Baugr arrived upon the Wave Flame late that afternoon. The longhall yet gave off a plume of ashen black that wound its way up into the gray sky, so that there was no surprise on the Havaklif jarl’s face as his dragon ship drifted up to the pier. He was followed by the Cold Dread and Sea Ox, with Einarr’s Gold of the Seabringing up the rear.

All four ships docked in silence.

The waiting warriors stared in silence as Kvedulf moved to stand before the Wave Flame and await Baugr’s descent.

But the plump jarl remained on his ship. He moved to the gunwale and studied Kráka, then finally dragged his gaze down to where Kvedulf stood.

The silence ached.

“When did this happen?” asked Baugr.

“Just after I left. Afastr received your invitation and deduced that I would take most of my strength with me. He killed everyone before continuing south toward the All-Thing.”

Baugr visibly swallowed.

Snorri stood beside Kvedulf, his expression hard. “Were it not for that storm, he would have arrived and negotiated for Skadi’s hand while his own still dripped with blood.”

Baugr tried to speak, failed, tried again. “Everyone? Everyone is dead?”

“Every man, woman, and child that I left behind,” rasped Kvedulf. “My wife. My warriors. My people.”

“Kvedulf,” began Baugr, then seemed to not know what to say.

Skrǫggr, Baugr’s godi, moved to join him at the gunwale. He looked frail and insubstantial compared to Baugr’s solid frame, but he pitched his voice to carry. “My jarl invited Afastr to the All-Thing in good faith. Afastr has shown himself a monster, and not deserving of any consideration. Havaklif will not rest until this crime is paid for in full.”

“Yes,” said Baugr, rousing himself. “This… this slaughter will be repaid upon Kaldrborg a hundredfold. I had no idea that… I couldn’t have known…”

Skadi, standing a few paces behind her uncle, saw him tense at these last words, felt his ire spike, but fortunately, Skrǫggr spoke again.

“Once Afastr is worm food our jarl will be grateful to convene another All-Thing where we may all seek a means to redress this wrong. There is no bringing back the dead, but the Draugr Coast will not forget Kráka, and we shall discuss how best we can aid Jarl Kvedulf in whatever he desires.”

The warriors along the docks stirred at this, and Skadi understood why: she’d been here long enough now to know that not only did Draugr Coast settlements rarely band together on ventures like this, but almost never assisted each other with personal losses.

Skrǫggr was offering unheard-of aid in response to Havaklif’s role in Kráka’s destruction.

For a moment Kvedulf practically shivered with rage, but then the fire within him guttered and went out. He simply nodded his head, and his voice was numb and emotionless when he spoke.

“We can discuss such matters after Afastr is dead. Does anybody here now doubt the righteousness of our cause?”

Nobody spoke.

“Then we set sail within the hour. Come dusk, I want what remains of Kráka to be far behind us. The sooner we reach Kaldrborg the better.”

The crews of the already arrived ships had spent the morning preparing to sail, so it was a simple matter for the last provisions to be brought on board, men to find their sea chests and sit at the oars, ropes to be cast off, and then the careful business of all the dragon ships to row their way out into the fjord to begin.

Aurnir was disconsolate at the mast, moaning and wiping great tears from his pale lashes. Kvedulf rounded on the half-giant, his fury immediate and shocking, and hissed something to Aurnir that caused the half-giant to go suddenly silent.

This time Glámr sat beside Skadi on the sea chest. They set to slowly rowing when the ropes were cast onto the deck, and the Sea Wolf slid out into the dark waters smoothly.

Together they watched Kráka fall away, the column of insubstantial smoke growing more slender until at last, they rounded a curve and the village was gone from view.

“Feels painfully familiar,” said the half-troll. “Rowing away from another settlement whose longhouse has been burned to the ground.”

A knot of pain twisted in Skadi’s chest, but she rowed on without word.

“You spoke well last night,” Glámr said at last.

Still, Skadi remained silent. She could feel the half-troll casting around for words, something to say next, which was very strange; Glámr had never been uncomfortable with silence before.

“Begga and Kofri and Ulfarr would have been proud—” he began, but she cut him off.

“Can you stop trying to cheer me up?” Her words were as sharp as a whipcrack.

Glámr startled and then looked away.

Skadi pulled on their oar moodily, feeling spiteful, until she snuck a glance at her friend and saw tears in his eyes. He made no move to wipe them, but simply rowed, expression wooden.

A pang of guilt cut through her and she suddenly felt wretched. “Glámr, I’m sorry.”

“What for?” He kept his gaze fixed on the water behind the ship. “You’re right. You don’t need comforting. I’m the one who should apologize.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “They were your friends and family, too. I’m so sorry. I just…”

Glámr snorted bitterly. “Slop trolls don’t have family.”

“Yes, you do. Damian, Aurnir, and me.”

“Companions at best.” Now he did glance at her, his eyes narrowed. “But only while it serves you. I know how things will change if we ever reach Stóllborg.”

“Never.” She felt her face flush. “You know better than that.”

“Do I?” he asked softly, and looked away.

The ragged hole in her heart which had been filled until last night with Begga and Kofri and Ulfarr’s presence throbbed. “You know you do. I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish and caught up with my own sense of self-importance. I never thought to ask how you all were doing.”

Glámr opened his mouth to reply snidely again, then closed it.

“I’ll do better,” Skadi said, looking forward once more. “I promise. And things won’t change between us, I swear it. No matter what happens.”

Glámr sighed tiredly, and his shoulders slumped. “That’s not an oath I’ll hold you to.”

“I mean it.”

“You do now. No, don’t argue. I appreciate the sentiment.” For a moment he simply focused on the rowing, and then he sighed again. “The world is pain and disappointment, Skadi. Moments of happiness, like my night with Náttfari, are always followed by a cruel dawn where I learn she’s been killed by my best friend. Take it from me. Enjoy the good moments, but never, ever expect them to last.”

Skadi had no answer. Nothing that wouldn’t sound like a platitude. So she vowed instead to prove him wrong with her actions. Only in time could she prove him wrong.

* * *

The journey north customarily took a week, but they made good time. The weather held, and while it was never pleasant, the raw gusts generally blew them up the coast so that often ran before the wind with sails billowing.

Gone was the merriment of the first half of their trip. No ship contested any other for speed. In the evenings, each settlement made its own camp, with Snorri occasionally joining that of Kráka’s for safety. Kvedulf was withdrawn, spending his days wrapped in a voluminous cloak by the steering oar and evenings alone at this own fire. Skadi tried to draw him out a few times but was unable to get him to mutter more than a few words in response each time.

The coastline grew more inhospitable with each passing day. They sailed between the Jotunn’s Teeth without incident and passed Djúprvik’s fjord at the end of the second day. Everybody knew that the small settlement couldn’t host them, so the other ships camped on the coast as Snorri sailed home to check on his village.

He was back just after dawn the next morning.

Afastr had passed Djúprvik by, a fact that Snorri seemed almost guilty about when he reported to Kvedulf.

On the fourth day, Skadi saw the first chunk of ice floating south upon the black waters, half the size of the Sea Wolf. Soon more appeared, some bigger even than their ship, and the air began to grow even colder. The Draugr Mountains grew more massive, their slopes cloaked in thick snow, and the forests that hugged the rocky, raw shoreline were blanketed in dark, impenetrable fir tree forests.

On they sailed, and on the sixth day a wicked storm erupted out of nowhere, the clouds curdling overhead, darkening even as Skadi watched, the wind picking up speed and growing tempestuous. The ship captains shouted to each other over the rising waves, and the air grew dark, as if dusk were falling hours earlier.

“Looks bad, captain!” shouted the steersman from the stern. “We’d best turn back!”

“Sail on!” shouted Kvedulf, his expression livid. “Afastr won’t find us so easily dissuaded.”

Skadi heaved at her oar, but still, the winds grew. Sharpening her vision, she saw flickers of gold like scintillating drops of dew spread throughout the black clouds, and a cold fist clutched at her gut.

“This is seiðr magic,” she shouted back to Kvedulf. “We are being attacked!”

“Then do something about it!” Kvedulf roared back to her as the first stinging rain began to fall. “I thought you were a bleeding völva!”

Skadi rose from her sea chest and stepped carefully back to Aurnir, who’d wrapped a huge arm around the mast. He stared at her in helpless horror, and she steadied herself by placing a hand on his shoulder and drawing her völva staff forth.

“This strong-purposed mind

Commands the source of wrath

And wields the storms in the skies.

Winds, blow.

Winds, bestow

Raging turbulence upon the salt road

Or restful tranquility upon the sea.”

She flung all of her wyrd at the skies above, and saw her twenty golden threads rise up to form a vortex of their own, their distant ends attenuating to nothingness. Closing her eyes, Skadi envisioned a corridor of sunlight and stillness, a cut through the large storm, and with all her being willed it to be.

Shouts of wonder arose from the ships. Opening her eyes, Skadi saw the clouds directly above them lightening, and felt the wicked winds lessen.

The storm was powerful, but it was nothing compared to what Freyja had summoned; still, it was mighty enough to founder ships, but here in the center of her corridor the gale became gusts, and the roiling darkness overhead seemed to part.

“Make for the gap!” roared Kvedulf, but his words were unnecessary. All nine of the steersmen maneuvered their ships into the corridor that opened through the heart of the storm.

Skadi remained standing, swaying with each wave that buffeted the prow, sensing, intuiting that she needed to anchor her galdr, needed to remain with her völva staff pointed in the direction she wished the storm to remain lessened. The oarsmen hauled in tandem to the nearly inaudible beat of the drum, and the ships shot through the raging seas and curtains of rain that filled the world on either side of them.

Whoever had cast the spell, however, was wickedly powerful; Skadi felt the last of her wyrd be consumed as the clouds closed in, snuffing out her spell, and with a crash, the sky darkened again and the waves heaved mightily all around them.

The steersman gave up the northern passage and instead turned to the east, roaring for the sail to be lowered so they might run before the storm.

The ropes creaked, the sail strained, and the Sea Wolf leaped forth, racing through the towering waves, crashing through their peaks and sliding down into the troughs.

Aurnir pulled Skadi in tight with one arm, and together they stared at the maddened sea until, abruptly, they burst out into sunshine.

It was like stepping out of a shadow. One moment all was driving rain, the next they came shuddering out into the late afternoon sunshine. One by one the ships emerged behind them, having hewed close to their wake, until eight dragon ships lay at rest in the rolling waves.

Eight?

The Fjord Falcon hadn’t escaped the storm.

Skadi and every other sailor on the Sea Wolf watched the edge of the storm anxiously, but the Skrímslaeyjan ship never emerged.

Sixty proud warriors of Kráka had gone down with the vessel, including Auðun and Nokkvi.

Skadi felt numbness wash over her. Auðun with his warm smile, Nokkvi his opposite, cold and with his merciless stare, a master of his huge, black bow.

Gone.

The storm continued to drive south, scouring the coast.

Kvedulf moved up to stand with her at the mast. “A response to our own assault.”

“The Fjord Falcon,” whispered Skadi.

“Gone. So it goes.” Kvedulf stared gloomily at the retreating storm. “And we would have sunk without your galdr.”

“But… Nokkvi, Auðun, everyone?” she protested, searching his face.

“So it goes.” He clapped her on the shoulder and returned to the stern.

Skadi watched her uncle go. There had been no emotion in the depths of his eyes. Nothing at all. Then she understood. Nothing mattered to him now but his vengeance. With Kráka gone, he had nothing to return to.

Chilled, she returned to her sea chest, depleted and exhausted.

“Well done,” said Glámr softly. “Ásfríðr would have been proud.”

They rowed back to the west, and soon the peaks rose high above the coastline once more. Aching and tired, Skadi studied the coves and strands, the skerries and inlets for some adequate resting place.

“How close are we?” asked Damian from the row behind them, his voice betraying his exhaustion.

“We should arrive in Kaldrborg tomorrow,” said his rowing partner. “Early afternoon.”

It seemed unreal, the prospect of pulling up to the settlement’s docks to do battle. To seek their vengeance against Afastr’s forces, his berserkers and half-giants, his half-trolls and children.

She thought then of Astrilda.

Did she live?

“You are such a child.”

Skadi thought of the great hall, the hundreds upon hundreds of dead, and a sorrowful weariness swept over her.

Not any longer.

“Look!”

Skadi blinked away her reverie, followed the warrior’s outstretched arm, and sighted up the coast.

High on a bluff that overlooked the sea a bonfire had begun to burn.

“A signal fire,” whispered Glámr. “Now he knows we’re coming.”