Healing House

"I'll try." Wilfred murmured to Anndrais as he passed the monk, noticing the skill with which he wielded a bow. Thankfully the girl was slight, barely a burden in one arm let alone two for the giant Saxon as he pressed through the mayhem without apparent care for anything in his way. Between them the monk and Faolan kept the Draugr away from him but it was clear that more in the house were turning as they retreated and their escape route became more tenuous by the second.

"Come, quickly. Lest we be trapped in here for good and afterwards." Wilfred growled over the noise just as one of the deceased looked up from the mangled corpse of their former loved one at Wilfred and his charge, a base hunger the only expression on their grisly face and dark eyes. The creature, for they could no longer be called human, leapt at him but the Saxon approached fearlessly and backhanded the deceased, his clenched fist nearly the size of its skull. Before it could regain any semblance of balance Wilfred wrapped his hand around its head, carefully avoiding the mouth as only moments before the pagan priest had called out his warning, and dragged the kick and struggling corpse to the door where a stouter log formed the frame. The Draugr's head split open like an egg shell after being smashed against the post thrice and Wilfred let the near-headless creature drop to the floor.

"Out!" He called before he ducked out, making sure that Tora was secure and safe in his arms. A crowd was gathering outside, drawn by the screams and inhuman cries of hunger from inside the Healing House. Over their heads, Wilfred's immense size allowed him to see an approaching column of well-organised and armoured men, all carrying torches with a grim-looking Harald at their head.

"The damn imp."

---

Robbie stumbled, his wounded body not obeying him as he avoided combat but try as he might he simply could not keep up with the retreating party. More than once he had nearly fallen prey to the Draugr only to be rescued by an arrow sent from God Almighty, via Anndrais, or by a brief struggle which sent the creature off in search of weaker prey. A still smoldering log was in his hand, an effective weapon for bludgeoning the head of one of the undead which seemed to be the most effective manner to truly dispatch them.

He could ignore the cries of those around him, there was no help to be found here and every one of them had to fight for their own survival; but the cries of a helpless child who was unable to protect herself stopped the Pict in his limping retreat. Not understanding the language made little difference to him, the tone was enough to inform him, making Robbie turn back and grab the helpless child before their deceased parents could descend upon him and reunite them.

"God Damned Devilspawn!" The Pict growled as he pounded at them with his makeshift club while retreating with the small child, no more than five years of age, clutched in one arm. "First the Saxons and now Satan himself. No rest for wicked Pict."

Svala's eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light of the healing house, Haakon's warnings ringing in her ears. The coppery smell of blood and split viscera was as suffocating as the heat and the screams of pain and fear - and an unholy hunger. And there, just beneath the hideous chaos wafted a sickly sweet stench that turned her stomach, the stink of black blood she knew all too well, could never forget to her dying day.

Survival required no thought, only reaction as Haakon slammed one charging draugr back. Tora was in here, and Vigi and even the companion of Orran, the Christian monk Anndrais - but... Was Orran here too? Where was her painted friend, her promised teacher -

Svala shouted with revulsion as she felt something wrap around the ankle of her booted foot, caught in an impossibly strong grip. Her axe blade swung down on a slender, pale wrist, but Amma did not scream - she was far, far gone from the concerns of the living. The half of her that could still move, could still feed, still had another free hand that she swung clumsily at Svala. Bloody black intestines left a slimy trail over the dirt floor of the desecrated healing house, Amma's cloudy dead eyes focused hungrily on the living flesh that lay just beyond the young woman's skirts.

Svala screamed furiously, her axe swinging once, twice, the blade buried again and again in the draugr's skull. The stinking black blood arced over her head with every blow, even when the thing that was once Amma no longer moved. Svala lost all sense of time, of thought as motion became all, her axe blade biting into unliving flesh time and again, a snarl on her lips.

But it was Haakon's shout that snapped her attention back to this world, like a much-needed slap in the chaos. She swiftly followed the path he carved out of the healing house, after the enormous thrall with the carved up back who carried Tora in his arms, out into the cool, grey morning light and Hallerna's waiting hands.

She could only watch Svala's back disappear into the healing house after Haakon, just as the first of the injured who could still walk on their own, or assisted by family, friends began to appear. Hallerna swiftly inspected each for a bite mark before setting them down to the ground some distance from the healing house, every second that passed a small, agonizing eternity as she waited for her eldest daughter to emerge again.

A small, strangled cry of relief choked Hallerna when Svala finally appeared after Tora and the slave Wilfred, whose torn back she had stitched only yesterday. She grabbed her daughter by the shoulders, yanking her closer before she began to pat down Svala's face, her neck and arms, dread and relief coursing through her veins in equal measure as she searched for the bloody, tell-tale semicircles that would only mean death. "Were you bitten!?" Hallerna asked, desperate to hear the only answer that mattered to her in that moment. "Svala - the draugr, did any bite you?"

"No, Madir no please... I am all right, not bitten, you see?" she asked, holding out her arms, axe still in hand even as she shook her head. Svala tried to smile, tried to give her mother some small reassurance. There was simply no time for anything more. Haakon's words were to ensure none of the draugr left the healing house, and so she pulled away from Hallerna, ready to take up a spot at the exit to see his words done -

"Oh... Oh gods Madir look!" Svala hissed, deep blue eyes wide with shock as she peered over Hallerna's shoulder, at the contingent of armed and armored raiders marching to the healing house, torches in hand.

**********

Whatever childish resentments she might have kept disappeared like morning mist in the sun when Eyja saw Raudr sprinting beside her. Suddenly it did not matter that Raudr was only just a little older than she. Raudr had a shield, and he had a sword - or a dagger, or whatever it was, but it was still sharp she bet! And Raudr was saying all the right things too as he raced beside her, just like a grown-up would say - even if he was no taller than she was either.

All Eyja had was her strong, fast legs and a rolled up drawing of a wolf on paper, getting scrunched up in her belt even now. There was little she would not give to have wolf teeth right now, wolf claws, for four faster wolf legs. With Raudr here though, there were four legs. He had a tooth and a claw, and they could be a pack - or at least she could pretend long enough to keep the fear from making her sick, and want to hide like her kitten Tore did.

"I'll stay... With you... Raudr... " Eyja panted, not slowing even the tiniest bit as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, smiling her thanks widely as the pair flew along the icy, muddy roads past yet another long house.

collab between Igraine and idlehands

Mid morning, Trelleborg

They ran, their feet kicking up the snow as they dashed past the longhouses were curious people were looking out of, raising their heads from morning chores as the commotion from the healing house grew louder. One man tried to reach out to stop them, shouting a question and Raudr dodged him, calling back over his shoulder.

"Draugr in the healer's house!", the boy cried breathlessly.

The man looked shocked and frightened, he was older and no warrior. His dark hands spoke of his craft of tanning and with a sharp order, his family ran back inside where he boarded their door. Raudr snorted in disgust at the cowardice of the man hiding rather than running to the aid of Haakon and the others. That moment of distraction though lead him to not see the long handle of a shovel left carelessly in front of one of the longhouses, half buried in the snow. He stepped on it, feeling it roll beneath his foot and he fell forward, his knees hitting the cold wet ground.

"Oof," he grunted, putting out his hands to push himself back up, his bright yellow and red shield now muddy. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement from the doorway and he turned to look.

The draugr's face was covered in blood, his eyes wide and full of demonic hunger as it shuffled quickly toward him. It was one of the men that had come out with the supply raid, a man who had been bitten on the arm and thought nothing of the wound but to have his wife bind it. He was one of four that had not gone to the healing house, preferring to recover in privacy. He lurched into the snow covered road toward Raudr and behind him the wails of a woman and child could be heard.

Without weapon or shield or great strength of her own, Eyja's judgment of the tanner was far gentler than Raudr's. She spared only the shortest glance in the old man's direction, a pitying look of understanding far beyond her handful of years just as the door to his home slammed shut against them.

But no more than Raudr, did the little girl see the shovel handle that tripped up his feet. As if Tore's feline spirit ran with her, Eyja leapt over the tangle of Raudr's legs at the very last instant, landing beside him on her hands and feet in the frigid, muddied snow. Pale blue eyes wide with surprise, her gasping breaths puffing little gouts of mist, she turned about to grab Raudr's arm with both hands, to yank the other half of her little wolf pack back to his feet.

And that was when she followed his horrified gaze.

Eyja screamed, trying to all but drag the boy to his feet with the strength that terror-fueled adrenaline coursed through her small body."Raudr!" she shrieked at the top of her lungs, her small hands locked in an iron grip on boy's arm as if she could simply pick him up all on her own. She heard the cries of the woman behind the walking dead man, and the child, and whimpered softly in her throat. Great tears began to well at the corners of her eyes, the too-fresh memories of their flight from the farm beginning to tear and bleed at the edges of her thought.

"Raudr get up!" she pleaded, releasing his arm with one hand to reach to her feet, fingers grabbing at a mud-covered rock she found there, and hurling it at the nightmare coming for her friend.

Raudr's heart was in his throat, he felt his skin crawl as the thing got closer and Eyja's shrill cries pierced the morning air. He pushed up on his shield, getting to his feet, feeling her hand clutching his arm. The rock thrown bounced off the draugr's head and did nothing but make it snarl and reach with grasping hands toward them. He pushed at Eyja, a part of his brain registering the cries from the house had ceased but for a thin wail of an infant and he shuddered, blocking out the noise.

"Run, Eyja, run fast!" he shouted, pushing her ahead of him and at the same time he swung his shield up.

He turned, facing the monster that lunged at them. His knees shook and he felt a sudden surge of shame, how badly he wanted to run even if it meant leaving Eyja behind. He was scared, even more frightened than when the draugr had attacked their farm because then there was his Fadir and Haakon and Ivarr and all the other brave grown men that protected them. He shouted again, his voice cracking with fear.

"Go! Get my Fadir!"

The draugr made a swipe where Eyja's hair would have been if she had not moved and Raudr reacted with instinct, forgetting to think and let his training take over. The small shield smacked the draugr in the face, the iron boss connecting with it's jaw bone. That got it's attention and he turned on Raudr, bearing down, snatching at the shield. The boy backed up, keeping the shield between him and the snapping teeth of the undead creature.

The weight of the horror that had once been a man overwhelmed him and he fell backward, still keeping the round shield between them. He cried out, wanting nothing more than to hear his Fadir's voice and to see Skulltaker coming down on the draugr that was trying to eat him and Eyja.

The doorway stood open beyond them and a figure appeared. He could see only out of the corner of his eye but she was tall and thin, her mousey brown hair soaked in blood and her arms covered in hideous ragged bite wounds. Her nude body was dark with blood, where her breasts had been was nothing but raw flesh and she gripped a long knife tightly in her fist. The woman was not dead yet and she screamed in primal rage at the draugr, stumbling forward.

The woman buried the knife to the hilt in the draugr's back and it roared, forgetting Raudr for a moment as it lurched up, snatching at the bleeding woman. She bared her teeth at the draugr in rage and shrieked at the boy, "RUN!"

Raudr did not wait, he rolled free, forgetting to grab his shield as he bolted away from the scene, following Eyja.

Eyja had no idea where Raudr's father was, or she would have found him! She really would have! But Madir had told her to find Loker or his guards and at least she knew where they should be. Eyja was torn - and it was that split second of indecision that nearly cost her life.

The draugr's clawed hand snatched the air where she had been standing, but it was Raudr who saved her. He slammed into it with his shield while she just stood there, helpless, paralyzed with terror as he fell beneath its weight. All she could see was her big brother Tore all over again, beating back the walking dead thing that had been her Uncle Ormarr with only a piece of timber in his bare hands. He had a snarl on his lips - they would not have his baby sister, not his funny, fiery little Eyja! Tore had been relentless, but even he did not have the stamina that unending hunger gave the draugr. All it took was one misstep backward, one stumbling step and he too fell...

The screams, they filled her ears and she could not tell if they were Tore's or her own until she heard that word, that same agony-filled, desperate and furious command all over again - but torn from a bloody, mutilated woman's throat as she fell on the thing that had once been her husband.

"RUN!"

And Eyja did. Just like at the farm, frigid gasps of air burning her lungs - but this time her savior caught up with her. Eyja glanced again to Raudr, her pale eyes filled with tears that made her whole world swim, but she didn't care. The little girl reached out to clasp his hand in hers, praying to every god she had ever known that they would find an armed guard who would not run away. That they would meet the giant man meant for smiling, the housekarl Loker; or her brave friend the painted man Orran; or Raudr's warrior Fadir - someone, any grown-up, who would know what to do!

Raudr grabbed her warm hand, feeling the strength of her small fingers clutching his own and they ran together. His saex had stayed sheathed and forgotten during the brief but frightening ordeal. His first thought was to find his father but they were running toward the Hall, away from their home. The Hall though represented security with it's heavy walls and armed guards. They would find the housekarl and men with chainmail and swords to kill the draugr. Adrenaline surged through him, for the second time in as many days he was running for his life within the stout walls of a holdfast, Trelleborg that was supposed to be so safe.

((collaboration continued with idlehands and Igraine))

Near the Hall, the slaves worked, checking the smoked meat and chopping more firewood though they had to make it last since winter was long and the forests were beyond the walls. One of the guards was taking a piss, idly watching the road as the fort stirred to life in the grey light of the cloudy morning. He made a circle in the snow and chuckled to himself as he packed it back up in his trousers. He glanced up again and spotted two children racing toward the fort. They could have been twins, nearly the same size and the bright fiery hair. He was amused until he saw the terror on their white faces.

The guard heard their high pitched hoarse shouts for help and he ran toward them, seizing Raudr roughly, "What is it boy? Harald again?"

Raudr gasped for breath and shook his head, his face flushed and his dark red hair plastered to his forehead, "Draugr!"

"Leave him... Alone!" Eyja panted, grabbing at the guard's hand where he grasped Raudr's arm too tightly. "Have to... Get Loker! Draugr in the... In the healing house... And in here too! In Trelleborg!"

Her freckled cheeks glowed a bright red between the cold and the exertion, and she bent forward for a moment, her head dropping now that she could catch her breath. She and Raudr had shouted to every last grown-up they passed as the raced for the Hall, breathlessly warning them of the draugr - the draugr in the healing house! Some slammed doors on them just as the tanner had, sliding bolts and bars into place noisily. But still others slipped swiftly into their homes, only to reappear with some weapon or other and heading back the way they had come, back toward the healing house.

But no matter the choice the adults made, the children did not stop running - not until the guardsman grabbed Raudr and pulled him up short. "Let. Him. Go!" Eyja shouted, terror making her strangely brave as she swatted at the guard's arm. "There are draugr in... In the healing house! And one tried... To eat us at one of the... The long houses on the way here!"

Eyja's pale gaze scaled the Hall before them. "Mister Loker!" she began to shout, her voice high and near breathless, but as shrill and loud as only a terrified but determined little girl could be. "Mister Loker! It's Eyja! We need you! There's draugr! DRAUGR!"

Loker was standing near the entrance of the hall, he was in his leather and mail armor, his sword strapped to his hip as he always wore when he was on duty. Duty. He mused over it, he was houekarl of an empty Hall. No Jarl was in the chair, not yet anyway and which ever one took it, there was hardly a guarantee his place was secure. He sighed through his nose and was about to turn back when he heard a shout that made his hair stand on end.

”Eyja! He shouted when he recognized the high pitched cry, the needful sound in her voice tugged at his paternal nature. Loker shoved the heavy door open and bounded down the stairs, seeing her and Ragnar’s son red faced and terrified.

“Draugr, here?” He exclaimed and turned to the guard, “Gather the men, make sure they’re armed, all of them. Go now!”

Loker looked down at Eyja and reached for her, crouching down so he could look at her face, “It’s alright, we’ll get them. Now take a breath, girl. What happened?”

He listened to their halting explanation of events and it dawned on him how bad it was. Inside the walls, draugr would run rampant unless they contained and killed them all. Not just in the healing house but they were in the village, too. Loker ran his hand over his beard, the iron rings jingling slightly as he listened to her. Gods be good, they were in the shit now.

Loker looked at them both, “You were very brave, you’re safe now. Ragnar, your parents are here, they’re beyond the Hall in the grove. Go to them, take her with you.”

He held Eyja’s hand tightly for a moment and tried to smile for her sake, “I’ll see to your mother and sister, little one. Go with him.”

Eyja nodded miserably, a small, tentative gesture as she looked to Loker, still kneeling beside her, holding her hand. She wanted to say something, but she knew if she tried she’d only burst into tears all over again. The little girl swallowed, her throat dry and tight and hurting, and then suddenly wrapped her arms tightly around Loker’s neck, burying her face in the wiry lengths of the beard at his neck.

”Promise,” Eyja whispered, the tears falling in earnest now. ”Promise you’ll bring Madir and Svala back with you.”

Loker felt her small arms wrap around him and he hugged her back, her thin body felt so frail, like a baby bird. He hugged her, feeling the warmth grow in his heart, the same he had for his own child which he could not express in openly. He patted her back, feeling her tears on his neck.

“There now...little flame,” he said quietly, pulling back to look into her pale blue eyes, “You have my oath that I will bring your mother and sister back or I will not return with breath in my lungs.”

He reached up and pulled a bronze ring from his arm and held it out to her. It was highly polished, gleaming like fire and engraved with stylized animals, ”I swear by my ring. Take it, Eyja. Keep it as my promise. And you, tell your father what has happened and bring that big sword of his. We’ll need it.”

Loker stroked her hair and smiled at her briefly before standing to bark orders at the men rushing out of the Hall, armed with axes, spears and swords. He was the housekarl now, striding away from the children, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he moved to the head of the column of guards.

Raudr bit his lip, he felt the relief wash over him that his parents were nearby and he wanted to run to them but he would not leave without Eyja. Haakon had put her in his protection and he would not waver now. At Loker’s order he nodded and took off toward the back of the Hall, trotting cautiously in the slick slush of the churned mud and snow.

Eyja’s pale eyes followed Loker as he left, both her small hands wrapped about the ring he had left with her, his promise, until he was gone from her sight. Her fingers rubbed the smooth, solid bronze edges, studying all the pretty, cavorting animals a moment longer before she turned, her face still solemn and thoughtful as jogged after Raudr. Eyja was a good-hearted girl and she was truly happy for her friend, that his family was here waiting here for him.

Though it was far too large for her thin arm, she pulled Loker’s ring to her elbow, holding it there with her other hand as she picked up her pace to catch up with Raudr.

(Collab Road, Igraine and Kuro)

Trelleborg, midmorning, Healing house

Vigi jerked his head around after watching the last person leave, sweeping his eyes over the healing house to see who was left. His gaze quickly fell on the fire haired slave he met yesterday, clutching a screaming child in his arm and rushed forward to help. One of the draugr instantly turned its attention to him when he approached and he didn’t hesitate to strike out and stab the creature through it’s open mouth.

Jerking the long blade out of the limp corpse he backed away, glancing over to see the red headed Pict disappear outside. “Everyone is out!” He shouted to Haakon, moving quickly toward the door, eyes moving around wildly at the newly turned draugr rising from where they’d fallen as live humans.

Haakon swept the hall to confirm what Vigi had said, then began backing towards the door. The room seemed to be filled with draugr; it seemed like no matter how many were killed, they just kept coming. An approaching beast snarled at Haakon, and the raider snarled back, lunging forward with his sword and taking its head cleanly from its shoulders.

He backed towards the door, using his shield to force back the approaching dead, occasionally lashing out with his blade to hack at arms and legs as the creatures closed in. After a few seconds that felt like hours, he cleared the door and stumbled backwards out into the morning light. Haakon hurriedly rammed the tip of his sword into the snow and grabbed the door, hauling it closed and throwing his body against it to keep the draugr from getting out.

Hallerna’s shot a glance over her shoulder, toward the sight that caught Svala’s attention, and swore every last curse she’d ever known or heard under her breath. But between Harald and his curs descending on them and the draugr trying to escape the healing house, there wasn’t much of a choice between immediate emergencies. She and Svala both bolted to the door Haakon was holding, throwing their own weight and considerable strength against the planks that suddenly felt not much more substantial than some of Orran’s invaluable parchment.

“Company behind us too, Haakon,” Svala hissed through gritted teeth, her back planted firmly against the door, knees bent and booted feet dug into the snowy mud.

Vigi rubbed the back of his hand across his sweat covered forehead, smearing the dark blood over his skin but not caring. His eyes were intent on the door and those holding it shut. He glanced around them and nearly froze seeing Harald and his men approaching.

“Freya’s cunt!” He hissed, tearing his eyes away. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Harald would provide aid without some kind of cost. Everything was chaotic and in the chaos so many things could happen that could be passed as ‘accidents’.

His eyes landed on the dark haired slave of Ragnar and Sigrid and the spear in his hand. Without a word he rushed forward to yank it from his hands then ran back to the door. With Harald approaching they needed to be on alert, especially Haakon.

“Here!” He grunted moving around the three holding the door shut and driving the spear into the ground and then wedging the other end against the door to keep it shut.

Haakon sighed with relief and briefly leaned his forehead against the door, heedless of the clawing and moaning of the beasts on the other side. He’d fought in more than a dozen shield walls, killed armed and armored men in open warfare often enough that it had become routine, and yet nothing chilled him like the creatures locked in that hall.

After taking a moment to gather himself, Haakon straightened and reached up with his right hand to brush his sweat-soaked hair back out of his face. Then he grasped his sword, hauled it from the earth, and turned to confront the new threat that was approaching.

As the raider’s eyes played over the line of armed warriors walking towards him, each of them bristling with gleaming weapons, he felt his confidence return in a rush. These were men. While men were fiercer, faster, and far more devious than any draugr, in the end, they could only kill him. If he fell to Harald and his animals, at least he wouldn’t suffer the indignity of rising again as a shambling shell.

Valhalla awaits, Haakon thought to himself, stretching his shoulders briefly. The raider glanced at Svala, giddy with a sudden adrenaline rush, and gave her a cocky wink before stepping out in front of the group of survivors, his sword held low but at the ready as he moved to confront the false Thegn in his own leader’s stead.

Vigi was already focusing his attention on Harald once the spear was securely in place. He switched his saex to his other hand so he could clean his dominant hand of draugr blood and sweat. Next he cleaned off the handle to be sure it wouldn’t slip in his grip and then followed Haakon’s lead.

He tried to steady his breathing as much as possible so that when he spoke his voice was steady. “Harald,” He began, pleased that his voice was only slightly breathless. “You’ve come to aid us I take it?” He kept his tone neutral even though he felt like scoffing as the words passed his lips. He kept his saex drawn but held it much like Haakon did, low so it wasn’t an obvious sign of hostility but still at the ready.

Healing House, Harald

The small group of survivors, for that was what they were: few and having barely escaped with their lives, eyed Harald with a mixture of distrust and hope. Those loyal to Ragnar he could pick out instantly, whether they openly declare it or not, by their glares and the barely concealed contempt for his presence. As the group parted before the Thegn and his men Harald spotted his former possessions, the giant Saxon who was holding the girl he had enjoyed the day before in his arms and the Pict who also sat with a small, blood covered girl before him who would not stop her infuriating screaming.

"You've come to aid us I take it?" The seidrmadr's question had Harald's lips curling up in a half smirk half snarl on instinct.

"It looks as if the gods no longer favour you, which is ill news for us all." Harald replied loudly, deliberately undermining Vigi's power; he may not have sided with the Ragnar family overtly but Harald could see the allegiance forming already. Ignoring them he walked forwards, between Haakon and Vigi, pretending the former did not exist, and eyed the bulging door in mild amusement.

"The only way to rid us of them safely is to fire the building." Without the need for a direct order, Harald's men walked implacably forward, ignoring any protests until they were in range and threw their lit torches in a high arc to land atop the Healing House. Within seconds the flames grew taller as the roof caught easily, any dampness burning out quickly until the flames were roaring.

"We will sacrifice these monsters to Hel, so that she may keep their twisted souls safely in her domain where they belong!" Harald cried to the crowd before stepping away from the blaze. He nodded at Robbie and the little girl and two of his men approached, one of them hauling the Pict roughly to his feet and the other picking up the girl tentatively. Already his other men moved to block the path anyone who might protest as the girl was brought to him.

"She has a bite mark." His man said which Harald repeated to the crowd who reacted as expected, retreating fearfully from the soon-to-be-monster.

"She must join the others of her kind or else we will all fall prey to her once she has become one of them!" Murmurs of agreement came from the crowd; her family had already been lost in the Healing House and no one would accept the charge of a child who might turn into a Draugr before long. Robbie struggled, kicking and screaming as the girl was taken towards the flames. The door was kicked in and she was thrown in. Draugr began to rush out but were pushed back by waiting guards while more dragged boxes and barrels into the path to block their way out.

"She was not bitten, I checked!" Robbie yelled, finally wriggling free of his captor and dashing forwards, past the shocked crowd and surprised guards, and leapt over the makeshift barrier into the flames.

Vigi's eyes widened in horror, the orange glow of the fire growing brighter with each moment that passed. "No! Are you mad!? All of our medicine is in that house!" Vigi shouted moving toward Harald with a snarl but he was yanked back by one of his men.

He started to turn to bark at the man but a shout of pain escaped instead. The man had grabbed his wrist of the hand holding his saex and twisted it up behind his back.

Vigi held the handle for as long as he could until the pain forced him to release it. "Put out the fire you fool or you'll doom us to a winter without medicine!" Vigi yelled at Harald the pain and anger clearly coloring his voice. Though all that he let show on his face was an infuriated scowl and an icy glare.

The man holding him twisted his arm it further until it felt like the bone was about to break. Vigi bit back anymore sounds of pain. "You do not speak that way of Thegan Harald." The man said, sounding unbelievably arrogant of the statement. Or perhaps he felt smug because of the power he currently had over a man who spoke to the gods.

"Thegan!?" Vigi sneered and jerked his arm to try to free himself. "A mangled dog would sooner be named Thegan than that cowardly swine!" He should not have said that, he knew he was inviting his own death with those words. But anger, exhaustion and fear was making his tongue loose.

The man reacted as soon as the words left his lips. He forced him around and a large calloused fist slammed into his face. Pain exploded in his jaw and he stumbled back, feeling warm blood drip down from his split lower lip.

He started to breathe heavily and focused on the man in time to see his fist before it hit him again. This time the strike threw him off his feet and into the snow. His skin already throbbing from pain he got to his hands and knees to rise.

A hard kick to his chest sent him sprawling back into the snow. "The gods no longer favor you. You have no power," Another kick to his ribs and Vigi grunted in pain, gritting his teeth to keep otherwise silent. "Anymore."

Vigi blinked open his eyes after having squeezed them shut from the pain. For a moment he stared at the small drops of ruby red blood from his lip that had fallen to bloom on the pure white snow like flowers.

"Without the gods you are nothing but a weak, joke of a man." A hand grabbed his long hair painfully and yanked on it until he was up on his knees. "The only use you'd have now is spreading your legs."

The words made Vigi snap a furious glare up at the man. His breathing came faster with his anger despite the way it pulled on his abused torso. "The gods have not abandoned me." he panted out, a snarl twisting his filth covered face. "You will see soon enough and you and Harald will greatly regret this."

The man smirked mockingly down at him. "I'm sure." He drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. He released his hair only to strike another powerful kick into his chest, knocking him back and forcing the air from his lungs.

Just as he began to breathe properly again a heavy foot stepped on his chest and a sword pointed down at him. Vigi froze instantly, wide pale green eyes locked on the blade that glowed a dull orange from the fire.

His breathing began to quicken as his mind flashed to his vision. A sharp blade illuminated by fire, a heavy weight pinning him to the ground and a warrior standing over him with a bloodthirsty grin on his face.

This was it. This was what his vision had been warning him of.

He was going to die here.

"Now shut your mouth until Thegan Harald decides what to do with you." Vigi could barely hear the mans words over the pounding of his heart and the blood roaring in his ears.

His fingertips dug into the snow, his fast, shallow breathing making his chest scream in pain as his mind raced. This was really it. This was where he died.

For the first time in his life, he truly felt that the gods had abandoned him.

Svala never saw the first blow that struck Haakon, disbelieving and horror-struck as a most piteous sight unfolded, that helpless, screaming girl thrown into the flames. But Haakon was going to act - of course he was. A man of few words, he would let his deeds speak for him - but for that second blow, the haft of the long-axe that sent him sprawling to the ground. And though the slender young woman never stood a chance of peeling even one of these armed and armored cowards off Haakon, kicking and beating him like the pack of curs they truly were, that did not stop her from trying. Not even a day ago, Svala saw Orran stand his ground, outnumbered but not outmatched, and had fled after the children when he ordered her away.

She would not run again. Svala snarled, leaping to the back of Harald's man closest to her, wrapping her arms as best she could around his armored neck and shoulders to pull him back. But all she earned for her efforts was an annoyed shrug of his shoulders and a half-hearted shove that sent her flying back on the well-trodden, snow-muddied ground. Svala rose again, not much more than her backside and her pride hurt as she leapt for another attempt - and received not much better for her next futile attempt, or even the one after that.

But when that arc of crimson blood sprayed over the snow, the *crack* of Haakon's nose breaking sickeningly audible as he collapsed, Svala drew her own axe back, ready to bury it to the haft in some bastard's back and see just how easy that was to ignore! But just as that blow hovered in mid-swing, she saw the seax blade laid Haakon's exposed throat, the threat implied and the menacing promise...

Svala's eyes widened in horror, her mouth fallen open as she lowered the bearded axe in her hand, shaking her head in a silent plea that blade go no further. She took a slow step back as her deep blue eyes sought out their match in her Madir's pale, stunned face, silent questions begging for reason in her gaze.

But Hallerna simply had no good answers to give. All she ever saw in those first moments was her precious, feisty little Eyja murdered, thrown - alive and screaming - into the flames. She had stood stunned, too slow, rooted to the spot and disbelieving even as this unspeakable outrage unfolded before her very eyes. Oh certainly Tora's horrific wounds told her all ever need know about Harald's black character, this low, vicious beast of a man. But the murder of a child, for no better reason than... Than spite? This was an atrocity, a crime so heinous, so foul...

Ragnar's man was beaten to the ground behind the treacherous safety of Trelleborg's walls, for stepping to the defense of a child! And when Vigi's protests were met with a public thrashing, with such abject humiliation, any restraint Hallerna had left fell away like shattered chains. She knew the desperate denials of the beaten, red-haired slave would count for nothing, no matter his reckless courage. But Hallerna knew the truth of the matter - and she was a Dane, a free woman. She turned on the vile little man with a rage so violent she shook with the effort to maintain any semblance of control.

"NITHSKALD! I name you liar and coward, false thegn!" she roared, over the heads of the cowed people who had gathered, shoving aside men and women as she strode toward Harald. "I saw to everyone, every last Dane and thrall who left the healing house, and that child was not bitten!"

But Hallerna's rage was nowhere near spent, and she rounded on the gawking, useless bystanders who had just begun to gather outside the healing house. "How many of you went out into the village yesterday morning to retrieve supplies? How many of you remember my face, if not my name? And do a single one of you remember his face out there with us?" she asked, pointing with her axe to Harald. "Who among you would say I lie about such a thing, about a child bitten?"

"And your seidrmadr! Vigi fought the draugr alongside you! He sewed your wounds closed, healed your sick - and all you can do is stand here open-mouthed like cattle, while some dog of a man not worthy to lick shit from his boots beats him to the ground!? As if our seidrmadr, the favored of the gods, could be the cause of the draugr? Ha! And you call yourself free men? You call yourself Danes?" The woman growled her disgust and spat to the ground.

"Oh, but I know just what to call you," Hallerna snarled, turning back to the vile little man, no more than a few steps away from him now. "Harald Nithskald."

　

Tora clung to Wilfred, hiding her face against his neck and peeking in time to watch with a fascinated horror as he bashed in the head of one of the draugr. The painkillers were fading and reality was sinking in with terrifying clarity. She was still wrapped in the monk's heavy robes, her bare feet dangling far above the ground as she was tucked in against the big Saxon priest. The ache of her back and between her thighs was coming back but she hardly felt it as the madness swirled around her.

Haakon's appearance cheered her some, for he was a familiar comforting presence with his sword and shield. Surely her master would be right behind him with more men to protect them. As they made their way out, fighting back the flesh hungry creatures she realized that was not to be. It was only Haakon and the slim blonde girl, Svala, she recalled vaguely who clutched a bearded axe. Her grey eyes focused on Vigi and Faolan, knife and spear forcing aside the draugr, her saviour Anndrais' long bow twanging sharply above the din of the snarling draugr. 　

Tora trembled like a leaf at the sight of Harald. Her throat ached, she wanted to scream and leap from Wilfred's arms, to run away and hide from the sadistic man and his hounds. She clutched at Wilfred, turning her face against his shoulder, her fingers finding the leather of his slave collar. She felt a lump, as if something was wrapped in the twisted strips of leather and she held it for a moment. At the sound of Harald's voice she jumped, cringing and gripped it tighter, forcing herself to stay still. 　

Tora cried out as she saw the little girl get pushed into the fire, her heart wrenching at the sight. Where was Ragnar to stop him? Where was Sigrid and the swords of the Jarl? She held onto Wilfred and watched the scene unfold, sobbing against the priest's rough tunic as Vigi was beaten. The man's voice cut through the sound of the fire, she remembered the mocking cruelty when he took his turn with her. As much as she wanted to forget, she could recognize the faces and voices of those men among Harald's group that had hurt her and she was even more frightened of them than the draugr. 　

When Hallerna stood up to them, she felt unexplicably proud of the woman and feared for her. Much like her mistress, the healing woman who had taken such tender care of her, spoke out against Harald who could be so very cruel. She had come to reason her assault was the craven false thegn's answer to Sigrid's sharp tongue and what happened to her could happen to Hallerna or her daughter. Tora felt sick at the thought but the words rang true in her ears. Harald was being called what he was, a liar. But the truth was no shield against a steel sword.

Faolan gave up his spear without a struggle, watching Wilfred slam his weight against the door, still balancing Tora as if she were no more than a sack of flour. He could see her face grow even more pale and her round eyes wider, even as the draugr were being contained. He turned quickly as Vigi warned Haakon and spat in anger as he saw the approach of Harald and his torch bearing troops. Damn his eyes, he swore to himself, glowering at the Vikings. The man always knew when they were vulnerable, the Irishman had no doubt he had his slaves spying everywhere.

Faolan grit his teeth to keep from shouting in horror as Harald had the girl Robbie saved seized and pushed back in. Loathing rolled in his stomach, the cruelty of the man knew no end and the memories of his first owner who was so much like him flashed in his mind. He wanted to fight back, as he knew everyone standing around him did and yet he did nothing. Impotent and spineless slave that I am. He felt hot tears sting his eyes at the sound of the screams from the fire and the sight of Vigi and Hallerna standing their ground. He longed for his spear, but what good would it do him. He would be the next pushed into the flames or cut down where he stood.

Before he could put a hand out to stop him, Robbie was past him, heading into the fire after the innocent girl. Faolan swore at him to get back but it was ignored much as the monk's protests.

He looked up as Hallerna shouted her insults at Harald, the woman had more guts than he to speak out as she did. As much as he admired it he also thought it foolishly brave. His eyes fell on Tora cradled against Wilfred's chest like a little girl and the monk beside them. God help us all because we're alone, he thought, wondering again where Ragnar and the housekarl with his men were. Haakon alone was no match for the two dozen or so warriors arrayed in armor with axes and spears.

collab between Igraine, idlehands, and RoadRash
The Hall, Mid Morning

Dagny picked up a handful of snow in her chubby fist, putting it to her mouth experimentally before recoiling at the cold bite on her lips. She shook it out and giggled at the clump falling, repeating the gesture as she tossed bits of snow toward the makeshift shrine Sigrid had put in the middle of the ash grove at the top of the slight hill behind the Hall. Ranulf stood with her, watching that she did not wander off.

In the bare limbs of the snow covered trees a raven cawed, distracting the toddler who looked up with wide blue eyes, pointing at it. Sigrid looked up from the rune cup of mead she had set out next to the honey loaf in the offering to the powerful secretive beings that could bring prosperity or misery to their lives. The black bird called again, twitching its head and he seemed to look right at her with bright dark eyes.

‘Odin...”, Sigrid whispered, watching as another landed next to the first, both cawing in turn. “Huginn...Muninn...carry our message to your master.”

Her heart leapt as the birds pecked at one another for a moment before suddenly taking flight. Dagny pointed again and chortled with amusement, her eyes following the birds as they flew toward inner Trelleborg. Ranulf’s grey gaze followed the birds, a chill going through him as he watched the black wings against the overcast sky. Odin’s messengers or simple carrion birds, he knew not which.

Sigrid bent and scooped up the little girl, kissing her rosy cheek and adjusted the rabbit fur hood to cover her ears again. Her long skirt brushed the snow as she walked back, spotting Ragnar where he stood watching them.

She was about to speak when she caught the sound every mother recognizes in a heartbeat, the sound of a child in need, desperation in the high pitched voice. She could not make out the words, only the urgency and Sigrid hurried down the hill, Dagny bouncing on her ample hip and spotted Raudr and Eyja hurrying toward them.

“Madir! Fadir!,” Raudr cried out in relief when he saw his parents.

Without thinking he ran to her, throwing his arms around her waist as he had done not long ago when he was just a boy. It was not manly behavior but at the moment, Ragnar the Younger cared not and only wanted to feel her arms around him. Sigrid hugged him close with one arm and looked at Eyja’s pallid face.

Her grey green eyes sparked with concern, “What has happened?”

”Draugr,” the little girl replied simply, softly, as if that one word explained all that had happened, beginning to end - but of course it did not. Eyja let the fingers of one hand run over the animals she could feel etched into the shining bronze of Loker’s ring, as if it were a touchstone of promise, and took another deep breath.

“There are draugr in the healing house… Madir sent me here, to Mister Loker.” Eyja’s pale blue eyes turned to Raudr, hugging his own mother so tightly, and then swiftly looked to the ground, blinking away the pricking start of tears all over again. “Raudr stayed with me the whole way. There was a draugr on the road too, from one of the long house.” The tiniest hint of a smile might have begun on her face as she looked back up to Sigrid. “He saved me from it.”

Raudr pulled back, looking over at Eyja and his hand touched the long knife on his belt. He looked down at the ground when he saw Ragnar heading over to them. Ranulf looked at his brother, surprised to see a humility there, certainly if he had saved Eyja he would be bragging about it. He slipped up beside her, noticing the bronze arm ring, a warrior’s ring that she wore on her arm.

Sigrid closed her eyes for a moment, her jaw tightening. She reached for Eyja, taking her hand and pulling her close.

“You both did very well,” she assured them, her gaze snapping to Ragnar.

Raudr hoped his father would not notice his missing shield and clean knife, “Fadir, Loker calls for your sword and those of your men. He is gathering the guards as we speak to head to the healing house.”

Ragnar was all business in an instant, any trace of laughter and contentment gone from his face. In its place was the war mask, the cold, expressionless face he wore when there was killing to be done. He strode purposefully past his son and Eyja, pausing only long enough to pat the former on the shoulder as he passed, moving swiftly to the front of the hall where Loker and the other guards were gathering. He trusted his wife to know what the situation called for, and to make her own decisions regarding the safety of herself and the children. He had his own business to attend to.

“Loker, he called, spotting the housecarl and heading towards him. My son told me you’ve called for my sword. I need a shield from one of your men.

Raudr felt his father’s brief pat and breathed out, not realizing he had been holding his breath. He had worried Ragnar would read on his face that he had been frightened and had not even drawn his blade against the foe. Sigrid eyed her son and said nothing, watching Ragnar depart. Ranulf peered at his brother, but decided to wait and instead turned to Eyja.

He could see the tears clinging to her ginger lashes and he reached up to touch the ring on her arm, “That’s a warrior’s ring, someone pledged an oath to you?”

Loker looked up and nodded grimly at Ragnar, shouting an order to his second in command, a short stocky man called Ebbe.

“Bring them Thegn a shield and anything else he needs.”

He looked at Ragnar, “Our worst fear, draugr in the walls, we’re nearly ready and must hurry. Gods protect those in there.”

Loker paused as he slipped on his goggled helm, his long auburn hair tied back, “Do you think your friend Harald will show up for this fight?”

“Probably,” Ragnar grunted, reaching out to take the shield offered to him by Ebbe. He looked briefly at the coat of mail the man had brought as well, then shook his head, waving it away. With draugr in the walls, the men would need inspiration. He knew nothing inspired warriors like having a Thegn around who laughed at danger.

“Keep the mail,” he said, grinning and winking at the man. “This is my good tunic. Sigrid would flay me if I tore it up with a mail shirt.”

Loker flashed a grin beneath the steel mesh of the aventail that was attached to the helm, disappearing almost as soon as it had appeared. His chainmail shirt was belted in the middle, where his long sword and saex hung and on his back was his red and white quarter painted shield.

“Nothing beats a woman with fire,” he replied before turning to the guards and the rest of the able bodied men that could lift a weapon were among them, bringing their number to nearly forty.

“We leave the Hall without protection,” he sighed, glancing at Ragnar. “Gods I hope Harald is distracted with the draugr as we will be.”

The men formed up, Loker leading them out at a jog, calling out for them to be alert for any stray draugr in the village. The chainmail chinked with each step, the leather of his boots squelching in the snow slush and mud. He could hear his men behind him and he remembered his promise to little Eyja, to bring back Hallerna and Svala. Loker set his teeth and his hand was on his sword, ready to cut down any of the dark creatures should they rise in their path.

Ragnar jogged at the head of the group with Loker and Ivarr, moving easily despite his bulk. Though his love of rich food and good mead had given him a belly as he aged, he was still a fighting-fit Viking Thegn, and keeping up with the men wasn’t taxing by any means. Especially considering he wore none of the armor he normally would carry into battle.

“If I know that dog, he’s probably already there.” Ragnar grumbled, his eyes sweeping the area for movement as the column of men moved out. “I only hope we can stop him before he does anything foolish.”

Healing House, Haakon

Things were moving too quickly for one warrior to handle on his own. Haakon gritted his teeth, clutching his sword as Harald’s men put the hall to the torch, but when they grabbed the little girl he sprung into action. He stepped forward, blade ready, his mouth open to issue a challenge that never came.

Instead he was blindsided, a sword hilt crashing into the base of his skull, setting his ears ringing and staggering him. As Haakon turned to confront the threat, another warrior stepped in and slammed the haft on a long-axe across his temple, driving the Viking to the ground, the earth spinning violently. Four more laughing dogs surrounded him and began to drive their boots into his ribs, head, and stomach, kicking and stomping him like a common beggar as he tried in vain to rise.

The vicious beating lasted several seconds, and by the end of it Haakon lay clinging to consciousness, his face battered and his hair matted with blood. Despite the odds against him, the raider still reached out to cling to one of the men’s legs, his other hand groping desperately for the handle of his saex until the man shook Haakon’s grip free and delivered a final kick to his face, breaking his nose with a crunch and a spray of blood. The man then knelt and put his knee in the small of Haakon’s back, gripping his hair and pulling his head up before drawing his own knife and pressing the gleaming blade to his throat threateningly.

The dazed warrior lay still, his mind in disjointed chaos. His vision was blurred, and all he could hear over the ringing in his ears was the crackling of flames and Hallerna’s shrieking protest.

Collaboration between Jinxer and Constable_Walrus
Healing House, Wilfred/Anndrais

Anndrais watched the scene with horror, he had seen terrible things before, awful horrible things, but this? This would have made Christ himself weep at the cruelty these dogs showed the poor girl; and after denying the woman to assist he finally stepped forward and seeing Vigi cruelly beaten he stepped forward angrily "Enough!" He shouted tired of these games of false god's they truly wish to see the might of a God? then he would show him the power his possessed, not just of kindness and compassion, but of furious retribution.

"I grow tired of these games, You think your gods are powerful? Are strong? So you condemn an innocent girl to the flame out of cruelty and madness?" He was in luck he was not wearing the heavy robe; and he took off his undershirt he wore, Tora still being wrapped in his robes "I will go in, call it a test, if I can pass through the flames, get the girl, and the Pict back. Then it shows my God has more strength than you give credit, if I am wrong, I will die, and you will be rid of me... Accept, and let us test the strength of your god's of war, or refuse and show those around you how much stock you truly put in your gods power."

He glared at Harald "So let me through, if you think you have enough stock to play a hand, what do you have to lose other than getting rid of me forever?" Anndrais clenched his hands and prayed quietly, the truth was he was frightened, and scared. But Christ walked with him, and if he should die, it was all in his plan, and his way.

As Anndrais confronted Harald, the huge Saxon loomed behind him holding a woodcutter's axe; left lying on the ground having been knocked over by those fleeing the Draugr inside the Healing House. He slowly walked past, still cradling a carefully balanced Tora in one arm and holding the axe in his other.

"As I understand it, the Pict and I are now possessions of Ragnar which means that currently you are endangering the property of Ragnar. As a fellow thrall it is my responsibility to do what I can to protect my master's property from harm." He planted himself firmly in front of the door with the axe held low but the blade pointed towards the crowd and Harald's men.

Harald himself stared hard at the two Christians; he could not risk another provocation with the Ragnars and the Saxon slave had a good grasp of his position and was using his enslavement against Harald. The priest, however, was free to wander, Harald could force him to stop as he was a free man and no Dane in the fort would miss a Christian priest but to do so in front of a crowd would merely taint his own name.

"Go. When you return you will be checked for injuries, if there's a single bite on any one of you then you will all return to the flames."

"If anyone here attempts to block the priest or tries to seal them inside I will carry out my responsibilities upon them."

[Healing House, Interior]
Inside the Healing House Robbie searched desperately for the girl amongst the flames and smoke. Already his eyes were streaming and the rag he had torn from his clothing to cover his mouth was not helping the smokey air entering his lungs; he had to escape from here soon or they'd both end up death. The Draugr had retreated from the flames, for the most part but were eyeing Robbie hungrily as he looked for the girl.

"Scared of the flames of Hell are ye, undead bastards?" He growled in his thick accent. Then he spotted the girl and hurried towards her, as fast as his injuries would let him. She was still alive, although unconscious. After checking her for any Draugr bites the Pict picked her up and turned to go when a creaking followed by a splintering sound had him freeze and look up. A flaming beam was hurtling towards them both. Reacting on instinct he slung the girl towards the door just as the beam descended on his head.

[Healing House, Exterior]
Anndrais rolled his shoulders and kept his hard stare at Harald, luckly he had taken the bait, enough time for him to maybe save both Robbie and the little girl; he narrowed his eyes at Harald "It is settled then... We will show you the power of Christ and save those you have cast into the flames." He turned quickly eying the Saxon with the girl in his arms and he spoke quickly in Latin, so the Danes around them would not understand him.

"Keep Tora safe, I will go in, God willing the poor child is still alive, I will be back shortly." Anndrais paused for a moment before speaking to him softly again "If the flames consume me, try to temper Orran's fury... He will be unchained and ready to kill any who had a hand in my death if it comes to that. Tell him that I kneel before Christ now, and that my pain would be gone." Anndrais rushed towards the door, and slammed into it, busting it open and the hot flames licked out as the monk disappeared inside rushing through them, He was met with intense heat and thick black smoke; and he lowered himself to see and breathe a little better. and he brought a hand to his face to shield some of the bright orange light.

Anndrais noticed two things at first; a small figure by the door, unmoving and he went to it quickly looking over the small child, she was still breathing 'by God's graces she was alright' he thought and turned his gaze upward seeing the Dragur; the undead had eyed him the second he burst through the door; the only thing seporating the two was a wall of fire between the dead and their meal, their eyes hungry and gnawing and gnashing their teeth, as they backed away from the fire. Anndrais shook his head quickly and scooped up the girl, cradling her in his arms; and sprinted back through the flames in the doorway; coughing slightly and laying her gently on the sleet covered ground "Wilfred! Help the girl, i'm going in for Robbie!" Anndrais gently let go of the small child, and rushed back inside, venturing further into the burning longhouse this time.

Anndrais could see little through the worsening smoke and flames as fire consumed the wooden longhouse as if it was kindling; the fire intensified, as it went on, and he searched the ground for Robbie, calling out his name, eventually finding a collapsed beam with a figure beneath it; Anndrais rushed forward looking him over; it was the pict alright, but the heavy beam lay over him; keeping him pinned, and he looked as if he was out cold. The beam was scorched and still ablaze, and Anndrais breathed slowly, and attempted to find a grip on the heavy beam; crouching down lightly; finally finding a spot where he could grip it; Anndrais, gave a quick prayer to God for strength in his head; as he attempted to lift the beam off Robbie.

The beam lifted off of him, enough for Anndrais to toss aside, and get it off of the small Pict, and He knelt hear Robbie, moving his arms under his and cradling his upper body. His world was starting to get hazy, and he was running out of air and struggling to breathe; he had a vague thought of Orran, and of home; lasy dying images of something happy in a cursed place such as this; Anndrais shook his head and started to pull Robbie out of the building lifting the man up more as he dragged his lower body across the ground. Christ be praised it was not the Saxon who went in. and he dragged Robbie out into the snow; and after clearing the doorway Anndrais collapsed with the man still in his arms.

"Go with the grace of God, brother." Wilfred replied in Latin, moving to cross himself but gave it up as futile, unwilling to put down either Tora or the axe. Instead he kept his position in front of the door, planted firmly with the axe held ready to cave in the skull of anyone foolish enough to test him. He caught sight of the beaten Vigi and thought back to the debt he felt towards the man, whether he was a pagan priest or not he had proved himself to be a good man.

"When they return they will need to be checked for bite marks to ensure they are not infected." Wilfred began, speaking loudly so the gathered could hear. "Only a man of integrity... with knowledge of healing could perform this." He lingered after speaking of integrity, staring down Harald and his men, before turning his head slowly and deliberately to look at Vigi. He had spent years looking after his congregation and inspiring them with God's teachings; he knew how to control a crowd. As expected, they followed his line of sight.

"The seidrmadr, the one you turn to for God's guidance and to cure your ills is the only man who has both of these qualities. He will be the one to check their injuries." Wilfred hefted the axe onto his shoulder, drawing attention to the weapon in a non-threatening manner. Only a fool would not be aware of their own size and its impact when as large as the Saxon; it would take a brave and foolish man to argue with him now.

Just as he finished speaking Anndrais returned with the child and, a few long moments later, with Robbie. The Pict was worse for wear with a heavily bloodied head and his red hair singed around the wound near the rear of his skull. Wilfred's knowledge of medicine was rudimentary but sufficient enough to see the damage; akin to a man whose armour had not protected him from an axe's blow fully and partly caved in his skull. Ignoring his desire to kneel by the Pict, Wilfred stood his ground and waited for Anndrais to catch his breath.

"They're both here, come and check them over now." Wilfred spoke to Vigi while staring hard at Harald. Half a dozen guards stood between them but the false thegn would remember when they had first enslaved the huge Saxon; he had more than just his fists this time and Harald had fewer guards.

Vigi had snapped out of his shocked stupor when he heard Hallerna's voice, strong and furious, ring through the air. He was surprised to hear her defend him and felt a spike of fear for the fierce woman when she insulted Harald so boldly. Even if it was true, Harald was nothing if not a vengeful troll.

He watched with fingers curled in the snow as the Christian monk stepped forward and challenged the false Thegan. It effectively drew Harald's attention from Hallerna and hopefully it would stay that way. With only her to defend her young girls, she needed not bring herself to the attention of this madman.

Annadrais disappeared into the flames and Vigi hoped he would be able to save the poor girl. If Hallerna was right and she hadn't been bitten then that will take away some of Harald's credibility. Fewer crimes held the same level of severity as murdering a child.

His eyes moved over to Haakon and he grimace, ignoring the pain that resulted from the expression. Haakon had received a far harsher beating than he and now had a knife pressed to his throat. The man looked barely conscious and had no idea how to help him without having his throat slit open.

The warrior pinning him pressed down on his chest harder when the large Saxon slave spoke of him. He hissed between gritted teeth in pain and turned a hard glare up at the warrior.

For now the fear of his death had fled him. At the moment there were people that needed him and in his mind that took priority over his own crisis. If he was truly meant to die here then he wanted to at least save a few lives before his ended.

"Let. Me. Up." Vigi growled at the man still threatening him with his sword. His eyes were hard and the paleness of his eyes reflected the fire that was burning.

The man scowled at him then glanced over at Wilfred. He seemed to grow nervous realizing he had the giant thrall's attention on himself. Wordlessly he lifted his foot and Vigi pushed himself up, ignoring the pain in his torso that yelled in protest at moving.

It felt like he had at least sustained a bruised, if not cracked rib. He could tell so when he bent down to pick up his fallen saex and a sharp stab of pain raced up and down his right side.

Clenching his jaw to keep out the sounds of his agony he wiped his saex clean of Draugr blood on his already stained tunic and sheathed it. He first approached the small girl, shooting a glare full of ice at Harald now that he saw young she was.

He shook his head and knelt down, gently touching her soot covered cheek. His eyes and hands moved over her with professional confidence. He took note of every scratch and burn, but he saw know bite marks.

He sat back on his knees and turned his hard glare back at Harald. "This child has no bite marks." He spoke loudly so all could hear him. He took off his rabbit fur cloak with his left hand and carefully wrapped her in it to protect her com the cold. "But now she does have burns scorched into her, thanks to your foolish judgement." He snarled at Harald.

"Hallerna," he called out, turning his gaze to the brave woman. "She needs a mothers gentle care now." He carefully stood and looked over at Haakon sprawled in the snow with the knife still at his throat. He glared at the men but said nothing, not wanting to do anything to risk the man's life. He moved on to Anndrais, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking him over quickly for evidence of bites or serious burns. "This man is not bitten." He called out, squeezing his shoulder. "Your god smiles on you this day." He said a bit softer, then moved on to Robbie.

He hadn't seen the extent of his injury from where he had been, but as he grew closer he saw how bad it was. Alarm shot through him and he moved quicker, dropping down to his knee's in the snow and gently brushing away strands of burnt hair. "This is bad." He said with a grim set of his lips. He turned behind him to the burning healing house, gritting his teeth as he watched the roof cave in.

With jerking movement's he opened his bag that he still had on him. He found he was out of cloth bandages and only had a spare tunic under all of the jars and pouches he carried. He pulled out the tunic and pressed his lips together seeing that it was a red, intricately embroidered tunic that'd been a gift to him. He glanced at the prone slave and started to tear the cloth to pieces.

It was probably a shock to some to sacrifice such a garment for a slave, but Vigi felt Robbie's bravery and strength deserved it. Besides if he was to die here, he had no use for the tunic. He finished bandaging the wound, being careful when he moved Robbie's head to properly wrap it. When he finished he threw the thick tunic over the slave, eyeing the ravens embroidered in white thread on the red dyed wool.

Vigi turned his hard gaze back to Harald and stood from the snow, ignoring the cold that was seeping into him faster without his cloak. "This slave is not bitten!" He declared, walking forward with his eyes focused on Harald. "You," He began through gritted teeth. "You are a curse upon us." He said darkly. "I do not know who I feel sorry for, us," He threw his arms out, unable to stop a grimace and hiss of pain when the motion pulled his battered muscles. "That are trapped within these walls as you play your silly power games or," He snapped his eyes to his men. "The men that have sworn their loyalty to you, loyalty that by no means you would return for them." He stopped walking when the warrior that beat him before stepped forward. "My how quick they move to cover your ass when a threat approaches." He sneered. "A real Thegan, a real warrior, would not so readily hide behind his men as you do."

He stared hard at the man who returned the glare, but Vigi saw a flicker of something in his eyes. He could not say for certain what, but he guessed it was uncertainty. Turning his eyes away he focused on Harald. "But perhaps you are neither a Thegan or a warrior, perhaps you are a man of the seidr like myself," He felt his voice rising steadily with every word until he was nearly shouting. "Because only someone versed in seidr would dare to sanction sacrifices to the gods!" He yelled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"How dare you claim to have the authority to do; THIS!" he turned slightly to wave his hand angrily at the burning healing house. "The gods require sacrifices of value! They demand sacrifice of the most prized farm animals and slaves, instead you attempt to send them diseased corpses!" He jerked his head to look at the crowd. "Such a gesture would bring the gods wrath upon us!" Vigi fixed his glared onto Harald again. "So you have so far destroyed all of our medicine, nearly murdered an innocent child for no reason and you're pathetic attempt at sacrifice has likely angered the gods whom we need now more than ever!"

Vigi leaned back, contempt and disgust twisting his fair features. "Does any of that sound like something a sane man would do!? Let alone a man that claims to be a Thegan! Well then Harald, if it is madness that you want," He smirked coldly, lowering his voice into a dark purr as his pale green eyes, alight with the flames of the healing house drilled into Harald, "Madness is what you shall receive."

Harald met the fierce woman's gaze with scornful amusement as she launched into her attack. He stayed silent as Hallerna raged against him, accusing him, quite truthfully, of lying about the child and then naming him as such. His lips curled up in a cruel smile; he had no concern what the people of Trelleborg thought of him. He had the men and the ruthlessness to gain power without the support of the weaker factions and he knew it.

"And who are you to name me, woman?" He growled, laughing at the idea of a mere woman daring to diminish his authority and power. "Where are your symbols of status, whom do you lead and what authority do you have in accusing me?" He paused for a moment before leaning in towards her. "None." He whispered then turned away, laughing.

"Who of you would risk one of those monsters getting among our people? Who of you would not throw the suspect back into the flames?" He demanded, calling out to those around them. No matter how repugnant his actions had been he knew fear of the Draugr, especially to those who had barely escaped them inside the Healing House. "All it takes is one of those creatures to destroy us here. One Draugr bites one of you." Here he jabbed his finger at the nearest person. "And then you're one of them. Then there are two Draugr. They would spread faster than a disease and kill every one of us. Who of you would risk that fate for a just an orphaned child?!" Silence met his words and he turned around, grinning at Hallerna; fear was the purest of emotions and he knew full well how to use it.

However Vigi not began an assault. Harald scowled; the seidrmadr had more authority and respect than the woman even though he had all but destroyed it.

"I ask you again, who would risk the lives of every single man, woman and child in this fort for the sake of one orphaned child? No one!" Harald glared as Vigi attacked him, accusing him of cowardice. "Hah, this spindly man who chose to honour the gods like the Christian women rather than fight like any other man accuses me of cowardice!"

Then he realised the mistake he had made; he cursed his getting carried away with the burning of the Healing House as Vigi spoke of sacrifices to the gods. Harald stayed silent, his mind racing as he saw he was losing the crowd. Fear of the Draugr was one thing; fear of the gods another.

"You speak of madness as if you are familiar with it, seidrmadr. Has the whispering of the gods driven your mind insane, your feeble mind unable to comprehend their words? Look around us and tell me that you are worth of serving the gods, of sacrificing to them! You are charged with keeping their favour and no one here would agree that you have achieved that!" He swung his arms around, gesturing the the fort and then to his men.

"Almost all of my men have survived the Draugr, more have died from the murderous Christians and their Ragnar allies than have fallen to those beasts. Is it not clear who the gods favour most in this fort? They protect my men because they see I am able to defend the people of this fort from the Draugr and have abandoned your inane pleas and cries for help - the gods have abandoned you, seidrmadr! Who else should sacrifice to the gods other than the one they have clearly shown their favour to? Hel will rejoice at the return of those souls who escaped her domain and further shower us with gifts and aid - why should we listen to a madman talk about the gods? You have no power any longer, seidrmadr." Harald grinned, staring Vigi down with his eyes, black as night. He was bordering on dangerous ground with declaring himself as the gods' favourite but who could doubt the evidence so far? He turned, beginning to walk away.

"Come, let us leave the mad woman and her false seidrmadr to their crowing."

Hallerna fought every last urge she ever had, to keep her axe lowered, to keep from beating that infuriating grin from Harald's face. Her righteous fury took her far beyond worrying what this nithskald might do, whatever retribution he or his men might take. Not when in her mind’s eye, she rained repeated blows with the haft of her axe in his smug face, until blood and teeth spattered the mud and snow scarlet and ivory. Oh yes, that would be a reaction both entirely fair and eminently satisfying.

But any furious retort that might have formed on Hallerna's lips, any justifiable urge to strike the false thegn as he so richly deserved, was washed away like foul mud in clean rain water when the kindly monk Anndrais – Orran’s companion, the man who was such a comfort to poor Tora – emerged with the little child she would have sworn was dead.

Vigi’s call sent her sprinting to the little girl, a mother’s instincts snapping instantly into place as she dropped beside that small, moaning body. She could not have seen any more than six summers, perhaps even less, just a slight little thing all buried beneath snarled lengths of dark brown hair. The black soot and pain on her thin pale face made those wide, frightened doe eyes seem larger still.

The furious snarl she had for Harald melted as if it had never been, giving way to a gentle, comforting smile. As she knelt beside her, Hallerna looked over the girl as carefully as the seidrmadr had, but this time looking for ragged black edges of the cloth of her dress, and angry pink flesh and blisters. All the while, she spoke in the softest whisper to the child, taking special care to find and note her injuries.

“Hello sweetling,” she said with a genuine tenderness, carefully brushing all that dark hair from the little girl’s face, and then hiding the sympathetic wince when she found a swelling red welt, running from the hairline at the girl’s right temple to her jaw. “I’m Hallerna… I just want to see where you’re hurt… “

It was not a difficult process really, to see where the flames had done their worst. If Hallerna had to guess, the child was likely thrown into a flaming, fallen beam while still agile enough to pull herself away. Red, hot flesh trailed in a more or less straight line down the right side of her face, with another streak of burn from shoulder to elbow, and then knee to ankle. Small blisters were already starting to rise.

“You are a very brave little girl. Why, there are warriors who could not be so strong!” Hallerna knew very well much of the girl’s silence was born of trauma: her parents’ death, her escape from the draugr with that poor Pict thrall, and then being hurled back into the flames once more. Still, the older woman’s words of praise managed to earn just the faintest of smiles, though the girl’s wide, dark eyes spoke volumes of her true pain and fear.

“What is your name, sweetling?”

“Una.” Those two syllables came out not much more than a whisper, but it was enough.

“That is a beautiful name, Una. I’m going to wrap your hurts… “

Hallerna’s head twisted over her shoulder, waving for Svala to join her. Her eyes swept over the well-assembled men, come to bring some semblance of order to the chaos Harald’s unwelcome arrival caused. A wide smile brightened her face when she realized the tall man beneath the helm and aventail, with his great height and that grand beard, could only be the housekarl Loker, the man who made near as much an impression on Eyja as Orran had, and who generously offered all that was left of her family sanctuary in the Hall. His appearance could only mean that Eyja and Raudr had made it safely to the Hall as well, and Hallerna indulged in a sigh of genuine relief.

For the first time in this endless morning, Hallerna felt a measure of peace. She nodded a small, silent greeting to Loker, though she knew very well he would like not see, his attentions wrapped up in matters far more urgent.

Hallerna tried not to seem impatient as Svala approached hesitantly, turning back a few times to the line of men and shields standing with Thegn Ragnar and Loker. Oh, she knew her daughter’s concern was for Ragnar’s man who’d been beaten so badly. But he had already risen to join the shield wall, and Hallerna needed her now.

For her part, Svala stepped back as Haakon began to stand, however unsteady he seemed. Even if she were a farmer’s daughter, the young woman knew it would be unseemly for her to protest a raider joining the shield wall - as if she had the least right to do so anyway. And so she joined her mother - perhaps not as swiftly as she ought, true enough - though her sense of urgency was kindled the moment she saw the little girl.

“Una, this is Svala,” Hallerna explained patiently when her daughter finally arrived. “Svala, I need you to get into our packs. I don’t know how many bandages the seidrmadr or the monk Anndrais might yet have, what with the rest of the rest of the bleeding and injured. Obviously the healing house and its supplies are a complete loss. Bring one of my shifts – “

Hallerna held one hand to Svala as she made to protest. “No, I know. Just do it. There’s no help for it. There’s my girl… “

(( collaboration between idlehands and Igraine))

Eyja looked to Ranulf curiously, pulling Loker's ring from its precarious perch on her shoulder to hold it in her small hands once more. "Mister Loker gave it to me," she said, offering this precious, beautiful thing to the young boy beside her to hold, with all the inherent trust that any child would give to her very best friend in the world. "He promised to bring Madir and Svala back with him... "

Thoughtfully, Eyja began to untie the small ribbon of green cloth that held her too-tight braid in place. Her nimble fingers unmoored the plaited tendrils of brilliant, fiery red hair, the long wild curls falling over her small, slender shoulders. She scratched her aching scalp, sending all her flaming mane back to its usual untamed and magnificent mess.

As she walked beside Ranulf, she pointed to the carved animals on Loker's ring, as if her friend couldn't very well see them for himself. Of course he could, but Eyja really wanted a reason to lean in close to him. "So this a warrior's ring?" she whispered, hoping neither Raudr nor his Madir overheard her question. Ranulf she trusted without a second thought, that he would never laugh at her for not knowing important warrior things, or feel sorry for her for being just a dumb, ignorant farm girl.

Eyja's fingers reached to the ring, intending to tie it to the shoulder strap of her small apron dress with the green ribbon that had, a minute ago, bound her hair. She really did not want to lose this beautiful, shining bronze gift from Loker. "What does it mean, a warrior's ring? It's pretty important, isn't it?"

Ranulf admired the ring, it really was a thing of beauty and held a significance that he thought he understood. His father had explained it to him and Raudr, both of them looked forward to earning their first ring, the one they would swear their fealty to their Jarl. He touched the bronze and smiled at her.

“A man swears an oath on a ring such as this,” he said, his grey eyes meeting her blue. “It means that he would die rather than break what promise he made. This is a man’s honor.”

Ranulf saw her intentions and handed it back, “Do you need help?”

Eyja smiled her thanks to Ranulf, not truly surprised but certainly relieved her very best friend - well, alongside Tore the kitten of course - would tell her the truth of the matter in a low voice no one might overhear, and then offer to help her secure Loker’s precious ring too.

“Yes, I do - could you kinda… Tie this for me… Up here? Thank you Ranulf.” Her shoulder seemed a good, safe place to keep it, where she could still see the gleaming bronze from the corner of her eye all the time, and even lay her cheek against the cool metal until Loker returned with her Madir and Svala - it was just kinda hard for her fingers to twist about just so, to tie it off tightly with the green ribbon like she wanted.

”That’s what Mister Loker said, you know,” Eyja continued quietly while Ranulf managed the tie. Her voice was subdued now not only with the wish to keep her not-knowing between the two of them, but with the weight of what it was her best friend told her about this beautiful warrior’s ring. This was Mister Loker’s honor, and even this little girl knew that was no small thing at all. ”He said he’d come back with Madir or Svala, or he would not come back with breath in his body… “

Eyja’s voice trailed off for a moment, maybe just a little awed at the enormity of the gift the man made for smiling, with the biggest, strongest hugs since her Fadir’s own, had given her. And then she looked to Ranulf, wondering for a moment too about her best friend, and his Fadir and all the rings on his arms that had a whole new meaning to the little girl now. ”Are you going to have rings too someday, Ranulf?” she asked, equal parts curious, and perhaps a little worried, impressed by the possibility and maybe even the slightest bit jealous too - even if she had screamed in fear on the way here, and had not beaten off the draugr like Raudr did.

Ranulf secured the ribbon, giving the ring a tug to check the resistance and looked at her solemnly. “Loker is a housekarl, a man who is sworn to protect, he will keep his word.”

He glanced at his older brother who was for once quiet, his belligerent nature seemingly quelled by the recent encounter with the draugr. Ranulf nodded, “We will both take the ring, swear fealty to our Jarl...with luck it will be our own fadir. Rings are awarded to a man for bravery, for service to his leader, and those that are...gifts.”

Gifts like the one that hung from Raudr’s belt, the saex taken from the Swede. The Norse used the word in a tongue in cheek manner, the gifts were often taken from the ones they killed. Ranulf felt it unnecessary to remind her of that and left it alone.

“A woman doesn’t get arm rings,” he said matter of factly but glanced over at his mother who was bouncing Dagny who was sniffling in tears over her Fadir leaving so abruptly. “She carries the keys and her box to show her husband’s wealth, Madir says a woman carries her honor in her actions just as any man would. It is just different, I guess.”

He shrugged his thin shoulders, pushing back his pale hair and smiled again at Eyja. “I don’t understand it all.”

Ranulf’s eyes fell on the crumbled paper tucked into her belt, “What is that?”

Eyja’s pale blue gaze followed Ranulf’s, and her sweet freckled face lit brightly with the sudden recollection. Of course she had meant to show her very best friend the small treasure she had helped create under the painted man’s tutelage, but she had simply been too frightened and worried to think on her drawing before. Besides, it was a much better subject to talk with him about anyway, since she didn’t understand the “different honor” thing at all, any better than Ranulf did.

”It’s a wolf! On real paper with ink and everything!” she piped up, pulling the paper from her belt and unfurling it best she could, holding it up in two small hands. Any other day, the little girl would have been terribly disappointed that her precious drawing had gotten so wrinkled and crushed and crumpled, but considering all she’d been through just to be here walking beside Ranulf? Eyja was just glad it survived the harrowing trek here at all.

“Mr. Orran brought ink and paper to dinner last night, and I wanted to make a wolf like Geri and Freki on his cheeks.” Considering that this was Eyja’s first ever foray into handling ink and quill, it was likely a good thing for the more kindly inclined that she readily identified the halting swirls that criss-crossed the paper’s surface, that may - or may not - have resembled a running wolf.

Or perhaps a rather ragged sheep. Interpretation was all, of course.

Ranulf touched the paper, feeling the fiberous parchment and he grinned, lighting up his pale features. "This is very pretty, Eyja...real ink, too."

He feasted his eyes on it, touching ever so lightly the curved lines and felt a twinge of envy. Something about the drawing made him want to replicate it, just as when he flipped through the decorative texts his fadir brought home after raids. They rarely kept any, as none of them could read the Latin, but Ranulf had begged for one in particular. A book with a heavy leather binding and wonderful gold trimmed pages, it had many drawings of incredible creatures and heroes from a place he did not know. It was a mystery that fascinated him and since it was not a Christian Bible, Ragnar had let him keep it. It was still at home, locked in a trunk and hopefully safe, the draugr did not seem interested in any loot, just flesh.

"You're so lucky," he said, sighing with a smile, "Keep it safe, there is still room to practice more. Do you think he can read?"

His mind was already jumping ahead, perhaps without Raudr's interference he could have drawn on paper, too. Ranulf was determined to make amends with the painted man and perhaps he would show him the secrets of the letters in his book. If he knew them.

Ranulf leaned closer to Eyja, "One day, when this is all over, I'll show you my book...I think you'd like it."

Eyja’s freckled cheeks flushed with unadulterated joy, for so very many reasons. Ranulf’s praise for her hard, earnest work meant the world to the little girl, as did the genuinely appreciative way his fingers traced over her haltingly rendered whorls of ink.

She tilted her head just a little when he spoke of Orran, her gaze turning thoughtfully from Ranulf’s pale face to her drawing. ”Thanks Ranulf, and you know? I bet Mr. Orran does know how to read,” she said with an affirmative nod of her head. If there were any good thing to think of their new painted friend, then Eyja would believe it with an unquestioning, dogged determination.

But even singing Orran’s praises could not keep the wide-eyed amazement from her face as Ranulf spoke of… A book!? Oh, she had known her best friend’s family was very wealthy, but she had never imagined he could have a real book of his own. She leaned in closer to him as well, her voice falling as low as his while she rolled up her own paper, to keep it safe just as Ranulf suggested.

“But I don’t know if he has a real book like you! Wow Ranulf!” she whispered as she tucked her drawing back in her belt. Eyja’s small hand reached out to take her best friend’s easily, giving it a squeeze as they walked. ”Yes, please - I should like to see your book. Is it far away from here? Can I bring Madir and Svala to come see it? And… Well, can Tore come too? I promise, he won’t scratch your book at all!”

Jarl's Hall, Trelleborg, late morning

Sigrid held Dagny on her hip as she watched her husband and the rest of the men rush out of the gates. From her vantage point she could see curls of dark smoke just starting to become noticeable above the town. She grit her teeth and prayed to Tyr to guide Ragnar’s sword and Odin to guide his tongue should he need both.

Ranulf and Eyja stood together, whispering over the piece of paper the girl carried with her and Sigrid spoke with Raudr while they were distracted.

“You did well,” she said, looking down at him.

Raudr sighed, “I didn’t use my knife...and I got scared.”

He swallowed hard and could not look up at his mother’s face. Sigrid stroked his hair, giving one of the braids a tug, “Your Fadir is proud of you and I am, too. You kept Eyja and yourself safe. Don’t be ashamed of being scared.”

“Fadir wouldn’t have been scared or Haakon or Ivarr...I wanted to run away, Madir,” he admitted in uncharacteristically chagrined voice.

Sigrid cupped his chin, forcing him to look up at her. His bright blue eyes, so much like Ragnar’s in the fair freckled face that reflected her own. “Son, you did not run and that is what makes a brave man, it is not feeling fear but overcoming it. You did not shame this house, Ragnar, you brought honor to it..”

He nodded, still reluctant to accept her allaying of his worry. It was his stubbornness and Sigrid knew it would just take some time.

She called the other two and reached over to stroke Eyja’s wild fiery locks absently. .

“Your madir and sister will be here soon,” she said. Frigga be kind, Sigrid prayed silently. “We should get out of the cold and get some food. They will be hungry when they return. Come, Freya will have something.”

Sigrid spoke with utter confidence, the children had already been through so much danger and uncertainty, she wanted to ease the tension she saw in their pale faces. She led them toward the Hall, it was quiet, much more quiet than she had thought the usual bustling place could be. The men were gone, the women were at their homes in the village and the slaves. Sigrid looked up and around, the slaves were no where to be seen.

Typical to run and hide, the cowards that they were, she snorted softly, there was a reason some people were born to be thralls and others were not. They entered, pushing open the heavy doors and noticed the dining hall was empty. No dishes were set and the great hearth had burned down. She frowned, Freya had seemed so reliable a housewoman when she spoke to her.

“Freya?” Sigrid called out, hearing her voice echo back slightly in the cavernous empty hall. She felt her skin prickle and she walked toward the back, where the kitchen door was. She turned and looked down at the children, pushing Dagny at Raudr.

“Take her, and you all stay here. I’m going to check on the kitchen,” she ordered in a firm voice when she saw her oldest son open his mouth to argue.

Sigrid had no weapon but her dagger on her belt and she looked around, picking up a broom that leaned against the wall. As she approached she heard a clanking in the kitchen and a shuffling. She gripped the stick and looked through the crack of the door that was ajar. She could see nothing save the fire burning below a large pot.

Sigrid took a deep breath and pushed the door open a little more.

Loker jogged forward, the aventail of his war helm jingling against his mail and leather tunic. His breath steamed and when they turned toward the road that lead to the healing house, he could see the black smoke. It billowed up, growing quickly and soon the orange glow of flame could be seen.

“Fire!” he shouted, “Move now!”

They ran forward, shields held up, weapons banging against legs and their breath held as they rounded the corner. There before them the healing house was engulfed in flames. In front there was a mass of warriors around a familiar stocky figure. Beyond them he could see Hallerna, her lovely face flushed from the heat and anger. His storm blue eyes caught sight of the pale seidrmadr tending the monk, then turning on Harald, Haakon beaten and held at knife point and the rest of the people unarmed and standing aside, confused and afraid.

He and Ragnar lead their men up, organized in a line to face Harald’s men. The numbers were still in his favor but not by much. Loker trusted his guards, they were mostly seasoned veterans, retired from raiding and used to facing armed men during the times of unrest or if someone dared tried to raid the stronghold. He also had many young men who volunteered, they were green and stayed at the back with long spears and shields. They would come forward if needed but Loker hoped to do things peacefully.

He stepped out front and glanced toward Ragnar. Now was the time for Loker to make his move and show his allegiance. Word would be out soon enough that the Jarl was proved to be dead and the sight of Harald, the burning healing house and the frightened people was enough to push his hand. The housekarl stood aside, giving the thegn the position of leadership over him and his men.

Ragnar walked slowly to the front of the group, radiating confidence and authority. With his fine clothes and neat braids, he looked every bit the politician; the gleaming length of steel he now drew, the rings adorning his arms, and the hard set of his eyes clearly bespoke his warrior nature. Statesman and warrior; the voice of reason in peace and the voice of authority in the shield wall; this was a Thegn. Ragnar Ragnarsson embodied both in the flickering flames of the burning hall.

“Form up,” he growled. He spoke softly, but his words carried over the hungry crackle of the blaze behind him. With a thunder of wood and iron, the shields behind him slammed together, forming a nigh-impenetrable wall of shields and weapons. Grim, helmed faces peered over iron-ringed shield rims, a forest of shining blades held at the ready, as the veteran soldiers bunched together in preparation for battle. Ragnar moved forward, his shield held casually in his left hand, Hausstaka gripped loosely in his right; the Thegn gestured with the blade towards the man pinning Haakon, his eyes never leaving Harald.

“Boy, unless you want your head to grace my hearth, I’d suggest you release him. He’s a real warrior, sworn to and under the protection of a true Thegn. Otherwise, I’ll be taking compensation in your blood.”

The man looked from the hulking thrall to the ferocious warrior and decided the odds were too great; cursing, he sheathed his seax and stood, backing slowly towards his own group, and allowing a dazed and bloodied Haakon to climb slowly to his feet.

Ragnar waited until his loyal warrior had recovered his footing, then watched with solemn pride as Haakon spat blood, retrieved his sword and shield, and stumbled past Vigi, Svala, and the others.

Haakon nodded once to his leader as he passed, then tapped his sword against the rim of Ivarr’s shield. The younger man chuckled and moved aside slightly, allowing Haakon to slide into the gap and slam his shield viciously into place in the wall, a ferocious smile peeking through the mask of blood on his face as he locked eyes with the man who only moments before had held a knife to his throat.

“You could probably sit this one out, Haakon,” Ivarr said quietly, nudging his comrade with his elbow. “You’re not in any condition to fight.”

Haakon laughed, his eyes dancing with the prospect of vengeance. “All men die, Ivarr,” he said calmly, ignoring the pounding in his head and the flaring pain from his broken nose. “Ragnar needs me, so here I am.”

The battered raider shrugged, spitting another string of bloody phlegm into the snow. “Besides, it’s been a good day. Why not end it in the arms of a Valkyrie?”

Collaboration between Igraine and idlehands

Mid morning, Trelleborg

“Freya?” Sigrid called again for the housewoman, pushing the door open more. The kitchen appeared empty, the fire had also burned down to ash and dishes and food were scattered all over. She felt her scalp crawl, something was very wrong.

Beyond the table there was a noise and Freya stood up, turning to look at Sigrid. She opened her mouth and snarled, her eyes dead and blank, her hair hung in bloody clumps rather than the neatly coiled braid. Sigrid swore and reached for the door that had swung open just as a movement caught her eye. To her left another figure lurched at her, the Saxon slave woman that worked in the kitchen. The slave turned draugr lunged at her and she spun to face her, wielding the broomstick as she would her spear.

Sigrid jabbed the draugr in the throat with the blunted end of the stick and pulled back, swinging upward to crack it across it’s face. The blows slowed the creature but it only allowed her time to back out of the doorway, catching a glimpse of Freya and more slaves turned draugr rising up to come for the living flesh they craved.

“Get back!” she shouted, “Draugr!”

Ramming the broom as hard as she could against the draugr’s stomach caused the thing to lurch backward and gave her enough time to snatch the door closed. The door rattled as the draugr on the other side clawed at it. Sigrid stared at it for a moment, gathering her thoughts. She had lost the broomstick but there were tables still.

“Boys, help me drag this table,” she began to push a heavy wooden table.

The sounds grew louder behind the door and slowly began to creak inward. The bolt was inside the door, so that the kitchen could be locked from the inside, in case of invasion. Raudr set Dagny down who whimpered and started to cry when she heard the fear in her mother’s voice. The boys pushed with her and slammed the table up against the door.

“Quick, grab chairs, anything pile it on,” she shouted, moving quickly to snatch up a bench seat.

Eyja did not need to be told twice, shoving a heavy chair with a screech across the floors to the makeshift barricade against the kitchen door. For whatever alarm may have been in Sigrid’s voice and shouted commands, the little girl found courage there too, and she didn’t scream like she had in the road.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared - not even close. But this time Raudr didn't have to save her from being scared stiff, and she pushed chairs and benches and anything she could lay her small hands on, to add to the growing barricade of hall furniture.

That, and being quick helped keep the thought from raising its ugly head, who it was behind that door - who wasn't really “them” anymore. Loker was gone with Raudr and Ranulf’s Fadir, and she was glad. But Freya had been really nice to her and Svala. Kind of stern of course, but she was in charge so that was all right. And the pretty woman Edithyld who milled the grain - she had the prettiest smile hid like sunshine behind a cloud. But it was Gaeth who made Edithyld’s smile shine, and even laugh whenever he walked by - probably a few more times than was strictly necessary - just making the most hilariously awful and funny faces when Freya wasn't looking…

Eyja frowned mightily and snatched at another chair. With a grunt of effort, the little girl tried to lift it up all on her own, toward the top of their makeshift barrier.

He felt as if his eyes had just closed when he heard a woman shout. Einnar woke with a start, his head lolling to the side as he squinted. It was still light, he must have dozed off after the bottle of mead. Thor’s balls he muttered, rolling off the bed with a thump. His long dark hair was a stringy mess, his clothes still the same mud crusted tunic and pants he had worn on the search. He pushed himself up from the floor and when he put weight on his left foot he yelped with pain.

Einnar limped to the door, opening it and listening, he could hear nothing but the sounds of someone moving furniture. He reached for his hunting spear to use as a crutch and considered going out or not. He had ignored the call to arms by Loker, he was in no shape to fight. Exhausted, hurt, and admittedly, a bit drunk. All he wanted was sleep and his bed beckoned him. When he heard another shout, he cocked his head, listening and his sharp ears picked up the dreaded sound of the draugr moans. Faint, but it was unmistakable.

“Odin's shriveled cock,” he grumbled, glancing up, “All I wanted was to sleep for a few hours.”

Einnar picked up his bow and arrows, slinging them over his chest and held the spear, limping out of his room and down the passage toward the main dining hall. He sighed heavily when he spotted the woman and children piling things up by the door and he shuffled closer, his steps unsteady from both his bad ankle and the strong mead.

Eyja’s head turned over her shoulder as she fought to get that chair up to a height she really wasn’t going to make on her own, not without help. “Ranulf,” she panted, her gaze sweeping over the swiftly emptying hall, “Can you - “

Eyja screamed. Loud and long, eyes wide with terror as the filthy, disheveled creature shambled into the hall from behind them!

”DRAUGR! Miss Sigrid, DRAUGR!” The heavy wooden chair slammed to the ground with a crash as Eyja lost her tentative grip, pointing in horror toward the stumbling, mud-covered thing slowly advancing on them.

Einnar’s head snapped up when he heard the little girl scream and he instantly regretted it. His head pounded, a throbbing drum behind his eyes. The word cut through the discomfort and he could see her wide clear eyes staring at him. Behind him, his brain sent out the message that his body was slow to respond to and he clumsily turned around, nearly falling over.

“Fuck, draugr! Where?” he rasped out, holding the spear awkwardly, trying to keep his balance. He looked around him wildly, but saw nothing and turned back to the girl, his red rimmed eyes narrowing.

“Oh… “ Eyja bit her lip, a bit thrown for a moment. Draugr don’t talk. Draugr don’t act like they hear you.

Uh oh.

“Umm… Never mind… “ Her cheeks a bright scarlet red from far more than effort, Eyja sheepishly turned back to the chair she’d dropped so spectacularly, and began manhandling it back up toward the top again.

Sigrid heard the girl’s cry and turned sharply, her eyes snapping to Einnar. She breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing that the disheveled man was not draugr.

“We need help, bring your spear,” she demanded, “The kitchen is full of draugr.”

As if to emphasize her point the door rattled again as the hungry creatures pulled and clawed at it. Einnar blinked and hobbled over toward her. She could smell the mead and frowned, her green eyes sparking and she reached out for the spear.

“You’re in no condition to fight, give me that.” She snatched it from him and he stumbled, hopping on one foot.

“Hey! You got them trapped yeah?” he looked at the door piled with furniture dubiously. “I doubt that’ll hold for long, the draugr might be stupid but they’re persistent and strong.”

Sigrid raised an eyebrow at him, gripping the hunting spear, “What is your name?”

“Einnar...the Huntsman,” he muttered, leaving off his last name out of habit. “Who are you and these...little ones.”

He belched and hobbled to the nearest bench that was still upright on the floor. Einnar sat down heavily and slung his bow from his shoulder and an arrow from the quiver.

“I’m Sigrid, wife of Thegn Ragnar Ragnarsson and you’re drunk,” she glared at him, “Fine time for that. And you think you’ll use that bow? You’re likely to hit one of us as the draugr.”

He looked at her blankly and snorted, “Is that supposed to impress me? Keep your titles and your little silver box. They won’t protect you from what’s behind that door, lady.”

Sigrid hefted the spear, turning it with a practiced flourish, “Neither will you. Stay put if you like, your blundering about won’t help us.”

Raudr and Ranulf looked at the man warily and the younger of the two picked up his whimpering little sister. Dagny pushed at him, wailing for her mother, reaching out to her in a desperate attempt for her attention.

“Hush, baby, Madir’s busy,” she said softly, edging around the pile of furniture and she could see where the door now was opened a few inches and pale grasping fingers reached out.

“Boys, Eyja,” Sigrid said in a low voice, “We’ll need to keep pushing this barricade up, they’re persistent.”

“Told you,” Einnar replied, rubbing his eyes, “Bring the babe over here, I can at least keep her quiet.”

Sigrid glared at him. “What do you know of handling a child?"

“Calm down,” he grumbled, “A crying baby is something I can manage, how hard can it be? Just keep those things penned up there.”

Einnar stretched his bad leg out and Ranulf looked at his mother who finally gave a nod of consent. Dagny crying was a distraction for them and lure for the draugr.

“I can watch her, Miss Sigrid,” Eyja said softly, her wide, pale eyes glancing the back and forth between the grown-ups with a growing, worried frown. She felt bad enough, calling the stinking muddy lame man a draugr. But with all the sniping when the people they’d come to know only yesterday had turned into the monsters in the kitchen trying to eat them? It was a lot more than the little girl could stomach right now.

Besides, playmates could do things that big brothers and complete strangers could not in a thousand years, like keep a frightened, crying little girl quietly and happily occupied for a few crucial minutes.

Eyja reached for Dagny, still unhappily squirming in her brother’s arms, taking the smaller girl’s little hand in her own easily. And with all the sweetly nonjudgmental innocence of a child, she turned to look at the aggrieved Einnar with apologetic eyes. “Besides, you’re a lot bigger than me, even if you don’t walk too well. Miss Sigrid could probably use that bench you’re sitting on - and I’ve seen lots of drunk men since we arrived. They lean against stuff really, really good!” she urged the huntsman encouragingly.

Einnar huffed and limped toward the pile of furniture, muttering something about mouthy children. He looked over at Sigrid who watched the door apprehensively. The door was shuddering under the force beyond it, creaking on the iron hinges as it pulled backward, reaching fingers clasping around the side.

He spoke in a low voice, still slurred with mead, “They’ll get through you know. Never seen something so determined as a draugr and they have no fear.”

“Shh, you’ll frighten the children,” Sigrid hissed, her jaw tense, her knuckles white as she gripped the spear.

Einnar gave her a sardonic crooked smile, “Sure, the children...”

“Quiet. Help me push these up.”

She turned to put her hip into the table when the door screeched in protest, the sound of popping wood made Sigrid look up in surprise and horror. The kitchen door sagged inward, the draugr clamoring against their makeshift barrier. It would not stand long and she grabbed Einnar by the sleeve.

“Quick, take the children somewhere safe, lock yourselves in a room,” she ordered, turning briefly to her children and Eyja. “Go with Einnar, now.”

“But Madir!” Raudr cried out.

“Don’t argue with me, do as I say,” Sigrid said sternly, her eyes like stone. “I will hold them as long as I can.”

Ranulf felt his throat tighten and he looked at Dagny in Eyja’s arms and back to Sigrid. She stood tall, fierce, and beautiful, and he did not want her to die.

“Madir...

Einnar stood up, unslinging his bow, “I can help.

“I need you to get these children to safety, that is how you can help. Gods know what is happening at the healing house and beyond the Hall. Get them out of here now!” Sigrid ordered, looking at the faces of each of her children, at the daughter of Hallerna. For them she would stand against the overwhelming odds, she would face certain death if it meant the children had a chance at life. "Einnar the Huntsman, if you fail, I will pull your lungs through your back!"

Nothing was said that if he failed it meant she had failed and would be dead or worse, become one of the draugr. The huntsman saw there was no changing her mind and he put his hand on Raudr’s shoulder as he tried to go to Sigrid, forcing him to turn. He muttered to them, “We do as your Madir says.”

Hobbling as quickly as he could, he lead the children away from the crumbling barricade of furniture. The Jarl’s room was the most secure as it held the treasure of Trelleborg, such that it was. He hustled them in, barring the door behind them and leaned against it, his head resting against the wood. Einnar felt a wave of guilt, leaving that woman to almost certain death. He should be the one out there, it was a man's place to protect those weaker and yet here he was, hiding with the children. Too drunk and broken down to be of any use. Einnar grit his teeth, biting back the bile of his shame.

Sigrid brought her spear up as the first draugr clamored over the fallen chairs, lunging toward her. He had been a slave, she noted his collar around his decaying neck and when he got close enough she jabbed the iron tip deep into his throat. She shoved with all her might, pinning him to the floor, severing the spinal cord. He spasmed and she slashed back and forth, then yanked it free as the head lolled back, hanging on by only a few strands of skin and sinew. She faced another slave draugr, the Saxon woman with curls of dark gold hair now in disarray around her torn face. Sigrid spun the spear upward and brought it down against the lunging creature.

The spear head slashed her chest open to the bone but it did nothing to deter the draugr’s approach and Sigrid swung the spear back around, stabbing toward it’s face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the last of the chairs fall and two more draugr climb over the table. The one that had once been Freya and another slave who she did not recognize came towards her. Strands of her long red hair worked loose, clinging to her neck and face as she backed up, swinging the long wooden spear defensively to keep them at bay.

Sigrid kept the spear in motion, sweeping it as fast as she could to keep them away and to prevent them from grabbing at the sharp end as they had little regard for injury. She saw yet another draugr come out and she felt her heart sink. They were closing in, four against one and even though the draugr were rather dimwitted it seemed, they were strong, impervious to pain and fiercely determined to feed upon living flesh. If she could hold out until help came, if it ever came. Sigrid sent a plea to Thor to lend him her strength that she might die a glorious death and preserve the tender lives of those hiding in the room beyond the hall.

Healing House, Harald

Harald eyed the lined, armoured men with apparent nonchalance and walked forward towards Ragnar until they were barely out of sword reach of one another. Although Loker represented the authority here no one was under the illusion of who was truly leading the men and it was to him those around Harald looked to, if not to himself, for leadership; it was unfortunate that Ragnar was physically the ideal of their people compared to Harald's stumpy physique.

"Ragnar, you are late. If you had been here with your men earlier I might have been able to save more inside... as it was I had to put the safety of the fort first. Having even a few Draugr run rampant could spell doom for every one of us." Harald turned away, gesturing at the healing house. "Where were you when those in danger needed you most? Busy consolidating power? Trying to take the Jarl's Hall before his body is even cold?" He raised his voice, mimicking impassioned rage, so that all around could hear him.

Just as he began to work himself into higher passions, one of his slaves ran up to him, apparently unaware of the armed confrontation. He had come from somewhere in the fort, not having seen any of the events at the healing house thus far; fear was plain on his face and he focused now only on the task he had been given.

"Draugr, in the fort! I came from the stockpile." Another slave appeared, also panting and white with fear.

"And I from the Jarl's Hall. I saw one of the others as a Draugr, they're everywhere!" Harald nodded calmly, looking to Ragnar.

"Now is not the time for petty squabbles, Ragnar. You and I have enough men to put down these Draugr and protect the defenceless within these walls. I will go with or without you... but I will let you defend the Jarl's Hall if it is important to you." His eyes twinkled darkly in amusement before the dwarfish man turned to his men and gestured for them to leave. As they filed away, leaving Ragnar's shield wall facing the survivors of the Healing House, Harald shook his head at the half-concealed men crouching amongst the rooftops surrounding the house with strung bows held low. It would have been a perfect time to slaughter Ragnar and those loyal to him but as loathe as he was to admit it, Harald might actually need those same men to survive the day.

"We return to the longhouse, arm up and then kill the Draugr. Search every house, every room. Anyone who has been bitten dies, no questions. We cannot risk this spreading further."

---

Healing House, Wilfred

Once his former master had left, the huge Saxon's shoulders unbunched, his figure visibly loosening with relief as all tension left his body. Although the Draugr were everywhere now, the immediate threat had gone for now, at least. Robbie was still unconscious but would be safest in Vigi's care; they would all be dead if the Draugr continued to run rampant however. Thus, Wilfred approached Ragnar, bowing his head to show some form of respect, or at least servitude.

"I am ready to serve... Ragnar." He still could not bear to use the word 'master' or any other form of it but he infused the name with enough respect that it in itself could be considered a title; at least from an 'ignorant' Saxon's point of view. "I am well enough to send these creatures back to Hell, if that is what you need of me." Wilfred chose his words carefully, fully aware of the similarities between Hell as the Christians knew it and Hel, the Norse goddess. He had yet to get a true measure on the Thegn and trod carefully.

The axe he held would be sufficient to kill the Draugr, having the power to strike them down when lesser weapons would merely 'wound' the nigh-upon-unkillable monsters. He hefted it onto one shoulder to show his readiness and awaited his master's command.