Choices

By Alexander F. Patterson

Richard Örlendr died over a thousand years ago. He lived in Norway during the Germanic Iron Age and trusted in the judgement of the gods. That is not to say he did not question them when they gave him a dragon, nor did he blindly follow their orders when they told him to go to war. But, when one god told him to kill another, Richard was unable to rely on their wisdom. He had to trust in the Norns.

The Norns guide fate. They shape it past, present, and future; however, it is not set in stone. A hero can change his fate. A hero can chose his destiny. The Norns can weave a new life, but what happens if the Norns are dead? Do heroes have greater freedom? Or are they locked into their destiny since there is no one left to weave?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alexander F. Patterson
• Release date: Dec 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519943491

Alexander F. Patterson

Alexander F. Patterson’s work has appeared in several literary journals including “The Corner Club Press.” He is currently enrolled at Baylor University, where he is studying to become a high school teacher.

Book preview

Prologue

"I need you to hear his story –do not interrupt. I am not sure how long I have. This is the first time I have tried breaching the Seidr, so I may disappear any second. I need you to hear his story. He’s been forgotten, and I can’t live with that thought. Before I begin though, you must understand this: who I am does not matter. How you tell my story is not important. Call me a villain, a murderer –all of those lies were levied against me in life –I do not care. All I care about is Aiden. He needs to be remembered, because otherwise... otherwise it will be like he never lived. And that cannot be my punishment. I will not allow him to die in obscurity because of what I did.

Promise me you will remember him.

Good.

Book I

Dreki

Chapter 1

Questions

Our story began like any other: with the call of a God.

I was chasing a grey fox through the forest. The trees shattered into ash at my touch, but I did not stop. I did not hesitate as the slashing branches crumbled against my skin. Something pulled me toward the fox, a desire, a need to follow it –to catch it. I had to keep running.

The ash burned against my lungs. It blocked my vision, filled the air until only the tail of the fox pierced the black. The dream shifted, but still I ran forward. The walls of ash slipped around me and turned to stone. My feet failed to grip the sliding rock. I fell back, landing against the rocky slope.

The fox vanished. I screamed, and rolled over. My fingers scrambled against the stone as I raced along the path. My feet slammed against a wall. I sat up, panting, but unhurt and looked around me. I was in a hall.

Torchlight flickered in the distance, illuminating only the iron outline of a gate. A breeze laughed past and pushed my cloak behind me. There was no other way out.

I stood and approached the gate. Through it was another room. Painted along the floor were roots. The roots curved up along the walls and ceiling to form a knotted tree above me. An overturned basin lay against one wall. A skeleton was pinned beneath it. Its bones completely free of flesh. Small teeth marks adorned the remains.

Two more bodies lay on the floor. One, a skeleton like the first, had one hand draped over a spear which protruded from its chest. The other, this one fleshed, sat propped against the wall. It looked like a woman. A golden bracelet encircled her wrist. The dead woman’s eyes were fixed on a tattered cloth in her lap.

The gate slammed closed behind me. I turned and ran to the metal bars. After pointlessly slamming my fist against the unyielding iron, Curse the Norns, I swore.

Something growled behind me. I whirled around to see the fox standing beside the dead woman. It growled again then flicked its head toward the cloth. I did not move. The fox barked once, and bit the cloth, tearing it free from the woman’s grasp. A black egg rolled onto the ground. The floor collapsed where it touched the stone. The cracks spread and before I could scream, the tendrils reached me.

Darkness consumed my vision.

I opened my eyes. I was in a clearing, a long forgotten battlefield. The fox stood beside a tree stump on the far side. Tattered banners of long forgotten kingdoms hung between us. Bone crunched beneath my feet as I walked forward. The fox regarded me, its golden eyes glinted in the soft sunlight.

Every age has a Lífþrasir, the skulls whispered below me, Every age has a hope.

The fox pushed the black egg in front of itself.

Every age has a temptation, the skulls warned.

Live as a hero, the dead called from Valhalla, Live as our bane’s demise.

Live as his Líf, the fox commanded.

The egg shattered.

I was startled awake by a log crackling in the flames. Next to me slept my cousin Eadric, and my uncle Cyneric. My father was still out. He was a bard, and had been asked to perform for a few of the merchants last night. I yawned, unworried about him.

We were traveling to Vatn with an Örlendr caravan. It was nice to be amongst our own kind, but we would have to leave them soon. Our plan was to stay with them until Vatn, and from there we would leave the caravan.

They would continue north while we would head south to Eik. Eik was having a festival to celebrate the city’s hundredth anniversary and the naming of its new jarl. We were going to witness a historic event, but more importantly we were going to present ourselves to the new jarl. My father would play his songs and Cyneric would perform his ‘street magic’ –these were simply tricks of the light and misdirection, Cyneric was not an actual mage –for the jarl and with any luck we would be placed in his permanent employment.

But we had not yet passed Varric Falls and Vatn was still many miles away, so, for the moment, we traveled with the caravan.

I tried to sit up, but a lump pressed against my chest. I looked down. It was the egg!

Odin! I cursed.

The dream was real. That fox was real. The egg was real.  And it was here! Thor, I cannot believe I did not scream that morning, but I somehow managed to keep enough composure to decide to take the egg outside before panicking.

I somehow managed to put the egg in my pack and sneak out of the tent undetected. Unfortunately, I was only able to make it a few paces outside the camp before I was ambushed.

Rah! A man shouted and leapt in front of me. My moment of fear was quickly replaced by one of relief. It was just Sigeberht; he was a mercenary. As an Örlendr he was prohibited from serving in the queen’s army so he decided to lend his services out as hired muscle, and spent his nights patrolling the camp’s borders.

Hello, Sigeberht, I stopped beside him.

Blast it Richard, you almost scared me half to death, Sigeberht raised himself from his fighting position.

How could I scare him? I wondered.

He was a monstrosity amongst men.  An open fur vest exposed his hairy chest, causing him to strike an even more imposing figure at his apparent immunity to the cold and frost.

What, you thought I was a draugr did you?

No, Sigeberht scoffed. But you can’t be sneaking up on a guardsman like that. We’re on the lookout you know.

Berht, danger won’t be coming from inside the camp.

He frowned at the mention of his nickname, You don’t know that.

Well, if a draugr did come from inside the camp, chances are we’d be dead, and if we are all dead there wouldn’t be any point in calling out the alarm.

Not necessarily, Sigeberht said.

Can you name a time when raising the alarm worked after everyone was dead?

Sigeberht chuckled under his breath, There was this one time, back before I joined up, when—

I’m sorry, Sigeberht, but I need to get going, I interrupted him. I was anxious to inspect the egg in the morning light.

I’ll tell you tonight then, Sigeberht stepped aside.

Tonight, I promised. Even though it might not seem like it, Sigeberht was a good guard. And a good person.

I had to push my way through a thick bramble of trees before reaching the stream. If we were traveling without the caravan I would have set up closer to the stream. More specifically, if we were not traveling with citizens of Háls we would have set up closer to the stream. For some reason people from Háls had this fear of sleeping next to running water.

I reached the stream and knelt by the still water. My black hair lay flat against my reflected head. I quickly ran my hand over my right ear and through the thin fuzz of hair. It was a nervous habit I had developed from when I had longer hair.

I sighed, I knew I was simply delaying deciding what to do with the egg, and plunged my hands into the frigid current before dowsing my face with the water. The icy water stung my skin, reminding me of winter’s fast approach.

I leaned back, and after taking a deep breath, waded across the stream. The water stung like icy knives, but it only reached mid-calf on my pants, so I pressed onward. Part of me was scared, I did not know what the egg was, but another part of me was excited. I had no idea what the Gods intended, but somehow I knew what the egg was. It was a dragon egg. I was going to be a Dreki.

Upon reaching the other side of the stream, and proceeding well out of sight, I set my pack on the ground. The egg was exactly as it was in my dream. Its surface was the color of the night sky, completely black except for the thin, blue veins of azure lightning crackled across the egg’s surface. I reached down, and lifted the egg out.

Its iridescent exterior shimmered in the full light of day. It was slightly transparent and a dark shape twitched and moved within it. I peered at the creature within, the shape rolled slightly, extending a tendril of black out from the main form.

It was alive! I leaned back, and exhaled loudly. It was alive. It was –I had no idea what it was at the time, but it was alive. It was in mine.

I shifted the egg, trying to better observe the slumbering creature within the shell. It had a body and a long neck. Something bulged out on both of its sides, framing the sleeping form with a lighter shade of black. They looked almost like wings.

It’s a dragon, I said to no one in particular.

Suddenly, all my excitement was replaced by absolute panic. I had no idea how to raise a dragon. I did not know anything about the Dreki other than their name and a handful of legends. They were champions of the Gods. Men and women who used dragons to change Midgard, but I had no idea what that meant. I knew nothing about dragons. I did not even know if I had to keep the egg warm by sitting on it like a chicken. I knew nothing other than the plain fact that I was not ready for the Gods’ gift.

But then something happened to destroy all my fears. The dragon rolled within the egg, so its chest lay pressed against the shell my hand gripped, and I felt the light beat of its heart. A soft, almost imperceptible, pulse tapped its way through the egg, matching the beat of my own heart. The egg was alive. I already knew that, but at the same time I did not comprehend what it meant. The egg was alive! A living thing was right there, beneath my fingers, right in my grasp. It was my responsibility to keep it, to raise it and care for it, to become a Dreki.

I smiled and picked up the egg, I am going to have a dragon!

The egg felt lighter in my pack when I stowed it again. I smiled, foolishly believing everything would work out in the end, and walked back to the camp. The stream did not seem as cold on my way back. The camp did not seem as far from the river. Everything seemed better that morning, and I knew why too. I was going to be a Dreki.

I approached the camp. It was bustling with activity. Sigeberht was tying oxen to their traces, while another camp guard was making his own rounds –nudging those last few still caught in sleep’s embrace. I spotted Cyneric dousing our campfire. Next I saw my father Hrothgar who, with the help of Eadric was busy loading our packs.

My father could not look any less like his brother. He was large with black hair that fell to the collar of his vest. My uncle was skinny and short, and bald save for a brown beard which he meticulously maintained. The only thing he had in common with my uncle was his blue eyes

My cousin and I were the complete opposite. We were often mistaken for siblings. Both of us were lanky and, for a few years, we both kept our hair long. But things were a little better now. My short hair helped distinguish us.

Where have you been? Eadric demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

Sorry, I said approaching them, I fell into the stream,

You better be sorry. Eadric had to pack for you, Father scolded.

I’ll make it up to you, I picked up the other pack I had to carry. This one held most of our tent, everything save the pegs, which Eadric carried in his pack.

We’ll see, Eadric grumbled.

He’ll set the tent up by himself tonight, Father said while slinging his harp over his shoulder. Does that sound fair?

Eadric nodded.

Good. Now, let’s get moving.

Looks like somebody had an accident, Cyneric said from behind me.

What do you mean? I asked.

Cyneric gestured toward my wet pants.

I quickly explained to him that I fell into the stream.

Are you coming? Father called from down the path.

I readjusted my pack and began the day’s march. We walked in silence for a few miles until we passed beneath a particularly low hanging tree. Its long branches sloped downward until they brushed against the ground.

Eadric. Tree: name and benefits, Cyneric said. He was our teacher. So was Father, but Cyneric took it much more seriously. Eadric watched the tree as we passed by it.

Weeping tree, and if you combine the sap and water you can use it for... medicine?

Eating weeping tree sap is the easiest way to make yourself sick. Richard?

You can use the leaves as padding, I guessed.

You can use anything for padding, he countered. No, but you can make an adhesive paste with it. There was this one time—

Eadric and I rolled our eyes and groaned. We had heard this story before— or one very much like it— dozens of times. It always went the same way. Cyneric’s wagon had broken down, and he desperately had to get to the next city in time for the Jól festival. Luckily for him, Cyneric always listened to what his father had told him –cue another eye roll. Because of this, he was able to fix his wagon and make it to his destination on time; albeit with a cart more leaf than wood –one final eye roll.

Cyneric stopped talking when we reached a standing stone on the edge of the road. It was Father’s turn next, thankfully his lessons were much more enjoyable. Being a bard, Father always seemed to be able to make his lectures entertaining. Father pointed at the markings etched into the stone, telling us what each marking meant, as we passed them by. Some runes spelled out the distance to the nearest source of water, and how others marked caches for local thieves. Then we continued on. Cyneric restarted his lecture on the different names and uses of the local flora. And with these lessons our day passed quickly. The afternoon slipped into dusk and when we set camp for the evening the roar of the Varric Falls could be heard in the distance.

After another day of travel we reached Varric Falls. Water sprayed out of the Steinn Mountains before tumbling down hundreds of meters into the white rapids of the Twin Rivers. The thick mist of the falls billowed around us, masking the lone bridge spanning the rivers before us. The bridge was designed to look like a dragon. Both ends were carved into enormous heads, snarling menacingly at all those who crossed beneath their jagged maws. The heavy fog curled and clung to its stone, crafting the illusion of a cloud. Flames glistened in the beast’s mouth, illuminating the crossing with a menacing light. The fire danced in between the dragon’s teeth, threatening to roll from its mouth and into its traveler’s faces in tongues of flame. When we got closer I could make out carvings in the stone face. Thin etchings outlined scales, and curling voids mapped flaring nostrils and eyes of the mighty beast’s head.

We passed beneath the dragon head. The craftsmen had even gone to the trouble of detailing the support posts suspending the immense head above the bridge. Images of the Dreki wound their way up through the stone, detailing the myths of dragons until they faded away and became the scales of the beast’s neck.

This is my chance, I thought to myself. I took the opportunity to ask about my new fated destiny, using the bridge’s appearance as a guise for my real curiosity.

Father, can you tell us about the Dreki?

Father glanced at the sun’s position to check the time. Why would you want to learn about them?

Oh... uhh... no reason. Just the bridge really.

Very well, he said. The Dreki were men chosen by the Gods. Most were granted dragons by Odin, though Loki stole a few and gave them out himself. Some were mages, others were not. In all of history there have only been six, Father shrugged, There is really not much to say. They make a good tale, but I do not know much aside from the stories.

What about the dragons? I asked. Do you know anything about them?

Not really, Father scratched his head. None of the accounts are the same.

What do you mean? Eadric asked.

Holluf could talk, I said, but none of the other dragons could.

And some had four legs and wings while others just had two legs and wings, Father added.

Then how do we know the dragons existed? Cyneric interrupted. It sounds like no one knows for sure what they were like. And aside from the stories what evidence is there?

The Dragons Plains, Father offered.

I thought the mages did that, Eadric said.

A Dreki helped burn the plains, Father answered

That was putting it lightly. The Dragon’s Plains had been reduced to a desert of ash that would last for the next three hundred years. Sút barely managed to survive there and that was just a prison for the mages.

How could it do that? Eadric asked. I thought the dragons were small?

That was just Holluf, Father explained. Most of the other dragons were bigger, for example, Egil’s was the size of a longship.

I cursed silently. I had never considered my dragon might be as large as Egil’s. I was expecting maybe a horse sized dragon, but even then I had not considered how I would take care of it. We could hardly keep ourselves fed, how was I supposed to feed a ship sized dragon?

I spent the rest of that day worrying about the future. Up until then, I had only seen the benefits, but now I saw everything that could go wrong with being a Dreki. It was only when we stopped for the night that I stopped thinking about how I would feed my dragon. This is not to say I stopped worrying, I simply switched to fretting over the problem of how I would hide it.

That problem stayed unsolved, and only left my mind once I fell asleep. Unfortunately, I would not find respite from my questions in a dream. The fox visited me as soon as I was asleep.

I was back at the clearing from my last dream. Beside me lay the egg, and the fox sat across from me on its hind legs.

You have questions, It said.

I studied the fox carefully, trying to determine what it could be. It was quite clearly a fox, its fur was the appropriate length, its muzzle the right triangular shape, its whiskers quivered in the still air like any other fox’s, yet there was something different about this fox. Its eyes sparkled golden, and not the usual golden color you might expect on a fox. These eyes glowed beneath its brow. A lighter substance seemed to swirl beneath their surface. They cast a golden image of the field around me and they never closed.

The fox brought a paw to its snout, carefully scratching its white muzzle while eyeing me with its peculiar eyes. I forced myself to look away.

Who are you? I asked.

A question more easily asked than answered, the fox curled its lips and bared its teeth in a coy smile, I am the last of the Vanir.

The Vanir? Like Freyja or Njord? What do you want with me? Why did you pick me? My mind raced with questions. What did it mean, it was the last of the Vanir?

The fox –the Vanir –shook its head, its smile vanishing, Ask the question you need to ask. Day is coming, and we won’t be able to speak for a long time.

Are you the last Vanir?

The fox nodded, confirming my suspicions.

I awoke with a start.

Helvete, I cursed. I still did not know what I was supposed to do, and now the Gods were dead?

I lay awake for at least an hour afterward, contemplating which God the fox could be. It could have been any of them: Freyja, Freyr, Njord –maybe even Loki lying for some reason. Any of them could have become the last of the Vanir. What did that mean anyway? I wondered. Was the fox just the last Vanir, or were the Aesir –Odin, Thor, all the Gods dead?

I tried to reason through it. The priests said the Gods were going to die, but that was not supposed to happen until Ragnarök. They were supposed to be here until the end of the world. The world was not coming to an end, I assured myself. It just was not. Hati had not eaten the sun. And everyone agreed that was what would start the end of the world. No, none of this made any sense.

At least this will make for a good story one day, I thought before rolling over to try and fall back asleep.

Chapter 2

Secrets Held

The next morning I saw Vatn for the first time. It rose up from the veil of morning fog, riding along a hill so the jarl’s house stood high above the slums below. Every building was made of wood; stout warehouses pressed up against long-houses. The only stone building in sight was the temple which was located just inside the city limits. The temple towered above the merging rivers. Tall stone slabs had been magically molded and pressed together to form the colossal building between its two twisting spires: one dedicated to the Eastern Twin River and the other to the Severn.

According to Cyneric the building had been constructed with the use of mage blood. He had refused to elaborate, choosing instead to leave me with the unnerving image of workers painting the interior a dark scarlet.

Before we entered the city, a messenger came out to greet the caravan. He informed us that the jarl had already left to attend Eik’s festivities. This was mixed news for the caravan. Some were disappointed they would not find any work while others, my family included, were not bothered by the jarl’s absence. Vatn’s jarl already had a large troupe of performers and was not looking for more; however, we were not completely indifferent to this news as it meant we would not be staying in the jarl’s house. We would instead need to find lodging at an inn.

We thanked the messenger for his news and continued toward the city, leaving the caravan behind. They were too large to fit into the city themselves and would be camping around its wall.

Cyneric stopped us once we reached the last hill overlooking the city, Behold, Vatn: slave center of Telemark and undoubtedly the smelliest city this side of Steinn. None of you have been to Vatn before. It is a trade city of all exports, but the local traders primarily make their living selling slaves. We will have to pass through the slave quarter to get to an inn, but after that we should stay clear of them.

Cyneric turned to walk away, before stopping and reminding us to put our money in our boots.

Just in case, he said. Unfortunately pickpockets would prove to be the least of our problems in Vatn.

We reached the outskirts of the city. Vatn had no walls, instead they relied on the rivers as natural protection from any marauding groups. The city was not without defenses however. The local guard maintained eight watchtowers, two to the north, south, east and west. On top of these defenses the guard also had a long standing order for all citizens to be prepared to fight if the need ever arose.

We paused before crossing the unmistakable threshold into Vatn. Two towers stood roughly ten meters in height with a man in each. These guards watched over the surrounding valley. Between these towers stood three men wearing the blue and white of the local guard.

Business? One demanded.

Spending the night before continuing to Eik, Father answered.

You an Örlendr? The guard asked.

Yes, Father nodded.

Stay clear of the northern quarter, he cautioned.

Father thanked him as we passed into the city. The first thing I noticed was the smell. Cyneric was right, it hit us the instant we stepped foot into the city. Vatn reeked of decaying fish, rotting crops, and what I suspected to be the tang of dung. I brought a sleeve over my mouth, longing for the sweet pine of the outside forest.

The smell gets better after the slave quarter, Cyneric said. Just keep close together and we’ll get by soon enough.

We continued onward past the stalls of poor traders, looking straight ahead to avoid the shifty glances of the black-market dealers lurking in the shadows, until we passed by a slaver’s tent. Inside we could hear the cries of men and women bound by the chains of servitude. The stench of the quarter seemed to be concentrated there, within the confines of the tent’s flaps. Outside the tent stood a man dressed in a rich yellow tunic.

Cyneric walked faster; eager to put the tent far behind us.

Come on in! The smelly man called. We have workers for every need, some for toiling in the fields, some for working your homestead, and some –if you’d be so inclined –to be your... he left the word hang for a moment, companion.

He rushed us, a lustful greed in his eyes, You there! A man always needs a thrall. Why settle for paid labor when you could have someone do it for free?

Father tried to brush him aside, Not interested.

But the slaver pressed him again, anxious to make a sale.

I offer the cheapest deals in town. No one can beat my prices.

Cyneric grabbed his wrist and turned him around, pushing him back toward his stall, We said no. Now get back before we call the guard.

What I do is legal, friend, the slaver said taking a step forward. Why not simply see what I offer.

Cyneric pushed him back with a quick jab at his side, We said no!

The slaver sighed, but sensing there was no sale to be made, dejectedly walked back to his tent. Cyneric shook his head, Some people just can’t take a hint.

True, but I don’t think you should have taken his money, Father added.

What? I asked. When did you take his money?

When I pushed him, Cyneric replied, slipping the slaver’s silver into his purse, and I think it was justified. I mean, did you hear that god awful sales pitch of his?

He could tell the guard, Father cautioned.

Like he’ll remember who we are. Besides, a man like that is sure to have illegal side dealings. He won’t be calling the guard anytime soon.

With that, we crossed over the not-so-subtle divide between the slave quarter and the markets. The markets were cleaner than the slave quarter. The buildings shortened in length, becoming condensed stalls and storehouses, and the underlying smell of unsold goods here was blessedly over masked by the scents of flowers and spices. The stalls of the merchants were neatly packed off to the side of the main road, with their owners standing out of our way –even though they still shouted quick enticing slogans at us. I inhaled deeply. Never before had I been so thankful for spice merchants. They had graciously set themselves as close to the slave quarter as they could, so all incoming customers could have a breath of fresh air.

We passed through the markets and entered the far side of Vatn, the residential area. Here the buildings consisted of low houses and inns. We passed along the crowded streets until we came to ‘River Run’ an inn which looked from the outside to be reasonably clean and civilized.

The interior, however, was not that of a bustling inn. A bar was crammed into the far wall, with three barstools in front of it. Tables and booths lined the walls, and four crates were placed haphazardly in the center of the room. At the bar, a young woman was slouched against the counter. The room had all of the trappings of an inn, except for one slight detail. It was empty.

Excuse me, Cyneric said. We are looking for an inn. Do you know—

At this the woman perked up. She whirled toward us, a gleam in her eyes and a smile on her lips. The bottom of her green dress twirled beneath her as she spun. The woman’s blond hair flipped over her shoulder and behind her neck in a twisting braid. Tied over her dress was a clean white apron and wrapped around her waist was a thick brown belt, holding the apron close to her frame and revealing a small dagger next to a dirty washcloth.

Yes indeed I do! This here is the finest inn in town. Come on in, take a seat. My name is Erica, she looked around the empty room, Well, once I get this place running I’ll be the owner of the finest inn. Just got this place last week.

A new inn. That meant it was clean for sure. There had not been a chance for anyone to soil the beds yet.

We will just be spending the night, Father said.

One room or two? The innkeeper asked. She was pretty. Her green eyes twinkled against the dim light of the inn, and the silver necklaces she wore around her neck shimmered in waves as she talked.

We’ll take two rooms, and I’ll play for any customers you get tonight if you throw in a free meal for my family, Father said, gesturing to his harp. The woman considered this for a few seconds.

Deal, she said, extending her hand.

Deal, Father agreed.

Rooms will be down the hall. Take the last two on the left.

We headed toward the hallway. I could hear Erica behind us whisper hopefully, Maybe with some music...

We set down our packs. I shared the far room with Eadric while my father and Cyneric took the other. Our room had a double bed near the right wall, and a cabinet flush against the right. Attached to the cabinet was a small mirror with an unlit candle stick, and box of matches sitting beside it.

Eadric and I left the room and entered my father’s room. Their room was identical to ours, except it was flipped, with their bed on the left, and the cabinet on the right. They sat on the bed, bent together as if they had just been whispering.

Boys, Father said ending his conversation with Cyneric. We need to get more supplies before we leave. Can the two of you head into the market and get them?

I nodded my head and he listed off the few supplies we needed.

Good, Father said, handing us each several links of silver. This should be more than enough, and remember to haggle. Never settle for the first price, but don’t refuse anything if you can’t get a better price.

We grumbled a little as we left the room. Neither of us understood how important the skill of haggling would become. All we knew was we had more than enough silver to buy supplies, and we could always find work with the nobles when we needed it. Fortunately, Father knew better. He made us save every scrap we could, and he forced us to haggle for every little thing.

Eadric and I decided to split the list. I would purchase the foodstuffs we needed, while he would look for a tanner to repair a broken water skin. We left the inn, entering the brisk chill of the outside wind, and headed toward the markets.

Where do you think we’re headed after Eik? Eadric asked while he brought his cloak closer against the wind.

You don’t think we’ll get the job? I asked.

Eadric shook his head, My bet’s the jarl will hire a Norseman.

It was most likely true. Only a few jarls kept Örlendr in their personal service.

I think we’ll be going up to Vætta, I said. There’s bound to be a noble hiring, and I’m sure Cyneric can pull a decent enough crowd doing his tricks at their feasts.

Nah, my bets on going back west. I know Father hates that Arena they have up there.

Our conversation was interrupted by the town crier, a young street urchin, who was paid to stand on a box and shout the latest court gossip: Princess Fay rumored to be engaged to Jarl Ingolf of Orka.

Will this mean new trade relations with Agder? Eadric asked sarcastically.

Or will this relationship end in tears? I laughed.

Court gossip was always entertaining, not so much from the standpoint that it was interesting, but from the fact that it is often so monotonous it somehow made our lives of travel seem exciting by comparison.

With that passing bit of mirth, we split up.

I continued toward the food stalls while Eadric went away, looking for a smith or tanner who could repair the skin. The first stall I approached was manned by a large brute that refused to negotiate with his prices. The second refused to serve me due to my blood.

I don’t serve mages, the vendor turned me away.

Go to Hel, I spat. I’m not a mage.

Be thankful I’m not calling the guard on you, Örlendr, he growled.

I’ve lived here my whole life, what does it matter that I’m not a Norseman?

But he would have none of it.  I was going to yell obscenities and deliver the merchant a rude gesture, but before I could another vendor intervened. This splendidly kind man offered me a discount on my order –to make up for the unwarranted hostility his comrade. With that discount, I was able to buy enough supplies to last us a week for half the price I was expecting.

I’m sorry. Not all of us here are like him, the man stumbled through an apology. I wanted to tell him it was fine, the people here were certainly a lot more welcoming than those out west, but he would have none of it.

Many of us here are very pleasant and accepting if you give us the chance, he continued ignoring my polite protest.

After my second attempt, I gave up and allowed the merchant to apologize while he cut away at the silver to make