[quote=@Odin]
After the foreigners’ visit, it was evident that there was not a whole lot of tasks laid out for Ketill at that time. He had done his due, performed the tasks required of him, and with the death of Sa’aqr, the period of mourning started. During that time Najla had no contact with him, and he had none with her, and so he was left to his own devices as before. A welcome change at first, but a boring affair later. The only frequent visits he received were from his servant, Yasamin. Her prying and prodding words were a curious deal to him, but it was better to occupy himself with her than with doing nothing. Ever more frequently he found himself staring out of the window overlooking the vast expanse of the desert, wondering to himself about the visions’ he’d seen. Seiðr, or magic and it’s different forms, was usually a task reserved for the women, who were called völva, the equivalent of a witch. Practicing magic as a man was said to be a sign of homosexuality, but these men did exist, called seiðrman, although there were those born with the second sight – a form of magic that was more hereditary than practiced – which could take different shapes and forms.

Theoretically everyone was capable of this second sight – but few people had such a connection to the other world that they could readily access it. Even if magic was seen as an act of homosexuality, however, it seemed like second sight was almost in a different realm of magic – it was treated with less taboo, and more with fear. It was not so strange that these völve or seidrmen kept their visions to themselves most of the time.

Pondering over this, Ketill wondered whether his visions were a form of second-sightedness. Perhaps his new-found connection to the gods had weakened this barrier between the other world and his own and had allowed him to see these visions or perhaps it was simply the will of the gods. He would never know, but it was like him to ponder regardless. He never stopped pondering the supernatural, even as a Monarchist, so he had no cause to stop now. If anything, with his new-found strength in Audrun, he had all the more reason to ponder.

Yasamin appeared again one day, bringing with her a comb. His hair had grown again since he had last been shaved by the servants of the Sultan, and it was like the Northerners to take great care of their hair, despite their perceived ‘savage’ nature. She had also brought several tight rings, though for what reason she did not know. He had simply asked for them last time and never explained why. Being a servant, she merely sought to comply. [i]‘’As you asked,’’[/i] she said, putting them down on the desk that had been useless to him during his long stay here. He nodded and got up, seating himself again on the chair that overlooked the window. Without waiting, she began combing his hair, meticulously so. 

While she was busied with that, he began braiding his beard in true Northern fashion. Although his beard was not quite long enough to make anything more than a few braids, he managed to slip the rings in, which would’ve been a status symbol in the far north. Here, now, it would be little more than the dress-up that Ketill’s masters so desired from him when they put him on display. When he was done, the rings were carefully placed in his beard, almost symmetrical, or at the very least the best he could do by touch and without being able to see. To the northerners or even the Broacienien, he must’ve seemed like a lord or a king. To the Sawarim... a mere plaything. Yasamin had finished too, so when he got up and turned around, she looked upon the rings with some sort of fascination. [i]‘’How new,’’[/i] she said, her eyes twinkling. [i]‘’Perhaps a new fashion for the slaves – oh, I must bring the idea to the Sultana, I am sure they’d love their slaves to wear golden rings in their beards. Only the slaves, though. I doubt the men would willingly braid their beards like the hair of the women. Oh, so wondr-’’[/i] She was not allowed to finish.

[i]‘’Are you done? Golden rings won’t do good. They’re too soft. Iron or steel rings. Silver at best.’’[/i] Ketill’s reply was, for once, not dismissing her ideas entirely, which was new but not unwelcome to Yasamin. [i]‘’Go, tell them then. Just leave my room,’’[/i] he finished, returning to his regular demeanour at once.  She obliged as always, finding some Sultana to propose the idea too. 

[hr]

[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2PHd7wPn6A[/youtube][/center]

A few days later, an unexpected visitor had shown up, flanked by two guards. But as was customary, all of his visitors, no matter how unexpected, were familiar faces. It was not strange that those who did not know him preferred to avoid him, after all. With a confident step Harith entered the room, looking around to see what it was like. [i]‘’The room given to you on my orders?’’[/i] he asked, his gaze then meeting Ketill’s. 

[i]‘’Yes,’’[/i] he answered, looking back, though unlike with Najla there was no hostility in his eyes for once. [i]‘’Luxurious for a slave,’’[/i] he followed up. Harith shook his head at that remark, indicating that it was not at all luxurious for a slave. It was a step up from the barracks but there were some that had it far better. Royal scribes, eunuchs and other magistrates and officials that had been taken from the ranks of slave had it far better. They were not free perhaps, but it was as close as a slave was going to get and, in some parts, better than being free. 

[i]‘’Better than Broacien, perhaps. I came to inform you of something,’’[/i] Harith then spoke, pulling a chair from the left and placing it down, taking a seat there. [i]‘’Najla has placed you under my command. The reason for that should be clear to you, with the marriage with Osman coming up. I advise you to tread carefully. Najla wouldn’t tell you this – but there is not much I can do for you if you’re not my property, and when she marries Osman, he will have full control over you.’’[/i]

Ketill glanced away from the man, seemingly thinking about it, before his eyes went back and sized the man up. [i]‘’So you are the only thing stopping him. As a prince.’’[/i] To this Harith nodded, the gaze in his eyes a rather uncharacteristic serious that Ketill hadn’t seen in Harith often. [i]‘’That’s not good.’’[/i]

To these words Harith could only grin, nodding slowly. [i]‘’There is no other way.’’[/i] It went silent for a second as there was not much else to add. [i]‘’I will find duties for you once the wedding is complete. Most likely you’ll work with the royal guard.’’[/i] Harith made ready to leave again, getting up and shoving the chair aside, but was stopped when Ketill made a final remark.

[i]‘’I get a strange feeling that there won’t be a time after the wedding,’’[/i] he said, the reply somewhat mystical, vague and uncertain. It was unbecoming of Ketill and he did not know why he felt this way specifically, but something felt off, and his body seemed to scream at him that there was more going on. 

Harith stopped in his tracks and, without looking back at Ketill, replied. [i]‘’Good to know someone else shares that feeling. Call it a warriors instinct, I suppose.’’[/i] There was no reply and Ketill only nodded, somewhat relieved that his foreboding sense of danger was shared with someone else. But there was no evidence – and so, very little Harith or Ketill could do except be on their guard. These senses had a tendency to be hit or miss – perhaps they were just nervous. Not that there was much to be nervous for in Ketill’s case. 

It was not until much later, on the day of the wedding, that Ketill would be retrieved. He was dressed up again, wearing finery he’d never seen before and that he had no doubt was made for this occasion. That morning he saw Yasamin, who had headed off to the Sultana to assist her, although it would not be personally and she would most likely take a backseat role. Ketill himself was brought to the baths again and forcibly bathed, though they left his beard and hair for now, seemingly satisfied with the care he had taken of it. <[i]‘’Perhaps take the rings out?’’[/i]> one of them pondered to the other. 

<[i]‘’Leave it, it’ll look more foreign, and that’s what they like. Besides, I don’t think he’s going to last long enough for it to matter.’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Right… where did that man say we could get our payment?’’[/i]>

<[i]‘’Afterwards. All we have to do is open the doors for ‘’them’’ to come in.’’[/i]>

Of course, Ketill couldn’t understand their conversation, and just sat there as they did their thing, measuring him and making some final changes on the clothes before they got him dressed and ready. Once they were done, he was led out to the largest main hall, where visitors were already starting to mass. He was lead by golden chains – later to become a mistake on the part of whomever had organized his exposition at the feast – and was promptly chained down to some steel circle hanging from the wall and quickly forgotten. They had begun dressing him late in the afternoon and by the time they were done, the festivities were barely starting. But Ketill could not quite see any of it, since he was placed in a hall that was separate from the place where Najla and Osman would be seated. It reminded him of when they had agreed to marry, and a similar feast was organized. Except this time he was even further away from it all. He saw a constant stream of people heading through the corridor to the room where Najla and Osman herself were, supposedly to deliver gifts, congratulations or simply watch the marriage itself take place. It took nearly an hour before Ketill could make out a familiar voice, as the noises died down even in the halls further removed. 

By now, Ketill had attracted some visitors of his own, as some of the party-goers crowded around him while listening to the Sultan speak. There were four of them, one woman who had her arm looped into that of who Ketill presumed to be her husband. The man himself looked like a tribal, but a wealthy one, so Ketill could only assume he was part of Osman’s delegation. The other two looked tribal too, much younger and more virile, clearly warriors of sorts. 

Silence, for a moment, before a blood curdling scream followed the final words of the Sultan, both final of his speech – and his life. 

The lack of communication between the halls however meant that Ketill was given some time to react. As the four figures standing around Ketill looked up at a balcony, which lead to the area where both Najla and Osman would’ve been seated, Ketill too looked back. Something was wrong and everyone knew it, and slowly the masses began to churn looking for an exit. The older tribal man then nodded at his two companions, who pulled their swords, and similar movements were made around the room as followers of the al-Suwaidi drew their blades, daggers and tribal axes, while guards in the room did the same. 

There was no word to describe the situation that followed – even chaos would have been cutting it short, as chaos implies that you don’t know what’s happening. To Ketill, however, it was very clear and it made his purpose clear – get to Najla before anyone else did. Or her relatives. It was not chaotic, but everything seemed much more disorganized than even that. 

With a roar Ketill pulled his hands up, the golden chains clanking heavily before a crash snapped them. Gold was a soft metal – nice to look at, but dysfunctional in any purpose other than decorative. The chains broke at his hand, luckily, so he didn’t have to haul the golden chains around while he worked his way through the palace. 

The small gap of time he had was enough to prepare himself, as one of the tribal men near him stormed forwards wielding a dagger inlaid with silver, curved like most of the weaponry of the Sultanate. He had it raised above his head, his face grimaced with the face of a man who was fighting not for gold or fame but for purpose – it seemed like the al-Suwaidi were here for a reason they really believed in. 

Ketill raised his arm in instinct and blocked the man’s arm entirely, stopping it dead in its track before it could even be flung down. He turned his body and grabbed onto the arm and with a ferocious swing swung the man around over his shoulder, bashing his head into the base of a statue that stood at the side of the stairs. A spot of blood marked the place he’d hit the statue and, besides a sickening crunch, nothing much else showed what’d happened until the man slumped down lifelessly, the dagger slowly slipping from his fingers. But in the sounds of the chaos even the clanking sound it made on the floor was lost. Before Ketill could move to escape or kill the others, he was grabbed from behind, the other man wrapping his arms around Ketill to avoid him fighting back. 

It was useless however, as Ketill’s superior strength allowed him to break free rather easily, and with a large turn of the body and swipe of the arm, he battered the man in the side of the neck, nearly breaking it. He was about to step forward towards the man, who was rearing backwards and holding his head in pain, when a familiar person rushed past, and with a single swipe cut the man across his back, finishing off the job well enough. 

[i]‘’Ketill, have you seen my wife?’’[/i] Harith bellowed, allowing himself only a single moment of rest. When Ketill shook his head, he rushed off again, somewhere in the distance into a hallway. [i]‘’Go left, Ketill! Najla and Basim are on their way outside! You’ll find them there!’’[/i] The last sight Ketill got of Harith was him cutting down yet another man in his way, seemingly uncaring as to whose side the man was on. 

Then Ketill remembered the old man with his wife was still around, though when he glanced around he could not find him anymore. It seemed they had been placed there specifically to eliminate or capture Ketill, though that plan had evidently backfired. Already Ketill could hear the sound of Osman’s anger when he learned that Ketill had escaped the castle – somewhat satisfying, perhaps, even if it was purely his imagination.

Without questioning Harith and driven by his purpose of exacting revenge against Najla, he set out to the corridor he had pointed out. In the chaos of it all, some people seemed to have taken shelter in the hallway that was normally reserved for servants to allow them to pass from one room to the other without bothering guests. Now it was home to a cowering emir and his wife, among others. When Ketill pulled the door open, they all stepped back and rushed for the door on the other side, afraid that Ketill might harm them. Rather, he plowed through them, on his way to finally get what he’d been waiting for. He pushed those in the way aside roughly, then barged through the other side of the hallway into an even bigger mess. It seemed like the fighting had moved into this hallway as members of the royal family had attempted to use it to escape. Naturally, they and their guards were swiftly followed by the tribals, who had obviously had much more time to prepare and seemed to know exactly who to capture and who to kill. Only select members of the family were allowed to live – namely those that were married into the family, and those that were weak enough to relinquish their titles and claims in favour of survival. 

Najla was, as expected, not one of them.

As he entered the larger hallway, there was fighting all around him – nothing he wasn’t used to, of course, but this was different. He was on neither side here, and was merely a spectator. It was entirely likely that the royal guard would take him down because he was a risk, and the al-Suwaidi were likely looking to decapitate him for the offenses he’d committed against Osman. Momentarily he looked left, then right towards the exit that would lead into the way out of this palace. In the distance he saw Najla, who then rushed into a nearby room, where the courtyard was. He was about to give chase when a ferocious yell came from the other side. Instantly he turned around and was forced to throw up his hands, catching a spear by the handle just in time to stop it from hammering his skull. He tugged on the weapon, pulling the man closer. His muscles tensed up as his other arm swung hard, knocking the man over the head and swiping him aside, landing with his head against the wall with yet another sickening crunch that could only hint to the damage. 

As he looked back over his shoulder he saw Najla and Basim both enter the hallway again, visibly distraught. Without thinking he reached back towards the man he’d just killed or crippled, and grabbed his spear. In a near singular motion he turned his body and took a step, sending his arm with the spear forwards and propelling it towards Najla – missing her by a few inches at best, the air whooshing past her face only giving her a heads up. But it seemed she was not his target, as the spear connected with a man behind her who had his shield and curved sword raised in the air as if to strike her down. Ketill began approaching her and Basim then. Red fog crept in again, his mind going blank and feeling numb, and those who looked closely might’ve seen him frothing at the mouth. Whether it was out of anger, or because he’d awoken some deeper state that was only seen in the most brave and strong warriors of the north, it was anyone’s guess. 

His slow walking pace turned into a jog, and he casually grabbed the handle of an axe, which had been left stuck in a body. As he walked past he easily pulled it out and began running for Najla, and when he was close he’d ready his arm.

Even if she had noticed his intention, there was no escape now given how close he was. Her saving grace was Basim, who stepped in front of her and raised his hands at Ketill. [i]‘’Ketill!’’[/i] he screamed, barely loud enough to be heard over the sounds of swords clattering against each other, the screams of people fleeing or dying, but it was enough to stop Ketill. His arm had been swung and the blade of the axe now hovered before Najla’s face, but the crisis had been averted by Basim. [i]‘’We can do this later! If we don’t leave now, they’ll kill you as well, so then your revenge would’ve been worthless,’’[/i] he continued hurriedly, looking beyond Ketill as more and more tribesmen and al-Suwaidi rebels began flooding into the hallway to clean up the last batches of resistance before they would ‘cleanse’ the palace. 

Ketill lowered his axe, looked behind him, but did not reply. He pushed forwards, grabbing Najla by the arm and dragging her with him. Harith and Basim had both tugged her along as well, but not with the anger and strain Ketill was applying now. The red fog in his mind was still there, and there were remnants of the froth on his mouth. If they managed to get out, then Najla would owe her life not to Ketill but to Basim. Not many people were capable of stopping a berserker dead in their tracks after all, especially not lithe and fragile men like Basim himself, who was by all means a scholar, not a warrior.

When they were about to leave, a familiar face appeared in front of them. The girl, who had normally looked quite beautiful, was distraught, her hair a mess and a bloody cut from her eye to her cheek. Not deep enough to kill – but deep enough to hurt and leave a permanent mark. Her eye was held closed, and Ketill could only guess that she’d either lost it, or had it damaged so badly that it was useless. [i]‘’Ketill,’’[/i] she said. [i]‘’H-help me.’’[/i] Only a quick glance was given to Najla and Basim, before Ketill nodded at Yasamin, and pushed her forward with the hand that held the axe, towards the courtyard. 

[i]‘’Harith?’’[/i] Ketill uttered as they pushed into the courtyard, where men were fighting left and right. It seemed that this was where the royal guard were to make their stand – the sultan was dead, the location of the heir was unknown, and the al-Suwaidi’s had full control of the palace. But there was no captain of the royal guard – Najla’s father had been cut down initially, no doubt in a controlled and planned take down of all important targets. They were disorganized and it seemed like these were mostly new recruits and crippled veterans. In all honesty, when Ketill looked them over, he realized there was no chance the royal guard was stopping this. At this point it was not even a rescue mission anymore – they were purely trying to contain the threat long enough for the loyalists to arrive. Unknown to them, it did not seem like there would be any of the royal family left to take the throne once the palace was cleansed. Ketill, Najla and Basim were likely the few members that were able to get out alive before the al-Suwaidi’s would clear the passages to the courtyard and block off all access. 

Ketill did not take them to the gate, instead heading for the stables. It was the same plan Najla and Basim had had, and it was the most logical. He’d drag Najla forward by her arm and push her towards a horse, most of which were white as they seemed to have stumbled into the sultan’s own stables. Ketill, fittingly, picked the only black one there. As they mounted up, Ketill did not waste any time, and the moment he was in the saddle he urged the horse forwards, extending a hand towards Yasamin and pulling her up to sit behind him, then moved on past the royal guards. They were planning to stop him, or even cut him down, but it seemed they changed their mind when they saw Najla and Basim. Their eyes rushed over the four of them uncomfortably while they rode past before their eyes trained on the palace doorway again.  

Riding through the town would prove to be nearly as much of a problem as the al-Suwaidi’s had a presence here as well, or at the very least the news of the sultans’ death had slipped through the cracks of the walls. On the nearest and largest townsquare, that was home to the most rich and wealthy salesmen as well as the largest crowd, a man came running in, his clothes bloodied and a sword in his hand as he held it up, dripping blood onto the ground. <[i]‘’THE SULTAN IS DEAD!’’[/i]> he proclaimed, turning a few heads before he proclaimed the same sentence again, even louder. <[i]‘’THE AL-SUWAIDI FAMILY IS THE ONLY RIGHTFUL INHERITOR TO THE THRONE! LONG LIVE THE NEW SULTAN, SA’DADDIN AL-SUWAIDI!’’[/i]> The crowd was unsure how to react, and it remained largely quiet for some time as the man made his way to the centrepiece of the square, a large wooden platform that was used for executions, whippings and hangings. <[i]‘’Look there!’’[/i]> he proclaimed once more, gesturing towards the nearby street that lead to the gatehouse out of the city. Right at that time, Ketill, Basim, Yasamin and Najla would gallop past. <[i]‘’In the face of their adversaries, the al-Suwaidi family, they would flee rather than stay! Truly the al-ibn-Wahad family is a group of decadent rulers that care little for the way of the Sawarim!’’[/i]>

Ketill was preoccupied with something else entirely, however, as he’d noticed that they were being followed by a group of five riders, all of which were clad in more armour than just the people inside the palace. Although the al-Suwaidi’s had expected everyone in the palace to die due to the fact that most al-ibn-Wahad family members would be present during the marrying, it seemed that they were smarter than that and had taken a precaution to avoid any people escaping the massacre. Ketill tugged the reins uncomfortably, pushing the horse to go faster as he hobbled up and down, being very out of practice. He’d not ridden a horse at all in the last years, but his instincts were still there – it just made the ride slightly more painful than it should’ve been. [i]‘’Hurry!’’[/i] he urged Najla and Basim, looking over his shoulder to trail the pursuing forces.

The city erupted into chaos then, some immediately rushing home to deal with the death of the sultan – leaving the city, moving to Broacien in fear of the al-Suwaidi’s, to pray, or even to join forces with the new rulers. Others, the loyalists who had an unwavering loyalty to the al-ibn-Wahad family, would move to help the remnants of the family. They were chosen by the Sawarim after all, and that was more important than anything. 

It was these loyalists that turned out to be the saving grace for them. As they passed the gates, the loyalists gathered there to prevent the riders from following them, harassing them, standing in the way, when one of the riders struck the men that were trying to stop them from giving chase. As Ketill looked back he saw that the loyalists responded by pulling the men off their horses and had begun beating them to death with nearby items and fists. Their escape had been successful for now, but now the long arduous journey home. ‘’Home.’’ A foreign concept to Ketill at this point. Broacien no longer felt like home, with these feelings of being abandoned lingering in his mind. But he’d never been in the North long enough to remember it feeling like a place to belong. And what of Najla and Basim, who had both just lost their homes to the power hungry tribe of the man who she was set to marry. 

There was no place in the world for any of them that was truly ‘’home.’’

[hr]

It was late in the night when Ketill finally stopped riding, for a tired Basim and Najla to catch up to him. He’d stopped just below a dune, and dismounted, the axe he’d taken in the castle still in his hand. He weighed it in his hands as he looked at Basim and Najla, who’d also dismount, finding themselves quite in the middle of nowhere. [i]‘’Are we making camp?’’[/i] Basim would ask, though he received no answer, only receiving the rein of the horse being pushed into his hand. 

Ketill stumbled up the dune, the sand being pushed down every now and then when he almost slid down on the steep hill of sand. When he reached the top, he peered over into the distance. [i]‘’Making camp would be foolish – they’ll give chase. As we are speaking, they are probably trying to find our tracks. I can see a small house from here with a low wall around it. We could ask for help – but honestly we don’t know who lives there and who they’re siding with.’’[/i] He glanced back at Basim and Najla then, a twinkle in his eyes for a moment. [i]‘’Unless you’d like to offer them the hand of Najla for some water. I assume you didn’t think to bring waterskins, did you?’’[/i] 

Basim shook his head for no, prompting Ketill to sigh. Slowly he let himself glide back down to the horses, where he sat down in the sand and put his axe down next to him. [i]‘’There’s a saga from the North, Basim. They talk about Sigurd and his companions and they go raiding. The house they raided had a wall around it but it was an easy feat to enter, because Sigurd gave a mighty leap and hooked his axe onto the wall, then used it to climb in. If you come with me, then we can see if we can make a saga of our own.’’[/i] There was little other option for Basim other than to nod and follow Ketill back over the dune, then down towards the walled off house. There was no light inside, neither from the bonfire nor a torch, so they had to assume nobody was there. They had left Najla behind with Yasamin, to guard the horses on their own, mostly because they would not be very useful at all during such an endeavour. 

Remarkably easily, Ketill launched himself up and hooked the blade of the axe around the top of the low wall, and using his massive strength, lifted himself up and grabbed the edge of the wall. He left a fearful Basim behind, who was scared they’d get caught red-handed. Thievery was not exactly a prestigious activity either, nor was it morally justifiable… but the goals hallowed the means, especially now. <[i]‘’Forgive me, ya Sawarim…’’[/i]> he ushered under his breath, carefully wating for anything to come from the other side – sounds, people, items… anything.

Ketill dropped on his feet into the sand, and took a quick glance around, finding that he’d landed more or less in the open courtyard. He had been mistaken originally, as there were two houses, not one, but one of them was so small that even the small wall hid it, supposedly a storage room or something of the sorts. In the center was a well, which was primarily what Ketill was interested in. He kept low, skulking in the cover of the night, using the darkness as a blanket to cover his approach as he moved towards the well. He lowered the bucket as quietly as he could and raised it again after he’d heard the splash of water. During the time they’d spent on the horses, riding away from the city and towards Broacien, and he’d been left parched as a result. Without bothering to find a container to drink out of, he raised the bucket to his lips and drank until he was filled. 

He then moved to the house itself, opening the door. A creaking noise escaped from the metal as he opened it, but it wasn’t enough to wake those inside. Directly in front of him laid the family – an older man, about 40, and his children and wife. In the back was an old, old woman, who he presumed to be the mother of one of the two adults. He stepped inside and the door closed behind him. Following that were several soft thuds. He raised the axe into the air and let it fall each and every time into the heads of those that were sleeping – barbaric, but it was more honorable than to take anything without fighting for it. Najla and Basim would not know – nor have to know – that he earned these items with bloodshed. Once he finished them all off he searched the house, finding two leather drinking sacks – large enough to hold enough water for the trip. One of them held a cheap wine, the other was empty. Without any more thoughts about it, he slung the leather straps around his belt and attached them so he had his hands free to search the rest of the home. Aside some cheap jewellery that he pocketed, some golden rings with Sawarim writing inside of them, he didn’t find much of use – no swords, daggers or any other weaponry. In his angry attempt to take anything of value, he simply took some sheep-wool coat and slung it around himself to at least be comfortable during the cold night. 

Twenty minutes must’ve passed before Ketill returned, hopping over the wall in the same way he’d came inside. He undid the leather strap around his belt and handed one of the leather sacks to Basim, which had now been filled with water. [i]‘’Nothing of value, but we needed this more than anything,’’[/i] Ketill told the boy, ignoring the fact that he’d left the bloodied axe behind. He kept the one with wine for himself – for now. Together they’d go back, and no mention was made of the slaughter nor of the theft of the other items. As far as Basim was concerned, the items were a gift. Or he didn’t want to think about it – either of the two was fine with Ketill. 

When they got back to Najla and the horses, Basim opened the sack and drank some water before passing it on to Najla. [i]‘’Where are we going?’’[/i] Basim enquired, expecting his sister to know the answer. It wouldn’t be her, however, that answered. 

[i]‘’We’re going north,’’[/i] Ketill told him, and without a word mounted his horse again. [i]‘’There is nothing left here.’’[/i]

[i]‘’What do you mean?! Everything is left here!’’[/i] Basim answered immediately, stepping up next to Ketill and looking up somewhat defiantly. [i]‘’We can gather those that still support us, and prove our claim to the throne!’’[/i] 

Ketill stared at the boy almost absent mindedly, waiting for the realization to sink into his head that that wasn’t going to happen. Even if they gathered an army, it would never be enough with the way that the entire family was slaughtered. Basim was a cousin of the sultan, and had a meagre clam at best. And Najla had even less of a claim. [i]‘’If that’s what you want, you’ll be doing it alone.’’[/i] His eyes moved to Najla, as he now spoke more to her than Basim. [i]‘’Whatever bound me to your service is now powerless, and Najla is coming with me.’’[/i] 

[i]‘’For what? Where would you even take us? To go back to Broacien and make her into a slave again?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Again? You say that like [b]I[/b] made her slave. The same way she made me slave. But that’s not what happened. She’s responsible for that herself. But no, I don’t need her as a slave. I need someone that can guide me through the desert. She owes me that much. Whatever happens at Coedwin…’’[/i] He didn’t finish his sentence – he wasn’t sure yet what would happen at Coedwin. Perhaps he’d get rid of her there, to exact his justice. Fulfil that insatiable desire for revenge and give her what she deserved. Or perhaps send her back to find her death in the sultanate as Osman would, no doubt, hunt her down as quickly as he could. 

Basim glanced at Ketill for a moment before his eyes shifted to Najla, questioningly looking at her as if she’d know what to say.  [i]‘’Let’s go,’’[/i] Ketill ordered and he kicked the horse in the side gently, moving it forwards before picking up the pace. Within two nights they’d reach Coedwin, if they rode fast. Really, there was not much they could do. Ketill needed them, that much was certain – the desert was a one way path to getting lost unless you knew your way, and Basim would not have been useful since he’d never strayed further than the palace, it seemed. Najla knew the way – but her usefulness ended about there. Similarly, Najla and Basim needed Ketill. The road was dangerous and, despite their fast pace, danger lurked around the corner, as they saw scouts at least twice. Whether they were the al-Suwaidi’s or just local tribesmen, Ketill did not know, and if Basim and Najla knew, they didn’t tell. 

[hr]

Passing Coedwin was easy. The three red marks on Ketill’s forehead provided them with all they needed to know, and it was relatively easily to convince them that Najla, Yasamin and Basim were servants. That they were both wearing extraordinarily expensive clothes and Ketill was wearing some ragged old sheepwool coat was something they didn’t ponder about too long – as a Servant, Ketill had no reason to lie to them. They stopped at Coedwin only briefly – Ketill refilled their waterskins and got an extra one, and then acquired a new longsword for free from the local blacksmith who was always happy to help the Servants. It wasn’t anything special, but it got the job done and that was all that mattered. 

There was no time to enjoy the stay, and they left immediately, exchanging the horses for fresh ones. Although Najla and Ketill had both been here before, and were likely happy to leave the place, Basim was quite interested in it. He’d made his peace with leaving the sultanate after travelling for the last two days, and in fact seemed rather interested in the idea of going beyond the borders to see the world – something that Ketill could appreciate, if it weren’t for his anger towards Najla. 

During the two days of travel he’d made his mind – he’d take Najla to the Althingi and have her judged by the court of judges there. It would be true justice and the gods would approve – and given the offenses she had committed, it would not be unthinkable that she’d end up getting executed regardless. 

The Althingi was perhaps the most ancient of all legal structures in the entire known world, but it was also the most rudimentary and, according to some, unjust. However, all the tribals put their faith in it with the understanding that the good name of a man weighed more than the actions he performed, at least most of the time. That was precisely the way it worked – the accounts of all involved parties were weighed, and then it was up to the representatives to use legal frameworks to defend themselves. A harder task than it would be in Broacien or in the Sultanate – the frameworks were not written down and had to be memorized entirely to make any kind of sense. It was for that reason that most of the time, the Althingi was a spectacular event of jousting with words, before ultimately one of the two sides would have had enough and came to blows. 

They had left Coedwin quickly, and rode north further, travelling the lands of Broacien with exceptional ease compared to the desert of the sultanate, where they had to stop every now and then to estimate where they’d have to go. Luckily for them, Broacien was known ground to Ketill and even now, after years of being gone, he had remembered the roads they were riding on, and knew the exact way to go north. They rode in silence for the most part, as Ketill ignored the two of them while he got reacquainted with the Broacienien lands. With the reacquaintance came a sad realization that it no longer felt like the place it once was. Nothing had changed, except so much had changed within him that there was no way he could return here. Not after what happened. 

They passed by more travellers than they did in the sultanate, and despite the trading being of lower value and less organized than in the sultanate, there were a lot of carts and carriages going back and forth across the road. It was an indicator that Broacien was easier to live in than the sultanate, that there was not a constant worry for water or food when you were travelling. It also meant that Broacien was fit to overtake the Sultanate unless something drastically changed – there was better lands, and that meant more population and in the long run, more soldiers. Ketill had often wondered if the Sultan had known this – perhaps he had, but had not seen fit to change it. Thinking back now, so much of it made so little sense to him. 

Even now Ketill was unchanged. He had expected the freedom to liberate him and turn him back to how he once was, but somehow he hadn’t seemed to change much – he was still the same man. 

They travelled for five days, resting at inns and taverns along the way for free, as he was a Servant and most people were willing to cheaply accommodate them in return for a blessing or the feeling that the Monarch had noticed their good deed – Ketill complied whenever they requested a blessing, although his lack of faith in the Monarch was sure to make it meaningless. For the peasants however, peace of mind was more valuable than an actual blessing. The afterlife was all they had to look forward to.

After those five days they would pass by the Hoffburgt, that castle in the middle of the water held up by naught more than rocks and cliffsides, it’s backside port still dead and unused. The bridge had been raised, for some reason, so Ketill could do little more than point at it and tell Basim, [i]‘’the capital.’’[/i] It looked far less impressive than the golden city had looked, but it was better, Ketill knew, especially now with the al-Suwaidi’s sure to run it. [i]‘’Not as golden as yours. But better defensible. If the bridge is raised like it is now, nobody gets in.’’[/i]

Basim raised an eyebrow and looked at it momentarily as he swung side to side in the saddle, as they rode up a small hill far away from the castle. The area around them was still green and lush and, occasionally, they’d even seen wildlife ranging from boars and sows to deer and stags. Basim, however, had had more eye for the people, and now, the castle. [i]‘’Nobody gets out either. It’s perfect if the attackers are already inside. They just lower the bridge and…’’[/i]

[i]‘’They did the same in the palace to your family. There was no bridge there. No fortress is impenetrable, you’d do well to remember that. In the heat of the moment, all you have is yourself.’’[/i] They were stern words, but they were certainly true, and Najla and Basim were sure to know now that not even being part of the royal family meant anything in the face of a man with a weapon and a mission. Basim’s black eye was a reminder of that, though it made him look older, slightly more handsome, and certainly more manly. 

A long silence followed as they rode up the path, until the Hoffburgt had vanished from sight. Normally, Ketill would have visited it and paid his respects to the king, or even informed him of the ill-fate of the expedition, but as he was no longer a Monarchist, he no longer felt the urge or pressure to do so. It was a relieve, really. [i]‘’So where are we going now?’’[/i] Basim asked a few miles down the road. 

[i]‘’North. Past the Barren Flats. We need to stop there, but we’re avoiding the Hall itself. I’d rather not make my presence known,’’[/i] Ketill replied. It might’ve been strange for Najla, as he was a Monarchist in her eyes still, more so in service of the king or lord Jachsen himself. Unbeknownst to them, lord Jachsen would not have survived the years in the sultanate, and had succumbed to an infectious wound a few months earlier. His son had taken his place, with the princess of Broacien acting as his regent as the son was merely 4 years old. A sad affair, but one that none of them could’ve known of. 

They stopped in Rochwin, a small village with a stone wall fort atop a hill, where the local earl collected taxes and generally tried to make a profit off of an otherwise dead village. The only reason they were stopping here was for the Red Rat, a tavern that was famed for being ‘the last one before the mountain’s’. It was true, but it was a sad excuse for a tavern at that. The place was barely holding up, so when the four entered the tavern, it was not so surprising to see Basim look with a glance of horror at the conditions. Upon noticing this, Ketill could only grin. [i]‘’It’s a lot harder to clean wood and grey stone in muddy, rainy areas, as opposed to sandstone in areas that only collect dust.’’[/i] Basim nodded as if he’d just heard some profound knowledge, looking around the place like he was in some sort of crypt. 

[i]‘’Two rooms, four beds,’’[/i] Ketill said, raising his hand to the tavernkeep, who nodded and went to open the door to one of the rooms for him. Ketill then turned round and looked at Najla and Basim. [i]‘’Go ahead, I need to get some things before we go on,’’[/i] he instructed them, gesturing up the stairs towards the bedrooms. He then left immediately, leaving the creaky old tavern in favour of a farmer who lived not far down the road. He left Najla and Basim with enough time to talk things through in the privacy of their own room. Yasamin would be content to sit in the room she shared with Ketill. Over the course of the journey, the wound on her eye had healed, leaving a grotesque scar that permanently marred her beauty, and left her eye damaged so badly that it was useless, the scar already nearly shutting her eye for good. Whatever use of it was left was so insignificant that it’d have been less painful to cut the eye out. Despite never being a highstanding woman, Yasamin had always had her beauty as a mark of pride. Even that was gone, leaving her a pitiful mess of a woman – it was no wonder she’d not spoken during the trip.

[hr]

Trodding through the mud reminded him of home – finally, a feeling that he thought had left him forever – even though he knew he’d trade it for snow soon. Passing by the houses he felt the comfortable clank of his new sword moving around and hitting things, an annoyance at first, a comfort now, knowing that he always had a weapon by his side. If any fool with the same attitude as Osman would try to do something now, they’d be ran through like a pig on a spitroast. A welcome realization at any rate.

The farmer he approached was one he’d known for a long time, though as of late, he had of course not seen the good man for a few years. Even so, the moment Ketill knocked on the rickety door, the man was quick to answer and immediately invited Ketill inside, who he’d recognized instantly. [i]‘’Ketill! Good grief, man, you look like you just got shat out by the king’s horse!’’[/i]

[i]‘’Not far off, might I say,’’[/i] Ketill replied, ducking slightly to fit under the doorway which had sagged slightly. This place reminded him of the tavern – just as poorly maintained. [i]‘’Listen, Karl, I’m here for only one reason – I need supplies to travel north. I’m-’’[/i]

[i]‘’You’re going home, I get it, we’ve always known it, the moment you came over those mountains. But, see, the harvests haven’t been so good, and we don’t have much to get by with here, Ketill.’’[/i]

[i]‘’I know,’’[/i] Ketill answered, pushing his hand into his pocket and taking out two of the three rings he’d taken from the home in the sultanate. He placed them onto the table, and the farmer immediately picked them up to inspect them. Once it was clear he was satisfied with the offer, Ketill elaborated. [i]‘’Took them in the Sultanate. It’s not just gold.’’[/i] Karl nodded and showed him to a chest in the corner somewhere, where he retrieved some items. [i]‘’I need four cloaks, a broad axe and a splitting axe, and a dagger. I’ll also take a bow and arrows, if you have one left.’’[/i]

Again Karl nodded, taking out whatever Ketill asked for. The rings were more than enough to pay for these supplies, which were in ample supply in Broacien. [i]‘’And food?’’[/i] he then asked, placing the items on the table for Ketill to take. [i]‘’It’s still a journey to get there, you know that,’’[/i] he continued. Ketill nodded, but didn’t wish to ask for anything, especially if the harvest had been really bad.

[i]‘’Anything you can miss. Keep the rest.’’[/i]

The provisions wouldn’t last much longer than a few days, but luckily that was all it would take to reach the far north. Once they were there, they would have to fend for themselves. But first came the Althingi. They’d need to travel to the place where the tribes would meet – an interesting spectacle even if you were only there to peddle your goods and trade, or even just for spectating. 

The four of them would leave the next day, the eyes of the peasants here burning into their back as they watched the Servant and his two ‘’Sawarim servants’’ leave. It wasn’t usually the case that Servants visited this far up north – only Ketill and some other locals that had joined the order. Usually, in the North, it was the Robed Swords that came here to purge heresy and heathenry. 

Ketill would’ve handed off the coats to the two of them, and handed the dagger to Basim. It’d be more dependable than that ornamental dagger that still hung from his belt. The two axes Ketill had gotten he kept close by, hanging them from leather loops on the horses saddles.  

After two days in the forests, which gradually got colder and would quickly remind Najla and Basim of the cloaks they’d gotten, they’d reach the mountainpass. The only sign of civilization now would be the towers of the Barren Hall, far off in the distance shrouded by the clouds and mist. You could see perfectly then how gradual the snow set in – the further to the north you came, the more snow there’d be, and slowly all green-brown grass was consumed with the pure color of white snow. [i]‘’Snow,’’[/i] Ketill remarked to the woman that was seated behind him, who dropped the depressed attitude for a moment to ponder the white sand that was now beneath them. Ketill looked over the hilltop then, taking in the North. Despite being ‘’home’’ for him, it was a place he hardly knew. [i]‘’Won’t be long from here on out.’’[/i] All he knew was that the Althingi was held closeby, in the most hospitable of areas.

[hr]

[center][youtube] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3fnPwj1AMpo [/youtube][/center]

The temporary camp was bustling with activity as people moved about, and for a moment it seemed almost like the North was an extension of Broacien, though it could not be farther from the truth. The four traveller from the south had tied their three horses down somewhere, and left to partake in the Althingi. [i]‘’What is this?’’[/i] Basim asked curiously, watching the people move by, although it was far more evident that the people here were staring at Najla, Basim and Yasamin more than anything. The strange warrior with three red dots on his forehead, too, was a strange sight for them, although they easily understood he was a Northerner from the way he looked. 

[i]‘’Althingi,’’[/i] Ketill answered, his Northern accent falling in place almost flawlessly, as if he’d never really left. [i]‘’It’s court.’’[/i] 

[i]‘’Court? For what?’’[/i] 

[i]‘’The laws of man.’’[/i]

Basim glance at Najla momentarily before looking forward again. Why they were in court was a mystery to him, but he ventured a guess that it was nothing good for him or Najla. As they moved along, people moved out of the way for the imposing figure that was Ketill, followed by his three exotic followers, almost as if they were an attraction. Perhaps it was thought that he’d be selling these three as slaves, but that would not be happening. Not today, at any rate.

As Ketill approached the center of the Althingi, they would see what he’d meant with ‘court’. There was a circle of wooden boards that marked the outline of the the ‘courtroom’ surrounded by hills on all side where men were seated watching what was happening. Right when Ketill and his group approached, a man was being sentenced.

[i]‘’… and for the killing of a thrall, you will pay compensation of a sack of hacksilver to Ivar.’’[/i]

The man nodded respectfully, in fact, even seemed happy that he was paying compensation. The other side seemed equally happy to receive money, so it seemed like there was no loser in this case. The accents were most likely far too thick for Najla and Basim to follow, though they would easily be able to pick out familiar words. 

The crowd seemed unamused, but kept watching for the next case, where a burly looking man was lead into the court, carrying only a dagger, but making a fine point out of it to store his axe close to the entrance with wide gestures. As Ketill stood on top of one of the hills, he leaned in to the man next to him, asking him, [i]‘’who is that?’’[/i]

The man did not look at Ketill, his eyes fixated on this man in the court. [i]‘’Grettir Snorrison, killed four men and hung a fifth, then burned down the homestead. It was done in revenge for the killing of his brother, so he is not accused of murder, but of arson. But the family that was harmed demands more than that, and wishes to accuse him of murder because they claim the five men couldn’t defend themselves.’’[/i] Ketill nodded, and this information all seemed to make perfect sense to him. To Najla, Basim and Yasamin, whatever they would have been able to follow in the story would likely not make much sense at all. 

[i]‘’Grettir Snorrison, you stand accused of arson today, what do you plead?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Guilty.’’[/i]

[i]‘’What reason did you commit the arson for?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Their family burned down my father’s homestead and went unpunished. It was my good right to return to them the same as what they gave to our family. I only killed five, to repay the debt of my brother, who was a highstanding trader and had a lot of value. I could’ve killed them all – but I was honour bound to only kill as many as was fair and just. I see no reason why I would lie about the arson then, as that too was only fair and just.’’[/i]

The crowd cheered for him, as they all agreed that returning the favour after a misdeed was only natural, and it seemed that the feud between Grettir and the other family was the feud of the generation as everyone seemed invested in some way. [i]‘’And the victims, what do they say?’’[/i]

A short, but stout man walked up then, carrying only a dagger as well. [i]‘’He’s a liar! We did not kill his brother, only fed him and then sent him on his way after he came knocking on our door! We thought he was a hunter from far north, one of those that live in tents, so we wouldn’t harm him!’’[/i] The man looked at Grettir with eyes that were filled with anger then, continuing while staring the man down, though Grettir did not seem impressed, in fact, barely looked at the man. [i]‘’After all, ‘t was not our fault that his brother was sick and died a day later!’’[/i]

Then Grettir got angry, and turned around. Although this wouldn’t have gone over well in any other court, it seemed normal here. Honour prevented them from fighting right away. [i]‘’You poisoned him, of course! You were too cowardly to fight him, so you poisoned him and took his money! How could you mistake a wealthy trader for a hunter, you idiot?!’’[/i]

[i]‘’We have reached a verdict already! The two parties must commit to a holmgang, or face the shame of not accepting the challenge and be declared the loser of this judging! By committing to a holmgang, both parties are cleared of any blame, and Audrun himself will determine who is right by who lives and who dies! Grettir will fight for his brother, as he is the one who took his revenge, and the victims will determine their own champion.’’[/i]

Grettir seemed satisfied – he looked like he would win with almost full certainty, but the victim looked less happy. He glanced at his family, and there were very few that would be capable of fighting, let alone winning against a thug like Grettir – who was by all means not a man to be crossed, and although he was honourable, that word had a different meaning here. It meant to be upright, honest and straight forward, and not underhanded and backwards. That still meant he could murder someone honourably. 

The two men marched off, the holmgang not taking place until much later. When nobody came up, Ketill got up and rudely grabbed Najla by the arm, forcing her forwards. The crowd looked up now, and even the judges – who were old, wise men – seemed relatively surprised by this stranger and the exotic stranger he was bringing with him. He led her into the court and then took a place on the side. 

The judges were quick to speak. [i]‘’May we know your name?’’[/i] one of them asked Ketill. 

[i]‘’Ketill Grímhilðrson,’’[/i] he replied, perhaps being the first time that Najla, Basim or Yasamin had even heard his surname. Such basic info, yet it was unknown to them. [i]‘’I was a thrall for this woman for many years in a place to the south called the sultanate, where the snow is yellow and is not cold but warm.’’[/i] He knew that such tales usually were received with a lot of interest – if there was anything more strong than a northern survival instinct it was that of the travellers instinct. [i]‘’She mistreated me, so I came looking for a judgement.’’[/i]

The judges were silent for a moment as such a case was truly unique – usually the cases were between locals, people that they knew, but these were two strangers, one of which was not even from the north, but was far away. 

[i]‘’Your people are from where? I have never heard of a man named like your father.’’[/i]

[i]‘’We were hunters from a tribe to the south west. We hunted alongside the mountains, but my parents perished when I was young. I left the north then.’’[/i]

[i]‘’As you likely know, since you were born here, a thrall has certain rights but not many. Which did she break?’’[/i]

Ketill turned around then, raising his coat and tunic for them to see the horrid scars that lined his back given to him by Osman, for a reason that would not have been enough for this treatment in the north. That there were different laws in the Sultanate seemed to matter little. [i]‘’She also did not pay me any wages for my services as her thrall, and so I was unable to buy my freedom.’’[/i]

The judges all nodded, though there was a hesitation there that Ketill had expected. [i]‘’We must speak for a while, as this case is new, and never occurred before. A decision must be reached in communion with the gods, so please be prepared to stay here for a few more days.’’[/i]

As they left, voices picked up and the crowd was going somewhat wild over the story that Ketill told them. A land with yellow, warm snow? It was unthinkable, but from the way Najla looked it was apparently true, for nobody like her had been seen before – only those from Broacien that they traded with, and they looked like northerners. Ketill also left, taking Najla by the arm again and forcing her with him. Once he’d collected Yasamin and Basim as well, he’d take them back to the horses, but they were stopped on the way by a man dressed in fine furs, and wearing some gold around his fingers, which was uncommon for most tribals in the north.

[i]‘’You are the stranger from the south. Please, come sit with us, and tell us your stories. We have good food and ale to share, in exchange for what you can tell us!’’[/i] The man was burly too, like most men seemed to be from hard work. In comparison, Najla, Basim and Yasamin all looked remarkably small. Ketill eyed the man up and down, trying to anticipate just what kind of man it was, before nodding and agreeing. They followed the man to his tents, which were large, luxurious and had a fire inside. 

Ketill pushed Najla deeper into the tent and sat down a bit away from her, not wanting to have her closeby. Basim and Yasamin, similarly, didn’t sit too close to Ketill, sitting close to Najla in an attempt not to be too noticeable – although that was impossible, for everyone had their eyes on them.

In the tent were three other men, all younger than 20 – well armed, with spears with stone tips and some knives in their belts, as well as fur clothes that kept them warm. It hadn’t snowed recently and the snow had been cleared, but the ground was still frozen and so they had put more furs on the floor to keep the heat inside the room as much as they could.

There were also two women, one blonde, older and apparently the wife of the wealthy man, the other with raven black hair, perhaps the daughter.

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/9gXbrjO.jpg[/img]
[sub]the Man’s daughter[/sub][/center]

Almost immediately they were offered food, consisting of gruel, bread and salt, and a mug of ale in a goathorn that was hollowed out. Ketill gratefully accepted it, bowing his head slightly in thanks. Basim, Najla and Yasamin were all offered the same, as it seemed that the servants of anyone were treated the same as the one who owned them – and it was still assumed they were his servants. Ketill immediately tore off some of the bread and threw it in the fire, saying some words that did not sound familiar at all, words that were far older than the language they spoke now. The women and men nodded approvingly, and the wealthy man joined them then, sitting down near the fire, across from Ketill. [i]‘’Thank you for your generosity and hospitality,’’[/i] Ketill said to him first, though he did not save any time getting to the food, eating the bread and salt first as was customary, before spooning in the gruel in a remarkably fast time. 

[i]‘’It’s natural,’’[/i] the man said, [i]‘’all we have is our good name and fortune.’’[/i] To this Ketill nodded, as it was the truth for the north. [i]‘’Do they speak our language?’’[/i] he then asked, referring to the three seated not far away. 

Ketill put away the bowl and plate that had held the gruel and bread, leaving just some sprinklings of salt on them. He then glanced at the three before looking back at the man. [i]‘’They speak Broacienien, so they can probably understand you if you speak slowly and clearly. If we speak like this, they probably can’t hear more than a few words.’’[/i] The accents seemed to get thicker and thicker, the sounds changing almost entirely at times. Basim, despite his cleverness, seemed to have trouble following along at times. 

[i]‘’What is this sultanate you spoke of?’’[/i]

[i]‘’A land in the sand, where nothing grows except next to the water. To survive you need to plan your journey months in advance and hope for good tidings, and bring plenty of water. No snow to melt.’’[/i] 

[i]‘’The people are all like them?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Mostly.’’[/i] Of course, Najla and Basim were both royalty, but that meant nothing at all to the tribals. They were just asking about their looks – it was how they recognized people, anything else didn’t matter to them. [i]‘’None are like us, at any rate. Some of them have skin black as coal. But those are few.’’[/i]

The man looked to be astonished, almost captivated by the information as he stared at Najla, his mouth somewhat open. [i]‘’They are your servants, right? Will you sell them to me?’’[/i]

Ketill shook his head then. [i]‘’They’re free people, so I can’t sell them. You would not want them either,’’[/i] he said, before getting up and walking over to them. He skipped Najla, but walked to Basim, pulling him up. [i]‘’Too short to reach anything,’’[/i] he started, then grabbed his arm and raised the coat, showing the boys meagre arms in comparison to Ketill’s soldiering arms that were bulky and strong. [i]‘’Can’t hold a spear, can’t shoot a bow further than a few meters,’’[/i] he explained, before letting the arm drop and pointing to his head. [i]‘’This is where the value is, but it’s no use to us. The boy is clever, but what use is clever if he cannot survive the first winter?’’[/i]

He then glanced at Yasamin. [i]‘’A pretty concubine perhaps. She talks too much but understands too little. But now she has that scar – she looks like a shieldmaiden. But like him, too weak to hold a shield.’’[/i] More than that he couldn’t make of it, for the woman had lost a lot of weight over the past few weeks, diminishing her already small stature even further. 

Lastly, Najla. [i]‘’Don’t even bother with her – she thinks she’s Audrun’s daughter herself, and even if she could work, she wouldn’t. Never worked for anything in her life,’’[/i] he told the man, before leaving the three alone and sitting down again. The three young boys that were standing nearby watching them seemed amused at the way Ketill had treated the three of them, but also seemed enthralled by the strangers. [i]‘’She will die here, whether the Althingi gives me her life or not. She’ll die of hunger, cold, or my blade.’’[/i]

The man nodded understandingly now that the value of these people had been explained to them. [i]‘’Then do you have anything else from there?’’[/i] he inquisitively asked. Ketill nodded again, pulled the last golden ring with the inscription in it from his pocket, and threw it over. [i]‘’What does it say?’’[/i] the man asked, instantly noticing the inscription, but Ketill raised his shoulder. 

[i]‘’Something about their god, I imagine. Here, give it to them, they’ll tell you.’’[/i] 

Without much warning, the man threw the golden ring towards Najla and waited for an answer – if she’d understood. Ketill was quick to instruct her in more understandable Broacienien. [i]‘’He asks what it says. The inscription.’’[/i]


[/quote]