The creature laughed again, this time with what sounded like real mirth. “A Cursebreaker? In my line? Oh ho, that’s rich.” The sound of feet scraping against the stone signaled that he’d turned again, even though Einarr couldn’t see his eyes. “Very well then, Cursebreaker. Face me. It’s the only way to get the sword.”

“How did I know that’s what you were going to say?” Einarr sighed and settled into a wrestler’s crouch. “Before we begin,I don’t suppose you could be persuaded to tell me what happened?”

“Ah-ah-ah. That, too, you’ll only get out of me if you defeat me. If you win, you get the sword and my head, and you can demand information then. If I win… I get a meal.” Einarr could practically hear it grin.

“So be it, then. We may begin whenever.”

A low growl, as of a wolf or a mountain cat, reverberated out of the darkness. Einarr closed his eyes, listening for the approaching scrape of feet or claws against the floor of the barrow.

At the last moment he pivoted, catching the huge, muscular hands with their wickedly sharp claws as the draugr attempted to drop on him from the ceiling. Einarr wouldn’t have thought a creature so large could move so nimbly, and yet it had almost got past his guard. Because of that, he now strained against the weight of the beast. He didn’t dare let Ragnar force him to the floor, and so he shifted to the side.

The massive form of the draugr stumbled past Einarr. The knife-like claws dug in to the back of his wrists, and the pair went spinning through the darkness, neither willing to release his grip on the other.

“Not bad, for meat,” the draugr hissed in his ear, and laughed. “But you’ll have to do better than that.”

Einarr felt the creature tense, and even still it was all he could do to jump out of the way of the kick that flew for his knees. Its toes were as sharp as its hands, and the claws sliced across the flesh of his thighs: the wounds felt like fire.

At the top of his jump, Einarr swung his own feet forward into an aerial kick. They connected, and the shock of the impact rattled his bones, but the draugr hardly moved. He landed, dodging another brutal kick. He was going to be at a disadvantage until he could get the thing flat on the ground.

“You may as well just lie down. I’m far too strong.”

He had the beast by the forearms, barely keeping its claws from him as it pressed ever closer. “You have the strength of the grave, nothing more.”

“More than enough for a boy like you.”

The light from outside seemed to be fading: he didn’t know if that was because he was so deep in the barrow or because time was passing too fast, but he didn’t have space to ponder the question. It lunged.

At the last second, Einarr dodged to the left, still without letting go of its arms. Off-balance, the creature stumbled, and Einarr swept its legs out from under it.

It worked – sort of. Ragnar’s corpse turned its fall into a roll and grabbed at Einarr’s waist. Not even its claws, however, were sharp enough to pierce the Brokkrsteel maille Einarr wore. Thank you, Jorir.

The two rolled across the floor until they finally came to rest with Einarr sitting on his chest even as the corpse continued to prod at Einarr’s armor with its talons. It was pinned, but it was not done yet.

“Oh, dear, whatever shall I do,” the creature mocked. “There’s an insect on my chest, who thinks he has me pinned.”

Einarr frowned, staring down at the cold flesh beneath him. He didn’t know if it would work, but maybe it would at least get the thing to stop talking: he punched, with all his weight and all force of his superior height, at the draugr’s throat.

For a wonder, it seemed the undead still needed to breathe. It choked on the impact.

Einarr punched it again. Already it was struggling to rise under his weight. He drew Sinmora and plunged it between the creature’s ribs, pinning it to the floor.

That wasn’t going to hold it for long. Einarr drew his knife, then. Leaning into Sinmora, he stabbed down into the breastbone. Once and twice before he had to duck a swinging claw, then two more times. He poured his will into the sigil he had just drawn – more will than a single rune had ever before called for.

There was a small fwoosh as the dead flesh caught and illuminated the fire rune he had inscribed there. Einarr sprang back before the flames could catch him, as well.

The creature chuckled, utterly unperturbed by the fire that now spread rapidly over its body. “You thought to stop me with flames of this level?”

Einarr ignored the taunt. He was already searching for Ragnar’s sword – the very blade he had come in search of.

“You’ve lost, Ragnar. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what killed you?”

“Lost? Hardly. You didn’t overpower me, you merely pinned me to the ground like a bug and set a rather pleasant fire. Can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve been warm. …Well, I suppose that’s worth something. Fine.” It chuckled again. Einarr was growing truly sick of that sound.

“I’m afraid Wotan had some rather strong feelings about my hospitality. As consideration, he left me quite a wondrous gem. You can have it, if you want.”

Einarr glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the draugr was wriggling on the floor, slowly working Sinmora out of the earth. Once he was free, Einarr would be faced with an unbent, powerful, flaming draugr. I have to find that sword.


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Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

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That night, Raenshold feasted in celebration of the victorious return of the Vidofnir and the Heidrun. From his seat by Father’s side, Einarr grinned across the table at the unflappable Kaldr and took a deep draught. He was mostly glad to be home, but it was hard to pass up a chance to nettle the man. “What you need,” he said, wiping the foam from his beard with the back of his hand, “Is to relax a little. Isn’t that right, Jorir?”

The dwarf, at Einarr’s side, chuckled.

Kaldr gave one of his trademark placid looks to the heir apparent. “I fail to see what is so relaxing about playing the fool.”

“Ease up, Einarr. That is relaxed.”

Einarr rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and picked up a joint of rabbit from his truncheon. “You, too?”

Jorir’s eyes twinkled with mirth. Plainly the dwarf knew something Einarr did not, but he had no chance to press. Stigander nudged his right shoulder and motioned with his head to come off to the side. Einarr stood immediately and followed, taking his meat with him.

“What is it, Father?”

“While you were out, we finally managed to learn where the ancestral barrows are.”

“You have?” Einarr’s eyebrows climbed with surprise – and relief.

Stigander nodded. Getting anything out of Grandfather Raen was difficult these days, but even before the witch got her claws in him he’d never spoken of where he’d come from originally. “I got a name, yes, and Reki’s confirmed it’s a real place.”

“Thank goodness. Now all I have to do is get the sword.”

“All is right. You’ve got two months before the wedding. With a fast ship and no delays, you’ll spend six weeks on the water. And we still don’t know anything about the place.”

“How is that different from any of our adventures these last few years? It seems like everything went crazy after they got Astrid.”

His father grunted in agreement.

“So where am I going? I’ll need a day or two to resupply the Heidrun, but I can leave right after.”

“Thorndjupr.”

Einarr grimaced. “Well there’s an ill-favored name.”

“You’re not wrong. Take whoever you please for your crew: you’ve fought among the men more than I have, recently.”

“Thank you, Father.” Einarr gave one last, regretful look towards the feast-table with his truncheon still half-filled with food and then turned away from the hall, tearing the last of the meat from the rabbit joint as he left. It seemed his rest would be brief: he now had an expedition to plan, and the first thing to do was consult the sea charts.

Finally, an ancestral sword was attainable. The wedding could go on.

And this might actually be fun.


At dawn the following day, a messenger was sent to the harbor with instructions to resupply the Heidrun with all haste.

Over breakfast, Einarr called together Jorir, Reki, and Eydri in conference. “I have a location.”

Reki nodded: she had helped Father find it, after all.

“Day after tomorrow, I sail on the Heidrun for some place called Thorndjupr, with no idea what I’ll find there save my great-grandfather’s barrow, and as of yet no clear idea about my crew. If Reki’s willing to come along, though, I thought you might like a break, Eydri.”

Eydri drew herself up as though she were somehow offended. “Is my lord the prince dissatisfied?”

Einarr rolled his eyes. “Not at all. I only thought that, since you’ve been out for most of these thrice-cursed pacification ventures, you might like to rest a little. And as much as you’ve been out, Reki has been land-bound.”

Reki shook her head, chuckling a little. “I appreciate the thought, Einarr, but I think I will decline. I have my own matters to attend to here.”

Einarr nodded at both of them. “As you wish. I wanted to lay the option before you both.”

Eydri snorted. “We’re going to retrieve an ancestral sword from your family barrow, the sword your bride will hold in safekeeping for your heir, on an island your grandfather left for unknown reasons. And you expected me to pass this up? I signed on to follow the Cursebreaker. This is the most interesting thing you’ve done all year.”

Einarr sighed. He wished she hadn’t put it quite so bluntly, but she was right. Given his usually fatal Calling, and the name of the island, a quest that was supposed to be straightforward almost certainly wouldn’t be. “And now that we’ve been cursed to peril,” he said, turning to Jorir. “What of you?”

“Nay, Lord,” the dwarf grumbled. “Take Naudrek, though. He’ll watch your back in my stead.”

“Oh? And what, praytell, conspires to keep you here?”

Jorir gave a wan laugh. “You do. Or, rather, your wedding does. I’ll be surprised if you return much before time: someone has to see to your interests.”

Einarr nodded. It was true: there were few he could trust half so well as Jorir to see it done properly. “Thank you, my friend.”

The dwarf snorted. “Thank me when you come back in one piece.”

“I’m sure I will. But that still leaves the rest of the crew.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Reki said, standing smoothly.

Einarr gave the albino Singer a smile and a nod as she took her morning bread and glided across the Hall to where Stigander sat in a conference very similar to Einarr’s.

“So if Naudrek is acting as Mate, I’ve at least got to give Hrug a chance to come… He’s seemed a bit restless lately, anyway.”

Eydri nodded agreement, and the three fell to discussing who was fresh, and who had reason to stay and to go. All three agreed that Vali should stay: there was no sense stirring up the dead by bringing a ghost into their midst. Likewise Tyr, who was as old as Uncle Gorgny, and Erik, Irding, and Arring. This was not a quest to take berserkers on.


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Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

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Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

Einarr staggered a little under the weight of the unconscious Jarl slung over his shoulder as he returned to camp. The smell of smoke hung heavy over the meadow: here and there, someone had set a rabbit or some fish to roast, but the fires from the battle nearly overwhelmed the smell of meat.

That men were cooking at all surprised Einarr, especially given the blaze during the battle. He paused just inside the ring of their tents and looked about. There should be, somewhere nearby, a prisoner’s picket… and there it was, with Jorir standing stern guard over someone on the line.

“There you are,” Einarr said as he approached. He set the Jarl down near the end of the prisoner’s picket, and despite his efforts the unconscious man still flopped about like a sack of cabbages. “How went battle’s end?”

“Back already, are you? Usually takes longer to hunt a hare than that.”

“I think this hare got himself turned around in his flight. Turned wolf at the last moment.”

Jorir grunted, pleased but not surprised to see that Einarr had still managed to return unharmed. “Once you took off after Rosta it was all but over, really. Some of his men tried to keep us occupied, but their strength was just about spent by then. …Faugh! What made Rosta think he had a chance to keep his holdings without Breidelstein. From what I’ve seen, the Vidofnir could have taken them alone, before the curse was broken.”

Einarr shook his head. It had been like this everywhere he’d gone, this past year. Jarls who were dissatisfied with the Usurper and thought that meant they could do without a Thane at all. Not one of them had the strength of arms to protect his own holdings, though. “Can you really fault those who chafed under Ulfr’s thumb wanting to be free? A foolish impulse, perhaps, but an understandable one.”

Jorir harrumphed. “Perhaps. You’d think they’d be happy changing a bad master for a good, though.”

“We know Father is a good man. They don’t. But that’s not important right now. Make sure Rosta is ‘comfortable’ for the trip back to Raenshold. The others can be loosed once we’re ready to sail.” He paused. “Let’s leave Arring behind to keep an eye on things, just in case. Between that and holding their Jarl, we should get good behavior.”

“Yes, my Lord!”


When the two ships under Einarr’s command returned to Breidelstein harbor, They were met at the docks by only a small throng, mostly of the sailors’ families or those with families in Jarl Rosta’s territory. It wasn’t that Stigander did not have the support of his people in this – he did. It was that, over the last year, not one of the isles trying to break away had put up a fight. The usurper thane had left his holdings weak, and those who chafed under the rule of another underestimated the true-born sons of Raen.

Jarl Rosta was marched through the streets of the port to much disinterest. Every time he started to puff himself up, though, and look smugly at his captors, someone along the road would take notice – and, invariably, would congratulate Einarr on another successful mission.

When they arrived at the long, steep climb of the cliff road, he quailed. At the top waited the Thane he had scorned, and whatever punishment the man who had lived as a freeboater half his life deigned to mete out. A man who had already proved himself unconventional in that regard.

Einarr himself gave the Jarl a nudge from behind to continue on. With his hands bound behind his back, Rosta stumbled a little, but then they began the long trudge up to Raenshold.

The gate of Raenshold stood open, and on the far side of the gate house stood the actual welcoming committee. A line of warriors who had not elected to go on this mission lined the path. Standing at the end of this, his arms folded across his broad chest, Stigander waited.

A cheer went up for the returning warriors as they crested the rise. Einarr took the lead as one of his men took the arm of the captured Jarl. He smiled and waved as he strode towards his father, but much more perfunctorily than he had last fall in similar circumstances. Finally he reached the end of the gauntlet and knelt before his father.

“My Lord.”

“Welcome home, Einarr. I see you have brought home another prodigal.”

“That I have, Father.” He stood and turned to stand beside Stigander. “The matter with Urdr has them spooked, Father.”

Stigander sighed, although he kept his face bright and welcoming for the men who marched the Jarl forward. “They chafed under Ulfr’s rule, and can’t imagine I’ll be better. The matter with Urdr is an excuse.”

“Of course, Father.”

Stigander turned his attention to the prisoner who was now made to kneel before him. “Rosta, of Búethold. Welcome to Raenshold.”

The captive Jarl spat on the ground.

Stigander sighed. “I see you intend to make this difficult. I will be plain: I mean to mend my father’s holdings, not see them rent further. If you will swear to me, as your father swore to mine, I will send you back to your own holdings with a handful of my own men. You may count the damages to Búethold, whatever they may be, as your fine. Or, if you still don’t believe me, you can stay here and observe, while some of my men administer your lands for you. And pay for rebuilding out of your own treasure. Your choice.”

Rosta blanched a little. It was, Einarr thought, so far from what he’d expected he couldn’t quite believe it yet.

“Take your time. Búethold remains a part of Breidelstein, either way, and the men my son left behind will be capable in your absence.” Stigander turned his attention to the men flanking the prisoner. “Make sure he has a place to sleep. He will join us for the feasting tonight, as well.”

“Yes, my lord.”


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Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

Hi, everyone. Allene here. This marks the last chapter of Book 10: Einarr and the Ice Wolf – a book that is nearly half again as long as any other book! This wraps up the first half of the story fairly neatly, and so as opposed to my normal one-month hiatus, I am going to take TWO months in order to plan out the second half of Einarr’s story. I hope, since you’ve stuck with me thus far, that you will return on November 10, 2020, to see Einarr get married and find out what happens with the cult and with Jorir – not necessarily in that order. Thanks for reading!


The second day of the Thing began with the recitation of the law by one of the town elders – a far more festive event than Einarr had expected it could ever be, but more than a decade of misrule may have made a difference there. Afterward everyone was free to attend to their own business, and there was business aplenty to be had. Merchants had set up stalls within the walls of the hold and were displaying the best of their wares. Jarls took tankards together and sat in serious discussion over matters of trade and of weddings and funerals and ships.

At some point midafternoon, Einarr received a summons to attend his Lord Father in the Hall. He had expected this, in truth, but still his guts churned like water.

When he arrived, the doors stood wide open to allow in light and air, but even with the open doors and the torches burning over near where Stigander and Jarl Hroaldr sat in conference the Hall was dim and smoky. Einarr took a deep breath and strode across the hall to the bench where they conversed.

“You sent for me, Father?”

Stigander peered up at his son from under heavy blond brows and smoothed his beard. “Einarr. Have a seat. We have some business to hand, do we not?”

Jarl Hroalr harrumphed. “So it seems.”

Einarr pulled a stool up and swung a leg over. “After everything that’s happened, and you’re still against it?”

Hroaldr grumbled something unintelligible and waved his hand at the other two.

Stigander chuckled. “It’s more that he finds himself in something of a sticky situation. The son of his Thane has also made overtures for Runa’s hand, you see, while we were away, and Runa is his only child. Whoever she marries gains control of Kjell.”

Einarr frowned. “But after everything that happened, Kjell could justifiably cut ties with Thane Thorgnyr and become one of our holdings.”

“Son. I know you’re too young to know this, but even at the height of Raen’s power our control didn’t stretch even halfway to Kjell. When Thorgnyr tries to take back his holding, we will be too far away to do anything about it. And probably otherwise occupied, besides. And Thorgnyr will assume he needs to do that when you marry Runa.”

“Oh, aye, it is a when,” Hroaldr agreed irritably. “I can’t very well deny you’ve met my conditions at this point.”

Einarr brightened. He had been ready to argue that exact point, and here it was conceded without a fight.

“Now we must set a date,” Stigander broke in. “Set a date, and set the wheels in motion.”

Einarr cleared his throat. “If that is the case, aren’t we missing someone?”

The two older men looked at each other – Stigander blankly, but Hroaldr chuckled now. “Runa knows exactly what this meeting is about. She is with the Princess Beatrix and Aema, drafting the first of the letters that will need to be sent. Her idea.”

Einarr could not quash his smile. “It seems like most things are, doesn’t it?”

Now Stigander laughed. “Get used to it, son. Women are good at that.”


The date was fixed for midsummer’s day, a year hence. Einarr had argued for a shorter span as hard as he dared, but it seemed there was no way to get through all the preparations before then. Even without counting the thorny political situation (and getting thornier – Bea’s continued presence made him antsy, even though she had thus far been a reliable ally), apparently wedding mead was supposed to ferment a full nine months.

Not that he recalled his father waiting that long to wed Astrid. Einarr shrugged the thought off: there may have been other considerations there, and he was sure to be occupied in the interim. It’s not like there wouldn’t be plenty to do while he waited: Einarr was sure he was going to have to go knock some sense into some of the jarls who hadn’t come to the Thing.

But, all of that was a matter for another day. Right now, he was home for the first time since he was six years old. He had old friends to celebrate with, and new friends to make.

There, off on the edges of the festivities, Jorir and Kaldr each sat on a stump with a flagon of drink, watching the revelry before them. Jorir’s expression said this was exactly how he wanted it, so Einarr left them to it.

Cheers erupted from a broad field near where Urdr’s spells had quite literally come unraveled, and so he wandered that way. The smell of roasting meat tickled his nose, but after the discussion he’d just had food was the last thing on his mind.

“Einarr! There you are!” Erik’s voice boomed across the field. “The glima tournament’s already started!”

With a grin, Einarr broke into a trot. He hadn’t had a chance to wrestle much since his bout with Trabbi. “Count me in! Who’s up next?”

“Me!” Irding shouted, standing shirtless on a stump with his chest puffed out like a rooster’s, grinning like a loon.

Einarr laughed. “You’re on! Just try not to hold a grudge when I swab the deck with your head.”

He arrived moments later and stripped to the waist. Irding stood ready on the far side of the ring, still grinning.

There was much yet to be done, to restore Breidelstein and the glory of Raen. But as Einarr’s boots joined his tunic on the grass, and his feet pressed into the ground, he knew in his bones that he was home.


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Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

Over the course of the next three weeks, something more than half of all the jarls who once swore allegiance to Raen arrived in port at Breidelstein or sent pigeons explaining why they couldn’t. Stigander made a point of greeting each and every Jarl personally, after which they would spend some time in hushed conversation while their crews unloaded barrels of ale and mead and other contributions to the coming festival.

Tyr, Kaldr, and Jorir had disagreed with Einarr’s thoughts on taking oaths, and in the end their thinking won. The renewal of vows would take place after the trial of Urdr.

Thus, at the end of three weeks, when careful note had been made of those Jarls who had not arrived for the Thing – excuse or no – a true Thing was held in Breidelstein for the first time in more than a decade. When the Jarls assembled in a circle around the courtyard, they stared at the figures in the center with grim solemnity.

A wooden seat had been brought out for Raen. The old man sat, stooped and feeble but alert, and he stared about himself with childlike wonder. Many was the man who winced to see their former Thane in such a reduced state – and winced again when Urdr was brought forth in chains, led once more by Arring and Erik and Thjofgrir. Raen physically shrank away from the crone. Gorgny, who attended him on the stage, comforted him like he would a child.

Einarr, from his place at Stigander’s side, fought to keep a straight face at the sight of his grandfather. He could see from the corner of his eye the knotting of muscles in his father’s jaw. But the two of them had to remain neutral, despite being among the aggrieved.

“This Thing is assembled,” Stigander intoned. “Before you are Raen, your former Thane, and the Weavess Urdr, who is accused. Gorgny, you may state your case.”

Raen’s oldest and most loyal liege-man straightened, leaving a comforting hand on Raen’s shoulder. “Men of the Thing, this woman and her son are solely responsible for the current state of these islands. She used her Weaving to bind the fates of all Breidelstein and unseat Lord Raen. In his place, she installed her son Ulfr, and the two of them have taxed the citizens beyond all measure. She has imprisoned and tortured Lord Raen, whom she claimed was her husband, as well as countless others who have passed through the dungeon here. She has practiced Black Arts in order to hold power for herself and her son. Free men of the Thing, I lay all these things at the feet of this woman.”

A low rumble passed around the assembled Jarls. Then Stigander stepped forward. “Weavess Urdr. You stand accused before the Thing of high treason, treason against your Thane, practicing the black arts, murder by means of magic, and of practicing the torturer’s arts. Among your accusers, your victims, are members of this Thing. Have you any defense?”

The crone straightened, haughty and defiant even now. “You dare to try me here, with my accusers among the judges?”

“I see none in this circle who have added to the weight of charges laid out by Gorgny.”

“And yet you yourself are a son of Raen. Does that not make your judgment invalid?”

“It is not my judgement you have to fear. You will offer no defense, then?”

A cold stare was his only answer. Stigander shrugged. “Are there any present who would stand in her defense?”

No-one stepped forward. On its face, Einarr thought Urdr’s claim had merit. Unfortunately for her, that was the nature of crimes against a Thane, and there was no way to call an Althing. Her tricks would find no purchase here.

“Very well,” Stigander boomed. “The penalty for any one of these crimes is death, and so I put the question before this Thing. Did this woman conspire to overthrow the rightful Thane of Breidelstein?”

A chorus of “Ayes” rang around the circle.

“In the overthrow of the Thane Raen, by whom she bore a son, did she practice the black art of curse-weaving?”

Once again each man in the circle answered aye.

“Was the rightful Thane, a man she has called her husband, tortured by her hand?”

There were fewer ‘ayes’ this time, likely because the Jarls hesitated to confirm a charge that was not so self-evident.

“Very well. Based on the determination of this Thing, who have witnessed the actions of the accused, the weavess Urdr is guilty. You shall be stripped of all you posess and chained to a rock in the harbor, where you may look upon the lands you so desired until your bones fall into the sea.”

“Arring. Erik. Thjofgrir. See to it.”

The three men named snapped off an “Aye,sir,” as though they were still aboard ships before leading the crone out of the circle of the Thing. If there was one thing that could be said to her credit, it was that her pride did not desert her as she was led to her death. She held her head high and stared defiantly forward.

“Now that the unpleasantness is concluded, there is one more bit of formality to handle before the festivities begin. Kaldr Kerasson, step forward.”

Kaldr moved with the calm grace that everyone who knew him was accustomed to and knelt before Stigander.

“Earlier, during the fighting, you laid your life before me. Now I will have your oath.” Stigander drew Grjóthrun from the scabbard on his baldric and held the hilt out toward the man called the Ice Wolf.


The reswearing of those whose bonds had been severed, first by the witch and then by Einarr, took until it was full dark. A bonfire – a real one, this time – was lit in the field, and the feast table laid near it. Musicians from the town had offered their services for a place at the table and been welcomed.

It was a night of celebration and the reforging of bonds long tested. Finally, Breidelstein could begin the long road toward rebuilding its former glory.


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Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

Einarr, Troa, and Jorir traded off at the oars for the rest of that afternoon. The sun was setting as they reached the lake Troa had spoken of.

“If we’re going to be out overnight, we should fish.” Urdr mentioned. “You’ll need your strength in the morning, after all.”

“I don’t think you have any room to be making suggestions, witch,” Runa spat.

Troa shook his head. “It’s not a bad idea. There’s good fish in this lake, and with the assault I don’t think any of us have eaten since yesterday.”

“You intend to eat raw lake fish?” Jorir asked, querulous.

“I suppose we would have to land to cook it properly.” Troa mused.

“Is that a problem? There’s no honor in starving an old woman.” Einarr peered at the lake shore. It looked like the forest came right up to the water’s edge most of the way around, but there was a rather large rock they could use in the south.

Urdr smirked. Runa clapped her hand to her forehead. “Are you all idiots? No! We’re not landing.”

Einarr gave Runa an arch look, annoyed in spite of himself. “Excuse me?”

“She’s a Weavess! They read the future! Furthermore, she’s as black-hearted as they come. She dyed her threads in human blood, for crying out loud! You’re all smarter than this. If a Weaver wants you to do something, think about why!”

“The lass is right,” Jorir rumbled. “We shouldn’t land unless we want to try to catch this one again. And I’m somewhat less certain of my chances on a second try.”

Einarr blinked, bringing his attention back to the present moment. “You’re right, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Urdr slumped again and turned her face down. “Tcheh.”

Runa crossed her arms and stared at the old woman seated on the deck. “See?”

They stayed on the lake overnight, sleeping in shifts so that one person was always guarding their prisoner and one was keeping them from drifting toward shore. Urdr slept fitfully through all this, but with Runa’s reminder to beware of plots, none of them relaxed their guard enough she could try to swim for it. When the sun rose, she lay huddled in the middle of the deck. She had tried, unsuccessfully, to procure one of her tapestries as a blanket, but not one of them was willing to trust her with that.

In the morning the river carried them swiftly downstream, and Einarr realized where they were significantly before mid-morning.

So did Runa. “This is the river we escaped to with my father!”

“So it is.” Einarr eyed Urdr and the pile of tapestries, then shook his head. “Probably we could get her up to Father through that tunnel, but I think taking her into such a warren as the dungeon would be hazardous. She will walk through town as a prisoner.”

She did not blanch at the statement. Perhaps the men of the city did not know who she was, but that would be easily remedied.


Urdr held her head high as they marched through town, announcing as they went that this woman was the Usurper’s mother and was being brought before the Thing to stand for her crimes. The people of the city stared, openly hostile, but neither jeered nor attacked the prisoner. For the best.

At the bottom of the cliff road, they hired a cart to carry their prisoner up to the Hold. Troa held her upright as the donkey cart trundled around the switchbacks while Runa and Jorir carried her workings. Finally, perhaps an hour before the sun reached its zenith, the five stood before the open gates of Raenshold.

“Einarr son of Stigander and his companions Jorir, the svartdverger, Troa son of Lonir and Runa daughter of Hroaldr return with the prisoner Urdr,” Einarr announced from his place at the head of the cart.

Arring stepped forward out of the gate and gave them all a warm smile. “Welcome back. Your father awaits you in the courtyard before the Hall.”

“Thank you. Are the chiefs here?”

Arring shook his head. “Messengers have been dispatched, but I very much doubt we’ll see anyone before that thing is destroyed.”

“I understand.” That would be why his Father waited for him outside, he expected. “We will need to guard this one carefully until the Thing is assembled,” he said.

Arring nodded and stepped out of the way. “I will see to it.”

Einarr continued forward with the cart and their prisoner. Arring would need time to arrange for the special guard – and Einarr, if he was honest, wanted her to see her wicked weavings destroyed.

The difficulty was not in finding his father in the courtyard, but rather in getting to where he was. The courtyard was a press of people, between sailors taking their ease to warriors carrying messages every which way, to men of the town anxiously looking for reassurances. At the very center of this maelstrom stood Stigander, Kaldr, Bardr, and a man Einarr did not recognize.

After a good deal of jostling and very little progress, Einarr stopped the donkey and spoke over the hum of the crowd: “Einarr son of Stigander son of Raen has returned with the Weavess in custody.”

Stigander and Kaldr looked up as everyone else fell silent together. A path opened, only barely wide enough for the cart to pass.

“Einarr. Welcome back.” Stigander clapped him on the shoulder. “I was beginning to worry.”

“Father. Sorry that took so long. Kaldr.” He nodded to his former enemy. “I see things are progressing smoothly here.”

“As smoothly as they can. You have the tapestries?”

“Everything she fled with, as near as I can tell.”

“So we can finally be rid of the thing?”

Einarr took a deep breath. “I think so.”


Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

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Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

Einarr burst out of the passageway and into the bright afternoon light on a portion of the island he did not recognize. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light, and saw that they were in a forest. Just ahead, he saw a small river not unlike the one he had rescued Runa from before. A fishing boat bobbed in the river. He did not immediately see the old woman.

“There!” Runa pointed urgently. Light caught on a long, silver braid as the woman it belonged to hobbled through the underbrush. She had nearly reached the water.

His quarry spotted, Einarr hurtled off through the brush, leaping bushes, ducking branches, and praying she hadn’t left any pits or loosed any caged wolves.

Gratifyingly, Troa was right there with him. Jorir and Runa were obliged to take things more slowly, but if the two of them couldn’t capture one old woman, no matter how crafty, they may as well hang up their swords and take up farming.

Einarr vaulted another bush and looked up. The old crone – and a crone she was, stooped and withered and looking like she hadn’t seen the sun in a decade – had reached the boat, but the tapestries she carried were hampering her. He tried to find some more speed, but the underbrush was too thick. He growled, but he could think of nothing they could do to slow her.

Oh Frigg, let us catch her. He was unaccustomed to calling on Frigg, but under the circumstances it seemed most appropriate.

They were getting close. He could see Urdr’s whole stooped figure as it stood unsteadily in the boat, pulling her tapestries after her. But she saw them, too. She looked straight at him and cackled: he could not tell if it was glee, like she was almost away, or madness.

It didn’t matter. His foot touched the river bank and he gave one final leap, landing in the small fishing boat with the woman who had caused them so much grief. “It’s over. Give up now and save us both some trouble.”

“That was a mistake, Cursebreaker.” She launched herself forward at Einarr with surprising force for a woman of her age, but she struck with all the force of a barn cat.

Einarr grabbed her by the arm without recoiling even a step. “What did you expect that to —” then he cried in surprise as her knife plunged into the extended wrist.

“That. Now drown!” She scrambled back to the far side of the boat and bent over.

Einarr took one stride forward and stopped when he realized he was walking not on deck boards but on a rug. Or, more likely, one of her tapestries. One of her tapestries that she had grabbed the edge of. She gave a mighty yank. Einarr felt the tapestry pull around his boot, but not enough to trouble him.

On shore, Troa had taken hold of the mooring line and was wrapping it around his arm. Runa and Jorir were nearly there. Good.

Einarr closed the distance to the old witch and took hold of her wrist. She stared at him, panic plain in her eyes. Even as she started to bring her knife back up, though, he spun her around and left her lying on the deck, her arm pinned against her back.

To her very slim credit, she did not scream and thrash about. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“That is for the Thing to decide.”

She went very still then. Whatever the Thing decided, it would not be pleasant. Einarr saw her look towards her knife, in the hand he had not pinned.

“I don’t think so.” He pivoted on one foot as he stood, still holding the first arm, to pin the second under a foot. “You have turned the Norns and Frigg herself against you. Their justice will be no more merciful than ours. Jorir. Tell me you have some shackles or some rope or something.”

“Nay, lord. But your man Troa has that mooring line well in hand.”

Einarr grunted. That was far from ideal, but it would have to do. “Fine. Get aboard, then. We’ll need to take the boat back around to Breidelstein city.”

Jorir cut a length from the end of the mooring line to bind the witch’s hands with before climbing aboard. While he bound Urdr’s hands behind her back, Runa climbed aboard. Troa seemed to be staring about at their surroundings.

Einarr looked at the scout. “Tell me you know how to get back.”

Troa smirked. “That is exactly what I was just considering, my lord. I believe if we row up stream we should come upon a lake with another outlet near the city and the hold.”

Once Urdr’s hands were securely bound and Runa had rolled up the tapestry she had spread on the deck, Einarr moved her to sit in the center of the boat. “Runa, I leave her in your care until we reach the city.”

Urdr sat up straighter, a glimmer of hope in her eyes until she turned to look at Runa, but wilted under the other woman’s cold regard. Even Einarr quailed a little at that expression: his bride was a formidable woman.

With a nod, he turned to the others. “As for us, we have some rowing to do. You’re sure of this lake, Troa?”

“Reasonably. It’s been some time since I hunted this island, but if this is where I think it is we’re in good shape.”

“In that case, let’s go. We’re wasting daylight.”

As Einarr and Troa began rowing up river, with Jorir taking up position to help guard the prisoner, Urdr pushed herself up to a seated position. “Tell me one thing. I don’t know how you managed to best the rest of my traps, but you lost at least one ally, and neither the Cursebreaker nor the Thief shows signs of having fought. How did you leave the Glutton behind?”

“There were only ever four of us.”

Urdr fell silent, evidently unsettled.


Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

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Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

Jorir led the way into the underwater passage, wary as though he were expecting an attack from any side. The Weavess wouldn’t have sent them underwater if she didn’t have something terrible planned. In spite of himself he jumped when the shutter sprang closed behind Runa. She squeaked. Shaking their heads, they continued forward. Her lamp was flickering badly now: he hoped it lasted long enough for them to get out of this nonsense.

The hallway appeared to come to a dead end perhaps sixty feet further on. The passage had not split, however, so hopefully there was some way through he just couldn’t see. A lever up near the ceiling looked promising. “Ye see that?”

“I do. Can it really be that easy?”

Metal clanged, the sound of more shutters opening overhead, and water began to gush into the hallway.

“That answer your question?” His boots would very shortly be full of water.

“Less talking. More running.”

They splashed through the rapidly rising seawater. They would make it there in time: the only question was, what was the trick to the lever?

“At least it’s easy to float in seawater. You shouldn’t have to stand on my shoulders this time.”

Jorir grunted. “I don’t float so well, Lady. Even if I did, seawater’s like to foul the mechanism. I expect you’ll be able to handle that one, though.”


Troa and Einarr hurried down the hall, the water already deeper than their boots and threatening to freeze their knees. When they reached the lever, they only studied it a moment before Troa spoke. “Get on my shoulders.”

“This is not exactly my skillset…”

“If it’s more complicated than thumbing a catch and pulling the lever, I will trade you places. Your shoulders have taken enough abuse.”

Einarr shrugged. There wasn’t exactly a lot of time to argue. “All right.”

Troa winced as he went down on one knee in the cold water. Einarr wasted no time in vaulting on the scout’s shoulders, and then he faced the lever.

“You were right, Troa. Here goes nothing.”

Einarr pulled. There was a click followed by the grinding of stone on stone.

They waited, the water continuing to rise up Troa’s legs. Nothing else seemed to happen.

Panic rising in his gut, Einarr looked back at the lever. Now that it was down, he could see there was writing inscribed on the wall.

“There is no salvation here – for you,” he read, splashing down into the water off of the scout’s shoulders. “Something happened, though.”

“Too bad we have no way of knowing what…”

Einarr stood, staring at the dead end of the hall, wondering if this was how he was going to meet his end.


Jorir braced himself against the wall as Runa – slender, delicate, and surprisingly clumsy – stood on his shoulders. The water was as deep as his chest and climbing alarmingly. “Tell me it’s just a lever.”

“It looks like there’s some writing on the wall, but I won’t be able to read it until I pull the lever.”

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

The sound of grinding stone reached their ears and the water stopped climbing even as Runa pulled the lever.


Einarr was beginning to grow numb below the waist as the water approached that level, and he thought it was probably for the best. The rise of the water had been the only way they could measure time, and a grim measure it was.

“Troa. I know things have been difficult lately, but —”

“Shh. Hear that?”

Einarr snapped his mouth shut and listened. The sound of grinding stone reached his ears even over the noise of the rushing water. He turned a surprised look at the scout as a new current picked up in the water: one moving forward. “They did it!”

Before long, a door stood open before them and the water had drained so it only covered their boots. Einarr had only thought he was numb before, but still it was better than being up to his waist in seawater. Here and there, he saw a fish swimming along the passage with them.

Through the door they went, the water dissipating even further as the passage ahead grew wider.

Not many paces ahead, they came to a Y. A sound of wet footsteps was hurrying up from their right. Einarr turned to look, and did not even try to suppress a grin to see Runa and Jorir coming up behind them looking nearly as soaked as he was. As much as he wanted to throw his arms around Runa, certain that her path must have been just as treacherous as his own – but there was no time.

“Everyone’s alright, then?” A quick series of nods confirmed it. “In that case, we’ve already lost too much time.”

“The exit’s sure to be near at hand, if we’re out of her sadistic little maze.” Troa’s eyes were already fixed on their goal.

Runa hiked up her skirts and looked at Einarr like he was holding them up.

“Let’s go, then!”

Reunited at last, the four started to run down the third leg of the Y, the floor growing dryer as their legs grew warmer from the exertion. Where the trail before had gone steadily downward, now they moved somewhat uphill. Not surprising, given that before they had been under water, but Einarr wondered if she didn’t also hope it would slow her tired pursuers just a little longer. As expected, they could see a bright splash of daylight ahead. Einarr pushed himself faster, and the others kept pace.


Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

Table of Contents


Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

Troa stopped suddenly enough that Einarr nearly ran into his outstretched arm. Better that, though, than to fall into the crevasse that had brought him up short.

“Did we choose the wrong path?” Einarr wondered.

Troa shook his head. “Not likely. I think she had her own path past all this. Probably some sort of bridge, here.”

“Think you can jump it?”

“No chance. And I’d be very surprised if you could.”

Einarr had to agree. “Okay. So she destroyed her bridge once she was past. Now we just need to find a path. There’s nothing up here, though.”

Troa ran his hands along the walls on both sides of the tunnel before he agreed to that. “I think I see something, but you’re not going to like it.”

Einarr followed Troa’s gaze down into the crevasse and groaned. There, about eight feet down, a trio of levers stuck out of the rock. “You’re right. I’m not. And it looks like it’s just out of reach, too… What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Troa turned around to look where Einarr pointed.

“I think it’s another one of Urdr’s… hints.” Einarr bent down to pull the roll of bark out from the tiny crack it was wedged in on the edge of the crevasse. “So you’ve sacrificed a friend just to catch one old woman, have you?” He read. “Best choose carefully: the wrong lever will kill your support. Or don’t: I don’t mind if you die here. …Bah.”

Troa glanced down into the crevasse again. “So if we pull the wrong lever, we’re both dead.”

“Seems like it. And you’re both lighter and better with traps than I am.”

The scout swallowed. “I won’t let you down, milord.”

“If you fail, we’re both dead, the witch lives, and the weaving remains. Be absolutely sure of your choice.”

“I understand.” Troa looked uncomfortable, but he dropped his sword and shield and got down on his belly. He started inching over the ledge.

“So long as you do.”

As Troa lowered his chest over the ledge, Einarr got down on the ground as well to grab hold of his ankles. It was for the best that Troa was not much bigger than Sivid: Einarr could only just get the grip he needed. Worse, Einarr’s shoulders and fingers very quickly let him know exactly what they thought of this position. “What does it look like?”

When Troa answered, his voice carried much less strain than Einarr felt. “I see them. There are three levers, all completely unmarked. This is going to take me a minute.”

Please make it a short minute. “I understand.”


“No, wait, not that one!” Runa cried as Jorir started to move one of the plates on the puzzle lock. Quickly the dwarf shoved it back into place.

“Ye said the fourth from the bottom right, did ye not?”

“I did. I must have miscounted. It’s the one right above that.”

“I thought we already did that one?”

“That was a temporary place while we moved others out of the way. It should slot into that hole you just made and finish this up.”

“You’re sure?”

She opened her mouth to say of course, but then thought better of it. She took a few moments to confirm her arrangement. “I’m sure.”

“Fine.” Jorir stretched up to reach the last of the pieces and shove it into place. Then he stepped back and crossed his arms, waiting.

With a slow grinding noise the door slid open. Beyond it was a long, straight hallway. Water trickled down the walls and pooled shallowly on the floor. Runa smelled brine.

Jorir grunted. “We must have been going down all this time. That’s taking us below sea level.”

Runa hummed in agreement. “No place else to go but forward, though.”

“None. And that is why I’m sure it’s another trap.”


Einarr’s shoulders were on fire. His fingers were cramping, and he was sure Troa’s feet must be as numb as his face was red. A steady scraping sound came from below where Troa worked by the light of his rune. “Almost ready?”

“I found the mechanism the levers control. It’s almost the same as the one on the doors. Just hold on: I’ve nearly bypassed her little booby trap.”

“Hah! Glad to hear it. Will that open the path?”

“It should.” The scraping sound continued. Moments later, Einarr heard a snap, but it was not followed by cursing. Instead, a rope ladder dropped from the ceiling down into the crevasse – which was not actually bottomless, as revealed by Troa’s light rune. If the trap had sprung, Troa could have survived the fall.

Troa stowed his knife and the thin steel picks he had been using and grabbed hold of the ladder. “You can let go now.”

Einarr nodded. It took him a minute to convince his cramped fingers to relax, but once they did Troa performed a rather impressive flip to right himself and descend the ladder. Einarr tossed Troa’s shield on his back and slid the man’s sword through his baldric. It was awkward, but far preferable to the other options.

At the bottom of the crevasse, they saw before them a very regular rectangular doorway. Einarr smelled brine, and the rock up ahead was distinctly damp. “She has us going underwater. I don’t like it.”

“No. But forward is the only way.”

With a nod of agreement, they stepped into the hallway – as straight and regular as the door behind them. Almost immediately a shutter slammed closed, blocking their retreat. Einarr felt cool air on his foot and looked down: the shutter had clipped his boot. With a grimace, he continued on.

About halfway down the hallway, he could see that it ended in a wall, with yet another lever up near the ceiling. That was also the moment he heard the sound of many shutters opening, followed by the sound of rushing water. The hallway began to fill with seawater.


Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

Table of Contents


Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.

Troa bristled, as Einarr knew he would. “Now look here —”

“The longer this takes, the farther ahead she gets. You’re a scout, I’m not. So prove you’re as good a scout as Sivid is a thief and open a door.”

Troa clamped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth, and thrust the charcoal at Einarr.

The rune was already starting to give Einarr a headache: he set about marking the doors as quickly as he could. Then he finally allowed himself to shift his focus away from all the details he would ordinarily pass over. One more thing to do. “Hand me your knife.”

“What in blazes do you want that for?”

“You want light or not?” He’d gotten a little better at controlling how bright the sun rune was since last fall.

“Ah.” Rather than draw his knife, Troa thrust out his off-hand. “Draw it there, instead. Easier to see by.”

With a shrug, Einarr traced the ᛊ on the sleeve of his tunic. He knew it was possible to inscribe runes on a body, but that was not a line of questioning Elder Melja had encouraged.

When the sleeve began to shine Troa lowered his arm and stood looking down the hall for a long moment. “There are three doors,” he said finally. “Two on the inside, one on the outside. Construction would be easier on the outside wall…”

“But that seems too obvious. I agree.”

“So then, which of the two inside doors do we want to try?”

Einarr frowned. They hadn’t been able to find the path back to the prison room, so there was no way of knowing which was nearer to it. Still… “The Weavess is old. Probably she would want to shorten her path as much as she could. But which one is that?”

Troa shook his head. “You’re making this too complicated, and I may be an idiot. Whichever door she used should show signs of disturbance. Take the outer door. I’ll start here. Footprints are unlikely, but there might be bits of thread or scrapes on the floor or the wall around the edges of the door.”

The search took longer than either of them was happy with, and Troa’s efforts to open the door longer still, but finally they managed to pry open what they judged to be the most likely of the three doors. In the end, they stood before the yawning gulf of another passage, and once again Einarr’s neck prickled. Only this time, it didn’t feel like magic.

“If its all the same to you, Troa, I think I’m going to leave that light on your arm.”

Troa looked nearly as spooked as Einarr felt as he nodded. Silently they stepped into the new passage, searching as they moved for the cause of their nervousness.

Eventually, Troa came to a sudden halt, holding out an arm to forestall Einarr. His eyes were glued to the floor at his feet. Or, rather, the lack of floor.


After being thrown bodily across a pit filled with spikes dripping poison, Runa walked for quite a ways before she and Jorir ran into Urdr’s next trap. (She really was going to have to think up a suitable vengeance for that. Some other time, though.)

Before them, the passage was barred by an elaborate puzzle lock. That’s plainly what it was, and yet when Runa had tried to manipulate the clues, they refused to budge. It wasn’t that they were stuck – no. They were large and solid pewter, possibly with stone cores. In its center, a roll of birch bark stuck out from between two of the plates. Runa puffed air up as if to blow away hair from her forehead as she unrolled the note.

Part of her had hoped for a clue, but no. The old hag just wanted to gloat. Runa shook her head and tossed the bark away. There were runes on the plates, that much was clear… but the puzzle didn’t seem to fit together. “And me stuck with the one blacksmith on the sea who can’t read the runes.”

“Not by choice, Lady. Can you think of any smith who would shut himself off from the Art of his craft like that?”

She shook her head. She hadn’t actually meant to say that aloud. “My apologies, sir dwarf. I am merely irritated, and we cannot collaborate.”

Jorir frowned, looking at the puzzle pieces he could not read. To him, they must look like nothing more than smooth pewter disks. “Weavers most often work in images, though,” he mused. “What if the runes are merely there to obscure the plain image?”

Runa smacked a fist into her palm. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You’re a Singer. How many times have you actually consulted a Weaver?”

She hummed, her mind already manipulating the runes into possible combinations of less symbolic images. Eventually, she nodded to herself. “Alright, Jorir. I think I have a solution. It’s a little fuzzy towards the end, though, and I can’t move the pieces myself.”

He grunted. “Fine. But tell me, what happens if your ‘fuzzy at the end’ is wrong?”

With a sigh, she shrugged. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t worried. The Weavess only needed to slow them down, but Runa would be shocked if the old witch didn’t want them all dead anyway. “Probably nothing good. Do we have any way of finding out without trying it, though?”

Jorir studied the lock another long moment before shaking his head. “All right. Fine. Let’s get this over with. Hopefully my shade won’t have to explain to Einarr why you were buried under a rockslide.”

Runa rolled her eyes. She didn’t think he saw. “So cheerful. Come on, we’re wasting time. I do not intend to let that woman get away. Start near the bottom, second from the right corner. You’ll feel diamond-shaped ridges in the middle.”

She could hear Jorir grumbling even as he reached for the indicated plate. Now she just had to hope the image in her head matched the one that had been in Urdr’s.


Vote for Vikings on Top Web Fiction!

Table of Contents


Hi everyone. Thanks for reading! 

If you like what you read, it would really mean a lot to me if you clicked through to Top Web Fiction and voted for Einarr there. It’s a visibility boost in the ever-growing genre of web fiction, and that helps me out a lot. There’s no sign-up, and votes refresh every 7 days.

If you’re all caught up and looking for something a little longer to read, I also have other works available on Amazon.Or, if you happen to not like Amazon you can also get the Einarr ebook through Draft2Digital, B&N, Apple, Kobo… you get the idea. Direct links are available here.

Lastly, if you really like what I’m doing, I also have a Patreon account running with some fun bonuses available.