him. That’s why his luck had turned so bad. Asgrim Wood-Nose? No. Asgrim Oath-breaker. Asgrim Ill-luck. Realization dawned on Harald that his future was changing. They couldn’t be oath-breakers if Asgrim was already an oath-breaker. It was so simple once he realized it. The gods were giving him an opportunity. All he had to do was take it.
He walked out of the main complex and stepped out into the sunlight, feeling better for being away from inside that damned unholy stone building. He was onto something, he was certain of that. The men were frightened. And well they should be; spirits haunted this place. They didn’t want to stay here, but that ugly bastard forced them to. The others must also be feeling the same way Harald was. There was no plunder, nothing worth coming all this way. But —they could raid the village on the other side of the island. At least then, they would have women. Butthole that he was, the captain never let them raid villages or take slaves. He was soft. Despite his ugly looks, he was soft and weak. That’s why his own wife had betrayed him. He probably couldn’t get it up anyway.
His thoughts tumbled about inside his head as he wandered without purpose. He was vaguely aware that he had walked in the direction of the piggery. The animals had all been slaughtered by the monks, their carcasses left to rot where they had been killed. He shook his head in disgust. Who killed pigs just to kill pigs? Some of the men were searching the piggery. Others rooted about the hay. Harald leaned against a rickety wooden fence and absentmindedly watched them.
Who would still be loyal to Asgrim? Who had yet to come to the same realization he had? He listed the most obvious in his head: Gorm, Steiner, Gils, Snorri, and at least ten more. The most obvious of all though was Asgrim’s freak brother. That giant idiot would be the greatest danger. He may have been stupid, but Bjorn was also huge, strong, and a better fighter than any other man present. Harald snorted. Well, maybe not a better fighter, but he was bigger and stronger.
A plan began to form in his mind. They were far from home, they couldn’t go back, and the captain’s luck had turned bad. There was no way he would ever raise the earl’s wergild. Even worse, the place was haunted, and if they stayed, they might all die there. On the other hand, the longer they stayed and found nothing, the more likely it would become that the others would begin to see this, as well. In time, they would all come to the same conclusion Harald had; they would have to, also. And Harald could ease them along that path, subtly, safely, until enough of them recognized the truth.
Without Asgrim, they could sail home again. But first, they could make a series of small raids along the coast, make some profit, earn some fame, and get the lads some women. That’ll make ’em happy.
Harald smirked, congratulating himself on starting to think like the leader he knew he was. Like a captain.
* * *
Bjorn was right. An evil presence did lurk at the bottom of the stairs. Asgrim could feel it from where he stood at the top, holding a lit torch. Behind him, Bjorn and four others waited: Gorm Louse-Beard and three of the steadier men. They carried picks, hammers, and shovels they had found in one of the workshops.
Never in his life had Asgrim felt anything like this. The air was cold and wet, almost misty. Even the stairs were wet. Asgrim bent down and ran his finger in the water on the stone stairs, then tasted it. Salt. Salt water slicked the stairs.
How was that possible?
And then he saw something else on the stairs, vegetation of some type. He stared at it in confusion for several moments, then bent down and picked it up, holding it close to his eye.
Seaweed?
He let it fall from his fingers and hesitated, glaring at the darkness below. He knew he couldn’t keep standing there, too terrified to move. It wasn’t manly. Tremors ran down his body, and he actually shivered.
He walked out of the main complex and stepped out into the sunlight, feeling better for being away from inside that damned unholy stone building. He was onto something, he was certain of that. The men were frightened. And well they should be; spirits haunted this place. They didn’t want to stay here, but that ugly bastard forced them to. The others must also be feeling the same way Harald was. There was no plunder, nothing worth coming all this way. But —they could raid the village on the other side of the island. At least then, they would have women. Butthole that he was, the captain never let them raid villages or take slaves. He was soft. Despite his ugly looks, he was soft and weak. That’s why his own wife had betrayed him. He probably couldn’t get it up anyway.
His thoughts tumbled about inside his head as he wandered without purpose. He was vaguely aware that he had walked in the direction of the piggery. The animals had all been slaughtered by the monks, their carcasses left to rot where they had been killed. He shook his head in disgust. Who killed pigs just to kill pigs? Some of the men were searching the piggery. Others rooted about the hay. Harald leaned against a rickety wooden fence and absentmindedly watched them.
Who would still be loyal to Asgrim? Who had yet to come to the same realization he had? He listed the most obvious in his head: Gorm, Steiner, Gils, Snorri, and at least ten more. The most obvious of all though was Asgrim’s freak brother. That giant idiot would be the greatest danger. He may have been stupid, but Bjorn was also huge, strong, and a better fighter than any other man present. Harald snorted. Well, maybe not a better fighter, but he was bigger and stronger.
A plan began to form in his mind. They were far from home, they couldn’t go back, and the captain’s luck had turned bad. There was no way he would ever raise the earl’s wergild. Even worse, the place was haunted, and if they stayed, they might all die there. On the other hand, the longer they stayed and found nothing, the more likely it would become that the others would begin to see this, as well. In time, they would all come to the same conclusion Harald had; they would have to, also. And Harald could ease them along that path, subtly, safely, until enough of them recognized the truth.
Without Asgrim, they could sail home again. But first, they could make a series of small raids along the coast, make some profit, earn some fame, and get the lads some women. That’ll make ’em happy.
Harald smirked, congratulating himself on starting to think like the leader he knew he was. Like a captain.
* * *
Bjorn was right. An evil presence did lurk at the bottom of the stairs. Asgrim could feel it from where he stood at the top, holding a lit torch. Behind him, Bjorn and four others waited: Gorm Louse-Beard and three of the steadier men. They carried picks, hammers, and shovels they had found in one of the workshops.
Never in his life had Asgrim felt anything like this. The air was cold and wet, almost misty. Even the stairs were wet. Asgrim bent down and ran his finger in the water on the stone stairs, then tasted it. Salt. Salt water slicked the stairs.
How was that possible?
And then he saw something else on the stairs, vegetation of some type. He stared at it in confusion for several moments, then bent down and picked it up, holding it close to his eye.
Seaweed?
He let it fall from his fingers and hesitated, glaring at the darkness below. He knew he couldn’t keep standing there, too terrified to move. It wasn’t manly. Tremors ran down his body, and he actually shivered.
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