Hark! Hear the tale of Einar bold,

A warrior fierce with a heart of gold.

Ten brave Vikings stood by his side,

To Hel’s dark gates their foes would ride.

From the north winds cold, they sailed the seas,

Where the restless dead stirred in the breeze.

A thousand strong, undead arose,

But Einar’s fire would bring their close.

With steel in hand and hearts aflame,

They struck as one in Odin’s name.

No fear did Einar’s men betray,

As into Hel’s jaws they carved their way.

Then Einar raised his voice to the sky,

And summoned flames from far and high.

By his hand, the undead did burn,

To ash and bone, never to return.

Thor himself saw Einar’s might,

And sent down lightning’s brilliant light.

Einar, daring, seized its spark,

And rode its bolt through shadows dark.

A storm of fury, a storm of death,

He scattered the dead with every breath.

The horde fell back, their souls undone,

For Einar had vanquished every one.

Now sung in halls where warriors rest,

Einar's name is hailed as best.

Ten brave Vikings at his side,

Together they sent the dead to die.

So raise your horns and sing with pride,

Of Einar, who in battle died.

But not before he broke death’s hand,

And sent a thousand back to Hel’s dark land.

Skalds will sing this tale of yore,

Of Einar’s flame and Thor’s great roar.

A hero’s name forever hailed,

In Valhalla’s halls, where glory sailed.

“What in the gods is that crap?!” Arngrim demanded as the skald finished his song, earning a roar of applause from the patrons inside the Berserkers Den where Einar was currently repaying a debt he felt he owed.

“MORE!”

“MORE!”

“I need a moment to wet my throat before I send of Einar and his friend who laughs like a goat!”

Laughter came as Arngrim gave the skald a hand gesture, ignoring the young man who was choking on his mead.

“Thank you Einar,” Teit said as he set down another pitcher. “I already do well because of you and how you always come, but having this be the first place to hear the tales of your deeds… well you saw the lines!”

“And the other skalds standing outside the door, writing frantically.”

The one-armed man nodded and returned to his usual spot, laughing and chatting with the patrons flipping coins to Bior’s personal story crafter.

“Do I want to know what song he’s singing next?”

“I don’t want to know,” Einar replied, watching the people in the longhouse from his booth, ignoring the two Vikings that kept everyone away, courtesy of the Jarl.

“In a minute, we can go. Osvif, Skardi, Thorodd and Bodalf are out back. I promised Bior I would do my part to play the role of the hero and that means being present.”

“Still, why have you not come and spoke with me at my place yet? We have much to do and so little time.”

He could see the extra lines on his old rune crafter’s face. Like a dried raisin that somehow became even extra wrinklier, right now, Arngrim’s frown did nothing to make him look pleasant.

“You’re about to be worked to the bone. Trust me, I’m letting Bior handle what he said he needed to.”

Grunting, his old friend picked up the fresh pitcher of mead and began drinking from it. After about twenty seconds of chugging, he slammed it down, let out one of the loudest belches Einar could remember in a while and then made his ever so well-known goat laugh, causing the patrons to cheer for him.

“Okay, now we can go.”

Wiping the foam from his beard, Arngrim nodded, waving at those who called for an encore and followed Einar out the back way.

When the door opened, the four men moved as one, giving a quick nod and then motioning for them to hurry.

“There are two sets of people following you. We’ll need to move quickly if we want to lose them,” Osvif said as he handed both men oversized cloaks. “Put them on as we go.”

Knowing the drill, both men donned the cloaks, weaving past the trash and filth in the alleyway and coming to a cart waiting at the entrance. A tarp was tossed over it, and a small opening awaited them.

“Hurry up old man,” Einar said as Arngrim tried to climb into the hiding spot, his foot slipping on the wood from the mud that caked his boot.

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“Give me a hand!”

Not waiting for a second request, he pushed on the old man’s butt and shoved him forward, ignoring the string of curses when Arngrim fell into the cart.

“Hurry.”

Nodding, Einar jumped up and let the tarp get pulled over. The four men split off in different directions, and the wagon started to move.

“All this cloak and dagger shit gets old,” Arngrim muttered. “Smells like someone took a crap in here.”

“It’s your boot. You stepped in it on the way here. Now quiet. We don’t need you laughing and the entire city wondering where a herd of goats are.”

***

“Well the city is abuzz with the newest feat of Einar and his men. I’m certain the second song will tide them over until my skald finishes the next one.”

Einar said nothing, following the Jarl leading them down another set of stone stairs, each holding a torch as they moved through dark tunnels.

“I’m going to catch something down here,” Arngrim grumbled. “It’s so damp and musty. Probably mold everywhere!”

“Just how you like it,” Bior replied. “The good news is only a few of us know how to access this place, and none of the ones who do will talk. The bad news is I only got about two-thirds of the items down here. The other third will be picked through and while I’m certain you’ll lose a few good items, don’t lose too much sleep.”

“It’s not fair! You two know what he has brought, and I’m still waiting! Why can’t I have the list?!”

“Because there is no way you would have let them out of your sight,” Einar stated. “Now then, just relax. You’ll have all the time in the world to make runes and die from mold.”

***

The three of them stood in a thirty-foot by fifty-foot room that was moderately decorated in comfort. A pair of beds stood in a corner with privacy curtains, while there was a small kitchen in the opposite corner with a vent that took the smoke out of the room. The lights were dimly lit, and there was plenty of work space, a couch, reading books, and more.

Packed along one wall was all the items Bior had managed to squirrel away.

“This is a room for you and your family, isn’t it?” Einar asked as he studied the decorations in the room.

“It is… meant for hiding if need be. The wall we went through is hard to find, and I’m glad to know you did not even notice it.”

“This is perfect!” Arngrim exclaimed as he moved to one of the crates, lifting the lid and cackling with glee.

“Do you want the list?”

“No! This is like a treasure hunt right now! You two keep talking, I’m going to pretend to listen!”

Both men smiled as the rune crafter reached in, took out a bone, and fondled it like a long-lost childhood toy.

“He’s going to love it down here,” Einar said. “Now then, what can you tell me about those men?”

“Koigrim has people here and they want to see where you go. They know I’m protecting you but word has already been sent to the king. I expect in the next two weeks at most, there will be an official request sent here requiring you to appear before the King.”

“And Avitue?”

“Three days, maybe four. I have no doubt she will come quickly.”

“Good. So if I’m not here when the summons comes, it will buy me a little more time.”

“This is a dangerous game, Einar,” Bior said, the smile he had worn a moment ago, now gone. “You can’t dodge him forever and the longer this goes on the more frustrated he will become.”

“I know. We both know my plan is our best chance for avoiding conflict. Besides, it gives Unnulf time to arrive.”

Sighing, the Jarl nodded.

“He has been enduring a few problems of late. Hopefully, Thorve reaches him soon.”

“Should I ask?”

“Jarl business. Now then, tell me, where do we stand on the runes?”

“We are dancing in the clouds with the gods!” Arngrim shouted. “So many possibilities! You have the making for easily thirty or forty advanced runes!”

Bior started to cough and Einar winked at him as the Jarl finally comprehended the question he had been waiting on.

“Thirty or forty?! How long will that take?!”

With his head buried in a crate, no response came so both men moved to where Arngrim was halfway inside a wooden box.

“I said how long to make them.”

“Yes… yes… I heard you, I was simply doing math in my head while continuing to search for things!”

His voice echoed from inside the box and suddenly, the old man jerked backward, a jar in his hand with a dozen eyeballs floating in it.

“Now tell me, did you really manage to kill that many Bellavan miogs?”

“We had a few more than that, but we couldn’t keep them all,” Einar replied, earning a scoff from Bior.

“I was told that you should be worn out for months based on what is in there. Besides, you still haven’t found the good stuff.”

For a moment it looked like Arngrim’s neck might snap from the speed at which his head moved.

“The good stuff?!”

Like a kid who had just been promised candy and mead on bath day, the old rune crafter’s eyes sparkled with excitement. A toothy grin made mountains of wrinkles as he started to shift from foot to foot, waiting for the news.

“Second from the last crate… but be careful!”

Yelling didn’t seem to matter as the old man raced toward the wooden box and flipped the lid off, pausing as he looked inside.

“Open the next box carefully!”

Taking a deep breath, Arngrim set the jar of eyeballs inside the wooden crate and then reached in.

Slowly, he lifted out a glowing green crystal and let out a small whistle.

“My boy… how… how did you get this?”

“Oh, that? We just killed two Leuca ango’s, one which was a forty-yard-plus long male.”

The rune crafter’s fingers twitched and the gem started to fall before he quickly snatched it up, holding it against his rising chest, his breath trembling.

“T… two Leuca ango?” he asked, slowly turning and seeing the smile Einar proudly displayed.

“Yup! If I’m honest thought, I really can’t wait to hear how the skald is going to improve upon the song since we climbed on top of it and killed it while it was flying through the sky.”

For a brief moment, Einar almost moved to where his old friend was, watching the man’s face go white, his bushy eyebrows reaching the top of his skull.

“You rode it?! As in you flew?!”

“I wouldn’t say we flew… just anchored ourselves to its back and broke its spine, causing it to crash and die. Of course, we died with it.”

Bior chuckled as he shook his head.

“I’m just glad I was sitting down when you told me that. Flying…”

“Riding,” Einar corrected him. “Now then, if you think you are up for crafting some runes, tell us, how long to make thirty or forty advanced ones?”

Taking a few seconds to calm himself, Arngrim returned the green crystal and shut the lid.

“If I push myself maybe three a week but I couldn’t keep that pace up for long. Perhaps they wouldn’t be that hard if they are repeats, as I’ll be able to make them a little easier each time. If anything is like the one you have for your head, that would not be a rate I could keep up.”

“Ten or eleven a month,” Bior said quietly as he scratched his beard. “It’s not bad, though I would wish for them sooner. How soon can you start?”

Coughing, Arngrim motioned around the room and then pointed at their long-lost Viking.

“He just returned, we know he is heading out to get married and you want me to stay in here, all by myself, making runes all month long?”

The Jarl was about to say something and stopped, and Einar knew he had spotted the slight hitch in Arngrim’s right cheek.

“You want to stay here and do this!”

“Of course I do! I’m a rune crafter, not some priest who marries love-sick Vikings who just want to have sex! Now go and I’ll start tonight if you send down some food worth eating.”

Moving to where his old friend was, Einar gave him a hug and winked at him.

“I’ll tell Reinn you said hi.”

“Screw that man! But tell him anyway in case I need to come back.”

Without another word, Arngrim turned to the crates and started digging through them again, cackling like a goat the entire time.