Jarl Einarr arrived on his two ships later that morning, one of which was the Sea Blade captained by Tryggr Ramundrson. Word passed through the camp like an ocean wind, and men ceased killing time to stand and turn and watch the cliff’s edge that looked out over the sea.

Warriors appeared like blood welling from a wound from the top of the stairs, bunching at the top and then streaming down behind their jarl, most of the men carrying bundles and barrels, chests and packs. Skadi watched them approach.

“A hundred?”

Damian was chewing on a withered apple. “Looks about right. So two ships?”

“Two ships,” agreed Skadi.

Jarl Einarr was a tall, gaunt figure, equal to Marbjörn in height but three of him could have fit under their friend’s great cloak. He wore a coat of gleaming mail that hung down to his knees, and a luxurious cloak of white bear fur that reminded her of Hwideberg. Kvedulf and Baugr emerged to welcome him, and for the first time, Skadi caught sight of the Havaklif jarl.

He was a large man of medium height, his pate gleaming and tattooed, with a fringe of dark hair about his ears that swelled into a heavily braided beard that hung down over his chest. A thick, golden brooch to match his son’s held his red cloak in place, and he walked with a pronounced limp in his left leg. As broad across the stomach as the shoulders, and with a face made rosy by years of drinking mead, he appeared more a jarl from the civilized coast of Harald’s kingdom than a Draugr reaver.

The jarls met, clasped arms, then as one moved to a central fire set before the burial mound. Einarr’s men peeled away to settle into their quadrant, putting down their packs and chests to stretch and stare back at the warriors of Kráka and Havaklif.

Tryggr left his crew when he saw Skadi and approached, smiling widely. “There she is. I see your wyrd has kept you safe. Not that I doubted it. Rare is the trout that seeks out my spear willingly.”

Skadi couldn’t help but smile; the older man’s grin was natural, infectious. “It’s good to see you, Ramundrson. How did you fare on the Cloud Coast?”

“Everything was anticlimactic after our encounter.” He scratched at this beard. “And I am perhaps the only man in Hake who wasn’t surprised each time word of your accomplishments reached us. I fear Afastr has doomed himself when he sought to capture you. I almost pity the man.”

“Almost,” said Skadi.

“Aye, almost. Well. I’ll be seeing you around, Styrbjörnsdóttir.”

The captain returned to his camp, and Glámr stepped closer. “Your uncle looks the most imposing of the three.”

And he did. Where Baugr was button-nosed and rounded, and Einarr looking more like an again-walker than a man, Kvedulf was a brooding menace, for all he laughed and clinked horns with the others. There was something ineffably martial about her uncle, in his powerful, trim physique, his harsh features, his intensity. From a distance it was fascinating to watch their body language; Einarr bent forward, attentive, while Baugr leaned back, dominating the conversation, facing the newly arrived jarl even as his gaze slid time and again to Kvedulf, who listened patiently, arms crossed.

“Baugr looks nervous,” said Skadi. “He’s talking too much.”

“Some men equate volume with confidence,” replied Glámr.

“Whereas Einarr looks solicitous,” said Damian. “Like a thrall waiting to refill his jarl’s cup.”

“Easy,” murmured Skadi. “Words like that can get you killed, even if they’re true.”

“Baugr knows Einarr is your uncle’s man,” said Glámr. “That his daughter, Sif, is fostered in Kráka. It’s him against them both. And he’s surely heard of how we cleansed Djúprvik, and can imagine the debt the new jarl owes us, and thus your uncle.”

“Three against one,” said Skadi. “But Baugr also knows he has the most men, and that without his aid the other three are doomed. Thus he stands alone, but thinks himself the true leader of the group.”

“Your uncle has a plan?” asked Glámr, glancing sidelong at her.

“Of course. And three backup plans to go with it, I’m sure. Not that he’s shared it with me.”

“I’ve never been to a Thing,” said Damian. “How does it work?”

“The elders of each settlement sit together facing the assembly,” said Skadi. “Which divides itself into nine men from each village grouped in columns. Anybody may put a problem or challenge to the elders, who then deliberate, read the mood of the assembly, and pass verdict after listening and questioning all involved.”

“Anybody may speak?” asked Damian in surprise.

“They may speak, but their cause must have merit. Wasting the Thing’s time is a grave insult to all present. But this All-Thing is no seasonal convocation. We’ll be discussing Afastr and the nascent war. Those in favor will speak for it, those against will argue. In the end, each jarl will vote on their preference.”

“With the only vote that matters belonging to Baugr’s,” said Glámr. “Which he very well knows.”

They watched the three jarls in silence. Einarr said something and grinned, showing long, yellowed teeth, which caused Baugr to laugh uproariously. Kvedulf smiled, but she recognized his expression. The patient good humor of a predator closing in on his kill.

After a few minutes, the jarls separated, each returning to their camp. Skadi moved to intercept her uncle, who clapped shoulders as he passed through his men, nodded to some, exchanged remarks with others. Marbjörn also fell in beside them, then Nokkvi, and together they entered the jarl’s tent.

Kvedulf moved straight to his jar of white mead and poured himself a horn. “Well, the fat bastard’s as pleased as a reaver in a nunnery. If he sank his chin any deeper into that neck of his he’d choke.”

“It went well, then, your chat,” said Marbjörn with faux politeness.

Kvedulf drained his horn and tossed it aside. “The platitudes were good enough, but the heart of the conversation stank. He’s got a surprise for us, he said. Something that will resolve this whole situation to everyone’s benefit.”

“What manner of surprise?” asked Skadi, stepping forward.

“That’s why it stinks. He was fucking chortling, he was. As if Einarr and I were two children he was going to surprise with gifts at the Winter Feast.”

Glámr hesitated then stepped forward. “What were his exact words, my lord, if I may ask?”

“Einarr sounded him out directly, the ass. Baugr was waiting for just such a sally, and demurred. Said, ‘Let’s not be hasty, there are other alternatives to war that civilized neighbors must consider first.’ Einarr then prompted him to continue, but the bastard said all in due time, and that it wouldn’t do to proceed without Snorri, as if that jumped up guardsman of any account.”

“Other alternatives?” asked Damian. “Perhaps he wishes to negotiate with Afastr? Send an envoy to Kaldrborg, offering terms or…?”

“Whatever it is, he’ll simply cost us time. Afastr knows he has little time to act before he gets frozen into his fjord for the winter. He’ll not delay his plans on account of some envoy Baugr sends north. But now we’ll have to argue against this ‘civilized’ proposition, one which Baugr will hide behind, as the fool seems to think he’s an enlightened jarl and a taste of what’s in store for the Draugr Coast.”

Kvedulf rubbed at his face then fell into his chair. “If only he wasn’t nearly as strong as the rest of us put together. Snorri, Einarr, and I only amount to six ships. Baugr has four all of his own, and one of them that monster the Wave Flame. We’ll need to dismiss his surprise as quickly as possible and then press for forces to sail north immediately. But Baugr will just cavil and temporize. I can tell he doesn’t wish to reach a conclusion at this Thing, but showed simply to enjoy our asking for his help.”

“Other alternatives to war,” mused Glámr. “Assassination?”

Marbjörn let out a bark of laughter. “If we had a warrior amongst our ranks who could defeat Afastr in combat, perhaps. But we don’t.”

Skadi thought of Afastr’s wealth of threads and knew Marbjörn spoke true. “What if he means to propose sending me against my will to Kaldrborg?”

“Then we’ll laugh him out of the Thing,” said Kvedulf darkly. “It is not the Northman’s way to force a woman into marriage if her kin is against it. And I gave you my oath.”

Skadi forced down her fear and nodded.

Marbjörn sighed. “We shall simply have to provide a united front. Yourself, my lord, Jarl Einar, and Jarl Snorri. Whatever Baugr proposes, the three of you will vote against.”

“But that’s not enough,” said Skadi softly. “We need to convince Baugr to rouse himself from his nest of gold and wage war against a distant foe.”

“A foe,” said Nokkvi from the back of the tent where he’d sat, “who has no desire to fight him in turn. Baugr knows this. He knows he will lose much of his strength just to defend Skadi, who is nothing to him.”

“Can we appeal to some Draugr Coast loyalty?” asked Skadi. “A brotherhood of jarls?” At her uncle’s withering look of contempt, she plunged on. “Or convince him that one day Afastr may come for him?”

“That day is years in the future,” said her uncle, “and Baugr no doubt believes he can reason with Afastr if the need arises. That’s the problem. Baugr considers himself a reasonable man, a civilized creature. He seems to have forgotten that we live on the Draugr Coast, where we are barely tolerated by the trolls and elements.”

“Then perhaps we can remind him,” said Marbjörn.

Nokkvi sneered. “That sounds good, but how? Rile up Trollheim? Lead an army of salt hags to his door?”

Skadi frowned and stared out through the tent flaps at the distant volcano and the vast skeleton that lay impaled upon its slopes. The answer lay in that idea. To show Baugr that his delusions of civilized elitism were just that: delusions. To show him, prove to him, that he needed to return to the drengr mindset, and face Afastr on the field of battle.

But how?

* * *

Snorri arrived that evening, looking harried and ten years older. His band straggled down onto the field without fanfare, thirty-five men who carried little with them beyond bare necessities. Unlike with Einarr’s arrival, the three jarls didn’t turn out to greet him, and it was clear Snorri had no expectations of such; he led his men to the final quadrant, and it was there that Skadi found him, drinking from a wine skin and looking flustered and tired.

“You came.” She smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Snorri removed his felt cap, revealing his bald head, and rubbed at it wearily. “Wait and see how much good we do first before thanking us.”

“Hard voyage?”

“I’ve been on tougher, though I really can’t remember when. A sea serpent tracked us through the night. We none of us slept. Whenever we thought we were clear of it we’d feel it thud into the keel, or sight a glistening coil pouring itself endlessly back into the black water. Was harrowing stuff.”

“But it never attacked.”

“Thank Thor. I wavered for hours between ordering arrows be loosed at it, but was held in check by the fear of what provoking it might cause. Glad we stayed out hands.” Snorri replaced his cap and looked around the All-Thing with a grimace. “I’ll tell you true, Skadi, I’m not cut out for this. I can just barely lead a small settlement out in the middle of nowhere on the Draugr Coast, but this?” He shook his head dolefully. “I’ve never been one for canny ploys or wresting votes.”

“Luckily, you won’t have to. As long as you support my uncle against Afastr, you need but sit and drink good ale and put on a sage expression.” Skadi smiled. “And think, this is how you announce your jarldom to the coast at large. From what I can tell, all you need do is strut around with your chest puffed out laughing and looking important.”

Snorri chuckled. “What would it take to convince you to move to Djúprvik, Skadi?”

“I go where my wyrd leads me. Which won’t be Kaldrborg, I tell you that much. But come, are you ready to meet my uncle?”

“The dreaded Kvedulf? Not really. Do I have a choice? Not really. Lead the way.”

“Summon a couple of your best men as escort then.”

“Oh, right. Where is my mind? Geirr! Where are you, boy?”

The long-legged youth with a mane like a horse’s strode into view, clad in black chainmail and with a sword at his hip, a war helm on his head, nose guard, and eye-rings giving him a proper martial look.

Skadi studied him: his single thread had multiplied to three.

“You’re doing well for yourself, Geirr,” smiled Skadi.

How glanced down self-consciously at his gear. “Turns out Blakkr had a fine stash of quality weapons and armor he was no longer in need of.” He grinned. “Can’t wait to test my blade’s edge.”

“Soon enough. Just the one, then?”

Snorri nodded, so Skadi led them both out of their camp and into her uncle’s, and right into his tent.

Her uncle had been expecting them and was filling cups with wine when they entered. He turned, a cup in each hand, and gave a conspiratorial grin to Snorri as if they were old hird mates from years long gone reunited for one last attempt at mischief.

“Jarl Snorri! Welcome. I’m honored to host you at last. Skadi has spoken highly of how you retook Djúprvik with her help from the degenerates who were poisoning it. We in Kráka esteem you and your bravery highly.”

Snorri took the goblet, eyebrows rising in surprise, then quickly mastered himself and raised his wine. “And we in Djúprvik speak of Kráka and its jarl with fear and awe. Many congratulations on ridding yourself of Queen Grýla. I hear it was you that struck her head from her shoulders?”

Well done, thought Skadi in surprise.

“Aye, that I did. I see Skadi’s been telling tales.” Her uncle, however, couldn’t quite disguise his pleasure. “Come, sit, sit.”

Geirr remained by the entrance, stiff and attentive, but Kvedulf, Snorri, and Skadi all sat in a triangle.

For a while, the two men exchanged meaningless small talk, pleasantries, and ritualistic inquiries after each other’s health and the well-being of their settlements, until at last, satisfied, Kvedulf leaned back. “But you came, and actions speak louder than words. Tomorrow we hold the All-Thing, and put the matter front and center: how best to handle Afastr.”

Snorri finished his wine. “I have no need to be coy. We both know that it was only due to Skadi’s intervention that I sit here today. My vote is obviously yours. May the norns cut my unworthy thread if I fail to aid Skadi in her own time of need.”

“Well said.” Kvedulf gave a curt nod. “The problem lies with Havaklif. Jarl Baugr has announced a surprise for tomorrow that should resolve our problems peacefully. Have you any notion of what he speaks?”

Snorri stroked his luxuriously long mustache. “A surprise. If he has devised a means of dealing with Afastr then I will be surprised indeed. Perhaps we can call him out on it first thing, to get it out of the way and move to the heart of our business.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Kvedulf with a smile, and nodded to a thrall to refill their goblets. “I think you and I are going to get along splendidly, Jarl Snorri. The future for Kráka and Djúprvik is bright. Perhaps we can speak of your settlement’s needs? Kráka always stands ready to help a neighbor. Masons? Carpenters? Livestock? How can we help you transition back to your former glory?”

Skadi sat back as the men began to plan for a post-Afastr future. As happy as she was to see them getting along, she couldn’t tear her thoughts away from the battle that lay ahead. The terrible bloodletting that had to take place. All other talk was senseless. Afastr would never desist. The question was only when and where would the battle take place. On Kráka’s docks? An agreed upon plain somewhere along the coast? A sea battle, dragon ship locked against dragon ship, forming a battlefield of shifting, swaying decks?

Skadi sank into morbid reverie.

Where was Afastr now? What did he plan?

All too soon, she knew, they would all find out.