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- Jun 28, 2007
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TROMSFJORD, 1080V.P.
The winters arrived quickly in the north, something that Sitric had forgotten during his long sojourn in Janter. Sharp winds with heavy freezing rains swept down from the high mountains driving folk in doors to gather about their fires. Ensconced in the warm confines of the King’s great hall at Tromsfjord, Sitric sat close to the roaring fire at the centre of the hall and observed the goings on about him. Two shaggy hounds had flopped down by his feet and were gnawing at bones thrown to them from the dinner table.
The feasting was over and now the serious business of drinking was about to begin. Helgi’s thanes and carles were all bedecked in their finest clothing, wearing their hair flowing and unbraided. Voices were raised in loud ribaldry as the men quaffed horn after horn of mead. Sitric knew that as the night wore on, the revellers would become increasingly more drunk. Words that were now spoken in jest would then be perceived as insult and tempers would flare.
He swished the slops of mead around in his gilded horn and wondered where the serving girls had gone. More than likely being tumbled by some young buck, Sitric thought ruefully, remembering his own youth and the times he had spent carousing with Kali Swegnsson in this very hall. Kali, whose bones now bleached the ground on some high fell in Kelstrom. The warrior looked to the high dais and the figure of King Helgi who sat there holding court with his jarls and favourites. He should be up there trying to ingratiate himself in to Helgi’s inner circle. But plans made in Nanter were not so easy to put in place here in Tromsfjord.
A month had passed since he had arrived and he had done nothing but kick his heels around the hall. His men had dispersed back to their homes across Kalnordia and all that was left to him were a few crewmen of his own ship and Creswaldyr. Friends and confidants had being hard to win. So few were willing to talk to him until his standing with Helgi was made clear. And that was the rub, Helgi just ignored him, although Sitric wanted for nothing and was treated with a cold courtesy by the servants of the court.
One of the dogs began to lick at Sitric’s boots and he looked down with a strained smile. Well at least they had taking a liking to him, he thought. A loud raucous cheer rang out from one of the tables drawing the attention of Sitric. A group of men were gathered about a struggling pair of warriors. Both men had each other locked in a bear hug and they cursed as they strained against each other. It was Creswaldyr again, aiming to prove his superiority over the warriors of the court. In general he came off quiet well in these contests earning some coin on wagered bets and gaining a reputation as a man of strength. Sitric shook his head and turned his attention back to the dais. The jarls on either side of the King were men of some repute in Kalnordia. They had all approached Sitric at some stage over the previous days seeking to employ him. He had turned them down.
Helgi might ignore him but he had made it known through idle talk that he wanted to serve him.
So the days passed and Sitric sat in the hall accepting the hospitality extended to him by Helgi. He could not shake the feeling that all knew of the real reason for his presence in Tromsfjord. Olvir, the captain of Helgi’s carles, had made his suspicions known to him one day, as Sitric exercised in the weapons yard. The tall scarred warrior had walked up to him, fully clothed for battle. His shield was slung over his shoulder and he wore the knee length mail shirt favoured by the men of the north.
“ ‘Blood-Axe’ I will fight you now and end this pretense. I will allow no harm to come to the King,” Olvir had said.
Sitric had admired the man at that moment. There was something refreshing about a warrior who did not dissemble or begin his challenge with insults or boasts.
“Helgi has nothing to fear from me,” Sitric had replied. “So there is no need for us to fight.”
Olvir had stared intently at Sitric for a long moment. He had stood there in silence for so long that Sitric had feared Olvir would persist with his challenge. But in the end the warrior had simply walked away leaving Sitric to think about his parting words.
“I do not trust you, ‘Blood-Axe’ and I will be watching you closely.”
The noise in the hall grew as the mead flowed. The wooden pillars of the hall shook with the din. Carved from ancient timbers, the faces of the gods decorating the crossbeams of the roof, seemed to look down with disapproval at the revelry. Sitric stood up and decided to seek the cold fresh air of the night. In truth he was at a loss as to what to do. He could not imagine himself cooped up in this place for the whole winter with nothing to do. As to how he would get closer to Helgi he did not know? The King would not speak to him, his warriors wanted to kill him and the townsfolk of Tromsfjord were afraid to converse with him for fear of drawing the displeasure of Helgi upon them. Creswaldyr and the dozen men of his crew were the only people he could speak to and even they were now striking up new friendships.
Sitric began to walk through the throng with the hounds faithfully following him. A man detached himself from one of the tables and joined Sitric.
“Going for a piss?” he asked.
“Fresh air. This place is stifling,” Sitric replied not looking at the man who just grunted at Sitric’s reply and continued to walk at his side.
“There is no need for you to join me, Svalbard,” he said.
“Need a piss,” Svalbard grunted, his craggy wind battered face set in a permanent scowl.
Sitric sighed knowing from long experience that if Svalbard wanted to join him then nothing he could say or do would dissuade him.
Svalbard of Herlungian was one of the few men who had remained at Sitric’s side since they had arrived at Tromsfjord. He had a reputation as a hard headed and quarrelsome man but during all the years he had served in the King’s Men he had carried out Sitric’s orders diligently. The two men exited the hall out in to the dense blackness of the freezing night. Sitric drew his fur lined cloak up about his face. Rain fell steadily but the men were protected by the wooden canopy that stretched from the halls roof. The wind howled about them and they retreated closer to the halls walls for better protection.
“Well Svalbard are you going to tell me what you have being up to. I have not seen you these past few days,” Sitric began the conversation.
“Fishing,” Svalbard replied, as he pissed against the wall, exclaiming in relief as the pressure on his bladder was released.
“And the fishes have some interesting tales to tell,” he continued.
“Strange creatures fish. Especially ones that can talk. What tales do they speak of?” Sitric asked.
Svalbard looked out in to the darkness and shivered. He had forgotten how desolate the north was. A wolf howled in the night, the call picked up by more wolves out on the fells.
“There is trouble in the northern provinces. It seems that the Jarls of Herlungia and Rikkarken do not hold with the rule of Helgi. There has been fighting along the borders of those lands for the last number of months,” Svalbard said with obvious pride in his voice. He hailed from Herlungia and that land though sparsely populated bred hardy folk. It was also the area that Swegn’s forebears had originated.
“I have heard nothing of this,” Sitric said.
“Nothing unusual there. Helgi according to the what I hear has made it known that you are not to hear of any dissent to his rule. There is also a rumour that you are here to rouse the people against him,” here Svalbard stopped and looked at Sitric searchingly.
“Is that true Captain. Are we here to kill Helgi?” Svalbard asked.
“You were there, Svalbard. You witnessed the fight with Einvarr. Was that a ruse?” Sitric said.
Svalbard remembered the duel and the savagery of Einvarr and the hatred in his words when he had spoken to Sitric. Then he remembered the ease with which Sitric had slain Kofi Kofisson and wondered….
“I am here because I was dismissed from court in disgrace. All that is left to me is to gain a place in Helgi’s warband,” Sitric said.
The winters arrived quickly in the north, something that Sitric had forgotten during his long sojourn in Janter. Sharp winds with heavy freezing rains swept down from the high mountains driving folk in doors to gather about their fires. Ensconced in the warm confines of the King’s great hall at Tromsfjord, Sitric sat close to the roaring fire at the centre of the hall and observed the goings on about him. Two shaggy hounds had flopped down by his feet and were gnawing at bones thrown to them from the dinner table.
The feasting was over and now the serious business of drinking was about to begin. Helgi’s thanes and carles were all bedecked in their finest clothing, wearing their hair flowing and unbraided. Voices were raised in loud ribaldry as the men quaffed horn after horn of mead. Sitric knew that as the night wore on, the revellers would become increasingly more drunk. Words that were now spoken in jest would then be perceived as insult and tempers would flare.
He swished the slops of mead around in his gilded horn and wondered where the serving girls had gone. More than likely being tumbled by some young buck, Sitric thought ruefully, remembering his own youth and the times he had spent carousing with Kali Swegnsson in this very hall. Kali, whose bones now bleached the ground on some high fell in Kelstrom. The warrior looked to the high dais and the figure of King Helgi who sat there holding court with his jarls and favourites. He should be up there trying to ingratiate himself in to Helgi’s inner circle. But plans made in Nanter were not so easy to put in place here in Tromsfjord.
A month had passed since he had arrived and he had done nothing but kick his heels around the hall. His men had dispersed back to their homes across Kalnordia and all that was left to him were a few crewmen of his own ship and Creswaldyr. Friends and confidants had being hard to win. So few were willing to talk to him until his standing with Helgi was made clear. And that was the rub, Helgi just ignored him, although Sitric wanted for nothing and was treated with a cold courtesy by the servants of the court.
One of the dogs began to lick at Sitric’s boots and he looked down with a strained smile. Well at least they had taking a liking to him, he thought. A loud raucous cheer rang out from one of the tables drawing the attention of Sitric. A group of men were gathered about a struggling pair of warriors. Both men had each other locked in a bear hug and they cursed as they strained against each other. It was Creswaldyr again, aiming to prove his superiority over the warriors of the court. In general he came off quiet well in these contests earning some coin on wagered bets and gaining a reputation as a man of strength. Sitric shook his head and turned his attention back to the dais. The jarls on either side of the King were men of some repute in Kalnordia. They had all approached Sitric at some stage over the previous days seeking to employ him. He had turned them down.
Helgi might ignore him but he had made it known through idle talk that he wanted to serve him.
So the days passed and Sitric sat in the hall accepting the hospitality extended to him by Helgi. He could not shake the feeling that all knew of the real reason for his presence in Tromsfjord. Olvir, the captain of Helgi’s carles, had made his suspicions known to him one day, as Sitric exercised in the weapons yard. The tall scarred warrior had walked up to him, fully clothed for battle. His shield was slung over his shoulder and he wore the knee length mail shirt favoured by the men of the north.
“ ‘Blood-Axe’ I will fight you now and end this pretense. I will allow no harm to come to the King,” Olvir had said.
Sitric had admired the man at that moment. There was something refreshing about a warrior who did not dissemble or begin his challenge with insults or boasts.
“Helgi has nothing to fear from me,” Sitric had replied. “So there is no need for us to fight.”
Olvir had stared intently at Sitric for a long moment. He had stood there in silence for so long that Sitric had feared Olvir would persist with his challenge. But in the end the warrior had simply walked away leaving Sitric to think about his parting words.
“I do not trust you, ‘Blood-Axe’ and I will be watching you closely.”
The noise in the hall grew as the mead flowed. The wooden pillars of the hall shook with the din. Carved from ancient timbers, the faces of the gods decorating the crossbeams of the roof, seemed to look down with disapproval at the revelry. Sitric stood up and decided to seek the cold fresh air of the night. In truth he was at a loss as to what to do. He could not imagine himself cooped up in this place for the whole winter with nothing to do. As to how he would get closer to Helgi he did not know? The King would not speak to him, his warriors wanted to kill him and the townsfolk of Tromsfjord were afraid to converse with him for fear of drawing the displeasure of Helgi upon them. Creswaldyr and the dozen men of his crew were the only people he could speak to and even they were now striking up new friendships.
Sitric began to walk through the throng with the hounds faithfully following him. A man detached himself from one of the tables and joined Sitric.
“Going for a piss?” he asked.
“Fresh air. This place is stifling,” Sitric replied not looking at the man who just grunted at Sitric’s reply and continued to walk at his side.
“There is no need for you to join me, Svalbard,” he said.
“Need a piss,” Svalbard grunted, his craggy wind battered face set in a permanent scowl.
Sitric sighed knowing from long experience that if Svalbard wanted to join him then nothing he could say or do would dissuade him.
Svalbard of Herlungian was one of the few men who had remained at Sitric’s side since they had arrived at Tromsfjord. He had a reputation as a hard headed and quarrelsome man but during all the years he had served in the King’s Men he had carried out Sitric’s orders diligently. The two men exited the hall out in to the dense blackness of the freezing night. Sitric drew his fur lined cloak up about his face. Rain fell steadily but the men were protected by the wooden canopy that stretched from the halls roof. The wind howled about them and they retreated closer to the halls walls for better protection.
“Well Svalbard are you going to tell me what you have being up to. I have not seen you these past few days,” Sitric began the conversation.
“Fishing,” Svalbard replied, as he pissed against the wall, exclaiming in relief as the pressure on his bladder was released.
“And the fishes have some interesting tales to tell,” he continued.
“Strange creatures fish. Especially ones that can talk. What tales do they speak of?” Sitric asked.
Svalbard looked out in to the darkness and shivered. He had forgotten how desolate the north was. A wolf howled in the night, the call picked up by more wolves out on the fells.
“There is trouble in the northern provinces. It seems that the Jarls of Herlungia and Rikkarken do not hold with the rule of Helgi. There has been fighting along the borders of those lands for the last number of months,” Svalbard said with obvious pride in his voice. He hailed from Herlungia and that land though sparsely populated bred hardy folk. It was also the area that Swegn’s forebears had originated.
“I have heard nothing of this,” Sitric said.
“Nothing unusual there. Helgi according to the what I hear has made it known that you are not to hear of any dissent to his rule. There is also a rumour that you are here to rouse the people against him,” here Svalbard stopped and looked at Sitric searchingly.
“Is that true Captain. Are we here to kill Helgi?” Svalbard asked.
“You were there, Svalbard. You witnessed the fight with Einvarr. Was that a ruse?” Sitric said.
Svalbard remembered the duel and the savagery of Einvarr and the hatred in his words when he had spoken to Sitric. Then he remembered the ease with which Sitric had slain Kofi Kofisson and wondered….
“I am here because I was dismissed from court in disgrace. All that is left to me is to gain a place in Helgi’s warband,” Sitric said.
