Tangled Threads Publishing

Tag: Alfvin

  • 14.38 – Denouement

    14.38 – Denouement

    Author’s Note: Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Maxima Culpa. This should have been posted months ago. Between March and June of this year, we moved twice – once halfway around the world – and when I wasn’t actively involved in packing/unpacking, I suddenly had the Young Master at home all the time, rather than at Montessori school. None of this was conducive to writing. So, today you will get this last chapter. Then, sometime next week or perhaps in the first part of the new year, there will be a definitive announcement as to my next project. And, at some point in there, this website will be getting rebuilt, as recent changes appear to have broken my old design.

    Some months later, the remainder of the Fleet sailed into Breidelstein harbor, Bea’s Valkyrie ships integrated into their number and most of their dead laid to rest off the coast of the cursed isle. The charred bones of Arring and Thjofgrir rode in state, along with one or two others, to allow the people of Breidelstein the chance to pay their respects, as well.

    Someone must have ordered a lookout for the fleet, because as they sailed into port, the streets were lined with somber crowds. It looked as though the entire city had come out to welcome them back. They had sent no word ahead, so perhaps this – as well as the anxious mood of the crowd – was understandable.

    As they neared the piers, three ships moved out ahead of the rest: The Heidrun, the Lúmskulf, and, between them, the Vidofnir.

    When Stigander stepped to the gangplank and raised a fist high overhead, the crowd erupted into cheers. Soon, he was joined on the pier by Einarr, then by Kaldr, and then, after another moment, by Bea, who grinned at the crowd before her. Her appearance occasioned some little surprise, but not enough to dampen anyone’s enthusiasm.

    These four strode at the head of a long procession of warriors, Captains and crews together, up the cliff road to Raenshold. There, they were met at the gate by Uncle Gorgny, steward during Stigander’s absence, and Runa with Alfvin, flanked by what looked like everyone who lived in the Hold. Einarr blinked in surprise to see how much little Alfvin was grown in less than a year. He still managed to smile at everyone as Stigander accepted back the crown and sword of his office.

    Runa, their son on her hip, fell in beside him as the procession continued on toward the main hall, now larger by the residents of Raenshold. “Welcome home.”

    “I’m glad to be home. What did I miss?”

    “Other than me, I presume?”

    He glanced down, wary, but her expression was impish. He wrapped an arm around her waist, between her and Alfvin. “Of course.”

    “He’s not talking yet, but he can walk. Or, more accurately, he runs. Everywhere.”

    It was all Einarr could do not to laugh. He was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be funny for long. “That’s my boy, I guess.”

    Alfvin giggled and grabbed at Runa’s ear. When she had distracted him again – Einarr had no idea with what – she continued. “Still no sign of any trouble from our little adventure in Svartalfheimr, but we’re watching.”

    “Good.”

    The procession neared the doors of the Thane’s Hall now, and all fell silent. Stigander made a gesture, and the guards flanking the doors threw them open.

    It had not, in fact, been the entire population of the hold who had come to greet them at the gates, for the Hall, too, was packed with people. Certain familiar faces stood out to Einarr: there was his father-in-law, Jarl Hroaldr. His presence, at least, was no surprise: he had probably stayed to play with his grandson. There, the old men from the Althing before they left – Kjartan, and Geirleif, Tore and Olaf and Thorgnyr. Surely they had not stayed here the entire time? Or was the idea that they had returned ahead of the fleet more troubling?

    The Hall was eerily silent as the procession marched up the center of the Hall. When Stigander and Einarr took the first step up towards the dias, however, a low rumble began in the back of the room, and as the returning column filled the hall to bursting it grew into a full-throated cheer.

    Stigander raised his arms and, as though on command, the crowd fell silent once more. “And now,” he intoned, “for the second time in less than a year, the Althing is convened, so that all may know the results of our quest.”

    * * *

    Unlike in the spring, the Althing stretched on, long past what was customary and to the point where some wondered if Breidelstein would be required to host the entire fleet of ships over the winter. This would be no small feat for a country as prosperous as Breidelstein had been under Raen. As things were now, having only just escaped from Ulfr and the Weavess? It would be ruinous. Oh, there was glory to be shared, and honor to be gained, and there could be no doubt that the men who had joined the fleet would gain much face on their return home, but already it began to strain the thin coffers that they had hardly begun to rebuild. Einarr found his time more and more taken up with the daily running of Breidelstein and he stopped following the Althing.

    Runa caught Einarr worrying over it one night and suddenly discovered that she had business to attend to with the other Singers. Some hours later, when she returned, he was too tired from running after Alfvin to worry about much of anything.

    Rumors began to circulate, though, starting among the warriors of the fleet. Whispers that, with as well as the Fleet performed together, unified, perhaps there would be value to the Clans more generally from a similar joining. At first, he thought nothing of it. Truly, it would be a good idea, but he had missed most of a year of his son’s life, and there were precious few of those before Alfvin would have to leave to study under the Oracle. Then he saw an expression on Runa’s face, when two men were discussing it in his hearing, that suggested she was the cat who got the cream. His hackles immediately rose.

    Three days later, a servant came to inform him he was wanted for the discussions in the Hall.

    The doors of the Hall stood open when he arrived, and as he turned to face the Thanes and Jarls in the room before him he smoothed sweaty palms on his tunic. Inside, Runa offered him an encouraging smile.

    Ahead, Stigander stood on the step of the dais, beckoning him forward. Suddenly the expectant looks of the powerful men in the room seemed as heavy as all the stone over Nilthiad. He squared his shoulders and entered anyway. When he reached the dais, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his father and opened his mouth. Before he could ask what this was all about, however, Thane Thorgnyr rose from where he had been seated in deliberations.

    “Einarr son of Stigander son of Raen, you have brought great honor upon your head. Not only did you return at the head of the fleet after a successful quest, every man in this Hall recalls how you fought to bring that fleet together in the first place. In the months since you have left, word has reached our domains of other cities razed by these madmen… some in the time since you must have left their island stronghold.”

    Einarr bowed his head slightly – he was a prince and a war-leader, but Thorgnyr was Thane to his father-in-law. “Thank you, milord.”

    Thorgnyr smirked, and Einarr’s belly went cold. “It has been agreed among the Althing that one is needed whom we can all answer to. We would not have been caught so unawares by the mad cult had we been more trusting of one another. Therefore, for the first time in centuries, the Clans have agreed amongst themselves to acclaim an Althane.”

    The cold in Einarr’s belly turned to an iceberg. Surely they couldn’t mean him? He cleared his throat. “My lords. I have spent the first decade of my career at sea as a humble freeboater. I have claimed my birthright, but it still sits strangely on my shoulders. I do not think…”

    “You are too modest.” A woman’s voice rang out over the Hall, but not from the Singers conclave. Bea stood up and stepped forward. “Your native wit and wisdom – which, I might add, extends to your choosing of advisors – serve you well, such that even I find myself indebted to you. It is no small thing to earn the gratitude of a Gundahar.”

    Thorgnyr inclined his head to Beatrix as to an equal. Any other Imperial likely would have been mortally offended: thankfully, Beatrix was not so minded.

    “The Princess speaks what we all believe. Furthermore, she has suggested that such a joining could bring financial benefits to the Clans, as well as security. Furthermore, while you are currently heir to Breidelstein, you are also Lord over no lands. This is a rare combination. However, acclaiming an Althane against his will would, perhaps, be worse than acclaiming no Althane at all. Will you stand before the Althing and permit the vote?”

    Einarr gaped, aware that he probably looked rather like a fish. Finally, he managed to speak. “Might I have a word with my wife, first?”

    No-one raised any objection. Indeed, Stigander pulled aside a curtain behind the dais and motioned them both back.

    Out from under the watchful eyes of all the Clan leaders, Einarr breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at Runa. “Just to be clear, you didn’t… do anything to anyone, did you?”

    She blushed, but shook her head. “I didn’t even start the rumors. Those came from out among the men of the Fleet.” She couldn’t quite suppress a girlish laugh.

    “Aye,” said a voice from behind him. Einarr jumped: he hadn’t realized anyone else was back here.

    “Jorir? What are you doing here?”

    “Keeping my ears open for trouble, mostly. But ‘twas me who started putting bees in people’s ears about the matter. I… hope ye’ll forgive the indiscretion.”

    Einarr sighed and buried his face in his hand, trying desperately not to laugh in his friend’s face. “Of course. Well. I suppose, then, that I needn’t have worried how you would take it, Runa.”

    She nodded, biting her lower lip, and pushed him back towards the curtain. “We’ll work out the succession later.”

    Einarr pushed the curtain aside and stepped back out on the dais to stand beside his father. “Very well. I will stand for the vote.”

    One by one, the leaders of the Clans stood, and one by one they pledged to follow the lead of the Althane, Einarr the Cursebreaker.

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    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    This is what I expect to be the final book of The Adventures of Einarr Stigandersen. After four, almost five, years and fourteen books, I’m ready to move on to other projects – and I’m sure Einarr is ready for me to do so, as well – if only so I stop tormenting him! Fear not, however: my intention is to start a new serial, although not a purely free one. Look for a poll or an announcement from me in the next few weeks as I firm up my ideas.

    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 e-book 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.

  • 14.6 – The Althing

    14.6 – The Althing

    Over the next three weeks, representatives of more clans filtered in to Breidelstein, and during that time Einarr held three more evening saunas with captains who had seen the destruction first-hand. Some of them were spooked. All of them listened with interest to Einarr’s tale of fighting against the demon fleet.

    At last, however, the date of the Althing was at hand, and the time for private negotiations was at an end.

    The first day was taken up with the reading of the Laws and with the reaffirming – and, in the case of Breidelstein, often the mending – of old alliances. It would be many years before they could fully undo the damage done to the clan by the Weavess’ machinations. Einarr was present with his father for many of these negotiations, but while he managed to make the proper noises in support of his father, mentally he was rehearsing for the next day.

    On the second day of the Althing, the representatives of all the gathered clans met to discuss their way forward, given the League’s activities and the destruction being wreaked upon the islands. Einarr sat with the other captains of Breidelstein, listening to the old men debate. His nervousness was rapidly turning to irritation.

    Runa, with the Singer’s delegation, smiled at him from across the room. Alfvin, he knew, was with his nurse, so they needn’t worry about the baby disturbing the proceedings.

    “It seems to me,” the Jarl of Búdholm was saying, “That all we’re really dealing with is this so-called League, and perhaps some rogue freeboaters who don’t like them infringing on their turf.”

    “How many freeboaters do you know with Painters on board?” Bollinn’s voice called out across the crowd.

    “Painters get enthralled from time to time. One of them could easily have decided to work his Art for his new master.”

    Einarr sighed and pressed his hands to his knees, rising finally to his feet. “Could have, perhaps. But I myself have seen the messages these so-called ‘Painters’ have burned into stone walls. They are written in Runes, and they spew acid against all those who practice seithir. No Imperial Painter educated enough to read runes would inscribe such a thing, or be willing to work his Art for one who believed such things.”

    “Oh?” Someone else asked archly. “The Prince of Breidelstein has great wisdom, to know what an Imperial dog will or will not do.”

    “Peace, Kjartan,” answered Jarl Hroaldr. “The young Cursebreaker has seen more of the world than any five of us combined. Besides, if Painters are even half so well taught as our own Singers, it would be hard to convince one to declare himself a scourge upon the land.”

    “So says his father-in-law, anyway.”

    “Peace!” Thane Geirleif of Ulfkirk roared. “The Prince of Breidelstein has the floor.”

    Einarr bowed respectfully to the man in the neutral seat. “My thanks, Lord Geirleif. It is true that Jarl Hroaldr is my father-in-law. It is also true that I was on my father’s ship, for all intents and purposes a freeboater myself, since the age of eleven. Then, a decade later, things really got interesting when they told me I was a Cursebreaker.” He let himself smile a little, to show it was meant as levity. “I have traveled the alfen High Roads and braved the Paths of Stone – and even rescued an Imperial princess from a corrupted kraken and its meat puppets. While I may have met a Painter on that quest, I was not aware of doing so. However, it is as Jarl Hroaldr says. The devotees of Malùnion despise the Arts, and make no use of the rune magic – only the letters. Any Painter who fell into their hands would either be slaughtered immediately or sacrificed to their god, in exchange for some measure of his power.”

    “I still have seen no evidence–!”

    “That this cult even exists, Lord Kjartan? I am glad you have not. I could wish I had not. Nevertheless, it lives – nay, thrives! – in the shadows of our world. The League’s methods are misguided. I might even call them idiotic. But. Their goal is a right one. And, in pursuing it, they have discovered that the Squiddies had not just a presence but a veritable redoubt in the catacombs of Kem.”

    “Which was destroyed by the League.” Tore of Hrafnhaugr chimed in.

    “Which was destroyed by the League. And which nearly destroyed the League in the process – or its expeditionary force, at least. There was a single survivor. And, thanks to that single survivor, we now know where to go in order to strike at the heart of Malùnion’s worship. With a little luck, working together we can sever this corruption from our world before the rot can infect anyplace else.”

    “You speak as though the existence of this so-called cult is certain. Nothing I have heard here suggests anything of the sort, however.” Thane Olaf of Sweindalr objected.

    Einarr smirked. “Would you have me tell you of the svartalfr fortress beneath a nameless island near Langavik, what they did to Langavik and what they were going to do to my wife? Of the ships that traveled with monstrosities beneath their decks and storms above their masts? Of the black blood that sickens and corrupts everything it touches? Of the meat-puppets a creature of Malùnion created to serve its will in the warm waters of the Empire? Or would you have me call forth Jorir and Jennora, to tell of what the worshipers of Malùnion did to Nilthiad in svartalfheimr over two hundred years? Do you wish to hear from Bollinn of Kjell what they found at Kliftorp? The cult is very real, my lord, and your own Captain has seen the evidence for himself.”

    Annoyed, Thane Olaf glared at Serk, who nodded that yes, he had.

    Thane Olaf snorted. “I suppose a quest such as this would be a suitable test for a young Cursebreaker, wouldn’t it?”

    Einarr wanted to laugh. According to Runa, for a Cursebreaker he was quite old. That was beside the point, however. “Of course. We, the men of Breidelstein, will sail forth to smash this threat where it hides. I cannot in good conscience allow their depredations to continue. I and my Heidrun will be going, with or without help. If you choose to hide behind your own cowardice, that is no affair of mine. However, there is plenty of glory to go around, and every ship we send is one more arrow aimed at the black heart of Malùnion.”

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    So begins what I expect to be the final book of The Adventures of Einarr Stigandersen. After four, almost five, years and fourteen books, I’m ready to move on to other projects – and I’m sure Einarr is ready for me to do so, as well – if only so I stop tormenting him! Fear not, however: my intention is to start a new serial, although not a purely free one. Look for a poll or an announcement from me in the next few weeks as I firm up my ideas.

    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.

     

  • 14.5 – Conference

    14.5 – Conference

    The Heidrun ran up the white flag as they approached the freehold Gabriel led them to. Even so, as he waited at the top of the gangplank, while Gabriel approached up the beach, they were greeted by a sturdy older woman wielding a massive axe in one hand and a proper shield in the other. She scowled fiercely at the approaching boat, and Einarr thought she would likely give a good accounting of herself, just on sheer determination.

    Then she saw Gabriel and let the axe head drop. “You’re alive? Then, is…?”
    Gabriel nodded. “He’s in Breidelstein: they say we can start over there. Kem is gone.”

    Relief and fury warred on the woman’s face – relief, he was sure, for the safety of her husband. Fury, he didn’t have to guess at.

    “Leave Flatey? Start over? Are you mad?”

    “What else are we supposed to do? With Kem gone, we’ve no-one to trade with between here and Breidelstein. No apothecary, no herb witch. One bad winter would kill us all.”

    “The lad is right,” Einarr chimed in, still standing on the deck. “It might not even take a bad winter: there are monsters at sea now. Raenshold has men who have fought them before, and a good harbor, and lots of unworked land to boot. I’m afraid the Heidrun isn’t equipped to carry much livestock, but we’ve enough cargo space for anything else you care to bring.”

    The woman stood there, staring at both of them, her mouth working soundlessly, for a long time. As the quiet dragged on, the fury faded from her face and her shoulders began to sag.

    “You may as well come ashore. We’ll need some time to pack.”

    Einarr’s Heidrunings were still gripped with a solemn urgency when they docked once more in Breidelstein. Gabriel’s master waited at the docks for his family – which plainly included Gabriel, no matter what his technical status was. Einarr was pleased that had worked out as well as it had, even with everything else weighing on his mind.

    Gorgny also greeted their return at the docks: Einarr was always a little surprised the man was willing to walk down to the port for this sort of thing: he was at least as old as Tyr, and hadn’t spent most of the last twenty years at sea – and that wasn’t accounting for his duties towards Grandfather Raen. Still, if it was Gorgny here and not Father or Kaldr, that meant they were absorbed in other important matters.

    Einarr and his commanders disembarked to join him, escorting the former Captain of the League, Thrand, and the seven of them set off at a quick pace for the cliff road. “What’s happened while we’ve been out?” Einarr asked Gorgny.

    “I see you’ve returned with another new face, milord?” The old advisor raised an eyebrow.

    The meaning was plain. “He’s our captive, but also a refugee. Lone survivor of the massacre of Kem.”

    Gorgny nodded. “Representatives have been arriving since not long after you left, milord. I’m sure they are all waiting to learn what you have found out.”

    Fair enough. Einarr wasn’t entirely certain how trustworthy Thrand was at this point, either, and that was after traveling with the man. “So long as they allow us enough time to wash the salt off – and maybe for the rest of my crew to finish unloading and do the same. Any other reports of razed settlements?”

    “I’m afraid so, milord. The Kjellings ran into one on their way, as did one or two other representatives. The Captain of the Skudbrun seemed particularly disturbed by what he saw.”

    “Understandably so. He’s seen it before, too. … Let those who found the massacres know that, should they wish to compare notes, I intend to sweat out the ashes of Kem in the sauna tonight. I would like a chance to speak with them privately. Probably for the best if Father does not attend: I will let him know what I intend.”

    “Yes, milord.”

    “By that same token, before dinner I will be in my chambers with Runa and Alfvin. We are not to be disturbed unless it’s an emergency.”

    “Of course, milord.”

    Einarr sat in the sauna, a towel wrapped about his waist, his elbows on his knees and his eyes closed. He was glad Bollinn was here: that would make matters easier, even accounting for the close ties between their clans. He still didn’t know who the other two were: he hoped he could count on them to see what was necessary.

    Einarr heard a rap on the door. “Enter.”

    A blast of cool air reminded Einarr of just how hot it was in here: he stood and dipped some water over the coals. When he returned to the bench, Bollinn sat across from him.

    “Einarr.”

    “Good to see you. How’re the Brunnings holding up?”

    Bollinn shrugged. “Langavik wasn’t necessarily worse, but everything that followed was. We’ll hold up just fine.”

    Einarr nodded. “Where was it?”

    “Kliftorp.”

    Einarr blinked. He had to think a long time to remember anything about them. “Hard to make an example out of a tiny place like that, I’d think.”

    “Lots of cloth coming out of Kliftorp in the last five or ten years, and a lot of skillful Weavers.”

    “Ah.” Now it made sense.

    Another rap came on the door, followed by an unfamiliar, although not unpleasant, voice. “We were told we should visit the sauna tonight?”

    “Yes. Please, enter, join us.”

    The two who entered were built like Einarr’s father, but much closer to his own age, and bore the scars of many battles. One of them had hair almost as red as Einarr’s – and a nose that had been broken more than once. The other was as blond as Stigander and as paunchy as Erik.

    “Tore, Captain of the Sterkerbjorn out of Hrafnhaugr,” the redhead introduced himself.

    “A pleasure. Not sure I ever had the pleasure of seeing Hrafnhaugr.”

    Tore smirked. “Not much reason for a ship of freeboaters to head that way.”

    Einarr nodded his acknowledgment, then turned to the man who looked shockingly like a younger version of his father.

    “Serk, of the Björtstag. From Sweindalr.”

    Bollinn waved silently: evidently, they’d all been here long enough to become acquainted already.

    “Good to meet you both, and I’m glad you came. I’m certain you can guess why I called you all here tonight.”

    “Oh, aye, that’s not hard to figure.” Tore settled himself on a bench and fixed a level eye at Einarr. “What I want to know is why?”

    Serk, too, took a seat on a bench and settled himself leaning against a wall. “I’d like to know that, myself. I’m not sure there’s really much to talk about, is there?”

    “A couple years ago, I might have thought the same. Then the worshipers of a dark demigod named Malùnion kidnapped my wife…”

     

    Previous

    Next

    Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

    So begins what I expect to be the final book of The Adventures of Einarr Stigandersen. After four, almost five, years and fourteen books, I’m ready to move on to other projects – and I’m sure Einarr is ready for me to do so, as well – if only so I stop tormenting him! Fear not, however: my intention is to start a new serial, although not a purely free one. Look for a poll or an announcement from me in the next few weeks as I firm up my ideas.

    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.

     

  • 13.28 – Homecoming

    13.28 – Homecoming

    Author’s Note: This marks the end of Book 13. Book 14 will begin on 12/7/2021.

    When the Villgås finally returned to Breidelstein harbor, almost six months after its departure, they were met by a cheering mass of people on the docks – including, this time, Stigander himself. Einarr and Runa stood on the deck as the other four men took them to their berth. When their hull tapped the dock, Einarr hopped across himself to lash their boat fast even as Thjofgrir and Jorir put the gangplank in place.

    Einarr kissed his father’s hands, and then moved to the gangplank to help the women down.

    First was Runa, and everyone cheered a little louder when she made her appearance on the plank. Her swollen belly was plain for all to see, and while it had caused them some difficulty on the water no-one really minded: there would be, in very short order, an heir for the Prince, and that would be as much cause for celebration in the town as their return itself.

    After Runa came Jennora – also with child, as it happened. Brandir had been serious about sending his sister as Jorir’s wife, and the two had been married during the farewell feast itself. It was highly irregular, even among dvergr so far as Einarr knew, but they both seemed happy. The crowd was less certain what to think about the svartdvergr woman, but when she was joined on the plank by Jorir and she took his arm their uncertainty seemed to vanish.

    They were followed swiftly by the Singer the Matrons had sent to keep an eye on Runa and her babe – as well as the rest of the crew. They had all, save Jennora, been exposed to a great deal of the black blood, after all, and the effects of its corruption could be insidious.

    She also carried Vali’s jar. When the Matrons had asked for volunteers among their healers, it had been curiosity about the strange spirit that had prodded her to join them.

    Eydri and Reki were there as well – Eydri looking eager, and Reki under the shade of her cloak with her usual calm demeanor. The crowd continued to cheer as Kaldr and Naudrek and Thjofgrir descended, but Stigander had claimed Einarr’s attention.

    “By the gods, when did this happen?” He gestured at Runa’s belly. “Surely you didn’t -”

    Einarr shook his head. “No. We had no idea until it was too late. But, according to the Matrons, all is well even after everything we went through down there. …Think you’re ready to be a grandfather?”

    Stigander laughed. “More than! And let’s see, I see Jorir has returned to us as well. You’ll have to introduce me properly to his new wife… but we seem to be missing someone. Could Vali not stand the idea of a crowd?”

    “That’s complicated, I’m afraid, and something best spoken of in a rather more private setting.”

    “Of course, of course.” They started walking up the road towards the cliff and the Hold. “Did you have any trouble with the League?”

    Two weeks after the Villgås returned to port, the winter ice hit and the bay froze over completely – they had to stop the occasional intrepid youth from trekking out on snowshoes to taunt the bones of the Weavess, it was frozen so hard.

    For three months, Breidelstein was in the grip of a fierce winter, and for three months it seemed like every woman in the Hold was constantly occupied with needle and thread.

    Then, on a very wet night just as the grip of the cold was beginning to break, and as snowdrops were beginning to peek out from under the thick blanket of snow, Einarr was summoned by a maidservant to Runa’s side: it was time.

    Einarr raced through the Hold to get there. He arrived just in time to hear the angry wail of a newborn and see his wife’s exhausted smile. Then the midwife was holding the baby out for him to take, and the little one commanded all his attention.

    “…It’s a boy?” He couldn’t guess why, but he was whispering.

    Runa nodded. Einarr laughed, then noticed that his son – my son! – was shivering. Quickly, he handed him to his wife.

    “How do you feel about Alfvin for a name?”

    She smirked at him as she took the babe and held him to her breast. “What, so you can tweak Ystävä’s nose?”

    Einarr chuckled: the thought honestly hadn’t crossed his mind, although now that she mentioned it he was tempted. “No, because of the Oracle’s price.”

    She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

    “When she named me Cursebreaker, she also read my weave. For payment… she wanted my firstborn to come and study under her, since my own education was so ‘lacking.’”

    “What?!”

    “Not until he’s eight! We were still drifters, then: it seemed like a good opportunity.”

    Runa sighed and shook her head. “I don’t have the energy to debate that now.” She smiled down at the little reddish infant snuggled against her. “Alfvin is a fine name. Between the Oracle, and Ystävä, and Melja, it’s certainly got the ring of truth to it.”

    That night, Einarr was left alone to spend time with his new family.

    Three weeks later, the League sent out a proclamation.

    “To all the Men of the North! We, the League of Free Men, call upon our fellows in the North to join us in battle against the heretical cult responsible for sacking our cities, kidnapping our women, and corrupting our men!” Einarr read. “Representatives of our order will be arriving soon. In these desperate times, we must all band together, or one by one we will find ourselves devoured by the monstrosities of the Squid worshipers. For the sake of all we hold dear, it is time we clans of the North band together under one banner to stamp out this threat.”

    Einarr looked up from the paper at his father and Kaldr, incredulous. “Surely we don’t intend to stand for this?”

    His father rumbled. “No, not at all.”

    “Something about that League has rubbed me the wrong way since we met them,” Einarr grumbled. “Have you contacted any of the other clans?”

    “Only Hroaldr’s thus far.” Even as he spoke, Stigander was pulling out fresh paper. “But in order to counter this, we’re going to need some organization of our own.”

     

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