Blood & Fire

Chapter Sixteen | Alfheim

After journeying on foot another day, the travel-weary warriors had reached the forest's edge. With the forest's canopy no longer hovering over him, Rorik's eyes lifted to the red-streaked sky. It was the first time in days that he had felt the sun on his skin. He released a sigh through his nose, savoring the warmth seeping into his flesh. Before them was a flat clearing of knee-deep grass, a stark contrast to the wave-like terrain of the forest.

Brant surveyed the land before them. Just beyond them was the border of Alfheim. A thick wall of trees ran around the perimeter of the kingdom, concealing the village that lies within. Brant silently motioned with his hands and began to wade through the wheat-colored grass. His brothers followed right behind him.

An arrow sliced through the air, skimming the skin of Rorik's boot. Everyone froze in place. It was a clear warning shot. Rorik looked down where the arrow penetrated the soft dirt and admired the craftsmanship of the arrow. Then, his eyes lifted and scanned the thick patch of trees before him, searching for the archer. Every man slowly raised his palms in the air as a sign of peace.

"Toss your weapons," A voice called out to them. They quickly obeyed, throwing their swords and axes into the grass. Rorik stripped the bow and quiver off his back but made no move to rid himself of the hidden dagger tucked away in his boots.

Five burly warriors, scarcely clad in buckskin and armor, emerged from the safety of their borders. Two of the men held battle axes poised above their heads, ready to be thrown at the first sign of trouble. The archer was at the center, his arrow nocked and his bowstring pulled tightly. Two of his fellow comrades flanked his right, bearing carefully crafted swords and daggers.

"We come in peace," Brant called out. The Alfheim clansmen continued their stealth approach.

"What's your business, then?" The brute with the battle ax called back. He was the largest of his clansmen, with a crooked nose and blue tattoos on both sides of his head. He was bald, and not from shaving his head voluntarily.

"We seek an alliance with Jarl Frode. We are the sons of Jarl Asmund. He was slain by Eadric of Oppland."

Rorik heard one of the men curse under his breath. The Alfheim clansmen lowered their weapons slightly.

"Chief Frode despises Eadric. He will want to hear what you have to say. Leave your weapons here. We will have them retrieved for you. Follow me," The archer spoke, authority laced in his words. He turned on his heels, strapped his bow onto his back, and started for the border. Everyone followed him.

*~*~*~*~

Rorik, his brothers, and their men followed the Alfheim clansmen into the heart of the village. Wary glances were cast at the strange men by the woman folk scurrying by. They were ushered into the longhouse, which stood as the focal point of the quaint village. The archer left the group of men, disappearing into one of the inner chambers of the longhouse. Rorik and his comrades stood huddled together at its entrance, silently taking in everything around them.

Rorik could feel the cold steel of his dagger resting against his ankle. He was prepared for any outcome. One wrong twitch of a hand or flash of iron and he would brandish his weapon. He had not come to fight, but he was ready for it all the same.

The archer returned and behind him followed a man with a long, bushy white beard. It contrasted against his tan and weathered face. The archers pace was quicker and he reached the group first. Rorik's observant eye noticed the Jarl had a slight limp that hindered his swiftness of foot.

"What brings you all the way to our lands," He spoke, when he finally reached them. His voice was a low rumble.

"Jarl Frode, I am Rorik son of Jarl Asmund. These are my brothers Brant and Vidar. The rest of these men swore fealty to my father and served him loyally. We've come to reforge an alliance that you and my father forged many years past."

The Jarl grunted, causing his protruding, round belly to jolt.

"You must be weary from your travels. Come. Dine with me. I will give you refuge here for the night. Then you can tell me all."

~*~*~*~

Slave girls surrounded them, keeping their goblets filled to the brim with ale. Rorik sat in the middle of his two brothers, while the rest of his men faced him on the opposite side of the elongated table. Platters with a variety of meats and cheeses were sprawled before them.

The weary travelers made quick work with their fingers of all that was offered to them. They satiated their hunger and regained their spent energy. At the head of the narrow table sat Jarl Frode. He watched in silence as his guests ate and drank to their hearts content.

"Now that you have filled your bellies and quenched your thirst, tell me all," Jarl Frode spoke, methodically stroking his beard.

Vidar rested his forearms on the table and tilted his torso in the Jarl's direction.

"We were attacked by Jarl Eadric unprovoked. We had broken bread with him and his men just days before he raided our lands. Our father fought valiantly to protect his people. Eadric snuck up behind him and ran him through," Vidar said, anger tinging his words.

"We seek your aid. We lost many good men. Our numbers have weakened. Help us avenge our father," Brant added.

"Hmm," Jarl Frode hummed.

"So it seems Eadric has followed in his father's path. I am sorry for your loss. I will agree to this alliance under one condition."

Jarl Frode paused, lifted his hand and waited for a slender slave girl to heed his beckoning. She dipped down low, and angled her ear towards his lips. The Jarl whispered something indiscernible in her ears. She bowed to him and quickly disappeared to do his bidding.

Rorik looked to both of his brothers, exchanging discreet questioning looks with each other. The slave girl returned mere minutes later. There was a young woman trailing her heels. She was decorated in necklaces, bracelets, rings and earrings. Her brown hair was wrapped in braids around her head that twisted into a knot at the base of her skull. Her skin was fair and her figure was straight and slender.

"This is my daughter, Astrid."

Astrid's eyes roamed over all the men before her, and she offered each one a tight- lipped smile. When her eyes finally found Rorik her smile instantly blossomed. Their eyes locked. He waited for her to look away and continue her survey of his men. Rorik's mouth suddenly felt robbed of all moisture. His gaze darted to the Jarl, severing the intense stare.

"To secure our alliance I will offer her hand to any of the son's of Asmund that she so chooses."

Rorik's heart dropped into his stomach.