Orn opened his eyes to unfamiliar surrounds, disoriented for a moment until he remembered he was asleep in a guest room of Jarl Sigtrin’s residence. The keep had bathing facilities fed by a hot-spring, which he made use of with some enthusiasm, before turning in.

He swung his feet out of the bed and saw a chamber pot and wash basin set up on a table by the window. He shuffled over to make use of it. Lifted the nightgown provided to him to sleep in and relieved himself. As he was washing his hands, he heard the door open, and he turned to see who had entered.

It was that blonde serving girl from yesterday, though a servant’s bonnet covered her head, so he couldn’t see her hair today. Now that he focused on her without distraction, he could see that she was in her mid to late teens. He could see that she had very attractive features and a shapely figure beneath her black cotton dress. Against her hip, she held a basket with folded clothes in it.

She smiled at him as he met the gaze of her emerald-green eyes, and in a smooth, honeyed voice said, “Good Morning, young master, I’ve brought some clothes that my lord believes will fit you.”

Orn blushed a little, and flicked his eyes down to ensure his he had covered his privates, and back to her face. She noticed this as she was placing the basket onto the floor, and her smile widened as her eyes gave a mischievous twinkle. He then said quickly, “I’m not actually a…”

“It’s all right. You are a guest of the jarl.” She smiled coquettishly as she eyed him up and down, and asked, “Do you need any help to get dressed, young master?”

Her smile and the way she looked at him made his heart quicken, and with a little too much haste, he responded with a voice that warbled between pitches, “Ah, no, I’m fine. I can dress myself.”

“Are you sure?” she purred as she sauntered closer to him. She moved until she was mere inches away. Her scent of fresh sea air with subtle pine undertones made him giddy. Her closeness caused Orn to lean away as he blushed, shaking his head. The girl stared into his eyes and held his gaze, as they both shared the same air. Then she giggled and dipped her head slightly and placed a set of clothes on the foot of the bed from her basket on the floor. She picked up the basket and walked to the door, faced him while still smiling, dipped her head once more before exiting the room.

He let out the breath he was unaware he was holding and approached the clothes. He thought about the encounter, and upon reflection, he was certain he detected disappointment on her face at his rebuttal. This thought made him blush again.

Once he had dressed, he exited the bedroom and, as he entered the corridor, he saw the servant girl talking with another. They both looked over their shoulders at him and then both started giggling.

A scowl came over Orn’s face as he stomped off in the other direction, thinking to himself how foolish she must think him to be, by the way he fell for her teasing. As he approached the dining room, he could hear low voices, and as he entered, he saw his mother, Erik, and the jarl about to have breakfast.

Jarl Sigtrin acknowledged Orn with a slight smile and gestured towards the empty chair next to his brother. Orn dipped his head and said, “Good morning, my lord. Thank you.” He took his seat and helped himself to some fresh bread, butter, and honey.

Jarl Sigtrin said to Orn, “And good morning to you, young Orn. Once we finish breakfast, we’ll be heading to the wharf and embarking for Fludavera.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but why aren’t we chasing after the men who took my father? They are getting farther from us the longer we wait.”

“Orn!” Venna hissed in admonishment.

However, Jarl Sigtrin responded in a conciliatory tone, “No, no, lady Venna, a valid question, but a telling one that shows his age.”

He then turned back to Orn and continued, “I mean no insult to you, but as you get older, you will discover one of life’s equations is time plus experience equals wisdom. We don’t know exactly where your father was taken. From your mother’s account, and from the reports the raven messengers brought me yesterday evening, it is apparent that the raiders were Nevan. However, we don’t know that for certain.”

As the jarl was speaking to Orn, he began getting a sense of just how dire and precarious their hope of finding his father was. For his young mind, it was simple – they took him, so we will go after them and get him back. He had now learnt just how naïve that mindset truly was.

Jarl Sigtrin continued, “There is also the fact that even if it was Nevans that are responsible, there are wider implications. For they have taken him to a foreign land. Going there without a plan is folly. I presume you don’t speak the language, you don’t know their laws or customs, and so would most probably find yourself in much the same circumstance as your father, or worse.”

Orn sank within himself, his eyes downcast as he said in a low sullen voice, “I see.”

“But worry not, young man. We will see the Grand Duke, and then we shall have the full weight of Holvela behind us. Yes, worry not,” Jarl Sigtrin said with a small smile.

As they finished their meal, the small talk was subdued and somewhat forced. They then gathered up their meagre possessions, the two boys had received a cloth sack to place their clothes into. Once they had gathered in the courtyard, they loaded up their things onto the waiting carriage.

Brenda and Selti had emerged from the guard barracks, the two families greeting each other warmly. Selti, after taking Erik’s hand, nonchalantly continued to hold it. Although she tried to not make a big deal of it, the rosy blush on her cheeks exposed her charade. Venna and Brenda continued talking, feigning ignorance to avoid making the pair self-conscious. They were grateful for some small amount of joy to offset the recent tragedy.

Jarl Sigtrin spotted Brenda and his eyes widened. He had lost his wife some ten years ago. She and their first child had tragically died while she was giving birth. He had struggled for a long time to get over the loss, and so had never remarried. In his grief, more and more, the management of his demesne had fallen by the wayside. For the first time since he lost his wife, he felt his heart quicken, and his sad eyes showed a tentative glimmer.

After taking a breath and calming himself, he approached and asked Venna, “Would you kindly introduce me to your friend, Lady Venna?”

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“Ah yes, of course. My lord, Jarl Sigtrin, may I present to you Brenda Sogard, and her daughter, Selti Sogard.”

The Jarl took Brenda’s hand, bowed deeply and then brushed her knuckles gently with his lips, and said, “It is an honour to meet you, dear lady. It pains me to meet just as I am leaving. If I could impose upon you, I would be honoured if you would remain in my home with your daughter as my guests until I return.”

Brenda, a little flustered by his attention, curtsied and responded breathlessly. “I…well…ah…I’m honoured, my lord, but I couldn’t possibly impose upon your home, especially while you are absent.”

“Nonsense. Please, I insist.”

“While I am truly grateful for the invitation, I am sorry, but I can’t. Much needs doing in the village, and I can’t stay here while my neighbours suffer hardship. I also need to be there when my eldest son returns, which should be within the month. I hope you can understand.”

“Oh, not at all, not at all. I understand. Truly, a pleasure to meet you, Brenda Sogard.” And he bowed once again and moved over to talk to some of his men.

Brenda looked at Venna meaningfully, and Venna returned the look with the tiniest of smiles and an ever-so-slight shrug. Orn tapped his mother on the shoulder, and said while directing her attention to the carriage across the courtyard, “The jarl’s ready, he’s waving us over.”

Venna nodded, then turned to ensure Erik was paying attention. He and Selti were having what appeared to be a painfully awkward conversation. Orn saw this and raised his voice loud enough to carry across the courtyard. “Just give her a kiss already, Erik.”

The look Erik flashed him, one could only describe as murderous. He took both of Selti’s hands, quickly glanced around and shyly kissed her cheek. Then, with his head down, he hastily walked straight to the carriage and disappeared inside. Venna cast a reproving look at Orn, and then they both said their farewells and joined Erik and Jarl Sigtrin in the carriage, and the carriage headed out through the keep gates, and through the small town to the docks.

The docks of the town were a combination of a marginal wharf platform for the accounting of goods dropped off by cargo ships, and two piers jutting out at either end.

Jarl Sigtrin’s long ship was an impressive vessel. A medium-sized ship, built with higher gunwales than is traditional for longships, allowed the inclusion of a covered area toward the bow of the ship. This feature enabled people travelling on the vessel to escape inclement weather, especially handy for highborn ladies and dignitaries who are unused to the rigours of a sea voyage.

The trade-off was the sacrifice of approximately a quarter of the amount of oars that could deploy. This meant less speed when the wind was unfavourable. Under sail, with her narrow beam, sleek lines, and sharp prow and stern, she cut through the water like a marlin. The prow, rising thin and high out of the water, meant the cabin area forward on the ship made little to no difference in terms of wind drag.

Unlike most other Halder ships, the prow was unadorned. It merely tapered into an elegant, forward-curving point. The cabin, constructed from very light wood, made little difference to the ship’s weight, as a lower crew requirement mitigated its displacement.

Venna saw the bald Nevan man she had captured yesterday. The jarl’s guardsmen had taken custody of him from the villagers on the road the previous day, and now they had him lashed securely to the mast aboard the ship. Standing before him, she glared down. He looked up at her instinctively and then averted his eyes, consciously trying to avoid looking at her.

The vessel headed west along the island’s coast, which was fortunate, as the wind was a stiff north-westerly. Once they had hoisted the sail and set the rigging, they shipped their oars, and the ship cruised along the coast nicely. After they had been at sea for around half a day, they readjusted their heading to face slightly west of north, as they rounded the western edge of their island. Orn asked the helmsman, “How far is it to Fludavera?”

The soldier responded, after pausing in thought for a moment. In a gravelly voice, a common indicator of a man who spends most of his life at sea, he said, “Well, as the raven flies, it’s about twelve hundred miles, give or take. But as we need to sail west along Sofjorland, and then turn north, and then head north-east after reaching the entrance to the Holvelan Gulf that adds an extra two hundred miles, so fourteen hundred or so.”

As the soldier was droning on, Orn’s eyes started glazing over, and he started feeling a little regretful that he’d asked. But as his parents raised him to be a polite boy, and he genuinely wanted to know, he patiently listened. When the man had finished, he asked him, “How long do you suppose that will take?”

“Well, if Durren keeps favouring us, as he has, well I would reckon... mmm-maybe around a week?”

Orn was furious. He remembered his manners enough to thank the man, but he was beside himself. Almost a WEEK! he thought in anguish. A week going in the opposite direction from his father meant it would be more than half a month before they could even make landfall in The Nevan Empire, let alone start searching for him.

Venna, seeing her son’s agitation, approached him to find out what was wrong and try to calm him. She couldn’t have him taking a dark mood when they still had a long sea journey ahead of them, especially surrounded by an element she knew he had an affinity for. Orn relayed what he had learned from the soldier manning the rudder. Venna listened and consoled him. Although she was already aware of the time it would take, she let her son vent his frustrations patiently.

What happened next, she did not expect. Orn took on a grave expression of resolve and asked a question that seemed to come from nowhere. He asked, “How strong are these ships? Do they sink easily?” Some of the ship’s crew, overhearing him, gasped and offered quick prayers to Durren. It is a universal constant that men of the sea tended toward superstition, and Orn’s question verged on uttering a curse.

His mother clicked her tongue, while looking reproachfully at the men, and turned back to him. “They’re Halder ships, we make the best. Why do you…”

She didn’t get to finish her question before Orn turned and raised his voice to the ship’s crew and passengers. “Grab onto something and hold the rudder firm!”

Orn knelt, placed his right palm flat on the centre of the deck, and began focusing his thoughts on the water behind and under the vessel. The stern of the ship started rising as a giant wave rolled underneath it. But instead of the ship’s stern dipping back down as it passed, the ship remained slanting forward, surfing the crest of the wave.

Venna quickly sat down hard on the nearest bench from the sudden shunt. She had a look of horror on her face, as the realisation of what was happening occurred to her, her voice thick with emotion and urgency. “What are you doing? Stop! Please don’t do this!” But it was too late. The secret between Orn and herself was a secret no more.

The ship began accelerating rapidly as the large wave propelled them forward. Simultaneously, Orn had his left hand outstretched, the palm facing the sail as though he were pushing it, which in a way he was. The ship was ripping along as all on board it desperately clung on for life. Sweat was pouring out of every pore of Orn’s body as he maintained focus. He was reaching deeper than he ever had before.

His mother was shouting out to him, begging him to stop. But he could not hear her. The thrumming in his mind was now a roar as he channelled all his frustration into moving the water and the air. The ship streaked across the Sofjorland Strait, reaching a speed that at once terrified and bewildered the jarl’s sailors as they hung on for life.

His vision had tunnelled as the ship rode the crest of the giant wave. The thunderous noise and the biting cold from the wind and spray kept everyone hunkered down. Now and then, a crewman would attempt a peek over the side to try getting a sense of their bearings, but to no avail. In the end, everybody just hunkered down, waiting for it to be over.

With a gargantuan effort, he kept the ship whipping along for nearly four hours before rivulets of blood leaked from his nostrils and ears, slowly tracking their way down his face. And then he wavered. The rushing of the air decreased as the ship gradually slowed down and settled into the rhythmic rising and falling of the waves.

Orn collapsed onto his side, convulsing. His hands folded inwards like talons, with his fingers repeatedly clutching air as spasms wracked his entire body. His saliva turned into a foam spilling from his lips, his head softly thumping on the deck.