Well, nothing ventured. Here's my 1st Chapter for my viking fantasy story titled
"Chasing the Sun."
Arnulf opened the doors to the guard barracks and hurried inside. Despite the doors being open for mere moments, several off-duty guardsmen growled at him to close it faster as the freezing Spring rain and wind gusted inside.
He hurriedly put his spear in the rack near the door. The freezing cold still clung to his bones despite the miasmic heat filling the guard house. Finding his bunk and chest, he shrugged out of his cold, soaked clothing. Changing into dry clothes, Arnulf still felt the chill clinging to his bones. He tossed his wet clothes on top of the chest for later drying and went towards the massive fire pit burning at the head of the guardhouse.
He grabbed a wooden cup from a nearby table and filled it with cider from the barrel nearest the fire. Arnulf felt it washing down his gullet and into his belly, and he smiled. Before he could find a place by the fire, a squat, broad-shouldered man ambled up to Arnulf from the other side of the fire pit.
"Yer lass be looking for you, lad," the man said.
"Aye?" Arnulf replied. "What's the matter?"
"Dunno. She didn't say, but she looked worried. Told her you was on the wall and promised to tell you to find her once you were back."
Arnulf nodded, suppressing a sigh at the thought of going back outside. "My thanks, Sigi."
Sigi shrugged and went back to his chair. Arnulf downed his cup of cider in two large gulps and put it back on the table. He went back to his chest and pulled his sealskin cloak around himself, taking a moment only to buckle on his weapons belt and shoulder his shield.
Arnulf slipped out of the guardhouse and into the freezing rain. Despite the strong downpour, he followed the wooden planks that made up the road, allowing him to make better time than if he'd tried going through the half frozen mud under the awnings.
Through the sleet Arnulf marched to the base of the hill, where sat a small hut of a home near the mead hall. He knocked twice. No answer came. He knocked again, harder this time.
"A moment!" a young woman's voice said from within. The latch lifted and Ingrid opened her door. The redheaded sorceress's face froze into a pensive stare when she saw Arnulf, then softened into a worried smile. "Oh thank the gods. Come inside. Hurry!"
"What's the urgency?" Arnulf asked as he shuffled inside. Ingrid closed the door behind him.
She planted her hands on his cheeks and pulled him down, planting a warm kiss on his lips. Arnulf gave a murmured huff of surprise but did not pull away. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, enjoying the warmth of her body against him.
When Ingrid finally broke the kiss, Arnulf said with a cheeky smile, "Hello to you too, love."
Ingrid blushed a lovely red color and looked aside,saying almost sheepishly, "Sorry."
"Don't be."
Arnulf leaned in and kissed her on the tip of her nose. She smiled up at him, eyes warm with affection. Yet Arnulf saw worry behind the warmth. Perhaps even fear?
"What's wrong?" he asked.
A scowl marred Ingrid's face as she said, "Our Jarl Sigurd is planning to go to war against his neighbors, and soon."
Arnulf's gut twisted into a knot but fought past it, saying, "That's not the only thing bothering you, is it?"
"No," Ingrid said. "Tidings from the south trouble my mentor."
The idea of the powerful sorceress that was Ingrid's mentor being troubled scared Arnulf more than news of war. It must have shown on his face. Ingrid left his embrace and turned to tend the pot over her small fire.
"Ingrid," Arnulf said, following in her footsteps. "What's wrong? Truthfully."
Ingrid did not reply. Instead, she took a ladle and bent slightly, stirring something in the pot.
"Ingrid," Arnulf said again, softer this time. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. "Talk to me, love."
"It's the Blighted Scar," Ingrid finally said. "It's growing."
A chill colder than the sleeting downpour outside took root in Arnulf's heart. He stammered, "But, the Wardstones-"
"Are failing," Ingrid interrupted. She stood up, placing the ladle on her mantle, and turned to face him. Her emerald green eyes reflected firelight as she said in a conspiratorial tone, "Jarl Sigurd's gothi said as much when he consulted the runes. The Wardstones are failing and the Scar is growing."
"How fast? How soon until it reaches us?" Arnulf asked..
"I don't know, but it will happen."
Arnulf's mind went blank and his eyes became unfocused. Ingrid guided him to a wicker chair and waited for him to return to himself.
Of all the things he could imagine saying, he looked up at Ingrid and asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because we don't have to die here," Ingrid said, forcing a smile. "Jarl Svenla of Raudvík is sending ships westward, across the Serpent Sea to Nýrheim! Lady Olga intends to join her, and I convinced her to let you join us."
Arnulf's first thought leaped from his heart, urging him to say yes and to follow her. The cold voice of caution tempered it, forcing him to ask, "Does Jarl Sigurd know of your mistress's intentions?"
A dark silence held the room, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Ingrid finally replied, "No. He believes Lady Olga is going to consult with Jarl Svenla about an alliance."
With a nod, Arnulf said, "So you're betraying him."
"He betrays us by refusing to do anything about the Wardstones failing!" Ingrid snapped. Her eyes flashed with anger, then softened somewhat, as did her tone. "Please come with us, Arnulf."
"Nýrheim is a death sentence," he replied. "It's infested with strange creatures and Skraelings. No colony has survived more than a single winter."
"I know," Ingrid said with a solemn nod. "It's dangerous, but staying here
is a death sentence."
That final word hung in the silence that followed. Everything in Arnulf screamed to say yes and follow her.
"When are you leaving?" he asked.
"Tomorrow morning. Please don't tell anyone else."
Arnulf opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. His tongue felt tied into a knot. What could he say? What should he say? Ingrid looked at him with a pensive expression.
He looked down at his lap and said, voice heavy with defeat, "I won't say a thing."
"So you'll come with us?"
"Yes," He nodded weakly.
Ingrid embraced him and kissed his forehead.
"Thank you," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "This is for the best. I promise."
Arnulf closed his eyes and leaned into her embrace, breathing deeply of her to reassure himself he was making the right decision.
***
Arnulf returned to the guard barracks in the evening after spending supper with Ingrid. Things had barely changed inside, which was typical. Nobody liked staying in the barracks when they could be at a tavern or brothel or really anywhere that wasn't the barracks. Arnulf found his bunk again and rested his shield against the chest at the foot of his bed that contained all of his worldly possessions.
"Arnulf!" a gruff man's voice declared. "Where have you been?"
Arnulf resisted a sigh of frustration and turned to face the source of the voice, replying, "Visiting my sweetheart, Captain."
Captain Bram glared at Arnulf, saying, "Well I hope it was worth it. You're wanted in the Jarl's hall."
Arnulf's eyes practically bulged out of his skull. He asked, "What? Why?"
"You think the Jarl tells me anything?" Bram sneered. "Get your ass up to the hall now!"
Captain Bram "escorted" Arnulf up the hill to Jarl Sigurd's meadhall, leaving him at the great doors. Ushered inside by the door guards, Arnulf was met by a gaunt woman who claimed to be Sigurd's seneschal. Arnulf was only dimly aware of what she said as they went through the main chamber of the hall. Despite his apprehension, he couldn't help but gape at the hall as he walked through it for the first time.
The walls were covered in knotwork-patterned tapestries depicting a multitude of events, most of which revolved around the past Jarls of Ívarsvöllur and their great deeds. Servants rushed about preparing for the evening meal, laying out trenchers and pots packed with enough food to feed the entirety of Sigurd's huscarl warbands, making Arnulf's mouth water despite already having eaten.
The seneschal brought Arnulf back to himself with a curt question. "Did you get all of that?"
"Um, yes," Arnulf said without conviction. Looking around, he saw they were in the apartments that filled up the back end of the mead hall. They stood in front of a door where two huscarls in lamellar plate armor with swords on their weapons belts stood guard.
The seneschal sighed and said, "Try to not embarrass yourself before your Jarl, at least. This could be very good for you." And with that she left.
One of the huscarls opened the door and looked at him expectantly. Arnulf walked through.
"Guardsman Arnulf to see you, Jarl," the huscarl said over Arnulf's shoulder, then closed the door.
Within was a small room with a fur covered bed in one corner. Several plush chairs masterfully carved from a dark wood sat in front of a fireplace already blazing. A tall, broad shouldered man with shoulder-length gold-and-silver hair stood up from one of the chairs. He cut a powerful figure with richly decorated and well made red clothes embroidered with silver thread. Golden torques covered his arms from bicep to wrist, and jeweled rings rested on his fingers. His blue eyes were bright and sharp, seeming to cut into Arnulf's soul.
"My Jarl," Arnulf said with reverence, falling to one knee.
"Rise, guardsman," Jarl Sigurd said with a rich, masculine voice. "We have important matters to discuss and I'd rather you not be kneeling the entire time."
"Yes, my Jarl," Arnulf said, hesitantly rising to stand up. "What can I do for you?"
"You can begin by taking a seat," Sigurd said, gesturing at a chair close to his. "Can I offer you a drink?"
Arnulf wasn't sure what the protocol was when a Jarl offered you a drink. He wished he'd paid more attention to the seneschal when she was telling him what to do. His silence did not go unnoticed as Sigurd poured mead from a pitcher into two golden cups.
"Speak up, man," the Jarl commanded.
"Y-yes, my lord," Arnulf stuttered out. He moved to the offered chair and accepted an offered cup from Sigurd. Arnulf couldn't help but marvel at it. The simply but intricately decorated drinking vessel was worth more money than Arnulf had ever earned, or would likely ever have. His sipped cautiously at his drink, enjoying the wholesome honey taste on his tongue.
Jarl Sigurd settled back into his chair and gave Arnulf a fatherly smile, saying, "Tell me about yourself, Guardsman."
Feeling cautious, Arnulf simply said, "I'm from the countryside. Grew up on my family's farm. It was good living."
"But not what you wanted," Sigurd stated more than asked.
Arnulf nodded. "I wanted to see the world outside the farm. So I left. Spent a few years going between odd jobs and guarding caravans until I got offered a job with your town guard. I accepted it and have been manning the walls and patrolling the streets of Ívarsvöllur for four years or so now."
Sigurd nodded along encouragingly. When Arnulf finished, Sigurd asked, "How do you know my Wyrd Speaker's apprentice?"
Arnulf's face flushed. Did Sigurd already know what was going on behind his back? The Jarl's eyes bore into Arnulf, forcing him to speak up. "We met a few times when she was at the market and I was on guard there. We arranged to meet after our duties were over, and we've been friends ever since."
"Oh do come now," Sigurd said with mirth in his voice. "You're more than friends. I'm surprised you two haven't married yet."
Arnulf felt like his face was hot enough to smelt iron. He stammered, "W-we thought about it. A lot. She has her duties to her mentor, and I'm just a guardsman. Maybe one day, when she's become a full Wyrd Speaker, I will have more to offer her."
Sigurd nodded. "I see. No wonder she managed to get you chosen for escort duty. Tell me, did she tell you about the Wardstones failing?"
When Arnulf's jaw gaped open in abject terror, Sigurd raised a hand. "Be at ease, Guardsman. I knew that she'd tell you eventually once she knew. She wants to keep you safe, and this is only the most prudent way to do it."
Arnulf managed to pick up his jaw and clench his mouth shut, not trusting his own tongue to not betray him.
Sigurd continued, "I'll assume she told you about my intentions to ally with Jarl Svenla to the west. Svenla, you see, is a powerful ruler. Her huscarl warbands are nearly equal to mine. With her army backing mine, we can unite the North and face the Blighted Scar with our full strength while the Wyrd Speakers find a way to restore the Wardstones."
The Jarl's face took on a hard edge as he said, "I'm placing a great deal of trust in you, Arnulf. The fate of the North is at stake here. I expect you to do everything in your power to make sure this alliance happens."
Arnulf nodded. "I will do my best, my Jarl."
Sigurd's face eased into a fatherly smile. "I know you will, if only for your love's sake. See this task done, Arnulf, and you will be welcomed among my Huscarls."
"My Jarl?" Arnulf stammered, once again slack-jawed. "You would honor me so?"
"I would," Sigurd said, "if this mission is successful."
A whirlwind of thoughts howled through Arnulf's mind. He'd grown up listening to tales of heroic huscarls fighting for their Jarls and peoples, slaying monsters and rescuing beautiful princesses from said creatures' clutches. He had wanted to become one of them for longer than could be remembered, but had given up on the dream shortly after leaving home.
His thoughts must have shown on his face, as Sigurd raised an eyebrow and asked, "Do you not think yourself capable?"
"No, my Jarl," Arnulf said perhaps a bit too quickly. "It's just that I've no great deed to my name to earn the chance to earn this honor."
"Ah, I see," Sigurd said with a chuckle. "I see you still think in terms of the skald's song and the sagas. Being one of my huscarls is more difficult than being a hero, Arnulf, or a guardsman, but I feel you are capable of rising to the challenge."
Arnulf's face asked the question he couldn't bring himself to voice. How could Sigurd know what he, who had never seen the Jarl up-close until now, was worthy?
"It's simple, really," Sigurd said. "I asked Captain Bram about you, and consulted with those of my advisors who busy themselves in the affairs of my town. Bram said quite plainly he'd never met a more capable guardsman."
"He said that?" Arnulf asked, astonished at the idea of his brusk captain saying such a thing.
"Well, he didn't use those exact words, but they meant the same thing to me. You're an honest man with heartfelt convictions of decency and law. Such a thing is rare these days, and are useful to Jarls who recognize them as such. Consider this diplomatic mission a test."
Arnulf nodded. He almost smiled, but the nagging reminder that he was ultimately abandoning Sigurd kept it from showing. Instead, he said, "I will see it done."
***
The sleeting rain stopped during the night, leaving only the chill of the downpour to mingle with the chill of a gray Spring morning. People stirred from their beds and prepared for the morning chores. Arnulf felt frozen to his straw mattress. With great effort he moved on stiff limbs to sitting, then standing up. His stomach still felt twisted and his normally voracious morning appetite abandoned him, so he packed some extra dry rations for later and donned his gear, such as it was. Boiled leather and tightly knit cloth over his tunic and pants. His shield, carrying the dragon crest of Jarl Sigurd, he slung over his back. His axe went into a loop on his belt and his seax and its sheath hung at his side.
At the bottom of his chest, underneath his two spare shirts and extra set of britches, rested his few worldly possessions: A toy horse and rider his father had made for him long ago, a small wood bound book of poetry, and a purse containing all of his worldly wealth.
His eyes focused on the purse. Memories drifted to the top of his mind. Earning his first wage as a guardsman. Excitedly talking with Ingrid about buying a home for them one day. Watching his small hoard of silver and bronze coins grow, and with it, his future.
Their future.
Closing his eyes, Arnulf shook his head to clear it. He stuffed it all into his rucksack, leaving the key on top of the lid.
Stepping out into the cold dawn, Arnulf didn't go immediately to the stables. Instead he stopped by the market, where he purchased three items before going to the stave church.
The church was empty save for himself and the gothi preparing his morning offerings to the gods. Arnulf walked to an alcove where a life-sized stone statue of a warrior in ornate armor, face obscured by an ornate helmet and long beard. Before the warrior was a small altar with a wax candle and stone bowl. Arnulf lit the candle with his flint and striking stone, then placed the items in the bowl: a small bag of threshed wheat, a piece of parchment with runic letters written on both sides, and a coarse piece of ash tree bark.
Arnulf bent to one knee before the altar, but kept his eyes locked with the statue's unseeing gaze.
"Hail and Glory to you, Baleyg All Father," he intoned with reverence. "I come to offer you gifts and ask for your favor. I go to walk on a dangerous road. I ask you, the Unending Flame, to light my path. I ask you, King of Solvakholl, to grant me courage to defeat my enemies and protect those who rely on me."
Arnulf took the candle from its stand and touched the flame to the contents of the bowl. As they burned, he continued to speak.
"I offer you the gifts you gave our ancestors long ago: the wheat you taught us to harvest, the parchment on which you told us to write our stories, and the ash wood from which you carved our first ancestors. I return these in part to you now."
Arnulf watched the offerings burn into cinders, then finished the ritual.
"From the earth you made us, and to the earth we one day return. Hail to my kin. Glory to the Victorious Dead."
***
Arnulf found Ingrid and her mistress waiting for him at the stables. Both women had dressed for the road, wearing riding skirts, leather boots, and thick cloaks. Ingrid smiled at him. Arnulf smiled back, feeling a kernel of warmth become alight in his core.
"You're late," Ingrid's teacher said, dousing that kernel.
"My apologies, Lady Olga," Arnulf said, head bowed. "I was at the church giving offerings to the All Father."
Olga, called Stormcrow, looked worthy of her moniker. Even without the iconic gold trimmed blue cloak of her order, she looked like a Wyrd Speaker. Her hawkish face framed by steel gray hair looked down at him. Two blue eyes, sharp as iron spear tips, glared down at him and seemed to pierce into his thoughts. Her scowl lessened slightly and she said,"You are forgiven, but don't make it a habit. Time grows short."
The three of them mounted their horses and they set off. Olga led them with Ingrid and Arnulf riding side-by-side. Arnulf tried to think un-traitorous thoughts as they passed under Ívarsvöllur's gate. The guards looked as cold and bored as ever as they watched over the usual morning traffic. Huntsmen and trappers gone to prowl. Farmers to their fields. Herbalists to find their reagents.
Only after they left the gatehouse and were alone on the open road did Arnulf breathe a sigh of relief.
"Calm yourself," Olga commanded. "You look as though you walk to your own execution."
"Sorry," Arnulf said.
Ingrid guided her horse close to his and placed a slender hand on his, giving him a reassuring squeeze. He smiled back at her, and when her hand left his, he urged his horse onward to trot next to Olga.
"Lady Olga, might I ask you a question?" he asked.
"You already did," Olga replied, "but you may ask another."
Arnulf clenched his jaw in annoyance but kept civility in his voice. "Ingrid told me that the Wardstones are failing. How is that possible?"
The sorceress gave him a calculating look, then looked over her shoulder. Arnulf looked as well. The three riders were, for the moment, truly alone on the long dirt road that connected Ívarsvöllur to Raudvík.
"The hands of men made the Wardstones," Olga said, looking forward, "even if it was the greatest Wyrd Speakers of the age who made them. Like all the creations of men, they will eventually fade. My order does their best to maintain the Stones. Even now, they consult the old lore and seek a solution. They will fail. The Blighted Scar will grow, and will consume the North."
"How do you know they'll fail?" Arnulf pressed.
"I have inspected them myself with the Wyrding Way. The magic imbued in them is fading, like a bonfire bereft of fresh kindling, and we do not know how to add more."
Arnulf's mouth dried up. He asked, "So why is Jarl Sigurd preparing for war against his neighbors?"
"When the Wardstones at last fail and the Blight finally breaks free, it will devour his lands first. First crops will fail. Then game and herd animals will all fall sick and die, and there'll be nothing to eat but bark and dry grass. Jarl Sigard intends to conquer as many of his weaker neighbors as he can to take control of their lands, holding off the inevitable for a miracle that won't be coming."
"Why isn't he trying to unite with them? Combining resources for the famine and preparing to fight the Draugr?"
"A noble idea. Alas, all nobility died with the Old Kingdoms, leaving only crows and ravens to pick at the bones."
"Then what makes Jarl Svenla so trustworthy?" Arnulf said with a hint of challenge seeping into his voice.
Olga turned and gave him a sharp glare, then said, "Before I was Jarl Sigurd's Wyrd Speaker, I was advisor to Svenla's father. I watched her grow into a woman and learn the ways of the world, and I choose to trust her self-interest to align with mine."
"What about Ingrid and I?" Arnulf asked
"Ingrid is my apprentice, so she will come with me. You are her beau, so you will follow where she goes. Whether or not I approve."
"Arnulf," Ingrid said, reproach in her voice. "It was Jarl Svenla who told Lady Olga of her intent and invited her. That should be reason enough to trust Jarl Svenla."
Arnulf had the good sense to look abashed, even if he still didn't fully trust in the good will of either Jarl Svenla or Lady Olga.
Everything has a price in this world, Arnulf thought.
I hope the price for this deception and treason won't be our lives.
