Tangled Threads Publishing

Tag: Grendel

  • 4.11 – Blitz

    4.11 – Blitz

    The area of the yard in front of the dungeon entrance was, if anything, more heavily guarded than the front had been. As Einarr had feared, their hasty disposal of the torch before had given them away and made getting back in much harder. He glared at Sivid, despite knowing why: should Runa be lost, Jarl Hroaldr would need to name a new heir and Einarr would need to find a new bride. Should Einarr fall, the Cursebreaker fell, and with him all hope of reclaiming their home. It was not a fact he liked to dwell on. Thankfully, the situation ahead of them demanded too much attention to allow room for such things.

    Ahead of the dungeon door stood twenty warriors, who for all their helms revealed could as easily have been monsters as men. Einarr was abruptly reminded of the Grendelings appearance under the effect of Astrid’s battle-chant. He frowned. “Looks like it’s four apiece. Think we can kill them quick enough not to draw more from around front?”

    “Dicey,” Bollinn muttered. “Wish our distraction had drawn a few more men away from the keep.”

    Jorir grunted, scowling at the group blocking their way. “Always like that, isn’t it? Anyone a quick shot with their bow?”

    Barri nodded. “Maybe even fast enough.”

    Sivid agreed. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we can cover you.”

    “Good,” Einarr breathed. “I think we’re gonna need it. …Jorir, you come in from the left and I’ll take the right if you’ve got center, Bollinn.”

    The hook-nosed man nodded.

    “Fast and quiet. Give us to a slow count of ten to get in place, would you?” Einarr directed the question at the two archers, who also indicated agreement. He breathed out, suddenly nervous. “All right. Fast and quiet.”

    Jorir dashed off to the left, both faster and quieter than a man would expect of any dwarf, while Einarr hurried a distance to the right, ducking down an alley to put a building or two between himself and the Skudbrun’s Mate. Even a slow count of ten didn’t give them very long to get in position before –

    The first arrow whizzed through the air, lodging itself underneath the helmet of one of the guards near the edge of the group. He crumpled.

    Time’s up. Einarr pressed his lips together in a grim line as he charged out of the byway toward the stone door they had found earlier.

    Another arrow sailed through the air, and another guard crumpled. The guard Einarr charged at looked about himself in a frantic way. Einarr did not give him a chance to figure out what was going on: he cut upwards with Sinmora and the guard’s head snapped backwards unnaturally with a spray of dark blood. Ein.

    A few paces ahead of him, a flash of gold caught Einarr’s attention as one of the warriors toppled like a tree, taken out at the knee. A second flash of Jorir’s axe took the enemy’s head before silent shock could transform into a scream. A third man fell to an arrow even as Bollinn impaled another on his blade through his maille.

    Now their enemies were reacting, however. The next arrow clanged loudly off of one of their enemies’ helmets even as Sinmora struck another in the throat. Tveir. Jorir tackled the one who tried to run, his ears probably still ringing from the arrow. They were running out of time.

    Sivid was charging into the yard now even as another pair of arrows found their targets. Barri’s boast had been no idle one, with shooting like that.

    “Cover me!” Sivid made a beeline for the dungeon door. Between him and it were six of the remaining ten guards. Bollinn was locked down. Jorir was still getting back to his feet after dispatching the tackled guard.

    Einarr growled and the man who would have been his next target dashed away. All yours, Barri. If they wanted to succeed, they had to get Sivid to the door.

    One of the two guards on Bollinn had put his back to Einarr: that was a mistake. Einarr dashed forward and kicked hard at the back of the man’s knee. He staggered forward and then Einarr was moving again, running hard for the cluster blocking Sivid’s path. Bollinn joined him four paces later.

    “My thanks,” the other man breathed, his pace not slacking.

    Einarr only grunted, his attention on the fight ahead.

    Sivid got there first, his own sword flashing like a silver fish at the first of the guards in his path. He knocked the helmet from his opponent’s head.

    The face that was revealed there belonged to neither man nor beast, nor any strange hybrid of the two. Einarr pulled up short, but only for a heartbeat. Long enough for Sivid’s blade to flash again and the monstrous head to be parted from its body.

    Einarr shook his head. He couldn’t afford to waste time gawking. Sivid was no slouch, but it would be the worst sort of cowardice not to assist with a mob like that. He surged forward, hacking at the nearest guardsman.

    Bollinn surged ahead even as another pair of arrows whistled past Einarr’s ears, embedding themselves in the eyes of two more helmets.

    Moments later, Bollinn, Einarr and Sivid all stood in front of the dungeon door, catching their breath. Moments later they were joined by the other two.

    “We get everyone?” Barri asked as he jogged up, the last to join them.

    “Seems so.” Einarr had been watching their little battlefield for signs of life and finding none. “Sivid? Whenever you’re ready.”

    Sivid took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s get to it, then.”

    Einarr moved to stand behind the man, his arms folded in a defiant gesture. “We’ve got your back.”

    The mousey little man turned his attention to the stone door, now ignoring the world around him. The others joined Einarr, forming a ring to shield the man who worked at the hidden lock.

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  • 4.7 – Infiltration

    4.7 – Infiltration

    Einarr was among the first to slip, cloaked and hooded, off the Vidofnir’s deck and onto the stone pier below. Moments later he was joined by Sivid: Jorir had argued long and hard for the “honor” of accompanying his liege, but the jump to the pier was awkwardly long even for the humans. With stealth a prime concern, they could not risk exposure so early.

    In truth most of the crew would venture down, each searching the underground settlement as they saw fit – all but the largest and clumsiest among them, in fact, which meant Jorir was in good company waiting on deck. Likewise from the Skudbrun, Trabbi was among those who were forced to wait on more favorable circumstance.

    Sivid adjusted the hood of his cloak before meeting Einarr’s eyes. The man gave a slight nod, and the two of them hurried down the pier on soft soles. Einarr kept them to a fast walk as they neared the more congested areas of the docks. Once or twice he nearly lost track of the mouse-like man when Sivid would dart around a group that blocked the way, but each time found his partner waiting and watching for him on the other side.

    “Thanks,” Einarr muttered as they emerged from the pier onto dry land.

    “No problem. Can’t go getting separated this early, now can we.”

    “Not at all. Any thoughts on where we should start?”

    “If I was looking for some place to keep a sacrifice before the event – which I suppose I am – I’d start by looking for a temple of the offending god.”

    Einarr opened his mouth and realized he had nothing witty to say to that. Shrugging, he settled on: “Well, let’s have a look then.”

    ***

    The cave led upward from the dock at a steep angle and quickly narrowed. Here and there Einarr spotted a small side-passage, but given the smells that wafted through them, they had more about them of a slum than of holy ground. Still, it was not very long before Einarr and Sivid involuntarily slowed.

    Rising up ahead of them was a smooth stone wall. From high above – a hundred feet if it was ten – the same bluish-purple flames illuminated the passage dimly. It looked like…

    “A hold? Here?” Sivid finished the thought for him.

    Einarr exhaled, more loudly than he really intended. They could be in a great deal more danger than they had anticipated. “So it would seem.”

    “We should go back, report to the Captain.”

    “What do we really have to report yet? We should at least try to get inside the walls.”

    “And what happens when we can’t get out again?”

    Einarr shrugged. “We’ll find a way. Come on.”

    Sivid was a gambler and had been for as long as Einarr could remember. All strangeness about ‘luck’ aside, the man knew a good bet from a bad one. So when Sivid made no more objection to Einarr’s suggestion, the younger man was reasonably certain they had a decent chance of managing it.

    The pair moved down the long stone road towards the gate of the keep, matching their movements to the other passers-by as best they could. The wall to their right continued on, smooth and unbroken and the color of steel in the strange light as it curved around away from the water.

    “I feel like we should have seen a gate by now,” Einarr muttered after a time.

    “I feel like we’re walking around a city designed by a paranoid man,” Sivid grumbled. “My best guess says the main gate is on the far side of the keep. Less convenient for day-to-day operations, but also more problematic to assault. Especially with how strong those walls look.”

    Einarr glanced up involuntarily. If Sivid’s hunch was right, that meant the top of these walls could bristle with spears like a hedgehog. If Sivid was right, that meant their two ships had no chance of prevailing in an assault. He shrugged a shoulder to rid himself of the uncomfortable tightness building there. His chain mail jangled.

    When none of the other travelers reacted to the sound of armor, Einarr relaxed a little. There were other ways to prevail than force, after all.

    Finally they could see ahead a dark gash in the wall: the gate. Einarr and Sivid both risked a glance behind them: the water was no longer visible even as a reflection on the walls. Einarr harrumphed, and heard Sivid’s snort. He resettled his hood, trying to ensure his human features were thoroughly obscured. Still, Einarr wondered if that mattered. The crew of the Grendel had seemed to be human, after all… at least when he hadn’t been under Astrid’s battle-fury.

    Einarr stopped in his tracks. Odd. Why had he not realized that before now? He shook his head and hurried three steps to catch up with Sivid. They would be within sight of the gate guards soon. Now was not the time.

    On the far side of the gate stood an open marketplace. Four or five people would be allowed through unhindered, and then the next handful would be stopped. Well. As hard to find as this place was, it was unlikely many crews found their way by chance. Probably most of these people were well-known here. Einarr glanced at his partner, trying not to swallow. Maybe Sivid had been right?

    They were too close now to turn back, though – not without drawing more attention. Einarr hung back a little, pretending to browse at the stalls outside the gates while he watched for an opportunity to enter. Sivid, too, was watching for his chance to cast the dice… metaphorically speaking, thankfully.

    A crowd approached from within the gates, and then the wiry Sivid was on the move. Einarr didn’t see how he did it: in the space of two breaths, he had gone from his position outside the gates to take up a spot, perched on something, within, grinning at Einarr.

    My turn. Einarr thought he would have poor luck slipping through a crowd like Sivid had. Instead, he watched for one going the other direction and tried to blend in at its edge.

    The guard stopped the leader of the group he had joined. Einarr’s heart raced, and more when he realized he did not understand the words they exchanged. He lowered his head, just in case anyone was looking at his face, and focused on breathing quietly. It was only a short exchange: almost before he realized his supposed group began walking again, and Einarr with them. He was in.

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  • 4.2 – Alliance

    4.2 – Alliance

    When the Vidofnings gathered for supper that evening, they were joined by the greatest part of the Skudbrun’s crew – all of both ships, in fact, save those left to keep watch. In the Wandering Warrior that night, an air of confusion quickly turned to the sort of friendly banter they had all enjoyed the previous winter.

    At some point in the middle of the first round of drinks, Stigander and Kragnir stood on a table near the center of the room and called for attention.

    “Gentlemen!” Stigander began. “It is with great pleasure that I see the friendship between our two crews is undiminished after this last spring. It gives me great hope for the success of our coming mission… which I’m afraid is nowhere nearly so happy as our reunion tonight. So, first, a toast to one another’s health.”

    The cheer that went up around the room was somewhat muted, as was probably to be expected after that introduction. A chorus of thunks marked the end of the toast as the men knocked their mugs against the tables. Stigander nodded, and now Captain Kragnir stepped forward.

    “Gentlemen, for the last three weeks we have pursued a ship with a demon’s head that rides a storm black as night.”

    Murmurs of recognition rose from most of the Vidofnings.

    “We give chase because to do otherwise would be unconscionable. Last fall, a ship matching this description murdered your Battle Chanter. Three weeks ago, this ship stole away my Jarl’s daughter on her way to meet with an elder Singer.”

    Now there were no murmurs, only the widened eyes of shock and pursed lips of anger.

    “Einarr and I,” Stigander continued. “Were approached early this afternoon by Trabbi. I am sure I don’t need to explain to anyone why I have decided that aiding our brothers from Kjell in finding the foul demon-ship has become our first priority. Bardr informs me that we can be ready to leave the day after tomorrow.”

    Captain Kragnir opened his mouth again. “Here, then, is to the demon hunt!”

    There was nothing muted about the cheers for the toast this time, although the undercurrent was less one of camaraderie and more of anger. Einarr, leaning against the back wall, drained his cup to this toast. It would have been a decent ale, had he been able to taste it.

    Einarr looked around the room, trying to be glad to see the two crews united, looking for his best path forward to the bar for a refill. Maybe he could goad Erik into a drinking contest tonight… the man would drink him under the table, but that didn’t seem like a bad place to be under the circumstances. Not when the alternative was worrying about Runa, and why they had taken her when they had murdered Astrid.

    ***

    Getting stone-cold drunk always seems like a better idea when it’s happening than it does the morning after, and this morning was no exception. Einarr awoke on the floor beneath the table Erik had drunk him under the night before with, blessedly, no room to think about anything other than his aching head and the heaviness of his limbs. Which, he supposed, had been the point.

    Einarr rolled out from under the table with a groan, not terribly concerned about why he had been left there. Probably due to Father’s disapproval. The fact that he did not seem to be the only one asleep on the tavern floor barely registered. Bleary, he shoved his hair back out of his face, his eyes scanning the room for something to wet his whistle with.

    Stigander growled from across the room. “So you’re up, are you?”

    “…’lo, Father.”

    “I trust you got it out of your system last night?”

    “Yes, Father.”

    “Fine, then. Go help load the ship. Bardr and I will double-check the manifest.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    Stigander thrust a skin of water into his hands as Einarr trudged for the door. “We’ll get her back, and get vengeance for Astrid while we’re at it. Keep it together.”

    Einarr paused, his hand on the door, to nod in agreement. Then he stepped out into the bright light of morning, blinking against the light and his hangover.

    ***

    At the dawn tide, two days following the announcement of their venture, two ships slipped out of Mikilgata Harbor onto a calm sea, the sound of their oars plying the water the only sign of movement beyond the harbor master counting the rather generous tolls they had left.

    On board the Vidofnir, the Skudbrun’s Mate consulted with Bardr, finalizing the heading they would take in pursuit of the demon-headed ship. There had been some hope, initially, that someone would spot the storm on the horizon, but in vain. Einarr listened with half his attention to the discussion: the other half paid more attention than truly necessary to the cadence of the rowing. If he did not, he would only dwell on the singular problem that stood before him. His stepmother’s murderers had his betrothed under their power. Why?

    Eventually, though, when the harbor was little more than a smudge behind him, a gangplank was passed between the two ships and the Skudbrun’s Mate returned to his own crew and the sails were unfurled. Their heading: east by southeast, towards where the Skudbrun had lost sight of the storm – and where the Vidofnir had broken off her chase before.

    For a moment it almost seemed as though the crowing cock of the Vidofnir were in a race against the Skudbrun’s wolf’s-head, but as they turned their new ally ceded the forerunner position to the crew that best knew what they pursued.

    Einarr set his mouth even as they pulled the oars in. The Grendel, and whoever she was aligned with, would pay for their depredations in blood, or Einarr was not a Son of Raen. Perhaps, in the process, he might even learn what they were after in the first place.

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  • 4.1 – An Unexpected Arrival

    4.1 – An Unexpected Arrival

    When the Vidofnir had emerged from the narrow fjord that served as a gateway to the ship-barrow, someone spotted the black storm clouds that had washed over the island on the southeastern horizon. The sail was unfurled and they gave chase, building speed faster than wind alone with the oars. For three weeks they chased the storm this way, always headed vaguely southeast and ever more convinced that the storm itself was unnatural. Chased, but never gained. In the middle of the third week, Snorli approached the Captain and Mate.

    “We must put in to port soon, sirs. We’ve a week’s worth of water and mead left, at best.” They could live off of fish for so long as they had water, but once that was gone…

    Reluctantly, Stigander agreed and the order was given to make for Mikilgata Harbor, not many days west of them in territory nominally held by Thane Birlof. Not exactly friendly territory, but safe enough if they kept their noses clean. In this way the Vidofnings found themselves holed up in the guest bunks offered at the Wandering Warrior on the port’s edge.

    The benefit of a place like this, of course, was that finding buyers was a simple, if not straightforward affair, and as their first week in port passed they converted no small amount of their treasure from gold to gems or more ivory to lighten their hold.

    The drawback, however, was that there were very few men interested in going out to sea, and even fewer that Stigander would feel comfortable bringing aboard. So, for the most part, they waited and they drank until the hold was empty enough to accommodate the food and fresh water they required.

    Two days before Stigander planned to leave, when most of the Vidofnings were gaming to while away the hours or off in search of a good training field while Snorli and Bardr arranged for the delivery of supplies, a familiar figure trudged into the Warrior and leaned on his arms at the bar.

    Einarr, going over the manifest with his father, looked twice before he realized who it was in front of him. He was on his feet, heading for the bar himself, before he had time to consciously process what he was doing.

    “Trabbi?”

    The old man looked up, weariness and desperation obvious in his face. “Oh, good. When we saw the Vidofnir in port…”

    “We? Are you on the Skudbrun now? …Never mind, come sit down.” Truth be told, Einarr hadn’t given the man a second thought since their glìma match in the spring, but even if the fisherman had taken up whaling there wasn’t much that should have brought him this far out.

    “For the moment, yes. Lord Stigander, sir.” Trabbi greeted Stigander as he took a seat at their table and slumped against it.

    “Trabbi.” Stigander’s voice held a note of caution. After all, the last time they had spoken with this man, he had been competing with Einarr for a bride. “What brings you to Mikilgata?”

    “He was relieved to find us, so nothing good.”

    “Oh, aye, nothing good at all.” Trabbi looked around for the master of the bar, who was nowhere in sight. He shook his head, sighing. “That letter your new Singer had when you came back last time? It was summoning Runa for – and I quote her – ‘Singer business.’”

    Trabbi’s eyes scanned the room again, although less like he was looking for something and more like a man taking in his surroundings. “My Jarl, he asked me to go along as bodyguard – not that he mistrusted the men of the Skudbrun, but that he wanted someone who would stand out less on shore. What else could I do but agree to that?

    “Only… on the way… a storm blew up, and riding the winds was a black-headed ship…”

    “So then Runa is…” Einarr sat back, stunned. He couldn’t say the word… couldn’t admit to himself the possibility that she might have been murdered the same way Astrid was.

    “Kidnapped.” The word Trabbi supplied was far less despair-inducing than the one Einarr had come up with, but still it took a moment for father and son to process what they’d heard.

    “Kidnapped?” Stigander was the first to recover.

    “Kidnapped. …And I’m no warrior, but I’m to blame… We lost sight of that strange storm they rode four days ago.”

    Einarr met his father’s eyes with a wordless plea.

    Stigander nodded once, slowly. “You say the Skudbrun is in port? Here?”

    Thane Birlof’s waters were even less friendly to Jarl Hroaldr’s Thane than they were to the sons of Raen. Still, Trabbi nodded.

    “We’ll go back to your ship with you, speak with Captain Kragnir. I think, all things considered, my crew will be more than willing to help you go after the scum.”

    “You have my thanks.”

    All three men stood and headed for the door, the manifest tucked beneath Stigander’s arm.

    ***

    Trabbi led them through the port, his shoulders more square than they had been in the bar. The Skudbrun was moored in an out-of-the-way location where it wasn’t likely to be seen by anyone too loyal to the supposed thane. This placed it on the same dock, although much farther back, than the Vidofnir. Bardr looked up and watched as the three of them passed by, but he did nothing to interfere.

    The Skudbrun looked exactly as she had when they had come after Einarr and Runa in the Gufuskalam that spring. Captain Kragnir, a white-haired man who only looked small in comparison to Stigander, stood on the deck near the gangplank. Whether he was looking for their party or for porters, who could tell.

    “I hear you’ve had a run-in with our old friends, Captain,” Stigander drawled.

    “So it appears, Captain.”

    “May we come aboard?”

    Captain Kragnir stepped to the side and motioned for the three men to join him.

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  • 3.32 – Casting Off

    3.32 – Casting Off

    When Einarr opened his eyes the next morning, it was to the whistle of wind across the Vidofnir’s rails, the slate-gray sky above, and the dull ache of overworked muscles not yet ready to be worked again. He sat up, blinking blearily: those around him appeared no more alert than he was.

    Einarr growled low in his throat as he pushed himself to his feet. Where was… Ah. There they are. Near the stern, Stigander and Bardr stood debating in hushed tones between bites of breakfast.

    Already know what they’re discussing. This is awful weather to set out in. Einarr twitched his nose when he caught the cold freshness of rain on the wind. Food first. Worry about sailing in this later.

    That they would be sailing today, one way or another, was almost unquestioned. There was a storm on the wind, yes, but with all the sandbars and submerged rocks around this island he didn’t think father or Bardr either one would want to risk being blown from their mooring.

    Einarr took his bowl from Snorli with a wordless half-smile that was not returned. The cook was staring off at the horizon to the southeast. The direction the wind blew from.

    “I smell it, too.”

    “Then turn around and look.”

    The sky over the southeastern horizon was near as black as the storm the Grendel rode in on last fall, and even from here the swirling of the clouds could be seen.

    “Eira preserve us…” Einarr breathed. “Excuse me. I believe I need to go speak with Father and Bardr.”

    Snorli grunted, but Einarr hardly noticed. His eyes were still glued to the spectacle the cook had called attention to. He shoveled his breakfast into his mouth without tasting it as he moved.

    That Captain and Mate had seen the storm clouds already was never in question. That they weren’t sure how best to deal with it was equally clear as Einarr approached, still spooning porridge into his mouth, still staring at the horizon.

    “Father.”

    “Einarr.”

    “Why are you letting everyone sleep still? Shouldn’t we be hauling Vidofnir up the beach?”

    “That’s what I’m saying,” Bardr nearly snarled.

    “And I’m telling you, there’s nothing natural about that storm. We get back on the water, we find the Grendel, or one of her allies.” Stigander crossed his arms, his mouth set in a stubborn line.

    “Father… we’re down nine men already.”

    Bardr nodded.

    “It’s been one day since we pacified the haunting on this island. One. And that only two days after the kalalintu attack.”

    Bardr nodded again. “The men are exhausted.”

    “And you want to try to get through the shoals and go after the Grendel… in that?” Einarr could not believe what his father was suggesting.

    “If it means a chance at Astrid’s murderers?” Stigander glowered under his brows. “This is the closest I’ve been to those whoresons all season.”

    “Is it? All we can see is the storm, not if anyone is crazy enough to be riding it.” Venturing out in that would be suicide, the way they were now.

    “Captain, you’ll get your chance for vengeance. Whatever the Grendel is after, we none of us will let her get away with it. But are you willing to throw away Raenshold to do it?”

    Now it was Einarr’s turn to nod. There had been times, if he was honest, that he doubted if Raenshold was attainable at all… but to throw the dream away for as slim a margin as this? Even if Stigander survived it, the Vidofnir would shatter. “Father. Let’s not forget our goal, shall we? We’ll find another chance at the Grendel, a surer chance, and then we can wreak vengeance for Mother. But right now, that storm is coming up fast.”

    Stigander growled. Einarr worried, for a moment, that he would plant his feet like a mule, but then his father blew air through his moustache in a noisy sigh. “Godsdammit, why do you have to be right? Fine.”

    Stigander strode towards the cauldron bubbling with the morning’s porridge and bellowed. “On your feet!”

    ***

    All through the morning the storm raged, the Vidofnings sheltering in the upper chamber of the cave where just the day before they had conducted rites for the old Allthane. As heavy as the Vidofnir was, they had managed to beach it properly, and even found a few rocks near the bog line they could tie to.

    When the winds’ shriek died to a low moan and the sky had lightened from black to the grey of a cloudy midafternoon, the Vidofnings ventured forth from the dubious protection of the Cave of Revenants into the freezing drizzle of the storm’s wake.

    Thanks in no small part to the weight in her hold, Einarr was sure, the Vidofnir lay exactly where they had left her, surrounded by bones and driftwood blown up from the shoals. They could still catch the afternoon tide, if they hurried.

    From the sounds of things, that was the plan. No sooner had they reached the beach than the men were directed to move the Vidofnir back to the water’s edge. Sivid dashed up to undo the mooring lines while the rest of them moved into position along the sides of their boat.

    Stigander, his shoulder to the keel, called a cadence. “One! Two! Heave!”

    Vidofnir groaned against the sand as she slid back down towards the shallows. Couple more like that and we’re in business.

    The cadence sounded out, and again they heaved. Now the stern was in the water and their load was lighter… although she was already riding much lower in the water than usual.

    “Last push, men!”

    And then the Vidofnir was in the water and the crew was clambering up the side to take their position at the oars. Now they just had to hope that there was still a clear path through the sand bars from here.

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  • 1.23 – Dwarven Tunnels

    1.23 – Dwarven Tunnels

    The dwarf stood from his seat at the table and brushed his hands off on his trousers as Einarr pocketed the king Runa had sent with him. He did not miss that his guide hooked an axe onto his belt before setting off, nor that the dwarf evidently felt no need of a cloak where they were going.

    “Right this way, sir.”

    “After you.” Einarr followed a full two paces behind, shortening his stride to avoid catching up with the trundling gait of the dwarf and dearly wishing he still had Erik along. Don’t let him give in, Tyr. He would just have to watch his own back this time.

    The firelight from the dwarf’s forge cast eerie shadows on the cavern walls as he led Einarr further in, toward the hall where his prize lay hidden.

    Eventually the cavern narrowed again into a tunnel not unlike the one Einarr had entered from initially. This time, though, within five paces it opened back out into a circular room from which more tunnels set out in all directions. Rising from the center of the room was a giant-sized pillar, into which were carved dwarf-sized steps.

    “How long did it take you to learn your way around down here?”

    The dwarf snorted. “Long enough to design the place, and not a moment longer. My master has no interest in the subterrain.”

    “Is that so.” A man could be lost forever down here… Rather than leaving it to chance, Einarr dropped a loose thread from his tunic near the mouth of the tunnel they had exited. The dwarf’s hand fell from the axe handle as Einarr looked up.

    “So you never said what brought you here.” The dwarf was probing.

    “You’re right, I didn’t.”

    “Well?”

    “Surely there are a limited number of options that would bring a man through the storm to Svartlauf?”

    “Oh, aye.” The dwarf rested his hand on the head of his axe as he began the ascent. “But since you’ve already said you didn’t come for his head, I think it would be good to know what item I’m helping some stranger to steal.”

    “Would it? I would think that would be more damning when he finds out. Assuming, of course, that is in fact what I’m here to do.”

    The dwarf snorted now. “I’ve been outside recently enough to know you for one of the human raiders.”

    “Oh?”

    “Aye. And unless matters’ve changed a great deal in the meantime, a northerner would fall on their own sword before they helped a jotün. So since we’re imprisoned here, and you said you didn’t need to kill Lord Fraener, the obvious conclusion is you’ve come to steal one of the treasures he brought with him.”

    The monstrous men of the Grendel came inexplicably to mind. “Things in the north may be a little more complicated than you remember.”

    The dwarf hummed and climbed faster.

    Eventually, after climbing farther than Einarr would have thought possible from the cave without ever catching sight of the sky, the stairway terminated in a landing and a stone door.

    “My master’s hall is through here.” The dwarf stood to the side, resting both hands casually on the head of his handaxe and staring fixedly at the blank stone wall across the landing.

    “What… part of the hall?”

    “The main chamber. This is my private entrance.”

    “In that case, please. Go ahead.” Einarr had no desire to allow the black-haired, scarred dwarf behind him. Whether he loved his master or not, he knew Einarr intended the jotün harm, and there was profit to be had by betraying Einarr to his master.

    “I must return to my forge. My master will be most displeased if I am delayed further.”

    “I won’t keep you. Only, the landing is narrow and I do not think I will fit past you.” It was a gamble. Dwarves were not often offended at accusations of broadness, but Einarr was not a large man, which could put the lie to his excuse.

    Indeed, the dwarf glared at him for a long moment. When Einarr did not attempt to retract his claim, he grumbled and pulled a key on a chain from within his tunic.

    “Tell me, sir dwarf, what did you intend to do when I stepped forward and found the door locked? Would I have had time to accuse you of betrayal, or would there have been an axe in my back before I blinked?”

    The dwarf only continued to mutter words in his own tongue. The latch clicked.

    “Your lack of an answer is answer enough. Now. Go on through.”

    The dwarf removed his key from the lock and hid it back inside his shirt. “Tell me, sir raider, if someone came to steal from your Captain, what would you have done?”

    “Slain the man before I played a game of tafl with him. Go on.”

    “Go to hel.” The dwarf spun on his heel, the hand that had been reaching for the handle instead unhooking the axe from his belt. He leaped at Einarr, blade swung high overhead.

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  • 1.14 – Setting Sail

    1.14 – Setting Sail

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

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

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

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

    “Thank you. I’m sure they will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Yes,” the two men said at once.

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

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

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

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

    Einarr just shrugged.

    “If the Captain knew that…”

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

    Tyr whistled.

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

    His friends voiced their agreement with a cheer.

    ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “That is exactly what I meant.”

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  • 1.13 – Glíma

    1.13 – Glíma

    Einarr stood in the dirt ring cleared for glíma, studying his opponent. For a hundred feet around it the field was filled with people watching and cheering and drumming. Jarl Hroaldr and all those at Kjell Hall gathered around.

    This occupied only a small fragment of Einarr’s attention. More important by far was the swarthy, salt-and-pepper brick of a man standing across the ring from him – Trabbi. The man’s chest and arms were just as muscular as Father’s, and while his beard was thick it was also short and neat. The two men wore only trousers and boots, and the breeze tried to raise goosebumps on their bare arms. Einarr dropped into a fighter’s crouch, and his much larger rival did the same. Among the Vidofnings, the only man smaller than Einarr was Sivid. If there was one fact of wrestling that had been impressed on Einarr, though, it was that size was not as important as it appeared to be.

    “Begin!” Jarl Hroaldr gave the signal, and the two men charged to the center of the ring, their arms joining in the clinch.

    Einarr’s arms strained against strength born of pulling fish from the sea. Trabbi pulled right and Einarr stepped in, allowing his opponent the throw. No sooner had his back touched the ground than Einarr kicked his legs back into Trabbi’s knees. Einarr sprang back to his feet as the older man fell. A hand reached out to grab his ankle and he danced backward.

    Trabbi stood, not bothering to slap the dust off, and the crowd cheered. They moved into the clinch again. Out of the corner of his eye, Einarr saw Runa watching anxiously. He tried to put it from his mind.

    Einarr slid his hands up his rival’s arms to clasp them behind the man’s head. The older man’s head lowered with little resistance. Einarr’s eyes widened when he realized what was about to happen. Trabbi abruptly let go of his shoulders and lunged forward, knocking the wind from his rival’s chest even as he took hold of Einarr’s wrist to wrench the arm backwards.

    Einarr twisted around to avoid the break and kicked at Trabbi’s hip. The man jumped backwards, releasing his grip on Einarr’s arm. They both dropped back into a crouch and began circling the ring. The crowd cheered wildly, and Einarr couldn’t tell for who. He spat, watching his rival.

    Trabbi started the charge this time, and Einarr saw his opportunity. He went low, driving his shoulder into his rival’s stomach and lifting Trabbi’s legs as he straightened. Einarr rolled into the throw. Trabbi’s momentum carried him over to land on his back with Einarr sitting on his chest.

    “Yield,” Trabbi wheezed. “I yield.”

    Einarr stood and helped the other man to his feet. The crowd went wild with cheering. Jarl Hroaldr had to shout to be noticed above the din. Eventually, it quieted enough that he could speak. “Victory goes to Einarr, son of Stigander, Captain of the Vidofnir. The betrothal between my daughter and Trabbi has been annulled, although what you thought you were defending her from eludes me.”

    “The Lady Runa is a strong, intelligent woman, my lord. I defended her against a future she did not wish, and claim her in hopes of fulfilling one she does.”

    “Forgetting, for a moment, the things we spoke of last winter: tell me, boy, what makes you think I will give her hand to you? Given your actions of the past week, why should I not have you executed? Banished?” Jarl Hroaldr’s voice was cold. “You ran away with my daughter and betrayed my trust in your own father. Why should I now entrust her to you?”

    “I did only what I thought was right, based on the wishes of the Lady Runa herself. I ask you, what is worse – a lifetime, potentially short, of wandering, or a longer one with a mate you do not love, and who I think does not love you?”

    Trabbi shook his head. “The boy is right. I’d have treated her kindly, of course, but it is no accident that I have not remarried.”

    “Against my better judgement, I will not pronounce him a criminal. However, I shall require tasks of him if he wishes to court my daughter.”

    “Name your task, my Jarl, and I shall do it.”

    The Jarl nodded once. “But first, let us retire to the Hall. I seem to smell another snowstorm on the wind.”

    ***

    Kjell Hall was abuzz that evening with drinking games and the excited chatter of men recounting the afternoon’s match. The Vidofnir was to sail the next morning in search of the Grendel, and Einarr sat near the head of the room with his father, Runa, and the Jarl.

    “Since both your father and Trabbi forgive you, and I know my daughter well enough to recognize when something is her idea, I have decided on your first task.” The Jarl’s voice was level, and his tone suggested that the request would be eminently reasonable. Doubt chewed on Einarr’s stomach nonetheless.

    “The goddess Eira was once possessed of a torc studded with diamond and fashioned of gold filigree so pure it shines white – the Isinntog. It is said to have power over ice and storms. You know it?” He waited for them to nod. “The Isinntog was given into the care of the elves of Skaergard many hundreds of years ago to await Eira’s awakening, but it was stolen from them by the jotün Fraener and taken to Svartlauf. Bring me the Isinntog, and it shall be your morning gift for Runa.”

    Einarr paled a moment, then nodded boldly. Stealing the Isinntog from a jotünhall was supposed to be the easy task? “Certainly any jewelry less fine would be too drab for her. I will return with this treasure.”

    The Jarl nodded; that was the response he’d expected. Stigander clapped him on the back, hard, with a hearty laugh. “Sounds like we each have our impossible quests then, doesn’t it? For you a legendary torc, for me a rogue ship that travels with the storms.”

    Einarr laughed in agreement, although he could not put more than half his heart into it. “Is there a boat sufficient to carry me there and back?”

    “Runa’s little skiff, if you can find a man or two willing to help you crew it.”

    “That I think I can do. Father, may I take a few of my comrades for this?”

    “If they’re willing to go.”

    “Thank you, Father.” Einarr rose and left to ask some of his fellow Vidofnings who might be willing to join him on such a quest.

    1.12 – Negotiations 1.14 – Setting Sail
    Table of Contents
  • 1.10 – Runaway Bride

    1.10 – Runaway Bride

    Spring thaw was not far off, and Stigander was impatient to be off hunting the Grendel. If they were going to act, it would need to be quickly, before the Vidofnir sailed and the two young lovers lost their chance forever. At court the night after they had agreed, Runa passed Einarr a message: her lady in waiting had gone to purchase them a fishing boat from the village across the island.

    They hid the skiff in a cove up the coast from the Vidofnir’s mooring, and for the remainder of the Ice found ways – separately, of course – to squirrel supplies away on their skiff. Food, water, sea charts, a sextant… Einarr hoped it would be enough, because there would be no going back.

    The night of the Equinox was to be a full moon, and it was bad fortune to sail before then. The timing troubled Einarr, but the superstition said nothing of the night itself. Surely that would be near enough? That was the night Einarr judged they would have the best chance of escaping, and so they decided to risk it. Forgive me, Father. I could not refuse her.

    As the last light of sunset faded on the last night of winter, Einarr wandered past the table and hid some scraps of meat inside a small sack he carried beneath his cloak. He took no torch, and if anyone noticed when he slipped out they probably assumed he was headed for the outhouse. He gently lifted Sinmora from its hiding place beneath the eaves, pressing the sheath against his breast as he crossed the meadow. The light of the moon silvered the new spring grass around him, but he spared little attention for the beauties of the night.

    Finally the shadow of the spruce wood rose up before him, and as he stepped into the deeper shade of a tree he buckled the sword about his waist. Its weight was a comfort, but its absence in the hall would give them away. He only hoped it was noted late, once they were already on the water.

    Now he saw Runa nearly running across the open field, her face cast into shadow, her hair shining silver in the light. His breath caught in his throat, and all doubts as to their course fled his mind. Her cloak billowed behind her, and he saw a bag slung over one shoulder.

    She, too, stepped into the shadow of the forest, and Einarr released a breath he had not known he held as she threw her arms about his neck. “Ready?” She whispered.

    He nodded.

    “Follow me.”

    Out of sight of the Hall, in the shadow of the wood, they fairly flew down the well-remembered path to the cove Runa’s maid had favored. Only the need to step quietly, even here, slowed them, for the moon was bright and full. Einarr kept one hand on the hilt of his sword, his ears alert for trouble, even as he gripped Runa’s hand in his other. Two main concerns troubled his mind as they fled down the path: wolves, and the hounds of the Hall.

    The path they followed to their hidden cove was long and meandering, and they had gone perhaps half the distance when one of those concerns came to the forefront.

    A dog bayed.

    “Hurry!” Runa’s voice was edged with worry but not at all winded.

    “You go on ahead. I’ll slow them down and meet you there.”

    “Be careful.”

    Einarr grunted acknowledgment and stepped off the path to crouch in a bush. The darkness was still his best ally, but with dogs the men from the hall were sure to catch up. He scanned his surroundings. In the mottled light under the trees his eyes tried to play tricks, but he still spotted a deadfall just up the path.

    He hurried forward, his boots light on the loamy ground, and put a shoulder to the log. Einarr was pleasantly surprised to find it light, hollowed out and dried by time. He moved it down a side path and set one end on a stone, leaving a gap between wood and ground. Into this gap he shoved pieces of the meat he stole earlier, as well as one of his leather gloves. To screen the bait, he covered it with fallen branches. That should keep them busy for a little while, anyway.

    His trap set, Einarr hurried back to the cove trail as best he could, sacrificing a little speed in the name of moving quietly. It would be for nothing if he could not make it back to Runa, after all.

    Some ways further down the familiar path, he smirked when he heard the sound of someone shouting at the dogs and picked up the pace. It probably wouldn’t take them long to get the dogs back on the real trail.

    Indeed, not many minutes later the shouting stopped, followed after far too short a time by the sound of baying hounds.

    Light reflected off of water up ahead and he poured on the speed, sprinting for the sea like he would charge for a boarding line. Einarr scrambled down the scree-covered path to the water. His distraction had slowed the hunters just barely long enough; he could hear his father’s voice bellowing behind, loudly enough that he did not worry about clattering rocks giving away his position. Runa stood in the bow of the boat with an oar resting on the wet sand below. Her hair glowed in the moonlight, a halo suggesting her true origins.

    Three bounds took him across the tiny beach, and Einarr vaulted into the boat next to his stolen bride. Her smile was sweet as he took the oar from her hands and pushed off the shore, even as the dogs began racing down the rocky path with Stigander close on their heels.

    The dogs stopped at the water’s edge, barking furiously. Runa’s boat had caught the tide, and they were deeper than the hounds wished to swim. Stigander stopped, also, and held his torch aloft.

    “I’m sorry, father,” Einarr called across the gulf. Runa’s arms curled around him from behind, offering what support she could.

    “Do you think that you will be safe because you are my only son?” Stigander’s voice cracked with anger and betrayal and hurt – and sorrow. A pang of guilt stabbed through Einarr’s resolve, but it was only a pang.

    “No, Father. And yet, she has persuaded me. Happy hunting when you seek the Grendel.” Einarr took his seat and began rowing, turning his back on his father and the Vidofnir.

    1.9 – Spring Thaw 1.11 – Capture
    Table of Contents
  • 1.1 – A Sudden Squall

    1.1 – A Sudden Squall

    It was the end of the last raid before the winter’s ice, and yet the sun was bright and the weather warm. The longship Vidofnir skated across the smooth surface of the ocean under sail, the sounds of merriment carrying across the water from its deck. They would live well this winter. Einarr leaned against the side, drinking in the scene as he sipped from the skin in his hand.

    On the aftcastle, a group of six sat casting the bones. Big, heavyset Erik threw down the cup. “Eight!”

    “No way. That’s three eights in a row,” Sivid objected.

    “Read ’em and weep.” He lifted the cup to reveal a three and a five. “That puts you out, don’t it?”

    Sivid laughed. A few people among the onlookers groaned, but everyone on board knew he was awful at dice.

    Captain Stigander’s deep belly laugh sounded from amidships. “Remember how I handle the fleecing of crewmen, gents.”

    “How could they forget?” Einarr laughed. His father had a habit of reminding them. In fairness, it was uncommonly generous. If you gambled all your money away before the next raid, whoever won it from you had to loan it back – with interest, of course, but not as much as the counting houses charged. He hopped down off the railing and scanned the horizon. “Besides, I’m sure Erik could use the help this winter.”

    “Always,” the big man boomed.

    “Come on, let’s have a cask,” someone called.

    “Haven’t you had enough?”

    “Oh, come now, dear, don’t be like that,” Astrid said, flowing out of the crowd toward the Captain. Einarr’s black-haired beauty of a stepmother was also the Vidofnir’s battle chanter. “It’s clear sailing all around, and not a thing between us and port.”

    A cheer went up from among the men. She was as much a sailor as any of the rest of them.

    “Captain’s right, though.” Bardr spoke up, appearing at Stigander’s left. “Aren’t you on duty?”

    Most of the men laughed. The one who’d called for a cask grumbled, as did one or two others. Einarr took half a step forward to find the shirker, and stopped. A cold wind tickled the back of his neck. He looked up, alarmed, and scanned the horizon.

    “Make fast the rigging!” came the call from the crow’s nest at the same moment Einarr spotted the dark clouds billowing up from the south.

    “Somethin’ unnatural ’bout that storm,” Einarr said. He couldn’t tell if anyone heard. He had work to do now, too, in the face of a squall like that.

    The storm rolled in as quickly as it appeared, and the bright light of midday was replaced by dim twilight and stinging rain before they had finished battening down. Somewhere in there, Astrid began to sing, warming their arms and bolstering their strength with her song magic. Einarr looked up to scrub the water from his brow with a beefy forearm and nearly dropped the rope in his hand.

    “Hey!” His crewmates shouted their objection even as he tightened his grip, but his attention was out over the water.

    “Oy!” He slapped the man ahead of him on the shoulder and pointed out across the waves. “Do you see what I see?”

    His crewmate nodded. “Draken, dead ahead!”

    Cresting the waves ahead of them, the prow of another longship cut toward them. It’s dragon’s head was oddly misshapen and painted black. The unknown ship approached the Vidofnir at a rapid clip, and now he could make out the foreshortening of the snout. Not precisely a dragon’s head. More like a demon’s. Einarr felt a chill run up his spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

    “Make ready!” he shouted. He could just make out movement from the deck of the enemy ship – and enemies they were. They were readying boarding lines. In this weather! The call went up from other parts of the ship, as well.

    Astrid’s song became a hymn of battle. Einarr felt the muscles in his shoulders tense as the warmth in his blood began to stoke the battle-fury. With the initial burst of strength, he secured the rope that before five men had trouble pulling.

    A boarding line caught the side of the Vidofnir.

    “Grendelings, forward!” he heard from the enemy ship. More boarding lines flew across the remaining feet between their boats. The sound of scraping steel rang out from all sides, and Einarr felt the familiar, comfortable weight of his long sword in his hand.

    The axe-men from the Grendel raced across the already sodden boarding lines or leapt across the gap, landing with a heavy thud on the Vidofnir‘s deck. Einarr slashed at the Grendeling in front of him and steel rang against steel. The scoundrel took half a step back before swinging again with his axe. Einarr twisted and felt the wind of the axe’s passing against his shoulder. He brought his sword down on his opponent’s wrist. The axe, with hand still attached, clattered to the deck. In one motion, Einarr brought Sinmora back up and slashed at the villain’s throat. The blade cut deep. Ein!

    The figure that collapsed before him seemed more monster than man. He could barely hear Astrid over the clash of steel, but her song still worked its magic.

    He lunged at a monster that stood just two steps from one of the Grendel’s boarding lines, and the blow sent the raider tumbling into the icy deep between the two ships. Tveir!

    The Vidofnir pitched over a larger wave. Einarr’s boots began to slide on the rain-slick deck as it lurched. Alarm overrode fury for an instant and allowed him to catch his footing. The sea would not embrace Einarr this day.

    The fury did not reassert itself. Suddenly clear-headed, he looked around. The raiders – now clearly men again – were fleeing back to their own ship. Cowards. He heard an axe clatter to the deck of the forecastle – someone surrendering. Evidently, the Grendel wasn’t willing to wait for all its crew. The boarding lines were already flying. Something’s wrong. Where’s Mother? Why isn’t she singing us down?

    A circle of Vidofnings gathered on the aftcastle, and he could see his father’s back where the man knelt. Einarr shoved his way back, afraid he already knew what had happened.

    The crowd around Captain Stigander was thick before Einarr got there, and as he elbowed through to the center of the circle a single sob sounded over the pounding rain, shaking the old man’s shoulders. Einarr looked down: a pair of gold coins already held his stepmother’s eyes closed. Blood stained her kirtle and pooled under her back. He felt his own throat tighten, but did not ask the question that tore at it. He stepped around the outside of the clear space to stand behind his father and rest a hand on his shoulder.

    “And who is manning the oars?” He asked instead, his voice husky. “Let’s move, people.”

    Table of Contents 1.2 – Aftermath