“I will be your second, brodir,” Halfdan said and Bjorn turned, nodding to him as they clasped forearms and pulled each other close. “No galinn tricks,” he added, placing a calloused, rough hand around the back of Bjorn’s neck and pulling him in closer until their foreheads met, clammy and sweat-touched. “Send him to the gods and if you fall-”
“I will not fall, brodir,” Bjorn smiled, bright blue eyes catching the gleam of the winter sun. “Look at that weasel-skitr, he has spent so long warming his arse in the longhouse that he has forgotten how to walk.”
“You speak true,” Halfdan said. “But know, I will avenge you if he sends you to the soul-road, holmganga rules be damned.”
“You will dishonour the family.”
“I will avenge my family; there is no dishonour in that.”
“Then I had better make sure to make him feel the sting of my blade, so that you do not have to, little brodir,” Bjorn grinned and butted his head against Halfdan’s.
Unravelling themselves from each other, Bjorn and Halfdan turned to see the completed circle, coloured shields dug into snow and earth, drengir from both sides surrounding them, excited whispers, arm rings exchanging hands as bets were made.
Gesturing with a final nod to his brodir, Bjorn stepped over the shields and into the ring, unbuckling his weapons belt and handing it to Halfdan who shrugged it over his shoulder.
With his belt removed, the weight of Bjorn’s brynja rubbed and burned his shoulders all the more, but he blotted it out, steeling himself for what was to come.
I have the Nornir’s work to do.
Eystein climbed gingerly over the shields, frayed winnigas causing his breeches to catch on split wood, the battle-scarred shield tripping him, causing him to stumble in the snow to the howling, raucous laughter of Bjorn’s drengir.
“Who is your second, king?” Old Svik said as he deftly hopped over a shield and moved towards the centre of the circle.
“I am,” a bear of a man growled, standing with tree trunk arms folded, keeping a seal skin cloak shut tightly around his throat. “Hrolf of Gotaland.”
Old Svik nodded, turning back towards the two brodur.
“Halfdan will be Bjorn’s second,” he announced and some of the crowd replied with hejas and the thumping of their shields. “Firstly, you must decide the holmganga rules,” he stated, “first blood, submission, or death.”
“Death,” Bjorn said instantly, eyes set, staring at his opponent like a wolf stalking a deer. The Nornir had told him that he had to slay this faux king, but also, more importantly, he had a blood debt to settle. He had two brodur to avenge, honour to reclaim. Nothing short of death would satisfy the gods or his kin. He was out for revenge; he was out for blood.
“Death,” Eystein repeated, steeling his expression and breathing deeply, thick breath-mist exiting his mouth like a smoke-fire.
“It is agreed,” Old Svik said loudly, looking around the crowd of gathered drengir. “Let no man seek blood-feud once this holmganga is done. This is a winner takes all duel, a fair duel watched over by the gods and fought in their name. Each man will be allowed the use of three shields and three weapons. Once they are broken,” he shrugged looking around at the bemused drengir, “use your hands,” they laughed, more shields were banged, knees slapped.
Bjorn nodded to Svik and turned towards his brodir who handed him a shield and an axe, he took them without reservation and nodded his thanks. Returning to the centre of the ring he saw that Eystein had chosen a sword.
Bacraut, he thought. Noble weapons are for flashy sparring in king’s courtyards, not fit for the battlefield.
“Begin,” Old Svik announced and Bjorn was advancing, shuffling feet forwards, shield raised, axe ready.
Eystein slashed down and Bjorn raised his shield, taking the impact of force on his arm, and then his axe was shooting out, beard gripping the rim of Eystein’s shield as he pulled it forwards and punched the iron boss of his own shield into the face of his opponent.
Blood gushing, a grunt, and Eystein was retreating backwards, nose purple and twisted, teeth barred.
Bjorn pressed the advantage, not allowing his opponent to create space between them. His axe shot out again, swiping from the side. He felt a thump, iron on wood, and then Eystein’s sword swept out, slicing through the axe’s haft and the weapon was broken, iron clunking onto the snow-covered floor and Bjorn was retreating.
Through a bloody smile, Eystein advanced slashing relentlessly at Bjorn’s shield, hacking away at the wood which chipped off as he carved chunks from it until all that was left was the iron boss.
Bjorn reached Halfdan who passed him a second axe which he took and immediately launched at Eystein. His eyes went wide as the whoosh of deadly metal spun through the air towards him. Lifting his shield and crouching down as he cowered behind it, the axe impacted the wood, splitting it down the middle as the shield fell apart. A chink of iron as axe met boss and both fell to the snowy ground, a slender trail of blood following them, dripping from the king’s cut hand. Then Eystein was retreating, snatching a fresh shield from Hrolf as, at the other side of the ring, Bjorn was grinning, grabbing a new shield and a seax – his final weapon.
Throwing caution to the wind, Bjorn lowered his shield and charged across the ring towards Eystein who grabbed his second shield and began to turn. Jumping, Bjorn threw the shield which spun through the air, crashing into the king’s face with a snap as his loose jaw took the brunt of the force. Bjorn followed the shield, coming down with a double handed grip on the seax, reversed in his fist as he impacted Eystein and forced him to the ground.
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Seax-blade slipped between brynja rings, passed through his ribs and Eystein gasped for air, desperately trying to slash at Bjorn with his unwieldy sword. Bjorn’s eyes were hard as he forced the seax further in, wriggling the tip as he tried to find the man’s heart, tried to end the duel. Eystein’s sword was too long to find true purchase, grating harmlessly against the brynja rings at Bjorn’s side.
The crowd roared, thumping shields, cheering, stamping feet as the two struggled on the ground, writhing and wriggling as each man tried to overpower the other. Then Bjorn felt a hard thump to the side of his head and he was falling, world spinning, eyes blackening as his vision crackled and darkened.
Looking up dazedly, he saw Eystein struggling to his feet, blood pouring from his ribs and mouth, breath coming in harsh wheezes as he barely had the strength left to lift his sword arm.
Looking up and past the king, he saw Hrolf smiling viciously, no longer holding Eystein’s third shield which laid harmlessly in the disturbed snow next to where the two men had been wrestling moments ago.
“You dare to interfere?” Bjorn roared, staggering to his feet as he trod heavy steps towards the mountain of a man.
Eystein looked between them, blood still pouring, eyes uncomprehending and as Bjorn stepped past him he struck out with his seax, as fast as a viper, blade slitting Eystein’s throat and Bjorn did not even cast him a second glance as the king’s lifeless, bleeding body hit the snow. His eyes were focused solely on the interloper.
“Get in the ring, bacraut,” Bjorn growled up at the man who towered above him, completely unscathed, all muscle and hair, long beard drooping in three distinct braids which reached close to his navel. His dark eyes glistened as he heard the challenge.
“You have no sense, you want to challenge me to a holmganga, in that state, without rest?” he said as he climbed over the shields, standing toe to toe with Bjorn who glared up at him like an angry wolverine. “You would do well not to confuse confidence with ability, Bjorn galinn-touched.”
Bjorn’s seax shot out, slitting Hrolf’s belly from left to right and the huge man looked down, shock etched on his face as blood splattered his feet, followed by long intestines which steamed as they met the cold snow.
“Who said anything about a holmganga,” Bjorn said calmly, turning to walk away from the drengr who dropped to his knees and fell, convulsing in the tainted snow next to his king. “Only a fool enters a holmganga circle without a brynja.”
As he staggered towards Halfdan, the world came to a halt as the Nornir’s Weave flashed runes in front of him, which hovered in the air like fireflies on a dark night.
Quest Complete:
An Eye For An Eye
As a tutorial, complete the following quest and bring honour to your kin:
The Swedish king Eystein murdered your half-brothers Eirek and Agnar. It is time to take your revenge and put their souls to rest.
Objectives:
Kill Eystein in a holmganga 1/1
Rewards:
Unlock a class selection quest
Bjorn smiled as he read the notification, knowing that he had pleased Skuld and would now be rewarded. Though he was unsure what a class selection quest was, he was certain that it would aid him on the path.
After he had read the runes they disappeared, new runes taking their place and forming another notification.
You have defeated Eystein, King of Sweden.
Conditions met…
Dominions tab has been unlocked in the Nornir’s Weave interface.
Bjorn was unsure what this notification meant, but he felt a haptic buzzing at the back of his thought-cage when he said the words Nornir’s Weave inside his skull. Pressing mentally onto that feeling, he found himself looking at his status sheet and, as the notification had foretold, there was a new section added to the bottom, underneath the weapons proficiencies tab. He mentally prodded it and the tab expanded, showing him new information.
Dominions held (1):
- King of Sweden
Dominions:
The dominions tab tracks how many countries you rule. Each subjugated country will allow you to advance up to ten levels higher. For example, as you currently hold dominion over Sweden, you can now progress to level 10 which will allow you to unlock more skills and gain more power within Nornir’s Weave. The addition of a class will also add ten levels to your maximum.
“What are levels?” Bjorn wondered aloud as he tried to make sense of the strange information, which was buzzing around his face, hovering in the air in front of him. His level was currently one, he did not know what this meant, but higher numbers had to show an increase in power, that was obvious. “So, I must conquer more lands to increase my own power? This is no different than earning battle-fame. I understand.”
As he spoke those words the notification receded, followed by another.
New Quest:
The King Is Dead…
Your father has been murdered by Aella, king of Northumbria. Gather your allies, travel to England, and seek your revenge.
Objectives:
Gather allies: 0/1
Reach England: 0/1
Kill King Aella: 0/1
Rewards:
To be confirmed
The Weave closed, runes fading and the world moved once more. Hejas, cheers, thumping shields, the scraping of rings exchanging hands as bets were paid, all filled Bjorn’s ears. Yet he could not hear any of them truly.
He felt a burning sensation on his forearm, pain welling up from underneath. Glancing down, he raised the arm and saw black runes appearing from his flesh, ringed with raised, red welts as if he had been branded like cattle. The runes were clear, spelling out a single word: Aella.
Marked with the name of the man who murdered my father, he thought, a mixture of rage and disgust filling him.
With his off hand, he scraped his nails along the rune trying desperately to remove it. However, despite the sharp pain he caused his skin, which shed from his arm, clinging to the underside of his blood crusted nails, the runes remained.
Standing in the centre of the ring, gawping at his arm, thoughts distant, he barely registered Halfdan and Old Svik hopping over the shields and jogging towards him, smiles on their faces, wonder and awe at his battle prowess. His gaze cut straight through them both, as if they were no longer there, thought-cage whirring, trying desperately to understand the quest he had just read.
It can’t be…
“Heja, brodir!” Halfdan yelled merrily as he clasped Bjorn’s shoulders with both hands, smiling at him, eyes housing the wonder of a small child looking at his father or older brodir in awe. “You struck true, and nice work slicing the belly of that weasel-skitr, Hrolf. He was a true coward to interfere with your holmganga. I was about to enter the ring myself to defend your honour when you slew him.”
“You are the rightful king of Sweden now,” Old Svik said cheerfully, “and you have avenged your brodur, quite the feat. The skalds will sing of this day from now until Ragnar?k. Bjorn Ironside, slayer of kings, avenger of kin, slicer of bellies,” he laughed.
Bjorn looked up at them, bright blue eyes barely comprehending their words of praise. By rights, he should be as cheerful as they were, should be preparing a feast, drinking a horn of mead and celebrating. But how could he when Skuld had sent him such a worrisome message?
Looking deeply into Halfdan’s eyes, he spoke, “father is dead… We must return home immediately, to Lejre.”