He had been following them for most of the day by now. Keeping to the woodline, making sure they wouldn't spot him. He had passed several large deer and a few elk on the way. Many bison had moved between him and the three travelers. He was unsure, but he thought he had spotted one of the great bears in the distance. These were not the bears of the coast where the people mostly lived. These were as tall as men when they stood on all four and their mouths wide. He had seen no other predators, that could be both good or bad.
Bjorn was becoming uncertain. They did not travel like the People. They took too many stops. They shied away from herds instead of angeling them. Now that he could see them better, he thought they walked funny.
Where they children left from a raid, had they never learned the ways? It seemed impossible unless the blood feud was beyond redemption, any child or woman would be taken in by the winning clan as their new family. The People could not be thralls.
He had never heard of such a blood feud in his life or one spoken of except for in legends. If the blood became bad enough between clans, the Jarls or Chiftans would either fight in holmgang or have a champion fight for them. The outcome was the will of the gods and could not be disputed. The losing clan would pay the predetermined amount to the winning clan, as they were considered wronged. There was no wergild expected to be payed if the fight was to the death in holmgang, mostly it was to first blood or for three shields.
Setting himself up by some boulders close to where the travelers would be entering the woods if they kept to their current direction. He sucked on some of the dried meat while watching them making their slow way toward him as he carefully honed the edge of his knife.
Looking down at the first one entering the forest, he was sure they belonged to one of the Softlander tribes. They had so many different ones, but Softlander was Softlander, worthless. He had moved closer once he realized they were not of the People. Leaning against a large rock and peering at them through a bush twenty or so steps away. They were blind, couldn't hear or smell. Maybe because they were wrapped in so much fur? They had fur hats, fur on their bodies, fur boots and fur gloves. The weather was mild, and the sun was still up. Did they think the deep cold would come from one moment to the next? Their travois had more fur and pelts. Mostly from fox or beaver, but there were a few larger hides from buffalo. No meat however.
Bjorn wasn't too surprised. The Softlanders loved the fur and skins almost as much as the soft yellow gold. He could never understand their obsession with it. When he had crossed the river earlier, he had seen its glint in the water, probably pushed down from the mountains like other pebbles and rocks. It glinted prettily enough, but you could only wear so many rings, armbands and chains before it became a problem to do tasks. Even then, blacksmith Othar had to put some silver or copper in the melt before shaping it. It was far too soft. No, he liked good cold iron for his armbands and rings, the iron the People used had a special shine to it already. Othar, the blacksmith, said it was the sacred gray and silver powders the Sister had gifted to the People that they added to the iron. Bjorn thought it looked better in moonlight than the yellow gold anyway.
Looking at them from such a short distance, he could tell they were tired already. Their breath was winded, and he had already started smelling their stench. They should be thankful it was him, not one of the living, that sat here watching them. The clans would go to war. Outsiders were not allowed to travel the land except for designated places on the coast where the People allowed them to trade, mostly for the same sort of fur, pelts and hide he saw them dragging behind them.
The last one had entered the cover of the forest now, the other two sitting down already, breathing hard. When the last one joined them, they shared drink from a water skin and communicated in their twittering tongue like birds. To Bjorn, it sounded like they had forgotten that there was a throat. The worry in their voices was unmistakable. He could see how they constantly scanned the forest around where they sat. How they expected to see anyone when they made so much noise was a mystery to him, but he understood they knew what they had been doing was wrong and would end in a painful death. Even with their eyes daring back and forth, he knew he could lay hands on them before they knew he was there.
When they finally moved out again, he followed close, walking alongside them or behind them. At times he was a step away from touching one as he passed him. They smelled rancid and of the spirits they made by freezing wine during winter. The clear liquid that wouldn't freeze. Each had an unstrung bow and a spear. The tips looked like good iron. He would take them with him later.
It was getting late. If they planned on setting camp, they would need to do so soon, he thought. To his surprise, they kept on walking longer than was wise in the forest, so he hurried up ahead of them.
He ran ahead of them for maybe a quarter of a turn before the land started dropping downwards. The forest grew spars and became a thin strip of grassland before it turned into a beach. The cove was incredible. A beach of pebbles and sand between two horns going out into the sea protecting it. Each side was covered by a steep rise in the mountain. The only way from the land to this place was the drop he had found, the drop the Softlanders had been walking towards. It was a hidden gem from the lands. Now it was his hidden gem. He could feel a smile he did not deserve tugging at his lips.
They would be her soon enough. He would see if any of them could speak or if they only made twittering noises. Finding a place to hide his pack further in among some rocks, he took his fighting axe and the spears with him as he searched the tree line. It didn't take him long to find their boat. It had been overturned not far into the tree line. Since the trees had such an abrupt ending, it wasn't a bad place to hide it. It also meant they had someplace close by to return to by water. Either he was close to a clan hold that allowed traders to have an enclave close by, or there was one of their ships anchored close by. If it was the latter, he could always try to raid it, depending on how many of the Softlanders were onboard.
Making his way back towards the Softlanders, he found them easily enough. They made as much noise as stampeding bison. It was becoming dark now, the last of the sun was being chased away, and under the blanket of the trees, it was almost as dark as the nights the Sister hid her face.
Moving slowly, he made his way to the one last in the line. Stalking him, sometimes close enough to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. For someone that looked so fearful, constantly throwing glasses over his shoulder, he paid very little attention to what was beside him, sometimes just on the other side of a tree. When there were several bushes and trees between the man and the next one, Bjorn struck. He had the meaty part of his forearm against up under the man's chin, locking it in the bend of his other arm that was pushing down and forward on the back of the man's skull. One thing the Softlander learned that night was that fur glows made scratching someone with your nails very difficult. It did not take long for the Softlander to sleep. Bjorn took his knife and bound his feet and arms behind his back. Used a piece of cloth to stop him from shouting.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
The next one was less worried about what was happening behind him and more about taking a piss. He was caught with his pants down. Bjorn didn't wish to get close to the man after having smelled the last one so close. He would need to bathe before he could sleep. Waiting for the man to shake off any piss from his cock. He hit him in the back of the head, twice since the first time didn't fully make him pass out, and because he would have to look at the man's hairy ass while he tied him up, he hit him a third time in the stomach.
The last Softlander would be the easiest. Not that he had felt much challenged by the first two, just sick for different reasons.
Making his way past the last Softlander, he waited for him to make his way closer to the beach. When he was a few dozen steps from the thin line of grassland, he had obviously seen the reflection of the moon in the sea because he let out a happy shout and turned around to say something to the man behind him. The words stopped in his throat as he looked into the eyes of Bjorn, standing less than an arm's length away, slightly to the right of the travois.
“Hello, Softlander. Can you speak?” Either he didn't understand Bjorn, or he had forgotten he had a voice. Because only a light gasp came from his mouth. Bjorn tried again. “Can you tell me your name Softlander?” Making sure his voice was slow and measured since this Softlander seemed especially slow in the head. When the man started warbling at him in those strange tweeting tones the Softlanders used, Bjorn knew he would be useless to him. Faster than the man could register, an axe had cut diagonally down into his neck and buried deep into the opposite side of his chest. Standing over the dead Softlander, he brought his foot down on his chest and ripped his axe free. It was more than the broken body could handle. A large part of the upper body came free with the axe. Did the Softlander have bird bones? He had never seen an axe going that deep before. Still, he thought the smell of blood was a vast improvement.
Making his way to the second man. Bjorn could see that he had tried moving his body like a shrimp towards the closest bush. A survivor. He approved. Taking hold of the rope he had tied between the Softlanders hands and feet, he lifted the man with his left hand and carried him to a log. Another one with bird bones. Men should not have this little weight. How could they hold a shield wall? The frantic trashing and muddled screams the man was making into his gag was starting to annoy Bjorn. It didn't help that the man had his pants down.
Laying him down on his side, using a fallen tree as a headrest. Bjorn sat down on his heels in front of the man and held a finger up to his mouth. Eventually, he calmed down enough, but there were still tears streaming from his eyes, so Bjorn gently used his thumbs to brush them away from his lids. Removing the gag since the man had stopped screaming. Bjorn asked as gently as he could. “Do you understand me, Softlander? Will you be more useful to me?” The man had clearly understood Softlander since he started warbling at Bjorn in his strange tongue as the other one had done, except he said Softlander as ziflandir. Tying again, he said, “Do you understand me?” Just made the man's twittering more urgent. Bjorn sighed. Another pointless being. Standing up, he brought the axe down on the man's neck faster than he could react. It was over before he knew what had happened. It didn't take many moments before the man's blood painted the forest floor.
Walking back to the first man he had made unconscious, he saw him laying still, eyes wide in terror. When he noticed Bjorns face looking down at him from above, he started screaming into his gag too. Bjorn knew his face wasn't the best looking. He had a good jaw and clean teeth, even if his nose had been broken a few times, and the scar running from his left temple to his jaw sometimes flared red when he was angry. His mother… When he was of the People, his mother told him his brown eyes made people calm, so he almost felt insulted when the man's frantic muffled screaming only increased. Was it the blood on his outer clothes and face?
Sitting down, he did his best to not look threatening to the Softlander. It did not seem to be helping, so he just asked, “Do you understand me, Softlander?” The man's muffled screams were growing ragged and tired. “Hello, are you able to speak?” Bjorn was growing tired of this. He reached over and removed the gag on the man who was trying to scramble away from his gloved hand. “Can you understand me?”
The Softlander suddenly said, “No eat. Merchant,” or that's what Bjorn thought he had said. “Are you hungry?” Bjorn asked. “No, eat. No, eat.” followed by some garbled sounds in his own tongue. Offering him a strip of dried meat, the man clamped his lips tight and tried to turn his head away. So, not hungry then. “Tell me, Softlander, where did you plan on taking the furs too??” The man started talking in his annoying twittering again. Bjorn shook his head at the man and said. “I do not understand the animal noises you are making. Speak like a man or lose your head now.” Rising his axe for emphasis. Something in what he said must have been understood because the man went back to whimpering.”Where are you taking the fur?” He asked. Pointing with his axe at the travois to make the man follow his gesture with his eyes. “New” followed by a word Bjorn wouldn't consider trying to pronounce, “hunter go furs yellow gold… long trade.” The man seemed to be searching for more words, but Bjorn had understood the message well enough. “Where are you trading?” The Softlander stayed silent for some time before he answered, “Swim that.” and pointed at a line of bright stars Bjorn knew would take him more or less southbound.
The Softlander suddenly asked, “I die?” Bjorn considered taking him as a thrall for a moment. He had only had two in his life. He hoped his former family treated Blue and Brown well. They had once tried telling him their names, but he was not about to try and pronounce that, so he named them after their eye color. They had been purchased a few years earlier when he first got his own house. He bought them because he was younger and full of lust, and that was about all they turned out to be good for. Slaking his lust and keeping his house somewhat clean. He had been missing one part of their usefulness lately, and he didn't have a new house. Looking at the Softlanders face, he tried imagining it, but he didn't enjoy the company of men in his bed, so he answered, “Yes, you will die.” The Softlander had broken the rule by traveling where he shouldn't. The hunting and skinning were one thing, but the walking where he was not allowed was enough to be taken as thrall or executed.
The man had given him the answer he needed, however. Leaning over the cringing man, he cut the bonds of his hands and then his feet. The man would still be too numb to try and run. The sudden hope in the man's face died as Bjorn leaned his axe handle against the man's leg and said, “Pick it up.” While he drew his good iron knife. The despair turned to acceptance. The man actually looked Bjorn in the eyes for a moment before he hurriedly picked up the axe and slashed overhead at Bjorn. It was far too slow however. Bjorn was already inside the man's swing and thrust his knife through the jaw of the man and into his brain.
Falling limp in his arms, he lay the Softlander gently down. He would be sent to his gods with fire later when the sun was about to go down, so the Brother could witness and the Sister could mourn. He had died like a warrior. The other two would be buried by roots in the forest to give back to the land they had been taking from.