a scarlet hue designed to draw attention.
Cardas guffawed. He shoved aside the bench opposite him and motioned for Ali to take a seat. After his commander sat, Cardas’s gaze swept the tavern. “I like not these seating arrangements. Having my back to the entrance does not bode well for my digestion.”
“Why say you that? You have ne’er worried about your back in Gufa Fiskr afore.” Konáll threw the Muslim captain a scowl worthy of his Jomsviking title.
“True, but ne’er have I seen so many langskips in the harbor.”
“There are but three ships anchored in the fjord.” Brökk leaned forward and squinted at the narrow slit revealed by the leather hide covering the window looking out to port. “And, forsooth, all belong to your master.”
“Nay. Two others pulled in after we did.”
“None has seen fit to warn us of this?” Brökk bounded off the bench and hurried out of the tavern with Konáll on his heels. They jostled through the crowded doorway.
Brökk narrowed his eyes and his shoulders slumped when he recognized one of the ships in the harbor as their youngest brother’s. “I will thrash Cardas to a pulp. ’Tis his notion of humor?”
Konáll slapped his shoulder. “I care not that Cardas has a twisted humor, so relieved am I to see Vengeance Hammer’s sails. Think you Dráddør has Hjørdis with him?”
“Pray Odin he has, and she is safe and unharmed by her ordeal.” Brökk glanced around the pier, spotted one of his men, and signaled for a skin boat to take them to Dráddør’s langskip.
Brökk scanned the fjord and concentrated on the strange ship on the far right of the harbor. “I recognize not the sails of this vessel. You?”
“Nay.” Konáll shaded his eyes.
“’Tis the type of ship used by the Arabs.” Cardas had followed them out of the alehouse. “It and Dráddør’s ship arrived as we docked. I believed the two vessels traveled together.”
“We needs speak with Dráddør first. Mayhap he did travel with this strange ship.” Brökk studied the vessel, noting the wide berth and the masts and riggings. "I would wager ’tis designed for cargo, not warfare.”
“Aye. It sits too low in the water to maneuver with speed.” Konáll spun around. “Naught to be done until Dráddør arrives on land. My belly is empty and I would fill it.”
An acrid aroma filled Brökk’s nostrils. Smoke. The alewife must have purchased a dozen salmon or more for thick curls of black billowed above the tavern’s roof. Then he saw the flames flicking in the distance. His stomach ran aground. “Bita Veðr!”
He sprinted for his horse, roaring, “To me!”
“Fire!” Konáll shouted. “To Bita Veðr!”
Brökk leaped onto his stallion and kneed the steed into a gallop. Men, women, and children dodged out of his way. Long blue plumes of flames licked from a rise to the east, and his dread soared when he realized the fire’s direction—the crofter’s hut to which he had assigned the women.
He spurred his horse up the hill to the holding. Within moments Konáll and Cardas were alongside.
“To the hut, brother. Cardas will accompany you. I will take the hall.”
“Aye.” Brökk glanced back. Raki and the rest of the men were seven lengths behind and racing furiously to catch them.
“The women are safe, Brökk. Mayhap ’tis an accident. I left the old nurse dousing the hearth.” Konáll yelled and bent low over his steed.
The three warriors crested the hill and separated. Konáll took the left to the great hall while Brökk and Cardas veered right.
Brökk reigned in as he approached the cottage. The alarm he’d kept in check threatened to spiral out of control at the sight that met his eyes. The blaze consumed the entire dwelling. With a resounding crash the thatched roof caved in, and what was left standing of the wooden walls followed.
“Stay your alarm. I smell no burned flesh. I would wager my left stone not a single soul was in that dwelling.” Cardas’s
Cardas guffawed. He shoved aside the bench opposite him and motioned for Ali to take a seat. After his commander sat, Cardas’s gaze swept the tavern. “I like not these seating arrangements. Having my back to the entrance does not bode well for my digestion.”
“Why say you that? You have ne’er worried about your back in Gufa Fiskr afore.” Konáll threw the Muslim captain a scowl worthy of his Jomsviking title.
“True, but ne’er have I seen so many langskips in the harbor.”
“There are but three ships anchored in the fjord.” Brökk leaned forward and squinted at the narrow slit revealed by the leather hide covering the window looking out to port. “And, forsooth, all belong to your master.”
“Nay. Two others pulled in after we did.”
“None has seen fit to warn us of this?” Brökk bounded off the bench and hurried out of the tavern with Konáll on his heels. They jostled through the crowded doorway.
Brökk narrowed his eyes and his shoulders slumped when he recognized one of the ships in the harbor as their youngest brother’s. “I will thrash Cardas to a pulp. ’Tis his notion of humor?”
Konáll slapped his shoulder. “I care not that Cardas has a twisted humor, so relieved am I to see Vengeance Hammer’s sails. Think you Dráddør has Hjørdis with him?”
“Pray Odin he has, and she is safe and unharmed by her ordeal.” Brökk glanced around the pier, spotted one of his men, and signaled for a skin boat to take them to Dráddør’s langskip.
Brökk scanned the fjord and concentrated on the strange ship on the far right of the harbor. “I recognize not the sails of this vessel. You?”
“Nay.” Konáll shaded his eyes.
“’Tis the type of ship used by the Arabs.” Cardas had followed them out of the alehouse. “It and Dráddør’s ship arrived as we docked. I believed the two vessels traveled together.”
“We needs speak with Dráddør first. Mayhap he did travel with this strange ship.” Brökk studied the vessel, noting the wide berth and the masts and riggings. "I would wager ’tis designed for cargo, not warfare.”
“Aye. It sits too low in the water to maneuver with speed.” Konáll spun around. “Naught to be done until Dráddør arrives on land. My belly is empty and I would fill it.”
An acrid aroma filled Brökk’s nostrils. Smoke. The alewife must have purchased a dozen salmon or more for thick curls of black billowed above the tavern’s roof. Then he saw the flames flicking in the distance. His stomach ran aground. “Bita Veðr!”
He sprinted for his horse, roaring, “To me!”
“Fire!” Konáll shouted. “To Bita Veðr!”
Brökk leaped onto his stallion and kneed the steed into a gallop. Men, women, and children dodged out of his way. Long blue plumes of flames licked from a rise to the east, and his dread soared when he realized the fire’s direction—the crofter’s hut to which he had assigned the women.
He spurred his horse up the hill to the holding. Within moments Konáll and Cardas were alongside.
“To the hut, brother. Cardas will accompany you. I will take the hall.”
“Aye.” Brökk glanced back. Raki and the rest of the men were seven lengths behind and racing furiously to catch them.
“The women are safe, Brökk. Mayhap ’tis an accident. I left the old nurse dousing the hearth.” Konáll yelled and bent low over his steed.
The three warriors crested the hill and separated. Konáll took the left to the great hall while Brökk and Cardas veered right.
Brökk reigned in as he approached the cottage. The alarm he’d kept in check threatened to spiral out of control at the sight that met his eyes. The blaze consumed the entire dwelling. With a resounding crash the thatched roof caved in, and what was left standing of the wooden walls followed.
“Stay your alarm. I smell no burned flesh. I would wager my left stone not a single soul was in that dwelling.” Cardas’s
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