Einarr Stigandersen and the Jotunhall: The Adventures of Einarr Stigandersen, #1

EINARR STIGANDERSEN AND THE JOTÜNHALL

BY ALLENE R. LOWREY

EINARR STIGANDERSEN AND THE JOTÜNHALL

Ebook Edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Allene R. Lowrey

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

Cover art by Will Eyster, Copyright ©2019

Maps by Allene R. Lowrey, created in Campaign Creator 3+

www.tangledthreadspublishing.com

For John, who convinced me to try serials

And for Tristan, so he will always have

something good to read

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1 A Sudden Squall

Chapter 2 Aftermath

Chapter 3 In the Hall of the Sea King

Chapter 4 Funeral Rites

Chapter 5 Tafl

Chapter 6 Winter Hunt

Chapter 7 Feast in the Hall

Chapter 8 Dance Fight!

Chapter 9 Spring Thaw

Chapter 10 Runaway Bride

Chapter 11 Capture

Chapter 12 Negotiations

Chapter 13 Glíma

Chapter 14 Setting Sail

Chapter 15 Assault on the Open Seas

Chapter 16 Kalalintu Island

Chapter 17 A Daring Rescue

Chapter 18 Eternal Storm

Chapter 19 Svartlauf Island

Chapter 20 Fimbulvulf

Chapter 21 The Search

Chapter 22 The Cave

Chapter 23 Dwarven Tunnels

Chapter 24 Giant’s Palace

Chapter 25 Treasure Room

Chapter 26 The Isinntog

Chapter 27 Chase

Chapter 28 Escape from Svartlauf

Chapter 29 Field Medicine

Chapter 30 Kem Harbor

Chapter 31 Physician

Chapter 32 To Catch a Thief

Chapter 33 Homecoming

Links

Appendices

Appendix A: Glossary

Appendix B: The Legend of the Isinntog

Appendix C: Maps

Kjell Island

Kalalintu Islands

Svartlauf Island

Acknowledgements

CHAPTER 1

A SUDDEN SQUALL

IT WAS THE END of the last raid before the winter’s ice, and yet the sun was bright and the weather warm. The longship Vidofnir skated across the smooth surface of the ocean under sail, the sounds of merriment carrying across the water from its deck. They would live well this winter. Einarr leaned against the side, drinking in the scene as he sipped from the skin in his hand.

On the aftcastle, a group of six sat casting the bones. Big, heavyset Erik threw down the cup. Eight!

No way. That’s three eights in a row, Sivid objected.

Read ’em and weep. He lifted the cup to reveal a three and a five. That puts you out, don’t it?

Sivid laughed. A few people among the onlookers groaned, but everyone on board knew he was awful at dice.

Captain Stigander’s deep belly laugh sounded from amidships. Remember how I handle the fleecing of crewmen, gents.

How could they forget? Einarr laughed. His father had a habit of reminding them. In fairness, it was uncommonly generous. If you gambled all your money away before the next raid, whoever won it from you had to loan it back – with interest, of course, but not as much as the counting houses charged. He hopped down off the railing and scanned the horizon. Besides, I’m sure Erik could use the help this winter.

Always, the big man boomed.

Come on, let’s have a cask, someone called.

Haven’t you had enough?

Oh, come now, dear, don’t be like that, Astrid said, flowing out of the crowd toward the Captain. Einarr’s black-haired beauty of a stepmother was also the Vidofnir’s battle chanter. It’s clear sailing all around, and not a thing between us and port.

A cheer went up from among the men. She was as much a sailor as any of the rest of them.

Captain’s right, though. Bardr spoke up, appearing at Stigander’s left. Aren’t you on duty?

Most of the men laughed. The one who’d called for a cask grumbled, as did one or two others. Einarr took half a step forward to find the shirker, and stopped. A cold wind tickled the back of his neck. He looked up, alarmed, and scanned the horizon.

Make fast the rigging! came the call from the crow’s nest at the same moment Einarr spotted the dark clouds billowing up from the south.

Somethin’ unnatural ’bout that storm, Einarr said. He couldn’t tell if anyone heard. He had work to do now, too, in the face of a squall like that.

The storm rolled in as quickly as it appeared, and the bright light of midday was replaced by dim twilight and stinging rain before they had finished battening down. Somewhere in there, Astrid began to sing, warming their arms and bolstering their strength with her song magic. Einarr looked up to scrub the water from his brow with a beefy forearm and nearly dropped the rope in his hand.

Hey! His crewmates shouted their objection even as he tightened his grip, but his attention was out over the water.

Oy! He slapped the man ahead of him on the shoulder and pointed out across the waves. Do you see what I see?

His crewmate nodded. Draken, dead ahead!

Cresting the waves ahead of them, the prow of another longship cut toward them. It’s dragon’s head was oddly misshapen and painted black. The unknown ship approached the Vidofnir at a rapid clip, and now he could make out the foreshortening of the snout. Not precisely a dragon’s head. More like a demon’s. Einarr felt a chill run up his spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

Make ready! he shouted. He could just make out movement from the deck of the enemy ship – and enemies they were. They were readying boarding lines. In this weather! The call went up from other parts of the ship, as well.

Astrid’s song became a hymn of battle. Einarr felt the muscles in his shoulders tense as the warmth in his blood began to stoke the battle-fury. With the initial burst of strength, he secured the rope that before five men had trouble pulling.

A boarding line caught the side of the Vidofnir.

"Grendelings, forward!" he heard from the enemy ship. More boarding lines flew across the remaining feet between their boats. The sound of scraping steel rang out from all sides, and Einarr felt the familiar, comfortable weight of his long sword in his hand.

The axe-men from the Grendel raced across the already sodden boarding lines or leapt across the gap, landing with a heavy thud on the Vidofnir‘s deck. Einarr slashed at the Grendeling in front of him and steel rang against steel. The scoundrel took half a step back before swinging again with his axe. Einarr twisted and felt the wind of the axe’s passing against his shoulder. He brought his sword down on his opponent’s wrist. The axe, with hand still attached, clattered to the deck. In one motion, Einarr brought Sinmora back up and slashed at the villain’s throat. The blade cut deep. Ein!

The figure that collapsed before him seemed more monster than man. He could barely hear Astrid over the clash of steel, but her song still worked its magic.

He lunged at a monster that stood just two steps from one of the Grendel’s boarding lines, and the blow sent the raider tumbling into the icy deep between the two ships. Tveir!

The Vidofnir pitched over a larger wave. Einarr’s boots began to slide on the rain-slick deck as it lurched. Alarm overrode fury for an instant and allowed him to catch his footing. The sea would not embrace Einarr this day.

The fury did not reassert itself. Suddenly clear-headed, he looked around. The raiders – now clearly men again – were fleeing back to their own ship. Cowards. He heard an axe clatter to the deck of the forecastle – someone surrendering. Evidently, the Grendel wasn’t willing to wait for all its crew. The boarding lines were already flying. Something’s wrong. Where’s Mother? Why isn’t she singing us down?

A circle of Vidofnings gathered on the aftcastle, and he could see his father’s back where the man knelt. Einarr shoved his way back, afraid he already knew what had happened.

The crowd around Captain Stigander was thick before Einarr got there, and as he elbowed through to the center of the circle a single sob sounded over the pounding rain, shaking the old man’s shoulders. Einarr looked down: a pair of gold coins already held his stepmother’s eyes closed. Blood stained her kirtle and pooled under her back. He felt his own throat tighten, but did not ask the question that tore at it. He stepped around the outside of the clear space to stand behind his father and rest a hand on his shoulder.

And who is manning the oars? He asked instead, his voice husky. Let’s move, people.

CHAPTER 2

AFTERMATH

THE STORM SLUICED the blood from the deck as the Vidofnir rowed, searching for the edge of it, hoping nothing further happened. Astrid’s body was tied to the deck where she fell. It would be too much to bear for any of them, let alone Father, if she were to wash overboard.

Even with the sail furled the mast creaked ominously until they had cleared the storm. Once they dropped the sea anchor, most of the crew swarmed over the ship, checking for damage. Einarr helped his father tend his stepmother’s body under the Captain’s awning. Somehow, she was the only casualty from their ship, and the Grendel had paid in blood for the honor. This doesn’t make sense, he blurted, arranging Astrid’s arms so that her hands lay folded on her stomach.

It never does, son. Stigander’s voice was raw, his eyes bloodshot. Astrid may have been his fourth wife, but her loss was just as bitter as Grimhildur’s had been six years ago. He stepped up toward the bedroll-turned-bier, a pot of ointment in his hands.

That’s… that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, Father. It was unreasonable to expect him to be paying attention to the oddness of the Grendel’s attack – even if he was the Captain – under the circumstances.

You don’t have to stay. I can take care of this.

Yes, Father. Heaving a sigh, Einarr straightened and stepped softly out from under the canvas. He had liked Astrid, dammit, but Father required him to put on a public face while Stigander could not.

His steps rang out when he moved amidships. The crew would mourn later; the ship came first. He spotted Bardr standing near the mast. How bad is it?

Bad enough. I think this is the worst of it. He patted the column of wood. We’ll have to replace it this winter. We can reinforce, but with the time we’ll lose to that we might not make Silringshold before the ice sets in.

Einarr blew air through his thick red moustache, shoving aside a momentary pang of regret for Raenshold – the home he had never seen. What are our other options? Is there another friendly hold nearby?

Have to check the charts to be sure.

He knit his brow. His father had the charts, so far as Einarr was aware, and now was not the time to disturb him.

Three men pulled Erik up from over the side of the boat. Two more men were waiting with wool blankets. Erik shook his soaked head as he accepted them.

What happened, Einarr and Bardr asked at the same moment.

Damage below the water line. Don’t think there’s enough wood to patch it and the mast. Wherever we’re going, we’ll have to row.

The men were not going to like that. Hel, Einarr didn’t like that with no land in sight.

A slow, heavy step sounded from behind them and Stigander’s blond head glowed nearly white in the sun. We’ll make for Kjell Hall.

***

Everyone, even the Captain, took their turn at the oars, and with every silent dip of the paddles beneath the water’s surface they remembered Astrid and her song magic. Occasionally someone would try to get a rowing chant going, but none of them had trained in the song magic and it was a weak, tremulous thing. Those who were not rowing were subdued, warring within themselves between gratitude that they hadn’t lost more and grief for the giant presence that had vanished.

After a week of rowing the Vidofnir slipped into the bay and up the river that led to Kjell Hall, its shallow keel skimming across the water’s surface. It was good that the raid had been a success, for Kjell Hall was the hold of Jarl Hroaldr, and even an old friend did not winter at the King’s Hall without