Shadow of Honour

Gather close, and hear the tale of Hjalmar, son of the late Ivan, a man whose fate was woven with sorrow and steel, whose hands knew blood and whose heart carried the weight of loss. The gods carved a harsh path for him, and it began when he was but a boy...

Hjalmar was born in Vågar, a village of the North where the winters are long, and the sea stretches far beyond what the eye can see. His father, Ivan, was a warrior—a man of little wealth but great courage. It was said that Ivan fought fiercely in the shield wall, but the fates took him early. Hjalmar was still a child when Ivan fell in battle, leaving behind a widow, Ingrid, and two children.

Runa was the eldest, Hjalmar’s sister. She was fair and kind, a warmth in the cold halls of their home. She would often tell Hjalmar stories—tales of Jord, the Goddess of Nature, and how her hand shaped the beauty of the world beyond their village and across the seas. Hjalmar, as a child, would sit at her feet, listening in wonder as she spoke of green forests, tall mountains, and lands far away where the sky seemed to stretch forever. In her words, he felt the world was larger than Vågar, full of life and colour. But those stories faded when the sickness came, like Loki’s cunning hand in the night, and it took Runa from them.

Hjalmar was but nine winters old, and Ingrid, already heavy with grief from the loss of her husband, was shattered by Runa’s death. Her heart turned to ice, and she could no longer look upon Hjalmar without seeing what she had lost. She blamed the boy, though the gods themselves knew it was not his doing. It was grief, deep and unshakable, that drove her. She left him behind one cold morning and disappeared, leaving Hjalmar to the cold mercy of Vågar.

Alone and abandoned, Hjalmar became a boy of the wilds. Vågar was a hard place for orphans, and the village folk offered little in the way of kindness. He grew lean and hard, his young face weathered by hunger and cold. His hands, once soft with youth, became rough from the work of survival. One day, as he wandered the outskirts of the village, he found a dying hunter, his body broken by a fall. The man lay there, breath fading, and in his last moments, Hjalmar took the hunter's bow and knife. He learned to hunt, teaching himself to track the creatures of the forest and survive by the edge of his blade.

The boy grew tall, lean, and scarred. His face was marked by hardship, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s, and his body bore the signs of a life lived alone. But deep within him, there remained the faint memory of his sister’s voice, of Runa’s kindness and the stories she had told him of the world’s beauty. Those memories were buried, though, under the weight of survival.

At sixteen winters, Hjalmar stood before the warband of Vågar, the men who sailed the seas in search of plunder and glory. He sought a place among them, knowing that only through battle could he rise above the life he had been cast into. He fought in the trial by combat—three times he fought and three times he was beaten. His nose was broken, his face bloodied, but each time, he rose again, more determined than before.

On his fourth attempt, battered but unyielding, he stood victorious over his opponent. The warband saw the fire in him and took him into their ranks. He was no longer the boy left behind; he was Hjalmar, a warrior. For the next ten years, he sailed with the warband, raiding far and wide, his body growing strong and scarred from many battles. His face, once the face of a boy, was now weathered by the wind and salt of the sea. But despite the honor he found in battle, a piece of him remained untouched—still remembering the stories of Runa, and the peace he had once known in his youth.

It was during these raids that they came to Dún Briste, a village on the coast of Éire. The raid was swift and brutal, as these things often were. The men of the village fell quickly, and the northmen took what they pleased. Hjalmar, hardened by a decade of battle, entered one of the small huts in search of plunder. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of burning thatch, and the cries of the dying echoed faintly in the distance.

There, in the corner of the hut, beneath a heavy bear pelt, was a woman. She was no thrall, nor bound in chains. She had hidden herself as the chaos raged around her. Her name was Niamh, a woman of Dún Briste, her skin pale as moonlight and her eyes wide with terror. Her hair was dark and long, tangled and streaked with dirt from her hiding place. Her face, though marked by soot and fear, had a quiet beauty to it—cheekbones sharp, lips trembling, her delicate frame hidden beneath the heavy fur. But it was her eyes that held him. They were large, dark, and deep, and in them, Hjalmar saw the same kindness he had seen in Runa all those years ago.

In that moment, the fire that had raged so fiercely inside him for all those years flickered and dimmed. The world around him seemed to lose its colour—the flames, the blood, even the sounds of battle outside the hut faded into nothing. There was only her, and in her eyes, he saw a glimmer of his sister’s stories—the beauty that lay beyond war and bloodshed.

Then, like a thunderclap, the silence was broken. One of his comrades, a raider he had fought beside for years, pushed past him with a cruel grin, reaching for the woman as though she were no more than another prize to be claimed. The man’s hand grabbed at the pelt covering her, and still her eyes stayed locked on Hjalmar, filled with silent, desperate pleading.

Without thought, without hesitation, Hjalmar’s sword was in his hand. The blade sang through the air, and with a single stroke, his comrade fell to the floor, blood pooling at his feet. The man’s eyes, wide with shock, stared up at him in death.

The woman did not scream. She did not move. She only looked at Hjalmar, her breath quick and shallow, too stunned to understand why one raider had killed another in front of her. And Hjalmar, for the first time in his life, found no answer for what he had done. The life he had fought so hard to gain—the life of a warrior, of blood and fire—now seemed distant, as though it belonged to another man entirely.

With no time to think, Hjalmar grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled, her body light and trembling beneath the weight of the bear pelt, but she followed him without question. They fled the hut, stepping out into the cold night, the village burning behind them. The air was thick with smoke, and the cries of the fallen still echoed through the night.

Hjalmar’s comrades, the men he had once called brothers, continued their rampage, burning and looting with reckless abandon. But Hjalmar could no longer see the glory in their actions. All he saw was the destruction, the lives torn apart, and the colourless world that had once been his only truth.

Without a word, he ran. He dragged the woman with him, her feet stumbling over the rough ground as they fled into the woods. Together, they ran from the village, from the flames and the chaos, from the warband that would surely hunt him down for his betrayal.

They ran deep into the forest, where the sounds of battle could no longer reach them, until they were alone in the cold, silent night. Hjalmar stopped at last, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Niamh stood beside him, still trembling, still in shock.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The forest around them was still, the wind whispering through the trees. Slowly, the colour began to return to the world. The stars above them seemed to shine brighter, the cold air felt sharper, more real. Hjalmar turned to look at her again, and this time, he saw something more than fear in her eyes. There was confusion, yes, but also a glimmer of relief.

Then, in a voice soft but filled with meaning, she pointed to herself and said, “Thank you. I am Niamh,” speaking in her own tongue.

Hjalmar did not understand her words, but he understood their meaning. He nodded slowly and repeated after her, “Niamh” and smiled.

She nodded back, her lips parting in a small, sad smile.

Hjalmar placed a hand on his chest and spoke for the first time, his voice low but steady. “I am Hjalmar, son of Ivan.”

In that moment, Hjalmar felt a peace that had long eluded him, a quietness that he had not known since the days when Runa would tell him stories by the fire. He felt, for the first time in years, a flicker of hope. Together, he and Niamh gathered wood from the forest and prepared a small fire for the night. As the flames flickered before him, Hjalmar thought of the stories Runa used to tell—of Jord, the Goddess of Nature, and the beauty that lay in the world beyond their village. He wondered if, at last, he had found a path toward that peace.

Come closer, and hear the tale of Hjalmar and Niamh, two souls who forged their life in the wilds of Éire. After the flames of Dún Briste fell behind them, they wandered the rugged lands, hunted for their survival, and gathered wares for trade. This is the story of how they grew their family, earned their place among the Gaels, and how Hjalmar’s ambitions led him to seek fortune beyond the shores of their land.

For a year, Hjalmar and Niamh wandered the wilds around Dún Briste, the place they had fled. They moved from forest to forest, from ruin to ruin, surviving on what they could hunt or gather. Niamh, with her knowledge of the land, knew where to find shelter and food, and Hjalmar’s skill with his axe and bow kept them alive. Together, they hunted deer, wild boar, and small game, tanning hides and crafting what they could to sell in nearby villages.

They kept to themselves, always wary of who might come upon them—whether it be brigands or the very raiders that had brought destruction to Dún Briste. Yet, even in the midst of this uncertain wandering, they made their way. During these travels, they came across a foal, weak and starving, near the ruins of a village. Niamh, who had been raised with horses, could not leave the creature behind. She brought it with them, naming it Damhán, and with great care, she nurtured it back to strength. Soon, Damhán became part of their wandering family, carrying small loads as they moved and providing Niamh with a mount when needed.

It was not just animals that crossed their path in that first year. One day, while passing through another ruined village, they found two children, alone and shivering. The boys, Dónal and Finnán, had lost their family in the raids. Hjalmar and Niamh, with no children of their own yet, could not leave the boys behind. They took them in, providing them with food and warmth by their campfires, and slowly, the four of them began to form the core of what would become their family.

For that entire year, they moved from one place to another, hunting, trading what little they had, and gathering strength for the days ahead. But as the year came to an end, Hjalmar knew that they needed more than wandering—they needed a place to call home, and more importantly, they needed allies.

Why did you save me?

In the early days of the second year, Hjalmar and Niamh came upon the village of Bréanainn, where the chieftain, Cían mac Domhnall, ruled. It was a small but strong settlement, nestled among forests and hills, protected by warriors who served the chieftain. Hjalmar and Niamh knew that here, they could find stability—and perhaps the means to build something lasting.

After months of cautious approach and trading at the village’s edge, they finally met with Cían. The chieftain was a shrewd man, his eyes sharp and calculating, but he recognized skill and potential when he saw it. Hjalmar offered his services as a hunter and craftsman, while Niamh, with her knowledge of horses and her growing skill with the bow, offered to aid in training the chieftain’s warriors in mounted archery.

Cían, impressed by their abilities, agreed to allow them to settle near the village. In exchange, they would supply the village with the goods they could produce—bows, arrows, furs, and leather. Hjalmar and Niamh had found a place to build a future.

With the support of the chieftain, Hjalmar and Niamh began to build a life in the forests outside Bréanainn. They erected a sturdy home with their own hands, and it wasn’t long before they began to establish themselves as vital to the village. They hunted and traded regularly, their bows and arrows becoming prized among the village warriors and hunters.

It was during this second year that Niamh gave birth to their first child, a son they named Eirik, known among the Gaels as Eirche. Eirik was the symbol of their new life—a blend of Norse and Gaelic blood, proof that their worlds could not only coexist but thrive together. As they raised him, they continued to expand their trade, crafting fine weapons and working the leather and furs from their hunts.

Niamh’s talent with horses did not go unnoticed. She began to teach Ailith, an orphaned girl they had taken in, the ways of caring for and raising horses. Ailith, like Dónal and Finnán, had lost her family in the chaos of the raids, but under Niamh’s guidance, she found new purpose. Together, they trained horses, adding yet another layer to the growing respect the family earned in Bréanainn.

By the third year, Hjalmar and Niamh’s household had grown. Alongside their own son, they had taken in Dónal, Finnán, and Ailith—three orphans who had found a home under their roof. Their days were filled with work, but they were not alone in their efforts. The village of Bréanainn relied on the bows and arrows they crafted, and the furs they provided from their hunts.

Hjalmar taught Dónal and Finnán how to hunt and track, passing on the skills of survival that had served him so well in the wilderness. Niamh ensured that the household ran smoothly, guiding the children in their tasks and tending to the animals. Together, their home became a place where all hands worked to support one another, where those lost to the violence of the land could find peace.

In the fourth year, more lives came into their care. One night, as the wind howled through the trees, Hjalmar heard screams from the distance. Armed with his axe, he followed the sounds and found Siobhán, a widow being attacked by brigands. With swift action, Hjalmar saved her life and brought her back to their home.

Niamh, with her welcoming spirit, took Siobhán in, and soon she became part of the household. Siobhán, grateful for her rescue, took on many of the daily tasks, and her presence only strengthened the bond within the growing family. Later that year, Hjalmar and Niamh met Cormac, a wandering weaver who had lost everything in the wars. Seeing the value in his skills, they offered him a place in their household.

Cormac began to weave cloth from the wool they collected and crafted sails from leather—wares that would increase the household’s reputation and value. Under Hjalmar’s leadership, the household thrived, and together, they became an important part of Bréanainn’s growing trade network.

By the fifth year, Hjalmar’s ambitions had outgrown the village of Bréanainn. Word reached him of the strife in his homeland of Skáney, where jarls battled for power, and opportunities for profit were many. Markets across Breitland and Voland were hungry for the goods Hjalmar could provide, and the chaos of war created the chance for wealth.

Hjalmar spoke often of these distant lands, of trading in far-off ports where riches awaited. The Aigéan Siar—the vast western sea—called to him, stirring his curiosity for what lay beyond the horizon. The tales of traders whispered in his ear, and though he had not yet sailed west, the idea took root in his mind. The lands beyond Éire promised fortune, and Hjalmar could not ignore the call of the sea.

In the sixth year, the opportunity Hjalmar had longed for arrived. The local chieftain, Cían mac Domhnall, impressed by the work Hjalmar had done for his warriors, offered him two damaged knarrs, trade ships that had been battered by a storm. Though they were in need of repair, Hjalmar saw their potential. This was his chance to sail beyond the shores of Éire.

With the help of Cormac, Dónal, and Finnán, the household worked tirelessly to repair the ships. Cormac crafted new sails, while the others restored the hulls, making the ships seaworthy once more. As the knarrs took shape, Hjalmar’s dream of trading across the seas grew ever closer to reality.

To store the goods they planned to trade, Hjalmar purchased land beside their home and built a warehouse, a place to hold the furs, leather, and other wares they would collect. The ships were nearly ready, and Hjalmar gathered a small crew of landless Gaels and Gall-Goídil men, those eager for adventure and fortune. The time to sail had come.

As they prepared to depart, Hjalmar entrusted the care of the household to Cormac and Siobhán. “We will return to gather more goods and sail again,” he told them. “Keep everything well while we are gone.”

With the knarrs repaired and the goods loaded, the sails were raised, and the time had come. Niamh, mounted on Damhán, led the way to the shore, followed by their son Eirik, now old enough to help with the preparations. As the wind filled the sails and the Muir Éireann stretched before them, Hjalmar stood at the bow, eyes on the horizon. The open seas called, and though his path led to the ports of Európa, his thoughts drifted to the lands beyond the horizon—the unknown waters that traders whispered about. One day, he would sail there.

For now, the winds of fortune carried him east, but the dream of venturing into the unknown seas burned brightly within him. Hjalmar, Niamh, and their crew set sail, ready to seek their fortune across the waters.

Come closer and hear the tale of Hjalmar, the seafarer and warrior whose fleet grew strong through loyalty, battle, and trade. His journeys spanned distant lands, and his name became known among kings and warriors alike. This is the story of how Hjalmar not only commanded the seas but also established a stronghold on land, securing his legacy and growing his household.

In the first two years of their voyages, Hjalmar’s fleet began with two ships. His eldest son, Eirik, at only eleven years old, was given the honor of naming them. The first ship, Stór—“Treasure,” was a sturdy knarr, restored by Hjalmar’s own hands. It was this ship that carried the first goods and set the foundation for their growing fortune. The second ship, Bára—“Wave,” was a sleek, fast vessel that could easily cut through the waters of the Muir Éireann, ensuring their trade routes were well-serviced.

By the second year, Hjalmar and Niamh welcomed their daughter Rúna, named after Hjalmar’s late sister. Niamh remained in their home village of Bréanainn to care for their children, while Hjalmar and Eirik continued their voyages, expanding their trade routes and influence.

During the third and fourth years, Hjalmar’s fleet grew as his reputation spread. Two more ships were added to the fleet. Skjold—“Shield,” a sturdy warship capable of protecting the fleet in dangerous waters, was the third ship acquired, a symbol of Hjalmar’s growing power. The fourth ship, Mán—“Moon,” was a smaller, fast vessel that often led the fleet through the cover of night during long journeys.

Around this time, Hjalmar established his influence on land as well. With the agreement of the local chieftain of Bréanainn, he formed a mercenary band called Na Fianna Bréanainn. This band was led by Cormac, a former wanderer whom Hjalmar had taken in, and Finnán, one of the orphan boys raised in Hjalmar’s household. Together, they protected the merchants and farmers of the region in exchange for tax relief, further cementing Hjalmar’s status both on land and at sea.

In the fifth, sixth, and seventh years, Hjalmar’s fleet continued to grow as he expanded his trade routes and influence. Eirik, now a young man, named two new ships: Klippe—“Rock,” a large vessel built for carrying heavy cargo, and Vind—“Wind,” a fast and nimble ship designed for scouting and speed.

As Hjalmar sailed from the Hebrides to Bretain (Brittany) and Francia, he used these ships to secure his trade routes and further strengthen his fleet. In Bretain, Hjalmar brokered peace between two rival clans, securing valuable goods in the process.

However, the greatest test of his fleet came in the Hebrides, where the village of Dún Bheagan on the Isle of Skye was under attack by raiders. Hjalmar and his ally, Ketill Skjaldson, received word of the raid and quickly assembled their ships to defend the village. With a fleet that now numbered eight ships, including Stór, Bára, Skjold, Mán, Klippe, and Vind, they launched a surprise nighttime assault on the raiders.

The battle was fierce, but Hjalmar’s ships provided a crucial advantage, and the raiders were driven off. In the aftermath, Hjalmar’s fleet grew even larger as they claimed two additional ships from the defeated raiders. These two captured vessels were named Hrafn—“Raven,” for its black sails and sleek design, and Drangr—“Warrior,” a strong and reliable vessel that would carry them through the toughest voyages.

Later in the seventh year, Hjalmar and Eirik sailed south to Iría Flavia in Galicia. Here, they arrived just in time to help the local militia defend the town from a Muslim raiding force. Hjalmar’s fleet, now ten strong, including the newly acquired Hrafn and Drangr, fought alongside the locals to repel the attackers.

During this time, Eirik met Lívia, a seamstress of Visigothic descent who had learned some Gaelic through trade. Lívia’s skill in crafting sails proved invaluable to Hjalmar’s fleet, and her connection with Eirik grew stronger. Hjalmar welcomed her into his household, and she began improving the sails of the fleet, increasing their speed and durability.

With the sails renewed and the crew strengthened, Hjalmar’s fleet set sail once again, stopping in Dunheved in Dunmonia. Here, Hjalmar entered a local tournament, besting many challengers until he met Elowen, known as “The Widowmaker”. Elowen was the only person to defeat Hjalmar in single combat that day, earning his respect and an invitation to join his crew.

Elowen accepted, leaving behind her old life and becoming one of Hjalmar’s most trusted warriors. Together, they often drank and shared stories, with Hjalmar boasting to his crew that Elowen could best anyone in both battle and drink. Her presence only strengthened the loyalty and respect the crew had for Hjalmar.

After returning to Bréanainn, Hjalmar and his crew took a well-earned rest. However, their respite was short-lived, as a message soon arrived from Kaupang in southern Norway. The message came from Grímr Kamban, an old contact of Hjalmar’s who had become a well-respected shipbuilder and trader.

Grímr’s message detailed a large order for clothing and ship materials—sails, ropes, and other goods—that he needed to complete a major voyage. Grímr’s words were clear: “Only Hjalmar could provide what was needed to ensure the voyage’s success.” Intrigued by the opportunity and the potential rewards, Hjalmar immediately set to work.

His workshop, led by Lívia, began producing the finest materials, crafting sails that would strengthen Grímr’s fleet. The crew worked tirelessly, knowing that fulfilling this order could lead to even greater opportunities. Once everything was ready, Hjalmar loaded his ships, including Stór, Bára, Skjold, Mán, Klippe, Vind, Hrafn, Drangr, and the two new vessels acquired from the Hebrides, and prepared to sail north to Kaupang.

It was the year 810, and Hjalmar’s name was now known from the coasts of Éire to the far reaches of Scandinavia. As he sailed to meet Grímr, Hjalmar knew that this voyage could lead to even greater ventures, securing his legacy both as a trader and a warrior across the seas.

Gather close, for this is a tale of wind and sea, of ships and men bound for the north. Hjalmar, son of Ivan, set sail with his crew, not knowing the full weight of what awaited them. They thought they sailed for trade, to fulfill Naddodd’s great order, but the sea held other whispers. The voyage was long, the fleet grew strong, and the goods they gathered became more than just wares for market. This is the story of how Hjalmar and his men set forth from Bréanainn with the wind at their backs and a growing unease in their hearts.

The time had come. Hjalmar and his crew stood ready on the shores of Bréanainn. Their ship, Stór, sat proudly in the water, laden with the first of many supplies they would gather on their voyage north. But Stór was not the only vessel that would carry them on this journey. Before they left, the crew had built a new ship in the home workshop, a sturdy knarr designed to carry heavy loads and weather the roughest seas. It was christened Freyja, a name to honor the goddess of harvest and strength, and it was given to Bjorn, one of Hjalmar’s most trusted men.

Bjorn had been with Hjalmar since the early days, a seasoned sailor and warrior who had proven his worth time and again. With Freyja under his command, Bjorn’s place in the fleet was sealed, and soon he would command more than just one ship. As the winds shifted and the sails filled, they set out from Bréanainn, heading south to begin the great task before them—gathering the goods Naddodd had demanded.

Their first stop was Tintagel, a place of cliffs and fortresses, where iron and tin flowed through the markets like blood through the veins of a warrior. Hjalmar knew they would need iron to trade, for the northern lands always hungered for metal. Axes, nails, and iron bars—these were the things that would fetch a high price in the ports yet to come.

The blacksmiths of Tintagel were skilled, and Elowen, sharp as ever, inspected the goods with a practiced eye. Hjalmar haggled with the traders, exchanging silver for iron tools, crates of tin, and weapons. The ship grew heavy with the weight of metal, but they had much further to go. With the deals struck and the holds filled, they sailed on.

From Tintagel, they sailed south into the Channel, making their way to Rouen, a city known for its bustling markets of grain, salted meats, and wines. These were provisions the north would crave, especially as winter drew near. Salted pork, barrels of fish, and sacks of grain were the lifeblood of long voyages, and Hjalmar knew these goods would not only feed his men but also trade well in the lands ahead.

Eirik secured casks of wine, knowing that luxury goods always commanded a high price in the north. Hjalmar and his crew bartered for sacks of wheat and barrels of salted pork, provisions that would last through the harshest conditions. With their supplies secured, they set sail once more, the ship groaning under the weight of their cargo, but the wind still at their backs.

The next port was Quentovic, a city where wool and linen flowed like water. Here, they would gather the thick cloth needed for sails and clothing. The winters in the north were unforgiving, and the traders there always sought warm wool and fine linens to make into garments.

Elowen led the bartering in the market, trading iron and tin for bolts of wool and linen. The crew loaded the goods onto the ship, knowing that these would serve them well in the coming cold, and would also be valuable in trade. Hjalmar watched as the goods piled high, satisfied that they were gathering enough to meet Naddodd’s demands. As they prepared to leave, the local tax collectors took their share, but it was a small price for the wealth they carried.

From Quentovic, they sailed for Dorestad, the great trading hub of the north. Dorestad was a city where ships from all corners of the world came to barter goods, from the Frankish lands, the Mediterranean, and beyond. It was here that Hjalmar sought timber, tar, and hemp to repair their ships and strengthen their fleet.

In the crowded markets, Hjalmar and Eirik traded their cloth and iron for barrels of tar and large bundles of timber—materials they would need for the long voyage. They also secured hemp ropes, knowing the northern winds could tear through the rigging of even the sturdiest ships. But as they bartered, Hjalmar realized that one ship would not be enough. The goods they had gathered were too many for Stór alone.

At Dorestad, Hjalmar made a decision to expand the fleet. They purchased two more ships—a knarr, which Eirik named Mare for its strength on the open sea, and a swift longship, Vika, named by Elowen for its speed. These ships would help carry the growing load, but they would need more men to sail them. Bjorn, already captain of Freyja, was given command of these new ships as well. With his experience and loyalty to Hjalmar, Bjorn would lead the smaller vessels as the fleet grew.

With the purchase of Mare and Vika, and under Bjorn’s command, the fleet now numbered sixteen ships. Hjalmar’s original ten vessels had grown with the addition of these new ships, and they were joined by four ships under the command of Ketill, an old friend and ally of Hjalmar. Together, the sixteen ships cut a powerful figure as they sailed north, their holds full of goods.

Bjorn, once the captain of a single ship, now commanded four—Freyja, Mare, Vika, and a fourth ship yet unnamed. His long years of service had earned him this trust, and Hjalmar knew that Bjorn would lead his part of the fleet with skill and honor.

As the fleet sailed north, the seas grew colder, and the winds sharper. Hjalmar, a man who had always been at peace with the sea, now found himself troubled. His sleep became restless, filled with dreams that stirred something deep within him. He woke in the dead of night, feeling as though unseen eyes were watching him, though he could never place from where.

He did not speak of these feelings to Eirik or Elowen, for he did not wish to alarm them. Yet, as they sailed closer to Kaupang, the sense of something watching, something waiting, grew stronger. The goods they gathered felt heavy not just with their physical weight, but with an unseen force, as if their voyage had been marked by something beyond their understanding.

Still, they pressed on. The fleet now numbered sixteen ships, each one laden with the supplies Naddodd had ordered. Their journey was nearly complete, but Hjalmar knew that the final stretch, to Hedeby and then Kaupang, would hold answers—or more questions.

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