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.”
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Table of Contents
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