Jorviks Return - Story AAR - Brytenwalda Mod - Now With PICTURES!

Users who are viewing this thread

sPOONz

Sergeant
NOTE: Hello! This is a story I wrote that started as an AAR for the Brytenwalda Mod but evolved into a short story instead. It was written and completed 6 months ago and now I am re-writing it since learning more creative writing skills. Originally it was posted and still remains in the Brytenwalda forum section and over at Paradox Forums but I have just stumbled across this forum area and figured a posting here would be nice also. Please leave any comments that come to your mind as feedback will go a long way for my learning to write well. Thanks and enjoy!

Jorviks Return

SUMMARY: A Story based AAR that follows the adventure of Jorvik, a one-eyed Norse raider who becomes stranded on a Hibernian coastline and becomes embroiled in the miss-haps of his new companions as he searches for a way to return home.

EDIT: 09/05/2014 - Finally including PICTURES! Goodbye wall-of-text!!!

EDIT: 05/05/2014 - Also, any feedback will be greatly appreciated as it will go a long way in helping me learn to write better so please comment with any thoughts.

EDIT: 04/05/2014 - Having been reading a lot recently I feel that I can now write much better and so as a practice exercise I've decided to re-write Jorviks Return for better quality. Sorry if anyone was mid-way through reading this. I shall update each chapter as I go so it should not be long until you can continue from where you were before.

EDIT: 25/10/2013 - N/A

sr4u.jpg


Chapter 1: Charity

Everything hurt as the icy sea finally showed mercy and spat Jorvik out upon the Irish coast. He lay, spluttering amongst the salty froth, gasping for air. His hands shivered and grappled at the smooth pebbles as they clattered beneath the tides push and pull. He was exhausted. His body throbbed and ached from the oceans battering. Wobbling to his knees Jorvik steadied himself and gazed upon his surroundings. The coast on which he found himself spread far and wide. A beach of brown shingle crept up ahead to a high embankment of dark sandy soil. Covering this were thick tufts of grass, waving against cold winds which blew in from the ocean behind. A grey sky hung low, blotched with darker clouds that swept fast inland. These winds were strong, lashing at Jorviks naked back as they howled like wolves tormented by their own turbulence.

yu3kx.jpg

Not far from Jorviks side lay a long wooden plank, snapped and twisted it rocked heavily on top of the wet pebbles. The ocean surf lapped around its splintered edges, a remnant of his destroyed longboat which had bore him and his doomed companions far across the sea from other lands. Armed with axe and shield they had come to plunder the Hibernia isle. To raid the coastal villages greedily for wealth and prestige, as was his Norse tradition. Yet they had been thwarted in the night by an unforgiving storm that had chewed apart their vessel, casting all on-board into the swallowing depths. Now Jorvik was isolated and alone, trapped on the edge of a land he had come to with hostile intent.  Desperate and close to death he laughed, shaking his fist back out to sea he shouted, “Thor protects me still!” 

With little ease he climbed to his feet. Beaten by cold winds and bruised from his rough arrival he slowly stumbled forward. He was weak, tired and alone but unlike his sunken longboat he was not completely ruined. Grabbing handfuls of grass Jorvik pulled himself up the embankment. Looking back he could see no other survivors, nor food or clothing that the sea had cared to spare. Ahead he saw the land was barren. A vast landscape of grey hills and old stones as large as huts were standing before him. Rising steadily into the distance the land crept towards the foot of a great mountain, dark and jagged it reached high into the encircling clouds. Further to his west he could see the outlay of a woodland, tall and shadowy it swayed. This was the northern lands of the isle Hibernia. A land of poor Irish farmers and shepherds that resided in small hamlets made of wood and thatch. Jorvik would need to beg for their kindness if he had any hope of surviving the next few days. Should they suspect his original purpose was to raid and plunder their hard earned goods he would find his last days spent locked in the village stocks, humiliated and left to starve, he was sure.

Though many Norsemen would come to pillage these desolate farmers some would arrive peacefully as hopeful immigrants or eager traders, either he could pose as. Reaching one of these villages however could be difficult. There were many who could benefit from a stranded soul such as Jorvik. Slavery was profitable and not all here desired a life of hard labour with poor returns. Smugglers and slavers were rampant on all coasts. Lurking from hidden dens they kept keen eyes upon their surroundings, on watch to ambush a rival or ensnare an easy gain such as Jorvik. Proceeding ahead would be a matter of luck more than skill. Rubbing his arms for warmth and coughing up salty sea water he scurried ahead naked in hope of aid.

As Jorvik sought his way ahead the crashing waves grew silent as the winds waned from their swirling gusts. The land was unforgiving however, sloping sharply only to abruptly rise again, often into small creeks where tall reeds hugged the edges as it wound its way back towards the sea. Wading from one side to the other Jorvik could continue forth until finally reaching the woodlands shelter. Now less exposed he trod carefully through the thick bracken that carpeted the soily ground. He found himself using his hands as much as his feet to claw his way past low branches and huddled tree trunks. No edible vegetation could he find though Jorvik was comforted as the sun rose to midday, breaking through the canopy in rays that warmed his bare body. Cursing the sharp twigs and pine-cones that pricked his feet underfoot he eventually came to a clearing laden with felled trees and splintered stumps. The land continued further with grassy hills, rolling gently they seemed fresh and greener under the midday sun. The clouds were abating and soon the winds came to little more than a soft breeze. Not far into this new terrain Jorvik found a series of stones set out as boundary markers. Not far from these a muddy trail trampled with hooves and cart wheels could be seen. Jorvik sighed happily. Wiping back his lank red hair he pressed onwards again following the trail, hopeful now to find villagers sympathetic to his plight. Keeping vigilant Jorvik saw no signs of potential slavers or bandits. And it seemed Jorviks luck was altogether going well as within only a few miles down the trail he came upon, with much relief, a small hamlet.

pde6.jpg

Sneaking into some bushes he peered out to observe his chances of help. The village was small although to his surprise well fortified. A wooden palisade ran around its entire perimeter which itself was surrounded by farm plots and work sheds. Despite this unexpected defence Jorvik saw that neither the gate entrance nor palisade walls were manned. Hopefully this meant they were passive and would not be too alarmed by a ragged stranger approaching. Mingling outside the walls were women and children performing peasant duties and only a few men guiding cattle towards their pastures. He felt confident. He quickly brushed himself down, unmatted his red hair and straightened out his thick moustache whilst finding a bush of decent size to cover his cold stricken vitals. Whether covered or not his rough face that bore only one functional eye, having lost the other in battle years ago, would still be a frightening sight even to the sturdiest of folk. There was only one way to find out what their reaction would be. He walk out into the open.

hh8m.jpg

A shriek rang out from a women dropping her straw basket spilling its contents. Grabbing the hands of some crying children she fled towards the village gates. Perhaps he could have found a bigger bush to cover himself with or waited for a better time to approach but there was little he could do now. Halting regretfully he considered the benefits of being made a slave back on the coast but before he could come to a decision armed men came pouring out of the gates. Some looked puzzled, some angry and others intimidated but all wielded crude tools as weapons, blunt clubs, spiked pitchforks and rusty scythes.  Anxiously he waited as they surrounded him. An old man with a deep frown pushed his way through. He was short and crooked with a sparse beard of white stubble. Twirling a stalk of corn between brown teeth he ask suspiciously, “Who are you, stranger?”

dwl1.jpg

“An unfortunate soul in need of aid.” Jorvik replied, happy at least in knowing the native dialect.

“Unfortunate indeed. How is it you arrive at our gates in such a way?”

“Shipwrecked. Last nights storm sunk my vessel with all my possessions. I ask for any charity you could be so kind as to give. Clearly you can see the Lady of Fortune has not favoured me. Can you help at least?”

A brief silence arose as the old man, clearly the Village Elder, took thought. “What was your purpose sailing off these coasts?” He asked with a narrow squint, spitting out the chewed end of his corn stalk.

Knowing of course his true intent had been to burn and pillage these coastal villages, revealing that would certainly not be helpful. “Looking for trade.” Jorvik replied quickly. “I sailed from the north hoping to find warm furs to return home with. Alas, I am now stranded here. If you could spare just some clothing I will make my way onwards to the closest town?”

“Aileach is your closest town but you will have to pass around the mountain to reach it. It's a few days walk if the weather holds, longer if not. Come, we'll get you warm and fed. And clothed.” He said making one last disapproving look at Jorvik before signalling the others to escort him within the walls.

They brought him up to their main community shelter. A thatched hut built beside a small cattle pen thick with manure. A crowd had gathered to watch. They were stood beside a wooden stock used to humiliate and punish offenders. For a small community such as this it would be rarely used other than in jest during the harvest celebrations. Jorvik did note however its careful positioning beside the cattle pen, forcing any would be prisoner into kneeling amongst the surrounding cow muck. He felt himself feeling increasingly uncomfortable at their suspicious gazes. The women were both old and young but all mostly as broad as the men. Each face, even the children’s looked rough and worn from the harsh climate. Their cloths where torn and as dirty as their black finger nails. Jorvik was grateful to be taken away into the shelter where inside he found a warm fire. A few occupants left as he was taken towards it. The Village Elder whom spoke to him outside handed him a rough woollen overcoat that hung low to his knees and some coarse trousers which were far too short, barely reaching his ankles. “We cannot spare any shoes I'm afraid.” The Elder said inspecting Jorviks new attire. “But this clothing will help you none the less to keep warm on your travel to Aileach.” Jorvik nodded and got dressed.

po38.jpg

“Many thanks,” he replied trying not to show his itchy discomfort.

“Once you reach the town however you can only buy charity. Without coin you wont find much support.” The Elder said handing Jorvik a bowl of cabbage soup. “I would suggest then that you stay here for a short while, any extra labour during the sowing season will be of great use to us."

Wiping the soup away from his moustache Jorvik looked up in surprise. Back in his homeland he was a warrior raider. To be offered work as a lowly farmer would have been taken with great offence. Reminding himself of his need to keep his true profession hidden he instead accepted the Elders offer. Not unless he felt his pride worth a week in the stocks and cow muck outside. He did not. “To work on a farm and help you in your labour during the sowing season would be a great honour,” he lied. The Elder smiled happily at his own fortune and led Jorvik to a small room that was now to be his accommodation. It was a small room, windowless and smelling of old cabbage. Indeed the flooring had a stickiness to it from where vegetables had previously been stored. Left too long they must have begun weeping in decay before being discarded with. For his bedding there was a pile of straw placed in one corner, in the other a clay pot for toileting. 'Inconveniently small,' Jorvik thought.

So it was over next next few weeks Jorvik worked hard, rarely spoken to from the ever suspicious villagers. Afraid that some may find his old gear for raiding washed up on shore , he kept his head down and tried to appear as much of a peasant as he could, even taking to chewing corn stalks like the Elder. He hoped that he could soon raise enough coin to afford the stay in Aileach from where he would then find a means to promptly return home.

The days passed slowly, weeks slower still. The month of his arrival had been in late February and now it was mid-March. The weather since his arrival had turned again into strong winds blowing black clouds that poured rain day and night. The ground was sodden, full of squelching puddles that sucked and slurped around Jorviks bare feet. Still sowing season was yet to start. Jorvik helped where he was asked to and never complained. His arms became worn from chopping so many fallen trees into piles of kindling. His nose was full of a putrid smell from discarding the villagers waste into the communal cesspit. But of all the tasks he performed the one he detested the most was the milking of cows. For a proud Norse raider it was most dishonourable to tug fleshy udders like a milkmaid. Should ever he return home safely, the one exploit of his time abroad that he would not share was the milking of cows.

nykv.jpg

As March passed into April the grim weather began to wane and show signs of spring. 'How routine and mundane the life of a peasant is.' Jorvik thought privately. Yet he quickly came to regret this notion. Whilst tending the cattle beneath the setting sun he heard a panicked alarm from a shouting villager outside the palisade. “Bandits! Bandits are upon us!” he cried. The villager never made it back inside. A yelp was heard followed by the clonking sound of a club falling heavily upon his skull. A volley of arrows shot over the walls catching one man in the shoulder, another in the rear of a cow. Bandits were here indeed and they had been sneaky enough to fall upon the village unaware. Now in a crazed panic the villagers run left and right whilst forgetting to close the main gate.

g19zp.jpg

Men ran into one another clumsily, women shrieked as they fled inside and children sat crying having been forgotten in all the mayhem. To add to the confusion the cow struck by the arrow had bucked braking open the cattle pen. The herd now stampeded across the vegetable patches whilst opportunist dogs attacked the squawking chickens instead of the bandits. Sheep fled in circles whilst the pigs sat stubbornly in the mud. Jorvik however kept his mind collected and sought a means to save himself. In his quick judgement he could see a choice between either jumping over the palisade wall and risking a broken limb or by fleeing through the gates where the bandits now poured in. Seeing some villagers create a feeble counter-attack and distracting the bandits he chose to flee for the gate. He ran quickly pushing over any defenders who stood in his way and ducking the blows from any attackers. His skill had not been lost in the weeks of peasantry labour but his doom came not from the sharp edge of an axe but from the slippery mud beneath his feet. Losing his balance he slipped with outstretched arms falling face first into the wet mud. Before he could pick himself up he felt and heard a loud clonk on the back of his head. All went dark.

qjtzf.jpg

As the morning chill began to recede and the birds begun chirping Jorvik stirred. It would seem he had survived the raiders assault. His head pounded sorely but he felt no serious injury, except to his pride. Coughing deeply and squinting out of his good eye he saw amongst swirls of ash and smoke the village had been set ablaze. Around him lay the less fortunate. Battered and beaten were the slumped bodies of village men. Some moaned with pain whilst others remained stiff in death. The raiders had been victorious will little to no casualties. They had looted the stores and made off with all they could carry, setting alight the thatched huts as they did so. Jorvik nursing his head stumbled to his feet and lent against the gate which the witless villages had forgotten to close. He had come to this land to cause such a tragedy and was now a victim of one. He could see wandering through the haze the Village Elder, starring gormlessly at his ruined home like a helpless child.  Beside the gate he saw a forgotten bundle of fine furs discarded by the bandits as they had hurriedly departed. Likely the most valuable piece of all the loot they could have claimed. Jorvik picked it up saying aloud to himself, “They have dropped such a prize! What a bunch of fools! Surely they are led by an imbecile if he left this behind?” Looking back at the Elder who watched on solemnly Jorvik waved and dusted off the furs. He smiled at the old man and then turn't his back on him to go in search of the bandits who clearly required better leadership.
 
5k6v.jpg


Chapter 2: Furs
Little effort was required in tracking the bandits as their path took them through long grass that had disturbed the morning due. Initially they had proceeded towards Aileach but made a sharp turn westwards from a shallow gulley that headed for a nearby woodland. Following this Jorvik held tight the bundle of furs contemplating his new fortune with a smile, delighted in knowing he would no longer be performing hard tasks or worse, milking cows. His plan was to offer up the furs as a gesture of goodwill in order to gain access to the bandits group. Once he was a trusted member he would win favour amongst them and plot to oust the current leader, freeing up the position for himself. Being a Norse raider he expected this to be of little difficulty. He could offer them much in the way of ambush tactics, even party logistics. Given the evident faults of the current leadership who forgot the valuable furs and left a clear trail for any to follow, he felt it should be easy enough to remove him. With the bandits under his command he fancied a few successful raids would earn him enough to buy a new longboat from Aileach. The best of the bandits he could keep as free hands to row the longboat back across the ocean where upon arrival they could be trained as sea raiders. It begun to look as though his stranding here could turn out to be a very wealthy boon for him. Ignoring his headache from the clubbing he received the night before, he pressed onwards.

evrjy.jpg

Behind him to the east the mountain stretched high into the grey sky, to his north the smouldering village disappeared from view leaving only black smoke in sight.  The Village Elders previous advice was correct. It would be a long walk east and south around the mountain in order to reach Aileach. For now Jorviks destination took him westwards with the rising sun beating warmly on his back. He trundled forward crossing small streams, drinking as he went and picking a few handfuls of blackberries to eat off nearby bushes. The trail ran for several miles up and over small hills. The grass was tall and wet, dampening his woollen trousers and the lower end of his overcoat. Eventually the way led him inside the woodlands that he had slowly advanced towards. Here Jorvik expected the trail to become harder to follow as the grass gave way to dense brambles. Yet the bandits had foolishly hewn a path through these thickets leading a clear path up a steep incline before dropping down over a ridge and out of sight. Jorvik followed cautiously taking care not to prick his bare feet on any thorns or to snap twigs that may give him away. He kept his eyes sharp for any scouts, spying even the tree tops in case there were any nimble scouts lurking above. Crouching down Jorvik begun to crawl through wet leaves so he could peer over the ridge. At the bottom on the other side there was a clearing between encircling trees and there several tents had been erected. They were made from animal hide, held in place by wooden stakes. Poking out from beneath the tents lower folds were the lazy feet of snoozing bandits. At the camps centre there was a large camp fire, now nearly extinguished it let off only a light smoke. Surrounding this laid all the goods the bandits had claimed from the village raid. There were sacks of corn and wheat, boxes of iron tools and large joints of beef and lamb. All could fetch a fair price on the market but even sold together they would fetch less than the furs Jorvik carried with him. Removing some leaves which clung to his moustache he prepared his move down and announce himself. He wished to appear friendly without causing any alarm. Brushing a few twigs aside so as not to ruin his silent approach Jorvik climbed to his feet and stepped confidently forward.

bctn.jpg

Crack! The sound of a stick being stepped on sounded nosily, yet Jorviks feet were not to blame. It came from behind. Spinning around he was shocked to see himself standing nose to nose with a tall, hairy man clothed in nowt but a loincloth, painted head to toe with blue and white tribal patterns. Stunned by this sight Jorviks wits abandoned him long enough for the large brute to thump him hard in the gut. With a 'Umph!' Jorvik heaved and folded over falling flat at his assailants feet. Grabbed by the ankles Jorvik was dragged down into the camp. The large brute was now in possession of the fur bundle which he tossed on the floor besides a squirming Jorvik. Hearing the commotion the bandits had lept from beneath their tents bearing arms of wood and iron. The painted thug thumped his chest proudly stating with a limited vocabulary. “Furs, gift. Peasant, gift. Now join. Now friend.”

envg.jpg

Jorvik tried to catch his breadth as he lay surrounded and helpless. It seemed he had been outwitted by a barbarian who wanted, as had Jorvik, to join the group. And not only had he taken Jorviks furs as his own gift, he had declared Jorvik as a gift as well. Jorvik was feeling considerably humiliated.

“Well, well.” Spoke a bandit who was not in view. “Do my eyes play games or have we been blessed with a mighty warrior bearing us gifts.” The barbarian beat his chest again seemingly pleased with himself. Squeezing past the menacing crowd appeared a young man half their height but well groomed in comparison. He wore a lordly moustache, twirled at each end with dark hair neatly swept back revealing a soft pampered face. He leant forward curiously inspecting Jorvik with a childish grin. Clapping his hands he straighten up to speak with the confused group. “Come, come my band of hearty brothers. We have a new member!” He gestured excitedly towards the barbarian and then back to Jorvik. “And a new serf also!” 

Jorvik counted quickly the number that stood before him, at least twenty. Each bandit held firm a crude wooden club or an iron axe. They seemed bewildered and somewhat gormless but still too many for Jorvik to chance an escape from. The little man, clearly the leader Jorvik had hoped to overthrow, continued speaking in delight at the barbarian. “What is your name, dear?” The barbarian remained silent. “Your name good fellow? What should your new compatriots call you?” Still the barbarian said nothing although seeing he was being spoken too he picked up the bundle of furs saying,

“Furs.”

The little leader looked on tapping his fingers against his lips until finally saying with consideration, “Hmm, well it seems you speak little of our tongue.” Gesturing to himself with both hands he said slowly. “My name... is Feeee-lix. Understand? Felix. What is... your... name?”

Again the barbarian said only, “Furs.”

“Oh well, that will have to do.” Said the leader, Felix. Making a small bow and opening his arms wide, he said. “Welcome, Furs! to our merry band of brave brothers.”

yhtj.jpg

After requesting some bandits to take 'Furs' on a tour around the camp he then turned his attention to Jorvik. Observing with a raised eyebrow the red haired pauper who lay sprawled in the mud, he said turning to another. “Take our new thrall here over to the other servants. Be sure to give him a drink before showing him the duties we need finished by noon. Start with milking them cows we captured earlier. I do fancy myself some milk.”
 
m7s3.jpg


Chapter 3: Thralls and Fools

Chop wood, gather wood, make a fire and cook the fish. Tend the horses, herd the cows, shear the sheep and feed the pig. Take down the tent, put up the tent, wait outside the tent. It had been a little over a week and Jorviks grafting with hard labour and mundane tasks saw no end in sight. Working as a farmer before had been greatly unpleasant but being a thrall was an unthinkable low for a once proud sea raider. He had previously set sail from lands far across the northern seas to loot and pillage this bleak island named Hibernia, yet by a cruel twist of fate he has now become enslaved to a group of low-life ruffians hiding out in the wilderness. 

Today was getting no better. As the morning sun rose high enough to peak through the tree tops Jorvik had  already been hard at work before taking his breakfast meal. He had been tasked with building a dam through a nearby stream to create a separate water pool for the animals. It seemed to be more of a concern for the small leader Felix than for anyone else, most men showing  little concern in sharing the same supply. Of the other two thralls belonging to the camp, Jorvik was working the hardest. Frideswide was an old thin man who lay coughing and wheezing in his straw bed, pale and limp he seemed likely to expire any day. The other thrall Wystan was equally useless, always claiming to have suffered an injury which prevented his participating in difficult tasks. Their captives were lenient, never threatening them with violence or becoming angry at them, so Jorvik was grateful even if Wystan often excused himself. If their tasks were particularly laborious Felix would always assign a bandit or two to assist. Despite these pleasantries, Jorvik would not settle for a life as a 'kept peasant.' He had a plan and quietly bade his time until he could escape.

urdre.jpg

He had been watching the bandits closely. They were a simple group of rag-tag men who often argued and bickered amongst themselves. Their military might was nothing greater than as amateur skirmishers. To the southern end of the camp two scarecrows had been crafted for target practice. Rarely did any man land a hit with a bow and arrow or perform a melee strike skilful enough to avoid deflection. Their efforts in training often resulted in much bantering and laughter as they returned to the camp fire to drink ale instead. They may have succeeded in their village raid but the more Jorvik observed them the clearer it became it was by mere chance. Had the villagers not been so incompetent themselves these oafs and drunkards would have soon been routed. In fact it seemed to Jorvik quite remarkable they had attempted a raid altogether and it must have been for Felix's wit and charm that they had been convinced of it. Yet their foolishness was to Jorviks benefit and so he simply was biding his time until disaster befell the group. With a bit of added luck he thought he could nab the gold purse that Felix always carried about his neck, often counting many gold pieces.

Jorvik finished his breakfast and went to continue his dam building when 'Furs' the newly named barbarian brought over a jug of milk for him and other thralls to share. The barbarian was fitting in well despite his lack of verbal communication. Approaching he held forth the jug to Jorvik saying. “Drink? Cow-man drink?”

0wep.jpg

Jorvik waved him off saying rudely. “Leave me be, I don’t want any of your cow piss. And don’t call me Cow-man!”

Wystan sniggered and quipped “Ye best be drinking some, piss or not. Unless you’re waiting to suck on them udders instead?”

Infuriated at his obscenity Jorvik kicked his breakfast remains at him. Wystan crawled away trying to wipe off the scraps that caught him. “Ye won’t last long here, I say. Not drinking and kicking your food about like that. Only a Norse man would be so stupid and stubborn. To hell with ya!” He said scuttling off. The barbarian Furs left with a large smile on his face shouting back, “Cow-man. Fun!”

As the sun peaked for noon Jorvik continued onto his next task. Down stream he had been assigned wash duty, beginning with some soiled under garments. Not far from him there grew red berries which would, when pressed into a paste, become an irritant to skin. Whilst considering rubbing them into the under garments he heard Felix call out for his group to gather around at the camp fire. “Come, come my good company! The prospect of wealth and plunder returns to us. News reaches my ears that a caravan soon approaches!”

“This is it!” Jorvik spoke to himself. “The fools are going to attack a trade caravan.” They could not have planned a worse target to ambush. Caravans transported great wealth between the important trade centres of Hibernia and so were adequately guarded by some of the best mercenaries a Baron could hire. This would be the disaster Jorvik needed to befall on the group. Soon they would be slain or scattered allowing Jorvik to escape. As the group gathered he listened closely. They planned to hide on the woodlands periphery and attack the caravan from its rear as it passed. Felix gestured excitedly, pointing at his make-shift strategy model made of stick and stones in the grass. Surrounding him stood his men, anxiously rubbing their chins or scratching their heads in confusion.

o2hh.jpg

“Do not fret my dear brothers.” he reassured them. “This will be a triumph that all will hear off throughout Hibernia. Wealth and fame will be yours and by the time the sun sets our pouch of gold coin will be full with more than you can count!” Jorviks smile broke when Felix turnt his attention to him. “We need all the able men we can muster. Our fine thrall here will join us.” Mortified Jorvik stopped his scrubbing. He tried to protest saying the dam was not finished and their undergarments not ready but Felix was unconcerned.

“Nonsense dear fellow! Whilst it does us well to have such an enthusiastic thrall we need you now to bring your good fortune to our fight. You shall be our battle mascot and the bearer of our lucky charm!” A disturbance arouse from the crowding bandits. “Yes!” Felix continued. “I have prepared the bundle of furs brought to us by our barbarian brother the day he arrived. It may not be much but never should battle take place without a charm of fortune. The honour of carrying ours is hereby bestowed upon our courageous red-head servant.” Jorvik was speechless realizing he was being dragged into a fatal disaster. Likely he would die, he thought, not as a proud warrior but as a ridiculous mascot parading a bundle of ‘lucky’ furs.

Reluctantly swept into the soon to be doomed group, Jorvik was handed the bundle of furs and trailed behind as they made their way towards the forests outlay where the ambush was to take place. Quietly they proceed back along the hewn path the bandits had previously made until taking a turn east towards the road that connected Aileach with the other wealthy towns. The bandits mostly remained silent, some seemed to buy into Felix's enthusiasm and made excited whisperers to one another but the majority was unsure. Coming to a crouch they came up to where the forest diminished into thin spindly trees and bushes. They had armed themselves with their clubs and axes, some wore padded vests but most were without any form of armour other than the rags they had woken up in. They huddled close sweating and panting their foul breath as the tension rose. Most of these bandits had been village outcasts or city vagrants who had seen little to no combat. Especially not with hardened mercenaries, well armoured and well trained.

yja4x.jpg

As the wind rustled the undergrowth, the clopping of hooves could be heard from the approaching caravan. Slowly it came into view and passed ahead. It was hauled by four stocky mules and guarded by two dozen men marching with discipline behind its lead. They wore thick chain mail and  iron helms that would render the bandits clubs useless. In one hand they bore round oaken shields braced with metal and huge axes designed to crack through bone and armour with one swing. The caravan creaked as it rolled over the uneven track splashing mud as it went. Rolls of expensive fabrics, barrels of aged ale and metal crafts of fine jewellery could be seen under the canvas tied on top. Just as planned the bandits held firm until they could spring out and flank the caravans rear, little good would it do them. When the moment came Felix raised his club high shouting. “For fame and glory my merry men! Attack!”

1mr6.jpg

Jorvik almost choked. The caravan guards heard his cry and immediately formed a shieldwall. As the ruffians sprung out from beneath the bushes Jorvik felt a hand placed on his shoulder. “Wait here.” The leader Felix whispered. Turning to the barbarian Furs he commanded. “Guard our mascot. Don’t leave until I return.” Confused but seeming to understand, Furs kept his place beside Jorvik. Felix jumped to his feet joining the charge whilst shouting more words of encouragement. Watching on Jorvik witnessed the fools slam against the mercenaries shieldwall. Before they could make even one strike they crumbled. Heavy axes landed hard splitting heads in two. The bandits stumbled and fell to a bloody slump over one another. Yet all but one fell victim to the caravans defence. Felix came running back towards the bushes.

65pob.jpg

Jumping between Jorvik and Furs he looked up breathing heavily through a wide grin. “Pass me our lucky charm.” He said grabbing the furs off Jorvik regardless. He flung open the bundle revealing inside three large pouches of gold coins. He looked at Jorvik who stared at him perplexed. “What?” Felix said with a shrug. “You think I was going to share it with those idiots?”
 
kp0d.jpg


Chapter 4: Fishermen

Peeking from behind the bushes Jorvik, Furs and Felix watched as the caravan guards rolled the slain bandits off the road. They spared them little dignity, heaping each corpse on top of one another into a bloody pile of stiff limbs and gasping faces. With a few cheers and back patting the mercenaries whipped the mules back into motion. As they shrunk away bumping along the track they dipped below a ridge and out of sight. Felix jumped to his feet clapping as he turned to Jorvik and Furs. “Furs my loyal fellow we are relinquished from our inept brothers, free to pursue our journey onwards into warm taverns and warmer bosoms!” Despite not understanding the announcement, Furs climbed to his feet standing straight as if a disciplined solider. “That’s my good man! Ready yourself for a long travel east.”

Jorvik remaining flat behind the bush was hoping to be forgotten, yet with little effort Furs lifted him up asking. "Com-man, come to?”

Jorvik, already having enough objected loudly. “I go my own way! If you try to restrain me I’ll bash both your heads together!” He stood defensively and ready to fight.

“That’s the spirit!” said Felix, patting Jorvik on the shoulder. “Now you have made your grand escape I invite you to join us as we head for the eastern coast. With no food, coin or shoes...” he said looking at Jorviks bare feet. “...I would point out that it’s really in your interest.”

Jorvik knew Felix was right. His only other option was to seek out another village and ask for help again. And he had quite enough of the farmers lifestyle already. “Fine.” He said frustrated. “I will accompany you until it suites me otherwise.”

Felix smiled. “Good decision my friend. Onwards we go!”

rcijc.jpg

They emerge from the bushes at the forests perimeter and joined the road heading in the opposite direction of the caravan. As they travelled Felix explained how he intended to travel to a small fishing village named Buais located on the far eastern coast of Hibernia. Having sailed over from Britannia he had left his longboat harboured in the village. With Furs and Jorvik there would be just enough hands to row it back during the calm spring weather and onto the western shore of Wales, as the Saxons called it. “And where have you left this longboat?” Jorvik enquired carefully. “Can you trust the villagers to keep it safe?”

“Most certainly!” Felix replied “Buais is well known for their fishing trade and have many boats anchored there, quite well protected too. For a little extra coin they’ll keep safe your own.” Jorvik looked ahead trying to hide his excitement. This was just what he needed, a longboat to return home in and put this land of farmers and cows far behind. How he would take possession of it with no arms to row it other than his own he was unsure, but he continued with the small talk as he pondered secretly how to gain it for himself.

The journey ahead was long and would take almost a week. Jorvik who had yet to acquire any shoes, kicked himself for not searching through the bandit corpses for a pair. As the three travellers marched onwards they passed villages where he would remind Felix of his need. Felix however was not inclined to spend his precious coins on any shoes and felt it best to reserve the small fortune for supplies only. The road was straight for the most part but often boggy forcing them to take a long way around before the ground hardened and became passable again. They passed over many fords and through tall woods that sung with small birds or croaked with larger ones. The trees waved as they began to blossom under the warmer spring weather, having seen it through the bitter winter. From the pouches of gold Felix had gained from the loss of his bandits band, he purchased two hide tents. One for himself and one for Jorvik and the barbarian to share. Felix claimed the village market was low on stock and if there had been enough for one each he would have bought it for them. Jorvik first was displeased at having to share a tent with Furs but despite his large hairy presence, he was a remarkably quite neighbour inside the tent. Always the first to awake in the morning he would make a small fire ready for breakfast often before the other two had risen. Their camps were positioned as discretely as possible so as to avoid any danger but most passer-bys were friendly and non-threatening. Usually they passed by more trade caravans or the occasional soldiers out to secure the route. They walked over grassy hills that passed through woodlands and following the road in its twists and turns before stopping to make camp again for the night. Eventually by the fifth day the long journey came to end without any hindrance. Arriving at the top of a hill beside some large stones carved with images of deer and hare they saw below the large expanse of the sea. Clinging to its shores was the small fishing community of Buais. At the far side of the village was a pier and where Felix's boat was fastened. “At last we arrive as planned.” Felix announced stopping their march.

6ftz.jpg

“Just in time too” said Jorvik as he collected raindrops in his outstretched palm. “We best ask for shelter or set up camp.” He planned on absconding during the night and seizing the boat for himself. If he could get it far enough south he would go about finding men to row the boat across to Britannia. Felix however had decided otherwise.

“Best not wait till the morning. It’ll be busy then with all the fishermen preparing themselves for the days catch. We shall find my boat now and have it prepared for an earlier start tomorrow." Walking down the hill and into the village they past the locals who said little yet kept watch, particularly on their tall painted companion. Making their way down the cobbled path beside old thatch huts and the village tavern they came upon the slimy pier. Its planks were greasy from the delivery of fish and bore a strong odour along with it. Fastened to its left moorings were two dozen fishing boats that rocked gently, pulling on their rope knots holding them in place. Looking up and down Felix searched for his amongst them all. “Aha!” he said finding it. “Let’s get in and make sure she is in good order." Climbing in Jorvik noticed there were no oars but before he could point this out Felix unfastened the rope. “Best make sure she still floats aye.” He pushed it out with a kick.

“Well Felix, it floats.” said Jorvik. “It’s also starting to rain heavy so how’s about we get some warm lodgings at the tavern?” As Felix thought of a reply, someone shouted form the village centre.

“Oi! Them bleedin outsiders are stealing our best boat!”

Clapping with excitement Felix spoke ignoring Jorviks sharp glare. “Well good fellows, unless you want a pitchfork in your rear you best get paddling and fast.” Jorvik had no time to condemn Felix for duping him into stealing a fishing boat and so instead took to his side to paddle hard. Furs not failing to help out jumped into the sea and pushed from behind. With much splashing they began to gain momentum yet without oars progress was slow. The sea was cold and the rain now began to fall heavily drenching the decking. Behind them the angry fishermen made a call to arms and all jumped into their boats to give chase. Felix may have chosen the fastest boat but without oars they were in a difficult situation. Fortunately, most fishing boats had also their oars removed for nightly storage, yet one evidently had not. Five angry fishermen rowed with determination splashing over the waves to punish the offenders. They were gaining rapidly.

Seeing that they could not escape Felix stopped Jorviks efforts to paddle. “We won’t be out sailing this lot.” He said twirling his moustache. “We are going to have to stop them ourselves. Quick, get ready.” Leaning over the back of the boat he shouted at Furs to get back in. Furs however was like a fish long reunited with the water and was oblivious to the imminent battle. Before either Jorvik or Felix could get his attention the fisherman brought the boat against theirs colliding with a thud and shouting threats.

wxu7.jpg

“We’re gonna break your arms and legs!” One shouted at them rattling his fist. “See how you like the sea when ya can’t swim in it!”

Another continued. “If your bodies float back we’ll have them as pig feed!” With that they launched themselves into the boat and beset Felix and Jorvik.

Outnumber two to five they were nearly overwhelmed. Three of the fishermen were almost able to pin Jorvik down but one had unfortunately placed his vulnerable fingers too close to his mouth. He was soon reeling backwards trying desperately to gather the fingers Jorvik hadn’t spat out into the sea. Felix at the other end of the boat used his teeth also, biting hard the crutch of an attacker who yelled for mercy. But despite the fisherman’s clumsiness they managed to claim the upper hand. Jorviks head got stamped and kicked by the fingerless fisherman whilst Felix, wriggling like an eel, had both his arms bent painfully behind his back. Soon both were overcome and the fishermen immobilised them on the bloodied decking. As Felix’s arms neared snapping and Jorviks head came close to cracking a voice bellowed from behind followed by a heavy thump as the boat rocked sideways. Furs had jumped back in and was menacing with rage. He quickly fell upon the fishermen and beat them back. Three were thrown out whilst the fingerless fisherman jump in by himself. The last remaining one was grabbed by the back of the neck and slammed against the boats rim. Defeated and chocking on his own teeth he was cast overboard.

Exhausted Jorvik and Felix sat slumped. Furs standing tall and smiling picked up a fisherman’s finger, holding it out like a trophy he laughed deeply. Realising they had been victorious over the Buais fisherman and had won possession of the boat so to did Jorvik and Felix laugh. Jorvik may have been duped into stealing the boat but he felt this was at least a story he could share back home. Yet returning to his native Norse-lands would not happen quite so soon. Felix planned on sailing for Britannia and Jorvik felt that after their joint victory it would be a shame to push him overboard and steal the boat. Furs would also need dealing with and having just proven his ferociousness it was likely a bad idea to try anything out at sea. He felt he should wait for another time and besides, he was starting to like them both. So he decided to continue on his journey with his new companions and later from Britannia he would make a plan to return home. For now he would relax and gaze across the ocean waves whilst picking bits of fisherman out from between his teeth.

7quj.jpg
 
This is the best story I've read on this forum. Well done!

Since your writing is really keeping me interested and i cant wait for the next chapter is it possible for you to "add" into your story some of our characters? I think it would be really great and would earn you even more dedicated followers.
 
Thank you!

Yes, that's a fantastic idea. To take it a step further if you wish, give me a quick summary of your characters background and I'll find a way to entwine them into the story. That will be good fun.
 
le6z.jpg


Chapter 5: Friends or Foe

Calm and cold the sea lapped against the boat as they drifted silently under the rising sun. The rain had stopped during the night but the dampness had crept in both Jorvik and Felix who lay shivering. Furs had remained alert keeping dutiful watch in case any more fisherman came for them but no threat was ever sighted. Jorvik woke blurry eyed, sneezing from the cold. Looking east he tried to make sight of land but the sun had just begun to climb and the lingering gloom masked the horizon still. With no oars to control their direction he couldn’t be sure if they would land near their chosen destination or not. It was likely the currents will take them further north but he couldn’t be sure. Felix had yet to expand on his plans once he arrived at Britannia so with his frigid toes Jorvik nudged him until he woke up. Felix yawned blinking like a small mole who never seen daylight before. He peered over the boats rimmed keeping his arms folded tight across his chest for warmth. “I’ve never known a boat to rock so much without wind.” He said believing to have been disturbed by the waves. He stretched his bruised arms wincing at the soreness of them. His moustache was wonky and not as curled but his spirits remained high.

2cvah.jpg

“The sun is up and land will soon be in sight” Jorvik spoke. “Have you any actual plan for when you arrive? Where do you intend to go?”

“Why absolutely my red haired warrior, I most certainly do! Have you heard of the Whores Hole?” Jorvik had a series of questions to ask but at this unexpected answer he struggled to get them out. “I ask my dear friend, have you heard of the Whores Hole? The most famous of all back-alley taverns!” Jorvik frowned making the scar over his eye seem deeper. He rubbed his brow and begun to answer but Felix continued regardless. “It is a place that will leave you with ever lasting memories! Though the nature of our visit will be one of business, not pleasure.” Surprised by Felix's assumption that he was coming along with him he went protest but still Felix went on. “There will be much money in this for those involved. Enough to buy many longboats!” Felix winked. “You see, an old acquaintance of mine runs the tavern and I’m making it my responsibility to ensure his ale is well supplied.”

“You’re setting up a brewery?” Jorvik finally got out.

“Correct! And a grand idea it is too!”

“You came to Hibernia to rob your way to riches with a bunch of twits, so you can afford to invest in the brewery trade?” Jorvik felt sceptical.

“That is indeed what I have been doing. Come to Hibernia, get rich, then return to Britannia to get even more so. Although whilst some say ‘came to’ others say ‘banished to.’

“Ah, I see” Jorvik said knowing there had been more to it. “And what terrible act caused your banishment?”

“A small matter regarding some land.  You see, when my blessed father died his farmland was seized by a greedy, terribly nasty lord who booted me out. It’s my duty of course, to reclaim these lands for my family.”

Jorvik doubting Felix’s intentions were for anyone but himself guessed the rest. “So you need the money to pay for mercenaries in order to reclaim these farmlands.”

“Exactly! For a farmer you are quite sharp.” Felix clapped. Before Jorvik could correct his mistaken profession Furs interrupted them, pointing eastwards. They both saw the dark outline of land creeping above the sea line. Dropping their conversation, Jorvik and Felix made haste to paddle.

Bringing the boat slowly forward they eventually reached the beach, splashing amongst the surf the boat ground to a halt on the pebbles. Seeing his bruised and weary companions struggle out of the boat Furs helped them one by one up to a grassy knoll enclosed by bushy trees. Huddling together Jorvik and Felix sat watching the diligent Furs gather up dry moss into a small pile, igniting it with a couple of flints. Taking great care he placed selected pieces of wood on top until the burning embers became a warm fire.

ola7.jpg

Before the sun had climbed to noon they had quite a roaring fire. Both Jorvik and Felix sat as close as they could. Furs having made hand gestures signalling their need to eat had left not long after. Their surroundings were quiet and peaceful. The occasional bird investigated their presence from the branches above before fluttering away whilst hopping rabbits with twitchy noses sprung back and forth. It seemed that they had landed in an area isolated from man. From this grassy knoll Jorvik looked out between the trees at the surrounding countryside. No signs of life could be identified, just many grassy fields patched together with hills and woodlands. The weather had warmed kindly and a breeze blew off the sea without testing their fire too harshly. They could hear their barbarian friends heavy footsteps as he returned, Furs was proving himself increasingly vital to their well-being. Felix, feeling impatient at his empty belly jumped to his feet.  “Rabbit or fox? Perhaps Furs has found us some farmers veg too? We could have quite a stew between the three of us!”

Jorvik was warming his feet against the fire whilst picking out the dirt from under his nails. “What does our mighty barbarian bring us then? Any salt and pepper in his hands?”

“Well… you might want to see for yourself.” Felix said sounding very alarmed. Jorvik, leaving his toe nails alone scrambled up to his feet, almost stepping into the flames as he did so. To his shock Felix was stood straight and still as the sharp end of a crooked spear was pointed directly at his face, almost touching the tip of his nose. At the other end of this make-shift weapon was a large, unhappy looking man accompanied by four others. Without saying a word Jorvik and Felix ushered themselves from out beneath the trees, keeping their hands high and non-threatening. The brutes looked similar in appearance to Furs, with blue tribal paintings and faces nearly hidden beneath thick beards.  With a grunt the biggest handed them two dirty strips of cloth whilst pointing to his eyes.

twbu.jpg

“It would seem our new friends here would like us to blindfold ourselves.” Felix said, keeping very still. Complying with the instruction they wrapped the rags around their heads, blindfolding themselves and waiting hesitantly. Jorvik felt a big hand on his back push him forward so he began walking ahead. He could hear Felix had been given a similar instruction.

They had been walking for what Jorvik had guessed was an hour. The Wildmen said little to one another and if they did it was with a rough language neither Jorvik or Felix understood. They were heading over a grassy plain but soon came to woods where Jorvik stumbled over rocks and brambles, feeling for trees to support and guide himself. The ground dropped sharply and then rose again so steeply Jorvik felt he was climbing more than walking. Branches grabbed his hair and thorns tore at his overcoat. Weary and hungry they eventually came to a stop. More unintelligible voices could be heard which echoed around a nearby cave. They stood at its entrance where more of these Wildmen made grunting noises to one another. Voices of women and children could also be heard as well as the chopping of wood and oinks from little piglets. The crackle of flame and the smell of roasting meat overwhelmed his nostrils. The back of his head was touched as large fingers began removing his blindfold. Squinting and regaining focus he saw bustling about him was the busy community of savages. A tribe that had made their home in a secluded cave hidden at the base of a large cliff face, hidden from view by dense fir trees. His stomach tightened as recalled old tales of wild pagans who ate both man and animal. The smell of the roasting meat came from a hog skewered above a large fire, it spat fat and crackled as it was turned over the hot ashes, Jorvik felt like vomiting. Then, from amongst the unintelligible voices came one he recognised. “Cow-man!” It shouted happily. Furs stepped out from the caves gloom with a great smile on his face speaking two new words he must have learnt in their company. “Friends. Welcome.”

le9e.jpg
 
7ick.jpg


Chapter 6: Fionnadh

The wolf stared back motionlessly, his eyes fixed on Jorviks. They never moved and never blinked. From behind more eyes flickered, tirelessly gazing from under the yellow torch light. Hare, fox and bear all watched him. Jorvik sat up hearing a pained squeal from a struggling bore outside, its echo travelling throughout the deep cave. Returning his gaze back to the unblinking eyes Jorvik yawned deeply. A fine bed of pelts he thought, stretching his toes out into the wolves gaping jaw. Along with Felix he had been greatly honoured by the Wildmen. Furs and his folk had provided  many fine pelts for their guests to sleep on, serving them with as much food and fresh water as their belly’s could hold. Since departing from his home lands Jorvik had never slept so well, too deep and peaceful even for dreams.

qlvd.jpg

The squealing boar outside was another mornings catch. The Wildmen were early risers, hunting at the break of dawn to catch their prey so as to return with ample food for their tribe. Jorvik and Felix were waking up to their third day as guests here. Felix, ever enjoying the pampering and being waited upon sought to stay longer but for Jorvik the tribes pleasantries were not going to bring him a means to return home, and so today he prepared to leave. Whilst they could not be sure of their current location, Jorvik knew that the territory of the Wildmen lay somewhere north of the Alt Clut Clan. In order to reach Felix's destination where he intended to reacquire land lost to a local Baron, they would need to travel a much greater distance southwards. Before this Felix has to complete a business arrangement at a local tavern named The Whores Hole, in which to fund mercenaries required to take back his land. The plan Jorvik concluded could be considered sound, the only potential problem was it being devised by Felix. And Without horses the journey south would be long. Having searched for shoes Jorvik was disappointed to have found none. He had begun to wrap furs around his feet for the journey but decided against this when noticing strange looks from the Wildmen who themselves preferred to walk upon their own soles.

wa9n.jpg

Jorvik breathed in the fresh air swirling down the cave as he made his way back to the entrance. Furs had participated in the morning boar hunt and now energetically assisted in its meal preparation. Felix slept still, whistling through his nose. A coolness in the air and a light frost covered the grass and earth outside where much activity was already taking place. The tribe was never still, always there was a Wildmen busying himself. There were tall piles of wood to be kindled, animals to care for, washing, harvesting, hauling and so on. It was a busy community. They had many unexpected items stored about the dwelling that Jorvik was surprised to see. Fine fabrics, sacks of salt and spice, iron tools, coloured tapestries, wine, all acquired from raiding the settlements unfortunate enough to border their territory. He watched them as they worked about the cave. They had less rules he thought. Groups returning from a hunt were a party of both men and women. Either cared for the animals and it was not only the women who bathed and nurtured their young. Jorvik had also been very keen to learn of Fur's real name. He appeared to hold a high status amongst the tribe and was often sought for by others. The native language was difficult and too rough for his tongue to repeat well but often heard the word  'Fionnadh' spoken to him. What it meant Jorvik had no clue and so in the end he decided to stick with the name Furs as to him it sounded less silly. With the bore impaled on a spit and placed above a low burning log fire the smell of fresh meat became strong. In little time Felix appeared at the entrance, yawning deeply he suggested again to stay a few more days but Jorvik dismissed his request, handing him a leather satchel instead.

4x5c.jpg

“My dear friend, such fine and tender meat for us to enjoy.” Felix said prodding the bore with a stick. “Or do you wish to journey onwards in the hope to find another poor fisherman to nibble?”

Uninterested Jorvik instead showed him the satchel he had packed for himself. “We have enough supplies of dried meat to last us many days. The weather is good but should she turn sour I have also a tent for shelter.”

“And what about our loyal Furs, is he to come with us also do you think?”

“It was Furs that made these satchels, there was a third, so yes, I believe he is coming with us. Come on.”

“Now? The sun has barely risen, I shall need to muster my will first.”

“If we remain here any longer our hosts will consider us one of them. If you want to run around the woods in all but blue paint then stay put.” Felix was looking quite aghast at the idea and instead put on his satchel making ready to leave.

Collecting their belongings and gesturing goodbye they began to set off. The Wildmen quickly came amongst them stuffing more dried meat into their satchels and handing them oaken staves, carved and decorated. Furs coming to join them was followed by excited children who held thick fur coats they had help sow to keep them warm. Speaking his local dialect Furs waved goodbye and the company of three departed off into the thickets and ferns. Furs knew the way and led them competently through the difficult woodland. Having earned their trust and friendship blindfolds were no longer necessary. Jorvik could now see they had been led far inland into a valley shouldered either side by steep cliffs and masked by a heavy woods. The Lords of the Alt Clut Clan would handsomely reward any who shared the knowledge of the tribes secrete dwelling. Jorvik felt proud to have been entrusted with such a secret and would honour its secretcy. He hoped one day he may be able to visit them again. They had been kind hosts and he had been fortunate enough to have Furs with him as the Wildmen of Britannia were not known for kindness. Waiting in ambush they would end the journey of many caravans, freely raiding villages for loot and prisoners. The most fearsome of them all were the notorious Pictish tribes of the northern Alba highlands. Many tales of their violence and brutality were told by old men in taverns and around small camp fires by fearful travellers. Sparing no one from butchery save from their own tribe, Jorvik was glad to heading south as not even Furs would have been safe from the Picts.

As the day passed they eventually moved beyond the valley and entered into a lowland of sparse trees and dense brambles. Felix guessed it would take almost a week to reach the Welsh borderlands if the weather could hold. Should the clouds burst they would have to set up shelter and wait for it to clear, as until they entered onto harder ground the lowlands would become too boggy to transverse. They made their way around large ponds finding a means to get through all the thickets and brambles. When the light began to fade as the sun declined, they decide to brake for camp and rest. Satisfied with the days progress despite its difficulties they ignited a small fire and happily chewed on salty strips of dried beef and pork. The ground was soft with moss so Jorvik felt he could manage to gain a decent nights sleep even after having enjoyed the luxury of the caves rugs and pelts so recently. Warmed by the fire and tired from the days journey they each fell soundly asleep.

The next morning, stirring beside the exhausted camp fire Jorvik rolled onto his side to see he was the last to awake. Felix was not in camp but Furs was there packing together his satchel. Asking Furs with hand gestures for Felix's where about's, it seemed he had gone to wash himself at a nearby pond. Jorvik looked around interested to see which pond Felix found to be of use but there was a morning mist and he could not spot him. He did see however shapes of men walking through the thickets not too far away. They marched in a short column heading eatswards on a path away from them. If they had seen Jorvik they showed little interest in him or his blue painted companion sitting beside the smouldering camp fire. From what Jorvik could see they were heavily clad in fine armour, that of a professional warrior. Their helms were of Norse origin and Jorvik wondered if they had indeed come from his lands. He did not dare to speak with them however as should their intention be of ill will Jorvik and Furs would be out-matched. Instead he watched them pass under the rising sun and thought fondly of his home far beyond the sea.

aejh.jpg

From behind, looking fresh and slightly excited appeared Felix. In his cupped hands he carefully held what Jorvik though to be a small black bird. Setting it down in front of the fire Felix stepped back for them to investigate his odd find. It was in fact a small necklace adorned with short dark feathers. Felix watched on waiting for someone to speak. “Well?” He asked. “What do you think?” Jorvik however was unsure of why Felix considered this item so interesting.

“Ok… you've found a pagan necklace.” He eventually said.

“Indeed I have!” Felix clapped. “Whilst looking for a quite spot to bathe my grubby toes in and wash my behind, I came upon a large fellow taking a dip also. He never saw me so I had a look through his belongings that he'd left up on the bank. I had a real good rummage and found this pretty little thing.” Shifting the black feathers apart he revealed a silver ring which bore a brilliantly clear jewel, it sparkled brightly in the morning sun . Jorvik had never seen anything like it before. The reflecting colours were magnificent, he thought the jewel contained a rainbow of its own making. “A diamond!” Felix said with a whisper. “A stone worth more than all the fish in sea.”

Jorvik broke from his trance over the jewel to ask Felix a question of concern. “The man you stole this off. Do you think he saw you at all?”

“No, no. I was quieter than a field mouse! Do not worry my dear friend. This little gem will bring us no hardship.” Felix said, slipping it into his pocket.
 
uqbs.jpg


Chapter 7: Regrets

With the three of them regrouped, awake and refreshed they gathered together their belongings leaving behind the expired camp fire. Climbing up a bank to where Jorvik had watched the mercenaries pass they found a small pathway they must have been following. It was a thin trail where the occasional foot or paw had worn the grass away. Heading in the opposite direction to the mercenaries they proceed down the trail as it wound and bent its way out of the lowlands and into a heavy woodlands, bearing south. Here the track became more evident but was hampered with tough knots of grass and thick tree roots that fingered their way across. To Jorviks irritation this area of woodland was dense with stinging weeds that only Furs seemed to find unnoticeable. His bare feet and legs itched, turning redder than his hair. Leaning in from each side were low hanging twigs and branches that groped and tore at their new fur coats. This path was not used often, certainly not as a trade route but likely well known by local hunters and lumberjacks. Furs proved to be an efficient guide and found his way through with little hindrance. Only occasionally did the route become so unruly that they were forced seek another way around. Despite the frustration of the occasional set back Furs knew they were cutting short an otherwise long route. The main roads, built with large stone squares were used by merchants and other horse drawn carts but for protection they weaved in between military forts and outposts making a journey far longer.

dsfci.jpg

Once the sun had peaked for noon their journey found easier ground although they were still deep inside the forest. The undergrowth had started to break up and was spread thinly over hard chalky earth, an enjoyable benefit as this allowed them to walk with greater ease. It was an ideal hunting ground for hunters as animals had little cover to hide behind. The nuts and seeds that fell still encouraged the wildlife into this area. With the trees so densely packed an archer could creep up to an unsuspecting deer with little trouble. It was in theses areas that poachers would come looking for game although with caution. The Clans that rule over such favourable terrain would often lay claim to them for their nobles to enjoy not the peasantry classes. Trespassing served a hefty punishment. Fortunately for the would-be poacher there was much land to hide in and should a patrol catch them they would often settle for a bribe. Elusive bandits however would skulk in these parts looking to take more than just a bribe from the unsuspecting. With this thought in mind Jorvik decided to keep his eye peeled.

They came to a small clearing on top of a small hill where a series of stones had been placed in a circle formation for the use of sitting on. At the centre of these stones was a large oak tree, its trunk was two arms width apart. Druids perhaps, Jorvik thought. Such folk were rare outside the Welshlands but still some lurked within the Saxons territory. Generally considered harmless Jorvik would have been at ease amongst these stones but at this moment Furs froze, crouching quietly motioning to Felix and Jorvik to do likewise. They kept still and silent but no sound could be heard. Jorvik peered around his surrounding inside the forest clearing. The grass was undisturbed and were no signs of any previous camp fire. The sitting stones were moss covered and had not been used for many months, perhaps years. He could see no threat despite Furs gesturing to remain silent. A twig snapped. Immediately Furs jumped away from the oak tree looking up into its bushy canopy. To Jorviks astonishment he saw sat high up on a branch a small old hermit wearing straw hat. He was cleaning out twigs and leaves from his white beard, swinging two bony legs with knobbly knees as he watched them bellow. “What?" He said unhappy to have had his grooming interrupted. "You never seen an old man sit in a tree before?” Jorvik and Felix looked at one another.

dxth.jpg

“Well, I don’t believe I have actually.” Felix said delighted at the unexpected surprise. “This is most fabulous! Are these trees magic? Are there more little old men up there sprouting out amongst the leaves?”

“Don’t mock me!” Quick to temper the hermit threw an acorn at Felix. The shot was impressive as it went straight into mouth, causing Felix to splutter before spiting it back out. Both Jorvik and Furs burst out into laughter but in their amusement they were too late to stop Felix's brash retaliation. He flung a stick up into canopy, knocking the little hermit off his perch who then came crashing down through all the branches onto the floor. “Bastards!" He yelled picking himself up. He seemed to fumble for more acorns to throw before running off instead, cursing them as he disappeared.

The unexpected encounter had brought a bought of laughter amongst the group. Their moods were lightened and the long days march was quickly forgotten. They decided that this clearing had brought them good fortune and so they decided to make camp here and rest until the next day. They could still yet travel a few more miles but they each agreed a camp fire and a hot meal far more appealing. Furs gathered up dry wood and moss to ignite whilst Jorvik and Felix gathered the moss off the sitting stones to use as pillows. For the rest of the evening they relaxed, sharing tales and riddles until finally they settled down to sleep.

Through out the night the winds had grown until the big oak tree was creaking noisily. Jorvik awoke, the fire had gone out and all was dark but he could hear Felix snoring. Peering about him he saw however Furs had gone. With the trees swaying and the leaves rustling Jorvik could not hear or see any sign of him. He blew at the fire hoping to re-ignite an ember for light but it was fully extinguished. Tired he assumed Furs would soon return so he lay back down to sleep. The winds however grew stronger and soon he was disturbed for the second time. Jorvik rolled onto his other side pleased to hear at least Felix had stopped snoring. Yet feeling as though something was not right he looked again only to see Felix had now disappeared and Furs had still not returned. Alarmed by this he sat up, before he could get to his feet he took a sudden painful thump to his back. It knocked the wind out of him and it was quickly followed by another hit. Before he could react cold hands seized him from all sides. A noose was rapped around his neck and tightened mercilessly. He kicked and scratched choking for air.

23g1.jpg

“Enough!” a  voice commanded from the dark. “Let him breath.” The noose relaxed and Jorvik gasped. Coughing and heaving he was still in the grip of his attackers. Regaining his breath he now saw Felix was being held beside the oak tree, his pleas muffled by a rag. “Where is the other?” The voice demanded. “There is enough of us here to make short work of him.” Jorvik could hear the clanging of metal from iron armour and weapons. Again the voice made its demand. Jorvik tried to see his assailants but all he could see were the dark shapes of  men looming over him. Another approached him with a short axe, placing its sharp edge against Jorviks cheek as a threat. He did not know what to say, he genuinely did not no where Furs was. Clearly he had not been captured as they have. The voice growing impatient ordered the removal of a hand or foot. Jorvik wriggled as they tried to hold him steady.  More cold hands grabbed him and just as he felt overwhelmed a loud clang rang off an attackers helm. He stumbled back as another two clangs rang out off two more attackers. Jorvik laughed for it must have been Furs throwing stones at them. The attackers came into a defensive circle while stones collided and bounced off their heads. The hands gripping Jorvik loosened and he made a dash to get up. He pushed over an attacker and sprung forth yet as Jorvik got free his fortune abandoned him. Unable to see clearly in the dark he stepped into the path of an incoming stone. It landed with a crack against his brow. Clutching his pounding head Jorvik slumped to his knees. The night seemed to grow darker, even the sound of rustling leaves faded until he felt his thoughts too were fading. He fell unconscious.
 
28od.jpg


Chapter 8: Little Bear

Jorvik saw dark shades swirling against a blur as misty shapes throbbed over and over. As they grew in intensity and the light pushed further through the veil he suddenly awoke from unconsciousness. His head pounded. He blinked, squinting with his good eye trying to return to his blurry dream but it was no good, his throbbing head beat him into consciousness.  He lay still and tried to collect his thoughts, recalling how he came to feel so incapacitated and sore. It was not from Ale like he hoped but from men in a black night. There was a voice and a stone. Remembering the stone brought it all back and he sat up quickly. He was beside the oak tree still yet now he rested on soft furs, across his body was spread a warm blanket. Not far behind he could hear Felix gossiping. He sounded unexpectedly chirpy given Jorvik saw him last being restrained with a rag stuffed in his mouth. Confusion washed over again as he wondered how he came to waking so comfortably despite the sudden violence from the night before.

The sun had risen to noon and was shinning down softly into the clearing. Around him were many armoured men, busy with tending to a camp fire, eating or drinking. They all seem to not notice or not care for Jorviks presence. As he went to climb to his to feet a hand touched his shoulder. “So the brave farmer awakes at last.” It was the voice from the night before that order a foot or hand to be chopped off. “Here, this will help you regain your strength.”

zqgq.jpg

Jorvik saw a large man heavily clad stood behind him. He had thick beard and long hair similar to those from Jorviks Norse lands. “Do not fear.” The man said. “You are in good company now. Forgive me and my men for last night. We were tracking you and wished to speak to you regarding a black feather necklace.” Jorvik tried to hide his reaction but remembering the sparkling jewel Felix had stolen made him stammer. “Your companion, Felix has returned it to us. All is forgiven although fortunate he had it still to return to me. I would not like to say what would have happened should it have been lost.” Jorvik felt relieved on hearing this though somewhat embarrassed for their thievery. “My name is Bjarkis, and these are my company of men. Mercenaries of the highest quality or though somewhat bruised now thanks to your Wildman and his stones.” Jorvik remembering he had yet to see Furs looked around for him. “Do not worry about him, he is fine. He was hidden up the oak tree when we tried to restrain you. He makes a good scout. And I hear you come from the same lands as I do. Perhaps you have heard of myself?”

The name did indeed sound familiar to Jorvik. Bjarkis ‘Little Bear’ he recalled. This man was a well known warrior from the north. His name was told in tales, some believable others fantastical. He was known as sword for hire, fighting for feuding lords. His name was always attributed to the winning side. “Yes, I have heard of you. What brings you to Britannia and so far from home?” Jorvik although still weary felt somewhat at ease knowing now who he was.

“I come here for the same reasons I go anywhere. To fight for loot and plunder for those who can afford my services. I've have been travelling these lands for some years now. I have fought for Chiefs of great houses during their wars, for wealthy merchants transporting gold crafts and red jewels. I have even been hired even by bandits to fight against other bandits. But now I work for you.” For a moment Jorvik thought he was being told a joke that he didn't understand. Then he heard Felix gossiping.

“I see.” Jorvik said standing up. Bjarkis put a hand on his shoulder and gestured for him to move freely about the clearing. Jorvik walked straight to Felix taking him by the arm and away from the crowd.

b9yw.jpg

“How is my dear friend this morning? A bit of bump on that noggin of yours I see.” Felix said almost prodding Jorviks head.

“Felix, explain to me why these men considered themselves hired by us.”

“Well I hired them of course. Oh, and by returning that little feathery necklace with the diamond over to the one in charge. I also promised them gold, jewels and titles.” A grin grew on his face.

“What? Why did you do that?!” Jorvik said trying to keep his voice low.

“Calm down. You do worry yourself. I promised them gold and a few titles to help me get my land back. Look at them Jorvik, how mighty and glorious they look!”

“Titles! Of all the lies you could have promised you decided on titles. We won’t be able to escape them if that’s your plan.”

“It will be fine, I have not lied to them and I do not lie to you now.” Felix said as Jorvik cringed holding his thumping forehead. “I will have titles to hand out when we reclaim my land.” Jorvik was lost in thought. If it was true that Felix had titles as well as land that he had  promised these Bjarkis and his band, they would have to succeed in their mission to regain the land. Should they fail then they will owe a very large and non repayable debt to them. Whatever the outcome on this Jorvik was now involved despite having been laying unconscious on the floor during the negotiation, such was Felix's way.

He sat quietly amongst his new companions, eating a little rabbit stew and nursing himself. Felix chatted away unconcerned with the matter whilst Furs for a time joined Jorvik before heading off to hunt. The mercenaries leader Bjarkis sat with him and spoke. “The men here are some of the finest warriors you'll meet, Jorvik. Though you may notice not all share the same birth place as you and I. There are many lands further south and east little known our people and in my travels I have been fortunate fight alongside them, luckier still to keep a few in my company.” Calling out he invited his two lieutenants over. One was a short and wide man with a bushy beard and a deep throaty laugh. “This here is Idibil, the strongest of my men and always the first to climb the siege ladder. The taller lieutenant here is our grand strategist, tactician and engineer, Adorno. He comes from lands far from ours. A lover of books, though he spends too much timing reading them. More of a scholar at heart and a solider.” The armoured men greeted Jorvik warmly, finding a place to sit beside him. They were not unkind men and did not look to cause grief. Yet they had been promised much and would expect it to be delivered upon. Jorvik remained troubled by his anxieties but as the day grew warmer and his headache subsided he began to feel all was perhaps not as bad as he feared. Whilst in the mercenaries company they would be well protected, removing many potential threats that could have otherwise been problematic on the road. If Felix was able to really to provide these opulent rewards their lives would be much easier, if not then they would become quite the opposite.

5x2u.jpg
 
xu1o.jpg


Chapter 9: Rest

Before they collected themselves and begun their long walk south as a new group of thirteen, Bjarkis asked Jorvik for his assistance. He was unsure for what exactly his efforts were required and was further confused when Bjarkis handed him a coin pouch. Walking a short distance away from the oak tree and its clearing they came to a grassy knoll that had a fallen tree laid with its earthy base uprooted. Bjarkis paused and waited.

“Too long! I have waited here too long!” Cried a croaky voice. “Wolves or bandits bring ruin to the idle.” It was the old hermit whom Felix had knocked out of the tree. He hopped out from behind the fallen tree and hobbled over with a handful of acorns.

uamx.jpg

“You look quite well old man, stop complaining.” Said Bjarkis. “As you can see we have found the thieves we were tracking and for your assistance in the matter here is your reward." Bjarkis tossed him the coin pouch.

“Keep your coin. What need does a hermit have of money? Do you think I buy carrots off rabbits or rabbits off foxes? I only sought revenge against the three brutes yet now I see you make friends of them.” The old man complained at seeing Jorvik unbound but despite his protest he still picked up the coin pouch. Immediately his temper cooled as his peered inside counting his due. Once finished he gave Jorvik a long displeased look and scuttled off into the woods. 

“So it was this little cretin that told you where we were,” said Jorvik.

“Yes, for a hermit he makes an excellent tracker. It was unfortunate for you to come into these woods as I doubt we would have been able to locate you otherwise.  He is harmless though, now he'll be heading straight to the nearest tavern until he's cast out by the town watch. If you had not your barbarian guide I would hire him for our journey but that is not necessary. Come, now we have paid him let us begin our journey” He said leaving Jorvik anxious again at Felix's promises.   

Their journey south took a new direct approach. With a company of such heavily armed men they continued by following the main trade route. The small narrow paths Furs had lead them down previously would now only serve to be a hindrance for those carrying such gear. Now they rejoined the well paved road. Felix made his way amongst the mercenaries chatting freely, Jorvik was content to remain at Bjarkis side at the lead. Furs appeared and reappeared, each time with a slain rabbit for the groups meal later.

Bjarkis knew the lands well as was able to tell Jorvik where they had landed in Felix's boat. From Jorviks descriptions Bjarkis said they had arrived near the border which separated the island into two regions, named Caledonia and Britannia. They had then travelled south through Alt Clut territory and were all now heading towards the large town of Loidis, located within Bernaccia lands. Travelling further south from here they will eventually arrive at the heart of Britannia. Here the lands were treacherous, ravaged by constant war as the last pagan kingdom Mercia sought to defend itself against its many enemies who fight viscously in the name of Christ. Successfully passing through Mercia and travelling westwards into the Welshlands of the Britons, they will finally arrive at the gates of Caer Went, the town where Felix intends to pursue his business arrangement. Jorvik was apprehensive about the blighted lands of Mercia but it was a territory they had to cross.

Making headway along the road they passed many different kinds of people. Most were dirty farmers lugging their wares to the nearest market, some where merchants dressed in soft furs and others were men of war, scarred and worn. Looking aged and tired they had seen many friends hacked and maimed, spent long nights sleeping under the stars and fighting always for the benefit of a lord, never themselves. Unscrupulous looking men were passed also, bandits who preyed on the weak, exploited the poor and dealt with nobility behind closed doors. They were outcasts that refused to obey any law and raiding the poor who struggled to harvest the land. Occasionally holy men would also be past. Fanatics who supported either the new or old faiths, causing a tension of its own with their rigid traditions.

4ytdw.jpg

As the variety of people increased and the sun set they eventually made sight of the bustling town named Loidis. Here they would find boarding in a rest house whilst getting a chef to cook up their rabbits into a thick, hot stew. For the first time in his arrival Jorvik could sleep in proper lodgings. Entering the town they passed under the main gates that stood tall and wide allowing pedestrians and caravans to come and go before the nightly curfew. The streets were sloppy with muck and clumps of wet hay that lay over the cobbled streets. The buildings stood awkwardly, leaning inwards with wooden shutters flapping in the wind. Dogs could be heard barking, stall sellers shouting, and the clopping of hooves all creating a manic atmosphere. It stank too, Jorvik thought to himself. Only the towns wealthier inner sections would be less pungent and somewhat cleaner though it was rare he ever had cause to step foot in such places. Eventually they came to a large boarding house, more of a barn for weary travellers named the Resting Shrew. Inside this wooden structure was an uneven stone floor, circled with beds standing a foot high so as to avoid getting damp from the grimy floor. In the centre was a large open fire burning beneath the high roof. Smoke hung thick above, only slowly being sucked outside through open slats. Certainly the place offered no luxury but it was more than satisfactory for them all. Even Furs seemed delighted to not be outside for the night again. Finding a free bed to settle down on, Jorvik noticed that the mercenary captain Adorno was missing. Asking his where abouts he was informed that he preferred to sleep away from the group during town visits. Losing interest in Adornos change of accommodation Jorviks attention went towards laying on his bed of hay. Closing his eyes until all sounds faded away and fell to sleep peacefully.

nsto.jpg

It did not last. At a late hour a loud bang burst open the boarding rooms entrance doors. In stepped Idibil, the large and hairy captain. Struggling forward he swayed to the side before falling to his knees, his head tilted backwards staring blankly at the ceiling. Jorvik jumped out of bed and grabbed his stave for a weapon making ready for an unknown attacker. Instead Idibil abruptly burst out into loud singing. He was drunk and full of cheer. It would seem he had visited the many taverns in Loidis whilst the others slept. Jorvik slumped back onto his bed as his new companion continued his merrymaking off the floor, realising why Adorno had chosen to sleep elsewhere for the night.
 
bz7v.jpg


Chapter 10: Borderlands

The morning came quietly as the group slowly woke one by one. The large central fire cracked and popped as more dry wood was placed into it by a young serving maid. The boarding house owner had called in an additional cook to prepare a large morning soup for them all. He seemed keen to treat his guests as best as his lodgings could allow. An old joyful man who proudly patted his large belly each time his efforts were complimented.  Jorvik sat himself up, stretching his back whilst yawning so loud he awoke Felix. Furs brought clay jugs of water over to each of them as they climbed out of bed. Jorvik saw Adorno had risen already and had rejoined the group for the morning meal. The nights sleep may have been interrupted by a loud and celebrating Idibil but it had done him good to rest so comfortably, waking to be served and waited upon. He was fresh and ready to journey onwards.

prv9.jpg

They would rejoin the road heading south and travel for an additional three days until finally reaching the tainted lands of Mercia. It was here where they would be at most risk. So far the group of mercenaries were more than a match for any hostile groups but now they were likely to meet scouts and war parties. Many people spoke of stories about the pagan inhabitants of middle Britannia with their shadowy deeds and mysterious rituals, the last refuge for believers of the old faith. An intelligent mind however knew not to listen to the gossip of ignorant peasants. These grim stories came from the Christ priests seeking to discredit their rival spiritulists. The kingdom of Mercia sat stubbornly in the centre of Britannia, refusing to convert to the new religion that had swept throughout Europa. This had given their enemies cause for war who acted upon without hesitation. Yet Mercia still held onto their lands and for good reason. They were ruthless and lead by the renown King Penda whos leadership had seen his pagan kingdom rise to become the most powerful in all of Britannia. He won many victories, including against his arch rival Annan, King of East Anglia who was just as feared . It was through this region they had to pass should they wish to make it to Caer Went inside the Welsh border. Jorvik knew they would be considered outsiders and viewed with much suspicion and offered little help.

Once the remaining rabbit stew was eaten Bjarkis paid the burly owner for their lodgings and they set off down the congested streets until passing back out into the quieter countryside. The weather was comfortable, warming as spring headed towards summer. Jorvik followed Bjarkis listening as he discused with Adorno their potential options for the journey ahead. Felix walked with Idibil sharing many tavern tales whilst Furs again came to and fro hunting for supplies. When the sun set each night they made camp beside the road, every man was assigned a duty. Cooking, guarding, refilling water skins, or scouting ahead were the common tasks. Furs being so adept at hunting was left to continue doing so. Even Felix was happy to accept some responsibilities. The groups cohesion was good and Jorvik found himself content under Bjarkis leadership. It was good to have an assertive and respected authority when heading into such dangerous lands he thought.

The terrain was not strenuous, they stuck to the main routes that were made from old stone, built in a time remembered only in fables and legends. Hills had to be crossed, mountains passed and thick woods navigated. Often these woodlands were beset by a booming timber industry, sawing down trees quatered trunks ready further chopping. Tough mules would be led by hardy lumberjacks, ready to deliver the crafted beams to waiting merchants back in town. The forests were thick and old yet stood vast and plentiful with their interiors untouched, home to many wild animals from hare to hog.

Again many travellers were passed as they approached the Mercian border. Though now they were almost always men of war who passed hesitantly at the sight of their well armoured group. On their third day of travel they made camp close to the borderline. Tasks were assigned, Jorvik being given guard duty along with Adorno, Idibil and a handful of other mercenaries. They each took positions, north, east, south and west. Once the moon peeked at its highest point the next watch would take over.

klwh.jpg

The camp they set up was further away from the road than desired. The route ran near a large lake which caused the surrounding earth to swell into a marshland, dry sites for camping were limited. For the group of thirteen to rest decently they proceeded off track until finding a bank that rose high enough to not be too damp and uncomfortable. Surrounding this spot were tall reeds that stretched high forming a waving curtain around them. The earth surface Jorvik found was thick with moss allowing for a pleasingly soft surface to lay upon. Sleeping was not on his agenda however as he had taken the western point to make watch. He sat  in the gloom where the camp-fires glow barley stretched, waiting quietly in thought and listening for sounds Adorno would wander between each lookout asking for any worthy reports and ensuring none dozed off at their post. He came again to Jorvik though this time was not for the expected small talk. “Jorvik quick.” He said keeping his voice hushed. “Come to the other side of the camp, we've heard voices.” Taking care not to disturb those who slept Jorvik followed Adorno. The lookout on the eastern side was the large Idibil who beckoned them over as they approached.

“They are getting closer, I’m sure of it.” He said looking tightly into the night.

“Jorvik, listen and see what you think.” Adorno said. Keeping still he listened hearing little. Only insects hovering amongst the reeds or the bog emitting wet guffs of warm air, foxes making their shrill calls to one another or tree leaves rustling in the breeze. Concentrating harder he then too heard the voices. A quick sound, only one voice yet it was too close to be from the road.

“I hear it” he said. The three of them stood silently waiting for another sound. More voices came, much closer. Adorno nodded signalling them to wake the others as he smouthered the camp fire. Jorvik and the others prodded each man until he woke, all knowing immediately why they had been disturbed at such an hour. Promptly each armed himself and gathered at the camps eastern edge, watching the surrounding gloom. Ahead the reeds rustled, followed by squelching footsteps. Breaking through the reeds appeared four men, tattered and unarmed. “Halt!” Bjarkis commanded. “You're walking into an armed group. What purpose do you have encroaching upon us?”

ahkc.jpg

“Forgive our intrusion.” Spoke the man who appeared first. “We are a small group of four making our way north.” Jorvik noted his disfigured hand, swollen with twisted fingers from having been crushed years ago. “Why do you travel at such a late hour off the road.” Bjarkis questioned them further as Adorno re-lit the fire. The light spread over the four men who were covered in mud, head to toe.

“Its just us four here, we come from Mercia. Our lord was defeated by East Anglia, his army scattered. We hope to regroup just outside the border. If you can spare any supplies we will be most grateful, if not, we shall continue on our way and leave you in peace.”

The man who spoke for these pagan survivors was likely a captain, his hand mutilated in a past battle. He had wisely decided to keep off the road, leading his few men through the nights darkness. Couragous men like these were the backbone of the nobels power, unquestionably loyal, admirably brave and easily exploited. Adorno unwrapped a loaf of bread handing it to him. Accepting the small gift the group of loyal servicemen gave thanks and parted ways. Jorvik expecting a fight was relived for it to be merely a peaceful exchange. He saw Felix fold back a layer of moss where he had slyly buried his coin pouche that he had been carrying all the way from Hibernia. Felix was like a squirrel he thought, ready to hide his last acorn at the first sight of danger. Once the commotion settled Jorvik and his companions resumed their rest and let the night pass without further interruption.

The morning arrived with a light breeze, the sky had become patched with grey cloud though without breaking rain. Jorvik woke quite happy on his grassy bed, having retired from watch earlier in the night. Furs had risen first as always and found some small animal for their morning meal. Felix rubbing his nose got up last, delaying their leave by only a little as they set off to cross the borderlands. They witnessed signs of battle, most appearing to have been small skirmishes. Corpses lay bloated and picked clean of any valuables by scavengers. At larger battle sites a few pyres smouldered where fallen nobles had been cremated, as was the lands custom. The roads were almost entirely vacant from peasants and merchants who chose to remain within their walls. Only soldiers on patrol moved cautiously ahead. If asked by them why they travelled through the region Bjarkis would state they were mercenaries in search of an employer. No faction would want to attack a party of unhired mercenaries in fear of being abandoned by those already in their employment.

As they proceeded forwards they encountered a marching column larger then their own. The banner they bore carried a pagan symbol of a green deer indicating they were a Mercian war party, professional soldiers armoured heavily. Their leader was a noble who rode upfront. Jorvik could see he wore expensive chainmail covered by a short fur cloak rapped with two fox tails that hung from one shoulder. His appearance reflected both his high rank and wealth. As they came closer Jorvik saw him speak to solider walking beside his horse. The man on foot then appeared to proceed back down the column speaking with various others. Jorvik felt unsettled by this and noticed even Bjarkis held his axe by its grip. Something was wrong.

As the columns past each other no greetings were made, the noble seeming to show little interest in them. He was a slender man who appeared well pampered, keeping his dark beard cut short with an upwards curl from his chin. Jorvik looked across at the noble and his troops as they now walked parallel to them. Their rear column then abruptly split heading up their other side, sandwiching Jorvik and his companions between. They were quickly surrounded by soldiers who fast drew out their weapons. This was a manoeuvre they had done before to ambush other travelers. Bjarkis halted and demanded to know the meaning of their entrapment. Slowly trotting back the noble spoke. “You have been halted for inspection.”

“We are neutral men of arms. You have no need to inspect us.”  Bjarkis said.

vn0t.jpg

“We are in hostile lands and if it serves my interests to know who you are then I shall do so.”

Bjarkis seeing their pagan banner tried to bluff them. “We have come in search of employment to fight for your pagan cause.” He pulled out the black feathered necklace he wore.

“I see.” The nobel said in response. “You say you are men in support of pagans. Unfortunately for you this banner I carry is a trophy and not a demonstration of who I serve.” Jorviks stomach sank as he realised Bjarkis bluff had failed. “I serve King Annan, ruler of East Anglia and follower of the Christian faith. If you wish to serve the pagans then its my righteous duty to stop you.” He ordered his men to seize their weapons and remove their armour. Visibly infuriated but powerless to resist Bjarkis could only concede. They had to do as they were told, reluctantly handing over their gear. The noble continued. “Although pagan supporters, I will respect your profession and spare your lives. I shall take these possessions as compensation. I am in pursuit of pagan survivors which this delay will likely allow them to elude me. They would have sold well at a slave market.”

As this sorrowful encounter came close to passing Jorvik waited for them to leave and risk no further hardship on the group. The loss off such important and expensive gear would leave them sorely vulnerable in such dangerous lands. As the noble toyed with his curled beard he made one more demand. “I will take him instead to the slave market. Him there, that barbarian guide you have.” Jorvik horrified spoke urgently realising he referred to Furs.

“He is not a guide. He is a member of our band and a man not to be disgraced with slavery.” Unconvinced the noble lent forward.

“I talk to you now and can see he understands nothing of what we say. He is an imbecile savage and nothing more. I will ensure he works in the harshest salt mine of my domain. Guards gag this Wildman. If he resists beat him.” Furs did resist and begun fighting off the soldiers but the nobles captain crushed his leg inwards with an iron mace. “Careful!” The noble yelled trying to swipe the captains head. “You idiot! What value can I get from a cripple?” Furs made no further attempt to resist as he was dragged away in agony and fastened to a supply wagon. Jorvik felt desperate and hopeless. He could only watch as his friend was taken away to a fate of slavery.

5gpr.jpg
 
wn2t.jpg


Chapter 11: Plots


The group sat quietly. Each man realising the dire consequence of the prior encounter. The unknown noble who served East Anglia had callously robbed them of vital arms and armour. By enslaving Furs also, he had denied the group the skills of a tracker key to navigating the lands safely. Without such important assets their fate would likely end in slavery too. War parties, bandits, slavers, desperate farmers, deserters would all be eager to profit from their plight. They were an easy target stuck like a hog ensnared in a trap just waiting to be claimed and sold.

Their options were limited. To the far south a thick forest could be seen just in view at the base of a distant mountain range. Here they could hide like the old hermit waiting until hunger forced them back out into the open country. Lands to the east and west spread far and wide with few areas that offered cover. Any campfire lit for warmth during the night would be a gleaming beacon for any curious bandits or more heartless lords. Back to the north they could head for Loidis again but this was the route Fur's enslaver had travelled. Another meeting with him and they may not get away at all. They needed to leave soon but were stuck as to where.

The clouds above had begun to drizzle as the easterly winds grew in strength. Jorvik thought of Furs and the hardship that awaited him. For a slave, being sent to work in the mines was the worst forced labour they could hope for. They must endure back-breaking tasks as their masters over-worked them in the hope to meet their demands. Kings and Barons expected to receive large quantities of minerals before the mine operators could profit themselves. Slaves although were in plentiful supply and were always available from inland Europa as well as from the native lands. Anyone but the highest nobility could end up as a slave. Arrested villains, bankrupt merchants, starving farmers, kidnapped sons, sold-off daughters, unlucky gamblers, deserting soldiers and so on. With supply so high they were fed little, worked until death and then quickly replaced. If they were lucky they would be sent to shallow surface mines, if not they were sent deep into the deep mines dug by a forgotten empire.

cnkbo.jpg

Jorvik stood hands on hip gazing north, regretting his inability to help his friend. Bjarkis paced in large circles trying to establish a plan of action with Adorno. Idibil and a few of the mercenaries searched a nearby pile of corpses for any items that could be of use. Scavengers however had already picked clean anything of value. Felix sat tossing a coin, talking to himself. “We are thoroughly stuffed, I say. Not even my coin is enough to re-equip ourselves. To think I've carried it all the way from Hibernia and its of no use. Oh poor Furs.” He continued. “A true fellow to have in ones company. Now dragged to a slow and painful death in a dreaded mine. Shame on the nobility for being so cruel. If I was worth enough I would ransom myself to save him.”

“That's it!” Jorvik said bursting with an idea. “That's precisely what we need to do.”

“Err, it is?” replied Felix climbing to his feet.

“Yes! Well not you Felix. We rescue Furs, catch that pompous noble and ransom him off to Mercia. We will be able to re-arm ourselves and get damn rich in the process!”

“You may be right.” Bjarkis joined in. “The odds of getting out of this mess are unlikely but if we are going to try, it may as well be by the way that rewards us best.” The spirits of the group began to visibly change.

“If I may make a suggestion?” Adorno added. “We do not need many men to rescue Furs or attempt to capture this noble. I would therefore recommend the group splits in two, the majority continues to Caer Went with the hope recapturing Felix's lands as originally planned. The smaller party if successful should make there way to the Mercian capital at Licidfelth. Here they can ransom the hostage and wait to receive news on Felix's mission. All we need to know is who goes in which party?” Bjarkis agreefully nodding decided.

“Jorvik, no doubt you will want to help rescue Furs so you will join myself and Idibil in hope of rescuing him. The rest of you fall under the command of Adorno and shall proceed with him and fight for Felix. Felix the lord you mean to oust will likely have a small army to defend his hold. You will need more than our party to fight him. Can you raise enough to your cause?”

“I have a grand business agreement at the fabulous tavern named the Whores Hole. Here I will earn enough coin to hire many more men of arms, such as yourself. If you believe I need to raise a small army, that I shall do.”

“Very well.” Bjarkis concluded. “We have no time to lose. Felix, I wish you luck in the battle that awaits you. Adorno will lead your army heroically. We shall track down Furs and drag his abductor to the feet of King Penda.” Jorvik felt lifted. Their plan was a desperate one and with high stakes. If he was to die he thought doing so amongst good men was the best way. If each group could succeed in their plan however they will not only rescue Furs and see Felix's land returned to him, but also gain enough coin for Jorvik to finally return home.
 
c6hb.jpg


Chapter 12: Storms

Each group shared farewells as they begun their daring quests. Adorno, Felix and the band of mercenaries headed west through Mercia whilst Jorvik, Bjarkis and Idibil tracked the nobles war party back north. The drizzle had now opened way for a heavy downpour, the skies bellowed thunder and the winds lashed fiercely. Despite their discomfort the bleak weather was to their benefit as other travelling parties would choose to seek shelter, including Furs abductor. If they could reach him in time they maybe able to succeed in their rescue attempt as the guards busied themselves trying to keep warm and dry. As for capturing the noble he was not so confident. 

Now separated Jorviks small group of three briskly headed onwards in silence, following the trodden tracks of the war party. With the rain pouring hard the stone roads had become swamped by slippery leaves and muck washed in from the surrounding banks. Some parts of the roads had been maintained with shallow flood ditches on either side but with the land in perpetual turmoil they had become unmaintained, overgrown and inefficient. Looking back Jorvik could no longer see the other party, the wind and rain was sweeping in circles masking their view of anything but the swaying trees that dotted their near vicinity. Gradually their efforts were rewarded as the sun began to sink into twilight. The puddled tracks they pursued veered off road heading up to the top of a hill. Jorvik could just make out the tops of pale tents and blurred shapes of patrol men. Fluttering in the wind was the pagan banner the East Anglian noble carried as a trophy. “There they are.” Bjarkis said pausing the small group. “We shall wait until dark before we make our move.” Gesturing to his left he led Jorvik and Idibil to a thick bush that clawed its way up the base of an old tree. Crouching behind it in the squelching mud they peered out making sure to not be noticed.

cgc7.jpg

“So who wants the honour of bashing that nobles face in.” Idibil said shaking the rain off his beard.

“I shall handle him.” Bjarkis said. “Furs will need the help of two with his broken leg so you both must go to him. We return as soon as we are done. If anything goes wrong make haste back towards Licidfelth.” They waited in silence. The camp had guards patrolling but they walked briskly so as to return to their dry shelters. The wet had prevented any fires being lit and the heavy clouds blocked out the moonlight. If they were going to ever take such a risk, tonight was the night for it.

“Its time, lets go.” Bjarkis gave the go ahead and they each crawled quietly up the muddy hillside. As they reached the top Jorvik and Idibil crept towards the wagons and supply crates. Bjarkis carefully made his way towards the tents that flapped and rocked, struggling against the winds. With no light it was pitch black and the howling winds meant Jorvik could hear as little as he could see. They crept upon a wagon similar to the one Felix had been restrained too but he was not to be seen. Idibil tapped Jorvik on the shoulder to indicate they should investigate the supply crates. As they felt their way around they came upon four dead bodies slumped on the other side. It was too dark to make out there faces. Jorvik felt himself tense. Had they beaten Furs to death? Was being made a cripple too damaging to his value as a slave? Jorvik made his best efforts to feel the corpses faces for signs of likeness but no features seemed to fit. Touching a hand he felt its shape abnormal, twisted and broken. These four bodies belonged to the pagan survivors who'd stumbled upon their camp back in the marsh. Whilst saddened to see they had been caught and slain, Jorvik was relived none were Furs. They moved ahead towards where the mules had been fastened. Upset the animals kicked and stamped the mud, restless and frightened by the storm. One mule had been left tied to a wagon rearing its head each time it rocked back against him. Approaching it cautiously and viewing the wagons contents Idibil whistled to Jorvik. Looking inside they saw Furs. His hands had gone a dark blue as the ropes restraining him swelled tightly in the rain. He did not move or respond to their eager prodding. He was alive but greatly unwell. His shattered leg had ballooned with trauma, the flesh grotesquely stretched.

ghm2.jpg

“We cannot save him Jorvik” Idibil spoke regretfully. “There is no way he can walk and we cannot carry him if unconscious. I’m sorry.” Jorvik felt ill. Their daring efforts had brought them so close but still only to failure. As he tried to desperately think of any means to save him a commotion sounded from the camps other side. Looking into the gloom they could see a tent collapse in on itself. Guards jumped to attention and came rushing out of their shelters. “Get him!” a voice yelled.

“Damn it! They have found Bjarkis.” Jorvik thumped the wagon.

“We must leave now.” Said Ibildil in a hurry. “They will find us too soon enough. Our mission has failed.”

Frustrated and hopeless Jorvik looked around for anything to help. “Wait! Untie the mules and let them run amok in the camp. We can escape in this wagon with Furs. They are after intruders now so we may as well risk it.” Quickly they set about releasing the mules, sparing the one fastened to the wagon. Harrassed by the storms winds the animals bolted off into the camp scattering the clueless guards.

“Over there! Bjarkis!” Idibil shouted. Looking towards the collapsed tent Jorvik saw him dragging a limp body behind himself. He was heading away back down the hill unaware a guard was fast upon him. “Ready the wagon Jorvik, I'll help him.” Idibil said dashing off.

The mule was ready to bolt. He unfastened the rope and used all his weight to ensure it did not unravel completely. Beyond the wagon he saw Idibil reach Bjarkis who had fallen over his limp hostage. Slipping in the wet mud Bjarkis could not get back up in time to defend himself against the pursuing guard who in the flickering torch lights was revealed to be the nobels captain. Lifting the iron mace he used to crush Furs's leg high above his head he brought it down heavily towards Bjarkis. Idibil bouldered into him like an angry bull. The mace landed with a wet thud as its iron head was swallowed in the mud. The guard fell onto his back at Idibils feet who by using both fists a fatal blows upon his face. The captain twitched and never got up again. Grabbing Bjarkis and the hostage he led them to the wagon where they scrambled in. Jorvik released the reigns and slapped the mules behind only just jumping in himself. The wagon bumped and slid uncontrollably as it sped without guidance down the hills slope. It took all his might to hold himself securely as the wagon jolted violently, throwing them about like potatos falling down stairs. As the camp disappeared into the gloom Jorvik saw the frightened face of the hostage. A small dark beard curled off his chin, it was indeed the noble. He was laid spread on his belly, pinned down by Bjarkis and looking bloody and sore.

Againsts all the odds they had managed to rescue Furs and take the noble hostage. Now they would need to head fast to Licidfelth before the nobels men could rally and give chase. Now having aquired a mule and wagon their chances seemed good. Looking back down at the nobles sorrowful eyes Jorvik could only feel joy. To celebrate his unexpected success he used all his remaining energy to boot him in the face.
 
am9q.jpg


Chapter 13: Kings

The night grew cold but Jorviks heart beat his body hot. The wagon thumped and cracked as the mule galloped onwards, steering its own course through the sodden landscape. Bjarkis held firm his prized captive as Idibil tried frantically to grab the reigns as they were dragged beneath the spinning  wheels. The night sky still burst its heavy clouds as the winds swept up the rain, casting it back down unforgivinly upon the daring bunch. Despite the chaos Jorvik laughed uncontrollably. He had saved his friend and caught a ransom worth more than any Dena Pirate could dream off. This was the crazed adventure he had sought in his youth. This was why he'd longed to become a warrior when just a boy. He laughed so ecstatically he never noticed when he and Idibil were catapulted off the wagon as it was dragged over a fallen tree. Both landed in a large puddle. The mule, exhausted fell to its knees bringing their crazed getaway to a sliding halt.

Jorvik gaining his composer wobbled back to his feet but Idibil groaned, he had twisted his knee and could not rise alone. “Jorvik, we have done many feats in the last hour but it seems flying will not be one of them.” Aiding Idibil back to his feet he saw the wagons shattered wheels. The spokes were snapped with jagged splinters as both rims had been smashed apart. The mule even sat slumped in mud exhuasted. Three men caught their breadth cutting free Furs from his bounds. The nobel blinking came also back to his senses.

“I recognize you.”He said. “You’re the mercenaries who I trapped on the road. Let me go and I will stop my war party from executing you.” Bjarkis didn’t listen, instead speaking to Idibil.

“Find a rag and gag him.” As Idibil limped over to muzzle him the noble gave them a warning.

“You wont escape. My personal guard can not return to King Annan without me, they will hunt you down. Their lives depend on it.”

Bjarkis paused, he was right. The personal guard would stop at nothing to save their honor. They will be fast upon them, both on horseback and well armed. The wagon was now useless and worse it had left a clear trail easily followed as it had tore a path through the wet ground. Bjarkis surveyed his surroundings desperately. There were no ditches to hide in, no streams to try and lose their tracks in or dense forests to flee too. The mule had bolted from the hilltop camp but in which direction he had no idea. They may have charged towards Licidfelth, back to Loidis or in any other direction. “Damn it.” He muttered seeing their predicament. With furs unconscious and Idibil barely able to walk there was no where to go. “Jorvik, we cannot go on as we are. You must continue ahead with the prisoner. Myself and Idibil will take Furs as far as we can before they catch us. If you can make it to Licidfelth, arrange an exchange of prisoners, him for us. Go now!” Jorvik was speechless. How quickly the tables had turned yet Bjarkis was right. He had to escape with the noble hostage. No harm would come to the others so long as he had possession of the him. Without wasting time he pulled the noble from the wagon and disappeared into the wet night leaving behind his dear companions.

The noble resisted but was too bruised and battered to make much effort. Pushing him from behind Jorvik made his best to get as much distance between them and the wagon. Hills ran wet as he climbed up one side and slid back down the other. Winds whipped them from all sides making them fall and falter. Jorvik tried to dry his tired eyes but the rain soon washed back in off his brow. Panting he felt as though he was tumbling down into a whirlpool. The world itself seemed to greedilty swallow the land beneath his feet, trying to drown him.

“Let us rest.” The noble said as his gag came loose. Jorvik slipped falling into the boggy earth dragging his prisoner down with him. Beleaguered and oppressed by the relentless storm, neither could rise. “Let me go and I will reward you! Your companions are doomed but I will spare you at least when my guards arrive. I could use a man like yourself.” Jorvik was too spent to reply. “Serve me in my court and I can see to it you are made a man of nobility. Our war with Mercia is lucrative. Even if we lose, us nobles will profit greatly. Join me and I can elevate your status and gift you lands.” Jorvik tried to stand but his hands sank into the mud as his feet slipped out from behind him. He sat barely keeping his senses together until catching the sounds of galloping hooves. “My guard approaching. Untie me now before they arrive and I will spare you.” Louder the hooves sounded pursuing their trail. Jorvik still said nothing as he laid down in the thick slop, waiting for the guards to catch him. The noble climbed to his knees and called out into the darkness. The hooves slowed, circled and then headed their way. “It shall be the mines for you and execution for your companions.” He sneered. Out of the gloom rode four men. They were heavily armed and sat on top tall steeds which snorted impatiently in the rain. The noble jeered at Jorvik before suddenly  growing quite.

“Here they are.” Spoke a rider. “Your name is Jorvik, I believe. We have come from King Penda on the word of a man named Felix. They said you would likely be in need of our help and had a captive of great value to us. Climb up, we have you friends from the wagon already on route to Licidfelth.” The noble tried to flee realizing his mistake but a Mercian guard turned his horse into him knocking back down. “You have a Lord of East Anglia, a grand hostage indeed.” With that they left with haste for Licidfelth.

Jorvik rode clutching the back of his savior, too fatigued to fully appreciate his own rescue. The four horses galloped through the downpour along small tracks and across open fields, the riders knowing their home territory well. Quickly Jorvik felt free of any further risk as they came upon the main road. Through the night they rode hard and fast until eventually reaching Licidfelth. They past the towns defensive walls made from strong oak, passing beneath the entrance into the towns interior. The wind curled and whisked its way between thatch huts, landing into the flooding streets and alleys. The horses hooves clopped noisily as they passed sleepy homes keeping the slumbering townsfolk warm and dry, hushed taverns, and empty markets also until arriving at the towns centre. Here stood a modest hall made from carved oak built for the Mercian Lords. Jorvik was helped off his horse and  lead inside to a table with hot broth in waiting. But before even receiving a spoon  fell sound asleep where he sat. The noble captive however was treated less kindly. Pushed off his horse he was dragged towards the dungeon. His objections at his handling fast muted as he closed his mouth tightly to avoid the taste of horse and cow filth he'd been pulled through.

When Jorvik finally came to waking he found he had been moved to a straw bed placed to the side of the hall. Sat at the long dinning table that spread from each end were all kinds of wealthy and important looking individuals. All ate and drunk wine, cheering merrily despite the early hour.  Rubbing his eyes he saw amongst them Bjarkis and Idibil who waved him him over. His arms and legs ached but he felt much revigorated. “Our mighty farmer wakes and is looking well.” Bjarkis said handing him a cup of wine and a roasted chicken leg. “Enjoy the fine food and drink my friend. Its in our honor.”

“Our honor?” Jorvik asked as everyone at the table unexpectedly rose.

“For the capture of King Annan!” A voice appluaded from behind. Turning he saw rough looking man dressed in armour finely smelt. “From one kings company to another!” He bellowed. “I am King Penda, ruler of Mercia.” Jorvik almost choked on his chicken leg.

“King Penda? My lord its an honor.” Realizing what he had just been told he blurted. “King Annan, captured you say!?”

“Indeed. That sorrowful noble you dragged in late last night was my great rival, the ruler of East Anglia. How many men I’ve sent against his sheildwall and for how many years I forget, yet not once have I come close to capturing him. Yet a daring company off three snatched him from his own royal tent in the night.” He place a hand on Jorviks shoulder raising high a jug of wine. “Let this small and under prepared celebration bring warmth and cheer to our unlikely hero’s. Yet I must forgo this merry making to attack my foe whilst he's lame and headless. You men are welcome to my Royal Halls should you ever seek them. Farewell and enjoy your reward.” He placed a small cloth pouch into Jorviks hand as he called his generals to follow him outside. Tipping the contents onto the table rolled out three small stones. They flashed and reflected the light in the same way as the jewel on the black feathered necklace Felix had stole off Bijarkis. They were small like tiny pieces of glass bringing the entire hall to silence as each stared in awe. The reward handed to them for their unknowing capture of King Annan was great. Jorvik thought of how Felix would likely have passed out if he had been given them. The thought reminded him of other parties mission to reclaim Felix’s land. “Bjarkis, any word on Felix and Adorno?”

“We asked around but news from the welsh lands is not greatly cared for here. We 're waiting until the market to opens to ask the merchants, they will know of something.”

For a time they sat eating, drinking and discussing joyfully the deeds they had unexpectedly accomplished. Furs had been taken to the best healer available where he will remain until his health returns. It was said that his wound was bad but would heal well, allowing him to walk although with a limp. Despite the good news Jorvik soon grew anxious for news on Felix's battle. He left the others in the Royal Hall as he went out into the morning sun, the skies now clear. Walking amongst the bustling townsfolk of Licidfelth he came upon the market. Questioning the merchants he soon found one who claimed to know of the battle.

“Oh yes. I passed a bloody battle alright.” The horse merchant said. “It was at the border between Mercia and Gwent. Folk told me it was a bloody battle. Nearly never took place either, too much rain! Terrible rain! It had me and my donkeys all soaked through on our way here.”

“Yes well never mind that, who won the battle?” Interrupted Jorvik.

“Word is the battle was won by a mercenary who had a peculiar name. Hmm, Adorno I believe.” Jorvik sighed with relief as the merchant continued. “Sounds like a man with a great tactical mind. Sent his enemy fleeing back behind their walls.” The merchant chuckled. “A real shame then that someone called Felix took over and ruined it all for him.”

Jorviks throat tightened. “Ruined it? Ruined it how!?” The merchant almost could not stop himself laughing.

“Yes, yes. Some imbecile called Felix apparently got a bit too excited and took command off Adorno. Charged his men through a breach in the city walls too soon. They all got trapped! Now they're all rotting in a dungeon, dear me. ”

Jorvik tried to sound thankful for the information as he walked away. Placing his hand in his pocket he touched the fine cloth of the diamond pouch. There worth was uncountable. He could hire an entire fleet to return home in and live like king himself should he sell them. To hell with this land and to hell with Felix’s meddling incompetency, he thought. But he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t abandon Furs and he really only felt pity for Felix. Taking a deep breadth he walked towards the Royal Stable where King Penda was preparing to leave for East Anglia.

By the next morning Jorvik found himself at the head a thousand strong Mercian army lead by the King himself, hired with three small diamonds.
 
Back
Top Bottom