Corrupted heart

Chapter 1 :

The old man sat comfortably at his table to the right of the great hall's entrance, a place
normally reserved for the common man in the jarl's lands. Tonight the twin stout oak doors,
with their intricately carved knotwork meant to resemble wolves and dragons engaged in an
eternal race, were barred tightly. Outside the wintry wind howled with a windigo's glee as it
battered at the stoic timbers seeking access to the warmth that lay beyond.

There had been a time when the man would have been insulted to be so far away from the
jarl's table where once he had been seated as a warrior of great renown and honor. That had
been nearly three decades ago, and despite his legendary prowess, the man had not been
able to defeat the passage of time. The old jarl had made his way to Valhalla and his son had
replaced him as Froejen's leader and he was a good one at that. The great hall was warm,
there was plenty of food and mead, and Jarl Roeven treated him well enough. No, the man
wasn't envious of the young jarl and his warriors at the main table. He had served his jarl and
people well and was content with his place in the hall and the village as a whole.

Back in his younger days, all across the Frozen Seas, the man had been known as the Bear,
first off the dragon ships and into the fray. If it became known that he was amongst a raiding
party, villages would often send tribute in the hopes of being saved from a savage ransacking.
More likely than not, the old jarl would grant their request believing that gold had more value
than slaves. Gold fed his people and having to do the everyday work of tending ship and
hearth kept his people fit and self sufficient.

A burst of cold air brought the man from the spring memories of his youth to the winter
twilight he was now fortunate enough to enjoy. Two young men had returned from relieving
themselves and had momentarily disrupted the comforting warmth of the hall when they
opened the doors. Old Bear quickly recognized them as the twin sons of his former ornate,
Ovar Gunlass, yet another shield brother who awaited him in Valhalla.
With beards that wouldn't have caused goat envy and hair the color of midsummer straw
dripping melted snow, Jorg and Torg Gunlass stomped their booted feet eager to be rid of the
chill that had settled there. An action that startled the mound of fur curled at the man's feet.
Ice blue orbs in a sea of milky white snapped open to locate the Gunlass twins as they shed
their heavy winter cloaks. Faded ink-black lips curled back to reveal inch long incisors as the
wolfhound prepared to defend its master from this new threat.
"Filthy cur! I'll teach you to show respect," Torg threatened the rising hound. The young man
pulled his foot back and prepared to give the dog a punishing kick when his brother's hand on
his shoulder stayed his rash action.

"Why do you stop me, brother? We're warriors in the service of Jarl Roeven now. Not
shepherds watching over our family's sheep anymore," he asked when Jorg refused to
remove his hand.

"Aye, that's true, but that's Old Bear's hound you're wanting to put your boot upside. I don't
think he'd take kindly to it." Jorg jerked his head towards the man who was watching the
exchange with only a passing interest. He knew that Frek would only attack if he gave the dog
permission, but he didn't feel any need to tell the Gunlasses that.

Torg swallowed hard and his oversized Adam's apple dipped like a fishing bobber freshly
tossed into a lake. Carefully he set his foot down and cautiously made his way past the wary
hound. Once safely past the bravado of youth freed the young man's tongue from the
paralysis of fear.

"Looks more like an old bear sleeping the winter away than some exalted fighter to me,"
mocked Torg, his bravery growing with each step he took from the man and his hound. "He's
lucky he didn't get up or I'd have thrown him and his mutt out into the snow."

At that moment Old Bear decided he needed a drink. He opened his eyes and reached for the
cup of mead sitting there on the table before him. The action had opened his fur-lined cloak
to reveal two of the most infamous weapons in the land. Rend and Tear, Old Bear's twin one-
handed bearded axes, were both hanging from thick straps attached to a wide leather belt.

The sight of those plain, but deadly weapons suspended comfortably at the big man's hips
caused the twins to miss a step. Their father had spoken with great reverence of the pair of
arm length axes and the near god-like skill the Bear wielded them. Ovar had said to his sons it
was easy to see how the Bear had gotten his nickname once you had seen him in battle. The
fierce berserker would wade into battle with a wordless roar and those wicked blades taking
life or limb with each powerful stroke. His foes would break and retreat like waves on a rock
covered beach.

The silver-haired and gray-bearded warrior hid his mirth as the two young raiders hurriedly
backed away from Old Bear and his sleeping dog, bow their apologies as they went. In truth,
he had only thrown on his old weapon's belt and the two steel axes it contained on a whim.
Most days his calloused hands were wrapped around the sturdy handle of a wood axe,
chopping and splitting an endless supply of fuel for the village elders and windows so they
wouldn't freeze during the relentless northland winters.

There was a commotion at the chieftain's table that drew Old Bear's flint gray eyes from his
once more sleeping hound to a pair of young lovers kneeling before Jarl Roeven. He
recognized the man as a promising shipbuilder who had helped with last raiding season's
boats, and the young woman was the daughter of Froejen's shaman, Ubbe. It was a well-
made union that would serve the village and its people well and Roeven honored the couple
with matching arm rings of twisted silver.

Without realizing it, Old Bear looked to his own nearly bare arms. Once, he had earned so
many bands for his devout service to the old chieftain that it had seemed as if his arms were
gilded in gold and silver armor. But that had been several years ago and the retired warrior
now used his acquired wealth to provide for the widows and their children of the men who
hadn't been fortunate enough to return home.

Never marrying himself, Old Bear had sworn an oath before the gods and to his fallen shield
brothers that he would look after their grieving families. He never let himself be seen when
he'd deliver bundles of foodstuffs, split firewood, and offerings of gold to their doorsteps, but
all in the village knew it to be the work of Old Bear whose giving spirit was the equal of his
great size and legendary battle fury.

A tugging at his elbow pulled Old Bear's attention from the ceremony to behold the sight of a
sticky faced child of eight. The boy was pulling relentlessly on the man's tunic with one hand
while the other held a wooden bowl filled with dried cherries and walnuts drizzled with
honey.

"Ma wanted you to have this in thanks for fixing the sheep pen and the stringer of fish you
left last week," the little boy said while watching the bowl of sweets with wide, hungry eyes
before reluctantly lifting it as an offering to Old Bear.

"And why does your mother think an old fighter like me would do something like that?
Sounds more like the work of Svek the fisherman and Theodin the woodworker to me," Old
Bear replied, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips threatened to reveal his words as
the lie they were.

Little Orvik and his mother, along with his three siblings had planned on foraging the North
Forest for food and pine cones to burn this winter, but a blizzard had kept the poor family
trapped within their home. Old Bear had hoped the blowing snow would have kept his acts
secret from those within the tiny home but it appears that it hadn't.

The boy motioned for Old Bear to lean closer. When he did as Orvik bade him, the boy
whispered conspiratorially into Old Bear's ear, his sea-blue eyes as wide as sword pommels,
"Ma said that she saw bear tracks up and down the fence row and where she found the
bundle of food."

Old Bear could no longer contain the joyful smile the stretched across his ruddy cheeks like a
spring sunrise. A chuckle escaped from the corner of his lips as he enjoyed the creative story
Orvik's mother had created to answer her children's questions. Once more he felt the familiar
tug on his sleeve. "Do you have a pet bear? I've never seen a bear up close. Could I see
yours?"

Darkness like a summer thunderstorm moved briefly across the man's brow as thoughts of
the bar flickered in the smothered memories of the past. Old Bear forced a laugh to lighten
his words, and the former raider-recently turned carpenter and fisherman, reached down and
took the bowl of sweets from the boy's hands.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Orvik, but I only have just this one pet. Old Frek here mostly lays by
the fire and sleeps these days," answered Old Bear, whose reply gained him a look of
reproach from Frek. The old wolfhound had rolled to his back with his front paws curled tight
against his barrel chest and his hind ones splayed wide and looked at his master at the sound
of his name. With a derisive snort Frek resumed his napping, promptly dreaming of chasing
fat rabbits across the snowy plains.

"Besides, bears are dangerous, boy. Best to keep your distance from them," Old Bear said
with a note of sadness in his deep voice.

"Here, help me with these treats. It's more than I can eat by myself," he added when he saw
the crestfallen look on the boy's face.

With a grateful smile, Orvik grabbed as big of a handful as he could, not minding the
stickiness at all. "Thank you, Old Bear!"

The boy took off like an arrow from a bow with his decadent treasure, but he had gone only a
short distance before the echo of his own words firmly settled in his ears. Slowly Orvik turned
back to face Old Bear, his round face covered in a mask of surprise. Realisation of his
mother's words and the old warrior's nickname clicked like a freshly solved wooden puzzle in
the youngster's eyes as he quietly whispered, "You're the bear."

Old Bear gave Orvik a roguish grin before spinning the boy around and with a gentle swat to
Orvik's backside, sent him back towards his grateful mother. Catching Orvik's mother's eye,
Old Bear lifted the bowl of honey-laced dried fruits and nutmeats then nodded his head in
appreciation; a nod she promptly returned with a warm smile. She held his gaze and the
warrior found it difficult to look away.

Rumors were circulating that Frigga was tiring of sleeping in a cold bed and was looking for
someone to replace her fallen mate. The thought of her hunt leading towards him made Old
Bear blush uncomfortably. His raiding days had left him a shipload of nightmarish memories
that resulted in many mornings of shredded sleeping furs and covered in a layer of chilled
sweat.
Deep in his heart, Old Bear knew that to court Frigga, or any woman for that matter would
end horribly for both of them. Though in many ways the Allfather's gift had been a great
blessing; there were times it had been a terrible curse binding the old warrior in the chains of
solitude and binding him to the hearth of loneliness.

Thankfully the great doors of the hall burst open at that moment to emit a battered and
heavily cloaked figure. In the ensuing chaos, he was able to lose Frigga's uncomfortable,
though enjoyable, attention, as all eyes quickly became focused on the fur draped figure
huddling in the doorway. The stranger took a handful of hesitant steps before slumping to her
knees.

Chapter 2 :

Two men rushed forward to help the young woman and aided her to
her feet. Hair the color of a winter raven framed a cherub face that
was both pale from her exposure outdoors and flushed from the fear
that drove her here. Near as Old Bear could tell, the comely lass was
somewhere near her eighteenth year with a shapely form that failed
at being shrouded by the wolf and bear furs she wore.

"Help me please! You must help my village!" Eyes the blue of nightfall
begged those around her for aid as much as her words.

Old Bear saw that the woman's rescuers were smitten by that
bewitching gaze and both turned a pleading eye to Jarl Roeven. The
young chieftain studied the stranger with thoughtful steel gray eyes
that seemed to be looking inside of the woman as if the mystery of
her arrival lay there, a hand absently stroking his straw colored
beard. After what seemed an eternity to those waiting, Roeven raised
a heavily ringed hand and beckoned the woman forward.

Unable to restrain her fear and worry any longer, the stranger dashed
towards the raised dais where Jarl Roeven waited. Gasps of surprise
were quickly overshadowed by the angry rasp of sleeping steel being
drawn. Red faced, the woman's two escorts rushed to catch her
before she could reach the chieftain. Old Bear wasn't sure if the men
were flushed with rage or embarrassment at being made to look the
fools and though he feared for the woman, a calming gesture from
Roeven made the unanswered question moot.

Falling at the jarl's feet, the woman turned her tear-streaked face
upwards the chieftain, bright eyes once more begging for help. To
Roeven's credit he seemed to ignore the haunting sparkle of those
tear-jeweled eyes.
"Please, Great Lord, my village has been besieged by raiders from
across the Frozen Sea. We need the aid of the mighty Jarl Roeven
and his fierce warriors!"

"Which village do you hail from stranger? Your face is not familiar to
me though in truth it has been awhile since Froejen has looked in on
our neighbors," asked Roeven. Though the chieftain's visage
remained stern as any good leader's should in a time such as this;
Old Bear could see the clawed foot of the raven tugging at the corner
of Roeven's eyes in concern.

"Skorhaven." The stranger spoke the solitary word in a desperate

whisper, but even so there wasn't a person in the hall that didn't hear
it.

A bloated silence filled the hall as if all the air had been sucked from
the room. Friends and family looked at one another with dread and
then to their chieftain, ears tuned sharply in anticipation of his
response. Their fear was justly deserved since Skorhaven was their
closest neighbor and less than half a day's walking distance away. It
didn't require much of an imagination to imagine the raiders turning
their bloody gaze on Froejen once they finished in Skorhaven.

Old Bear didn't envy Roeven in the least bit as the chieftain had a
tough decision to make. He could send his warriors to the besieged
town or keep them here to defend his own people and turn his back
on a long time ally. Either choice could lead to failure. If they were to
march to Skorhaven's aid they could possible pass their enemy in the
blackness of night which would spell doom for the lightly defended
Froejen. Yet there were several families that had members in both
villages and leaving them to the base desires of the invaders
wouldn't sit well with his followers. The aged raider watched the jarl
as Roeven rapped his knuckles absently upon his throne while his
mind quickly weighed his options, trying to come to a conclusion that
would serve his people best.

Finally the jarl stood up and cast his gaze evenly across the
assembly. His weathered face was firm with resolution, his eyes hard
with conviction.

"We will go to Skorhaven's aid. Our war party will move quickly and
quietly so I want all of my warrior's under forty seasons to gather
their equipment and meet me at the east gate within a count of four
hundred heartbeats," commanded Roeven. He paused for a moment
to see if there were any dissenters, but he rose to gather his
weapons and armor when none spoke up.

Though he agreed with the jarl's decision, Old Bear felt as if the butt
of a spear had slammed into his gut. The aged fighter had lived for
the song of battle his entire life and to be excluded from such an
important battle wounded the man's pride greatly. Despite the hard
labor he imposed on himself to keep as fit as possible, old age had
slowly lowered its grey veil upon his mighty shoulders. He may have
been able to keep up with the war party but Old Bear had to admit
even to himself that the force behind his axe blows wouldn't be half
of what it would have a decade ago after running most the night. So
he settled for asking the thunder god to watch over the young
warriors and that the Allfather grant them a keen eye and sharp
reflexes. Deep down he knew too that if the raiders had been coming
here that it would have been a different story and that he along with
Rend and Tear would be leading the fight against the invaders.

Chapter 3 :

With a wistful smile, Old Bear watched as the last group of young
warriors filed out of the hall. Some were boasting loudly about the
number of invaders they would send to Hel's embrace while a some
kept their thoughts to themselves, hard faces grim as they focused
on the battle ahead. Despite their different approaches, one and all
they clasped forearms and patted shoulders while sharing the bond
of brotherhood that only a fellow shield brother could understand.
Old Bear was most envious of this than even of them going off to
battle their enemy. He missed his oarmates who had already claimed
their place in Valhalla, and the retired raider was eager to be
reunited with them once more.

The boom of the hall's massive twin doors shutting snapped Old
Bear's from the ghostly fog of memory. Blinking to clear his eyes and
mind, he was dismayed as he surveyed the room and realized that all
of the village's hale warriors had left with Jarl Roeven, leaving
Froejen nearly defenseless.

Of the pathetic few who remained only Jormdar Twostump and

Bellvin the Gray had ever been involved in form of fighting. Even at
that, Jormdar had lost his legs during a raid on the southern isles,
and Bellvin was so old that he could pass as Old Bear's grandfather.
The last time the time-blinded warrior Bellvin had wielded an axe, he
had split a cask of the jarl's best mead confusing it with a rampaging
auroch. He swore that the enraged bull was going to trample a group
of men and women surrounding the irritated beast that were slapping
their drinking horns against its foaming snout. From that point on the
ancient raider was forced to relinquish his weapons at the door.

If the invaders made it past Jarl Roeven and his warriors Froejen and
the people within it would be at their mercy. Old Bear had been on
enough raids to know what savage fate awaited the women and
children when the walls were breached. The idea of Frigga and her
brood suffering the often brutal carnal acts at the callous hands of
some unknown warrior caused the man's thick chest to constrict
painfully and his hands clutched his weapons in a white-knuckled
grip.

Trying to control the anger beginning to build within him, Old Bear
felt a set of eyes watching him. Looking about him for the source of
the disturbance, he spotted the stranger boldly spying upon his
trembling form. With the sway of a desert dancer she sashayed to a
seat on the bench across from Old Bear and sat down. Gone was the
frightened beggar woman and in her place sat something both
alluring and dangerous, and that person was eyeing him intently.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Old Bear slowly released it
through his oft broken nose. As the breath left him so did the
mounting rage.

After mastering the beast within, Old Bear returned the young
woman's brazenness with a stare of his own. Hard gray eyes locked
with soft blue and he could feel the lances of electricity arcing
between them, but whether from desire or something more sinister
the warrior could not tell. As much as he hoped it to be the former,
his years as a fighting man had his gut telling him it was the later.
Something about the seeing the stranger up close as she leaned
across the table, the top of her tunic sagging to show the older man
the soft, ample treasures that lay within, had the short hairs of his
neck standing on end.

"Looking for a roll, graybeard?" The young woman's voice had shed
its pleading tones from earlier and taken on the sultry tone of a
woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it.
"Not much of a roller myself," Old Bear replied while driving back the
feelings of desire starting to grow in his loins. "More of a grinder if
truth be told."

"That's what I like about you oldtimers. You know what you want and
aren't afraid to say it," she said, her voice husky and inviting while
she slid across the table and dropped into the surprised warriors lap.

Old Bear tried to stay focused, wary that something wasn't right with
the current situation, but warmth and weight of the woman's body so
close was causing a distracting tightness in his breeches. "Glad to
see the shaft of your spear isn't broken," she purred into his ear
while her hands groped his manhood.

Turning his face away from the angry, pained look Frigga shot him,
Old Bear found the source of his unease. Playing along with the
woman's act he buried his nose in the stranger's hair and the subtle
scent he detected confirmed what his eyes had just spotted.

"Clever using raven berry juice to dye your hair black. No one here
would've listened to a red haired wench claiming to come from
Skorhaven seeing that they all have hair as black as the deep waters
of the fjord," said Old Bear after noticing the traitorous crimson lock
curled tightly behind the stranger's ear. "Your disguise was almost
full proof except that small spot of hair and the distinct, earthy smell
of raven berries."

A sudden rigidness was the only warning Old Bear had before the
stranger tore a triangular bladed knife from the folds of her cloak and
tried to ram the deadly blade between his ribs. The warrior had been
expecting such an attack, and though she had struck with the speed
of a viper, Old Bear had been ready. One large hand caught the
woman's wrist with a grasp with the tenacity of a blacksmith's vice.

"How many others are there?" he asked, his voice flat with the
promise of violence. The stranger tried to break free, but she was no
match for the larger man's battle hardened muscles.

"More than enough to slaughter everyone left behind by your jarl.

With more to come after Roeven and his warriors are far enough
away," she hissed, each word cloaked in spite.

Using her words to mask her actions, the stranger free hand had
stealthily crept to her hair and wrapped around the long haft of a hair
pin. With a growl she tore the pin free and struck at Old Bear's thick
neck, but he was quicker and slammed the steel head of Rend into
the woman's pointed chin. With a crack like a broken egg shell, the
stranger's head snapped back and lolled forward to hang limply
against her still rising chest.

"Old Bear, by Odin's Eye what has possessed you?" squealed Frigga,
holding her children tight to her ample bosom.

"Thorbon! What is going on? First it looked like you were about to lie
with the woman and next thing I know you've knocked her out!" She
yelled at the warrior after he ignored her first cry.

Fury bubbled below his conscious threatening to turn into a geyser of

rage, but the sound of his true name, a name few knew and even
fewer used, covered the growing anger like a lid over a boiling kettle.
Old Bear stood quickly sweeping under the woman as she slid from
his lap towards the thresh covered floor. With the ease a normal man
would exhibit carrying a small child, the old warrior carried his cargo
to the nearest cedar post that kept the great hall's high ceiling aloft.
Old Bear dropped the stranger at the post's base, her head bouncing
off the squared-off timber with a thud before sagging back onto her
chest.

"She's a spy, Frigga. Sent here to lure the jarl and his warriors from
Froejen so whoever she works for can sack our village," he answered
plainly. "Check her hair. She's dyed it with raven berries to hide its
natural red color." He added when Frigga gave him a doubting look.

"Check for yourself," he offered while pointing to the spot where he

had spied the scarlet lock. Old Bear stepped back and motioned
towards the unconscious woman's hairline behind her ear.

"I should've realized there was something odd about a stranger

coming this late at night. Especially without anyone with her," the
old fighter berated himself.

"Men folk have a tendency to think with the wrong part of their body
when there's a pretty lass about. Now step aside so I can see for
myself what made the fearless Thorbon feel the need to knock such
a wisp of girl senseless," admonished Frigga. She then slipped
between Old Bear and the table, briefly pushing against him before
leaning over the stranger.

Old Bear breathed deeply of her scent which was an enticing blend of
dried flowers, herbs and sweat. Holding it within him so he could
imprint the memory of the moment before stepping away with more
than a little reluctance. Maybe he would finally accept Frigga's offer
of a meal and let the Norns decide their future and stop worrying
about it himself.

"By Thor's hammer I see it, Thorbon!" Frigga's declaration pulled Old
Bear thoughts from the pleasant path they had been idly following.
"Who do you think she is and why would she want to attack our
village?" Frigga held the offensive lock of hair between her fingers as
if it would give her the answers she sought.

"As far as who she is, I don't know, but her red hair is similar to
those of those that live on the western isles," Old Bear hypothesized.
"As to the why. I would hazard a guess that she and her friends are in
the service of King Aodh."

"But why would some king from across the whale road want to
attack us?" Frigga asked while giving the warrior a questioning look
that made Old Bear's heart leap into his throat.

"Revenge. Jarl Roeven led a raid a few seasons ago against King
Aodh's father. It was one of the last ones I went on and it turned out
to be very prosperous for us. Roeven led us against Aodh's father in a
lightning quick attack and the jarl slew the old king with a single
blow. Before Aodh could gather enough men to strike back at us, we
had the ships loaded with our pillaged goods and slipped back into
the sea's protective embrace. Aodh cursed us impotently from the
shore while we paddled away and swore revenge upon us for the
death of his father."
"And so he's here now to take his revenge," Frigga spoke in quiet,
fearful whisper. Worry etched deep lines in her face as she thought
about her defenseless children.

"So it would appear," answered Old Bear, a grim look hardening his
chiseled face.

Chapter 4 :

"We need to send a runner after Jarl Roeven, to let him know what's
happened. Maybe he and the rest of the warriors could make it back
in time.." Old Bear's heavy voice stopped Frigga from saying more as
he placed a comforting hand on her forearm.

"They'd never make it in time plus King Aohd will be expecting such
a thing and have scouts out watching for such a thing. No, our only
chance is to hold out as long as we can and hope Roeven figures out
the ruse and makes for home like a horde of giants were chasing
him."

"But, you don't think they'll make it back in time, do you?" Frigga's
remark was more of a statement than a question as she desperately
searched the depths of Old Bear's eyes seeking a glimmer of hope.
"It's possible with some luck that..." he began to answer but Frigga's
angry retort drowned his next words.

"Don't you lie to me, Thorbon!" The frightened mother of three

scolded. She spun away from the captive with the speed of cracking
ice, knocking the warrior's hand from hers. Boldly, she jabbed a
quivering finger into Old Bear's broad chest with enough force to
force him to fall back a step. "The slump of your shoulders and the
way your eyes keep darting around as if searching for a way out of
our predicament betrays your words. You make me think of a
cornered wild animal."

"You're not far off from the truth," Old Bear had wanted to say but
instead he tried to placate the frightened widow. "I swear to you,
Frigga, I will see to it that the invaders do not breech Froejen's walls,
but I need you to gather the women and children and hide with them
in the hall's cellar. Frek and I will slip out and see if we can't locate
the raiders, and with the blessings of the gods, try to stop whatever
plan they have."

"You won't be doing it alone, Old Bear," offered Bellvin. "Jormdar and
I will fight by your side as we once did."

The ancient warrior had gathered a shield and spear from the rack
mounted near the hall's great doors and now was making his way to
Old Bear and Frigga. Beside him rolled Jormdar, his short-limbed bow
made especially for him to be used from his chair, balanced
comfortably across his lap. The two former raiders stood and sat
accordingly before Old Bear, watching the big man with grim looks
and expectant eyes.

Old Bear regarded the two men before him for a moment before
nodding his head as if coming to an agreement with himself. He put a
grateful hand on each man's shoulder. "Your shield and bow are
greatly appreciated. May Odin's Eye watch over you in the coming
battle," Old Bear's deep voice was somber as he spoke the blessing.

"May Grimnir keep you in your enemy's shadow till you strike,"
responded Bellvin while putting his own thickly calloused hand atop
Old Bear's shoulder.

"I think the Hooded One prefers it when you face your foe so that he
can see the fear in the man's eyes as you sink your blade into his
chest," corrected Jormdar.

"I think we shall see soon enough which the Allfather prefers," said
Old bear wanting to cut off any argument between the two proud
warriors.

"Bellvin, I want you to stand guard over the door. Don't let anyone
enter after I leave," he instructed his old shieldbrother. "Jormdar, you
should sit on Roeven's throne. It will give you the best lines of fire on
anyone trying to slip past Bellvin."

The two men nodded in understanding before moving off to take their
positions. Old Bear made to leave but he found his path blocked by a
steely faced Frigga. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring
smile and then tried to slip past the woman, but once more he found
his way blocked as she sidestepped into his path.

"We will assist Bellvin with defending the doors," Frigga's tone was
defiant as she hefted a shield and spear she had procured from the
same rack as Bellvin. With the tip of her freshly acquired spear she
motioned towards a handful of womenfolk that had armed
themselves similarly and were gathering behind the courageous
woman. "We might not be shieldmaidens, but we'll be damned if we'll
let some Loki-cursed invaders violate our homes."

Frigga's brave words and the fierce looks on the faces of the small
band of would be warriors made Old Bear's heart swell with pride yet
sink with heartache at what this dark night would mean for the
defenders. Despite the fierce determination of Bellvin, Jormdar, and
Frigga's band of housewives huddled together as much for comfort
as some form of fighting unit, Old Bear knew that Froejen's best
chance at surviving the night lay with him and his hound. Wisely he
kept such grim council to himself and instead gave Frigga a
reassuring smile.

"I've no doubt that the skalds will someday be telling the story of
Frigga the Fierce and her company of valkyries, and how they single-
handedly saved Froejen and its children from a horde of red haired
demons," he teased trying to lighten the brevity of the moment.

'Watch that tongue of yours, Thorbon," warned Frigga. "Or we might

just cut off your head and use it as our banner." She made a half-
hearted jab with her spear to emphasize her point.
"The sight of his scarred face alone will vanquish our enemies!"
jested one of the women from behind the steel shod rim of her shield.
Soon a spattering of nervous laughter trickled around the room till all
gathered were sharing awkward grin.

"With that said, I think I'll take my leave," said Old Bear with a self-
deprecating smile and a short bow, and with a blink he was the fierce
warrior again and he spoke one last order.. "No one is to enter this
hall after Frek and I depart. We will watch the streets and guard the
gate until Jarl Roeven's return."

The gathered defenders nodded their head in understanding, each

tightening their grip on their weapons. Old Bear let his gaze rest on
each one before motioning Frek to his side.

"Come, Frek. We have work to do." The shaggy haired wolfhound rose
tenderly from his resting place by the hearth and made a series of
long, slow stretches to urge his arthritic joints into motion. With the
care free amble that only a dog can manage, Frek padded over to his
master and greeted the big man with a muzzle bump to Old Bear's
nether regions.

"Good to see you too, old friend," stated Thorbon while he patted the
old hound affectionately atop Frek's wide head.
Chapter 5 :

He reached for the door, but before he could get it opened a sinewy
arm shot to impede his progress. Old Bear tried to shrug free of the
withered hand gripping his forearm, but he might as well as been
trying to break free of winter's icy grip for all the good his effort did.

Bellvin leaned close and spoke in a voice meant only for Thorbon.
"Does the beast stir, or does it still sleep? For the sake of all I hope
you can keep it in its den, Old Bear."
"It sleeps deeply, old one. I will do my best to keep it in check," Old
Bear answered in a low whisper that could have been mistaken as a
threatening growl. He jerked his arm away in irritation and slowly
opened one of the great oak doors.

Carefully he leaned out into the snowy night, gray eyes squinting
against the falling flakes and shrouded darkness. There was the
unmistakable snap of a bowstring being released that caught Old
Bear's attention and briefly caused the man to lose his focus and slip
on a patch of ice. That fortunate act of misfortune caused Old Bear
to stumble to one knee and moved his head from the path of the
approaching arrow. The projectile whistled harmlessly over the
stooped warrior and came to a quivering stop when it hit the hall's
door frame.

A thickly furred projectile shot past the downed warrior in pursuit of

the shadowy archer, a threatening growl rumbling like a spring
thunderstorm in its chest. Old Bear quickly regained his balance and
feet before stepping through the doorway. He just barely caught sight
of Frek chasing after a wiry man covered in dark leather armor and
furs before they were swallowed by the shadows created by the few
torches burning outside the hall. The invader was desperately trying
to keep as much distance between his posterior and the hounds
gnashing teeth.

The fleeing archer had a partner who was now stalking towards Old
Bear with much bravado sensing an easy victory over the aged
opponent before him. "Telli was suppose to have made sure anyone
left behind was kept in the hall until we had the gates open," the man
stated then shrugged his shoulders in indifference. "A little blood-
letting is a good way to start any raid in my opinion."

Old Bear took measure of the stranger as he approached. He carried

a simple but effective broadsword low at his waist, but the shield he
bore on his left arm sprouted ice shards in Old Bear's gut. The shield
itself was a common round shield consisting of hardwood planks
bound in a rim of black iron, but the crest painted on it gave the old
warrior pause and confirmed his fears-a rampant golden boar on a
maroon field, King Aohd's clan markings.

"So this s about revenge," Old Bear spoke his words plainly, eyes as
hard as a raptor as he watched the young warrior's swaggering
approach.

"What else would it be after your jarl killed our beloved king and my
clansman," the man snarled and continued his deadly approach.

Old Bear heard the creak of leather as the invader tightened his grip
on the shield's handle and caught the slight movement of the man's
sword as he shifted it to a ready position. Familiar feelings began to
stretch and grow deep inside of Old Bear, the promise of bloodshed
awakening a thing that was both gift and curse. A flame of rage
followed by one of pain began to burn in his soul, the two gouts
twisting and flickering together like a lover's embrace eager to
become one.

"Though your blessing has served me well in the past, Allfather, it is

the protecting nature of the Thunderer I need this night," Old Bear
spoke the request silently, but he felt the fires fizzle to nothingness
with the rumble of displeasure. Out loud he spoke once more, "You're
to late for revenge, isleman. Jarl Roeven believed your witch;s
beguiling words and left for Skorhaven. There'll be no revenge this
night."

"Oh, I don't know about that." The invader's lips pulled taut in a feral
grin and his eyes burned with the unholy light of bloodlust. "The
death of Froejen's women and children ought to just about sate our
king's desire for vengeance!"

The man used his words to mask his attack, but Old Bear, a veteran
of over a hundred battles, saw the ruse for what it was. The invader
punched out with the edge of his shield hoping to catch the elder
warrior unaware. Old Bear ducked under the arcing barrier, Rend and
Tear appearing in his oak like hands as if by magic.

Stepping close to his attacker, Old Bear caught the man's sword with
Tear's steel beard and swept the weapon harmlessly away. With
shield and sword horribly out of position it left the swordsman's
chest exposed and vulnerable to counterattack. A fact Old Bear was
quick to exploit.

The man's swagger evaporated as recognition formed in his mind at

the sight of the two infamous axes. "You're the bear. Telli was to
make sure you went with Roeven," the swordsman's words were
muffled in a blanket of trepidation. He opened his mouth to speak
once more, but whether to deny Old Bear's presence or to call out a
warning no one would know.
The graybeard exploded into violent action. Rend flew up in a savage
diagonal cut that severed the invader's throat and cutting off any
forthcoming words. Tear roared in from the side, chopping into the
man's side with enough force to shatter ribs and like its name, tear
apart the softer tissue of the lungs beneath.

Old Bear quick-stepped backwards, letting his foes lifeless body fall
onto the snow covered street. His breath came in quick ragged gasps
as the adrenaline surge began to ebb from his body. The rage within
once more began to probe outwards seeking to be released upon
Froejen's enemies as it had so many times in the past. With a growl
he forced it back into its den and with a last kick to make sure his
foe was dead, the axeman took off for the village's main gate.

Chapter 6 :

Frantic, painladen yips followed by a scalding string of curses made

the decision for him. Cautiously Old Bear stalked through the narrow
confines of the alley until it opened up into a small lot that Goeven
the blacksmith used to store his supply of seasoned wood. A figure
stood with his back towards Old Bear, a long spear with a leaf-
shaped blade held tightly in a white-knuckled, two-handed grip.
There came a snapping sound as if the jaws of an angry beast just
missed catching its prey; followed by the sound of an alchemist's
mortar and pestle grinding as the man's target growled a warning.
Ignoring the promised threat, the spearman lunged forward and
slammed the weapon down with all his might.

"Why won't you die!" Howled the invader into the night and raised his
spear for another strike. The man's final effort hadn't been in vain as
his target let loose with a agony wrapped yelp before slumping to the
cold earth.

"Stick the beast again, Rell," a second man spoke from where he was
leaning heavily against a stack of wood with the back of his legs and
posterior bleeding profusely. "That damn hound nearly bit my arse
off!"

Through the spearman's legs Old Bear could see the still form of
Frek, the hound's gray and white coat now sporting a multitude of
scarlet blossoms. Not far away lay the corpse of a third invader, his
throat having been savagely torn out. Frek, his beloved and sole
companion for the last seven years, now lay motionless in the snow
and mud with his life-blood steadily seeping out.

The sight was too much for the grim-faced warrior. This time he
didn't fight the rage as it rumbled up from deep inside like a
avalanche tearing its way down a mountainside. Old Bear let enough
of the primal force free to tint his vision with the faint red of a dying
sunset, and with a wordless roar he launched himself at the
surprised spearman. With the force of an enraged bull Old Bear
slammed into the man's vulnerable back, lifting the invader from his
feet, and sending him flying through the air. The poor man folded in
half, the back of his head reaching his heels as he spiraled through
the air and landed in a crumpled pile, writhing in agony at a pain he
no longer could reach. Old Bear paid him no heed as he stalked
towards the simpering archer.

"By the Green Man, why aren't you with Roeven? I'd never have
volunteered for this if I'd known the gods' cursed Bear was going to
be here," the archer whined while he tried to nock an arrow with
trembling fingers.

"Aaeeii!" he screamed as a vicious blow from Rend shattered his bow

and tore the useless weapon from his grasp. The cry of fear turned to
a wet gurgle when Tear slammed into the isleman's chest with a
thunderous crack not once, but three times as quick as lightning
strikes. Ribs shattered and knees buckled beneath the fury of the
enraged axeman, and the archer stumbled to the ground. He watched
in frozen terror while Old Bear raised his blades high to deliver the
killing blow, defenseless to stop his impending doom. At the last
second the archer freed himself from his paralysis and started to
curse Thorbon, but before he could utter his first word the twin axes
descended and split his head from crown to chin. Wrenching Rend
and Tear free Old Bear turned his deathly visage on the remaining
invader.

"Mercy Bear, please grant me mercy," the spearman begged as he

futilely tried to drag his broken body from the carnage piled around
him and the fearsome warrior with those infamous weapons. "I'd
never have attacked the hound if I'd known he was yours!"

The man screamed in agony when Old bear's booted foot connected
with his battered ribcage with enough force to flip the spearman onto
his back. "Don't you know? The Bear doesn't grant mercy," stated
Old Bear in a voice akin to ice cracking on a gravestone. He placed a
heavy boot on the spearman's neck and slowly applied pressure. In a
panic the isleman tore at Old Bear's foot and leg, but he'd have better
luck trying to uproot an evergreen.

Several moments passed as Old Bear slowly, but steadily increased

the pressure of his foot before there was a sickening crunch as the
spearman's neck collapsed and then finally broke with a dull crack.
The purple blanket that had covered the man's face faded away,
leaving behind taut pale cheeks and bulging eyes that mirrored his
fear as he watched as death came to claim him.

Old Bear paid the three corpsed no more heed than a forester does a
felled tree as he scanned the area for new foes to sate his fury. The
crimson spiderwebs that had clouded his vision dissolved into
nothingness as his gaze settled on the still form of Frek. Softly he
slipped to his knees and with the gentle touch of a new mother, Old
Bear rearranged the faithful hound's body into a more comfortable
and peaceful position.

"The hearths of Valhalla are always burning and there's plenty of

bones to chew on, my friend," whispered Old Bear while he stroked
the soft fur of Frek's nape one last time. "Fear not, you won't be
alone for much longer."

Chapter 7 :

Pushing the pain of his loss into the same dark hole he hid past
sorrows and guilt, Old Bar stood and silently left the gore shrouded
alley. Deciding that the sounds of fighting earlier would have warned
any of the remaining invaders that Froejen had at least one defender,
he threw stealth to the wind and jogged down the middle of the
street towards the main gate. His bravado was challenged quickly
when an arrow sailed past him, missing by a hand width. The swirling
snow parted and Old Bear had just enough time to see that the gates
had been opened wide and their iron hinges smashed into
uselessness before the snow swirled, and the dancing flakes
obscured his vision once more.

A second arrow came out of the twirling blanket of ivory flakes, and
it too missed Old Bear by the barest of margins. A blessing of the
Norns caused the twisting nether of snow and wind to die away,
allowing the hardened warrior to spot the bowman and the two
raiders accompanying him. Behind them stood the now wide open
gates of Froejen.

The archer pulled another arrow from the quiver belted at his hip, but
before he could put it to string one of his companions motioned for
him to stop. "You didn't hit him your first two tries, Bellwyn. I don't
think your chances are any better now that he can see who's
shooting at him."

Opening his mouth in protest, the archer was once more cut short by
a motion from his leader. "Go find Aodh and let him know the gates of
Froejen have been thrown wide. Danyth and I will handle the
graybeard."

Bellwyn nodded towards the speaker then shot the approaching Old
Bear a murderous glare. "You should feel privileged, northman!
Cedric the Swift, the greatest swordsman of the Green Isles, will
send you to your feasting hall in the sky!"

Cedric gave Bellwyn a scathing glance before giving him a swift kick
to the backside to send the bowman on his way. Bellwyn stumbled
towards the gate, rubbing his sore arse briskly, but with a crooked
grin stretching across his face. He quickly disappeared into the
darkness leaving behind a trail of cackling laughter.

"Islemen," Old Bear muttered shaking his head in annoyance. He

raised Rend and Tear up before him, hands low on their worn hafts to
match the reach of the approaching swordsmen.

The two men spread out in an attempt to flank the sole defender of
Froejen while the wind picked up once more, howling as if in protest
of the intruders presence. It's biting fury clawed at the layers of
heavy furs the islemen had to worn to fend off the bitter cold of the
north, revealing the to Old Bear the dull glint of chainmail.

The one called Danyth circled to the old warrior's left while the
Named Man stalked to the right. He never let them set up their
attack. With a deep throated cry, Old Bear bull rushed Cedric the
Swift, who lived up to his name by deftly snapping his shield before
him to shrug off the charging man's attack. Emerald eyes glittered
dangerously over the ironbound rim and the corner of Cedric's mouth
curled into a knowing smile as he prepared his counter, but the
charge had been a feint to force the Named Man into a defensive
position so Old Bear could deliver his true assault. Before he had
taken more than a handful of steps, the crafty northman spun on the
balls of his feet with his weapons flying out wide like deadly arms on
a spinning top.

An ear rending screech ripped through the air as the arcing edge of
Rend caught the descending flat of Danyth's blade. The swordsman
had thought to catch Old Bear by surprise with a devastating
overhead chop at Thorbon's vulnerable back, but veteran warrior had
expected such a move and prepared a counterattack. As Rend
continued its sweeping path propelled onward by Old Bear's corded
muscles, it drove Danyth's sword harmlessly away and left the
isleman horribly off balanced and exposed. The trailing flight of Tear
creased the young fighter's throat, leaving him with a crimson grin.
Danyth's eyes opened wide in shock then blinked twice before
freezing in surprise as he slumped forward onto the frozen ground.

"Impressive, friend," said Cedric but his cold words were anything
but cordial. The blademaster started a slow circle around the wary
northman. "I was hoping to test my sword against the legendary axes
of the Bear, but I feared your jarl would take you with him. I'm glad
he didn't."

Old Bear shrugged his heavily slabbed shoulders noncommittally,

attempting to hide a tentative strike with Rend. The isleman
smoothly angled his shield to easily deflect the half-hearted attack.
Once more the corners of Cedric's mouth curled into a confident grin
as he continued to stalk his prey.

"Killing the Bear, Scourge of the Whale Road, will seal my own
legend among the Emerald Clans, but fear not graybeard, I will make
your death quick if not painless." The flame haired fighter's words
slid oily from his white-toothed grin while he spun his blade in a lazy
circle to loosen the tendons of his wrist.
Old Bear kept his comments to himself though whether from dignity
or because he had to suddenly dodge the swordsman's series of
rapid jabs was unclear. In either case Thorbon found himself being
harried relentlessly by Cedric's lightening quick strikes. For several
minutes it was all Old Bear could do to get Rend or Tear in the path
of the flashing sword tip or sidestep the vicious onslaught.

With a battle cry on his lips, Cedric swung his leaf-shaped blade in a
wide, horizontal sweep. Old Bear recognized the feint a second too
late as he raised his axes to block the slashing weapon. Light
exploded before the northman's eyes punctuated by black spikes of
stunning pain as Cedric's iron rimmed shield cracked solidly against
his jaw, staggering the bigger man. Reflexively he brought Rend and
Tear down across his chest expecting the isleman's sword point to
pierce his heart any moment.

His desperate move was rewarded as Cedric's sword connected with

the hafts of his twin weapons, and caused the blade to skid off it's
mark. Old Bear gasped as white-hot pain stitched its way across his
side as the sword's razor edge easily parted his woolen tunic and cut
a jagged scarlet gash across his ribs.

His breath coming in ragged gasps, Old Bear knew that he needed to
dispatch his foe soon, Cedric's youth and skill with the sword would
prove superior in a drawn out match. The rage he had been fighting
ripped and clawed at the mental shieldwall Old Bear had built to
contain it, howling in fury to be released. He was the Bear, greatest
fighting man in the north and this green eyed, red haired foreigner
dared to come into his lair, seeking to do harm to his friends, and
challenge his supremacy. No, not now. Not ever. The beast within
refused to accept that.

A growl of defiance came unbidden to his lips, Old Bear raised his
loyal, faithful extensions of his wrath and once more charged the
calmly waiting swordsman. Right before he came within striking
distance of the ruby stained blade, Thorbon skidded to a stop, and
swept his leg through the piling snow showering Cedric with the
chilling powder and momentarily stealing the man's sight.
Predictably the isleman raised his arms to ward off the feathery
blow. Taking advantage of the impromptu screen, Old Bear slipped
unseen to Cedric's side, his hands deftly sliding up the shaft of his
weapons to just under their steel heads. With a second step he
moved in tight against his enemy and began slashing out with
powerful, short blows to the swordsman's shuddering body.

Cedric frantically tried to backpedal away from Old Bear's savage

assault, but the wild axeman refused to give up his advantage and
relentlessly followed the isleman's retreat. Iron rings parted under
the heavy blows, then ribs cracked from the pounding strikes, until
the keen edges of Rend and Tear bit harshly into the soft flesh
beneath the destroyed armor.

Both men grunted as they grappled, one from exertion and the other
in pain, wordless sounds hot with unspoken curses. After several
tense moments Cedric slumped heavily against Old Bear, his
weapons falling from his hands as his strength fled from his ravaged
body. Old Bear reluctantly stoppered the battlelust pounding through
his ears with each pump of his mighty heart and gently lowered the
isleman to the snowy ground.

"King Aohd is coming with two score of his best warriors, northman,"
stated Cedric in a voice barely above a whisper. "Your jarl won't
return in time to save you or the ones you protect."

Old Bear kept silent as the dying man spoke, carefully cleaning the
heads of his gore encrusted axes with handfuls of ivory snow.

"You'll die knowing there was nothing even the mighty Bear could've
done to save them. The ones you left in the hall will be forced into a
life of slavery once we've had our sport with them." Rust speckled
bubbles formed at the corners of Cedric's lips as he taunted the
village defender, a mocking smile painfully stretching across his pale
face.

Old Bear stopped cleaning his weapons and slowly stood up as he

turned his gaze to the dying man. The look he gave Cedric would've
made a cloudless, deep winter night seem warm by comparison. The
isleman was terrified by the grim visage before him-of the frigidness
of Old Bear's eyes that held the promise of pain and suffering.

Without a sound except the timid flutter of falling snow, Old Bear
reversed his grip on Rend's haft so the hammer edge of the axe faced
away from his white-knuckled grip. Cedric weakly raised his hands to
ward of the coming blow, but his failing body would not comply with
his pleading minds request. With a quick snap of his wrist, Old Bear
hit Cedric's throat with a dull crack.
"Will you bleed out from the wounds inflicted by my axes or will you
suffocate in your own blood first? In the end it matters not. You are
dead, but I still stand and if I stand then there is hope for Froejen."
Thorbon slipped the twin axes back into the leather loops on his
thick belt, turned his back on the fallen invader, and walked through
the open village gates. Just before he passed through the roughcut
walls, he paused long enough to look back towards the great hall and
think fondly on the treasure that lay within.

"Allfather, I give myself to you in the hope that you bless Froejen
with safety and time. May my fighting prowess honor you and my
actions bring you glory," the old warrior prayed into the night.

Chapter 8 :

The Champion of Froejen did not have to walk far or wait very long to
find his hidden foes as treacherous shadows birthed from the
surrounding darkness, cruel weapons gripped tightly in heavy hands.
In less than a child's handful of heartbeats, Old Bear found himself
staring into a wall of whorl-inked faces set tight in twisted scowls
watching him from deep within their layers of fur and leather. The
hard men had drawn their swords and long daggers with the promise
of spilling blood in the name of Aohd, and their eyes glittered
dangerously with the fire of vengeance.

In the middle stood the new king himself, a wicked smile stretched
across his wide face while a great mane of auburn plaits danced
wildly around his head in defiance of the bitter north wind. King Aohd
stood a full hand and a half taller than the warriors that flanked him
and was half again as wide as Old Bear with great slabs of granite
hard muscles layered on his imposing frame. His monstrous two-
hander, Twine, lay easily on his shoulder, a plate sized hand wrapped
comfortably around the sword's wire bound hilt. All these things
combined gave any onlookers the impression that a Gaelic god had
descended to earth to enact retribution for the fallen king.

"Is this the best Jarl Roeven could do to protect his home? An
overaged warrior who should be sitting next to a fire to keep his
brittle bones warm?" taunted Aohd, his men snickering from behind
the safety of their brightly painted shields.

Old Bear's reply was simple but clear. "For Froejen! For Odin!" he
yelled as he charged his surprised foes, weapons raised in defiance
of the expected outcome.

As he ran, Old Bear let the rage he had been struggling to contain
burst free. His mighty yell turned shifted into a low growl deep in his
chest that tore free in a earth shattering roar as he raced towards
the enemies of his people. With the white-hot rage running coursing
through his body, Old Bear felt the power of the gods fortify him and
through the red haze that covered his vision the enraged warrior
could see the fear in the islemen's wide eyes. Even King Aodh
trembled at the approach of the wild-eyed creature bearing down him
with the promise of certain death. Before the invaders could break
and flee this god-cursed village the beast was among them and the
battle began in earnest.
The sun rose timidly over the snow blanketed land, its weak light
casting dour shadows on the forlorn group making their way towards
the open gates of Froejen. At the head of the bowed war party
marched Jarl Roeven, doggedly placing one heavy foot in front of the
other as he lead his weary men home. They had marched through the
night after reaching Skorhaven and realizing they had been tricked
into leaving their homes defenseless.

Upon reaching the broken gates the jarl spotted a group of villagers
gathered around something in the beaten snow. His wonder
increased as the party passed the broken and mangled bodies of
King Aohd's men and passed into disbelief as he spotted the corpse
of the giant king himself lying apart from his warriors. Aohd's innards
had been spilt by the swipe of some great animal's paw and lay in a
twisted lump next to his cold body while Twine sat broken in his
frozen grasp. The gods' blessed weapon rested in two jagged halves
like its name, shattered with no more difficulty then a dry twig.

"What has happened here?" commanded Roeven of the men and

women gathered there.

It was the small boy, Orvik who answered first, his tiny face streaked
with freshly fallen tears. "The winged woman took him, Jarl Roeven,"
he spoke in a voice so soft that Roeven had to strain to hear the
whispered words.

"Who took who?" Roeven asked once more, trying to make sense of
the gore enhanced scene around him. The jarl and his men had
expected to return to a village robed in carnage and wreathed in
loss. Though sorrow was heavy in the air, it was obvious to the jarl
that something wondrous had transpired in his absence and
prevented the nightmare that might have been.

"The valkyries, my lord. They came and took Thorbon's spirit home to
be with his shield brothers." Though her voice was firm with a hint of
pride and loss, Frigga's eyes were red-rimmed and the ghostly trails
of recently fallen tears framed her pale cheeks.

She moved aside, pulling her sniffling son with her so Roeven could
see what his people had been gathered around. There in the ankle
deep snow lay the still body of the Bear. The jarl couldn't hold back a
gasp of surprise that slipped out unhindered, a gasp that was
repeated over and over as his warriors joined him. It wasn't the
amount of injuries Old Bear had sustained, though it appeared there
hadn't been an inch of him that hadn't been cut, sliced, or pierced by
his foes. It was the snow surrounding the fallen champion. It had
been pressed into the likeness of a great bear.

"Berserker, Odin blessed," Roeven whispered the simple statement

with reverence.

"Aye, my lord. Thorbon controlled it long enough to save us all.

There's more of the islemen inside of Froejen who fell to the axes of
Old Bear," Bellvin added from the jarl's side. The old fighter had
joined the rest of the villagers that had left the hall at first light when
the invaders hadn't attacked them.
"Jorg and Torg, gather our fallen hero and bring him to my hall. There
all can pay their proper respects and we can prepare Thorbon's body
for its final voyage," ordered Jarl Roeven.

The two young men did as they were told and Jarl Roeven lead the
somber group back within the safety of their village. No one noticed
the solitary figure watching the progression with a keen eye as they
passed by with their precious cargo and disappeared through the
gates. A single tear crept down his line-etched face to disappear into
the thick maze of his black and silver beard. He reached up with
irritation as he adjusted the simple eyepatch of leather over the
empty socket of where his right eye should have been.

"After all these centuries you would think this damnable thing would
quit itching," the man mumbled failing to deceive even himself, his
voice as deep and rich as freshly gathered honey. He lifted his worn
staff and tilted it towards Thorbon's retreating corpse in a salute.
"Welcome home, my son. Your brothers eagerly await your arrival,"
he said before pulling the hood of his forest green cloak over his
head and taking a step away from the village that mourning the loss
of their hero, but celebrating the fate the Norns had blessed then
with. With a step, the man disappeared into the once more falling
snow.