[i]Dusk, The Jarl's Hall, Trelleborg[/i] Faolan kept to the shadows of the longhouses as twilight fell, hurrying along in the slick mud of the trampled grounds of the fort. He saw few faces even though the sleet had softened to an icy mist. None of Harald's men tried to stop him as he approached the Jarl's hall, trudging past the smoke houses where men still worked on preserving the meat. One of the men who stood outside the hall had the look of a guard, he wore leather armor and had a long knife and axe. [b]"I need to speak with the Housekarl, Loker,"[/b] Faolan announced as he stood at the foot of the stairs. He looked right at the guard rather than humbling himself. [b]"It's urgent."[/b] The guard spat down toward him after hearing his Irish accented Danish, [b]"Who sends you slave? And you'd better drop your eyes before I cut them out."[/b] The Irishman glanced to the side but did not look down, [b]"Thegn Ragnar Ragnarsson sent me and he needs Loker and his men immediately unless you want a war to break out within these walls."[/b] The guard's interest was piqued and he ignored the insubordinance, [b]"Wait there."[/b] He went back into the hall and Faolan waited, crossing his arms against the cold, Ragnar's ornate saex on full display. The hall's servants and slaves looked at him with curiosity and suspicion as he waited. He hunched his shoulders under his cloak, his hood hanging over his face, hiding his collar and short thrall hair. When the guard came out he gestured towards the back of the hall. [b]"The housekarl went to visit someone, you can wait in the back near the kitchen for his return,"[/b] he ordered and went back to his post. [b]"This is urgent! You have blood already being shed in these walls,"[/b] Faolan told him, before muttering, [b]"Fool."[/b] [b]"What was that, slave?"[/b] the guard put his hand on his long knife. [b]"Nothing, sir,"[/b] Faolan replied tartly and walked quickly to the back of the hall where the smoky kitchens were. The slaves belonging to the Jarl were huddled near a fire, eating their bread when he approached. Rather than enter the building he squatted down with them, recognizing the features on some of them as being from his home. An older woman wore a cross and a man had a tribal tattoo on his neck that Faolan knew to be Irish. He looked up at them and spoke in Gaelic, [b]"Have you seen the housekarl? That thickheaded guard will not tell me. He is needed urgently for the Danes are at each other's necks, including my master."[/b] [b]"What do you care if they spill each others blood?"[/b] the tattooed man asked, casting a tired look at him. [b]"I don't, but truth is what is outside these walls is worse. Whatever hellspawn is out there is more dangerous than even the sword Danes that squabble over their petty thrones,"[/b] Faolan replied. [b]"Any word of the search party?"[/b] [b]"Nothing, and the weather has turned foul,"[/b] the man replied, tugging on the heavy leather collar out of habit. [b]"You've seen the demons?"[/b] the woman asked, speaking Gaelic as she clutched at her simple wooden cross. [b]"Aye, seen them, fought them...I'd say I killed some but I don't know for certain. If my master and this Harald spend the lives of their men fighting each other that leaves us with less swords to face the draugr. We have a long winter ahead, winter brings hunger, and hunger brings the wolves to the door,"[/b] Faolan said in a low voice, the firelight flickering off his face. They were silent a moment and the woman spoke up again, [b]"Housekarl Loker went to visit his former in-laws. He doesn't like people to know when he goes but that is where I saw him. It's the last longhouse to the east of the Hall, near the wall. God speed to you, [i]mac hÉireann[/i]"[/b] Faolan stood up, pulling his hood back up, [b]"You should all take cover, put away any supplies you have, in case Loker cannot reason with them."[/b] Quickly he jogged away from the slaves' fire and headed in the direction the Irish woman had given him. He finally came to the last long house, at the opposite end of the fort from his master's home. The night was approaching and the house had torches lit, the door closed against the weather. The Irish slave knocked on the door in a rapid staccato and stepped back as it swung open, the worry creased face of the tall redhaired Dane looked down at him. [b]"You're Ragnarsson's slave? Felon?"[/b] he asked, with a sense of foreboding in his stomach. Behind him an elderly couple and a boy looked on curiously from the warm interior. [b]"Faolan, sir,"[/b] he replied, tugging his hood back enough to look at him despite the impropriety. [b]"You are needed at once, my master and Harald are circling each other and blood has already been spilled. A group of Harald's men attacked my master's children though they made it to safety...not to mention they brutalized a woman...a female slave of Ragnar's. You must get down there and call them off if you can."[/b] Loker's jaw clenched. [i]Damn that troll spawned Harald and his itchy palms![/i] He looked down at the slave and gripped his shoulder roughly, [b]"Watch your tongue, lad. Do you not think I don't understand the urgency of this matter? We will leave at once, we need to gather the men. Why haven't I been told of this?"[/b] The last part he muttered as he turned back inside, leaving the door open as he belted on his sword. The boy, who Faolan judged to be about ten or so, grinned widely at Loker as he handed him his cloak. He could see a resemblance to the housekarl in the smile and the deep auburn hair and the already broadening shoulders of the lad. The boy spoke, his voice garbled and the words unclear, causing the slave to pause and notice. He could only make out the familiar term "Fadir".The older couple spoke to him quietly and the boy sat back down with a disappointed expression on his round face. Loker caught Faolan's look and when he exited he seized the slave by the arm, ducking his head to whisper harshly, [b]"I trust that a slave knows when to keep his mouth shut." [/b] The Irish thrall blinked and merely nodded, surprised at the easy going man's sudden ferocity. It must be a shame to have a son that was not normal, as the Danes saw deformations of any type to be a sign of ill favor for the gods and a burden on their society. He trotted to keep up with the housekarl's long strides, following him back to the hall. Loker ignored him as he ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. [b]"Gylfi, get the men together, we have to stop those two dogs from ripping out each other's throats,"[/b] he rumbled, [b]"Make sure they're all armed, we have to have a show of force. Especially against Harald. And why had no one told me of the attacks on Ragnar's property? And on his children!"[/b] Gylfi shook his head, [b]"We heard nothing about it, the Thegn's longhouse is on the far western end. I'll go at once."[/b] He rushed off to round of the men who served the Jarl and Loker entered the hall. He went to the armory and began taking out axes, spears and bows. [b]"My mistress requests a spear, sir,"[/b] Faolan spoke up. Loker glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and muttered, [b]"Does she? Far be it from me to deny a lady anything."[/b] [b]"And they wish me to have a bow and arrows,"[/b] he lied. [b]"Odin's eye, things are so bad that he is arming his slaves and women?"[/b] Loker looked at him sharply. [b]"Take what you need but keep in mind they belong to the Jarl."[/b] Faolan grabbed a bow and as many arrows as he could before Loker glared at him. Before he left he took the shortest spear he could find, one that would suit either him or Sigrid. When he exited the hall he could see at least a dozen of the Jarl's men gathered, dressed in a mix of leather and Loker himself wearing a chainmail shirt. They bore their colorful shields and the slave felt a chill that was not caused by cold wind. There was much resting on whether the housekarl could make Ragnar and Harald stand down, too much that filled him with dread and he pushed the thoughts aside. Burdened by the weapons he lead the way as Loker and his men marched toward the healing house.