Even as Skadi stood amongst the rest of the crew on the Sea Wolf another beacon kindled to life farther up the coast, a crimson flicker a score of miles away.

“A curse on that man,” said Marbjörn, his frustration sharp. “Is there nothing he’s not thought of?”

Skadi grimaced. The sun was setting. There wasn’t enough time to search for an ideal campsite, and there were too many men on the ship to sleep at anchor.

Kvedulf clearly understood this as well. “What’s done is done. We’ll make for shore and discuss the matter there.”

Once more they took to the oars. Dusk was falling when they anchored the ships just off a beach of large, ocean-smoothed pebbles. Men set to leaping off the ship into the surf, carrying camping gear onto the strand, and in the gloom, the forest beyond looked like a wall ebon, the beach a stripe of velvety gray.

Half an hour later she sat with the other jarls and their advisers about a large fire of their own.

“Not good,” said Snorri, stroking his mustache. “We’ve lost the Fjord Falconand now Afastr knows we are coming. I’d hoped to take him by surprise.”

“A foolish hope,” snapped Kvedulf. “After Kráka he knew we could come, and quickly.”

“Aye,” said Einarr, the firelight making him look even more gaunt. “But now he knows where we are and can prepare with exquisite timing.”

“Let him.” Kvedulf stared deeply into the flames. “No amount of preparation will help him escape my Dawn Reaver.”

“Jarl Kvedulf,” began Baugr.

“What?” Kvedulf glared at the man. “Do you wish to send another message? To ask to parlay?”

“No, no, of course not,” said Baugr, but seemed to lose his train of thought as he stroked his great braided beard.

Marbjörn stirred. “Afastr knows we’re coming. He’s fought many battles. He will use every trick possible to whittle down our numbers.”

The Stórhǫggvi grinned. “Let him. The gods are on our side. I can feel their blessings. We outnumber him. When we arrive, we don’t charge forward as is customary. We advance slowly, with confidence, like a cat entering a warren of rats. His traps will depend on our haste. We shall undo him through greater strength and patience.”

“Never thought you’d be one to counsel caution,” muttered Marbjörn.

To which the Stórhǫggvi only grinned wider, revealing his sharpened teeth.

Skadi stirred. “Afastr is as wise as he is evil. He knows we are blinded by grief and driven by rage. He will have prepared Kaldrborg for our arrival. We can’t simply sail into his harbor.”

Kvedulf stared at her through narrowed eyes. “What do you counsel then, Niece?”

Skadi licked her lower lip. “We are blind to his preparations. We need to know what he’s prepared. Only then can we plan intelligently.”

“Kaldrborg fjord is narrow and choked with ice,” said Einarr, voice low. “There is no way to approach without being seen.”

“There are other ways to approach.” Skadi glanced at Snorri. “The mountain road has served us before.”

“Afastr is canny,” said Einarr. “He’ll post guards.”

“Then we avoid the road and approach through the wilderness. From the mountain slopes, we’ll get a view of Kaldrborg. Anything he’s prepared will be revealed.” Skadi caught her Uncle’s gaze. “We’re committed to this battle, but there’s no need to fight it tomorrow. Not if a delay of a day or two earns us good information.”

To her surprise, the Stórhǫggvi nodded. “Aye, I counseled caution, but this is even better. The best way to avoid a trap is to know it’s there.”

“Agreed,” said Snorri. “That beacon fire presages nothing good. If anything, it’ll worry Afastr something fierce that we delay.”

“We cannot delay long,” snapped Kvedulf. “Or he’ll suspect what we do.”

“We’re a day’s sailing from Kaldrborg,” said Skadi. “That’s a day’s hard march. I can be there by tomorrow night if I travel lightly, and back the day after.”

Kvedulf rubbed impatiently at this short beard.

“This is dangerous country,” rumbled Marbjörn. “Even moreso than Kráka. Here you will run into Snærún packs, trolls aplenty, malicious ghasts, and worse. You cannot travel this land alone.”

“Sounds like you’re volunteering,” said Kvedulf.

Marbjörn grinned. “I am. It’s been a few months since I showed Skadi how a real warrior runs up to the Thor Stone. She’s been practicing ever since. I’d like to see how she keeps up now.”

“I’ll go,” said the Stórhǫggvi. “No troll will end my legend, and I’ll not sit here wanking while there’s fun to be had.”

“Who said this was agreed upon?” asked Kvedulf petulantly.

“I vote for a scouting mission,” said Einarr.

Snorri gave a curt nod. “And I.”

“As do I,” said Baugr quietly.

Kvedulf looked at each of them angrily then exhaled angrily. “So be it. We’ll send a strong, fast team. Skadi. Marbjörn. The Stórhǫggvi. We need three or four more.”

“Glámr must come,” said Skadi immediately. “He’s a natural scout and good in a fight. And the Nearós Ílios priest, Damian. His ability to heal could be instrumental to our return.”

“I, Geirr Skútasson, will come as well,” said Geirr boldly, stepping up beside Snorri. The firelight played on his long mane of hair, and he stared defiantly at his jarl. “Skadi taught me the value of taking on great challenges. I’ll not sit this out if I can be of help.”

“One more,” said Kvedulf.

“I nominate Líføy Assursdottir from my crew,” said Tryggr. “It’s meted that someone from Hake be on this mission, and I’ve never met anyone tougher or more resourceful. Her presence will only increase your odds of success.”

“So be it,” said Kvedulf. “Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir, the Stórhǫggvi, Marbjörn Aðalmærki, Glámr the half-troll, Damian the Nearós Ílios priest, Geirr Skútasson, and Líføy Assursdottir. Gather together and prepare to depart at dawn. However, mark my word on this: Skadi leads this group.”

The Stórhǫggvi spat into the fire. “And why should she? She’s, what, barely old enough to fuck? Whereas I’ve been leading raids for decades?”

Skadi smiled at the Stórhǫggvi, who seemed all the more primal and bestial in the firelight. “Your inability to understand why I should lead this mission only doubles the reason I should.”

The Stórhǫggvi frowned in confusion, but Skadi powered on before he could protest.

“Your wyrd is powerful. There’s no denying it. But I must lead this scouting venture. Mine are the dead. Mine the wyrd that has defeated Afastr thus far. And mine shall be the decisions that bring us back safely.”

The Stórhǫggvi turned to Kvedulf with his palms held out in mock supplication. “Honestly, Kvedulf. You can’t expect me to follow her commands when she’s never even—”

“You follow my commands,” Skadi cut in. “Or you stay.”

Silence fell over the gathering. The Stórhǫggvi studied her over the leaping flames, then shrugged, his smile turning predatory. “I do like a bossy woman. Give me the right commands, and I’ll surprise you with just how enthusiastically I follow them.”

“Enough,” said Baugr. “You will do as she says or insult my honor.”

“Ah, I was just teasing her. Skadi can handle a joke, can’t you, my love?”

“Keep teasing,” rumbled Marbjörn. “And we’ll see for how long you can keep laughing.”

“Oh, the big man with his big words. Any time, Sea Bear.”

“We don’t have time for this nonsense,” said Kvedulf. “Skadi, decide if you want the Stórhǫggvi to join you. If not, we’ll find someone else.”

Skadi sharpened her vision. Of all those gathered, the Stórhǫggvi blazed brightest, with easily over thirty threads. Once her uncle would have outshone him, but those days were gone. Geirr now possessed three, while Marbjörn had increased his own allotment by perhaps two, bringing him close to twenty-five.

She needed the Stórhǫggvi’s wyrd. It might protect them all even as it safeguarded him. And looking over the flames at where the man leered, she felt a strong desire to crush his mocking instincts and force him to accept her leadership.

“He comes with us,” she said. “Let’s round up the others and talk.”

They gathered around a separate fire. There were seven of them, and all had threads of wyrd, ranging from the Stórhǫggvi with his staggering thirty plus to Geirr with his meager three. Glámr and Damian had each slowly accrued potent wyrds of their own, so that Glámr now boasted six and Damian five, while the last to join their group, Líføy, possessed an impressive seven threads all of her own.

Damian and Geirr hauled over a log washed bone-smooth from the tide where they and Líføy sat, while Glámr remained standing and barely within the firelight, his arms crossed. Marbjörn and the Stórhǫggvi sat across from each other, one glaring, the other grinning, till at last Skadi spoke.

“We seven have been tasked by the jarls to scout out Kaldrborg and see what defenses Afastr has prepared. He knows we’re coming, and is far, far older than any of us. He told me that he is widely traveled, and who knows what tricks and defenses he may have learned from Archea or Isern? Thus we’re to move fast, avoid the mountain road, and get a view of Kaldrborg by tomorrow night. We’ll then return as quickly as possible to report back.”

“Child’s play,” said the Stórhǫggvi.

“Would be, if the land were more hospitable,” replied Marbjörn. “I was born in Hake, but moved to Kráka when Kvedulf founded it ten or so years ago. I’ve traveled the length of the Draugr Coast several times, and one truth has always been acknowledged by everyone I’ve met: the land gets more dangerous the further north you go.”

Damian’s golden eyes gleamed in the firelight. “What sort of dangers?”

“Snærún, assuredly.” Marbjörn snapped a branch and tossed a half into the flames. “Trolls. We’re north enough to run into winter wargs, wolves as large as ponies. A frost linnorm if we’re unlucky enough. Who knows what else. The one truth about the world is that it’s always stranger than you expect.”

“Frost linnorm,” breathed Damian with something akin to awe. “What by the New Sun is that?”

It was Líføy that answered, her gaze lost in the depths of the fire. “Legendary monster. You don’t get them around anymore, not south of Kaldrborg.”

“They’re rare, yes,” replied Marbjörn, “but they can sleep for years in the depths of icy chasms, only to awake with a terrible hunger for blood.”

“Will you look at the Sea Bear,” laughed the Stórhǫggvi. “Trying to frighten us around a campfire. You missed your true calling, Marbjörn. Should have been a skald.”

Líføy sneered at the Havaklif warrior. “Laugh. But they’re real. I said they aren’t seen south of Kaldrborg, not that they don’t exist.”

The Stórhǫggvi shrugged his broad shoulders. “If we run into one, I’ll cleave off its head and mount it on the Wave Flame.”

“Right,” said Marbjörn. “Simple as that.”

To which the Stórhǫggvi only waggled his brows.

“We leave at dawn,” said Skadi. “We’re going to move fast and light. Take enough food for two days’ hard travel. Odds are we won’t stop to sleep till we return, but a waterproofed blanket won’t go amiss.”

“Make sure any metal you carry is blacked out,” said Glámr softly. “Sunlight gleaming on weapons will give us away.”

Líføy nodded in approval.

“Shields?” asked Geirr.

“Shields,” scoffed the Stórhǫggvi.

Geirr flushed.

“Good question,” said Skadi calmly. But no, they’re too large and bulky. It’ll be dangerously cold, so no chainmail either. But here’s what I want to emphasize: once we set out, we’re to act as a team, a crew. I want you all to pledge loyalty to each other and to me. The jarls have put me in charge of this mission, and we will live or die by your ability to get along and do as I say with no questions. Am I clear?”

“Why do I feel like this oath is just for my benefit?” asked the Stórhǫggvi with exaggerated innocence. “Unless you doubt the priest?”

“Me?” asked Damian, sitting upright. “What?”

“All of you must swear,” said Skadi. “That for the duration of this expedition you will treat each other as brothers and sisters, that you will not sew disagreement or trouble, and that you will do as I say when I say, and not argue. Swear it, or stay behind.”

“I swear it on my life,” said Glámr immediately.

“As do I,” said Damian. “I swear it on the New Sun.”

Marbjörn nodded sharply. “I swear.”

Geirr was sitting up straight, his eyes wide. “I swear it, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir. You can count on me.”

“I swear,” repeated Líføy, though she shook her head and frowned into the fire. “For the sake of my captain and jarl, I swear it.”

Everyone looked to the Stórhǫggvi who was poking at the embers with a stick. He affected surprise and sat up. “What? Oh—me too?” He let the silence drag out, and just as Marbjörn went to complain he grinned. “Oh fine, I swear it. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Good,” said Skadi. “And I swear to you all to do my utmost to accomplish this mission and keep you alive, in that order. If there is time, I shall ask for your advice, but if there is not, I’ll expect you to do as you’re told immediately.”

The Stórhǫggvi clucked his tongue and sighed. “This is going to go great. I can already tell.”

“Can you make him swear to stay silent?” growled Marbjörn.

The Stórhǫggvi grinned again, revealing his sharp teeth. “It’s going to be a joy traveling with you, Sea Bear. I knew there was a reason I always wanted to run into you while out a-viking.”

“Prepare your equipment and then get some sleep,” said Skadi. “You’re all of you going to need your strength for what’s to come.”

Geirr rose to his feet. “You won’t regret bringing me along, Skadi. I swear it.”

Skadi resisted glancing at the Stórhǫggvi, easily imagining how he must be rolling his eyes. “I know, Geirr. I’m glad you’re coming.”

The others stood and departed, till she was left alone at the fire with the bestial man from Havaklif.

He watched her through the flames, the light in his dark eyes dancing, his lips parted in a predatory smile. “How about a good luck fuck before we turn in? I swear on the gods you’ll never get it as good from anything on two legs.”

“Mark me well,” said Skadi as she rose to her feet. “I know exactly how strong you are. Never forget that I am a völva, and can read the threads of fate. Yours is a strong skein, but you do not have the ear of the Honorable Lady, nor can you summon the storms. I’m bringing you for your strength, but if you cross me, if you defy me, if you endanger our mission, I will see you dead. This I swear Yggdrasil and its many roots, by Urðarbrunnr and the norns that tend it, by the sacred radiance of the sun and the night. Kagssok the frost giant thought himself mighty, and I killed him. Queen Grýla thought herself untouchable, now she is dead. Rauðbjorn the berserker thought himself beloved by Odin, but I plunged my spear into his temple. Bölvun the fordæða believed herself protected by her dark patron and his seiðr, but she died singing a broken song. As for Snarfari, your jarl’s son, well. I need not speak on the manner of his death, or how it forced you to be here and so close to the Land of the Midnight Sun instead of sailing home to Havaklif. Tempt me not. Am I clear?”

The Stórhǫggvi had resumed rooting amongst the coals with his branch and suddenly looked up, as if surprised. “What was that? Apologies, I wasn’t listening.”

“You heard me well. Good night.”

And Skadi left the fire, only to realize that her hands were shaking. Was she making a terrible mistake? Should she select another? If Nokkvi were still alive she’d choose him instead in an instant.

But he wasn’t.

She would manage the Stórhǫggvi, or die trying.

This mission required nothing less.