As Þo'rvalðr had said, several mares at Gi'sls'tað went into heat late that summer, when the leaves were falling from the trees, and he sent huskatnar to neighbouring homesteads to organise a horse fight.

In those days, horse fights were held in much the same way they are today. They were fought in tiers, with stallions being pitted against each other over several rounds until only one was left. He would finally be allowed to mount the mare, and his owner would receive a prize. Then the next tier would be held over another mare. Þo'rvalðr's prizes were some beaver-fur hats for each tier, but for the stallion who performed the best out of all the tiers, he had one of several cloaks made from the skin of the dire bear.

All the orcs and orc-men who owned stallions came, for Tcise'gawþing was still a small community in those days, and some came just to bet on the fights. Bjǫrnar arrived riding Dy'rðfaksr and wearing a blue tunic. He gave Þo'rvalðr a cold stare, which the latter returned, before leaving to get ready for the first fight.

“What's he wearing blue for?” He'lgi asked, “He's going to ruin a good tunic!”

Þo'rvalðr said nothing.

It had rained all the day before and in the morning, so as the fights proceeded, the ground inside the corral was churned up and became a porridge-like quagmire of mud. The fights lasted all afternoon. Dy'rðfaksr did very well in the first tier and won the prize at the end. Bjǫrnar let him rest for the second tier, which was won by another very impressive stallion. They were both left out of the third tier, but everyone wanted to see them face each other in the fourth, so they fought their way through it, and eventually were to face each other in the final round.

The other stallion was owned by an orc-man from Jo'rvi'k in England named Hro'ðolvr I'vars'on. He was a proud viking who'd fought in wars and killed many Englishmen. Hro'ðolvr swaggered into the coral behind his stallion. He raised his arms and his goad stick in the air and declared,

“I hope you all bet against me. That'd mean I'd get to collect that much more money at the end of this!” Everyone laughed at that.

Bjǫrnar merely leaned on his goad stick and looked at Hro'ðolvr in disdain, like an orc-woman looking at a beetle in her pantry before effortlessly crushing it. When the bell was rung, both contestants goaded their stallions forward with their sticks. They fought for some time, running around and around the corral biting and kicking each other, with their owners always behind them, goading them back into the fight when they might have shied away.

As the stallions fought, it came about at one point, that they rushed at each other from opposite directions before slamming into each other and running away side by side, each one biting at the other. As they turned and ran away, Bjǫrnar stopped in his tracks and turned to follow after them, but Hro'ðolvr slid in the mud and ploughed into him, sending both owners sprawling across the ground through the porridge-like slop. When they stood up, Bjǫrnar shouted,

“You moist mare! You stupid gay!” and the crowd gasped as he hit Hro'ðolvr in the head so hard with his stick the orc-man fell into the mud again and his head started bleeding. As he got up again, spectators heard him say to himself,

“Son of a whore, I'll show you moist!” Then he called to Bjǫrnar, who whirled, swinging at Hro'ðolvr again, but he ducked under the swing and the crowd gasped again as they saw the flash of a knife in Hro'ðolvr's hand, which he jabbed straight at Bjǫrnar's heart. The orc stumbled back, swayed, and the spectators thought he would fall over dead. Then he regained his balance. As Hro'ðolvr stood back agape, the spectators could see the orc had no wound. The force of the thrust hadn't scratched his tunic. Bjǫrnar knocked Hro'ðolvr off his feet and beat him until his stick was broken, then he pressed what was left of his face into the mud with his boot. Hro'ðolvr didn't move or breathe.

Seeing his master go down caused the other stallion to lose heart. Dy'rðfaksr went after him at Bjǫrnar's goading, and kicked the other stallion in the head. The stallion fell into the mud and didn't move. Dy'rðfaksr claimed his prize, and so did Bjǫrnar, as Þo'rvalðr was obliged to give him the bear-fur cloak.

Some thought the spectacle was great fun, but many others thought Bjǫrnar had gone too far insulting Hro'ðolvr, who'd been justified in attacking him. Hro'ðolvr had a son named Þo'rir, who was not yet grown to his full height. He demanded an atonement, but Bjǫrnar refused to pay, stating he'd killed the orc-man in self-defence. Þo'rir and his family were furious, but Bjǫrnar had the support of the worshippers of Frøyr, so they didn't dare move against him.

* * *

One day, not long after the horse fight, Bjǫrnar was out riding Dy'rðfaksr by the cliff, riding between the edge and the treeline. At the point where the woods begin, the cliff starts to drop downward until it falls below the waves and a beach carries on from there. Bjǫrnar went on the beach westward until he came to the mouth of a stream and followed it inland. Not far into the woods, he came upon a large, open dale between two hills. He rested in the dale before returning home.

In the winter of the year they killed the dire bear, Bjǫrnar's stock of fodder ran low and he had to cull his herds. In Ejnmǫ'nþ1, there was still snow on the ground around Bjǫrnar's homestead, so he sent two huskatnar with his cattle and horses to the dale he'd discovered the summer before. He reasoned that it was at a lower elevation and perhaps the snow there was already gone so the animals would be able to graze. The two orc-men he sent were twins named Bjarg2 and Hes`ðri'ðr3 , sons of Randu'lvr4, who was the brother of Gi'sli Þo'rvalðs'on, father of Þo'rvalðr and He'lgi.

* * *

The winter was hard on more people than just Bjǫrnar. There was a band of Holtmaðar whose annual caribou hunt had gone badly and winter hunting had been just as slim. The shaking tent ceremony was performed repeatedly, but it didn't help. Food was so scarce some of the very young and the old died over the winter.

Typically, the band spent the summer inland on the shores of one of the many lakes there, but this summer it was decided they would go to the coast and see if they might find more abundant fish there. Snow was still melting when the band encamped on the stream near the aforementioned dale and the shaman, a woman named Wa'bu'n5, said it was time to perform the shaking tent again. They set up a small tent for one person made of sticks with a flat top draped in caribou hide. Wa'bu'n sat inside the tent while the rest of the band sat outside in a circle with drums and sang.

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When the tent started to fill with energy, it began swaying. As the singing and drumming intensified, so too did the energy until the tent was shaking and swaying from side to side violently, but the sticks didn't break. As energy overflowed the tent and washed over them, they thought they could hear the sound of caribou running in the woods. Wa'bu'n spent a long time inside the tent while those outside continued singing and drumming.

At last, the energy dissipated and she emerged with a lore belt in hand. It was a wide strip of dyed skin with different coloured patterns stitched into it and strings of animal sinew flowing from it. Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched as the old shaman gave the lore belt to a young man named Ma'sci'dgew6, the best of the hunters.

“Take this and a friend will guide you where you need to go. The animals you hunt will come to you.”

Ma'sci'dgew nodded. He slung the lore belt over his shoulder, took up his bow and arrows, and led the other men away. They went slowly at first, picking their way along the stream without sharing a word.

Suddenly, Ma'sci'dgew cried, “I see him! Our friend is guiding us downstream, come on!”

* * *

At that same moment, Bjarg and Hes`ðri'ðr were watching over the cattle and horses in the dale when the horses, including Dy'rðfaksr, ran off upstream.

“By Frøyr, where can they be headed?” Bjarg said; they ran off after the horses, but when they caught up to them, they'd all been shot with arrows.

“Get down!” Hes`ðri'ðr hissed: as soon as they'd taken cover, they saw men come out of the forest carrying tree branches. They tied the horses to them by the ankles and carried the bodies away upstream.

When the men had gone, the huskatnar rounded up the cattle and hurried home where they found Bjǫrnar in the hall eating lunch with his family and male and female servants. Bjǫrnar flew into a rage at the news: he flung a chair across the hall and said,

“Under Frøyr's gaze and with these orcs and orc-men as my witnesses, I will punish the gay dogs who murdered Dy'rðfaksr!”

He went into Frøyr's temple and repeated the oath over the altar. Then he went around from neighbour to neighbour, all the orcs and orc-men who'd sworn together to support each other, and requested they make good on their oaths. Every one of them agreed the killing of the horses must be avenged, and they all agreed to meet the next morning at Bjǫrnar's homestead.

When they gathered the next morning, farmers with their sons and huskatnar, they were twenty or thirty in all. Each orc and orc-man had a spear in one hand and a javelin in the other, a shield slung over his back, and a sword, axe, or knife girt at his side, and a few had bows. They rode their horses down to the mouth of the stream, with Bjǫrnar riding a horse borrowed from one of his allies. The horses were left there with a few huskatnar, for they said the Holtmaðar's magic would surely bewitch the horses again if they came too close.

On foot, they continued and knew they were close to a village when they heard the sound of people talking and laughing. Bjǫrnar went ahead with a few others and, hiding behind some bushes, they saw the village with horse hides still on skin dryers in the sun. They went back to the others, and Bjǫrnar said,

“This is certainly the place. Let's fan out and attack.”

The group spread out and attacked the village. Men scrambled to get their weapons, but those who didn't flee were cut down. Several men held off the attackers while the people tried to get away. An orc was severely wounded by an arrow in the chest and wouldn't survive the trip home, but four men and two elders were killed trying to escape. Three women and a girl were taken hostage.

When the fight was over, the orcs and orc-men ransacked the village, taking everything that caught their eye before they set fire to the wigwams and left the place deserted. At Bjǫrnar's homestead, they divided the spoils between themselves but Bjǫrnar kept the prettiest woman for himself. Her name was A'lawa7 and she was Ma'sci'dgew's sister.

* * *

A few days afterward, U'scna'bew went to Gi'sls'tað and called Þo'rvalðr into the yard.

“I have a problem I need to speak to you about.” He said, “As you know, Na'nɨmyswa't is married to my daughter. He's originally from another band led by a shaman named Wa'bu'n, who's camped near here this summer. She's the friend who suggested we use a foot-trap on that bear.” U'scna'bew explained what had happened. He finished: “The survivors fled and are now living with us.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” asked Þo'rvalðr,

“You're a friend to me and my people, and since you will soon be my son-in-law, it's only right that you help us in this matter.” Replied U'scna'bew,

“Then take me to the survivors and we'll have a talk.”

U'scna'bew took Þo'rvalðr back to the village, where he met Wa'bu'n, Ma'sci'dgew and the other surviving elders and young men. The members of Wa'bu'n's band had had no direct contact with Vi'nlandiskar before now and weren't familiar with the developing pidgin language, so U'scna'bew translated for them.

“Thank you for coming to hear us out.” Wa'bu'n said,

“If we had more warriors like you by our side, we'd make things right.” said Ma'sci'dgew as he looked Þo'rvalðr up and down,

“We haven't decided on a course of action yet.” Added Wa'bu'n quickly with a stern look at Ma'sci'dgew, “The other elders and I are inclined to make an offer of peace before any further bloodshed, but we'd like to hear your opinion on the matter.”

“I say,” Þo'rvalðr began, “that the young man is right. Go to the bands you have connections with and gather as many warriors as you can. Strike back at your enemy. Take back those they took from you and kill one of them for each one of you they killed.”

“I like how you think!” Ma'sci'dgew said with a wicked smile, “My mother is among those they killed and my sister is among those they captured. Let's make them feel our pain!”

“So we should answer blood with blood?” Asked Wa'bu'n, “We should honour the deaths of our loved ones by fighting a war in which more of our loved ones are likely to die?”

“You're at war already.” said Þo'rvalðr, “We Vi'nlandiskar have a place where peace can be negotiated, and I can take up your case there. But the thing to do now is not to meekly accept defeat. You need to make a show of force before offering peace so you can bargain from a strong position. Otherwise, Bjǫrnar will think you're weak and will demand harsher terms. He may even attack again, if he thinks he can gain a profit with minimal risk. If you take back your women and show him you're not to be taken lightly, he may back off.”

Wa'bu'n shook her head slowly. “All you speak of is power, force, revenge. Violence isn't our way. We don't want further bloodshed, we just want our women back.”

“I, for one, think he's right.” Said Ma'sci'dgew, “When you're dealing with someone who only understands violence, violence is the only option.”

“You'll listen to your elders, young man. We've heard enough. Thank you for your advice, but now we need to deliberate on the matter in private.”