Svalbard

This is smack bang in the middle of the story, so forgive the lack of context.


TO THE NORTH

KALNORDIA 1080 VP

The salty spray from the sea stung at his eyes but he paid it no heed. Standing at the prow of the Kalnordian ‘Windreaver’, Sitric allowed himself to enjoy the fresh breeze on his face. It had been too many years since he had last went seafaring, so long that he had forgotten the feeling of freedom and joy that a sea voyage brought. The memories of his last days in Nanter were thankfully beginning to fade. The looks of accusation on the faces of his men, the bitter hatred in the eyes of Einvarr were all still painful to recall. But he had agreed to Ranald’s plan and had carried out the king’s requests to the letter. In fact, if he thought about it, he had being too successful in his deceit. The casual words of support that he had spoken in support of Helgi had quickly found their way to Einvarr and the young Kalnordian King-in-exile had challenged him within the day.
Bitter they had argued and Sitric’s stomach had churned as he rebuffed Einvarr and the others, his hearth companions in the King’s Men. For over twenty five long years he had led and counselled them. When they had being heart sick for their homes he had sat with them in silent lament. The argument with Einvarr had grown savage and Sitric had fuelled the man’s temper with harsh words about the old King’s rule and the Kalnordians need for a strong leader in the form of Helgi. They were false words and Sitric had silently prayed to his god’s for forgiveness as he uttered them. It was then that Einvarr had struck him, just as Ranald had predicted. Playing his part Sitric had challenged Einvarr according to the ancient customs of their people. The Holmgangr, the sacred square where in two warriors would fight to settle their grievances was formed. Ashen spears were laid on the ground to form a wide square. It was taboo for any to enter this area until the conflict was resolved between the two antagonists. Einvarr had chosen a double-bladed battle axe as his weapon. He would have a need to use both his hands to wield it leaving him shield less in the combat. Sitric had also forfeited the protection of a shield in favour of the savage battle-axe. The fight that ensued was quick and brutal. Sitric had needed all his skill to ward of the onslaught of Einvarr. He was under strict instruction not to harm him and so he fought on the defensive. To the horrified onlookers of the King’s Men, it looked as if Sitric was fighting for his very life. Finally Einvarr broke through Sitric’s guard and stuck him a glancing blow on the shoulder driving the old warrior on to his knees. Einvarr had planted his feet wide apart and lifted his axe to deliver the death blow when Sitric had raised his hand and roared to the disbelieving crowd, “I yield, mercy!”
For a moment Sitric thought Einvarr had not heard him as he stood there his axe poised for the strike.
“He yields,” a warrior roared from the crowd, “Lay down your weapon, my lord.” Sitric thought he recognised the voice as that of one of Einvarr’s companions.
Einvarr’s body had seemed to shake as he took ragged breaths but then his arms slowly fell and the axe dropped from his hands. He spat at the kneeling Sitric glaring at him with burning eyes.
“The next time I will not be so merciful,” he had said before stalking away through the gathered King’s men. As he rose Sitric looked about the hall at the gathered men and noted that few were willing to meet his eyes. He had yielded, the great Sitric Ericsson and his shame was written on the faces of all. Of course the malcontents in the King’s Men, those whose loyalties lay with Helgi in the north soon made themselves known to him and even he was surprised at their number.
An hour had barely passed since the duel when he was summoned to the King’s presence to answer charges of treason. He had drawn his weapon against a member of the King’s family, regardless of the fact that he had been provoked. Ranald had ensured that the whole court was present for his dismissal and exile from Janter. Many were the gloating looks he received from the gathered courtiers in the great hall. Through the years his bluff manner and single minded service to the king had earned him few friends. His disgrace completed, Sitric had retired to his quarters and waited. Before long they came, the troublemakers and younger warriors bored with the idle duties of protecting Ranald. A day later Sitric had managed to purchase five ships from the Harbour-Master of Nanter. His many years of service to Ranald had made him a rich man, from the spoils gained during the early years of the City-State’s war to his retainer as Captain of the King’s Men and a Captain-General of the Realm.
Some three hundred men had resigned their positions and were willing to go with him as soon as he made it known that he was returning to Kalnordia. On the day that they set sail from Nanter he had looked across the teeming port and noticed the tall figure of Einvarr watching him with a burning intensity. In time he hoped to make amends to the man for his deceit but for now he would play his part.
A wave crashed against hull of the ship as it scythed through the sea, sending foaming spray over the bulwarks. Sitric turned from looking out at the sea to glance down at his crew. The wind was with them today and the men were lounging at their benches in idle talk. A few cast furtive looks up at Sitric, sullen looks of dissatisfaction. Sitric understood their anger and wasn’t dismayed in the slightest. A week had passed since the events in Nanter and he had driven them hard on the voyage. He had heard the whispers and the sudden breaks in conversation that happened when he passed were becoming more common. The men had begun to question whether Sitric was the right man to lead them and in light of the way Einvarr so easily defeated him he could not fault them.
In the harsh world of the north, men ruled by strength and skill at arms. Sitric was growing old and his beard was the iron grey of steel. He had held his position in the King’s Men through the will of Ranald and the strict rules that governed Janterian military life. In Kalnordia he would have had to fight off claimants to his leadership as the years had passed. And now that they were going home the old ways of their race were beginning to reassert themselves.
Sitric caught the eye of one of the men who was looking at him boldly. This was where the challenge would come from, thought the old warrior. The man was young and had only recently come south from Kalnordia. He held some sway with the younger warriors who admired his boldness. His name, Kofi Kofisson, was well known amongst the warrior elite. His grandfather and father, both called Kofi, had being famed raiders in their lives. It was the late King Swegn who had ended their raiding and pillaging when he had outlawed the practice some thirty years before. The grandfather Kofi had ended up swinging from a gallows when he had persisted with his reaving. The father showing more sense had retired to his steading on the high fells of Kelstrom. Now Kofi, son of Kofi, son of Kofi was showing all the attributes of his dead grandfather, stupidity. Sitric looked out at the other four ships that were sailing in line with him and knew that to secure his leadership he would need to act decisively.
Squaring his shoulders Sitric walked down the length of the ship heading directly to Kofi Kofisson. The tall, blue eyed, young warrior held the stare of Sitric as he approached. It did not take much to start a fight amongst the highly strung Kalnordians and Sitric begun it in the traditional manner of bully boys everywhere.
“What are you looking at!” he growled at Kofi.
Men scrambled out of the way as Kofi rose to his feet. He was tall, taller than Sitric and the muscles on his arms bulged in his short sleeved tunic. He considered Sitric for a moment, taking in his lined scarred face, the grey hair and the double-bladed battle-axe strapped to his back. It was a blade notched from countless fights but it was also a blade that had gone down in defeat recently.
“An old man who should be sitting at a fire place tending to his aching joints,” Kofi finally replied, his voice full of derision.
“You offer insults with your mouth. Are you prepared to back them up?” Sitric reached back and slung the axe from his shoulder as he spoke. In answer Kofi grinned and called for his sword to be fetched. The shouting began at that stage with the Kalnordians calling out encouragement to their favoured combatants. Wagers were exchanged quickly as they waited for Kofi to arm himself. Sitric breathed deeply and swung his axe in two wide arcs, loosing his muscles. Kofi stepped over a bench and confidently approached Sitric. The confined space of the ship would ensure that the fight would be quick and brutal as there was little room for manoeuvre. Sitric smiled. This time he would fight for real and unfortunately for Kofi Kofisson it was all too real. He lunged at Sitric who deftly side stepped, all the while bringing his axe forward in a savage blisteringly quick overhead swipe that ripped through Kofi’s chest. The young warrior screeched and collapsed in a bloody heap on the deck. Sitric put a foot on the twitching body and looked about at the stunned crew.
“Any one else!” he demanded. Kofi’s body stilled, his life blood spreading out from his prone form.
“Good, now cast this dog to the fishes.”
Sitric walked back up to the prow of the ship with the awed faces of the crew following him. He earned a new name that day as the men began to call him, ‘Old Man Grim’, a name he did not mind for he could hear the respect and fear in their voices.
Hugging the Heskarian coastline the fleet of five ships progressed rapidly. The low lying coast slowly began to rise as they neared Kalnordia, the cliffs rising sheer on their left. The sight seemed to lift their spirits and their voices took on a boisterous tone as they heard the gulls and hawks screech along the cliff face. Still keeping to the coastline, the five ships skirted the hundreds of coves and inlets that dotted the Kalnordian coast. Sitric found himself grinning from ear to ear, he was home. Creswaldyr the Caradian, hailed Sitric from one of the other ships.
“Not long now,” he roared across the short distance that separated them.
Sitric smiled over at his nominal second in command and pointed to a large headland some distance away.
“Beyond lies Tromsfjiord,” he called back.
Creswaldyr whopped and did a little jig bringing good natured shouts of derision from his crew. Creswaldyr was only half Kalnordian and that on his mother’s side. His father had being an exiled Caradian nobleman until assassins of the Caradian king had found him and killed him. Creswaldyr in vengeance had taking a shipload of reivers and gone raiding up the Paster River deep into the Caradian realm. The raid had not been well planned and Creswaldyr would be the first to admit that he was not the brightest but he was a bonny fighter. The raid had ended in disaster with Creswaldyr escaping on foot across the plains of Carad. He ended up in Nanter after a couple of years and sought a position in the Kings Men. Sitric knew him by name and knew him to be a hot head but loyal to those he served. After the fight and his public disgrace, Sitric had been surprised to see Creswaldyr among the men willing to leave with him as he had borne no allegiance to Helgi in the past and was now an officer in the Kings Men.
“You are my captain,” Creswaldyr had said simply.
A day later saw the small fleet round the headland known locally as ‘Wayfarers Return’ and enter the deep calm waters of the fjord. Steep wooded hills rose up on either side of them and the men sang a rousing Kalnordian battle song as they laboured at the oars. Another day will see us home, thought Sitric. The fjord was as long as it was deep. Oars dipped in to the clear glacial waters and propelled the ships forward. Riders were spotted on the shoreline, shadowing their progress. The fjord narrowed before them, the high cliffs jutting out to form a small channel and it was there that they found their passage blocked by a fleet of ten, hundred oared ‘Windreavers’, all bearing the high red prows of the Kelstrom Red Wyrm. Their decks were bristling with armed men. It is time, thought Sitric and ordered his totem to be displayed.
Men hurried to the prow and lifting an object from a sack cloth began to fix it to the prow. The hollowed out piece slotted on to the upright prow and it took five men to fix it in place. It was ancient, painted black but pitted from battle and storm. The Black Wyrm of Collsfell once more was displayed and the men looked upon it with awe. Sitric had brought it with him when he went south to seek his fortune in the Kings Men. He was the last of his line and it was fitting that his forefathers’ standard went with him. The Black Wyrm held a legendary status in the north and Sitric’s ancestors had sailed under it through countless generations. The crew bent to the oar with a new vigour, they were now part of that legend, for they could all now boast that they had sailed under the Black Wyrm. Where most clans would replicate their standards to fit all their ships there had only ever been one Black Wyrm. The ships cut through the water, closing the distance between them and the other fleet. Within shouting distance, Sitric ordered the oars to be banked. This was the crucial moment. Ranald’s plan would work or fail in the next few moments. Sitric had three hundred men who had witnessed his fight with Einvarr and could tell of his disgrace. He gently caressed the lacquered neck of the Black Wyrm, waiting for a sign. A deep silence filled the fjord, broken only, by the gentle slap of water against the hulls of the ships. There was a stir on the fleet blockading the fjord and a tall figure appeared at the prow of the largest ship in the fleet.
“Who sails in the King’s waters,” he called out. There was a slight edge in the man’s voice no doubt brought about by the sight of the Black Wyrm. The deeds of the Black Wyrm were sung in every hall in Kalnordia, tales of fire and destruction.
“We come in peace seeking service with King Helgi,” Sitric responded.
“Name yourself.”
“It is Sitric ‘Blood-axe’, who returns,” Sitric declared, using the name that had been given to him all those years ago when he led a raid on the pirates at Barsen, a raid that the reivers of Barsen were only recovering from now. His words elicited a clamour of voices from the blockade. Men were suddenly packing the prows of their ships to catch a sight of the famous old warrior.
Suddenly the large ship began to move forward as its crew dipped oars. Sitric took a deep breath and looked across at Creswaldyr who in turn looked anxious.
The tall figure still stood at the prow and as it drew near Sitric could see that man was old, older than he but strongly built and attired in a byrnie of chainmail and thick leather breeches. A large round shield was strapped to his back and his face was protected by metal cheek guards strapped at his chin. He wore a coif of mail under his helmet and it flowed down to protect his neck. This is the king, thought Sitric; no one else could afford such an array of armour.

ManaCorp

Nice work, Kepp it up!

I look forward to it on the shelves

ManaCorp

Geez, Keep* is what it should be, Sorry I seem to be very clumsy today.

rosenthalpiano

being = been

"of support" should be omitted
I suggest a comma after "Einvarr" otherwise the reader might think the words of support found their way to BOTH Einvarr and the King-in-exile. Which brings me to my next point... I'm uncertain about who, exactly, the King-in-exile is.

Again, being = been

Kalnordians' (posessive plural? or is it supposed to be singular?)

gods (it's a plural noun, not a posessive singular)

Try it this way for better flow: The Holmgangr was formed, the sacred square where two warriors fought to settle their grievances.

"on" should be omitted

"gathered men" can be omitted (it's redundant)

No comma (except maybe after "Ericsson")

I'll continue this later.

__________________
If you add a little to a little, and then do it again, soon that little shall be much. - Hesiod

If I critique you, please return the favor.

Prologue: In The Tower
Chapter One: Feathers in a Hat
Chapter Two: A Wooden Box
Chapter Three: Her Majesty

Svalbard

Thanks for the feedback and I appreciate it. This chapter is in the middle of the novel and is a first draft.

I have always had a problem with been and being. Structure is also something that I always look forward to improving. Again, thank you. Here is the final part of the chapter.


“There is a beach just to your left. Steer your ship to it. We will beach and talk,” the warrior instructed Sitric across the expanse of water.
Sitric nodded and ordered the ship put about. He gestured to Creswaldyr to stand to and wait. The two ships kept pace with each other and ground to a halt near a small shingle. The crews leapt to the ground and heaved the boats on to the beach. The richly, attired warrior stalked about his men shouting out orders at them to fetch wood to start a fire. Similarly, Sitric instructed his men to make a camp but away from the others.
“Join me,” the warrior beckoned to Sitric.
Approaching him Sitric noted that five armed men stood close and it was then he knew. This was Helgi.
“I am the king and I welcome you home,” Helgi said, offering a cup to Sitric.
Sitric took it and drained the sweet mead. It was the custom in Kalnordia, as in most other societies, that when the guest cup was offered and accepted then the guest could come to no harm whilst under the protection of his host. Benches were brought from the ship and Helgi gestured for Sitric to sit.
“Food will be prepared shortly,” Helgi said removing his helmet to reveal a handsome open face.
“Take your ease. The day is well advanced and we shall camp here tonight and proceed to Tromsfjiord in the morning.” The words were spoken easily but Helgi’s keen eyes appraised Sitric openly. For a while they made small talk and Helgi refrained from enquiring as to the reason for Sitric’s presence in the north. He must be itching to ask me, thought Sitric, marvelling at the man’s ease and nonchalance. Two more cups were brought to them.
Sitric sipped the heady mead and his eyes lit up at taste.
“Yes, from Rodelmar, they still make the best there.” Helgi’s words were like honey and despite himself Sitric found that he was enjoying the king’s company. As soon as the food was eaten the conversation turned to more serious matters.
“I am interested to hear your tale, ‘Blood-axe’,” Helgi finally said.
It was quickly told and Sitric spoke honestly. He told of the fight with Einvarr and his dismissal form court. He even told the tale of Kofi Kofisson’s death. Helgi nodded at that.
“You did the right thing even if it was risky. A captain must have complete control of his ship or else disaster will follow.”
Once the tale was told Helgi continued to look at Sitric searching his face for falsehood and of course there was none. Sitric had indeed spoken the truth. He had exchanged harsh word with Einvarr and fought with him. His public display of disgrace that followed was still raw with Sitric and the hurt and anger in his voice when he had relayed this was all too real. Helgi could see no trickery here but he was still concerned.
“Tell me for I admit that I am intrigued by this. Why did you speak up for me? Yes, you hail from Kelstrom originally but your family were always a law on to themselves and paid little heed to whatever Jarl ruled the land,” Helgi asked, stoking the fire with a stick.
Sitric paused; this would be the difficult part for what he said now would be all fabrication.
“Well to tell you the truth I cared little for what had occurred here. It is a score more of years since I trod this land and I considered myself a Janterian in all but name. But when Einvarr came south he began to sow disquiet amongst my men. He pleads with King Ranald to send an army north but the king does not listen. He has more pressing concerns nearer home. But to placate Einvarr he gave him a commission in the Kings Men, against my wishes. I knew I would have no peace from him and so it proved. The only way to silence him was to shame him in front of his peers. And to that I needed to defeat him. I failed,” Sitric said. He had rehearsed this little speech in his mind. Ranald had told him to keep it simple.
“So it was not done out of any great loyalty to me,” Helgi said.
“No.”
Helgi cast the stick in to the fire.
“I admire your honesty ‘Blood-axe’. It is refreshing to hear. I must retire as it has been a long day and an anxious one too. We will talk more on the morrow. Good night.” And with that Helgi rose and made for the tent that had been erected on the beach for his use.
Sitric sighed as he watched him go. He believed his words had rung true with the king and on the morrow he would ask Helgi to take him in to service with his war-band. It would be difficult to kill him, thought Sitric. There was an air about him that made people like him. But then Sitric had killed people he liked before.
For his part Helgi sat in his tent and pondered the tale Sitric had told him. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see a tall ancient figure with wispy white hair falling down over weak watery eyes. It was the Runecaster, a man who had being old when Helgi was a child. He was so old that his given name was forgotten and all called him by his title. Since he could remember the man had cast the runes for Helgi’s family and read the omens in them.
“He plays you false, my lord,” the Runecaster said, his voice low pitched and cracked.
“I know.”
“Then you must have him slain.”
“Maybe, but I am intrigued,” Helgi said.
The Runecaster looked perplexed but Helgi would say no more. The shaman backed out of the tent his voice a sibilant whisper behind him.
“Kill him or he will be your doom.”
Helgi shivered. The Runecaster rarely spoke false. It was he that had first spoke of wresting the King’s Ring from Swegn and over the months and then years Helgi had listened until he believed the Runecaster’s predictions. But he was still interested in Sitric and what he could learn from him about Ranald’s plans.
In his youth Helgi had journeyed to the court of the ‘Black’ Emperor of Dalaria to earn his fortune. He had gained a place on the Cosican guard and eventually rose to the rank of a general. For years he had fought the Emperors wars against the Misians and the Federation of Nations. On sea and in jungle he had been victorious. But tales from the north spoke of a great warrior by the name of ‘Blood-axe’ and Helgi had sought out every trader from the north for word of this man. In time, Helgi had returned home to Kalnordia to find that no one had heard of his deeds in the far south. The skalds still sang of this Sitric ‘Blood-axe’ even though he now served the Janterian king. Helgi had felt an overwhelming emotion of envy for this man and anger.
“The Wicca man is right. Kill him,” a voice said from the entrance of the tent.
It was Olver, his sword brother and companion through the long years in Dalaria. Helgi looked squarely at Olver and gestured for him to enter.
“Remember the ‘Black’ Emperor and how he dealt with his enemies?” Helgi asked.
“Yes he had them executed.”
“Only after they rebelled. Usually he would lavish gifts on them and keep them close at court. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, he would say. We know that Sitric his here on some mission from Ranald. Better the snake you know than the unseen one slithering through the grass.”