As Hrafn had reported, Lejre’s docks were overflowing with ships. New ships bearing the Ragnarsson clan banner of the raven, older ships with the red and white stripes of conquered Sweeden, some ships he did not recognise.

  There were dozens of ships flying various banners of, what he assumed were, petty jarls from nearby. They all centred around a large drakkar, the largest in the port, which flew the colours of blue and black with a Jormungandr sigil in the centre of the sail.

  “It seems our brodur were successful,” Ivar noted as he too looked upon the impressive ship rimmed with gold and with intricate carvings decorating the hull.

  “Ropes!” Bjorn yelled and the drengir were leaping to the dock, dragging ropes tightly around posts and fastening them, pulling their longship in as others lowered the mast. “That boat is impressive,” Bjorn remarked. “But it does not look very agile, they cannot even lower their mast. How do they plan to sail the swan roads of England in such an unruly ship?”

  “Great for loot though,” Ivar smiled, lifting himself up and staggering towards the top rail. “Looks like you will be able to ask them yourself,” he said, nodding towards the approaching retinue as they marched along the dock.

  “Shall we?” Ullr asked Bjorn as she looked towards Ivar. Then they were leaping over the top rail, boots clunking on the wood as they walked towards land.

  Hrafn was circling overhead and as Bjorn reached the edge of the dock he came face to face with a large group of unfamiliar faces, and two very familiar faces.

  “Brodir,” Sigurd called, his blue eye locked on Bjorn whilst the green one seemed to roam around, looking at Ullr, Ivar, and Hrafn in turn. “I see only a single new face amongst your drengir, and here we are with an entire army of them.” He smiled a boyish grin and Ubba elbowed him in the ribs and stepped forward.

  “Well met, Bjorn,” he said, back straight and hands clasped in front of him, eyes darting between Bjorn’s face and Ivar’s bandaged crotch. “I would ask if your journey was eventful but from the look of Ivar…”

  “Nothing to worry about dear brodir,” Ivar said, a false grin on his thin lips. “I gained this wound battling Fafnir the famed dragon. It is a scar I will wear with pride.”

  “We were successful,” Bjorn added. “Fafnir is dead and we have made allies of the Jomsvikings.”

  “Are these Jomsvikings here with us now brodir?” Sigurd asked playfully, looking around the docks with his hand above his eyes. “I do not see them.”

  “They will arrive in a few days’ time,” Bjorn replied. “So you can tell your snake-eye to stop looking for them, though it seems it has been doing that all your life.”

  Sigurd frowned and the two of them locked eyes for a moment, then both began to laugh and soon Ivar, the drengir and Ullr were joining in. Even Ubba let a small chuckle pass his immovable lips.

  “I can tell that you brodur hold much love for one another,” a deep, strange voice said and drengir moved aside for a tall, well-fed man who stepped forward. His face was covered in knotted tattoos and his front tooth was blackened and decayed. His ginger hair was long and sea-sprayed and despite his pot belly, his arms and chest were large enough to make Bjorn wonder if he was a brodir of Thor. “Did you really fight the famed dragon Fafnir?”

  “We did,” Bjorn nodded.

  “We did more than that,” Ivar added gleefully. “We slew him.”

  “Bjorn slew him,” Ullr corrected.

  “Really?” The man said, looking between them with dark eyes. “That is quite the feat. Perhaps I will have my skald compose a saga song about it later. I am King Harald, the first king of all Norway.”

  “Well met,” Bjorn said, taking the offered arm and grasping it with a single shake. “I am Bjorn-”

  “No need for introductions, Ironside,” he smiled. “I know all about you. But I would like to hear more of your plans for the greatest raid Norsemen have ever known – at least that was what Sigurd called it when he convinced me to gather my jarls and follow him here, abandoning my own conquest.”

  “Let us talk about this at the longhouse, King,” Ubba said, stepping between them. “Bjorn and Ivar have had a long journey and war-council goes better with ale, does it not?”

  Harald looked between Ubba and Bjorn for a moment, brow furrowing slightly at the interruption, then he tipped his head back and laughed loudly. “Of course! No talk between allies is complete without ale. To the longhouse!”

  And then he was marching off, drengir in tow and Ubba was looking apologetically at Bjorn.

  “My apologies brodir,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “Harald can be quite a handful. How a fifl like that has come to own most of Norway is beyond me.”

  “I can see why they call him Bluetooth,” Bjorn replied, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “Perhaps the rot from his tooth has addled his brain.”

  ***

  Fire smoke stung Bjorn’s eyes in a strange kind of comfort as he took a seat at the long table in the centre of the room. Fires crackled and popped all around them, new furs had been added to the wooded hall and, unlike last time, most of the room was empty.

  Harald’s drengir stood guard along the posts and outside, doubling up with Aslaug’s guards. It was odd, but when Bjorn gave Ubba a quizzical look he shrugged and sighed. It seemed that this self-proclaimed King of Norway was the sort to fall victim to paranoia - a Loki-like trait if ever Bjorn had seen one.

  “Old Svik,” he said warmly, opening his arms and pulling the old man into a bear-like hug when he first entered the room. “It is truly good to see you again my friend.”

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  “It is good to see you as well,” Svik had said, his bones being crushed beneath the strength of Bjorn’s arms. “But I fear that if you do not put me down I might find myself in the great hall in the next few moments.”

  Smiling, Bjorn placed him down and took his seat with Ivar and the brodur next to him, Svik and Aslaug on either side of the table’s heads and Harald opposite. It seemed that despite claiming to have brought his jarls, he had not bothered to invite them to the table. Ullr stood guard directly behind Bjorn, her face like the blade of an axe as she glared at the king.

  “It seems your shieldmaiden does not like me much,” Harald said once everyone had taken their seats. “It would please me if you would have her wait outside, Bjorn.”

  “She will stay,” Bjorn replied icily. “And you will wait a minute before we begin our talks. I have been away for a while and need to properly greet my family, there are updates, yes?” He asked, turning to Svik and Halfdan.

  “Aye,” Halfdan replied, glancing cautiously between Bjorn and the visibly irked Harald. “The boat building is going well; we have half a dozen sitting in the fjord, including a new kavi for you, and as we speak more are nearing completion.”

  He had wanted a smaller boat to help navigate the English swan-roads. His drakkar was a fine vessel, and not as outlandish as Harald’s, but a smaller boat would be easier to explore with.

  Nodding his thanks to Halfdan, he turned his head to Old Svik, who looked up through the rim of an overflowing mead horn, amber dripping down his grey beard and dying it a pinkish colour.

  “I have left a skeleton army to defend Sweden for you, my King,” he said, swallowing quickly. “The rest are here with me. Their number is one thousand strong, all strapping young warriors chomping at the bit to fight for their new king. There would have been more but… we killed most of them fighting Eystein.”

  “My thanks old friend,” Bjorn replied warmly. “I trust administrative duty is to your liking? The colour of your mead-drenched beard would say that it is.”

  “It is a role I take seriously,” he said, then a slight smile parted his lips. “This is nice bonus though.”

  Bjorn nodded and turned to Aslaug. “Mother, how are things in Lejre?”

  “Jarls from all across Denmark have re-declared their loyalty to us,” she said with a grim nod. “So far, all have gifted us drengir, their current number is just over six hundred men and a ship of shieldmaidens led by Jarl Tovi. She insisted in being on the raid herself. They number fifty.”

  “Good, good,” Bjorn said. “I will have to greet her myself to extend my thanks, I have not seen her since I was a bairn. So all in all we have one thousand six hundred and fifty to swell our army. The Jomsvikings have promised me a further three hundred,” he turned his head back towards King Harlod whose face had reddened, eyes darkened. “What do you offer us, King of Norway?”

  “Ah, at last the insolent boy king remembers whose company he is in,” Harald said in a jovial tone which his eyes did not match. “I have over two thousand drengir with me, a mixture of men and shieldmaidens, battle tested all – unlike your own Swedish warriors, from the sound of it.”

  “Two thousand?” Ivar said, “that is a good-strong number brodir. It will double our army.”

  “That it is,” Bjorn said, narrowing his eyes at Harald. “But I do not think it comes free of charge. What do you want in return?”

  “Jorvik, and you will help me subjugate the rest of Norway once we have slain your foeman Aella.” He smiled, but this time it reminded Bjorn of a serpent baring its fangs.

  “I can take Norway for you,” Bjorn shrugged. “But I will not give you Jorvik.”

  Ivar and Sigurd both looked at Bjorn with dark faces, Halfdan seemed nervous and Ubba remained impassive as always. Harald and Bjorn locked eyes for a long moment, not blinking even whilst the former took a long drink from his tankard of ale.

  “You have had a long journey,” Harald eventually said. “I will leave you to think about it and we will talk more on the morrow.”

  Before Bjorn could reply Harald was scraping his chair back and marching out of the hall. As he passed each of his drengir they fell in line behind him until he was leaving the hall with a cape-like retinue in his wake. The doors opened and a swift breeze entered, then it slammed shut and all was silent.

  “Brodir,” Ivar said hurriedly. “Two thousand warriors would double our army. We are going to need them if we aim to slay Aella.”

  “Ivar is right, Bjorn,” Sigurd added. “Jorvik is no good to us if we cannot breach its walls. Father taught us that we need at least three times the manpower of the defenders in a siege. We do not know what numbers Aella has, but Jorvik is built of stone, it will be a hard-fought battle even with Harald’s drengir, an impossible one without them.”

  “Ubba, Halfdan,” Bjorn said quietly. “What do you think?”

  “We need his strength,” Ubba said matter-of-factly. “But I do not trust him and Jorvik is a strong town to freely give to a potential rival. It is the seat of Northumbrian power.”

  “We beat Eystein when we were outnumbered,” Halfdan shrugged. “Our blades bit harder than theirs and that will be true this time as well. Saxons are cowards, they will not be able to withstand the might of a Norse army, even with their walls.”

  “I know you did not ask,” Old Svik added. “But I agree with Halfdan.”

  Bjorn looked towards his mother who shook her head wearily. “I will tell you the same thing I once told your father. I will defend Lejre, keep the jarls happy in your absence, even play host to kings in your name, but I have no interest in war tactics. Not anymore.” Then she rose from her seat and left the room, two shieldmaidens and her thralls accompanying her.

  “It seems we are not of one mind on this,” Bjorn said, rising from the table. “I will take the night to think more on it. Ivar, you should begin sitting the throne from tomorrow, assuming you still intend to claim it as father’s heir. The people need to see you as their new King.”

  And an alliance of three kings sends a powerful message to the rest of the Norse world. Much more so than only two. It may help us secure more alliances, he thought.

  Ivar nodded and Bjorn left the room, heading into the largest chamber in the back of the longhouse. Sighing deeply, he wriggled out of his Brynja and laid back on his large, furred bed.

  “What kind of message are you trying to send your brodir?” Hrafn squawked. “You tell him to sit the throne in one breath then take his chambers with the next.”

  “He is the new King of Denmark, it is his right,” Bjorn shrugged. “But this is my battle, my army, and I do not want him getting any false ideas of who is in charge. Ivar is a deep-cunning thinker, he needs a firm hand.”

  “If you took his crown for yourself you would not have this problem,” Hrafn replied, fluttering his wings slightly. “And it would increase the level cap within the weave for you. Remember, every dominion you hold adds and extra ten levels which you can gain.”

  “I do not betray family,” Bjorn replied, voice harsh. “Besides, if Ivar resisted me usurping his birth right – which he would – then Lejre would be thrown into civil war. I do not have time to fight my own people on the eve of my raiding of England. Only a fifl would risk cutting his army in half before the real battle even starts.”

  Just as Bjorn finished his sentence and removed his shirt, Ullr entered the room standing tall in front of the door. He turned towards her, thought-cage still whirring as he processed his current situation.

  “What do you think about Haralds proposal?” Bjorn asked.

  “I am no ruler of men,” she shrugged. “But if it were me I would promise Harald whatever he wants for now. Once your drengir man the walls of Jorvik he will be hard pressed to take it from you.”

  “A man’s word is the most precious thing in Midgard,” Bjorn replied. “I do not want to gain a reputation as an oath breaker.”

  “As I said,” Ullr shrugged again. “I am no leader of men. I will be guarding the door if you need me.”

  “Do you not tire?”

  “There will be time for sleep when Aella is dead and my promise to you is fulfilled,” she said, then she was marching out of the chamber and closing the door behind her and Bjorn was laying back on the furs and staring into the darkness above his bed.

  Eventually his eyelids became heavy and just as he was falling into the much-needed reverie of sleep, runes appeared behind his eyelids.

  New skill unlocked:

  Muninn’s Sight

  As you slumber you may view the world through your familiar’s eyes.

  What in Helheim is this skill? He thought.