer from the Oracle, perhaps Arring had more reason than some to despise the witch. Even as he locked the shackles around her frail-seeming limbs, though, she watched.

    As they began piling her life’s work in the middle of Einarr’s circle, she cackled. “Those tapestries are woven of the blood and bone of the clan. What do you expect your half-learned runes will do, Cursebreaker? You are no immortal.”

    Einarr raised an eyebrow, but continued to draw. “So I am not.”

    “And yet you will try your mortal will against the lifeblood of the clan?”

    “If it were only my will, or even my will and Hrug’s, perhaps we would fail – although I suspect the ‘lifeblood of the clan’ rather objects to being used in such a way. Tell me, witch. Do you know what this is?” He lifted the Örlögnir from the line it carved and showed it to the growing crowd.

    “A rather pretty distaff.” Somehow Urdr managed to sneer down at it even locked in irons as she now was. “Probably never been used for actual spinning.”

    “That I couldn’t say. You see, this distaff belongs to the Lady Frigg herself. Do you happen to know the properties of hazel and ivory?”

    She scowled, but did not answer, and Einarr went back to his work.

    “I didn’t, this time last year. This, lady Urdr, is the Örlögnir. According to the Matrons, it purifies.”

    Urdr contined to scowl and turned her head away, her chin thrust forward stubbornly. Einarr went back to ignoring her.

    At last, all the warriors and a good number of the townsfolk had gathered around the working, as much out of curiosity as anything. A number of them, Einarr suspected, did not quite understand what it was he was ending. They were there because the rule of the Usurper and the Weavess had been intolerable, and so they had thrown their lot in with the so-called rebels.

    He hoped this would not cause them too much distress. Kaldr had spoken of a bad headache when he first broke free, during the assault: Einarr suspected that might not be the worst, for some.

    Finally, though, it was ready. Einarr straightened from his rune circle and walked once around its perimeter, taking in the faces of those who had come to watch. Some faces stood out, of course, primarily those of the Vidofnings and their allies in the assault. Jarl Hroaldr stood by Stigander’s side, tall and nearly as proud as his old friend, and much improved since his rescue from the witch. Kaldr stood with the Mates – including his own. A few others. Everyone met his gaze steadily, somber and expectant.

    Satisfied, Einarr stopped on the south side of the circle, facing north. There was nothing to be said. Not yet. Very deliberately, he placed his feet on the edge of the circle, his stance a little broader than usual. The polished wood and ivory of the distaff gleamed in his hands in the light of the sun.

    Einarr gripped the Örlögnir in both hands and raised it overhead. I hope this works… With a sudden violent thrust, he brought the base of the distaff back down to the ground, resting its end in the line of the rune circle he stood on. At the same time, he willed the runes to life.

    Golden light spread around the circle like the light of a sunrise. Even in the full light of day, Einarr was sure that anyone near enough to see the ground could see the magic at work. Then the outer circle was completed, and the light rushed inwards. As it touched the edges of the tapestries piled in the center, they began to shimmer and smoke.

    Urdr shrieked as the shimmer crawled along the surface of her work. Einarr would not be surprised if she fought to rush forward, but it was Arring who held her chains. She would not be able to throw herself on this conflagration. His attention was held by the light, and his will was currently captive to the Örlögnir.

    As the light-fire grew over the pile of tapestries, Einarr was fascinated by what he saw. The cloth did not burn, not precisely. It was the dyes that smoked. His gaze was drawn ever inward, until it became plain that the individual threads of the cloth were pulling themselves apart, dancing in the light-fire like a million tiny worms.

    Einarr blinked, actually grateful at this moment for Urdr’s panicked shrieking, and pulled his attention outward. Already he could feel a headache forming. There was no sense allowing himself to be swept away on the magic. He glanced over his shoulder.

    A number of the townsfolk, and all of Ulfr’s former men, held their heads as though the dissonance were coming through. Urdr dropped to her knees, panting, as Arring stood firm, the chains that bound her hands and feet grasped firmly in his hand. In this moment, Einarr could almost pity her. Almost, but not quite.

    He turned around the Örlögnir to face the onlookers. Behind him, the light-fire consumed the curse that had beset these islands for almost twenty years.

    “The Norns always correct their weave.”

    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.

  • 10.45 – Return

    10.45 – Return

    Einarr, Troa, and Jorir traded off at the oars for the rest of that afternoon. The sun was setting as they reached the lake Troa had spoken of.

    “If we’re going to be out overnight, we should fish.” Urdr mentioned. “You’ll need your strength in the morning, after all.”

    “I don’t think you have any room to be making suggestions, witch,” Runa spat.

    Troa shook his head. “It’s not a bad idea. There’s good fish in this lake, and with the assault I don’t think any of us have eaten since yesterday.”

    “You intend to eat raw lake fish?” Jorir asked, querulous.

    “I suppose we would have to land to cook it properly.” Troa mused.

    “Is that a problem? There’s no honor in starving an old woman.” Einarr peered at the lake shore. It looked like the forest came right up to the water’s edge most of the way around, but there was a rather large rock they could use in the south.

    Urdr smirked. Runa clapped her hand to her forehead. “Are you all idiots? No! We’re not landing.”

    Einarr gave Runa an arch look, annoyed in spite of himself. “Excuse me?”

    “She’s a Weavess! They read the future! Furthermore, she’s as black-hearted as they come. She dyed her threads in human blood, for crying out loud! You’re all smarter than this. If a Weaver wants you to do something, think about why!”

    “The lass is right,” Jorir rumbled. “We shouldn’t land unless we want to try to catch this one again. And I’m somewhat less certain of my chances on a second try.”

    Einarr blinked, bringing his attention back to the present moment. “You’re right, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

    Urdr slumped again and turned her face down. “Tcheh.”

    Runa crossed her arms and stared at the old woman seated on the deck. “See?”

    They stayed on the lake overnight, sleeping in shifts so that one person was always guarding their prisoner and one was keeping them from drifting toward shore. Urdr slept fitfully through all this, but with Runa’s reminder to beware of plots, none of them relaxed their guard enough she could try to swim for it. When the sun rose, she lay huddled in the middle of the deck. She had tried, unsuccessfully, to procure one of her tapestries as a blanket, but not one of them was willing to trust her with that.

    In the morning the river carried them swiftly downstream, and Einarr realized where they were significantly before mid-morning.

    So did Runa. “This is the river we escaped to with my father!”

    “So it is.” Einarr eyed Urdr and the pile of tapestries, then shook his head. “Probably we could get her up to Father through that tunnel, but I think taking her into such a warren as the dungeon would be hazardous. She will walk through town as a prisoner.”

    She did not blanch at the statement. Perhaps the men of the city did not know who she was, but that would be easily remedied.

    Urdr held her head high as they marched through town, announcing as they went that this woman was the Usurper’s mother and was being brought before the Thing to stand for her crimes. The people of the city stared, openly hostile, but neither jeered nor attacked the prisoner. For the best.

    At the bottom of the cliff road, they hired a cart to carry their prisoner up to the Hold. Troa held her upright as the donkey cart trundled around the switchbacks while Runa and Jorir carried her workings. Finally, perhaps an hour before the sun reached its zenith, the five stood before the open gates of Raenshold.

    “Einarr son of Stigander and his companions Jorir, the svartdverger, Troa son of Lonir and Runa daughter of Hroaldr return with the prisoner Urdr,” Einarr announced from his place at the head of the cart.

    Arring stepped forward out of the gate and gave them all a warm smile. “Welcome back. Your father awaits you in the courtyard before the Hall.”

    “Thank you. Are the chiefs here?”

    Arring shook his head. “Messengers have been dispatched, but I very much doubt we’ll see anyone before that thing is destroyed.”

    “I understand.” That would be why his Father waited for him outside, he expected. “We will need to guard this one carefully until the Thing is assembled,” he said.

    Arring nodded and stepped out of the way. “I will see to it.”

    Einarr continued forward with the cart and their prisoner. Arring would need time to arrange for the special guard – and Einarr, if he was honest, wanted her to see her wicked weavings destroyed.

    The difficulty was not in finding his father in the courtyard, but rather in getting to where he was. The courtyard was a press of people, between sailors taking their ease to warriors carrying messages every which way, to men of the town anxiously looking for reassurances. At the very center of this maelstrom stood Stigander, Kaldr, Bardr, and a man Einarr did not recognize.

    After a good deal of jostling and very little progress, Einarr stopped the donkey and spoke over the hum of the crowd: “Einarr son of Stigander son of Raen has returned with the Weavess in custody.”

    Stigander and Kaldr looked up as everyone else fell silent together. A path opened, only barely wide enough for the cart to pass.

    “Einarr. Welcome back.” Stigander clapped him on the shoulder. “I was beginning to worry.”

    “Father. Sorry that took so long. Kaldr.” He nodded to his former enemy. “I see things are progressing smoothly here.”

    “As smoothly as they can. You have the tapestries?”

    “Everything she fled with, as near as I can tell.”

    “So we can finally be rid of the thing?”

    Einarr took a deep breath. “I think so.”

    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.

  • New(ish) Release(s)!

    New(ish) Release(s)!

    Okay. So first off, I am apparently a bad publisher who never wrote a post informing everyone that Einarr and the Demon Fleet was available for sale. That only happened in April… Here’s your link for Amazon, and here’s your link for everyone else.

    The cover image for Book 4 of the Adventures of Einarr Stigandersen: Einarr and the Demon Fleet

    And since Demon Fleet has been out since April, I am very pleased to announce that Einarr and the Tower of Ravens is now available as a preorder on Amazon and elsewhere! William is doing a great job on these covers, and this is one of my favorites. He’s got more of his art up on Eyster Artistry for anyone who wants to go take a look.

    The cover for book 5 of the Adventures of Einarr Stigandersen: Einarr and the Tower of Ravens
  • 10.44 – Capture

    10.44 – Capture

    Einarr burst out of the passageway and into the bright afternoon light on a portion of the island he did not recognize. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light, and saw that they were in a forest. Just ahead, he saw a small river not unlike the one he had rescued Runa from before. A fishing boat bobbed in the river. He did not immediately see the old woman.

    “There!” Runa pointed urgently. Light caught on a long, silver braid as the woman it belonged to hobbled through the underbrush. She had nearly reached the water.

    His quarry spotted, Einarr hurtled off through the brush, leaping bushes, ducking branches, and praying she hadn’t left any pits or loosed any caged wolves.

    Gratifyingly, Troa was right there with him. Jorir and Runa were obliged to take things more slowly, but if the two of them couldn’t capture one old woman, no matter how crafty, they may as well hang up their swords and take up farming.

    Einarr vaulted another bush and looked up. The old crone – and a crone she was, stooped and withered and looking like she hadn’t seen the sun in a decade – had reached the boat, but the tapestries she carried were hampering her. He tried to find some more speed, but the underbrush was too thick. He growled, but he could think of nothing they could do to slow her.

    Oh Frigg, let us catch her. He was unaccustomed to calling on Frigg, but under the circumstances it seemed most appropriate.

    They were getting close. He could see Urdr’s whole stooped figure as it stood unsteadily in the boat, pulling her tapestries after her. But she saw them, too. She looked straight at him and cackled: he could not tell if it was glee, like she was almost away, or madness.

    It didn’t matter. His foot touched the river bank and he gave one final leap, landing in the small fishing boat with the woman who had caused them so much grief. “It’s over. Give up now and save us both some trouble.”

    “That was a mistake, Cursebreaker.” She launched herself forward at Einarr with surprising force for a woman of her age, but she struck with all the force of a barn cat.

    Einarr grabbed her by the arm without recoiling even a step. “What did you expect that to —” then he cried in surprise as her knife plunged into the extended wrist.

    “That. Now drown!” She scrambled back to the far side of the boat and bent over.

    Einarr took one stride forward and stopped when he realized he was walking not on deck boards but on a rug. Or, more likely, one of her tapestries. One of her tapestries that she had grabbed the edge of. She gave a mighty yank. Einarr felt the tapestry pull around his boot, but not enough to trouble him.

    On shore, Troa had taken hold of the mooring line and was wrapping it around his arm. Runa and Jorir were nearly there. Good.

    Einarr closed the distance to the old witch and took hold of her wrist. She stared at him, panic plain in her eyes. Even as she started to bring her knife back up, though, he spun her around and left her lying on the deck, her arm pinned against her back.

    To her very slim credit, she did not scream and thrash about. “What do you intend to do with me?”

    “That is for the Thing to decide.”

    She went very still then. Whatever the Thing decided, it would not be pleasant. Einarr saw her look towards her knife, in the hand he had not pinned.

    “I don’t think so.” He pivoted on one foot as he stood, still holding the first arm, to pin the second under a foot. “You have turned the Norns and Frigg herself against you. Their justice will be no more merciful than ours. Jorir. Tell me you have some shackles or some rope or something.”

    “Nay, lord. But your man Troa has that mooring line well in hand.”

    Einarr grunted. That was far from ideal, but it would have to do. “Fine. Get aboard, then. We’ll need to take the boat back around to Breidelstein city.”

    Jorir cut a length from the end of the mooring line to bind the witch’s hands with before climbing aboard. While he bound Urdr’s hands behind her back, Runa climbed aboard. Troa seemed to be staring about at their surroundings.

    Einarr looked at the scout. “Tell me you know how to get back.”

    Troa smirked. “That is exactly what I was just considering, my lord. I believe if we row up stream we should come upon a lake with another outlet near the city and the hold.”

    Once Urdr’s hands were securely bound and Runa had rolled up the tapestry she had spread on the deck, Einarr moved her to sit in the center of the boat. “Runa, I leave her in your care until we reach the city.”

    Urdr sat up straighter, a glimmer of hope in her eyes until she turned to look at Runa, but wilted under the other woman’s cold regard. Even Einarr quailed a little at that expression: his bride was a formidable woman.

    With a nod, he turned to the others. “As for us, we have some rowing to do. You’re sure of this lake, Troa?”

    “Reasonably. It’s been some time since I hunted this island, but if this is where I think it is we’re in good shape.”

    “In that case, let’s go. We’re wasting daylight.”

    As Einarr and Troa began rowing up river, with Jorir taking up position to help guard the prisoner, Urdr pushed herself up to a seated position. “Tell me one thing. I don’t know how you managed to best the rest of my traps, but you lost at least one ally, and neither the Cursebreaker nor the Thief shows signs of having fought. How did you leave the Glutton behind?”

    “There were only ever four of us.”

    Urdr fell silent, evidently unsettled.

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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.

  • 10.43 – Flood

    10.43 – Flood

    Jorir led the way into the underwater passage, wary as though he were expecting an attack from any side. The Weavess wouldn’t have sent them underwater if she didn’t have something terrible planned. In spite of himself he jumped when the shutter sprang closed behind Runa. She squeaked. Shaking their heads, they continued forward. Her lamp was flickering badly now: he hoped it lasted long enough for them to get out of this nonsense.

    The hallway appeared to come to a dead end perhaps sixty feet further on. The passage had not split, however, so hopefully there was some way through he just couldn’t see. A lever up near the ceiling looked promising. “Ye see that?”

    “I do. Can it really be that easy?”

    Metal clanged, the sound of more shutters opening overhead, and water began to gush into the hallway.

    “That answer your question?” His boots would very shortly be full of water.

    “Less talking. More running.”

    They splashed through the rapidly rising seawater. They would make it there in time: the only question was, what was the trick to the lever?

    “At least it’s easy to float in seawater. You shouldn’t have to stand on my shoulders this time.”

    Jorir grunted. “I don’t float so well, Lady. Even if I did, seawater’s like to foul the mechanism. I expect you’ll be able to handle that one, though.”

    Troa and Einarr hurried down the hall, the water already deeper than their boots and threatening to freeze their knees. When they reached the lever, they only studied it a moment before Troa spoke. “Get on my shoulders.”

    “This is not exactly my skillset…”

    “If it’s more complicated than thumbing a catch and pulling the lever, I will trade you places. Your shoulders have taken enough abuse.”

    Einarr shrugged. There wasn’t exactly a lot of time to argue. “All right.”

    Troa winced as he went down on one knee in the cold water. Einarr wasted no time in vaulting on the scout’s shoulders, and then he faced the lever.

    “You were right, Troa. Here goes nothing.”

    Einarr pulled. There was a click followed by the grinding of stone on stone.

    They waited, the water continuing to rise up Troa’s legs. Nothing else seemed to happen.

    Panic rising in his gut, Einarr looked back at the lever. Now that it was down, he could see there was writing inscribed on the wall.

    “There is no salvation here – for you,” he read, splashing down into the water off of the scout’s shoulders. “Something happened, though.”

    “Too bad we have no way of knowing what…”

    Einarr stood, staring at the dead end of the hall, wondering if this was how he was going to meet his end.

    Jorir braced himself against the wall as Runa – slender, delicate, and surprisingly clumsy – stood on his shoulders. The water was as deep as his chest and climbing alarmingly. “Tell me it’s just a lever.”

    “It looks like there’s some writing on the wall, but I won’t be able to read it until I pull the lever.”

    “Well? What are you waiting for?”

    The sound of grinding stone reached their ears and the water stopped climbing even as Runa pulled the lever.

    Einarr was beginning to grow numb below the waist as the water approached that level, and he thought it was probably for the best. The rise of the water had been the only way they could measure time, and a grim measure it was.

    “Troa. I know things have been difficult lately, but —”

    “Shh. Hear that?”

    Einarr snapped his mouth shut and listened. The sound of grinding stone reached his ears even over the noise of the rushing water. He turned a surprised look at the scout as a new current picked up in the water: one moving forward. “They did it!”

    Before long, a door stood open before them and the water had drained so it only covered their boots. Einarr had only thought he was numb before, but still it was better than being up to his waist in seawater. Here and there, he saw a fish swimming along the passage with them.

    Through the door they went, the water dissipating even further as the passage ahead grew wider.

    Not many paces ahead, they came to a Y. A sound of wet footsteps was hurrying up from their right. Einarr turned to look, and did not even try to suppress a grin to see Runa and Jorir coming up behind them looking nearly as soaked as he was. As much as he wanted to throw his arms around Runa, certain that her path must have been just as treacherous as his own – but there was no time.

    “Everyone’s alright, then?” A quick series of nods confirmed it. “In that case, we’ve already lost too much time.”

    “The exit’s sure to be near at hand, if we’re out of her sadistic little maze.” Troa’s eyes were already fixed on their goal.

    Runa hiked up her skirts and looked at Einarr like he was holding them up.

    “Let’s go, then!”

    Reunited at last, the four started to run down the third leg of the Y, the floor growing dryer as their legs grew warmer from the exertion. Where the trail before had gone steadily downward, now they moved somewhat uphill. Not surprising, given that before they had been under water, but Einarr wondered if she didn’t also hope it would slow her tired pursuers just a little longer. As expected, they could see a bright splash of daylight ahead. Einarr pushed himself faster, and the others kept pace.

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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.