Blood of the Wolf

The First Raid

Halfdan was buried before the sun reached its highest point.

The pyre had been built near the cliffs overlooking the sea, where the wind carried the smoke toward the water. His shield rested against his chest, his sword lay beside him, and the old wolf-cloak he had worn through countless winters covered his body.

The people of Gutagard gathered around him in absolute silence.

Warriors who had bled beside the old Jarl stepped forward one by one. Some laid silver arm-rings, arrows, or small hand-axes beside the pine logs; others simply bowed their heads before stepping back into the ranks. There were no long speeches. Halfdan had lived by the sword. He would leave this world with it.

Erik stood beside Fridda. As she has been a loyal wife and a strong mother. Thora was between them, her black hair moving in the cold wind. She had not spoken much since dawn.

Hilda stood among the shield-maidens a pace behind Erik, her hand resting lightly on the pommel of her side-blade. Olaf occupied the space at his other elbow, broad and silent.

When the fire was finally lit, the flames climbed quickly. Erik watched the fire consume the timber until the roof of the pyre glowed white-hot. As the heat pushed the crowd back.

Then Olaf leaned toward him, and gave a gesture that he should address the people as the new Jarl of Gutagard. Olaf’s hand rested heavily on Erik's shoulder for a brief moment before he stepped back.

When the fire had burned low, the warriors gathered around Erik. He looked at the men who had served his father for decades. 

"Halfdan is dead," Erik said.

No one moved. The wind whistled through the timber posts of the hall behind them.

"Halfdan is dead," Erik repeated, his voice carrying clearly over the cliff edge. "But the Wolf Coast remains. Gutagard stands."

A few grizzled shield-men nodded in grim agreement.

Erik let his gaze hold theirs. "From this day forward, Gutagard kneels to no one. Not to the southern kings, nor to our neighbors in the hills. We will not huddle behind our timber walls waiting for our blood to be spilled on our own doorsteps, or watch our wives and children carried off by foreign sails."

He paused, lowering his tone to a sharp, cold edge. "We will not wait for war to come to us. We will strike first."

A murmur rippled through the gathering. Some warriors raised their spears in fierce approval, while older men exchanged cautious glances.

Erik saw the hesitation and understood it. Halfdan had been their Jarl for a generation. Though Erik had fought at his father's side, this was the moment these men had to decide if they would follow the son alone.

Before the murmur could fade, a horn sounded from the mouth of the harbor.

HOOO-OOO-OAN.

Everyone turned toward the water. A fleet of longships was rounding the headland.

They were not southern vessels. Their high prows carried the carved ravens of Kvenland, and their black sails caught the wind.

Olaf’s hand moved instinctively to his hilt. Erik raised a flat palm. "Hold."

The lead warship glided into the harbor, its oars biting the water in unison before dragging to a halt against the wooden pier. A huge warrior stepped off the prow. He wore a heavy coat of dark furs over polished mail, his beard streaked with gray, and a thick iron ring swung from his left ear.

Erik recognized him instantly. "Jarl Solvi."

The ruler of the Raven Clan strode up the winding stone path to the cliff top, his bodyguards trailing behind him. He stopped before the glowing ashes of the pyre.

For a long moment, Solvi remained motionless. Then, reaching up, he unhooked the iron ring from his ear and tossed it into the hot coals.

"Halfdan saved my life at the Siege of the Riverlands," Solvi said quietly, his eyes fixed on the embers. "He was more than a brother-in-arms. I owed him a debt I never repaid." He turned his weathered face toward Erik. "That debt now falls to you, boy."

Erik’s expression remained composed. "You’ve came with your warriors."

Jarl Solvi."

"I did."

"Why?"

"I gave my word to your father that we would raid the southern border together before the winter ice set in," Solvi replied. "It seems I will be sailing with his son instead."

Erik looked down at the ash pit, then back at Solvi. "The Kievan envoys came to our shores this morning with demands. We sent them back with empty hands. Now, we answer with blood."

Solvi’s lip curled into a thin, grim smile. "Good. Where do we strike?"

"Borislav," Erik said without hesitation. "They expect us to dig in and defend Gutagard while we mourn. Instead, we take the fight to their front door."

Solvi chuckled softly under his breath. "So Halfdan left you his teeth after all."

Erik turned toward Olaf.

"I won't take all of Gutagard with me. Olaf will stay."

Olaf looked at him. Erik continued.

"My mother and Thora will remain here in Gutagard. And enough warriors to defend the our lands from invaders. Now that news of my father’s death as spread."

Olaf nodded.

"I'll hold Gutagard."

"I know."

It was the only answer Erik needed.

By the following evening, the harbor was a hive of controlled chaos.

Warriors loaded sacks of dried grain, salt-pork, smoked fish, and bundles of spare spears into the holds of fifteen longships. The wood clattered against wood as shields were hung along the gunwales.

Solvi’s Raven warriors integrated with Erik’s men seamlessly, moving with the practiced efficiency of veteran raiders. Across the docks, Olaf moved among the garrison troops, doubling the watches on the high towers and checking the harbor chains.

Erik walked down the wooden pier toward his brother. "Are the ridge watches set?"

"Set and doubled," Olaf said, tightening the leather wrist-guard on his forearm. "If Gunnarr’s men come from Jòmsborg, they’ll break their teeth on our palisade." He looked at Erik. "Go south. Clear the river."

Erik looked back toward the hall, where Fridda and Thora stood watching the docks from the high porch.

Olaf followed his gaze. "They’ll be safe here."

"See that they are."

Erik extended his arm, and Olaf locked fingers around his forearm, pulling him close for a moment. "Don't let your first day as Jarl be your last, brother."

Erik offered a tight grin. "You sound like mother ."

"Then listen to me."

Erik turned and walked down to the flagship, where Hilda waited near the gangplank. She wore her studded leather coat over wool, a short arm-sword strapped to her hip.

She met his gaze directly. "Bring them back, Erik. Bring yourself back."

"I will."

She leaned in, her lips pressing briefly against his cheek before she pulled away. No dramatic farewells were needed; they had known each other since childhood.

A war horn echoed across the bay.

The warriors boarded. Bo dragged a heavy iron-bound shield onto the deck, while Áki hauled a crate of broad-axes over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Solvi took his post near the tiller.

The heavy hemp ropes were cast off. The oars dipped into the dark water, pushing the fleet out from the wooden piers.

Erik stood at the stern as Gutagard began to shrink into the twilight. The timber halls turned into dark silhouettes against the cliffs, and then the coast vanished entirely into the mist. Only when the last torchlight on the shore disappeared did Erik turn his back on the North and face the dark sea ahead.

The fleet sailed through the night under a starless sky, the men rowing in organized shifts while others slept wrapped in heavy woolen cloaks beneath the thwarts.

By morning, the grey coast of the South rose out of the sea mist—low, rolling hills covered in dense pine and forests. Inland, past the tree line, lay the fortress town of Borislav.

Solvi stood beside Erik at the prow, watching the shoreline materialize. "How far inland?"

"Three leagues along the river," Erik replied. "Far enough that their main garrison won't spot the landing."

"Unless their scouts picked up our sails at dawn."

"Then we move fast."

The ships steered into the mouth of a wide river inlet where the current ran smooth. The hulls cut quietly through the green water as the sun burned through the morning haze.

As the river narrowed, a high hill appeared above the tree canopy. Perched on its rocky summit stood a wooden watchtower.

Solvi’s eyes narrowed. "Borislav’s outer mark?"

"Aye."

One by one, the longships glided out of the mist behind them, filling the river channel with dark hulls and painted shields.

High up on the watchtower, a lone silhouette moved to the timber railing. The sentry looked down at the river, shocked, and then turned to beat an iron warning rail.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The sharp, metallic ringing echoed across the hills, carrying miles inland toward the fortress town.

Erik drew his sword, the steel scraping softly against the wooden scabbard. Around him, hundreds of northern warriors stood up, grasping their shields and axes.

The warning had been sounded. Borislav knew they were here.