Thralls bent their backs to shovel the snow which had piled on the dock overnight. It was a thankless task. The snow fell like Jotunheim ash from the sky, covering the cleared planks anew and creating a cycle of shovel work. This was integral, albeit laborious, work and as Bjorn and Ullr marched along the dock he was glad that this job was not his.

  At the end of the dock was a longship, multicoloured, painted shields hung neatly on the top rail of the battle-worn vessel and a rolled sail, covered in snow, was tightly attached to the top of the thick mast in the middle.

  Standing proudly at the stern, a thick-set woman covered in furs watched their approach. Her hands rested on a longsword, the blade poking into the deck. Her dark, braided hair held a light dusting of snow but she did not seem bothered in the slightest. Tattoos and war paint covered her face, black smears running horizontally across her eyes and the bridge of her nose.

  Tovi, Bjorn thought as he lifted an arm towards her and approached the side of her ship.

  “Is that young Bjorn I see?” She asked. “The same stripling who used to walk at my heel like a dog, commanding all these drengir?”

  Bjorn smiled, climbing over the top rail and looking her up and down. “It seems the crows have left their marks on your eyes, Tovi,” he said with a grin. “Has it really been so long since I left your jarldom?”

  “The cheek of this one!” She exclaimed, lifting her hand from her sword, face scrunching up. “He has the gall to summon me, then boards my ship uninvited and tells me I am getting old? I guess the rumours of your kingship are true after all,” she shrugged and her face melted, softened as she pulled him into a bone-crushing one-armed hug, smiling, ruffling his hair. “And who is this?” She asked, then whispered into Bjorn’s ear, “she is very pretty, good birthing hips too.”

  Bjorn pulled away, feeling a heat on the nape of his neck as he took a short moment to regain his composure. Then he was gesturing with open palm towards his guard and lifting his head, inviting Ullr to board the ship. She did so with steady feet and eyes which did not wander from Tovi’s face.

  “This is, Ullr,” he said. “My oathsworn shieldmaiden and personal guard. Ullr, this is Jarl Tovi.”

  “Well met,” Ullr said with a slight dip of her head.

  “Heja,” Tovi responded, a grin still plastered to her sea-hardened face. “The Bjorn I remember did not need a bodyguard. It seems the luxury of kingship has softened you.”

  “My axe is as sharp as ever,” he replied. “What has changed is the way in which my enemies seek to defeat me. If every foeman was honourable enough to challenge me in the holmganga ring then I would live forever, but it seems that kings do not often die so honourably.”

  “Heavy lies the head that wears the crown, Bjorn,” Tovi shrugged. “Your father knew that better than anyone. Though he had me to watch his back… at least in the early days.”

  “Fortune smiled on him to have been gifted one such as you to watch over him,” Bjorn smiled, taking her hand in his and rubbing her scarred knuckles with his calloused thumb, fond memories of the jarl flashing through his thought-cage.

  “I only hope that I can live up to your fair-fame,” Ullr added, nodding once again, eyes darting watchfully between the many nearby shieldmaidens who were carefully listening to the conversation, weapons belts tight about their waists.

  “All this flattery,” Tovi said. “What do you want Bjorn?”

  “Is it so hard to believe that I simply wanted to show my respect to the woman who cared for me when I was but a bairn?” He replied.

  “Yes,” she said, raising a single eyebrow and pulling her hand away from his.

  “Fine,” Bjorn sighed, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “There is another reason I have come to see you. There are almost four thousand drengir sailing in this fleet now, even for a king, that is a lot of work. When my father first took the throne of Lejre, you were his lawbringer. I would ask that you take up that mantle once more, help me to keep these warriors in check.”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding and fiddling with the pommel of her sword. “You show strength by coming to me. It takes a wise-clever ruler to admit when he needs help. However, I am sworn to the king of Denmark and if I am not mistaken, that title belongs to your brodir.”

  “I only ask that you perform this duty whilst my army is in England,” Bjorn replied. “Once Aella is dead, the army dissolved, then you would return with Ivar back to Lejre. I have no intention of usurping his birth right. My only interest is in subjugating England, taking my revenge. As I did with Sweeden.”

  Tovi paused a moment and as Bjorn looked into her misted eyes, she seemed years older than when he was young. Much older than her true age.

  Heavy lies the head that wears the crown indeed, he thought. I suppose you would understand that better than most.

  “Alright,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I will do as you ask, Bjorn. But know that I will not act against the interests of Lejre, even for you. I spilled too much blood to keep this place running.”

  “I would never ask you to,” Bjorn said, nodding his thanks. “It really is good to see you again, Tovi.” Then he was pulling her into another hug, whispering in her ear so that her shieldmaidens could not overhear him. “There is a traitor in my camp, someone working with Harald Bluetooth, plotting against me. Find him for me?”

  Bjorn felt her arms tense, stiffening over his broad shoulders and squeezing his neck slightly.

  “Until an hour before Loki fell, even Odin thought him courageous in Asgard,” she said and Bjorn whispered his thanks.

  ***

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “You are lucky,” Ullr said as they walked back along the docks towards the shipbuilding yard. “Surrounded by siblings, son to the most famous king of our time, and you even have a second mother. Not starved of love are you?”

  “No,” Bjorn nodded, boots crunching in freshly fallen snow. “But this life has its own burdens.”

  “I’d take politics over famine any day,” she replied and Bjorn patted her shoulder, then looked towards the sound of hammers striking wood, thralls grunting with the weight of planks and masts. And then he was guiding Ullr towards his brodir.

  Halfdan was barking orders, a dust covered linen shirt in place of his usual brynja. HHHH

  His hands were moving fast, pointing, waving, beckoning as his workforce moved as one to heave a half-built longship into the fjord. Logs were stacked beneath it creating an advantageous ramp for them to ease the vessel into the water, multiple thralls running back and forth as they replaced the front log with the back log, creating a moving log-road for the boat.

  “Heja,” Bjorn called over as he strolled towards Halfdan. “How are my boats?”

  “Well met, brodir,” Halfdan called out and then the boat was splashing into the fjord and the thralls were cheering, some were panting, clutching their knees as they bent over with heavy breaths. “Take a break,” Halfdan barked. “There is water in the trough.” Then he turned towards Bjorn, answering his question. “We are ahead of schedule,” he said with a large grin which cut his face like a sword slash. “When the snow thaws, we will be ready to sail.”

  “This is good news,” Bjorn said, slapping Halfdan’s back. “I see you have worked hard whilst I have been away.”

  “I have always been your biggest supporter, Bjorn. Was it not I who left Lejre for years so that we could conquer Sweeden together? What else would you expect of me?”

  “Point taken,” Bjorn said with a smile. “And as my most loyal and trusted brodir, I would see you skipper your own boat, lead your own drengir in this raid. What say you?”

  Halfdan took a step back, brow furrowed. “Would you not have me at your side as it has always been?”

  “If this was any ordinary raid then yes,” Bjorn shrugged. “But I am raising the biggest army the north has ever seen and I need my most trusted family to lead them. Besides, you’re no stripling anymore Halfdan. You were but sixteen winters when we set out for Sweeden, since then you have earned my trust, my respect, and some fair battle fame in your own right. It is time you had your own command.”

  “T-thank you, brodir,” he replied, a slight stutter to match the shocked look in his eyes. “It would be my honour. I will not fail you.”

  “I know you won’t,” Bjorn said, clapping Halfdan on both shoulders and looking deep into his blue eyes. “Father would be proud of the man you have become.”

  ***

  Time passed and the season changed as snow thawed and armies trained. Bjorn had spent most of his time practicing with his Muninn’s Sight ability, diligently patrolling Lejre through Hrafn’s eyes night after night. It made him tired, but if he slept longer or took a day off every so often he found that this sleep deprivation did not hinder his thought-cage and the more he practiced, the less draining it became.

  Despite his nightly patrols, compounded with Tovi’s and Ullr’s daytime efforts, he found no clue as to who the traitor was. It irked him to know that there was a snake in his garden but there had been no traceable activity to follow. As far as he was aware, Harald and the traitor had no further contact since that first night.

  They must know that I am onto them, he thought more than once throughout winter. Though he found some solace in the fact that he seemed to be hindering their plotting against him.

  As drengir boarded ships, and Bjorn oversaw them with the help of Ubba and Aslaug, the low spring sun cast a glistening shimmer across the fjord to match the waters of Asgard.

  “’Ware the waters!” Someone shouted and the early warning horn sounded out across Lejre in a rumbling, earth shaking bellow.

  “Sheild wall!” Bjorn shouted and drengir were forming up on the edge of the dock, shields clanking into place as they all waited for the invaders. Archers manned the lookout towers, more of them clambering onto the roofs of the shoreline steadings, arrows nocked and ready. Harald and his fleet were already cast off from shore and they switched their oars for bows, Tovi’s shieldmaidens and Ivar and Sigurd and their drengir doing the same. Old Svik’s fleet of Swedish longships were only half manned and he commanded the ships which had already cast off, the rest of the warriors made up Bjorn’s shield wall.

  “Well this is an interesting cast off,” Ullr said, lifting her seax out of its scabbard and dropping it back in, checking the ease of the draw.

  “Whoever it is,” Ubba added, “they would have to be a moon-touched fifl to charge into a fjord housing the largest army the north has ever known.”

  The horn sounded again and Bjorn was looking out at the entrance to the fjord, a small fleet of longships were sailing towards them. Their masts were jet black with red valknuts emblazoned on them and Bjorn laughed.

  “Better late than never I guess.”

  ***

  “Well met, Ironside,” Horick said, taking Bjorn’s forearm in the warrior’s grip. “It seems my Jomsvikings have startled your army. I guess numbers and strength are not the same thing, eh?”

  “It is good to see you,” Bjorn said. “I was beginning to think that you had forgotten our deal. You were supposed to arrive here over a month ago.”

  “I am truly sorry about that,” he said a little sheepishly. “Once we rebuilt Jomsborg we had planned to follow after your boat but a week after you left our fjord had completely frozen over. You know how dangerous winter sailing can be.”

  “And I thought that the famous Jomsvikings feared nothing,” Bjorn smiled. “Well, I am just glad that you are here now. We are setting sail today, get back in your boat. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

  ***

  Bjorn’s fleet waited in the fjord, ships bobbing up and down all across the water’s surface, a flurry of colours, thousands of people, yet only the wind-rush made a sound in his ears.

  On the shore, Aslaug waited with flaming torch in hand. A huge firepit had been erected with sacrifices waiting for their moment of glory. One of every farm animal in Lejre, and a single freedwoman, shaking with both fear and elation at leaving Midgard and ascending to the great hall. The last time Bjorn had seen a sacrifice this large was when his father had set out to England many summers ago. Now it was his turn to follow in his footsteps, to avenge him.

  To kill that bacraut, Aella.

  A horn blew out across the silent waters and Bjorn stood tall, looking out over his allies.

  “You all knew my father,” he bellowed so that even the gods might hear him. “He made Lejre what it is today, taught me how to be a man, taught many of you that same lesson. He will be remembered in skald songs until Ragnar?k and beyond as a man who stood shoulder to shoulder with the gods. A man who discovered new lands to the west and united lands in the east.

  “Now, as the snow thaws and with Njord’s blessing to guide us, we will travel that same path that he once sailed. Today we take to the whale-road in search of battle-fame and revenge. For tomorrow, we fight in foreign lands against false gods and strange men.

  “Father once told me that in England they call us heathens, non-believers. I like the sound of that.” He grinned and a chorus of laughter rang out across the water. “They will cower in their monasteries and write histories about today, the day when our great heathen army sacked their towns, killed their kings and slayed their false gods.

  “In the names of Odin, Thor, Freja, Njord, and Ragnar Lodbrok, set sail!”

  The relative silence was broken by a deafening cacophony of cheers and whooping, shouting and hejas. Then Aslaug was lighting the pyre and the galdrwoman was slitting the throats of the sacrifices, blood running down the logs, steam rising from the pyre as scarlet stained the shores of Lejre.

  Bjorn locked eyes with the galdrwoman for a moment, remembering her words. Silently, he promised to return when he was stronger, to learn that which she had told his father. First though, he had new lands to sack and revenge to take.

  “That was a pretty speech,” Hrafn squawked.

  “I am glad that you liked it,” Bjorn said. “It will be the last pretty thing you see for a while. Oars!”