The body was carried away by men of Havaklif, and Baugr stood there, bereft and somehow diminished as if a candle flame in his soul had been snuffed out. Skadi was jostled and cheered as the men surged over the birch branches, but she fought her way through the crowd, laughing and with tears in her eyes from the sheer exhilaration of the fight, to elbow herself free and stand before Valka.

Who stood, lips tremulous, eyes glassy with shock, her hands knotted together and pressed tight against her midriff.

“Listen up, all of you!” shouted Skadi, turning with Natthrafn raised high, its blade unnaturally clean as always. “I hereby release Valka Smjǫrreðrdottir from thralldom, and declare her a free woman as she should have been all along! Anybody who messes with her from henceforth shall answer to me, and after I’m done with them, I’m sure there’ll be a long line of warriors from Skegness intent on finishing the job.”

The crowd quieted, and then some wit at the back yelled, “Hide your pretty thralls, lads, the Giantslayer’s coming for ‘em!”

Laughter rang out, and though Skadi’s cheeks flushed she knew the ribbing was good-natured. “Aye, hide them well,” she shouted back at the grinning faces. “Especially if they’re the daughters of honorable jarls of the north.”

Men laughed and groaned and shook their heads, but Skadi turned to Valka with a grin. “See? I told you I’d keep my oath.”

“I…” Valka shook her head. “I knew, but…”

“But you thought Snarfari would find a way to defeat me?” Skadi laughed. “There are many warriors out there who could, but that pretty boy wasn’t one of them. Glámr?”

She cast around till her friend emerged from the crowd. “Go with Valka, please, to collect whatever she needs from her old tent, then escort her back to ours. I don’t want her alone.”

“There’s nothing I need from Snarfari’s tent,” Valka blurted out. “I don’t want to go back there, ever again.”

Skadi inclined her head. “Then you never will. Take her to our tent so she can have some time to adjust to her new reality. As soon as we can, we’ll see about arranging passage for you home.”

Valka’s eyes shone with tears. “Thank you, Skadi. I had just about given up all hope. This is a gift from the gods.”

“No, this is just a shieldmaiden doing what’s right. You made mistakes, but no jarl’s daughter deserves what was happening to you. We’ll get you home, and then you can deal with your father’s own wrath.”

Valka’s face clouded with doubt. “If he’ll even accept me home.”

“A problem for tomorrow. For now? Rejoice that you’re your own person again.” Skadi shook Valka’s shoulder, beamed at her, then turned away as Glámr led the shocked girl away.

“Beautifully done,” roared Marbjörn, clapping her so hard on the back she stumbled. “Don’t think I missed how you saw his trying to hide behind your shield. How many times did I do the same trick to you?”

Auðun was there, his smile broad. “And the way you trapped his blade in your shield, then cast it aside, opening him to your seax! No hesitation. He never stood a chance.”

“He did, though,” said Skadi. “He almost ended the fight with that stab into my side.”

“Aye, but you had the best mail on the coast to defend you,” grinned Marbjörn. “Don’t think it a coincidence that it was my gift that saved your life.”

“Not a coincidence,” agreed Skadi with a smile, trying not to recall how Snarfari’s blade had sunk deep into her side before her thread had disappeared. And with that memory some of her joy diminished; she’d won, yes, but strictly speaking, Snarfari had struck the first mortal blow.

“Skadi!” The crowd parted for Kvedulf who strode forward to seize her by both arms. “Is there nothing you cannot do? I almost think we waste our time, raising this army, when we could instead send you forth to slaughter Afastr by yourself. Well done, Niece. Nobody forgets their first holmgang. You did well.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Skadi bowed her head. “But I can improve.”

“The girl’s mad,” declared Marbjörn.

“We always can.” Kvedulf gave her a little shake. “But for now, relish this victory. Through your maneuvering, you have won us four more dragon ships and a fighting chance to defeat Afastr in battle. We’ll have to be careful with Baugr moving forward. We must respect his grief and do his son full honors so that the man does not become steeped in bitterness.”

Slowly the All-Thing came back into session; Jarl Baugr, ashen faced and rigid, sat before his contingent of nine men and women, with a fresh face to take Snarfari’s now empty seat. The crowd, festive and restless from the violence, stood all around to listen, and Kvedulf rose and waited for silence before speaking.

“The holmgang is finished. Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir has emerged victorious, and the Draugr Coast has lost a great warrior in Snarfari Baugrson, whose death is a tragedy to us all. He fought with peerless bravery and great skill, and I declare as Jarl of Kráka that I wish to do him full honors with a true drengr’s burial tonight.”

Baugr narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but the other two jarls also rose and voiced their support of such an act.

Kvedulf continued when they had spoken their piece. “Snarfari was known far and wide for his boldness, his impetuosity, and his ability to lead men to great victories. Only the norns can guess what glory might have been his if he had lived, but it was his wyrd to die here today. Thus I say: may Jarl Baugr know that his son is honored and that his son’s bold death reflects doubly well on his family and home. Tonight we honor Snarfari and Havaklif both.”

The crowd murmured their solemn agreement, but Baugr seemed at best slightly mollified, his mouth twisted into a bitter line, his expression dissatisfied.

“With the terms of the holmgang clear, I ask my fellow jarls to be ready to sail tomorrow,” said Kvedulf. “We are pressed for time, and must find Afastr before he can begin terrorizing the coast. Therefore I ask that we spend the remainder of the day breaking camp, so that we may be prepared to sail at dawn.”

Jarl Einarr and Snorri both nodded their agreement. For a long moment, Baugr remained still, and then he nodded jerkily.

“Very well,” said Kvedulf. “This has been an unusual All-Thing, by all accounts. We have elided much ceremony, skipped the celebrations and good cheer, and rushed what should have taken a week. But the world cares not for our traditions, and if we wish to meet it with bared blade, then we must move fast. Therefore I declare this All-Thing-”

“One moment,” cried a voice from the great crowd, and Damian pushed to the fore, his golden eyes blazing, his face pale. “Please, Jarl Kvedulf. If you honor the victories that I have helped your niece deliver to Kráka, give me leave to address the gathering.”

Skadi startled; her uncle glanced at her, saw the surprise on her face, then turned back to Damian. Most of the crowd was muttering angrily, and dark looks were aimed at Damian, who ignored them all.

“You’ve indeed done Kráka great service,” said Kvedulf. “But you are not a Northman, and you are here as a guest, not a participant. What say you, fellow jarls?”

Snorri rose. “I know that priest. He came to Djúprvik and helped liberate it from the fordæða. He cast magic, which is commonly a woman’s province, but with it he healed the half-giant Aurnir, and I know his faith to be different from ours. Though it be unusual, I am willing to hear what he has to say.”

“I care not either way,” said Baugr coldly.

Jarl Einarr rubbed his chin. “Most unusual. Should strangers and foreigners now participate in our hallowed customs? Should we welcome men of Isern and Wuduholt to give us their opinions on things that have no bearing on us? I say no.”

Kvedulf rubbed at his short golden beard. “What is it you wish to address, priest? If you wish to speak of your faith, you’re out of luck.”

“Not my faith, no.” Damian drew himself up. “This is a matter that concerns the Draugr Coast, each and every one of you.”

Skadi glared at the priest, but he avoided her eyes. Why hadn’t he warned her that he wished to do this? Many warriors were glancing askance at her, so rather than appear completely dumbfounded she schooled her features into neutrality.

“Well, you have indeed rendered great service and helped my niece many times with her quests. If you say you do not wish to proselytize, then I shall believe you, but the second you begin to extol your guard I’ll have you silenced. Is that clear?”

“It is, my lord.”

Kvedulf sat with a sigh. “Then I say he can speak. That puts it two against one, with one abstention. Go ahead, priest.”

More mutterings and several men spit, but Damian stepped free of the crowd. Two spots of high color stood out on his tawny cheeks.

“Warriors of the Draugr Coast, my name is Damian, and I am a priest of the New Sun. I left Nearós Ílios three years ago to travel to Kalbaek, where I was to warn Jarl Styrbjörn of a great danger. I was well received in his hall, but my warnings fell on deaf ears. For a year I pleaded and explained, but nothing changed till the day the Archean Empire conquered the great island of Skrímslaeyja.”

Men whispered to each other, while others flapped their hands dismissively at Damian, half turning away as they did so.

Damian raised his voice. “Then did Jarl Styrbjörn grow alarmed, and he sent messages to Stóllborg through the winter. Just before spring arrived, he set forth with his five dragon ships on a secret mission, and was gone when the Archean Empire sailed into his fjord and burned Kalbaek to the ground. All of Hregg was conquered, and the shadow of the Archean Empire lengthened over the Shattered Sea.”

Many listened with stony expressions, though some were more avidly interested. Skadi fought down the uncomfortable emotions that arose within her: grief, rage, and horror. This wasn’t the time to be weak. What by all the gods did Damian think he was doing?

“Now King Harald gathers his forces to fight the Archean Empire, but he does so without Laxa, Sanda, Ceirsa, Búðir, or Kalbaek. A third of his kingdom is already conquered. I know that Jarl Styrbjörn failed in his mission to recruit aid from Isern, and that none of the jarls of the Draugr Coast have sent aid or men to help him. So I can only imagine that King Harald will be defeated, the Kingdom of the North conquered, and the Shattered Sea taken by the Archean Empire.”

This proved too much. Hundreds of men erupted into rage, many of them breaking forth to bellow and shake their fists at Damian, while several shoved at him from behind while others put their hands to their weapons.

Alarmed, Skadi stood, and so did much of the All-Thing.

“Silence!” Now it was Baugr who roared, and some raw pain in his voice shocked the others into obedience. “This is a fucking All-Thing, you bastards! Is nothing on the Draugr Coast sacred? You shame your ancestors! Shut your mouths before I order my men to shut them for you!”

Most of the warriors looked to their jarls, but saw no support there, so they returned to their ranks or sat down, their expressions surly.

“Now speak,” said Baugr. “Finish your yammering, priest. I’ve a dead son to attend to.”

Damian tugged his robes straight. “I’m sorry if my words offend. But I’m from Nearós Ílios. I am not on the Draugr Coast for the fun of it. I am still trying to warn you all before it’s too late of the danger Archea poses. Once they conquer the Kingdom of the North, they will take the Iron Isle—”

“Can’t nobody take the Iron Isle,” shouted someone, and many nodded their heads in agreement.

“—and then possibly sweep up the Draugr Coast if they can be bothered. But with Stóllborg conquered and the Iron Isle defeated, they will turn to their true prize, Isern. That will be a hard war, but far easier for them to manage if they can avoid the Sentinels and the Center Sea, avoid the Vortex and the Three Sisters that guard the Isern Coast. And when Isern falls, they will snap up Unigedd and Wuduholt, burn Tristesse to the ground, and finally bring their might to bear on Nearós Ílios, we whom they hate so much.”

“Sounds like a problem for Nearós Ílios and Harald Drápastúfr,” shouted Nokkvi from Kráka’s contingent, to which there was general agreement.

Damian looked about him in desperation. “I spoke with Hafr the Word Master when he visited Kráka—”

Ugly rumbling sounded from scores of throats, and Damian spoke quicker, trying to get his point in. “I spoke with him and he admitted that King Harald is desperate. If we agree to aid him, he will make concessions—”

The crowd erupted into booing, and several men drew their axes.

“He can concede to my hairy arse!”

“Too late for that bastard to come crawling!”

“Archea will be the best thing that could happen to his stupid kingdom!”

Damian’s expression turned sad as he looked around at all the abuse being hurled his way.

When finally the shouting quieted down, he raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture of defeat. “So be it. I tried, and was not up to the task. One day, perhaps a year or two from now, perhaps we’ll all remember this moment. I pray that you laugh at me then as you do now.”

“That’s quite enough,” said Kvedulf brusquely. “We appreciate your point, priest, but our clear and present danger is Jarl Afastr, not Harald’s distant concerns. However, once we defeat Afastr, I propose a proper All-Thing where grievances can be adjudicated, debts enforced, and a proper celebration held. This All-Thing, having achieved its purpose of uniting us against Afastr, is now over.”

Warriors shouted their approval, with many making rude gestures at Damian, who simply stood there, face puckered bitterly, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the horizon.

And despite herself, Skadi saw again the five Archean triremes sailing into Kalbaek’s fjord. Heard Patroclus’s laughter, and felt again her cold rage and hatred.

She stared at Damian until he lifted his eyes and met her gaze, and a great and terrible doubt rushed through her like a winter wind. Were they fools, fighting each other as Archea loomed over the North? Should she have voiced her support of his warning?

But how could she? Afastr was going to destroy Kráka in his bid to capture her. Should they let Kráka burn, or should she allow herself to be captured so as to help focus the jarls’ attention on the true enemy?

Damian smiled sadly and turned away.

Once this is over, she vowed to his retreating form, I swear that I will turn all of my attention upon Archea.