Hrafn soared through the skies, dropping, flapping wings, gliding, darting and twisting through clouds as the cold night air ruffled his feathers and stung at his beady eyes. Bjorn felt his heartbeat quicken and though he knew logically that he was sleeping in his own bed and that he was experiencing the effects of the new skill which he had unlocked as he was falling asleep, he could not help but feel elated at the stomach- roiling feeling that was flight.

  I am never going to get used to this skill, he thought as Hrafn nosedived towards the ground, pulling up at the last minute and landing agilely on the rafters inside King Harald’s steading.

  It was a large steading, gifted to him by Aslaug for the remainder of his stay in Lejre. Bjorn’s mother was no stranger to hosting self-important bacrauts like Harald and it showed. The steading was lavishly furnished with a plump bed, plenty of soft furs, a deep firepit which oozed warmth and released a constant spiral of thick smoke which stung at Hrafn’s eyes as he perched above it on the rafters, and plenty of food.

  Harald sat, rocking a chair backwards as his dirt covered boots rested lazily on the table. In one hand he held a leg of lamb, a large tankard of ale in the other.

  “What do you think?” Someone said in a voice that Bjorn recognised but could not place. A voice belonging to someone who Hrafn could barely see. It was a slender looking, shadowed figure standing in the doorway with a hood pulled tight about their head.

  “It is a good goal,” Harald shrugged between messy bites of the lamb, grease dripping down his face, wetting his beard. “To subjugate England is no easy feat, perhaps even harder than my own goal of taking Norway.”

  “I meant, what do you think of Bjorn?”

  “I think he is a self-inflated whelp,” Harald replied, a slight rasp to his voice now. “All his new titles have gone to his head and now he thinks he can gain my support for nothing but a flimsy promise of lending what little of his army will remain to my cause. He is arrogant. He is bull-headed. He is… but that will work to my advantage.” He trailed off, eyes misting as he stared thoughtfully into his tankard, swilling the golden ale around in a miniature whirlpool.

  “Subjugating England would be reward of its own,” the stranger said. “That land is rich and weak. If we can make it our own then we can launch raids all over the world from its ports. It would be the seat of our Empire and believe me; we would have one.”

  “You think I should aid him free of charge?” Harald replied with furrowed brow. “And what if we are not successful? What if my army is defeated? How will I then fulfil my own goal, my promise, to become king of all Norway?”

  “We will win,” the stranger said calmly. “And if not, we make sure that Bjorn dies along with his revenge filled dreams, on England’s soil. If he does not return home, then you could claim Sweeden for your own. Being king of Sweeden and Norway, not a bad consolation prize for the worst-case scenario if you ask me.”

  “That is a deep-cunning plan,” Harald said thoughtfully. “I will think on it. Tomorrow I will speak with Ironside once again and see if we can come to some kind of agreement. However, I cannot be seen to have been outwitted by a stripling; public perception is everything.”

  “Then ask for something else?” The stranger said. “Something easier for him to agree to. Then you are seen to have won the negotiation and we can continue on with our plan.”

  Harald nodded then tipped back his tankard and downed what was left. Then the stranger turned to leave and Hrafn was flapping his wings and following. The stranger walked through Lejre, hood pulled tight.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I must discover who this bacraut is, Bjorn thought angrily as Hrafn continued to stalk him from the skies. Snow was ravishing the town in thick clumps, obscuring Hrafn’s vision and harassing his freezing wings. It was an odd feeling for Bjorn, but he brushed it aside, single mindedly willing Hrafn on as he glided over white-washed thatched roofs, the stranger merely a slippery shadow, scurrying through the dark town.

  Then the stranger reached the longhouse, looked around cautiously, then opened its doors quietly and slipped inside through a small gap. There were no guards, which was odd. Aslaug usually had them posted at all hours. It was a cold night, but still, she was usually a cautious woman…

  Fukka! Bjorn thought. Whoever it is, they are close to me. Closer than is comfortable if they can arrange for the guards to leave their posts.

  ***

  Bjorn woke with start, sitting bolt upright as the dim light of dawn filtered through the gaps in the thatched roof above him. Sweat drenched his skin, a cold chill causing goosebumps to grow all over his chest, arms and back. His hair was sweat-soaked and it felt itchy on the back of his neck, and he was breathing hard.

  “The first time is always the hardest,” Hrafn squawked, landing on the chair nearby and cocking his black, feathered head as he looked at Bjorn. He shook himself and snow was flung from his feathers, landing on the wooden floor and melting into tiny droplets.

  “This new skill,” Bjorn panted. “It will be useful, but it does not feel like I have rested at all.”

  “It will get better, easier to navigate,” Hrafn replied. “It is a strange feeling for me as well, to have a passenger residing behind my eyes.”

  “How did I unlock it?” Bjorn asked. “I do not think that I did anything. I have not levelled up.”

  “As our contract continues you will learn that there are many useful things I can do for you,” Hrafn said.

  “Are you being cryptic on purpose?”

  Hrafn nodded and Bjorn chuckled slightly, reaching over the side of the bed and grabbing at his shirt which he promptly used to wipe his face. Then he was swinging his legs over the side of the bed and dunking the shirt into a barrel of water in the corner of the room. He used it to wipe sweat from his skin, the ice-cold water tightening it and causing more goosebumps to sprout.

  “Someone has betrayed me,” he said as he washed, a dark edge to his voice.

  “Are you surprised?” Hrafn asked.

  “No,” Bjorn replied. “It is a hard thing I ask of them. Much is at stake and there is even more to gain. The betrayer you saw was right; whoever rules England will be well placed to create an empire. All know this.”

  “All desires are claimed in blood,” Hrafn replied in a low squawk.

  “There is truth in that. We need to know who this betrayer is,” Bjorn said, dropping the soaked shirt onto the floor and moving towards a wooden dresser, pulling a fresh shirt from a drawer and sliding it over his head.

  “I saw them enter the longhouse, but that was before dawn broke,” Hrafn said. “By the time I got inside they were gone. I checked all the rooms, everyone was sleeping and everyone here seems to own a hooded cloak. Apart from Ullr, she was still guarding your door and it did not look like she had moved a muscle since I left.”

  “They do,” Bjorn said, producing his own from a different draw within the dresser. “So our search has been narrowed, but not enough.”

  “How do you wish to proceed?”

  “For now I will pretend that I do not know,” Bjorn shrugged. “I will meet with Harald and you and Ullr will watch my back. I would have you continue to watch our allies closely, see if you can find anything, see anything suspicious.”

  “It will be done,” Hrafn said and then his wings were flapping and he was soaring through the hole in the side of the roof.

  Then the door was opening with a creak and Ullr was standing there, face turned down sheepishly.

  “I am dressed,” Bjorn said lightly and she looked up at him, her usual demeanour returning.

  “How did you sleep?” She asked.

  “Well enough,” Bjorn shrugged. “Come, we will break our fast and then I will talk with the fat king.”

  She nodded, “you may want to be careful about calling him that to his face if you wish to make an ally of him.”

  “I have no intention of making him an ally,” Bjorn said, “I am going to use him for his army, that is all.”

  “So you have thought more on my suggestion then?”

  “I have, and though I am no oath-breaker, I am also no fifl, and Harald has some deep-cunning of his own.”

  “Has something happened?” She asked, furrowing her brow and narrowing her eyes, her fingers twitching slightly at the hilt of her seax. “My eyes did not falter all night. No one has entered your chambers.”

  “It has and I will tell you about it, but let us eat while we talk, yes?”