Almost as soon as Horick and Bjorn entered the steading, Horick had dismissed them and the thralls bowed before trotting out the front door. One of them brushed Bjorn’s cheek with her hand as she left and he felt his face beginning to burn. Then he caught Horick’s half smile and the feeling left him.
“You wanted to talk,” Bjorn said, taking the seat closest to the fire and dipping his horn into an ale barrel. “So talk.”
“You are a man of few words so I will get straight to the point,” Horick said, ignoring that Bjorn had taken his ale before being offered and dipping his own horn. “You have the gods power don’t you?”
Bjorn almost choked on his drink but recovered quickly and used the act of drinking to allow himself a moment of thought. He had wondered if the Jomsviking leader had the Weave before, when he saw his transformation, but to ask so brazenly? That was a surprise. It would be a risk to openly admit to having Skuld’s blessing, but if Horick knew more about it than he did, perhaps it would be an opportunity to learn. Something which thus far, he had only been able to do by advancing his level.
“I do,” Bjorn nodded. “I take it, that by asking, you have also been blessed by Skuld?”
“I thought so,” Horick said, ignoring the question. “When we fought, I wondered, but watching you decapitate a djoful like that… no normal human could possess such strength.”
Bjorn nodded again, dipping his horn once more and swigging the warm, watery ale. It was not very palatable, but a parched throat does not complain.
“We Jomsvikings are also blessed,” Horick continued. “The power of Odin runs through our veins. That is what an Ulfhedinn’s power is. It transcends Midgard. I am sure of it. Though I do not know what to call your blessing, I feel a kind of kinship knowing that we are the same.”
“He is not speaking of the Weave,” Hrafn squawked and Horick glanced at the bird with a smile. “Do not tell him. He thinks you are like him, but what you have is so much more. The power of mere Ulfhedinn pales in comparison to the full might of the Weave. He cannot level. Cannot gain skills. He can only transform.”
He can only transform… Bjorn repeated in his thought-cage. So Skuld’s blessing is different… more potent?
“The Jomsvikings will help you in your raiding of England,” Horick said, offering out his arm which Bjorn took in the warrior’s shake. “I have a feeling that staying close to you will yield great rewards for me and my clan, Bjorn Ironside.” Horick flashed him a wide grin and the two unclasped arms.
“My thanks,” Bjorn said with a curt nod. “Before I take my leave though, what can you tell me about these blessings we possess.”
Even if he does not know of the Weave, he must know something I can use.
“I would have thought that you would know more than me,” Horick said, narrowing his eyes.
“Knowledge is power,” Bjorn shrugged, attempting to play down his lack of it. “I would learn as much as I can, especially from those equally blessed.”
“I did not take you for a flatterer, Ironside,” Horick grinned. “But I am afraid that I do not have the knowledge you seek. Sadly, my father took his seat in the great hall before being able to reveal the secrets of the gods to me. All I know is how to become Ulfhedinn and how to best use it in battle. Our blessings are likely similar, but they are not the same.”
His father?
“Surely you must have learned something in your time as Ulfhedinn? Something that can help me.” Bjorn asked.
Horick baulked, narrowing his eyes and frowning at Bjorn. He was silent for a moment, then light appeared momentarily in his eyes and he chuckled.
“Bjorn,” he said. “Ulfhedinn is a warrior’s code and a sect who have sworn fealty to Odin and received his blessing in return. You said you were blessed by Skuld. I know nothing of her blessings. I am sorry, but those are answers you will have to discover on your own.”
“So Ulfhedinn is more of a right of passage than an unordinary blessing of the gods power,” Bjorn mused aloud, scratching his braid.
Horick laughed, took a swig of ale, then laughed again before patting Bjorn heartily on the shoulder.
“There is nothing ordinary about being Ulfhedinn,” Horick said, eyes narrowing and then his tone turned serious. “We are elite warriors who must conquer many trials to earn our title. The best among us can channel the power of the wolf. Our power is greater than most normal humans, but from what I have seen it is no match for what you have. There are many blessings, they are not all equal. Think of our galdrwoman, she too possesses power not of Midgard, but her power is different from mine and yours.”
That makes sense, Bjorn thought. He had known of galdr and seidr since he was a bairn and to the best of his knowledge the two were not related to the Weave. The galdrwoman he had met, who had given him his class, was a Valkyrie masquerading as a human. She knew much of the Weave, but he was not sure if she had it.
Bjorn nodded, frustrated and deflated. He dipped his horn once more and took a long swig of ale. It seems I have wasted my time, he thought. I almost revealed my power to one who cannot help me to learn more about it. Bacraut. He has the tongue of Loki, this Horick.
“I will stay until my brodir can travel, then we are Lejre bound,” he said. “If you mean what you said, you will follow us.”
“I do not break my word,” Horick said. “My Jomsvikings and I will follow you, but only after we have fixed the mess Fafnir left us with.”
Bjorn nodded, eyelids heavy, and moved towards the door to the steading.
“Oh, and Ironside,” Horick said and Bjorn looked back over his shoulder, hand resting on the doorhandle. “Your secret is safe with me,” he winked, flashing a devilish grin.
***
Many days passed in Jomsborg as Bjorn waited for Ivar to become strong enough to travel and as he had succeeded in securing an alliance with Horick and his Jomsvikings. The Nornir’s Weave had updated his quest log, though the reward was not as he had expected.
A Debt Paid In Blood
Recruit the Jomsvikings to your cause. They will be invaluable allies in the invasion to come. Though their aid will not come cheap.
Objectives:
Find Jomsborg 1/1
Recruit Jomsvikings 1/1
Rewards:
First Class Skill Unlocked 1/1
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Djoful Beast Heart Eaten 1/1
Alliance Formed 1/1
Drengir gained 300/300
Though it was true that Horick had promised Bjorn three hundred of his Jomsvikings and that Bjorn had gained the things listed, he was surprised that he had not unlocked a new skill or even upgraded his weapon proficiency. Though this had baffled him at first, he decided that it did not matter. He needed allies more than anything if he was going to invade England and there he would claim the biggest reward of all: vengeance.
Ivar’s drengir had been allowed to sleep in a ruined steading near the docks and Bjorn had stayed with his brodir. It had cost him though. Both he and the drengir spent their time assisting the Jomsvikings as they rebuilt their town.
It was laborious, hard work but Bjorn did not complain. It allowed him time to think. Time to prepare his thought-cage for the battles ahead, both physical and mental. As he bent his back, hammered, lifted walls, cleared debris, he began to feel frustrated. Summer was just around the corner and he needed to return to Lejre. To gather as many Norsemen as possible. Yet instead he waited, trapped in Jomsborg whilst his whimpering brodir recovered.
He had better regain his fighting spirit soon, he thought. I need him.
As the days passed he found himself spending more and more time with Ullr, the Ulfhedinn tracker. She was troubled, haunted by something and he felt an odd kinship with her for that. They did not talk much, but he found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with her more often than not as they helped to rebuild.
“What is that stain on your shield?” He asked her one day, curiosity finally getting the better of him. Like all the other Jomsvikings, she rarely removed it from her back. Yet hers was the only one with the stain.
“A promise,” she grunted, bending down to lift a beam, Bjorn dipping with her and then they were grunting, heaving as they pulled the blackened post from the charred soil and rightened it. “To kill Fafnir.”
“Then it seems you have fulfilled it,” Bjorn said as he wiped his brow with his forearm.
“No,” she said. “You fulfilled it. I did not. I failed.”
“Dead is dead,” he shrugged. “I made a promise too.”
She looked towards him, loose strands from her braid sticking to the sweat on her face, eyes alert. She lifted her head slightly, indicating for him to continue.
“My father was murdered,” Bjorn said. “His body lies somewhere in England whilst that bacraut Aella laughs on his pretender’s throne. I will sail there. I will kill him. I will avenge my father and I will become king of England.”
“Aella is king of Northumbria,” she said. “There is no throne that claims all of England, at least that is what I have heard. I have not been there myself.”
“I know what I said.”
A few nights later when Bjorn was struggling to sleep, staring up at the stars as he laid out on the roof of the galdrwoman’s steading, he heard creaking. Turning his head, arms bent behind it, he saw a shapely silhouette climbing over the roof.
“If you two are going to hump, I’ll nest with Ivar,” Hrafn squawked.
“What do you want, Ullr,” Bjorn asked quietly.
“To give you a present.” She dropped to her knees next to him and opened a hemp sack. Something fell from it with a wet thunk, slapping against the thatched roof. Bjorn grabbed it, hands slickened by its touch, and as he turned it over in the pale moonlight he realised that it was Fafnir’s heart – or what little remained of it.
“Where is the rest?” He asked.
“I ate it,” she replied.
Bjorn nodded slowly, turning the small lump of decomposing, bleeding gristle over in his hands thoughtfully. “Why give it to me?”
“Because a promise made in blood is more powerful than simple words.” She reached over him, her scent a mixture of sweat and blood, the heat from her chest radiated across Bjorn as she grabbed something, scraped it across the roof and then pulled it over him, laying it out between them.
Bjorn sat up, looking down at his shield and Ullr nodded to the heart in his lap. Running her fingers over the painted carvings on the shield, she looked across at Hrafn, then at the shield again.
“You have a thing for ravens?” She asked.
“They are the symbol of my clan, my father’s symbol.”
“Did he tame them as well?”
“No… I do not think so.”
“You have a bear on your temple, perhaps that should be your symbol,” she said with an easy smile.
“I am not tamed,” Hrafn huffed and Ullr laughed quietly.
“I think I might have offended your bird,” she said.
Can she understand him? Bjorn wondered, but brushed the thought away, his thought-cage drifting back to the heart in his hands.
“Smear it on your shield, then speak your promise,” she said, removing her own shield and placing it next to Bjorn’s. Then she sat back on her hands and watched him. “Fafnir ate my parents when I was barely twelve winters,” she said, eyes staring into the distance, voice barely a whisper. “Grabbed them right off our fishing boat. Not me though, he left me alive. I do not know why. I was left adrift for days until Horick found me. Once I became a Jomsviking, earned my valknut, I slew a wolf. All Ulfhedinn here have to. We are sent alone into the woods and cannot return to Jomsborg until we slay a wolf with our bare hands. It is a rite of passage. A test. Once I slew mine I smeared its blood on my shield and spoke my promise: to kill Fafnir and take his heart as revenge for my parents’ deaths.”
Bjorn listened silently and once she had finished speaking he gripped the remains of the heart between his hands, pressed his thumbs into the top and split it in half. Blood gushed from the heart and he allowed it to pool in the palm of his hand. Then, he smeared it across the front of his shield.
“I promise to avenge my father’s death. I will kill Aella and become the king of England. Just as he wanted,” Bjorn said.
“And I will help you,” Ullr added, slicing her palm with a seax and adding a second stain to his shield. Then she repeated the process with her own shield and a darker, second stain crossed over the first. “This I promise.”
“Why?” Bjorn asked, looking at her glimmering eyes which sparkled ferociously in the moonlight.
“Because you avenged my parents,” she said.
Item upgraded:
Ragnarsson Clan Shield has been upgraded to Oath Shield
Oath Shield:
Your shield is not designed just to protect you; it is the foundation of the shield wall. If one drengr drops their shield then their brodir will die. A drengr’s shield protects all in the wall.
You have made a promise on this shield, sealed in djoful blood. It is a powerful bond to slay a foeman and binds you to a new companion.
Companions bound by the shield oath will receive The Nornir’s Weave and their class immediately.
Companions bound by the shield oath will be linked to their oathsworn and will only be able to gain levels equal to half of the levels which their oathsworn have gained.
This item is upgradable.
Continue upgrading this item to unlock more oath sworn spots and upgraded perks.
Oath sworn (1/1):
- Ullr – Class: Ulfhedinn / Level: 0
It seems Ulfhedinn is also a Weave class, Bjorn thought.
Time resumed and before Bjorn could say a word Ullr was staring at him with an open mouth.
“What are these runes?” She asked quietly. “What is… a level?”
***
“Oars!” Bjorn yelled from his position behind the rudder.
With Ivar still not himself, the duty of ship’s chief fell to him. He preferred to be in the oar bench, but preferences would not get him back to Lejre.
Ivar laid out under the central tarp. His bleeding had stopped and his fever was not as bad as it had been. Bjorn was glad for this, but he had lost weeks of valuable time whilst he waited for his brodir to heal. Horick had agreed to follow once Jomsborg was more defensible. He had sworn to come to Bjorn’s aid before his army sailed for England. However, Bjorn could not wait with him. He would need to return to his hometown to coordinate their attack, greet new allies, and check that Halfdan had overseen the boat building correctly.
“What is bothering you?” He asked Ullr as she bent her back at the nearby oar bench. She was the only Ulfhedinn on his ship, the only Jomsviking.
“Horick had a face like thunder,” she said. “He thinks I have betrayed him.”
“Horick is allied with me now,” Bjorn shrugged. “As are you. That puts us all on the same side.”
She nodded, heaving on her oar as their ship came closer to land.
“He saved my life,” she said. “But I am oath sworn to you now. The Nornir have willed it.”
“The Nornir only serve to guide us,” Bjorn replied. “You are a freedwoman. You must follow your own path. If that aligns with mine then all the better, but it is a choice that you must make for yourself.”
Turning her head, braid blowing in the wind like untied rope, she locked eyes with him. “My thanks.”
A flapping of wings pricked Bjorn’s ears and Hrafn was coming in to land on the railing of the ship. His feathers held the glint of sea spray and his sparkling eyes glanced between Ullr and Bjorn.
“There are many ships in Lejre,” he squawked. “It looks like your Brodur did a better job than you did in recruiting allies.”
“The Jomsvikings are worth more than all the armies of petty jarls combined,” Ullr said.
“Horick will follow us,” Bjorn added. “But I am glad that Sigurd and Ubba have found us more allies. We will need them.”
“It is a strange power you have, Bjorn,” Hrafn said, ignoring both of their comments. “It is rare that a mere Nordling can grant access to the Weave. It is rarer still that one can grant Huginn’s Favour to them as well.”
“She does not have that skill,” Bjorn said. “She can understand you because you are my familiar and she is my oathsworn. If she were not sworn to me, if you were not sworn to me, then she would not be able to hear you how I can.”
“Talking to ravens…” Ullr muttered. “It is like something from a saga tale.”
“Wait until you get your first level,” Bjorn shrugged with a slight smile.
“You two seem fast friends,” Ivar said with a grimace as he dragged himself out from under the tarp, head poking out and staring up at Bjorn and Ullr. “How you mock me brodir. I lose the use of my snake and you finally start wetting yours.” He laughed, but his eyes did not echo the jovial sentiment. His crotch was heavily bandaged but the rest of him seemed intact. He was weak but recovering well and Bjorn needed his quick thought-cage and mind for strategy for his assault on England.
“It is not like that, Boneless,” Ullr replied. “I owe him, nothing more.”
“That is what it looks like,” he grinned, dragging himself further along the deck until he was sat leaning against the wooden platform below Bjorn. “It seems I owe him too.”
“You owe me nothing,” Bjorn said. “Neither of you. Now let us make haste, Lejre is just ahead.”