“Lord King, a messenger has come with news from the western shore.” The elderly advisor said as he approached King Lewyn.
The monarch had been gazing out the window that was just a few steps behind his throne, his dark fingers rubbing at his clean shaven chin in thought. He said not a word and merely turned to face the advisor and the peasant messenger that had rushed a long way to see him. “It is the Vinmen, Lord. They struck at our village without warning. They took all that we had!” The peasant revealed with a heavy head.
“Not only that, Lord,” said the advisor, “but villages all along the coast have similar stories to share.”
“Have they harmed the harvest stores?” Asked the King plainly.
“N-No, Lord King, but they took our silver and--” The peasant spoke, trying to continue, but was swiftly cut off by the King.
“Gaspard.” At the utterance of the name, an armed man that stood nearby came forward. “See that this man is fed and given a place to rest, then have him and all the other refugees return to their villages to complete the harvest. Delays in production will not be tolerated. That is all.”
The man did as he was bid and escorted the impoverished peasant out of the hall, leaving the King and his advisor alone with but two guards standing idle. “When we left Marseilles, what did I promise you, Varin?” The King posed the question but intended to answer it himself as he continued. “Growth, enterprise, control. A place to start anew, not as a mere trade prince but true royalty. A dynasty of our own making, built not through warfare, but through real power: currency.”
“A promise that has come to be, there is no doubt, Lord.” The advisor Varin affirmed.
“I did not come to my position by spending frivolously, every transaction must be precise and to my advantage, Varin.” At this point, it seemed as if the King was thinking aloud, something the advisor surmised and remained silent. “The sellswords that I sent after the Vinmen were a good price. Cheap, for how numerous they were, enough of a match for a few wild Vinmen. Now my sellswords’ heads decorate my beach. I am left to ponder where my error in judgement was, Varin.”
The King turned away from the window and walked a few paces to stand beside his throne. With a motion of his hand, he signaled at one of his commissioned guardsmen, causing the man to walk out of the court and into the entrance hall. “The answer is simple. The funds I committed for warriors was not sufficient, so I will simply inject more funds this second and final time. Captain Skrig of the Howling Stitch vessel.” The King said the name in greeting of a man that had now entered the court, escorted in by the guard the King had signaled earlier.
“You asked for me and here I am, Lord.” Said the ship Captain, the mixed smell of the sea and of blood evident on him. A veteran warrior if there ever was one, his Common marking him as Valikorlian born.
“I wish to make use of you once more, as per our usual agreement. However, your use as an enforcer will not be required this time. There is a group of raiders that need to be dealt with.”
“Raiders aren’t peasants trying to make problems for their betters, raiders are actual warriors. They fight back.” Explained the Captain before coming to his point. “If you want me to contend with warriors, I’ll need more than the usual pay.”
“You will have it, within an acceptable range.” King Lewyn gently sat down upon his cushioned throne and gave a clap of his hands. A few servants entered the court, each carrying with them jingling wooden chests. They placed them down before the Captain. “These funds are for you to gather a crew and men willing to fight for good pay, and more than enough to arm each man. Have word spread out through the chain that the King is offering a reward for any willing to take up arms in his name.” Said the King, dismissing the servants with a wave.
“Easy enough, Lord, but with the Vinmen in the northwest, the prime storm will already be on the western shore by the time the men are gathered.” The Captain shared. “We will have to sail around the eastern shore in order to avoid it, which will give the Vinmen time to raid the villages of the other islands before we reach them.”
“You only need to worry about gathering the men and dealing with the Vinmen. Think of nothing else, Captain.” The King said firmly. “One final instruction. I will have their leader, Vitharr Halldorsson, brought to me alive. Make sure all men know that he is not to be killed. Do what you will with the others, I care not.”
With the King’s plans decreed, the Captain set into motion the gathering of an army. The call went out for sellswords, mercenaries, and any peasant willing to put down his tools and pick up the sword, to gather at the town of Paguin in order to defend the isles from the marauding Vinmen. The companions had pillaged their way across the western shore of the main island, stopping at the small fishing village known as Ames. It is there that the companions chose to rest and recover, and to tend to their wounded in earnest. A great storm had struck the town just as soon as the companions beached, and as such they were forced to remain for the time being.
Within the veritable shack of a hall that the village had, Vitharr and his companions stayed. The Lord of the small village had been forced to give the raiders free run of the place. In the corner of the shack lay the wounded Brynhild, her leg being seen to by Young Halldor, with Vitharr watching over her and boasting of the battle they had won, for the young woman’s sake and to pass the time. All was quiet within the hall, save for the raging wind outside and the rain pelting the roof. The silence was soon broken by the hall door being forced open with a slam. In walked Runa, drenched in water, hands firmly restraining a struggling young local man. The warrior violently threw her captive to the floor in the middle of the tiny hall. “Vitharr!” She called once before kicking the young man’s side to keep him down. The raid leader rose and stepped away from Brynhild, approaching Runa and curiously watching the fallen man. “And who is this? We have no time for slaves, Runa.”
“Not a slave, Vitharr, but a spy. I caught him creeping at the edge of the village.” As the man looked up at Vitharr from the floor, Runa reached down, grabbing the spy’s neck and forcing him up. “There was another, but he fled once I caught this one.” The man stared at Vitharr, the terror plain on his face to Runa’s satisfaction.
“Why have you come here, spy?” Asked Vitharr, waiting for an answer though the captive man put up resistance.
Vitharr grabbed hold of his face in response, prompting Young Halldor to rise and comment, “I suggest you speak, if life is what you value.” Vitharr gave him a chance to reconsider his silence.
“The… the King has sent the call for warriors.” Spoke the spy. “Men are to gather at Paguin, Lord, I came t-to spread his word.”
Vitharr let the man’s face go and stood aside in thought. “He is gathering an army to fight us? Glorious. When will they come?” Commented Runa now, still holding the man in place.
“I do not know, truly!” The spy responded quickly. Runa unslung the axe at her side and brought it to the spy’s throat, prompting the young man to squeal and protest, “W-Wait! I have more! H-He also ordered that Vitharr Halldorsson m-must be taken alive!”
The Viking in question had taken a seat on the floor, deep in his thoughts. The other companions began to murmur amongst themselves.
Hallig came forward, “If it is true this King has gathered an army, we would be facing our slaughter.” The young Vinman put forward with the support of the brothers Alger and Gifre.
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“Would it not be best, Vitharr, to return to Stal Vindur with what we have taken already? We have made good wealth.” Proposed Gifre, to the opposition of the outspoken Runa.
“You would have us flee the opportunity for glory?”
“Good wealth is not enough wealth. And to face an army… think of the story!” Added Dag the Skald, siding with the sentiment that they should remain.
As the companions argued, it was Sveinn the Pup who brought the hall to silence by saying, “Vitharr is the one to follow.” The companions all turned to their leader, the young Vinman had been quiet all this while. He had been staring at the wooden door of the hall, listening closely to the sound of thunder, wind and rain that raged outside.
“The storm is truly incredible.”
The companions exchanged confused gazes with one another as Vitharr said this, unsure what the significance of his words was. Young Halldor, however, gave a knowing nod at his little brother’s words. “Guthred of the Havardr.” Vitharr motioned for the bowman to come forward, and the young Vinman approached as beckoned. “You are a sellsword warrior that has heard the King’s call. You will go to Paguin to join the King’s army and find out when they shall attack.” Instructed Vitharr. The fledgling hunter Guthred inhaled a nervous breath; he was to spy again it seemed. He could admit he did a fine job the first time, but he was wary if he could do so once more. Vitharr motioned over to Hallig nearby. “You will take Hallig with you. When you have discovered what I need, Hallig will return but you, Guthred, you will stay in Paguin.”
“You have a plan, Lord?” Asked Hallig, the others all standing by to hear what was going through Vitharr’s mind.
“I have thoughts, but no clear plan yet. Return with haste with what I need, Hallig and Guthred, and I promise you all, the King’s gold will be ours for the taking.”
Vitharr returned his attention to the door, and once again let the sound of the storm fill his ear and take his focus. “The ship must be guarded, night and day, until Hallig returns to us.”
********************
Paguin was as alive as it had ever been, bustling and brimming with men and women that have come from a number of small villages across the isles to join the King, in hopes of receiving the promised pay. In truth, there was little sense of patriotism in the hearts of these folk, all of them settlers or descendants of settlers that were brought to work the fields and harvest as part of King Lewyn’s enterprise. The greed and cunning of the King kept their usual pay for their usual work low, low enough to make leaving the isles on a ship a financial impossibility, but still leaving their earnings to be more than what they may have made elsewhere, but just slightly. It is for this reason that many had come in support of the King; opportunities for extra pay were a luxury, despite the danger.
The sellswords and armed peasants that had gathered in the town were all awaiting the call of Captain Skrig to set out, and as such were spending their time inside inns and pubs, drinking and whoring to pass the time by. Within one such pub, a group of sellswords drank merrily, and sharing their table with them were the two newly joined mercenaries, Guthred and Hallig. “I am glad to have Vinmen with us.” Said one sellsword before gulping down a helping of ale. “You people know how these raiders think, don’t you? I know a few Vinmen settlers the King brought over from the west to harvest the spices. Nice folk, if a bit slow.” These men liked to talk quite a lot.
“I look forward to the battle to come.” Said Hallig. Guthred was rather quiet, minding only his cup of ale. Hallig was a far better conversationalist than the young hunter; they agreed that Hallig would do the speaking for now. “How much longer must we wait before it is time? My sword arm is beginning to rot!” Complained Hallig to the sellswords’ amusement as they all shared in a laugh.
“The Captain won’t be sailing rough seas. The storms will be crossing very soon, so the Captain will want to move before then.”
“What do you mean, the storms will cross?” Questioned Hallig with a furrowed brow.
“I forget you haven’t been here long! The Storm Isles are a strange place. Across the islands there exist living storms. Not truly living, but they move as if they were!” Explained one of the sellswords, slightly slurring his words, evidently a bit drunk.
Another warrior interjected to continue more clearly. “The storms follow set paths around and through each island. Never in all the years have people been here has the pattern of their paths changed, nor have any of the storms subsided. One of the storms will hit Paguin soon, so to avoid the storm we must sail before then.”
“How could such a thing be?” Both Hallig and Guthred appeared dumbfounded, what sort of power could have created such a thing to happen? To birth living storms, it left the question of perhaps some god was at play, here on these eastern islands. It was a question no man there could have answered.
Guthred and Hallig continued to drink and eat with the sellswords until night had fallen on the town. Both Vinmen withdrew from the building full of drunk warriors and met in secret near the border wall of the town. They had discovered what Vitharr asked of them, and it was now they decided to part ways. Hallig placed a hand on the young hunter’s shoulder, knowing Guthred was to remain and that the young man doubted himself. “In my experience, what Vitharr thinks of people is found to be true. If he says you can do this, then you can.” Whether he believed he could do it or not, Guthred knew that he must do it in the end. Clasping their hands together, the Vinmen bid each other farewell.
********************
The storm had passed over the village of Ames, leaving it muddy and cluttered with debris blown in, and apart, by the powerful winds. As the sellswords had said, the storm itself was now traveling down the western coast of the island. Within the shack of a hall belonging to Ames there came shouts. Ever since Hallig’s travels came to an end and the man returned to Vitharr with news, the shouting had not ceased. “I will not agree to this!” Bellowed a furious Runa as she paced around the confining hall.
“You wanted riches and glory. We all did, and still do.” Said Vitharr as he watched Runa and the other companions. “This is the way.”
“If we leave you here, they will come and you will die. You will die alone, Vitharr!” The Vinwoman snapped back in her rage. “I will not allow it!”
“What Runa says is true, Lord.” Spoke Hallig now. “I have seen the men, they are unskilled but numerous. Alone you would not survive.” Each companion voiced their concerns, and without exception had all shared Runa’s objection to the raid leader’s proposed plan.
“I do not understand, Vitharr.” The towering Sveinn came forward, a woeful expression on his face as he grabbed Vitharr by the shoulders. “Change your plan. I beg you, do not send us away. If you must, then let me stay and use my axe for you as I have always done.”
Reaching up, Vitharr gave Sveinn a pat on his shoulder. “You most of all must go, Sveinn. Your strength is something they will need, when the time comes.” The sorrow upon Sveinn’s face held as he released Vitharr’s shoulders and stepped aside. He would heed Vitharr’s word, always, but the notion of leaving his old friend behind, alone, was nearly too much.
“Halldor, speak some sense to your brother, make him see reason!” Insisted Runa, the Vinwoman seemingly just a moment away from losing her mind to anger.
The frail interpreter rose from his seated position near the wall with the help of his walking stick. “You have always acted foolishly, little brother.” Just when Runa thought Halldor was with her, the interpreter continued. “But this time you must continue on this path. The Grey Ones are watching now, every step.” Once Young Halldor had said his piece, Runa appeared ready to strangle the sickly Vinman where he stood.
“Vitharr Halldorsson.” Before that could come to pass, however, Torold stepped forward. “I am not one of your old friends. I am not your protector or your kin. I am not a great warrior, nor do I possess great strength.” The companions all turned now to heed Torold. “There is nothing in this world that I have, not even family. Allow me, a warrior with nothing to provide or return to, to stay with you. I speak for all the Companions when I say this will make accepting your plan to be easier.”
The words of the young warrior made Vitharr turn to see if the other companions would agree to that. Each man and woman faced Vitharr now, wearing conflicted but satisfied expressions as they affirmed with nods and grunts. “Then Torold, you and I will remain while the others set out to sea.”
“Should you die, Lord, I will see to it that your sacrifice is spread with song.” Said Dag the Skald. Though this was not precisely what she had been shouting for, at the very least Runa could accept Vitharr would not be alone.
Runa clasped her hand on the Vinman’s neck and leaned in, resting her forehead against his. “You will not die. But if you must, do it with sword in hand, and while standing.”
The Companions all made their farewells to both Vitharr and Torold, Sveinn, Runa, and even the outwardly cold Young Halldor found it difficult to leave Vitharr behind, but in the end they had all boarded their ship and sailed off across the sea. Vitharr Halldorsson and Torold were the only ones to remain in the tiny hall now, and it was there that they would stay. “Do you also think my plan is reckless, Torold?” Questioned Vitharr, breaking the silence of the hall.
“I think I was right to join your warband. Should death come, I will not feel regret, Vitharr Halldorsson.”
It was not long since the companions had separated and sailed off before Captain Skrig and the King’s men had come to port in the poor village of Ames. The armed peasants rushed into town, expecting a battle, but found the village bare of people, and of warriors. Soon they came to the small hall. It was inside they came to see the two seated Vinmen, Vitharr and Torold, who had both taken up axe, sword, and shield. Without any exchange of words, Vitharr loosed a battle cry before charging in against the sellswords, with Torold just beside him. Though both Vinmen were far outnumbered, that did not diminish the fury with which they fought. The men that accompanied the Captain were no warriors, and one by one they fell to the blade and axe of the Vinmen, some killed but most simply lamed and wounded.
It was all for naught, however, and the raiders knew it. It was not long until the sheer number of the peasant armsmen overwhelmed the two, and they both found themselves on the ground with their arms bound in rope. Once both warriors were ultimately subdued, the Captain came to inspect the prisoners, ordering them both to be brought to their feet. First he observed Torold, checking his face closely before moving to Vitharr. “The marking of a serpent on your face. You must be Vitharr Halldorsson.” Spoke Captain Skrig to the wounded and battered Vinman. “Your ship was nowhere to be seen.” The idea seemed to please the Captain. “Did they mutiny? Expected of wild men.” Neither Torold nor Vitharr revealed a thing, to the Captain’s annoyance. “Speak or don’t, I get my pay either way. Take them to the ship, we return to the King.” The sellswords took hold of Vitharr and Torold’s bound arms and forcefully directed them out of the hall and towards the ships that had landed on shore.
The Captain had taken his prize and intended to sail back to the town of Paguin, just in time to make it back before the storm hits, but only barely. A timing the Captain had counted on when he left to strike at Ames, and, unbeknownst to him, the very same timing that gave rise to the smirk on Vitharr Halldorsson’s face.