Tangled Threads Publishing

Tag: Hrug

  • 8.5 – Pursuit

    8.5 – Pursuit

    Hi, Everyone! Allene here. We’re going to try something special with book 8, assuming I don’t exhaust myself in the process. In an effort to get my rankings higher on TWF and RRL, I’m aiming to post two chapters/day for the next two weeks (so, 28 chapters in 2 weeks, or what will probably be most of the book), and then go straight into book 9 when it’s done. Wish me luck!

    Captain Kormund froze a moment, staring at Einarr. He blinked, then swore quietly. “You. A Cursebreaker. How long?”

    “Almost a year now.”

    The Captain swore again. “So you’ve made it long enough to know you attract trouble. When were you intending to tell me about this?”

    Einarr paused in his preparations. He hadn’t even thought about that: it felt like ages since it had come up, although in reality it was only late last summer. “You’re right. I should have mentioned that. My apologies: I was named Cursebreaker by an alfish Oracle early last spring. She recommended I learn the runes. By midsummer, I agreed.”

    Captain Kormund looked at him flatly for a long moment, then sighed. “You’ve made it this far, and I suppose I can’t just strand you somewhere. Carry on.”

    Einarr blanched. It was truly lucky that Kormund thought well of his father, he thought.

    Neither Hrug nor Einarr saw the point in setting up the full divination ritual. Either the dromon was a Valkyrie, or it was not: either it was after them, or it was not. Even the more limited reading,though, would have been a problem to set up alone on deck.

    At length, the circle was drawn and the runes were set Hrug gestured for the Captain to seat himself at its center.

    “Excuse me?”

    “The one in the center of the array recieves the revelations,” Einarr explained.

    “Ah. Very well, then.” With no further hesitation, the Captain stepped into the ritual seat, taking care not to disturb the charcoal markings on his deck. “I am ready.”

    Hrug nodded and sat at the edge of the circle. His brow furrowed as he focused his will, and then he reached out to touch the line.

    Captain Kormund’s eyes grew wide momentarily before he closed them. The double vision caused by these visions could be quite disorienting otherwise.

    The vision was a brief one: only a minute later, his eyes opened again and he exhaled sharply. Kormund looked directly at Einarr. “Damnit all. I appreciate you sounding the alarm about the ship early, but part of me is still inclined to blame you. Yes, they are of the Order of the Valkyrie, and yes, they are pursuing us. But, in that case, fine. I’ve outrun Order ships before.”

    That evening, they lit no torches, and the hearth was extinguished immediately after dinner. Once the sunset had faded into full night, Captain Kormund gave the order to unfurl the sail. They would be sailing by starlight, as thankfully there was no moon: with luck, it would suffice.

    The ship was almost eerily silent as it slipped off into the night: all Einarr could hear was the lapping of water against the side of the boat and the occasional rapping of knuckles against the hull in a set of signals unique to the Eikthyrnir.

    Still, he kept a watchful eye behind them. He had no real hope that he would see them at that distance in the dark of night, but to not watch seemed the height of folly. And, perhaps, he would be able to catch their silhouette against the indigo sky. All night, he stared at the horizon behind them, never sure if he saw the other ship moving or not – certain, only, that they were too far to hear the sound of oars.

    At some point he slept, and all the while refought his battle against the Order from nearly a year ago. At dawn he awoke with a groan.

    “You’ve got that right,” Naudrek said from where he stood, leaning against the bulwark.

    Einarr stood and went to look out over the water. He groaned again, lowering his forehead to the wood. There was the dromon, the wing-and-spear symbol of the Order plain on its sail. They had not lost it in the night: on the contrary, the ship appeared to have drawn closer in spite of their efforts. “Why does this not surprise me.”

    “Because nothing is ever easy, my friend. Nothing is ever easy.”

    “Especially not when the gods decide someone has to clean up all the black magic floating around, and you look like a good candidate.” He wished the Captain hadn’t reminded him of all the trouble his calling brought along with it. After the winter, he’d almost managed to put it behind him.

    Naudrek laughed. “Yep, that’s a Cursebreaker all right. But based on what you said about last Season, I think we’ll be all right here.”

    “You say that now. Just watch, it turns out they’re all possessed and under the control of that monster cult.”

    “An Order ship? More likely they’ve got an actual Valkyrie giving them orders, and she wants a rematch.”

    Now it was Einarr’s turn to laugh. “Nope. Not doing that again. She can have the feather back if that’s what she’s after.”

    Naudrek smirked at Einarr. “That’s more like it. Last night can’t have been the only trick up the captain’s sleeve, so let’s not despair just yet, shall we?”

    “Deal.”

    As Naudrek expected, Captain Kormund had more tricks up his sleeve than the nighttime evasion. All that day they kept the sail furled and rowed. Every hour or so Hraerek would ring a bell and the rowers would change shift so that everyone stayed relatively fresh.

    By all rights, they should have left the dromon in their wake this way. But all through that day they rowed, and they never seemed to put any distance at all between themselves and the Valkyrian ship. Einarr started to wonder if they really had bound a vindstang to the ship.

    For his part, the captain seemed only mildly impressed. As the day wore on, Einarr noted that they had shifted course somewhat to the east. He wasn’t overly familiar with the waters in these parts, but he had to assume there was some sort of obstacle they were aiming for. Captain Kormund was a canny fellow, after all. Einarr did his best not to clench his fists around the oars, lest white knuckles betray his nerves.

    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.

  • 8.4 – Setting Sail

    8.4 – Setting Sail

    Hi, Everyone! Allene here. We’re going to try something special with book 8, assuming I don’t exhaust myself in the process. In an effort to get my rankings higher on TWF and RRL, I’m aiming to post two chapters/day for the next two weeks (so, 28 chapters in 2 weeks, or what will probably be most of the book), and then go straight into book 9 when it’s done. Wish me luck!

    The Eikthyrnir was not due to leave port for several more days. Einarr chafed at the delay, but preferred not to take his chances on searching out another boat. Especially given that Captain Kormund only brought them on board out of half-remembered friendship for Stigander. Einarr was well aware of how tenuous that made their position on board, and so advised his companions to work twice as hard as they had before. Accusations of favoritism were pure poison on the open sea, and Einarr had no desire to bring that down on his head.

    Finally, though, the day dawned when the Eikthyrnir was scheduled to leave port. The weather was clear and cool, as Einarr had come to expect from this island, and his new shipmates did not seem to begrudge him their Captain’s regard. If anything, they seemed to pity him for it. But if there was one thing Einarr was growing used to, it was meeting unreasonably high expectations. If the Captain expected him to live up to his memories of Stigander, well, at least he wasn’t trying to steal from Wotan or escape the forgotten island.

    The ship slipped out of the harbor as silently as she had entered it. Had Einarr not been on an oar, he might not have believed they were rowing out, she moved so swiftly and silently. There was barely a ripple as the oars dipped in and out of the sea, and while he could hear the waves lapping at the sides of the Eikthyrnir, it was rather akin to hearing them lap against a sandy shore. Even more than most raiders she was built for speed and for stealth, and Einarr soon discovered that everyone from the lowest deckhand to Hraerek, the ship’s Mate, were quick to boast of it.

    Unlike the Vidofnir, there were no post-sailing rituals among the Eikthyrnings. It felt odd to leave port without hearing the Lay of Raen, but neither Eydri nor her senior Singer on board was familiar with it. He shrugged, and that first night out on the water he took some time in his watch to recite the lay to himself. He’d heard it often enough, after all: he’d had it memorized by the time he was 14.

    Four days out of port, before they had yet turned north to head towards Kjell but well outside the territory claimed by the Coneheads, Einarr happened to glance toward the stern during supper.

    A dromon sat on the horizon, plain as the nose on his face. For an hour, and then two, Einarr watched and waited. The ship seemed, if anything, to be gaining on them. He pursed his lips, thinking. “Excuse me,” he muttered to the men he was eating with.

    The men patrolling on watch seemed unconcerned, though, when he pointed the dromon out to them.

    “I see him. Nothing to fear,” said Vari, a tall, slender man who nonetheless looked like he would be a terror with the blades at his belt. “We’ve outrun dromon before.”

    Einarr looked back out at the dromon, then again at Vari from the corner of his eye. That may be so, but something about this gave him a bad feeling. But, he swallowed his protest and nodded. He was never likely to become anything other than ‘new’ on this ship. Still, he kept his eyes astern.

    His turn for watch came around. He gave it half a candle-mark, or so, before he reported the vessel. He definitely thought it was gaining on them.

    “Mate Hraerek, I’ve something to report.”

    “The dromon off our stern?”

    “Aye.”

    “Good work. Spotted it hours ago.”

    A swell of relief washed over Einarr. “Does it look like it’s gaining to you, sir?”

    “Unlikely. I expect it will turn aside eventually. It has no proof we’re raiders, after all.”

    “If it’s a Valkyrie ship, that might not matter.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Last spring, in the waters between Kjell and Apalvik, the Vidofnir was attacked by one of their hunting ships – and I can tell you from experience that there’s nothing to raid in those waters.”

    The Mate furrowed his brow. “Apalvik? Why in the world were you headed there?”

    Einarr snorted. “We weren’t, until we had a hold full of Valkyrian treasure to sell.”

    That got a laugh out of the man, at least. “Keep an eye on it if it makes you feel better. I assure you, you won’t be the only one. But I wager it will turn aside soon enough. There’s not a lot between Eskiborg and Kjell, either, and our business in Eskiborg was peaceful.”

    “Thank you, sir.” While not exactly reassuring, at least the Mate knew about it. He returned to his watch, all the while keeping one eye on the mysterious dromon to their south.

    Matters continued like that for another day, and another, during which Einarr became increasingly sure that not only was the ship gaining, it was tailing them. He could see, now, the all-too-familiar wing-and-spear of the Order of the Valkyrie when the wind was right. But if he could, so could the Mate and so could the Captain.

    On the seventh day out of port, Captain Kormund called on the skills of Hrug.

    “All right, fortune teller. We’re far off the normal trade routes by now, and well out of anything the Coneheads even try to claim. Divine for me who mans that ship and why they follow us.”

    Hrug made an exaggerated bow, even going so far as to flourish with his stump. The request had sounded more than a little pompous, although at this point he had come to expect that from this captain. Then the mute looked at Einarr and raised an eyebrow.

    “Of course I’ll help.”

    “What, you’re a fortune-teller to?”

    “Not exactly.”

    “Then how is it he asks you for help?”

    “Oh, I’ve received the same training. At the same time, even. But he’s better at it. I’m just a Cursebreaker.”

    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.

  • 8.3 – Captain Kormund

    8.3 – Captain Kormund

    Hi, Everyone! Allene here. We’re going to try something special with book 8, assuming I don’t exhaust myself in the process. In an effort to get my rankings higher on TWF and RRL, I’m aiming to post two chapters/day for the next two weeks (so, 28 chapters in 2 weeks, or what will probably be most of the book), and then go straight into book 9 when it’s done. Wish me luck!

    As planned, Einarr, Eydri, Naudrek and Hrug came to breakfast looking more presentable than Einarr thought he had ever seen the other two men, and tidier than he had felt since leaving Kjell for Svartlauf last spring. He had even taken the time to braid his own hair and moustache, and those hung down farther than the beard he’d allowed to grow over the winter. He still wasn’t sure he was going to keep that, although there were definite advantages now that it no longer came in patchy.

    As they walked down the broad main avenue that led from the Archer straight to the docks, Einarr thought they made a striking figure – especially for a group of sailors come seeking work. He heard the beginnings of a fight stirring like the first signs of a storm.

    A crowd had already gathered ahead of them, and Einarr could hear raised voices, although he could not tell why they were arguing. He shouldered his way through the crowd.

    On the docks, two men built like Arring argued. A small stack of barrels sat next to the blond man, whose back was to the ship. The other man, swarthy enough to make Jorir look pale, gesticulated wildly as he held forth. It had been his voice Einarr had heard, primarily.

    Above, at the top of the gangplank, a well-dressed man stood with his arms crossed, frowning down at the scene below. Braids tamed hair that was redder than Einarr’s, and what sections were not tied still made a bushy mane. Einarr pointed the man out to Hrug, one eyebrow raised in question. The other man nodded.

    Right. Time to make a good impression, then. I hope. This looked like your garden-variety trade argument, and ordinarily he would leave it alone. Ordinarily, though, he wouldn’t be trying to get on the good side of the Captain involved – a man who looked, to Einarr’s eye, not just fastidious but also stern. Einarr stepped forward into the open space around the two men, his hands held out placatingly. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, what seems to be the issue here?”

    “This two-faced worm’s trying to pass off sour cider as good Imperial wine!” The swarthy man’s face, Einarr thought, could not ordinarily be this red.

    The blond man, meanwhile, had remained remarkably cool under the onslaught. “I had thought, when you introduced yourself as a wine seller, that you had some idea what you sold. It is not my fault you cannot tell an Imperial auslese from vinagered cider.”

    Einarr stopped to stare at the two men. This was why involving yourself in someone else’s bickering was a poor decision. With a sigh, he turned back to the crowd. “Eydri? I’m afraid wine was never to my taste.”

    With a laugh, the Singer came forward. “All right then. Draw a taste and we will see who is true and who is false.”

    The blond man shrugged and turned to the tapped cask on top of the stack.

    The swarthy man, though, started to bluster. “Now wait just a second! Who do you think you are, interfering with our business?”

    Einarr shrugged, tamping down on the smirk that threatened to give him away. “Just a passing sailor. You’re interfering with everyone else’s business, though.”

    “Oh, so I’m just supposed to let them cheat me so I don’t inconvenience anyone else? Is that it?”

    “Not at all. If they’re actually cheating you. My friend Eydri happens to know a thing or two about wine. If it’s as bad as you say it is, why not let her taste it?”

    “Wait. You’re calling me a liar, aren’t you?”

    “Not at all. I’m offering impartial judgement. The only one accusing anyone of lying is you.”

    The swarthy man’s blustering turned to an angry stammer. Finally he glared at Einarr and Eydri before declaring to all on the docks that they “hadn’t heard the last of this” and storming off.

    Einarr could not quite suppress a chuckle as he turned back around to face the men of the stag ship. They looked… somewhat put out, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the obnoxious merchant or because Einarr had just spoiled a deal. He put on his best princely demeanor. “Sorry – should I not have poked my nose in?”

    The blond man snorted and started picking up the casks, but the man on the gangplank stepped forward.

    “Not at all,” he said. His voice sounded like it would be more at home in a thane’s hall than the deck of a ship. “I was here because we expected him to try to cheat us like that. You defused that nicely.”

    “Happy to be of service.” Einarr bowed slightly, as one does when about to introduce themselves. Eydri, Naudrek, and Hrug started forward to join him at the base of the gangplank.

    “What can I do for you?” Evidently, the red-haired man saw through Einarr.

    He cleared his throat. “I am Einarr Stigandersen, of the longship Vidofnir. My companions and I need to reach Kjell, where we can rejoin my father’s ship. I was hoping you might be willing to take us on, even if only partway.”

    The red-haired man studied them all for a long moment. “Stigander… Vidofnir… I believe I knew your father, once upon a time. Certainly you remind me of a man I used to know. What will your companions bring to my Eikthyrnir?”

    “Eydri is a battle chanter and a scholar. It has been my experience that such people are always of value to a ship. Naudrek and I are both good sword-arms and strong at an oar at need. Hrug can predict the weather and… other things, given sufficient time to prepare.”

    The red-haired man raised an eyebrow. “A human weathervane, eh? No, I’ll not ask how. But I believe we can work something out, for the son of an old friend. Come aboard and we will speak further. I am Kormund Arnesen, Captain. But I imagine you already knew that.”

    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.

  • 8.2 – Berth Hunt

    8.2 – Berth Hunt

    Hi, Everyone! Allene here. We’re going to try something special with book 8, assuming I don’t exhaust myself in the process. In an effort to get my rankings higher on TWF and RRL, I’m aiming to post two chapters/day for the next two weeks (so, 28 chapters in 2 weeks, or what will probably be most of the book), and then go straight into book 9 when it’s done. Wish me luck!

    The last time Einarr had been in Eskiborg, he had compared it in size and hustle to Kem. He now thought that might be underselling Eskiborg somewhat. Not only was it a warm water port, at least as the Clans reckoned such matters, it was a major shipbuilding port, and one where longships and knarr far outnumbered the dromon favored by the Coneheads.*

    On the first night, they took beds at the Bronze Archer and split up to canvas the docks – Naudrek with Hrug, Eydri with Einarr. In all that bounty, among all those ships, Einarr was certain they could find berths for the four of them. He had not anticipated, however, the difficulty in finding a temporary berth for a Singer – did not, in fact, fully grasp it until no fewer than four captains asked if she was Einarr’s lover.

    He was more than a little taken aback by the assumption, in fact, and it did not take long for worry to begin nibbling away at his brain: was Runa going to make that same assumption?

    “It’s a matter of protection,” Eydri finally explained. “We run into similar issues as apprentices, actually.”

    “You… do.” Einarr’s spirits drooped. Mentally, he began totting up their resources once more. “If you’re saying we should try to buy a boat, tell me now. The longer we wait, the harder it will be.”

    She shook her head. “It will be tricky, but not impossible. Most sailors know better than to assault a Singer, even an apprentice one, but no captain wants to risk one of his men turning out to be that idiot. So they want me to be under someone’s protection. And if I’m your paramour, that makes it even less likely for someone to get drunk and do something truly stupid.”

    “I…” Einarr thought about it: he knew that his father had always married their Singers, right up until Reki, but there had never been any doubt in his mind why. Now he wondered. “But Father is the only Captain I know who is typically married to his Battle Chanter.”

    Eydri frowned at him, then smirked. “Somehow, I suspect that has more to do with your father. At any rate, you will need to give assurances that I am under your protection, and that you can enforce as much. …Perhaps it would be best if we had not split up.”

    Einarr thought it over a moment, but shook his head. “Tomorrow, if Naudrek has not found something, we will all four go together. But I suspect if we try to find them now we will waste the rest of the day.”

    On the second day in Eskiborg, they also returned to their beds empty-handed, their spirits low. It seemed that those who were sailing in the right direction were more than a little spooked by the idea of taking on both an “unprotected” Singer (despite the presence of not one but three companions) and a male sorceror.

    “If we find nothing tomorrow, I will check what might be for sale. With a fishing skiff, the four of us can manage.” With a fishing skiff and a little luck, anyway.

    “I thought you said you couldn’t afford one?”

    “Not properly, no. But if we can find one that doesn’t take on too much water, and the three of you can pitch in for water barrels and fishing gear, I can honestly say I’ve sailed in worse.”

    The other three shared a look, then Hrug shook his head and tapped at the tabletop. The rattle of runesticks followed, but instead of casting them down he began to lay them carefully. Will… Not… Need he spelled out.

    “You’ve seen something?”

    He hesitated, then nodded.

    Remembering the divination Melja had worked that led him to these two in the first place, Einarr sat forward eagerly. “What should I look for?”

    Hrug looked to Naudrek, who nodded. “After that first day, when we split up, he did his thing. We need a ship with a stag’s head on the prow.”

    “A stag.” Not like that was a common ornament at all. He could think of six he’d seen just that afternoon.

    Hrug grunted affirmative, and Naudrek continued. “The sail of the ship is blue and yellow striped, and there was a red-headed man with neat braids in his hair and beard. We think he’s the captain.”

    “And according to the vision, this ship will have us?”

    “I think so. Hrug says so, anyway, and he’s the expert on these sorts of things.”

    “Good enough for me.”

    Einarr kept his impatience in check over the third day’s fruitless search, albeit with difficulty. Afternoon was waning on their fourth day of searching when a longship slipped into the harbor, sleek and abviously built for speed. The blue-and-gold sail told Einarr their goal had arrived.

    As the ship drew up to the dock, Einarr came close enough to note their berth and confirm what he thought to be true: the figurehead was an ornate stag’s head, carved to look as though water ran down the antlers. Einarr nodded, then slipped back into the crowd. He knew well enough that their captain was unlikely to have time for new sailors before morning.

    That night, while the four of them sat at table at the Bronze Archer, Einarr laid out their plan for the morning. “Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll breakfast at a normal hour, but then head straight for the docks. We want to arrive a little before mid-morning, I think. Hrug, how ‘neat’ did this captain look?”

    The tongueless man sighed and glanced at Naudrek. Sooner or later Einarr would learn to actually communicate with him, but Elder Melja had kept them both far too busy over the winter.

    “You might call him fastidious,” Naudrek answered after conferring with his old friend for a moment.

    Einarr nodded. “In that case, make sure you come to breakfast bathed and tidy. Just because the divination said we can get berths doesn’t mean we should take them for granted.”

    * Conehead: An inhabitant of the Konneul Empire, which occupies the best land and warmest water in this world.

    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.

  • 8.1 – Dawn of Spring

    8.1 – Dawn of Spring

    Hi, Everyone! Allene here. We’re going to try something special with book 8, assuming I don’t exhaust myself in the process. In an effort to get my rankings higher on TWF and RRL, I’m aiming to post two chapters/day for the next two weeks (so, 28 chapters in 2 weeks, or what will probably be most of the book), and then go straight into book 9 when it’s done. Wish me luck!

    The winter’s ice was not so thick around the Shrouded Village, and while he was never short of work to do Einarr found that the winter passed quickly – dare he say, even pleasantly. Almost before he realized it the first day of Spring arrived.

    Naudrek had made himself useful about the village as he could over the winter, but showed neither interest nor aptitude with the runes. For that reason he spent far more time than he liked with nothing to do save spar with Einarr.

    Hrug, on the other hand, saw for himself a way to reclaim his life in the study of runes and threw himself at it with gusto. Einarr could hardly blame the man, although it stung a bit that Hrug seemed to be the better student. Still, no matter. ‘Ystäva’ was expected on the equinox, and Einarr had made his preparations to leave with Naudrek, Hrug, and Eydri, the Singer who had wintered in Eskiborg in reliance on his own assurances.

    The day of the equinox was unseasonably stormy and cold, and Melja’s mood grew as foul as the weather as the day stretched on.

    Noon passed, and then midafternoon. As the day waned to evening, Melja called the four of them aside.

    “It is as I feared. Something has rendered the High Roads impassable, or he would already be here.”

    Einarr let loose a low growl of frustration. “So now what do we do?”

    Melja drew himself up to his full height. “There is much you could yet learn, if you were willing to stay and wait on the High Road to stabilize…” Here he paused, gauging Einarr’s reaction. “But you have been anxious to return to your crew for half the winter at least, and there is no telling how long the Roads will be unusable.”

    Einarr nodded. “I don’t wish to seem ungrateful, of course, but a part of me fears I have already tarried too long.”

    “Then I suggest you get yourselves a boat. You’ve the start of a good crew here, if a little unorthodox. You should be able to make your way north to Kjell, at the very least.”

    Einarr ran over the options in his head before answering. “I can’t afford the sort of boat we’d need,” he admitted. A little skiff like the Gufuskalam would do it, but he suspected even that would run too high. “Which means we need to find ourselves berths with someone headed that way.”

    He glanced around at his newfound companions. Eydri was a Singer: she would be easy. He and Naudrek were a pair of good sword-arms: that also shouldn’t be an issue. But then there was Hrug…

    “All right, everyone. How do we sell a superstitious Captain on taking along a new-minted Runemage?”

    Eydri cleared her throat. “Two new-minted Runemages, I believe you mean.”

    “I don’t have to be anything more than a swordsman for whatever berth we find. Honestly, I’d prefer that. Fewer questions to answer. But for all his valor and skill as a sailor, Hrug is a one-armed mute. I’ve never met a Captain who would take a warrior or an oarsmen in that condition. Sorry, Hrug.”

    The man in question gave a grunt and a shrug, which Einarr took to mean he wasn’t bothered.

    “But just because he can’t fight physically doesn’t mean he’s not valuable to the right crew. Especially since he’s a fair sight better with the runes than I will probably ever be. But we need the right Captain and the right crew, or there will be no end of trouble.” There was a certain strain of thinking among some of the Clans that made magic use out to be unmanly. Ending up on board a ship with someone like last fall’s thief, for example, could be disastrous.

    “You’re pretty good with divinations, right?” Naudrek nudged his friend’s arm. “Imagine it’d get boring, but you’d be the best weathercock a ship could ask for.”

    Hrug made a face, but nodded agreement.

    “Good. Actually, that is an excellent idea, Naudrek. Let’s plan on starting there, and then if the Captain needs further convincing we can mention that Rune magic can do more than just predict the weather, if necessary.”

    Melja cleared his throat at that. “Be very careful with that. Changing the weather can lead to… unfortunate and unexpected consequences that might not be immediately obvious.”

    Hrug nodded impatiently, as though this were a lecture he’d had more than once. Well, that would hardly be surprising. Melja was nothing if not thorough.

    “Of course,” Einarr said for his own part, even though he had not had that lecture drummed into his skull. “But the ability to raise the wind or quiet a wave is one I think every seaman has dreamed of, at some point or another. Being able to offer that to a Captain, even if only in extremity, is valuable.”

    Melja grunted, not apparently satisfied but willing to leave it at that.

    “Are we decided, then?” Nods of assent traveled around the little circle. “Good. Eydri, when you left, what sort of ships were in port?”

    The four set out for Eskiborg from the Shrouded Village the next morning, if not precisely in good cheer then in high spirits to be moving again. Not one of them was accustomed to long stretches in the same place, so the prospect of movement appealed to all of them.

    The weather had improved from the day before, somewhat; the storm had passed, at least, although the air was still unusually chill for this far south. Einarr breathed deeply of the newly-cleaned air as he passed the last farmhouse of the Village. The forest stretched out ahead of him to all sides, the trees seeming to line themselves up into rows upon rows of good timber. With a nod, he set off again, and the scrape of his boots on the ground was one of the most satisfying sounds he had heard in what felt like a very long time.

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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.

  • 7.34 – Master’s Prerogative

    7.34 – Master’s Prerogative

    Three days later, Einarr was buoyant when he caught his first glimpse of the easternmost farm of the village. He had returned from a quest, and for the first time since Jarl Hroaldr had sent him to rob the jotün he actually felt richer for the victory. There was, after all, no-one to bury this time.

    As the three men walked past, Hrug cradling the bandaged stump of his arm as best he could, the alfs of the village welcomed them warmly. Einarr suspected word had come ahead, somehow – or, as was always possible, they had performed another of their divinations. The welcome was far warmer than he would have expected, even just for himself.

    Melja stood in the village square, dressed as he always was in the rough, almost monastic clothes that Einarr had come to expect from the villagers. “Well, well, well,” he chuckled. “If it isn’t the hero of the decade, returned to us. With friends, no less!”

    “Ah, yes. Elder Melja, allow me to present Naudrek and Hrug,” he said, gesturing to each in turn. “Formerly of the Bjorn. Their assistance ensured the Shroud was destroyed, and in turn they have no ship to return to.”

    Melja glanced at Hrug and nodded: why he could no longer sail was obvious. But then he turned his eye towards Naudrek and raised an eyebrow at Einarr.

    “I’m afraid we, ah, stepped on his Captain’s toes a little in the process of fighting the Shroud.”

    Naudrek snorted. “He treats that ship like it was his only child. I bullied the lookout to let you on, and we cut up the deck. I shoulda known better, really.”

    Einarr turned back to Melja with a shrug. “And there you have it.”

    The Elder nodded. “I take it you managed to discover the key to awakening Sinmora?”

    “Yes, thanks to a Singer in the port. Sinmora… she seemed to eat the Shroud. Just like she seemed to eat the magic of the wards. All she needed was to touch it, once she was resonating.”

    “Resonance, you say. Interesting… Well, we’ll have time enough to examine the sword while you’re here.” Melja looked back at Hrug, considering. “Well, in that case, you are well come to the Shrouded Village. The quest was a part of Einarr’s training… but I think we can see about some reward for the two of you.”

    “Thank you, sir.” Naudrek bobbed his head, as though he weren’t sure if he should bow or not. Einarr remembered the feeling.

    “Mira and I still have some room. Einarr, show them to the house and then meet me at the archive. There’s much to do yet if you want to rejoin your ship in the spring.”

    “In the spring? I thought I was to go back in late fall, before the end of the Season.”

    “Oh, goodness, no,” Melja chuckled. “If you’d had no talent for the working, maybe, but you’ve got the knack and you’re clever besides. I simply can’t send you back half-trained.”

    “What do you mean, you can’t send me back?”

    “You have shown surprising talent for the runes – far more than I expected when our mutual friend brought you here – and you have already stumbled upon an excellent way of killing yourself with them if you leave here half-trained. Which you would, if I sent you back to your ship this fall. Especially given the time you lost to hunting the Shroud.”

    Which, he did not add, would not have been free in the first place were it not for Einarr’s mysterious sword. He did not need to: it had been said already.

    “My Father expects me back. He has commissioned a second ship, one which I’m to helm, which will be ready on our return to Kjell.” Runa also expected him back, but he did not intend to mention her. Or his eagerness to brag of his deeds before Jarl Hroaldr.

    “Nevertheless, you will stay. I daresay your father desires a live heir more than a dead one, and if the price of that is that someone else helms your ship in the interim, then that is the price that must be paid. You cannot leave here. Not so early.”

    “When Ystävä arrives to take me back to Breidhaugr—”

    “Our mutual friend has already been made aware of the situation. He will not be coming until the spring.”

    Einarr gaped for a long minute. Was this what came of dealing with alfs? “This is not what we agreed on!”

    Melja drew himself up to his full height and stared down at Einarr, all trace of warmth gone from his demeanor. “I am modifying the agreement. As your Master in the art of Runes, I declare that you are not ready. Should I let you loose on the world as you are now, you would be a menace to yourself and those around you. Now. Show your guests to the longhouse. There is work to be done.”

    The old alfr turned and stalked away into the village. Einarr must have twitched, as though he intended to go after him, because he felt a pair of restraining hands on his arms. When he turned to look, Hrug shook his head.

    “Pretty sure that’s a fight you don’t want to win.” Naudrek looked more serious than Einarr had seen since he got kicked off the Bjorn.

    “I only came here to learn how to read them in the first place.”

    “And yet, you’ve not hesitated to use them once, that I’ve seen. An’ you’re an honorable man, but you’re also a clever one. Best listen to him, don’t you think?”

    Einarr grumbled, still staring after Melja. Finally he gave a sharp tug at the hem of his tunic. “Fine. You’re… not wrong. This way.”

    Spring, then. Spring, at the earliest, before he could boast of his deeds to the Jarl. Before he could hear Erik and Bardr and Jorir’s tales of what had happened while he was away. Spring, at the earliest, before he could see Runa. He quashed a growl, knowing that Melja and Naudrek and the old Singer, whose hands he saw in this, were right.

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading!  Here ends book 7: Einarr and the Crimson Shroud. Book 8 will begin on Oct. 1, 2019, and marks the beginning of an entirely new arc in the story. I hope you’re looking forward to it!

    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.

  • 7.33 – Leaving Eskiborg

    7.33 – Leaving Eskiborg

    “Ah. Right.” With a thought, Einarr withdrew his will and the deck of the Bjorn ceased glowing. “But we cannot leave yet. As much as it pains me, I do need to make arrangements with your Captain for the damage we caused.”

    “Fine, but right now is not the best time for that.”

    “It has been my experience that delay in these matters tends to worsen things, not improve them.”

    “Don’t say I didn’t warn you…” Naudrek stepped quietly back from Einarr, toward the dock, but did not turn his back on the Captain’s awning.

    Einarr turned to face that direction, his face cool and composed in the face of the tawny bear of a man approaching like a squall. “You have my apolo-”

    The man, self-evidently the Captain, did not give Einarr a chance to finish his statement before his fist embedded itself in Einarr’s stomach. “That was for coming aboard without my say-so.”

    Einarr doubled over, momentarily winded. Of all the reactions he had been expecting, immediate violence was not one of them.

    Before Einarr could catch his breath, the man growled in his ear. “Now. You going to tell me why you came on board and vandalized my newly repaired deck, or am I going to turn you two into new deck boards?”

    “Had… to… destroy… Shroud,” Einarr managed to gasp out.

    The captain took a step back and crossed his arms: evidently he was willing to give Einarr a moment to breathe.

    Once he got a deep breath, he introduced himself and told how he had come to follow Naudrek out to the Bjorn.

    The captain glowered at Einarr and snorted. That was all the warning Einarr had before the man pulled back and planted a second fist in his gut. “Fine. Now we’re even. Don’t let me see you here again.”

    “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Einarr choked out. As he staggered back toward the docks, the Captain called past him.

    “That goes for you, too, Naudrek! What were you thinking, bringing a stranger aboard?”

    The man swallowed before he answered. “I was thinking that thing got Hrug’s arm, sir. But I’ll be going, just as you asked.”

    The Captain grunted. “Hrug was a good sailor. Sorry to see the two of ye go.”

    “Me, too, sir.”

    Once they were a good ways up the docks, Naudrek breathed a sigh. “That was why I’d wanted to wait for morning. Captain’s got a temper, and he sticks with whatever he decides when it’s up. Guess it’s time to find me a new ship.”

    “I just might be able to help with that…”

    Day was dawning as the two men returned to the Pewter Pot, and it seemed a pale and wan thing after the night’s exertions. Einarr disliked that he had gotten the man thrown off his ship, even if Naudrek denied that he was to blame.

    Hrug’s face was as wan as the morning light, but he slept peacefully in one of the Pewter Pot’s few bed closets. It was perhaps for the best that he had not awakened yet: better to face reality in the light of day, with friends on hand. And, on the subject of misplaced blame, Naudrek hovered over his former crewmate like a mother bird over its nest.

    The mute finally awakened around midday, although the cast of his eyes said he wished he had not. By supper, though, color had come back to the man’s face, and he sat up and acted lively again. Einarr brought his bowl of greasy stew with its slab of dark bread over then.

    “The two of you helped me in my quest, and it cost you. But I bet if you come back to the Shrouded Village with me, there will be some sort of reward to be had.”

    Hrug only shrugged, but Naudrek urged him to go. “After all,” he said, “if the blessed alfs can’t help you, who can?”

    Thus it was decided, and on the first day of autumn the three men set off from Eskiborg, with only a brief stop at the Bronze Archer. Einarr wanted to let Eydri know she’d been right about Sinmora – and to remind her that, if she was still in want of a ship come spring, he would likely still be in need of a Singer.

    Business in the city concluded, they set back out on the main road leading into the interior of the island. It struck Einarr that he still had no clear idea where in the seas they were, other than near waters claimed by the Konneul Empire, nor did he know the name of the island, or even if it was a lone island or an archipelago. Mentally, he shrugged. He could always ask the alfrs, before they sent him back to Breidhaugr and the Vidofnir.

    As their feet carried them down the road, only half-remembered but impossible to miss at this stage, and Einarr regaled his two new companions with tales of his adventures on his father’s ship, it occurred to him that something was different now, not in him but in the world around him. He fell quiet a moment as it struck him: not once during this elf-quest had he cursed his Calling as Cursebreaker.

    “Einarr? Everything all right?” Naudrek asked.

    Einarr shook his head, unsure for how long he’d lapsed into silence and unwilling to ask. “Right as rain, Naudrek. Right as rain.” Here he paused again, finally deciding against telling them that right this instant. “Just thinking how surprised master Melja will be when he hears how we did it.” And that was true, too. Now they just needed to get back to the village.

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! This marks the second-to-last chapter of Book 7: Einarr and the Crimson Shroud. Book 8 will begin on October 8, 2019.

    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.

  • 7.32 – The Muspel Shroud

    7.32 – The Muspel Shroud

    The shadow of the Shroud was a deep blood-red in the faint illumination still coming off the deck of the Bjorn. Sinmora practically hummed in Einarr’s hand as he stood on deck, facing the target of his quest once more.

    Naudrek faced the Shroud at his side, and for that Einarr was grateful. He wasn’t sure how much help the other man would be against a living piece of cloth, but it was still good to have an ally.

    Sinmora’s hum increased in time with Einarr’s resolve. Over the water, the Shroud seemed to quiver in place, almost as though it were cornered.

    Why, though? Einarr was not going to complain, but it was puzzling. Why did the Shroud need to bother with a boat at all? It could fly under its own power, and it was not a creature to need rest. Whatever the reason, it was working to Einarr’s advantage. Still, though, he needed to get it back over the deck to end the standoff. Einarr took a testing step forward.

    The Shroud began circling back around toward the deck, almost as though the water was as fearsome to it as Einarr’s awakened blade. Of course. The wards that were used to contain it were based around the water runes. That’s why they collapsed when Sinmora first awakened. As fascinating as that was, however, it didn’t solve the problem. By the time the Shroud stood over the deck, Einarr would be in the water.

    Naudrek snorted and sheathed his blade. “Keep its attention a minute.”

    Einarr hummed in answer and turned his full attention back to the Shroud as Naudrek quietly slipped away. Frowning, Einarr took another step towards the Shroud where it hung like a banner in strong wind. The Shroud, predictably, circled back the other direction. Marginally closer to the deck, he supposed, but not enough.

    They repeated the steps of this dance a few more times, the Shroud always remaining a few feet out over the side of the boat, where Einarr could not hope to reach it with Sinmora.

    “Incoming!” Naudrek’s voice rang out even as Einarr heard the whistling of a spear through the air and saw a barbed bident flash out over the water. Reflexively (does it have reflexes?) the Shroud wrapped itself around the fishing spear’s handle even as Naudrek began to pull it in.

    A grin split Einarr’s face: so the man was clever as well as impetuous, was he? Good. Maybe Einarr would try to steal him away from the Captain of the Bjorn.

    The Shroud jerked and tugged on the spear point, but drew inexorably nearer to the wall of the ship and the blade that devoured magic. Naudrek’s arms strained, but did not falter.

    Einarr shifted on the balls of his feet, ready to lunge. Sinmora he brought up, ready to slash at the fabric. Please let this work.

    Sinmora pulsed, much like she had back in the vault. Einarr took a deep breath.

    Naudrek had the spear haft in hand again, and slammed the point of the bident down into the deck boards.

    Now the Muspel Shroud thrashed wildly, pulling at the spear where it was pierced like a wild animal in a trap. It would keep pulling, Einarr knew, until its fabric tore and it could kill again. He had already seen that a simple thing like a pin or a tear would not stop the Shroud.

    Sinmora pulsed again, and he brought his blade down in a mighty chop. The still, quiet voice in the back of his head remarked that the Captain would be right to demand damages of them. He silenced it.

    A flash of red light nearly blinded him, and lines of a fiery energy converged in a whirlpool around Sinmora’s blade.

    There was a sound like steam escaping a kettle, and the edges of the shroud went from red to black to grey. Underneath the screaming whine, though, Einarr heard the telltale sound of ripping cloth.

    Sinmora pulsed again, and the fire energy began to flow faster. Unlike in the vault beneath the temple, though, this time the magic did not manifest immediately on the blade.

    The shriek grew louder, echoing across the water below, but still the tearing noise continued as an undertone.

    No you don’t… He drew back, and drove Sinmora down into the cloth once more.

    Abruptly, the transition from red through black to grey accellerated. A moment later, Einarr and Naudrek stood panting, their weapons still embedded in the deck, with a small pile of ash between them. The steel of Sinmora’s blade had taken on a red-gold cast, and Einarr could still feel his sword pulsing with power.

    With a deep breath, Einarr loosened his blade from where it had stuck fast in the deck boards. It was finished. He had hoped, on some level, to have a trophy to take back to Melja and prove his deed, but such was not to be. As it was, he had the fire pulsing in the sword (for how long? He did not know), and Naudrek’s witness, and a pile of ash.

    “Is it… over?” The other man asked, a little tentatively.

    With a nod, not tearing his eyes away from the spot where, not even a minute ago, the Shroud was doing everything in its power to escape. “Looks like it.”

    Naudrek gave a tug and a bitter laugh. “Well, Hrug, at least you’ve had what little justice we can give you.”

    Einarr stood a long moment, staring at the still faintly-glowing sword blade. “I almost can’t believe that worked. And I still don’t know why you can do that, Sinmora.”

    “Really?” Naudrek laughed again. “It’s time we got back to our bunks for the night, if you’re talking to your sword.”

    “Heh. I suppose. Not like you don’t want to check on your friend at all, though.”

    “Not at all. And not like I want to avoid the Captain right this minute, either. Let’s go… and if you can stop the deck from glowing, it might not be a bad idea.”

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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.

  • 7.30 – Midnight Assault

    7.30 – Midnight Assault

    They were well into the midnight watch, and shadows cast by the fire flickering in the hearth sent shadows dancing over the walls. Hrug grunted and jostled Einarr with an elbow. Dutifully, but without much hope, Einarr turned to look, expecting just another false alarm.

    Something slid through the smoke and down into the firelight. For just an instant, Einarr thought he saw red.

    The color only lasted a moment, but now Einarr could see something moving even after it was out of the light. He nodded for Hrug as he shifted to face the fluttering Shroud, unsure if the man saw. Either way, he reset his grip on Sinmora’s handle even as he brought the blade back up to guard.

    Naudrek moved around, as well, and now the three men formed a line watching the movement of deeper darkness through the room. If it knew they watched, it gave no sign.

    Einarr focused his will on Sinmora, feeling for the humming vibration that he thought meant he was close to awakening its power, even as he followed the Shroud’s path through the room (for there was no mistaking it for anything but the Shroud).

    Still the thing ignored them. It was headed for the side of the room where the trestle tables never were, where the proprietress put down rugs that kept down the mud and made the hallingdanse, which she actively encouraged, treacherous sport indeed.

    Carefully, Einarr stepped forward, followed a moment later by his two unexpected allies. They, more than anything, made him feel that this was possible tonight. Thus it was that as they stalked toward their apparently unwary prey, a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

    As they approached, Naudrek took hold of a long candlestick and held it up like one would a brand.

    The Shroud began to glow with a light the color of molten rock, casting the entirety of the hall in an evil red light. The temperature of the room seemed to grow noticeably hotter, to the point where sweat began to bead on Einarr’s forehead almost immediately.

    That was the moment the Shroud abruptly changed direction, zipping back toward the three who had thought themselves unnoticed.

    Naudrek thrust forward with the candlestick, and as it momentarily tangled itself around the would-be brand Einarr saw that there were no tears to be seen in its fabric. A moment of fear pulsed behind his ears, followed quickly by the resolve to end this here, and Sinmora began to hum.

    The Shroud untangled itself from the candlestick to reveal a half-melted, burning candle. Hrug gave a wordless yell and slashed at the delicate-looking material, only to have the artifact wrap itself around the blade. Soon after Hrug’s yell changed in timber from defiance to pain as the sword flashed white hot. The guard melted against his hand and fused to the hilt, which glowed red even through the leather bindings. The smell of burned flesh rose like smoke. Eldritch fire began to climb up Hrug’s arm and the man screamed again.

    Einarr did not think, he merely acted. Fast as lightning, Sinmora cleaved through Hrug’s arm at the elbow. The forearm was ash before it hit the floor.

    Hrug staggered backward, clutching at the stump of his arm, his face grown pale and his eyes and mouth open wide in a silent scream.

    “No!” Naudrek screamed.

    Einarr ripped the hem from his tunic. Hrug would still die, if Einarr didn’t move quickly, and that was something he could not allow. The man had stepped up to help with no thought of reward. The malign red light in the room faded as Einarr wrapped the tourniquet just above the cut he himself had caused. Someone caught Hrug as he began to collapse and lowered him gently to the floor – Naudrek, Einarr saw.

    The rest of the hall was beginning to rouse itself, now, in response to the commotion.

    One of the sailors who had turned their backs on Einarr before demanded “What goes on here?”

    “The Muspel Shroud was here. Someone call for an herb-witch!”

    “The Shroud…” Naudrek muttered, his voice full of hate.

    “We’ve still got one more chance.”

    “It got away. Up through the smoke hole.”

    “We know where it’s going. He will live, and he will have vengeance.”

    The other man grunted.

    “Is someone going for a healer?” Einarr asked the room. The owner had stumbled out, bleary-eyed and somehow even more rumpled than when Einarr had first met her. “This man needs an herb-witch, or a Singer.”

    The owner shouted out a name, and a boy some years younger than Einarr appeared from the loft – one of her sons, he guessed – and slipped out the door. “He’ll have one. Shroud gone?”

    “From here.”

    The owner nodded, then turned and went back in to her bed closet.

    Einarr looked to Naudrek, who was checking his friend’s body over for other injuries. “We should go after it.”

    With only a little reluctance the other man agreed. “You will be avenged,” he muttered to the fallen Hrug. “Follow me.”

    The two of them stepped out into the moonlight streets of the docks district and Einarr was struck once again by how large Eskiborg was. Naudrek took off at a jog, and Einarr followed. Not many minutes later, they passed the boy from the Pot leading a rather bleary-looking middle-aged woman going the other way.

    Naudrek did not lead them to the broad, main street that cut through the city like a sword, but rather deeper into the twisty, narrow streets of the Docks district. Before long the only thing Einarr was certain of was that they headed generally east, toward the water’s edge, where the Bjorn floated, awaiting both its stowaway and the pursuers.

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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.