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  • 10.15 – Forest Road

    10.15 – Forest Road

    When the sun set that evening, Einarr was as glad for the end of the day’s labors as he was for the return of their scouts. Lundholm would recover: probably without too much trouble, even, for while Urek had instructed his raiders to do as much damage as possible, they had avoided doing much to the villagers themselves.

    Still, the cleanup had been back-breaking and tedious. Erik, rising from his work at the boathouse, inspecting their ships, was the first to spot them. He lifted a big hand high in the air and waved. “What ho! Welcome back!”

    That signalled the end of work as surely as the setting sun and everyone made their way to the green to hear from the scouts.

    “It’s not an easy road,” Troa warned. “Even without the ships, the way is steep, and the forest presses in on either side.”

    “In two separate places we had to clear a deadfall from the road,” Boti added. “Those were apparently what kept the old monk away: he seems to be in fine health, and bade us tell you he will arrive with the season’s first and second honey within the fortnight.”

    A woman’s voice in the crowd said “oh, thank the gods.” All three scouts smiled as though they had expected that response.

    “And the monk accepts that we must go past his hermitage?” Stigander sounded thoughtful.

    “Yes,” Troa answered. “I spoke with him myself. He was mostly glad to know the way had been cleared, because he is old and the trees were heavy.”

    Stigander’s lips parted in a smile. “Excellent! We leave at first light.”

    The wolflings did not launch a second raid on the town that night. When dawn broke and the alarm had not sounded, a quiet cheer went round the waking men of fleet and village alike. As they rose they each headed for the boat house as they chewed a small bit of dried salmon for strength.

    Elder Vilding waited for them at the boat house. Stigander, in the lead, motioned the men behind him to wait. “You have our thanks,” he said, offering a small bow.

    “And you, ours. I only wish we could have carried out our agreement properly.”

    Stigander accepted this with a gracious nod of his head.

    “I have sent a guide on ahead to the first fork. He will ensure you do not lose the path.”

    “You have my thanks, again.”

    A wry smile cracked the old man’s face. “Now go. Give ‘em Hel.”

    Stigander grinned, and then they moved on. Each Captain took his place at the bow of his own boat, and then their men put their shoulders to it and lifted.

    With no small amount of groaning, of men and wood alike, the Vidofnir, the Heidrun, and the Eikthyrnir rose into the air and began trundling forward like a trio of monstrous centipedes.

    The forest road was narrow, as Troa had said. Einarr expected it would also be steep, once they were a little farther inland. Still, it was nothing their crews couldn’t handle. He resettled his shoulder under the weight of his ship. This would be a long portage: perhaps among the longest he had ever attempted. But for all of that, it might just do the trick.

    When night fell, the three crews sat atop a mountain with their guide and rested for the evening. In the morning they pressed on, still tired and sore but glad to be past the worst of it.

    Mist hung in the air along the road that morning, lending the world around a feeling of unreality. And yet, with the clear sky above and the warm light filtering through the mist, Einarr could almost forget the burden he bore on his back as they made their way down the far side of the mountain. Someone started up a rower’s cadence song. Before long, men all up and down the line were singing it together.

    The road led around a series of tight hairpin turns – tight enough and steep enough that it was tricky to maneuver the boats through – but only a little later leveled off. Through the trees ahead, Einarr could see the blue-gray sparkle of the ocean.

    “Look ahead!” He called in cadence. “Nearly there!”

    Everyone’s spirits picked up at that, and with their spirits rose their pace. The forest opened up ahead of them, and almost before they realized they stood on the edge of a meadow. Off to their left was a small stone house. Smoke rose from the ceiling vent. That must be the hermitage: Einarr could hear buzzing off in the distance.

    The road tapered off into nothing from here, but already they could see the grey, rocky shore ahead, and beyond it the beckoning sea.

    The cadence song was now replaced by cheerful banter amongst the men. Someone proposed a race: his Mate shot it down.

    Einarr maneuvered his Heidrun to move parallel to the Vidofnir so that he could speak quietly with his father.

    “We’re not going to just leave the wolflings at the fjord, are we?”

    His father shook his head. “If we attack them, we lose one of the primary advantages of slipping out this way. If we don’t, sooner or later they’re going to try raiding Lundholm again. And this time, we won’t be there to help. And that is why tactics must be complemented with both strategy and ethics. No matter the short-term advantages it would gain us, I cannot abandon the town to the wolflings. Not when I’m the one who brought them in the first place.”

    Einarr nodded as his boots crunched in the stones on the beach. “You first, father.”

    Without breaking his stride at all, Stigander led the head of the Vidofnir into the cold ocean water before them. With only the tiniest of splashes they set the Vidofnir down in the water where she sat groaning on the beach, waiting.

    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.

  • 10.14 – Reconnaissance

    10.14 – Reconnaissance

    Kaldr awoke to the smell of smoke with the rising of the dawn. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he sat up. Those idiots.

    That they would conduct a raid was expected. He had given leave, after all – as much because he was certain Urek would have sent one anyway as because it was good to make sure the rebels remembered they were there. But this was not the smell of wood smoke. He smelled meat.

    He looked around the deck of his ship: most of them seemed unaware anything was amiss, and that was as it should be. Some, though, wore scowls as dark as Kaldr’s thoughts.

    “Thjofgrir?”

    “Yes, sir?”

    “Find Skon. Send him up the fjord. Reconnaissance only. I want to know what was destroyed and how many died. Tell him to be quick, but not to let himself be seen.”

    “Yes, sir.” No sooner had Thjofgrir answered, though, than a familiar and grating laugh sounded from behind them, in the direction of Urek’s ship. Slowly, making sure his expression was properly schooled, Kaldr turned to face the man.

    “Now that’s how it’s done!” Urek was leaning on the bulwark of his ship and looking smugly across at Kaldr.

    “Do tell me, precisely what is ‘how it’s done’?” If he’s killed the townsfolk, I will put his head on a pike.

    “Those cursed rebels will come slinking out of there with their tails between their legs now, just you wait. Lundholm can’t very well resupply them when they have to see to their own stores!”

    In spite of himself, Kaldr could feel his face go pale. On the one hand, Urek had complied with the letter of his instructions. On the other hand, in terms of ill will, this was almost worse. “You didn’t…”

    The man took a long, over-dramatic sniff of the air. “Proof is on the wind, sir. The men who went raiding last night didn’t draw steel on anyone but rebels, but they burned everything they could.”

    Kaldr closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten under his breath. Urek, around the time he hit “two” and had not answered, walked away laughing to himself.

    “Thjofgrir.” He opened his eyes and looked at his Mate. “Cancel that reconnaissance. Urek is a fool and a braggart, but not a liar.”

    “As you say, sir.”

    After all the fires had been put out and the food pulled from the smokehouse and the drying shed, the people of Lundholm had lost fully half their stores before accounting for the damage done at the boat house. Einarr could not fault their anger, although it rankled to be the object of it when they had done everything in their power to stop the attack.

    They would not be able to finish the resupply now. The men of Lundholm would have to rebuild their own stores, and there simply were not enough materials to go around to handle both.

    At the same time, though, they were in no condition to fight their way out of the fjord. Thus, with the noon sun high in the sky, Stigander turned to Elder Vilding with one last request. “Do you have a map?”

    “A map? What in Hel’s name do you want with a map?”

    Captain Kormund pressed his hands together. “Elder Vilding. There is currently a blockade at the mouth of the fjord that we would have to pass through one at a time. While we would, no doubt, take them down, we would take them down with us. But if Stigander and Einarr do not reach Raenshold, you will never be free of the Usurper. Thus, we need another way out.”

    “Our boats are already on dry land,” Einarr filled in.

    The Elder spluttered. “Surely you don’t mean to portage your ships across the whole island?”

    Stigander nodded. “If a way exists, it may save us. So, please, as one final favor before you are rid of us.”

    Now Elder Vilding sighed. “Such a route exists. Or did, last fall. There’s a hermitage on the southwestern coast with a small, rocky beach. Haven’t seen old Gotlief yet this year, and Dagny needs honey for her mead soon.”

    Stigander nodded. “So long as it’s broad enough to launch a ship, that sounds like exactly what we need.”

    “There is no map – not like what you’re thinking of. We had one, twenty years ago, but it burned up in one of the Usurper’s raids.”

    “That’s fine,” Einarr put in quickly. “If you’ll show us the road, we can send a man or two on ahead to scout out the way.”

    Vilding hummed. “And while we wait for these scouts of yours to return?”

    “We will divide our men in half, if you allow it.” Stigander answered easily. “The first half will help clean up the mess left by the wolflings. The other half will keep making arrows, drawing water, and harvesting pitch. It’s the only way we have a chance of making it back to Raenshold.”

    A low grumble rose from among the villagers, but the Elder shook his head. “Fine. And half of any game you take comes back to us, to replace what was burnt.”

    “Done.”

    The young man who had hailed them when they first arrived stepped forward. “I will go with the scouts, Elder.”

    Elder Vilding scowled at the man. “We need you out hunting.”

    “More than we need someone Lord Gotlief recognizes running up to the hermitage? The old monk doesn’t take kindly to trespassers.”

    “Have it your way.”

    The man bobbed his head and darted off into one of the nearby huts. Meanwhile, Stigander had made his decision as well. “Troa. Boti. You’re our scouts. If there’s an obstacle on the road, it’s on you to figure out how to clear it.”

    “Yes, sir!” they chorused, quite obviously pleased.

    “You’re to head out as soon as your guide is ready. Make sure you are, as well.”

    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.

  • 10.13 – Inferno

    10.13 – Inferno

    The fire was spreading rapidly deeper into the smokehouse and Lundholm’s food stores. The runes were once again his best chance of putting out the blaze, but he didn’t dare draw them. Not with the arsonist himself right there, Einarr’s blood on his axe. The man hardly noticed when he twisted Sinmora to draw her free.

    Einarr brought his blade around again, but the arsonist caught it on his axe handle. “Who sent you?” He hissed. “Was this Kaldr’s plan?”

    The man’s teeth pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. “That coward? Never. The glory of this raid belongs to Lord Urek.”

    Einarr sprang back. That explained a lot, if “frothing” Urek had given the order here. Even as the thought crossed his mind he was moving back in to sweep at the man’s legs, his shield held high to protect his head.

    The man howled when Sinmora bit into the back of his knee, but he kept his feet as the arc of his hasty swing impacted Einarr’s shield with a thud of wood. Einarr nearly howled himself as his wounded arm took the blow. He had no time for such a display, however. Instead, he grit his teeth and pulled his sword straight back toward him, hamstringing the man. He would be lucky if he ever walked again.

    Assuming anyone was willing to leave him alive, which at this point Einarr thought unlikely. His opponent evidently realized the same thing. Even as he fell to his knees Einarr could see death in his eyes.

    The wolfling let loose another howl, primal enough to make Einarr’s neck prickle, and surged at his opponent in spite of the wounds to his legs. Once, twice, thrice he cut at Einarr in quick succession, and at each blow Einarr was forced to jump to the side.

    Now the heat of the burning smokehouse pressed against his back. How the wolfling had kept his feet he could not fathom, but Einarr was out of time. With one last desperate slash blood bloomed in a line across his opponent’s back. He arched his back and stumbled forward, and his legs crumpled under him.

    Finally. Einarr took two long strides away from the smokehouse and turned to face it. Even here the heat was oppressive: one of the casks nearer the front must have been filled with lard. Right where he was he dropped to one knee and began tracing the runes he had used before, at the boat house.

    A popping sound from the fire ahead warned him. He rolled backward. A moment later the fire surged again. With a shake of his head he lowered his finger to the ground again, wishing he were as good as Hrug. No time. He drew water and air and stillness and sent forth his will to extinguish the inferno that threatened all Lundholm’s provisions. Something resisted him, but the fire devouring the smokehouse began to smother.

    Then there came a spattering sound of hot oil from within as the water of his ward came into contact with the burning lard.

    “Hrug!” He wasn’t sure where the man was. Hopefully close. He could try again, but there was not much time left to save the stores. Frowning, rather than water he drew ice this time, in hopes that the fat would respond better.

    Before he could will his ward into being, however, a hand laid itself on his shoulder. He glanced over and grinned.

    “Glad you could make it.”

    The mute man merely nodded before unceremoniously wiping Einarr’s rune from the earth and drawing a simpler one of his own: ice and earth.

    Frost rimed the outside of the charred smokehouse as Hrug sent forth his will and the last heat of the fire vanished. Einarr rose to his feet slowly and offered his ship sorceror a hand up. “Thank you. Were you already on your way?”

    The other man nodded agreement.

    “Good timing, then. …I suppose I should go see what the damage is.”

    He picked his way slowly towards the charred remains of the smokehouse and its neighboring drying shed.

    Dirty crystals of frost clung to the wood, whether because Hrug had used ᛃ or because of the char Einarr did not care to guess. It was oddly beautiful: Einarr raised his hand to touch it, though, and a chunk of wood fell away in his hand. He shook his head and sighed.

    The vats and casks that had been in the drying shed alongside the wall of the smokehouse were, he thought, entirely ruined. Thankfully, though, the flames had not quite reached the sides of meat and the fish that hung from strings in the rafters. It was early enough in the season, he thought, that Lundholm should be fine.

    Inside the smokehouse was another matter. The air was still hot and choked with smoke: Einarr raised the neck of his tunic to cover his mouth just so he could breathe. Even blinking against the smoke, however, Einarr could see that this was a disaster.

    Several casks of lard had not just caught fire but actually exploded, which was what must have caused the surge near the end. Flaming grease had got everywhere, and the meat that hung in here was nearly as black as the wood outside.

    Einarr ducked his head and left the smokehouse. The cool evening air prickled against his face and he took a deep breath of the open air. Once his eyes cleared, he looked at the crowd gathered around the food stores: villagers, every last one, with the Elder standing stooped in the middle of the road from town.

    “I’m sorry.”

    Elder Vilding stared at him from under lowered brows for what felt like eternity. “So are we.”

    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.

  • 10.12 – Arson

    10.12 – Arson

    Einarr and Jorir stood, back to back, as the three remaining wolflings at the boatyard came warily forward. He would be a prime target, he knew, but whether his uncle would want him alive or dead was an open question. It seemed, though, that the two of them had some reputation already.

    Some unspoken word seemed to pass among the wolflings: all at the same moment, they broke for the cover of the trees. Einarr turned to race after them, but then something else caught his eye.

    Smoke. There was still at least one of the raiders around, trying again to set a blaze. Einarr growled. “Jorir! Stay on them. I’ll search out the rat.”

    Jorir gave a grunt of acknowledgement even as he jogged off into the forest. With a shake of his head, Einarr took a deep sniff of the morning air. The smoke was coming, it seemed, from behind him.

    The man would want to escape before the full light of dawn. Burning the ships was probably the main objective, but Einarr would be surprised if there hadn’t been a distraction elsewhere in town. That meant he needed to hurry if he wanted to catch the arsonist. He, too, set off at a jog, but he only made it a few paces before he froze in his tracks.

    The smell had not been behind him – not quite. As he moved back toward the village, though, the boat house itself had come into view. Or, rather, the flames that engulfed its dry wood. Where the waterlogged ships had not wanted to catch at all, the outbuilding had apparently gone up all too easily. Einarr stooped to kneel, to trace the runes again, but as he did so a silhouette dashed across in front of the building. Found you.

    With one last, regretful look at the boathouse, Einarr took off after the man responsible for the blaze. He could only hope that either Hrug or the town fire brigade would arrive on scene quickly enough to save the shop: he had to catch that man.

    Einarr took off at a dead run straight from his crouch. The arsonist wove between trees and around buildings in a way that would have been bewildering in a less familiar setting, a burning brand still in hand, sweeping over every wooden thing he passed. The man was leading him towards the green – away from the river. He must have another mission in town. But, what?

    No good could come of it, whatever it was. Straightening for a moment, Einarr slowed enough to shout at the top of his lungs “Fire! Fire at the boathouse!”

    Einarr took off again, his legs pumping as fast as he dared in the dim morning twilight, as he ran after the red trail of the arsonist.

    He raced out into the very middle of the village green – emptied, naturally, by the attacks elsewhere in town – and trailed the torch along the grass as he changed direction.

    Oh no you don’t. The grass was too damp and too trampled to really catch. He cornered hard, trying to shorten the space between them. Where is he going now?

    Einarr could see the man he chased now, not that it helped him much. Blond hair, braided. Maille, which suggested there would be a boat waiting on the water, rather than the raiders swimming up. Perhaps broader of shoulder than Einarr but certainly no taller. He looked, from the back, as average as a man could. That wouldn’t matter, though, if Einarr could simply catch up. He pumped his legs faster.

    Now he knew what the man was headed for: the smokehouse and the drying shed.

    There was no time to limber a bow, even if he had taken it with him. There were no stones he could see along the road – not large enough, anyway, to slow the arsonist. Once more, Einarr begged his legs for more speed. The people of Lundholm would not go hungry on their account.

    Faster! Faster!

    The arsonist stood just a few paces back from the smokehouse now. The man raised his arm by his head and threw the torch like a spear.

    It flew true, somehow, and landed with a clatter on the lid of a súrr vat. It kindled almost immediately.

    Einarr launched himself forward. His shoulder plowed into the back of the man’s knees, and both men went down.

    Einarr rolled to the side, out from under the wolfling. The arsonist grunted in pain as he landed flat on his back a second time in less than a minute, but he was on his feet only moments after Einarr.

    “What have you done?” Einarr demanded.

    The wolfling grinned – a singularly unpleasant expression. “Merely exterminated a few pests.”

    With a roar of rage that had nothing of red about it, Einarr lunged forward with Sinmora and cleaved his shield in half.

    The arsonist was not smiling any longer. He danced back two paces and drew his axe. Behind them, the fire that had so quickly kindled the whey vat was licking at the pole of the shed and the wall of the smokehouse.

    The wolfling actually howled before dashing forward, his axe held high overhead.

    Einarr brought Sinmora around and dug the edge of her blade into the man’s wide-open side. For his trouble, the arsonist’s axe buried itself in his shoulder.

    The flames behind the arsonist were audibly crackling. Einarr spared a glance over his opponent’s shoulder as the man spat blood. He needed to end this quickly if he wanted to save any of the food stores.

    The wolfling twisted his axe sideways as he wrenched it out of Einarr’s shield arm. Two could play at that game, and the wound was sucking at Sinmora’s blade. With a flick of the wrist he turned the blade and drew her out of the man’s side.

    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.

  • 10.11 – Night Raid

    10.11 – Night Raid

    Now that the ships had been brought fully onto land, their crews moved to sleep among the villagers. Some managed to find space on the floor in a man’s home, but most crowded onto the village green. Einarr thought, although he could not confirm, that the villagers were happier to have them there, as an added measure of security against the wolflings.

    Well, they would do what they could, at least. Poor recompense to the villagers was the least of the reasons they did not want to allow the town to be raided and razed. A watch was set, two men from each ship at every change of the guards. When they all finally bedded down with full bellies and clear heads, the sky had been dark for hours already.

    Einarr started awake to the sound of the watchmen’s cry in the darkness just before grey dawn. The rattle of maille from all around told of the others also rising as he belted Sinmora about his waist.He paused, straining his ears for any sign of where their assailants were.

    The smell of smoke tickled his nose, from off in the direction of the fjord he thought. Had they gone for the boathouse? Einarr started off at a jog, following the smell of smoke.

    He was halfway across the town when the hairs on the back of his neck started to prickle. Without thinking he threw himself forward into a roll. With a whizz, an arrow clipped his hair and embedded itself in a house rather than in his thigh. Sinmora slid from her sheath and he brought her to bear even as he rose to his feet.

    Einarr stood stock still, studying the night and the shadows around him. There! A dark blur moved between two buildings. Einarr followed, venturing a glance around the corner before stepping out to keep on the trail of the archer who thought to ambush him.

    Their path led closer and closer to the boathouse, and now Einarr was almost certain that was where the wolflings had attacked. The archer ducked between a pair of sheds along the road: had he noticed Einarr?

    He pressed himself into the shadow of one of the sheds and tiptoed forward. He could hear the other man’s breathing, heavy and labored, as though he was frightened or hurt. Einarr flattened his lips into a thin line and lunged around the corner. “Stand down,” he growled.

    The wolfling lunged forward with a desperate shout, and at the last moment Einarr caught a glint of light on the blade of the man’s scramasax. He batted the man’s blade aside with his own.

    “Who are you?”

    “I have no name to give to rebel scum!” The man’s words were brave, but his voice was more than tinged with desperation.

    “Surrender, or die.” Einarr hated to kill a man so obviously out of his depth. Why he was even on a ship was a mystery, let alone a raid – but when one went raiding, one accepted the consequences.

    The wolfling’s only answer was to try once more, with another mad cry, to stab Einarr in the belly, through the maille. With a sidestep and a single chop, the man fell to earth unconscious. Einarr allowed himself the luxury of a sigh.

    Once more the smell of smoke impinged on his mind, stronger now. Much stronger. He set out at a run for the boathouse, scanning the sky as he went for the telltale reddening of fire.

    The first hint of day touched the sky when Einarr arrived at the boathouse. Fires had been set beneath each of the three ships, but none of them had caught. That probably explained why men still tended each of the three blazes with an air of annoyance and desperation.

    None of them seemed to have noticed him – yet. Einarr smirked and swiftly traced a pair of runes on the ground. When he poured his will into them, all three fires winked out at once. For a long moment, the wolflings sat blinking at the charred wood that now barely smoked sitting beneath the waterlogged wood of their ships. “Excuse me, sirs, but I don’t believe you belong here.”

    As one, all six of them turned to stare blankly at Einarr. Then, one by one, they blinked, and realization began to spread over their faces.

    “Hey, isn’t that…” started one.

    “Don’t he look a bit like…” a second asked his companion.

    A third, back near the Heidrun, jumped to his feet. “It’s Stigander’s whelp! We’ll be heroes if we bring him back!”

    Einarr sighed, taking in his surroundings. Other than the boathouse and the three ships, both likely out of reach, he had very few options for cover. With a shrug and a grin, he raised Sinmora and his shield. “I’d like to see you try.”

    All six charged him at once, but Einarr was ready.

    One of them sprouted an arrow in the back of his thigh before he was halfway across the yard and fell.

    A second fell sideways as the stocky figure of a dwarf barrelled into his knees.

    With a grin and a shrug, Einarr charged forward as well. He suddenly had friends to watch his back, after all. When he reached the dwarf, he stood back-to-back with him. “Took you long enough.”

    “These stubby legs don’t cover ground as fast as yours,” Jorir grumbled back.

    Einarr chuckled and changed the subject. “Who’s the archer?”

    “Captain Bollinn himself.”

    The four wolflings still in the fight circled warily even as Einarr barked a laugh. “Just like old times.”

    “These men go down rather easier.” Jorir actually sounded disappointed about that.

    One of the four tried his luck, only to stumble when the pair in the center turned to let him run right past them. Before he could recover, Einarr struck with the flat of his blade to the back of the man’s neck. He crumpled.

    “Three down, three to go.”

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Previous
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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.

  • 10.10 – Preparations

    10.10 – Preparations

    “Traitor!” Urek’s face turned from red to crimson, and his eyes bulged out like a toad’s. “Coward! Lord Ulfr will hear of this!”

    “Lord Ulfr is well aware of my opinion regarding his mother. And I will thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. There is more to strategy than attacking, Urek, and if you could understand that we’d have captured them already – alive, as commanded. But -” Kaldr peered pointedly up into the sky, towards Raenshold. “But, unless I miss my guess, the message is already on its way to our Thane. I trust, Urek, that you will be willing to eat those words when we accomplish our task.”

    Vittir’s voice cut the air behind him with his sneer. “If you intended to accomplish our task, you’d be sending us up the fjord without delay.”

    Kaldr turned to face his new uninvited guest, his eyebrows raised. And now the other one arrives. “Ah. Vittir. Yes, you may come aboard. As I was just telling your compatriot, we cannot afford to destroy Lundholm just to flush out some rats. Let them rest: it will do them no good.”

    “You really are a coward if you think this backwater will put up a fight.”

    “That is not the cost I was speaking of, Vittir. But never mind: you will all see, soon enough. Look here: the only way in or out of the town by sea is through this fjord, and it is impossible to go through more than one at a time. Assuming they’re not so kind as to simply decide to settle here, sooner or later they have to try to slip past us. Conversely, if we decided to raid the town, we would have the disadvantage of being stuck in that selfsame fjord.”

    Vittir looked dubious. Kaldr was reasonably certain Urek hadn’t heard a word: he still stared bug-eyed, his hands clenched at his sides. Kaldr sighed. “If it will make you happier, we can send small parties up the fjord to harry them farther. If we harass the villagers, their guests will probably wear out their welcome faster.”

    Urek crossed his arms, the color in his face finally starting to come down. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m still watching you.”

    “Of course.” I should be so lucky.

    If Einarr hadn’t known better, he would have thought the men of Lundholm unaware of the approaching ships. That was impossible, of course: news had reached the town at the same time it had reached them. The only real change from before, though, was a trifle more activity down by the water’s edge.

    A fisherman paused on his way past the Captains while they still blinked in surprise. “I know it’s none o’ me business to say, but you might be wise to bring your ships up near the boathouse.”

    Einarr paused a moment. It was a sound idea, but… “Why?”

    “So they can’t sabotage them if they make it up the channel, of course.”

    Of course. Einarr shrugged to himself: that was, in fact, the single best reason. He didn’t know what other answer he was expecting. “I take it they’ve harassed you before.”

    The fisherman shook his head. “Every handfull of years, or so, that lord they follow gets a bee in his bonnet and tries to bring us to heel. ‘T’ain’t worked yet.”

    A smile quirked at the corner of Einarr’s mouth. “Of course. Thanks for the advice.”

    With a friendly wave, he jogged to catch up with Father and Kormund, who were already headed towards the shore. As glad as he was to see the town taking this in stride, there was one major difference from the last time his uncle had sent ships here.

    Them.

    Whether or not Kaldr was sensible, it was plain that at least one of his fleet captains was not. Would their presence make the wolfling response more violent? He could not answer that. All the same, the faster they could resupply their ships, the better.

    He stopped a moment, thinking, and then changed course. There were only a few men down at the boats: most of their crews, the men who weren’t out hunting or bringing in water at least, would probably be on the green, and they would be needed.

    Afternoon was waning by the time sufficient members of the three crews had gathered at the shore. Longships were light enough that a crew could carry them across land at need. On the other hand, it did take most of a crew, all doing their part. And so the fifty men Einarr had gathered all put their shoulders to the sides of the Vidofnir and heaved.

    With a groan of wood and men, and the grinding of wood on wet sand, slowly the Vidofnir lifted off the beach and onto the shoulders of her porters. Einarr felt his feet begin to slip in the sand as he took on the unaccustomed weight: it had been a very long time since he had needed to move a ship this way.

    On the other side, his own shoulder to the wood, Stigander called out. “Steady, now! And, forward!”

    The boathouse stood in a cleared field on the edge of town nearest the shore, and by the time they were halfway there they had fallen into the proper rhythm. Twilight was falling by the time the Eikthyrnir rested alongside the Vidofnir and the Heidrun, and the crew all stretched tired arms and sore backs on their way to the stewpots of the town alewives.

    Near the end of supper, a loud twang rang out over the village, as of a giant’s bowstring being released somewhere in the forest.

    “Sleep armed, men,” Stigander warned. “It seems the wolves are still worrying at our heels.”

    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.

  • 10.9 – Seige

    10.9 – Seige

    Stigander frowned out over the water. The four ships were near enough that you could make out the wolf’s head on the prow. Much closer, and they risked being seen in turn. “That’s them, all right,” he said again.

    “I had hoped to have a few more days before they showed up,” Einarr mused.

    “Bah! That was never going to happen, son. Not after they chased us from Eskihus.”

    “I know, Father. I still hoped. But let’s face it, we haven’t been near here in more than a decade.”

    “And they live in these waters. Yes, exactly.”

    Kormund cleared his throat. “And they are continuing straight for the island. Might I suggest we draw back at least far enough to have tree cover?”

    Hasty nods and grunts of agreement were heard from all around, and everyone save the village scout started walking back to Lundholm.

    “Elder Vilding assures me we will be able to replenish all our arrows three days from now. Water, of course, we’re on our own, but one of the woodsmen showed Arring to a spring we can use. That just leaves food and pitch, plus any repairs that can’t wait.”

    Kormund harrumphed. “I think any repairs can wait – unless one of you was taking on water?”

    Father and son shook their heads.

    “Good. We’re not going to have time to waste. Did the Elder say anything about food stores?”

    “We’re in the wrong season for much of that. I’m sure there’ll be some who can sell us their excess, but most of what they have is going to be fresh or foraged.” Kormund must not have had a chance to speak with his Mate: this was exactly what Einarr had told them that morning. “If we can spare some men to hunt, though, what they do have is salt. And some others should make sure we all have good fishing nets.”

    Stigander hummed. “Not sure I want to rely on fishing just now… but I suppose if we have to we should be able to.”

    “My thought exactly.”

    Kormund chuckled.

    The other two answered at the same moment. “What?”

    “Nothing. It’s just that your son is a born Mate, Stigander, and here he is a Captain already. At his age, neither of us would have given the resupply a second thought.”

    “At his age, neither of us had earned our ships. He’s been riding the whale road for half his life already.”

    Kormund chuckled again and left it at that.

    Einarr hated to bring the mood down, but they had all been avoiding one important matter. “The real question is, will they give us time enough to even do that?”

    “You’re worried they’ll attack the town,” Stigander said with a sigh. “I am, too, but I don’t think they will. Not if this Kaldr is the man I think he is.”

    “He’s not the one I’m worried about.”

    “The mad dog? What was his name, Urek?” Kormund ventured.

    “That’s the one.”

    Stigander hummed again. “If they do decide to raze the village, either because Kaldr is not as savvy as we think or because he doesn’t have the others properly in hand, there’s not much we can do save fight them here.”

    Einarr nodded, thoughtful. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

    Kaldr studied the narrow fjord leading to Lundholm. It was almost certainly where the three rebel ships had fled, given the path they had taken after Eskihus. Lord Ulfr hated the place, he knew – when he bothered to remember it existed. But that Lord Ulfr hated a place did not render it fit for destruction. Now he only needed to make sure Urek and Vittir understood that they would lose more in good will than they gained should they raid the place.

    Hopefully, the logistics of the assault should help with that. The fjord was impossible to navigate in more than single file: for that very same reason, it would be trivial to blockade and wait for them to try to slip out on their own.

    Still frowning in thought, he gave a decisive nod. “Thjofgrir.”

    “Sir!”

    “We will blockade the fjord. There is only one way out of Lundholm, and we’re looking at it. We will take center, along with Broki. Vittir gets the right flank, and Urek the left.” That should mollify them some, at least. They could hardly accuse him of cowardice when he placed himself in the center. As an added benefit, they would have a much harder time of it to slip past him and do something foolish.

    Another thought occurred to him. “Stretch nets between our boats.”

    “You intend to fish?”

    “I intend to keep them from fishing.” He bared his teeth at his Mate in a vicious smile.

    “Very good sir.”

    The signals were given and the ships moved into position. Not long after the nets were in place, as ordered, a clatter of planks could be heard from the flanks of the blockade. Here we go. It was a struggle not to roll his eyes.

    Sure enough, within moments, Urek came storming across the gap between their two ships. On the other side, Vittir was slowed by Broki’s temporizing, for which Kaldr was thankful.

    “Urek,” he said, turning to face the man. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

    “You call for yet another blockade? Are you Captain or coward?”

    “Peace, Urek. There is more to a successful strategy than attack. Even wild wolves know that much.”

    The other Captain, never known for his self-control, glared at him. “And now you insult me?”

    Kaldr was careful to keep his voice bland. “Not at all.”

    “Three times now we have set a trap for the rebels, and three times they have slipped the noose. Now you try it again, when they have landed at a rebel stronghold. Why?” The man’s face was already red with anger, and spittle flew from his mouth as he ranted.

    “Urek-”

    “No! I will say my piece. They are weakened, they are tired, they are low on supplies. If we press the attack now, not only do we deal with that pesky rooster, we also eliminate a thorn in Lord Ulfr’s side.”

    “If we press the attack now, Lord Ulfr will never hold his lands without his mother’s interference.”

    It was the wrong thing to say. Urek’s face turned from red to crimson, and his eyes bulged out, staring at Kaldr in obvious rage and disbelief. “Traitor!”

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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.

  • 10.8 – Promenade

    10.8 – Promenade

    The conference between the three captains and Elder Vilding stretched long into the evening. Well before the end of it, Einarr was very conscious of a pair of eyes trying to bore holes in his back. Every time he glanced over his shoulder, Runa was very pointedly looking elsewhere. She was very plainly expecting something from him, and he hadn’t the faintest idea what. No matter. I’ll be sure to take her walking after supper. Whatever was the matter, even if that didn’t help it should at least point him in the right direction.

    The conference did not break for dinner, however, and by the time they did stop for the night nearly everyone else had retired to the ships. When the Elder invited the three of them to sleep on his floor for the night, and both Stigander and Kormund agreed immediately, it was with a sense of impending doom that he joined them.

    He rose with the dawn the next morning in hopes of slipping down to the ships to speak with her. He was not, however, in luck: all three Mates were already up and about, and were eager to hear the results of their long conference of the night before. With a sigh, Einarr put aside his intention. She had been in perfect health when they were rescued, and both she and the Jarl had been under Father’s sail. It would keep, whatever it was.

    He was less than halfway through his explanation when Jarl Hroaldr himself joined them. He looked like half the man he’d been when Einarr had last seen him: pale and haggard, and bony in a way that suggested he’d been starved down there. Still, he was less pale than he had been when Einarr found them on the beach, so that was something.

    After his conversation with the Mates, the day was in full swing. When midday came around and he found himself able to breathe again, the sensation of being watched returned. This time, when he turned around, Runa did not bother to look away.

    “It was one thing, Einarr, to ignore me when we were busy running for our lives.”

    “I… what?” Had he been? He hadn’t intended to.

    She snorted. “Don’t play dumb. You haven’t said a word to me since we landed, nor two since we got to the ships in the harbor. I’ll have you know, I’ll not tolerate a husband married to his ship!”

    Oh. Einarr lowered his face to hide the self-mocking smile even as he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I actually tried to come see you this morning, only I wasn’t fast enough.”

    She crossed her arms, not looking mollified.

    “I don’t think we’ve had a moment to ourselves since the Forgotten Island, have we.” He was sure of it: most of that time, he’d spent away from everyone. He offered his arm. “Walk with me?”

    “Very well, Einarr son of Stigander. But don’t think this lets you off the hook.” She was pretending to pout: now it was safe to smile. “Really, though. We’ve been on shore less than a full day. You’d think we’d be allowed a little time to breathe.”

    “Runa, we don’t know when Kaldr is going to show up, or with how many ships. We’re not really resting here, so much as catching our breath and stocking up.”

    “Kaldr.” She practically spat the name. “Just when you start to think the man might be reasonable, he comes around and starts chasing you like a dog with a rabbit.”

    Einarr blinked. That didn’t quite match up with what the other Singers had said. “How do you mean.”

    “When he caught us, he was all high and mighty about the ‘perils of magic,’ or what have you. But then, after we’d been there a few days, he caught us snooping around and didn’t do anything about it.”

    Einarr hummed. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

    “Then, later, when we were making our escape, he actually warned us what to look out for. Accurately, even. And now, this.”

    “Wait, he helped you escape? Why?”

    Runa shrugged. “I have no idea, but he seems to hate the Weavess as much as you do. More, maybe.”

    “Truly?”

    Runa nodded. “She is a vile woman, Einarr. Her Weaving is blacker than you know.”

    Einarr nodded, not because he knew but because he was not surprised. Eydri had said, after all, that she was the one who had been in charge of Jarl Hroaldr’s care. “Don’t worry. She will be brought to justice.”

    “I’m not worried – about that, at any rate.”

    “I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

    “But I am worried that this assault is going to consume you.”

    He smirked. “Runa, I’ve not been on the main island since I was six, or any of the freeholds since I was ten. If there’s someone I’m worried about being consumed here, it’s Father.”

    “That would also be bad, don’t you think?”

    Einarr was nodding his agreement when a hunting horn sounded in the distance, from the direction of the spit. “They’ve spotted something? Already?”

    No further word was spoken. The two raced back the way they had come, headed for the village green.

    Four wolf-headed ships slipped over the ocean waves, headed straight for the Lundholm fjord. The three Captains, along with three of their best scouts, stood at the end of the spit, peering out over the water at the wolflings who must have guessed where they were going. Guessed, because after the encirclement was broken they had not followed – at least, not where any of their watchmen could see.

    Stigander’s voice was grim. “That’s them alright. And that fjord’s narrow enough, it won’t matter if they’re not all working together.”

    “Will they try to raze the town?” Einarr knew he sounded worried, but did not care.

    “I don’t know. Probably not right away, at least. We should have some time to prepare.”

    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.

  • 10.7 – Safe Harbor

    10.7 – Safe Harbor

    Lundholm sat near the shore of a narrow, rocky fjord only slightly less treacherous than the waters surrounding the Althane’s grave. Stigander and the Vidofnir led the way, and even from his position in the rear Einarr could see his father’s crew sounding the depths at regular intervals.

    The town itself was tiny, and home to not more than four or five households but supporting at least double that living in more remote portions of this remote island. Einarr scowled: this was hardly the place he would have chosen for a resupply, even under such circumstances as these. Could they afford to supply the sheer quantities of goods three ships would require?

    Father, however, seemed confident, and their course had never wavered after they broke free of Kaldr’s trap in the bay.

    The town, when it finally appeared from behind the rocky walls of the fjord and the tree cover, was little more than a collection of wooden houses, most whitewashed but some treated and cured nearly black. Smoke rose from chimneys, and here and there he could pick out a shop stall. There would be a butcher, and a smith more familiar with horseshoes and nails than weaponry, and perhaps a miller for grain although he wasn’t sure where they would grow it.

    Well. He had lived in such a place before – or, rather, in one of the freeholds surrounding such a place. They would all have to sleep on the ship, but the local alewives would do a brisk business, as would the fletcher. With a creaking of wood and the calm splash of water against their hulls, the three ships beached themselves just outside the town.

    Stigander vaulted from the deck of the Vidofnir, followed quickly by the other captains from their own ships.

    Stigander cupped a hand to his mouth and called out. “Halloo!”

    A voice cut out from within a stand of trees just away from the beach. “State your intentions.”

    “Shelter and resupply. Does Lundholm still honor the name of Raen?”

    After a long moment, a skinny young man emerged from the stand of trees. He held an arrow still nocked to his bow, although it pointed at the ground. “Been a long time since we’ve heard that name. You don’t look like one of the Wolf’s dogs.”

    “I am Stigander, son of Raen and rightful heir to his Thanedom. So I ask again: does Lundholm still honor the old agreements?”

    The young man’s eyes went wide as he stared at Stigander. “W-wait here. I will bring the Elder.”

    Not many minutes later the youth – probably younger than Einarr – returned leading a wizened old man who leaned heavily on his stick as he walked. Einarr’s eyebrows rose: the man was at least as old as Afi, and probably older. When they reached the edge of the sand, the old man held up his hand and his escort stopped.

    The Elder continued on, his pace slow but both steady and firm, until he stood directly before Stigander and stared at him – long enough and hard enough that Einarr and Kormund both began to feel ill at ease. At last, though, he nodded his head. “You are the Son of Raen. Is it time at last, then?”

    Stigander smiled down at the Elder. “It is time, at last.”

    A grin split the old man’s white beard. “The Usurper’s men have not troubled us in many years. Now we will remind them of our existence.”

    A pair of watchers were left behind on the boats in case Kaldr sent a boat down the fjord after them. If the watchers on the spit were any good, however, Einarr didn’t think they would have much to worry about. The rest of the crew followed the Elder up into the village proper.

    As Einarr had expected, two of the three houses sold ale, and one made mead, but none of them were of a size to accomodate even one crew, let alone three. Even knowing they would have to sleep on deck did little to dampen their spirits, however: the promise of shelter, if even for a night, served to bleed off a good bit of the tension.

    “Has your fletcher taken an apprentice? I’m afraid we’re in dire need of arrows,” Kormund asked the Elder as they tromped through the town to their meeting-place.

    The Elder chuckled. “I’m afraid we don’t have a dedicated fletcher here. Not a man in the village can’t turn out a brace of arrows in the space of an hour, though.”

    Stigander gave a half-smile to his old friend. “Lundholm is one of the more industrious of our freehold allies. They’ll put us to work, but we’ll get what we need. I’m just glad the Weaving spared you.”

    The Elder snorted. “You’re welcome.”

    Einarr jogged a half-step to come up even with the elder. “Beg pardon?”

    After a sidelong look, the old man answered. “Your grandfather tried very hard to make this a proper part of his kingdom – not far short of open warfare, really. Only I was too cussed stubborn to go along with it, and he didn’t want to destroy us and rebuild.”

    “You knew my grandfather, then?”

    Now the Elder laughed. “Of course I did! How young do you think I am?”

    While Einarr stammered, Stigander held up his hands in front of him for peace. “Come now, Vilding. He was only a boy when the Weaver came.”

    Elder Vilding snorted again. “Not much more than a boy now.”

    Before he could finish the insult, they arrived in a large green surrounding a single large oak tree. “Here we are. Our Herb-witch should be along shortly, and then there are many matters to discuss. For example, what changed?”

    Stigander looked Elder Vilding straight in the eye. “That, sir, is simple. My son is the Cursebreaker.”

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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.

  • 10.6 – Encirclement

    10.6 – Encirclement

    The Vidofnir veered left as the wolfling ship began to circle around in front of them but did not slow her pace.

    “Steady!” Einarr ordered. “Be ready to cut lines.”

    There was nowhere to go now but forward. Even if they changed directions, the rope behind them was solid. The Eikthyrnir, built for speed as she was, seemed to be having a little trouble maintaining position, but the Heidrun kept to her wing.

    They weren’t going to make it. The noose was closing too quickly. Einarr’s fingers tightened around Sinmora’s hilt.

    The Vidofnir’s prow nosed into the rapidly-slimming gap that was their only way out.

    Abruptly the ship ahead of them surged toward the Vidofnir, boarding lines already aloft. Einarr held his breath: surely his father must have foreseen this. But, how did he intend to break free?

    The ship to Einarr’s right had not moved to close the gap created by the foreward ship’s lunge. Another trap?

    Did it matter if it were? “Hard to starboard! Drive forward!”

    The Heidrun tilted as Arkja leaned into the tiller. It might not be enough to save them, but Einarr was not willing to let the chance pass. There might not be another one. Then the oarsmen redoubled their efforts once more even as the wolfling ship was still struggling to react to its fellow’s abrupt aggression.

    Kormund, too, was making a break for freedom. Don’t get bogged down, Father…

    “Hrug?”

    “On your word.”

    Einarr nodded at the one-armed man, his attention already back out on the wolves circling on the water’s surface.

    The starboard-side ship was finally turned to intercept, but Heidrun was already nosing into the space between it and its neighbor. “Hàkon!”

    The drummer knew exactly what he was after: he increased his tempo yet again, so that the oarsmen were pulling into a sprint.

    The Heidrun crossed over to outside the circle. Boarding lines flew from the wolfling ship, but there was not a thrower alive who could have made that toss. The Heidrun was just out of range. Einarr smirked, satisfaction flowing over his shoulders like water.

    “Drop tempo and bring her about. We can’t just leave our flagship behind.”

    That was the moment when the Heidrun shuddered and jerked nearly to a stop. Evidently there was an exceptional thrower among the wolves on that ship. Nevertheless, a moment later the lone caught line was severed.

    Not a moment too soon, either. Kormund had somehow managed to squeeze through the rapidly narrowing gap left by the impulsive wolfling Captain, but that left Stigander to fend for himself in the center of the circle.

    Not for long, however. Einarr grinned as his ship jerked back into motion. The Heidrun and the Eikthyrnir would free the Vidofnir – although it looked like she was doing a decent job of fighting free on her own – and then they would make for the nearest port. Whether or not Kaldr continued to follow, though, Einarr had found a weakness in their fleet.

    Kaldr blew the horn to call Frothing Urek’s ship back, half expecting the man not to heed. When he did, however reluctantly, Kaldr released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and nodded. There would be nothing for it, now, but to track them into port. If the other fleet allowed a fourth encounter they were lost, and so the rebels would make all speed for the nearest freehold. Lundholm, if he recalled aright.

    Still, though, that was twice now Urek had deviated from the plan in the name of personal glory. That could not be allowed to stand: not if the fleet was going to have any chance at success. “Thjofgrir.”

    “Aye, sir?”

    “Signal the other Captains to join us here. And set us on course to continue following them.” Despite the rage seething in his belly, he was pleased to note that his face remained placid. Had it not, his Mate would have questioned him.

    “As you wish, sir. You should know, however, that the other crews grow restless.”

    “I, too, grow restless. Spread it around – quietly – that they escaped us this time because of Urek’s impatience.”

    “As you say, sir.”

    Kaldr nodded a dismissal, but his Mate was already off about his errand.

    Boarding lines passed between the four ships, and within the hour all four Captains were gathered on Kaldr’s deck.

    Urek, as expected, looked thoroughly dissatisfied. As well he should, although Kaldr doubted he had the self-awareness to realize why. Kaldr cleared his throat.

    “We have lost them, for the moment,” he began. “I very much doubt they will let us catch them again so easily before they reach a port.”

    “We’d not have lost them,” Urek spat. “If you hadn’t kept calling me back like some craven fool. I could have ended the rebels.”

    “You overestimate your own skills, Urek. Or grossly underestimate theirs. Had I allowed you to go haring off after the Vidofnir, you’d have caught it – or they’d have caught you, and proceeded to send you back to us rather ill-used.”

    “How dare you -” Urek started.

    Vittir, of all people, spoke up next. “Urek’s right, you know. If you hadn’t been keeping us back like a craven pack of dogs…”

    Count on Vittir to regurgitate what the others told him.

    “Now, now. Kaldr has a point, too. We’d have netted them all this time, if Urek hadn’t gotten impatient and broken formation,” Broki answered. He had been the one caught off-guard when Urek charged ahead.

    “They were about to slip through our much-vaunted formation anyway.”

    Kaldr raised an eyebrow. That was not what he’d seen. “I did not call you all aboard to discuss what has already happened, gentlemen, but to discuss how we will smoke them out of port when they finally arrive in one.”

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