Tangled Threads Publishing

Tag: Erik

  • 1.21 – The Search

    1.21 – The Search

    Erik’s weight on Einarr’s narrow shoulders slowed him considerably as he made for the inlet where the Gufuskalam waited with Tyr and their supplies. The man had tried to protest, but every time anything so much as brushed his injured leg he paled.

    For Erik’s part, he limped on his good leg, dragging the bad one behind and panting with exertion. The fimbulvulf was restrained, at least for now, which meant that Einarr had some time to search out an entrance to the Hall. But before he could allow himself to do that, he had to get Erik to Tyr. The old sailor had been around long enough to know a touch of medicine.

    Blood had begun to well from the leg as the wounds warmed, but the initial freezing had been a boon. More worrisome was the bone: he hoped it was something Tyr could set.

    Erik slowed. Einarr glanced at his friend: the man’s face had grown pale.

    “Come on. Nearly there.”

    Erik nodded, his jaw slack.

    “Talk to me, Erik. Stay awake. You can pass out once you’re back on the boat.”

    “Right, right.”

    Shock was setting in. This could be bad.

    “Look, you can see where it gets lighter up ahead. We’re almost out of the woods, and then Tyr will fix you up.”

    “Oh, gods. You ever been treated by him?” He still sounded dazed, but at least talking would keep him conscious. Einarr could probably carry him across his shoulders if he had to, but it wasn’t something he wanted to test, either. “Man’s got the touch of a mule.”

    “Well let’s hope Father finds us a new Battle Chanter while he’s out hunting the Grendel, then, eh?”

    “Yeah.” He grunted in pain, but they were emerging out of the woods and onto the top of the cliff face they had scaled just hours before.

    Einarr helped Erik lean against a tree trunk and took the rope from about his shoulders. “I’m going to tie a harness and then try to get Tyr’s attention. We should have enough rope I can get you down there, at least.”

    “Might I suggest… a fire?” Erik was still breathing heavily, and the dazed look was returning to his eye.

    “Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. Stay with me, here.”

    “Right. Sure. Just really… tired over here for some reason.”

    “You’re not allowed to pass out until you’re back on the Gufuskalam, understand? That’s an order.” Einarr tugged the last knot tight.

    Erik chuckled feebly. “Yes, sir.”

    “Ah, there we go.” Einarr took two steps and jumped to catch hold of a dead branch on a sick-looking pine. It snapped halfway up, and Einarr smirked in satisfaction as he landed in the snow. “Fire won’t be much for heat, but it should at least get Tyr’s attention down there.”

    “Hey, kid.” Erik’s voice was labored, but he was trying to stay awake at least. Einarr tried not to twitch at being called ‘kid’ again after so many years as he struck flint against the flat of his blade. “Thanks. Jus’ wanted to… make sure… I said that.”

    “Stay with me, Erik.” The branch was now a burning brand. He waved it over his head, staring at the Gufuskalam below as though he could will Tyr to look their direction more swiftly.

    The boat began to row in their direction. Thank the gods. Einarr set the brand down over the lip of the cliff, the fire over the open water, and turned back inland. “Okay, Erik. Let’s get you in the harness.”

    The burly man lay unconscious in the snowbank, his back still propped up by the tree trunk.

    ***

    With Erik out cold, Einarr had to get Tyr up the cliff face in order to safely lower Erik back down, but eventually they managed. The older man looked grim as he promised to do what he could, but Einarr was sure Erik would pull through. The Vidofnings were tough, after all.

    Now, as the sun dropped toward the treetops in the distance and the light began to fade, Einarr crept through the forest on his own and started at every sound. Tyr had tried to convince him to stay on the boat for the night, but the longer he waited the more likely the wolf would have freed itself. Deeper into the forest he moved, and nearer to the great Hall at its center. Einarr shivered in spite of his heavy wool cloak: the farther into the forest he went, the colder it grew. He thought he was further inland than where they had fought the wolf, now, but he could not tell for certain.

    Einarr would need to find shelter of some sort before night fell, and it would need to be some place the fimbulvulf wouldn’t fit. He blinked, and realized only then that the growing darkness was not just a matter of the thick wood. Hel. He scanned his surroundings.

    A brighter patch of forest caught his attention, not too far off, and within he could see the dark grey stone of one of those strange pillars. Worth a shot.

    The terrain opened up a little as he approached the pillar, so that the light of the rising moon actually reached the ground. Inside a clearing, the pillar rose from a pile of smaller rocks and pierced the darkening sky. Einarr pursed his lips: this did not look promising.

    The ground shook beneath his feet, and then a pause. Then it happened again. Einarr looked up in the second pause, just before a third shaking tumbled loose some of the smaller rocks about the pillar.

    A man with skin the color of a frozen corpse waded through the forest as though it were tall grass and whistled. The fimbulvulf bayed in response, but the sound did not cover the noise of a rolling stone from the clearing ahead.

    Now he saw a blackness in the rocks around the bottom of the pillar, a hole revealed by the tremors of the jotün’s steps. Einarr didn’t think twice about the dubious safety of such a cave: it would keep him out of the fimbulvulf’s jaws and the jotün’s pot alike, and it might even give him a place to light a fire for the night.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

  • 1.20 – Fimbulvulf

    1.20 – Fimbulvulf

    The sun in the eye of the storm may have been warm enough by comparison, but the island itself had not yet escaped winter’s chill. More than once as they scaled the rock face Einarr and Erik both nearly lost their footing thanks to the thin layer of hoarfrost that covered the stone.

    Einarr grimaced as he gripped the lip of the cliff with bare fingers and felt the wet bite of snow against his skin. He pulled himself up onto the ground above and into the windward side of a snow drift, then hurried out of the way so Erik could do the same. He beat the snow off the knees of his trousers and gauged their surroundings as Erik followed him over the lip. He patted the sack at his hip to reassure himself Runa’s gift had not been lost.

    The surface of Svartlauf was covered in a thick forest of trees and shrubs with dark, almost black needles in spite of the snow. The air hung silent and still, with not so much as a chattering squirrel to relieve the heavy atmosphere. The two men exchanged a look before stepping softly forward into the wood. Snow crunched beneath their feet despite their best efforts. Erik adjusted the rope looped across his chest. The idea was ludicrous, but it felt as though so much as a broken twig would alert the fimbulvulf to their presence – no matter where it happened to be.

    Game trails criss-crossed the overgrown forest floor through never-melting snow. Einarr and Erik picked their way across these, avoiding the largest of them where they could, speaking only in whispers when they had to speak at all, wending their way toward the stone Hall in the center of the island they had glimpsed from the water.

    It was Erik who first realized they had attracted the attention of the wolf. He held up his hand for Einarr to wait. When Einarr quirked an eyebrow at him, he pointed first at his ear, and then off to their left.

    Einarr turned his head enough to look from the corner of his eye.

    A silver-furred fimbulvulf, easily as big as a dray, watched them with red eyes. A low growl carried over the underbrush to Einarr’s ear. He moved his hand to rest on Sinmora’s hilt.

    “If I distract it,” Einarr murmured, still not turning to look directly at it. “Will you be able to take it down?”

    Erik openly studied the giant wolf. “Watch me.”

    Einarr nodded, then crouched down, his hand searching for a rock under the drifted snow. At the same time, Erik moved off in the direction they had been going in. Einarr lost sight of him in the underbrush almost immediately.

    His fingers closed around a smooth stone. Got you.

    In one motion he stood and drew back his arm. The wolf had turned its gaze after Erik, but that wasn’t where Einarr wanted its attention. He pitched the stone in his hand as hard as he could, and it struck the giant wolf in the snout. It yelped, snapping its head back around to Einarr. The fimbulvulf growled, crouching as though to pounce.

    “Over here, you mangy cur!” Einarr took off down the path Erik left behind him, hoping the man would quickly find a good spot for an ambush.

    The giant wolf was right on his heels. Einarr only kept ahead of it by virtue of the narrowness of Erik’s path through oversized trees. He could often feel the moist wind of the creature’s breath on his back, and then he would dive into a nearby bramble or duck around a tree to try and slow it.

    Einarr dodged around a skinny spruce, paying more attention to the fimbulvulf behind him than to the ground he ran across. Instead of the ordinary sinking of snow, his boot struck unyielding ice. He slid, windmilling his arms to remain upright.

    The ice patch was narrow. The sliding foot struck solid earth again and Einarr pitched forward, his other foot planting solidly on the ground through the snow. The sound of shattering wood rang through the forest. He glanced over his shoulder.

    The fimbulvulf had bitten clean through the spruce tree where Einarr’s head would have been if not for the ice. It shook its head, splintered wood dropping from its jaws, and lowered itself to strike again.

    Any time now, Erik. The trail he had initially followed had turned off just a few steps before Einarr dodged around that tree.

    The wolf lunged for him, and Einarr leapt to the left. He felt a chill as the jaw snapped closed just inches from his leg.

    Movement from the branches of a large pine caught Einarr’s eye for just a moment. Not close enough. He turned his full attention back to the great silver beast that fully intended to make a snack out of him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to edge around so that when the fimbulvulf came for him again he would move closer to where Erik lay in wait.

    The beast growled, its breath riming the trees to either side.

    “That’s right, you overgrown puppy,” Einarr muttered. “Come and get me. I’ll be a tasty little snack.”

    It snarled, and the noise shook snow free from branches. It must have heard him. A cocky grin spread on Einarr’s face and he crouched, ready to spring in any direction to avoid the beast’s jaws.

    The giant wolf gathered itself for another lunge, its eyes fixed on Einarr. It swished its tail as it shifted from foot to foot, waiting for the moment when its prey might be off-guard.

    Einarr feinted left. The fimbulvulf twitched forward, but didn’t bite at the maneuver. He grinned.

    Einarr spun on the ball of his foot and took off at a sprint towards the tree where Erik hid. The sound of breaking branches told him the wolf had taken the bait.

    “Raaaah!” Erik yelled as he plunged toward the beast’s back. The fimbulvulf stopped in its tracks, looking around for the source of the attack. At the last moment it twisted, nearly faster than the eye could follow. Instead of the hairy silver back of the wolf, Erik plunged face-first toward the snow-covered ground.

    He rolled. Instead of landing on his belly, he tucked so that his shoulder took the brunt of the fall and tumbled over to crouch in the snow.

    The fimbulvulf growled at both of them now, baring its fangs.

    “You all right over there?” Einarr did not take his eyes from the giant wolf as he spoke

    “Fine. Now what?”

    “Don’t get eaten?”

    The fimbulvulf lunged. Einarr dove to the left and felt the ice-touched wind of the creature’s jaw as it snapped closed on the air between them. Erik was rising at the same moment, staring warily at the rangy wolf’s head that was now between them.

    It jerked its head, glancing at each of them in turn. Einarr tensed, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. Erik was stronger, but he was faster. He would try to draw its attention again.

    Erik was dropping down into a crouch, his right hand creeping toward the axe at his belt. Einarr pursed his lips: he would rather not kill the beast, if he was honest. For all they knew, it was the jotün’s pet.

    The fimbulvulf growled again, a rumble that shook the trees around them. Einarr jumped back into a slightly wider clearing. The beast spasmed after the fleeing prey, and Erik took that as his moment to try for the its back again.

    Once again, however, the creature displayed its uncanny reflexes. Rather than lunging after Einarr, the fimbulvulf brought its nose around and snapped. Its jaw closed around Erik’s leg with a sickening crunch.

    Erik howled, and the sound was oddly vulpine for such a bear-like man. Blood stained his trousers where the great icy teeth had broken the skin. It was thanks to that same ice, however, that there was only a little blood.

    “Erik!” Einarr started that direction, but was pulled up short by the wolf that had now turned its full attention on him. “All right, you mongrel. That’s how you want to fight?” A rasp of metal carried over the snow, and Sinmora was in his hand. The wolf would learn that he, too, had fangs.

    The fimbulvulf lunged for Einarr, now. He sidestepped, bringing Sinmora around to strike at the great silver wolf. The clash of sword against fang vibrated in Einarr’s palms and frost rimed the blade where it had met the tooth.

    Einarr jumped back. He needed to put some distance between himself and it, to see its next move when it did.

    Erik rose again, his hand on a tree for balance, near the wolf’s hind leg. His red-stained leg did not seem quite straight, or quite solid. The fimbulvulf snarled. Einarr allowed a low growl to well in his own chest.

    It lunged for him again, and again he deflected the bite with his blade. In the lunge, the fimbulvulf’s tail brushed past Erik. Einarr lost track of his friend again. The wolf demanded his full attention as they returned to their stand-off.

    The wolf did not lunge for him again. Instead the fimbulvulf lurched to the side, biting at the base of its tail like a common dog.

    Einarr nearly lost the opening to confusion. At the last moment he charged in, and with the flat of the blade landed a mighty blow on the wolf’s slender, tree-sized shin.

    The fimbulvulf yelped and turned again to snarl at Einarr, but now its attention was divided by the feeling of something pulling at its fur. It snapped alternately at Einarr and the unexpected thing crawling up its back, too aggravated to actually hit either of them, but its thrashing also kept Einarr from the attack.

    Erik appeared over the slope of the fimbulvulf’s shoulders, pulling himself forward toward the creature’s neck by the strength of his arms. In spite of himself, Einarr grinned to see his crewmate reappear.

    He dodged forward, worrying at the fimbulvulf’s legs to keep its attention divided, smacking it with the flat of his blade where he could.

    “I’ve got it!” Erik’s voice was a little breathless from exertion, but carried none of the pain Einarr would have expected.

    Einarr ducked and rolled out from behind the fimbulvulf’s forepaws. When he turned again to look at the wolf, Erik was clinging to its fur with one hand and his good leg tossed over its spine. The other flopped limply against its shoulder while his other arm wrapped about the creature’s neck in a stranglehold. For the first time, Einarr thought he saw fear in the wolf’s eyes.

    “Try not to kill it!” They were civilized, after all, and civilized men did not kill one anothers’ dogs.

    Feeling the pressure around its throat, the fimbulvuf rolled. Erik yelled in pain as the full weight of the wolf rolled over his leg, but his grip would not be so easily dislodged. Erik squeezed, and the wolf began to pant. It rubbed up against a tree, trying to dislodge this new assailant. Erik grimaced as his shoulder rammed into the rough bark, but did not let go. Compared to the roll, that was nothing.

    By the time Einarr had gathered enough green wood to hobble the fimbulvulf – at least until it woke up – it lay unconscious on the forest floor. Without a word Einarr handed a handful of flexible branches to his friend to strip the bark from and set about tying figure eights around its legs with some already stripped. The wolf’s breath sent icy puffs of fog up into the atmosphere.

    “Come on. Let’s get you back to the ship. Tyr will know what to do about that leg.”

    “What… about… the Isintogg?”

    “We took care of the wolf. I think I can manage the rest.”

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

  • 1.19 – Svartlauf Island

    1.19 – Svartlauf Island

    The Gufuskalam launched out of the storm and into the calm waters beyond it. Rain and sleet still pelted Einarr’s back, but he hardly noticed it now.

    Black, water-slicked cliffs shot from the ocean’s surface up fifty feet or more. Above, the black-leaved forest where the fimbulvulf was said to dwell loomed over them, rapidly swallowing their view of what lay inland. Before it was hidden from view, Einarr saw massive stone walls rising up from near the center of the island. The roof was also stone, he thought, and the entire edifice was nearly three times the size of Kjell Hall. It stood on four stone pillars that shot up from the forest floor. There was nothing it could be save the Jotünhall.

    More of these massive pillars lined a path or a road of sorts down from the hall to the water’s edge through a break in the rock wall. The cliffs retreated from the water in the path made by the pillars. In the shadow of one of these pillars Einarr thought he saw a rocky cove.

    “There. Do you see it?”

    Erik raised his hand to shade his eyes from the new-found sun and nodded.

    “I think we should land there.”

    “Aye, Captain.” Even Tyr’s voice was weary of their journey.

    “Once we’ve made land, you two should rest here. Reprovision if you can. I need to go in alone.”

    Erik looked like he wanted to protest.

    “I think we should all take some time to rest and dry off before anyone ventures into the island.” Tyr’s voice was firm, and it was hard to mistake that for anything but the voice of experience. “That cove is going to be in shadow all day. If I may, I would like to suggest we get a little closer to the island, weigh the sea anchor, and warm up while we have sunlight.”

    Einarr considered a moment before nodding crisply. “You’re right. None of us is in good shape after that storm. Let’s at least get close enough we’re not likely to be seen from the island and take a few hours to dry out.”

    ***

    The three-man crew of the Gufuskalam found a sweet spot, not far from the cliffs, where most of the waves were cut by a rocky reef. All three of them sprawled in the sun, enjoying the feel of the sun on their faces as it dried their bodies, their clothes hung from the yardarm in the wind.

    “Yer pabbi gets it, boy, but don’t be surprised if ye’re cut down to deckhand anyway,” Tyr was saying.

    Einarr chuckled in wry humor. “If that’s the worst price I pay, I’ve got the kindest Captain on the seas.” It wasn’t just his Captain he’d betrayed, or even just his Father. It was his grandfather’s entire line, and their hope of the future.

    “You do, Einarr. You do.” Erik’s voice was uncommonly solemn, especially given the mellow feeling that had descended on them as they floated in the sun.

    Einarr raised his head to look at his crewmate. “You speak from experience?”

    “More than a little. You know what I was doing before I signed on to the Vidofnir?”

    “Nope.” Erik had joined the crew four years before Einarr was even a deckhand. “Father always told me the crew’s past was none of my damn business.”

    Now it was Erik’s turn to laugh. “Yer pabbi found me drunk and beat to a pulp in a ditch. Decided to give me a chance when I got up swinging. I may be the only man alive who’s gotten a job for punching his new Captain in the jaw.”

    Tyr laughed. “I remember that. Tell ‘im why you were in yer cups in the first place, though.”

    Erik made some embarrassed sounding noises. When he didn’t answer, Tyr did.

    “He felt guilty, he did, because the Weaver booked passage on his old boat in the first place.”

    “I was just a deckhand on a freeboat, sure, but Raenshold was still home. If I’d known what the nither intended…”

    “You don’t have to prove your loyalty to me.” Einarr shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, staring up into the sky. “Especially not after I went and tried to steal a bride…”

    “Her idea, wasn’t it?”

    “Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t forced.”

    “No, you weren’t. But neither was she, which matters – to yer pabbi and the Jarl.”

    Einarr sighed and stood up. “Maybe. We’ve lounged enough, though. We should hide the boat.” He snatched his pants off the yardarm and beat them against the side to loosen the salt-stiffness, shivering a little as the breeze reached him again.

    “Einarr.” Tyr caught his eye as he, too, stood to dress again. “If anyone understands doing something dumb to win the object of his affections, it’s Stigander. And it was obvious to all of us why you felt like you had to go so far.”

    “Thanks.” The fact that the rest of the Vidofnings understood didn’t make him feel any better about it, of course.

    ***

    The Gufuskalam slipped quietly into the small, shadowed cove as the sun was nearing the horizon that evening. Erik lowered the anchor into the water with nary a sound even as the weight sunk beneath the water’s surface.

    The cove itself was most like a tiny fjord, and once inside its fingers the three men worked by starlight alone. Einarr had intended to enter the island alone, while his companions slept if he had to, but there would be no climbing those walls before daybreak at the earliest, and more likely noon the next day.

    “I still want you two here on the boat. Even with all three of us we couldn’t do more than try to evade the fimbulvulf, and we may need to leave quickly.” Einarr tried again to convince them. They were his friends, and he didn’t want to turn this into a test of authority.

    “And I’d still be happier if you had someone to watch your back,” Erik countered. “I promised the Captain we’d bring you back safe.”

    “Please, Erik. This is my quest.”

    “You’re Stigander’s son, all right,” he grunted.

    “Proudly.”

    “Your quest or not, Erik’s right. I can’t send you up there alone any more than he can. We also won’t need both of us to ensure the boat is ready when you need to leave. Take Erik.”

    Einarr exhaled loudly enough that it was nearly a growl. “Fine. I suppose it won’t be bad to have someone watching my back while I’m up there.”

    “Yer damn right it won’t.” Erik clapped him on the shoulder. “Now let’s get to it.”

    “We’ll be back as soon as we can, but we don’t know what else might be on this island.”

    “With a fimbulvulf and a jotün?” Tyr’s question sounded skeptical.

    “They’ve got to eat something, right?” Einarr’s joke produced a round of nervous laughter. He tied the sack to his belt and tossed a rope over to catch on the rocky face he would have to climb to get to the island proper.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

  • 1.18 – Eternal Storm

    1.18 – Eternal Storm

    Mid-morning the day after Einarr and Tyr reunited with Erik, no kalalintu had yet shown themselves on the island. This, they agreed, probably related to the albatross heads Erik had staked around his camp, which in the darkness neither Einarr nor Tyr had noticed.

    Erik, it seemed, had fought just as hard as Einarr and Tyr, but been fortunate enough to be grabbed by beasts from one of the smaller, less-populated islands. Some few escaped, but whether they would find welcome among one of the other groups none of the three could guess. Once the sun was down, Erik had lit his signal fire with hope, rather than expectation, of rescue.

    Since they had already landed, and proven the island relatively safe, the three agreed to take the day for fishing and tending to their little boat. They would have no more opportunities before Svartlauf, and Runa had warned of an eternal storm and treacherous, rocky shoals. When they finally cast off the morning after, it was well-rested with replenished stores.

    For another week they were blessed with smooth sailing, save for the occasional drizzle. Then the drizzles became full rainstorms, and before long their little boat was sailing through a squall even more ferocious than the one which had injured the Vidofnir last fall.

    “Furl sail!” Einarr ordered as the prow of their ship nosed into the tempest. He bent the full strength of his arms to keeping their Gufuskalam on course while Erik tried to tie the billowing sail out of the wind and Tyr readied the oars.

    Each and every one of them had pulled their knit caps as far down over their ears as they would go. Sleet pounded on the bow, freezing fingers and noses and ears where they still stuck out under their hats. Einarr gripped the tiller, knuckles white with more than cold. The storm obscured his vision, but not enough to entirely hide the rocks they rowed towards.

    “Steady!” Einarr called over the storm. Erik and Tyr fought the ocean with oars that kept trying to jump out of their grasp. Water streamed down their faces and soaked their beards and their cloaks, and their hands were red from the cold.

    Tyr started chanting a rower’s cadence, although the lack of a drummer left it feeling hollow.

    Einarr’s nose felt like ice. He watched the ocean ahead of them for rocks, doing battle against the water with rudder rather than oar in their fragile skiff.

    A strange current caught the Gufuskalam and pulled them sideways as the water swirled around the rocks. Einarr leaned into the rudder, trying to correct before they were dashed against the jagged pillar now looming ahead of them. “Starboard!”

    At the last moment the Gufuskalam turned, just barely scraping by the rock. Einarr spared a glance for his crewmates. They slumped, frozen by the storm and wearied by hard sailing, but still struggling to make it through to their goal in the eye of the storm.

    “Come on, men! No surrendering to a storm!” It was hard to tell if his friends heard over the howl of the wind and the lashing of sleet, but at least they were still moving. His own hands felt like ice as they gripped the tiller. Much more of this and frostbite might be the least of the damage.

    “Nearly there,” he called a little later, still trying to encourage his friends. The hull thumped against a rock he had not seen beneath the water. It seemed his own vigilance flagged. At least there had been no crack of breaking wood with the impact. Einarr shook his head and shifted his footing, aiming to keep his balance.

    A chiming noise sounded over the wind from the sack at his belt. At first it meant nothing. He blinked twice: another large rock loomed, dead ahead.

    “Hard to port!” He hauled on the tiller.

    Erik saw the rock just in time to flatten his oar against the side of the Gufuskalam.

    Einarr heard the crystal chime again. What can that even be? He knew they’d have been lucky to hear the song of a battle chanter over the howl of this storm.

    A battle chanter? …The crystal bottle! A little extra strength will go a long way toward getting us through to the island. Runa’s song of strength. How she had bottled it, Einarr could not guess, but the reminder of its existence fanned the flame of hope in his breast.

    He fumbled with the ties on the sack with numb fingers until it opened. Even within the bag and in the stormy darkness the bottle seemed to glimmer from its place on top. Einarr lifted the bottle by its neck even as reverent gratitude filled him.

    The stopper, too, was crystal, and Einarr pulled it carefully free. Even before the stopper was clear of the bottle the clear tones of Runa’s voice sounded over the howl of wind and sleet. Within moments his friends both had a firmer grip on the oars, and his own mind and body felt alert again. Undaunted, they battled the storm while the princess’s voice sustained them.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

  • 1.17 – A Daring Rescue

    1.17 – A Daring Rescue

    The Gufuskalam glided backwards along a path pointed by the anchor line, but the two men aboard paid it little heed. Of much more pressing concern were the kalalintu that swooped at them from above, attacking them directly, or rocked their sides from beneath the waves. As for the men themselves, they fought off their attackers with all the strength they could muster. Not infrequently, the flying kalalintu were knocked, dazed and bleeding or already dead, into the water.

    The kalalintu who had hold of the sea anchor eventually crawled up onto the shore on its belly. The Gufuskalam was beached, and all around them on the rocky shore Einarr saw nests of the strange creatures’ hideous offspring. Some of them were being fed from the beaks of the adults. Einarr and Tyr fought even harder then: the steady ground under their feet and room to maneuver joined with the worry over just what the hatchlings were being fed to redouble their efforts.

    For hours they fought like this, desperation serving in place of song-magic to keep their flagging bodies from failing or the enchantment from taking hold. Finally, when the sky was beginning to redden with the onset of evening, the surviving kalalintu fell back to their nests, crouching protectively over their young even as they glared at the two men standing back to back, panting, on the beach.

    Einarr had not felt this level of ache in a very long time. His legs ached from holding his ground. His arms had no strength left in them, for even Sinmora’s familiar weight wore after a time, and he was all over cut and bruised from where the kalalintu’s assault had slipped past his guard.

    He glanced at Tyr as they limped back to the relative safety of the Gufuskalam while the orange of sunset faded into the inky purple of night. The older man didn’t seem to be in any better shape, but he did have the presence of mind to claim their sea anchor out of the sand where it had been left.

    Once Tyr was aboard, Einarr bent his shoulder and gathered what strength he had left to push the Gufuskalam off the rocky shore. When she floated freely, Tyr offered him a steadying hand up into the boat and they were once again free of imminent attack.

    “Now. Did you happen to catch which island they dragged us to?”

    Tyr shook his head slowly.

    “Well, hel. That makes both of us.” Einarr flopped down in the tiller seat, tilting his head back to stare at the stars.

    “These islands aren’t big enough to figure it out that way,” Tyr said, sitting as well.

    “No, probably not. And now is probably not an ideal time to sleep, either, but unless you can see a fire on a beach I don’t have any better ideas.”

    “And a fire on a beach would be a terrible idea in his situation.”

    “…Unless he had already cleared off the cursed beasts on his island! They’re clumsy on land.” Einarr sat up now and scanned the horizon. Black shapes marked where the other islands lurked. “Do we dare row to the center?” A fire on the beach or the smoke from one, either would be visible tonight.

    “Worth a shot. Better than sticking around out here another day.”

    ***

    Navigating the archipelago’s interior was treacherous even at night, while the kalalintu slept. The rocky bottom changed depths drastically from one moment to the next, and the submerged rocks were often not visible under the moonlight before one was right on top of them. Einarr and Tyr poled as much as they rowed, praying to gods of sea and light with every push that this would not end with the Gufuskalam skewered on a rock.

    Einarr breathed a sigh of relief as, somehow, they neared the middle of the island chain without more than scraping their hull as though on a beach. He stood, then, and stepped to the center of the boat, back to back with Tyr to scan the horizon. From east to west he searched, and then back west to east, but there was no sign of his friend that he could see.

    Tyr elbowed him in the ribs. When he turned, the older man pointed off to the west-northwest. There, not far from the island they had escaped, a plume of dark grey smoke dimmed the stars behind it. A deep belly laugh bubbled up from Einarr, sounding eerily like his father’s despite his smaller size.

    “Well spotted, Tyr. You’ve got sailing years left in you yet.”

    “I certainly hope so,” he responded flatly.

    Einarr laughed again, clapping the old sailor on the shoulder. “Never any doubt, man. Never any doubt. Now let’s go. If it’s safe enough for Erik to light a fire, it’s safe enough for us to sleep for the night.”

    “Assuming we get there before dawn.”

    “We can make it. Let’s get to it.”

    ***

    The plume of smoke led them to a small island a quarter-circle from the one the late, enterprising kalalintu had towed them to. The moon was setting by the time they beached the Gufuskalam, but now they were ashore Einarr’s spirit was buoyant. He could smell the smoke from shore, and it carried with it the odor of roasting fish.

    Einarr grinned sidelong at his companion. “Rested enough to make it a race?”

    “Hah! Maybe thirty years ago. I’ve got a better idea, though.” The twinkle in Tyr’s eye was evident even under the starlight. He leaned over to whisper in Einarr’s ear, and the man’s grin was answer enough.

    They came upon the campfire quietly, dashing from scrubby bush to scrubby bush. Erik had built the blaze up ridiculously. There were a few trees on the island, and Einarr guessed that there had been a few more earlier that day. Fish were staked outside the blaze itself, roasting in the radiant heat, and Erik moved around the fire tending both dinner and flame.

    Einarr shifted, poised to step out and yodel at the man. Erik froze, but didn’t turn away from the fire. Well, he knows we’re here. Einarr smirked. Rather than bursting forth at full voice, he stepped out normally and kept his voice restrained. Shrugging, Tyr followed suit.

    Erik turned around, fists planted against his sides as he looked at his two companions. Thanks to the fire, Einarr couldn’t see his face.

    “Well. I thought you two might still be around. Mighty nice of you not to make me swim home.”

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

  • 1.16 – Kalalintu Island

    1.16 – Kalalintu Island

    Einarr tore the wax from his right ear with a curse. “We can’t leave him there.”

    “You want to take on an entire island full of those things?” Tyr yelled, his ears still stopped.

    Einarr rolled his eyes and gestured to his ear. Yes, it was a risk, but they had to plan this carefully – and he wasn’t about to do that like he was talking over a storm.

    Tyr complied. “Odds are he’ll be dead before we even set foot on their little rock.”

    “Erik? Not likely. You really think he can’t hold off those things on land?” They had no legs – only wings and a long, snakelike tail. A snake was quick, but a snake wasn’t pushing around the body of an albatross, either.

    “Erik’s a good sailor, and a fine warrior. Certainly I’d rather have him with us than not. But is it worth the risk?”

    “Yes. It’s going to take all three of us to get to Svartlauf, I think, and good fortune besides. Besides, Father’ll have my hide if we don’t all three come back in one piece.” This last was said with a wink. Tyr was a salty old sailor, and no one survives to become an old sailor without learning a good dose of caution. Einarr pulled out their sea chart. “Now. We could follow them to their nest, or we could plan. I think we’ve got a better shot with a plan, don’t you?”

    “You plan, I’ll row. We at least need to know what island they land on.”

    ***

    The archipelago occupied by kalalintu – one flock or many, Tyr was unable to say – was a small ring of sandy islands with shores that were rocky where they were not cliffs. The awkwardly flying cluster that bore Erik in its talons alighted on one of the nearer shores, although it was little more than a speck to the men on the Gufuskalam when it did so. More than once Einarr worried that they were going to drag his friend along underwater, but if Erik got so much as damp it was through his boots.

    Once the speck had settled on its island, Tyr rowed to put one of the smaller islands – little more than a rock poking up out of the water – between the Gufuskalam and their goal. Einarr tossed out the sea anchor. They would wait for nightfall here, and discuss their plan in hushed tones to avoid attracting the attention of more of the beasts.

    Alas, it was not to be. No sooner had the pair decided on their angle of approach than a flying serpentine form descended on the Gufuskalam, it’s silvery tail glinting in the sun and threatening to give away their presence with every thrash. Einarr drew Sinmora. If he could kill it quickly enough, they might go unmolested for a while longer. If it brought in others of its flock, however… he tightened his grip on his sword and flexed his empty hand. His shield would be more hinderance than help here, although he never liked fighting without it.

    The beast lashed out at Einarr with its tail. In the same moment Einarr struck out with his free hand and snatched the silvery whip out of the air. The kalalintu’s scales bit into his palm,drawing blood that would threaten his grip. It screeched and tried to pull away, but Einarr set his feet against the deck boards.

    Tyr cursed as the boat rocked. Einarr was forced to give a step in order to keep his balance. A splash said the older man had missed his strike against one in the water.

    The avian body of the kalalintu Einarr restrained was out of reach, and it cried loudly enough that he was surprised they weren’t buried in the creatures already. Einarr gave a heave on the tail, and as the creature yielded he took up slack on his arm like a writhing rope.

    It changed tactics, turning to strike with its beak and fists against his skull.

    That was when Einarr slashed, Sinmora’s blade slicing through a wing and deep into its feathered side. Its panicked squawk was cut short as it fell to the deck with a thud.

    Einarr turned, now. Tyr’s axe was wet, and a cloud of red spread out from beneath the boat. Tveir, he thought grimly. “I think they’ve found us,” he said instead.

    “Going to be an eventful afternoon,” Tyr agreed.

    The boat jerked to life. Both men staggered. Einarr looked off the back of the boat: the anchor line was taut. “Now I think I know how the fish feels.”

    “Har de har. Cut the line or don’t, we’ve got incoming.”

    “They drag us to shore, at least we’ve got room for some footwork.” Einarr hefted his shield from where it lay, already staring at the sky where a cloud of the sinuous creatures flew their way, wishing they had time to shoot some of the kalalintu down before they reached the boat.

    “Yep. Right up until they start singing.”

    Einarr pursed his lips and slashed at the leader of the flock. “Like I’ll let something like this kill us. I have a girl to wed and a weaving to end, after all.”

    Tyr grunted, cutting at two more kalalintu that ventured within reach. One of them fell, bleeding, into the sea. “Tveir for me!”

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

  • 1.15 – Assault on the Open Seas

    1.15 – Assault on the Open Seas

    For more than a week, the only real trouble that fell on the three men was the occasional spring rainstorm. Three days into the second week, the day dawned clear and still, and so Einarr and Erik drew out the oars and left the tiller to Tyr for the morning.

    Early spring or not, by mid-morning Einarr’s brow was soaked with sweat and none of them had felt so much as a tickle of breeze. Off in the distance, Einarr thought he saw the dark, solid stripe that portended land. Tyr glanced down at the chart as something silver flashed beneath their hull. He jumped to his feet, his eyes wide.

    “You said there were islands on our path?”

    “Yes,” Einarr said in between breaths. He pressed the oar forward through the air.

    “And today was around the time you thought we’d be reaching them?”

    “Roughly. Why?”

    The older sailor cursed. “We can’t land there. We’re already too close to the shore.”

    Rather than lower the oar back into the water, Einarr and Erik both turned around to look at the old sailor, eyebrows raised in anticipation of an explanation.

    “I’m just glad we can’t hear any singing yet. We’ve got candles, right? Stopper your ears.”

    “What are you saying, Tyr?”

    “I’m saying this area has been infested with kalalintu since I was a boy. Now are you going to get out the candles, or are we going to take our chances on the rocks?”

    “Candles. Definitely the candles.” There was a clatter of wood as Einarr and Erik drew back the oars and pulled up some of the deck boards. Tyr kept a lookout over the water.

    A splash sounded nearby, like a jumping trout or the flick of a sea snake’s tail. “Quickly now. We’ve been spotted.”

    “Got them!” Eric stood upright, a fistful of candles clenched in his hand.

    Einarr kicked a deck board back toward its place as he fumbled with the pouch at his belt for his flint.

    “Once we’ve done that, we’ll want the hunting horns. … Aw, hel. Hurry!”

    A snatch of music floated over the water toward them, beguiling, seductive, but not as sweet as Astrid’s voice had been – as Runa’s was. Einarr was dripping wax in Erik’s ear, who flinched at every hot drop but did not complain. Tyr grabbed one of the other candles from Erik and lit it from the one Einarr used. He cocked his head to the side and started to take care of his own ears.

    Erik and Einarr switched places. As Einarr bent his head, he saw the bedraggled-looking head of an albatross surface from below the water.

    Tyr was digging in their supplies now, and surfaced with their hunting horns. He tossed the strap of Erik’s over his shoulder, thrust Einarr’s against his chest, and raised his own to his lips.

    The albatross’ wings raised up out of the water and it began to flap. The birds were big, but the body that began to rise from the water was still too large for an ordinary albatross. A pair of grotesquely muscled arms extended beneath the wings. The creature continued to flap, its wings still dipping beneath the water, and the white-feathered body became silver feathers. Then the feathers became scales, and it was the tail of a sea serpent that the wings now lifted forth from the water.

    Tyr’s cheeks bulged out as he sounded his horn. The kalalintu opened its beak, and in place of the beguiling song emitted a very bird-like screech. Einarr could still hear it through the wax that Erik was just now finishing dripping in his ears, but at least that should be enough to prevent a bewitching. He raised his own horn to his lips and blew.

    More of the creatures were approaching, now. They didn’t seem to like the noise of the horns, but even after Erik began to sound off it was not enough to drive off the man-eating kalalintu. Einarr kept blowing even as he drew Sinmora, and he saw Tyr strike with his axe at a kalalintu who braved the noise of their horns to stoop.

    The creature dodged the blade of the axe and climbed back up into the sky. There were five of them now, circling their little boat like vultures. The creatures stooped, one at a time, testing each of their defenses. At the first sign of attack, they rolled away and climbed back up into the circle. All the while, a thin note of birdsong was audible through the wax in their ears around their own shouts.

    This isn’t working…

    And then it got worse. All five of them folded their wings together. One of them tried to wrap its tail around Tyr, beating him about the head with its massive wings. The second lashed at Einarr with its tail, having been stung by Sinmora before and trying not to get in the way of its flock mates. The other three all went after big, burly Erik, who struck out at them with his own axe. They did not flinch, though, even when his blade bit flesh.

    The boat rocked. Einarr cut at the kalalintu that had been harassing him, but it was already breaking away. He glanced at Tyr – he, too, was no longer engaged with the grotesque beast. The sound of shouting continued to penetrate the wax in his ears. Einarr snapped his head around to the prow of the boat.

    Erik was gone. In the sky, the two who had been harassing Einarr and Tyr flew to join the unsteady retreat of the other three. Dangling beneath them, and surely the cause of their erratic flight, was the muscular figure of Erik.

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

  • 1.14 – Setting Sail

    1.14 – Setting Sail

    The morning after Einarr’s defeat of Trabbi, the Vidofnir set forth in search of the Grendel missing three of its crew – Einarr, of course, plus two of their hardiest warriors: Erik and Tyr. It was all Stigander could spare. The morning after that Einarr led his companions down to Runa’s cove and the waiting skiff, newly dubbed the Gufuskalam. Runa and the Jarl came to see them off, she looking worried and he relieved to see them go.

    While Erik and Tyr made one last check of their provisions, Runa caught Einarr’s hand in her own. “Promise me you’ll come back?”

    He did not try to repress a smile. “Of course I will. What sort of fool would abandon you?”

    She nodded, slowly, and if he was not mistaken sadly, and pressed a small sack into his hands. “Take these. May they speed you on your journey.”

    “Thank you. I’m sure they will.”

    He did not look in the sack until the island vanished from view. On top was a note.

    My dearest Einarr, it read. The island of Svartlauf is hidden behind an eternally raging storm and hunted by a fimbulvulf, two things which I know my father has not told you. There may be other dangers as well, so I have sent gifts that I hope will bring you victory. The small crystal bottle contains my song of strength. Open it when yours fails and remember me. The other is the tafl king, so that you might always keep your wits about you. Be careful, my love, and return in victory!

    Einarr smiled and tucked the note carefully into the pouch at his belt. He wasn’t sure how much practical good either of those things would be, but the gesture still warmed him from the inside out. He stowed Runa’s offerings in the box beneath his seat at the tiller.

    A breeze caught in his hair, and he offered a devilish grin to his two companions. “Time to sail, boys. Gods but it’s good to be off the rocks again.”

    “How true it always is,” Erik agreed while Tyr continued to call their rowing cadence.

    “Ease off a bit and I’ll let the sail down.”

    Erik caught Tyr’s attention and they pulled the oars in as Einarr stepped forward to unfurl the sail. The still-cold wind filled their sail and caught his cloak, contrasting with the warmth on his shoulders of the spring sun. The Ice existed, Einarr thought, to make sure one appreciated the freedom to sail.

    Tyr stood up and stretched. “So how much do you think the Jarl hasn’t told you?”

    Einarr snorted. “What, you think the Captain’s childhood friend would withhold information from me?”

    “Yes,” the two men said at once.

    “You’d have to be blind to see he still doesn’t want to allow the match,” Eric continued.

    “So anything he can do to make your quest harder…” Tyr trailed off.

    “He’s going to try to do.” The right side of Einarr’s mouth curled in an unhappy smirk. “Runa tells me there’s a storm around the island and a fimbulvulf.”

    Erik thrust his head forward in surprise. “A what? By the gods, is he trying to kill you?”

    Einarr just shrugged.

    “If the Captain knew that…”

    “He’d have held off on pursuing the Grendel and we’d be on the Vidofnir right now. But I only found out a minute ago, myself.”

    Tyr whistled.

    “Not that it matters. I said I’d do it, and I am my father’s son. Besides, we’ve got a few weeks before we need to worry about it, and right now the weather is perfect. I say we see what our little Gufuskalam can do!”

    His friends voiced their agreement with a cheer.

    ***

    As the sun dipped below the horizon in a blaze of gold and red and purple that blinded the three men on their skiff, Erik stepped to the mast to furl the sail for the night while Einarr took the tiller. He would have first watch, and was glad that the sky was still clear. Overcast skies on their first night out of port would be an ill omen, because while the other two men slept, he would keep their drift on course.

    Tyr was pulling out food from their stores for dinner – a cask of ale, some hard tack, and gravlax. There would be no cooking aboard the Gufuskalam, for there was no room in which to light a fire, but they would not go hungry at least.

    “You ready for six weeks of this?” Tyr’s voice was a low rumble as he shared out the portions, evidently thinking along the same lines as Einarr.

    “We’ll manage.” Erik bit down into the hard tack and followed it up with a swig of beer. “Always have before.”

    Einarr nodded. “I think our course takes us close to some small islands partway through, too.”

    Tyr grunted and broke off a piece of bread to pair with a bite of the sweet-salted salmon. “Two-edged sword, is what that is.”

    Einarr shrugged. “We’ll get by. If anyone knows more tricks for getting through a long sea voyage than you, it’s Father.”

    This got a laugh from the gruff man. “I taught him half what he knows, back when he was your age.”

    Nobody ever bothered Tyr about retiring, because age had barely touched him. Save for snow-white hair and lines on his face, he still kept up with men half his age. Einarr and Erik both chuckled.

    “That is exactly what I meant.”

    Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

    Table of Contents

  • 1.12 – Negotiations

    1.12 – Negotiations

    “Erik.”

    The burly man nodded, rain streaming from the end of his beard.

    “You’re not going to make me fight you, too, are you?”

    “Cap’n’s mighty unhappy, Einarr, but he don’t want you dead an’ he don’t want either of us injured. Sent me to give you an offer.”

    “And?”

    “You come back aboard the Vidofnir and Runa goes to the Skudbrun, so everything’s done proper-like. Trabbi’s on board over there, but between we three and the fishes he’s not as unhappy about all this as the Jarl. Cap’n Stigander wants a word or three with Trabbi, thinks they can work something out.”

    “How do we know this isn’t just some sort of trick? If my father sent a priest along…” Runa’s eyes were wide, as though the thought of marrying Trabbi instead of Einarr kindled fear in her.

    “Runa.”

    She turned her gaze to him, her eyes pleading.

    “Runa, even if this all goes south, your father had his choice of suitors. I know he’s getting old, but I don’t believe you would be treated poorly. If we refuse, there are now two ships worth of men I would have to fight off before we could escape. On the other hand, I think there’s a good chance my Father will be able to work something out. Will you trust me?”

    She opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Runa pursed her lips and lowered her eyes before finally nodding her acquiescence.

    “Thank you. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we might not end up outcast after all.”

    “Captain’s going to want words with you no matter what happens, you realize,” Erik put in.

    “That’s fine.”

    Barri and the other two Brunnings were standing, now, but prevented from rejoining battle by Erik’s muscular frame. Now the big man turned and addressed them. “You heard me. Go ahead and take your princess aboard, and tell your Captain that Captain Stigander Raenson of the Vidofnir requests permission to board.”

    If it had been someone with less presence than Erik, or if Barri had been less honorable of a man, Einarr might have worried about treachery from the Skudbrun. As it was, though, he was able to clasp Runa’s hands in his own with a genuine smile of encouragement. “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out.”

    He let Barri take Runa’s arm. Her worried gaze never strayed from Einarr as Barri carried her up to the Skudbrun on his back.

    Einarr looked at Erik, squinting a little against the wind trying to blow rain in his eyes. “I’m getting busted back down to deckhand, aren’t I.”

    Erik barked a laugh. “Wouldn’t suprise me.”

    ***

    When the storm died down, both Skudbrun and Vidofnir were still tethered to the small skiff Runa had acquired for her daring escape. With many agreements shouted across the waves, the boats were brought alongside one another and planks were extended between their two railings. Standing in front of the gangplank on the Vidofnir was Stigander, a cask of mead under one arm, flanked by Bardr and Einarr. On the other side stood the captain of the Skudbrun with his first mate and Trabbi. Einarr searched their deck for sign of Runa, but did not see her.

    Stigander cast a pointed look over his shoulder at his son before beginning. “Under flag of truce,” he called across. “I, Captain Stigander Raenson request permission to come aboard for the purpose of mediation with Trabbi Aridson.”

    “Under flag of truce, and with full consideration of the long friendship between Kjell Hall and Raenshold,” the other captain answered. “I, Captain Kragnir Hokarson, grant permission to come aboard.”

    Only then did Stigander step up onto the gangplank and stride across to the other ship, followed by Bardr and Einarr in quick – if not hasty – succession. Einarr steadied himself with his knees when a swell rocked their two boats with him in the middle of the plank. His father was presenting Captain Kragnir with the cask as a ceremonial gesture of goodwill – a gesture whose importance Einarr well knew was magnified by his actions.

    The Fates did not decide to drop him between the two boats for his earlier temerity, and moments later he was able to complete the crossing. Captain Kragnir led them back to the Captain’s awning. Runa stood outside of it, red-faced and wringing her delicate hands. Einarr wished he could go to her, comfort her, but under the circumstances feared that would only make matters worse. Trabbi looked her way, pursed his lips – in frustration, anger, or concern Einarr could not tell – and did not look again.

    The six men settled around the low table in the center of the sheltered area – Brunnings on one side, Vidofnings on the other. Kragnir opened the cask Stigander had brought as a peace-offering and poured everyone a cup of the sweet brew. Once they had all drunk, the ceremony was concluded.

    “What is there that the wandering Son of Raen believes must be discussed?” Trabbi opened. The bitterness in his voice planted a rock in the bottom of Einarr’s belly.

    “Perhaps the unwillingness of your bride?”

    “My Jarl asked me to marry his daughter and keep her safe and well. To what part of that am I supposed to object?”

    “He did not even mention her happiness?” Einarr had not intended to speak, but the words would not be contained.

    “If this is also not something you wished, I believe we have a solution where you can back out and no-one has to lose face,” Bardr interrupted

    “I will confess to mixed feelings on the idea of wedding a girl my sons’ age.”

    Stigander nodded. “As would I, in your situation.” He looked sidelong at Bardr, who had the good grace to look embarrassed. “What say you to a duel?”

    “Captain, I may lead a fleet, but it is a fleet of fishermen. I hardly think that a test of swordsmanship…”

    “Glima, though?”

    “Wrestling?”

    “Wrestling. We may be getting on in years, but unless I miss my guess you’re not slowing down just quite yet. Your experience versus my son’s youthful vitality.”

    Trabbi set his jaw and turned his gaze to study Einarr.

    “Loser yields the right to marry the princess.”

    “I won’t throw the match,” Trabbi warned.

    Einarr met the man’s weighing eyes. “You’d be a coward if you did.”

    “Just so long as that’s understood.”

    “Of course.” Stigander shrugged as though he’d expected nothing else.

    “In that case, I agree. Runa should stay on board the Skudbrun until we return to Kjell Hall. My Jarl would never forgive me if I allowed her to remain with the man who tried to steal her away.”

    Einarr opened his mouth to protest, but before a sound could escape Stigander had already answered. “Agreed.”

    Not two steps after he had left the awning, Runa had thrown her arms about Einarr’s neck. “Easy, easy. We’ve got it all settled.”

    “I heard. You think you can win?”

    He smirked now, lowering his voice to avoid being heard to insult his rival. “Against a fisherman? Come now.” His face fell then and he shook his head. “Even if I don’t, though, I think it might not make much difference for you. After what we did, Trabbi would be well within his rights to cancel the engagement.” It might matter for him, though, depending on how forgiving the Jarl felt.

    She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, nodding before she let it out. He thought she might have been about to protest. She looked as anxious here as she had earlier, on the boat, when he was fighting off her countrymen.

    “You’re that worried I’ll lose?”

    She shook her head. “I’m worried you’ll be hurt.”

    Bardr and his father were nearly to the gangplank, but Einarr found a moment to wrap her in his arms and kiss her hair before hurrying on.

    1.11 – Capture 1.13 – Glìma
    Table of Contents
  • 1.11 – Capture

    1.11 – Capture

    For three days the sky was clear and the wind was fair, and Einarr kept one hand on the tiller while he and his stolen bride spoke of many things, laying plans for how they would live once they were officially wed – and occasionally trading kisses. For all her various skills Runa knew nothing of navigation, and so when night fell they would drop anchor in spite of the pursuers they expected but could not see and sleep. Einarr was glad that Runa did not push herself at him, for after so many hours in such close proximity he would have been hard pressed to refuse. For all that they remained chaste, however, it was no small feat of endurance.

    He caught her watching him several times, and she caught him at least once. She had been singing for the joy of it, and the music bolstered his tired mind. His eye fell upon the flaxen braid hanging below her hips on the seat and took in the perfection of her form. She turned to look over her shoulder at him, and a tightness spread across his stomach. He felt his face heat in a blush as he looked away, but not quickly enough to miss the hunger in her own eyes. No. Bad enough to steal her away; you will not have her until you are properly wed.

    On the fourth day a storm blew up. The sky turned dark, and Einarr furled the sail and took up oars. He wasn’t sure how much he could do, but he had to at least try to keep them on course. Runa sang of warmth and light and the strength of a man’s arms, and the song magic fortified him. Einarr battled the waves to keep them on course, and while she sang he did not feel the chill of the rain or the strain of his arms. But not even song magic could make his vision pierce the veil of rain.

    He did not know how long he had fought the storm when the sound of metal striking wood raised his hackles. He turned to look over his shoulder without letting go of the oars. Behind them, their approach masked by the sheeting rain and the rumbling thunder, the Skudbrun of Kjell Hall loomed. The sound that had alerted him were the two hooks now embedded in the side of their skiff that secured a pair of boarding lines. Einarr thrust the oars forward and Runa took charge of them.

    Einarr drew Sinmora and stood between her father’s ship and Runa, expecting even in that moment it would be hopeless. He would fight, of course, but with these odds…

    The first man down the rope was one Einarr recognized from long ago. Seven years ago, he had been the one to defeat the team of Einarr and Runa in their goat-game, and all winter long they’d had a friendly rivalry going on. “Barri.”

    “Einarr.”

    Einarr glanced back at Runa: the princess’ eyes kept darting between the two men, nearly as worried for Barri’s fate as for Einarr’s. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you’d let us settle this with arm-wrestling – for the Princess’ sake?”

    “You know I can’t do that.”

    “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

    “Should’ve thought of that before you took off with her.” Barri took a testing swing toward Einarr with his own blade, which was easily parried.

    “I did. But that includes her.” Now Einarr slashed at Barri with the blunt edge of his blade. This, too, was parried.

    Barri shrugged, and then the fight began in earnest.

    Under ordinary circumstances, Einarr thought he’d be more than a match for Barri at swordplay. These were not ordinary circumstances, however, and between his inability to give ground without putting Runa in harm’s way and the awkward swing he used to strike with Sinmora’s blunt edge Barri actually had the edge. Time and again metal struck metal, Einarr’s saving grace the fact that he could prevent his opponent’s maneuvering just as much as his own movements were limited.

    Finally, Barri tried to skewer Einarr on the tip of his sword and forgot his guard. It was only a moment, but that was enough. Einarr raised Sinmora to his opposite shoulder and swung.

    The flat of the blade struck the other man across the face and he stumbled to the deck, stunned. A small scream escaped Runa’s lips.

    “He’ll be fine,” Einarr said. “Whether or not we will is another question.”

    “Be careful,” was all she said. Another Brunning was right on Barri’s heels, pressing forward to get ahead of where his crewmate was beginning to stir, and then he was fighting again. Blades clashed, and a second Brunning fell to the deck, stunned. A third advanced, axe raised, even as Barri took his feet once more.

    Over the clang of sword against axe, the solid thunk of a hook embedding itself in the wood caught Einarr’s attention. He glanced up, hardly daring to take his attention away from one of Runa’s countrymen, to see another boarding line attached to the side of their little skiff.

    “Einarr, enough.” Tears filled her voice and nearly distracted him from a blow that would have taken his sword arm off at the elbow. “I can’t bear to see anyone get hurt here.”

    “Tell that to the Brunnings,” he grunted, bringing Sinmora’s haft down on the back of his opponent’s neck.

    A swarthy bear of a man was sliding down the third boarding line, an axe at his belt and an unfamiliar grim expression riding on his otherwise familiar features. Einarr stood ready to duel the newcomer, too, even after the cinnamon-colored braids and beard resolved themselves into the uncharacteristically grim face of Erik, one of his Father’s best men.

    1.10 – Runaway Bride 1.12 – Negotiations
    Table of Contents