***
“Skraelings,” repeated Jarl Birger. His hands gripped the carved wood of his ornate seat at the far end of the chamber.
“Yes, my Jarl,” said Thorulf then held his peace. Hakon opened his mouth to add more but desisted after a subtle gesture from the homesteader.
“They have burned Sigtuna, you say,” continued the Jarl in his gravelly voice. He turned his head to one of the men standing behind him. “Eirik, what news do we have from Sigtuna?”
A heavyset man stepped forwards, head bowed. “None, my Jarl. Nothing for at least two weeks.” He stepped back.
“Nothing for two weeks,” echoed Jarl Birger. He brushed a lock of stringy grey hair from his face. “Which is a message in itself.”
Hakon struggled to keep his patience in check. Time mattered, and at every moment, the Skraelings sailed closer. But Hakon had spent time in the court ofthe Emperor at Miklagard, where every moment was filled with ceremony and ritual. It was jarring to find such a slow pace of decision-making among his own people, whom he regarded as swift and decisive, but he knew he must adjust.
“You have brought others with you,” observed the Jarl.
“Yes, my Jarl,” said Thorulf, motioning for the others to come forwards. Hakon felt himself the object of Jarl Birger’s heavy-lidded gaze, and looked back unflinchingly. The Jarl flicked dartlike glances at Gunnar and Sif then returned to his examination of Hakon.
“Tell your tale,” ordered Jarl Birger, in a voice like a raven croaking.
“My Jarl, I have been on a strange journey,” said Hakon. “It began with a dream-vision experienced by my woman.” He gestured towards Sif.
“Then let us hear this dream-vision,” intoned the Jarl. There were some chuckles from the men behind him, but he raised a hand and they fell silent.
“My Jarl, I had a vision of the Lady Freyja,” said Sif, to audible murmurs.
The Jarl seemed to leer faintly as he looked at her. Hakon focused on breathing slowly. “And who are you,to dream of Freyja and set the affairs of men into motion?” he drawled.
“I am Sif Astridsdottir, daughter of Jomsburg and Sister of the Ironwood,” said Sif proudly. In Hakon’s eyes, Sif shone brightly in a darkened room, and his love and pride in her grew. There was more muttering from the men behind the Jarl’s great chair, and he leaned back to listen to whispers before turning to regard those in front of him once more.
“And who might the two of you be?” asked the Jarl, turning his gaze.
“Hakon Brynnson, my Jarl, a son of the Jomsburg.”
“Gunnar Brynnson, my Jarl, also of the Jomsburg, and foster son to Thorulf Henrikson.”
“Of the Jomsburg,” repeated Jarl Birger, “but not Jomsvikings, I think.”
“No, my Jarl,” answered Hakon. “Before taking the Trials, my brother and I sought to learn more about the world and took the Long Road to Miklagard with Thorfin the Red. We had only just returned when we learned of Sif’s dream-vision.”
“Then I suppose it is time to hear about this portentous dream-vision,” said the Jarl.
Once again, Hakon concentrated on his breathing. This was taking so long, with no guarantee of success. He hated seeing Sif having to confront the Jarl’s skepticism and its undertones of mockery. Sif, however, gave no sign that she was being asked anything other than a simple question.
My woman. Gods, how I love her.
“My Jarl,” she began, “I dreamed that I stood in Folkvangr, with the Lady Freyja speaking directly to me. She spoke of a terrible danger to Gotland, and Visby and the Ironwood in particular. She said that her vision was clouded, and that an unknown threat was coming from the far North. The Lady Freyja said that both magic and swords would be needed to face this threat, and so my companions and I have journeyed here.”
“Well, we certainly have at least a few swords, but we’re rather short on magic here,” said Jarl Birger dryly, to the accompaniment of chuckles from the men behind him.
“Then I have good news, my Jarl,” said Sif innocently. “The Sisters of the Ironwood are on the move and will be joining us in a little less than two days’ time.”
Hakon knew that it was unwise to goad nobility, but he did enjoy the reaction to Sif’s pronouncement. Jarl Birger’s hooded eyes flew open, and he jumped as if he had been pricked with a pin.
Hakon did not enjoy what followed.
“You four, leave us, but do not go far,” the Jarl snapped. “I must confer with my councilors. Remain outside the council chamber.” He waved at the guards to escort them out, and a moment later, the four companions were left looking at each other in a hallway outside the chamber.
“Not what I was hoping for,” said Thorulf.
