A/N: cw for some domestic abuse in the first part of chapter. Rued was not a good husband and my girl Valdis deserved better :C

Edit 2022-04-11: I added some new parts to this chapter! So the sections that begin with "Theotford, 873" and "King's Bury, 873" are new material as of 2022-04-11! The rest of this chapter was moved to a new chapter 13 ("For Glory, Part IV"). Sorry about the confusion!


Land of the Geats, 868


Three winters Valdis had been wed. Three winters.

Those years seemed to stretch into decades, yet they had also passed in the blink of an eye. Time had lost its meaning, and Valdis erred through selfsame days, a numb, hapless passenger in her own body. She'd forgotten the touch of song and smiles upon her lips, and the sound of her own laughter. Every meal tasted like ashes in her mouth. Even the sweetness of mead seemed to sour on her tongue.

(And worse of all were the stains, the stains on her hands that only she could see, the red of the blood she'd spilled, the red that seemed to stay etched on her skin even as she scrubbed and scrubbed it raw. The sagas never spoke of such things—of nights spent hearing screams and sobs in the slumbering world. Battles were supposed to fill her heart with glory and purpose, not with this strange sense of apathy.

No, the sagas never spoke of such things. Why did the saga never speak of such things?)

It had not been so in the early days of her marriage. In those first few moons, Hakon Jarl had still ruled over the clan, and Rued played the dutiful son—the dutiful husband. There had been warning signs, of course, but Valdis, in her youth—in her stupidity—had ignored them. Every marriage faced its share of early obstacles, her husband's mother had told her when she had asked the old woman for counsel. Rued was a harsh man in battle, a sturdy warrior whose feats of war were worth a few songs or two; of course he'd be quick to anger when faced with incompetence and idiocy. Yes, he showed little to no interest in knowing more of his wife's interests and ambitions; and yet, wasn't it Valdis herself who had told everyone willing to hear that theirs was a union made out of convenience, not out of love? As for the disparaging comments he sometimes made while in the company of his warriors…

"Gods, woman!" Rued would laugh when she would react in anger at these snide remarks. "That was a jest! You are a daughter of warriors, surely you're not thin-skinned enough to think I meant that in earnest?"

Valdis would always frown at his answers. Eventually, she stopped talking back altogether. It was simply too tiring to muster enough anger to fight back all the time—to bicker like a bitter bride. That energy was better spent elsewhere, wasn't it? And Valdis was steadfast enough to endure a few drunken barbs or two; as Rued was so keen on pointing out, she was a scion of a strong, noble lineage. Valdis would only shame her ancestors by throwing tantrums at every petty insult.

Still, three moons after her wedding day, Hakon died, leaving Rued the head of the clan.

And Valdis' husband decided to drop the facade entirely.

Then, there was no kind word, no sweet gesture, not even a shred of respect. Little by little, day by day, Rued grinded away at Valdis's dignity, at her spirit. Her pride as a leader he eroded first, questioning her counsel every time she dared offer her opinion; soon enough, all of her propositions, even the most sensible ones, were met with suspicion and laughter on the part of their banner-folk. Then he questioned her devotion; why did she keep sending her part of their raids' plunder back to the clan of her birth? Why couldn't these riches benefit her new family instead? Valdis was all too aware of the murmurs that soon began to follow her; now people whispered behind her back, calling her selfish, haughty for refusing to sever ties with her previous clan.

Then came the threats, veiled, unspoken at first. It wasn't Rued's fault that she tested his patience so easily. Valdis could be so difficult, after all. Was this why Ketil had been so eager to be rid of her? At first Valdis had been outraged to be treated in such a way, and that first night he had exploded at her she had given him as good as he'd gotten, but then… but then

Then, Valdis learned to keep her mouth shut. She learned to keep her head down, to let no emotion show upon her face. Because Rued had no use for the fire burning in Valdis's soul, the one her father had cherished so dearly. All he wanted was a figure carved out from the inside, pretty but hollow, a figure he could then fill with his hatred and his poison.

And Valdis had simply let him. She'd let him smother that flame so he could mould her into whatever he wanted.

How could she have lost her pride so easily?

The first day of her twenty-first summer, Valdis came to her husband as he lounged in his throne, surveying the whole of the meadhall. New trophies and tapestries hung from the walls, so-called proofs of the clan's recent glories. In one hand, the Jarl drank from a goblet made of pure gold; the other was wrapped around the waist of a buxom thrall straddling his lap. A new one, Valdis noted. Rued usually kept a woman for a moon or two, before settling on another mistress—for the same reason he had begun to shun Valdis's company in the marriage bed, in truth. These poor girls, Valdis thought. They hoped—in vain—to be chosen as concubines. They would be sorely disappointed; she suspected none of them could give Rued what he wanted.

Such luxuries must have cost a pretty penny. And Valdis was all too aware just where her husband had come upon that wealth. In her personal belongings was a chest filled with silver—the dowry she'd brought from her clan, the one her father had begun to gather the day she'd been born. It was supposed to remain untouched, put aside for the use of Valdis's own children, only…

She planted herself in front of her husband, crossing her arms over her chest. In the meadhall, laughter and conversation dimmed, until silence reigned in the vast, vaulted space. The whole of the clan was now looking at her. Valdis was all too aware of the scorn in their gazes. Rued drank from his cup, long and deep, before settling a pair of cold blue eyes upon his wife.

"Finished sulking, have you?" Rued said. "Are we finally worthy of your company, oh dear wife?"

Valdis's face was as stone. "I've noticed you helped yourself to my dowry. You should not be touching it. That silver was meant to benefit our family."

"Our family?" Rued's eyes fell to her stomach, and he tightened his grasp over the poor thrall in his lap, digging his fingers into her waist. She winced, if only for a heartbeat, but soon a languid smile returned to her lips. "What family? If you won't fulfill your end of our bargain, then I don't see why I couldn't be given a little leeway as well."

Low chuckles filled the longhouse at these words. Valdis's cheeks grew hot with shame—and rage. She could not believe he'd said such a thing while so many ears were listening. Valdis wanted nothing more than to explode in fury, but—no, she had to keep her emotions in check. She had been married into this clan for three winters—but they weren't her people. They were starving dogs slobbering at her husband's feet in vain hopes that he would deign to throw them even a single scrap of rotting food.

If Valdis showed weakness, they would devour her whole.

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. "I came to ask something else. Now that summer is upon us, I wish to visit my mother. I've heard that she has taken ill."

"Now? Just as the raiding season has started? Have you lost your mind, woman?"

Valdis held on to his glare. "During the fall, you said I would be needed to supervise the harvest. In the winter months, you said that it would be too dangerous to travel. And last spring you forbade me without so much an explanation. When will be a good time to visit my family?"

"I'll not waste one of my longships on such a pointless endeavour," Rued said, taking another swing from his cup. He was not even looking toward her. "There will be riches aplenty on the mainland this summer, I will need the whole fleet to carry them back to our shores."

"I'll go with one of our traders, then. They bring me news from home, I can follow them back to—"

"Gods, you're a stubborn one," Rued interrupted her. "As if I'll allow you to traipse around while we are in need of your sword-arm. Your father didn't tell me he was giving me such a selfish bride. Always making demands, you are, and never providing anything in return."

Again, his words prompted nasty chuckles from the rest of his dogs. Perhaps he's right, came the sour insinuation, perhaps you are selfish and weak—Valdis smothered that voice before those thoughts could burrow in too deep. "I'll come back as fast as possible. You'll never notice that I'm gone."

"Do you delight in going against my orders at every turn, dear wife? In front of my warriors no less?"

By Tyr, Valdis wanted nothing more than to bury her dagger deep in her husband's throat. She had every right to explode in anger for every insult he sent her way. But Valdis could not act in a reckless manner; Rued's mongrels were watching her with cruel grins, ready to unleash violence upon her if she dared act in a way not befitting of her role as their jarl's pretty and pliant wife. No, instead, Valdis had to bide for her time. Eventually, the gods would present her with a way out of this prison of shame, she was certain of it.

One moon later, Valdis was gifted with such an opportunity—when she received word that her mother had passed away.

This time, Rued could not deny her demand, not without becoming an object of scorn across the lands ruled by the Ragnarssons. Valdis's mother was their king's beloved cousin, a woman he'd loved like a sister. Halfdan himself and his brothers could not go to the woman's funeral; the whole of Denmark knew they were away on a campaign in England, ravaging the Saxons' isles to avenge their father after he'd been murdered by that coward king of Northumbria. Valdis's heart stung with acrimony at the thought. Out there, her kin was battling worthier foes to court glorious death while she… while Valdis was stuck in a dying land, wrangling the petty ambitions of lesser men to keep her people safe. Gods, it made her want to scream in rage.

Still, Valdis's heart filled with a familiar sense of peace as she found the well-worn wood of her village's docks under her feet. There were a few new ships moored in the harbour; her heart swelled at the sight of their tall, proud masts. Evidently, Ketil had followed her instructions and built the fleet anew with the silver they'd received as bride's price.

Brothir and Broder were waiting for her at the docks. Without exchanging a word, the twins brought their sister into their arms. Valdis did not expect to feel so shaken in the safety of their embrace. Still, she smothered the emotion swelling inside of her; she could see Rued and his warriors watching her like hawks, ready to strike if she dared showed weakness. When her brothers let go of her, Valdis turned a pair of dry eyes toward them and said, "Bring me to her."

The stone ship where Ylva's body had burned had been built atop the sacred hill. Valdis's brothers had assured her that their mother had expired while clasping her axe in her hands. The same axe had been laid upon her breast as she had made her final journey; Valdis could see a piece of twisted, blackened steel among the pile of ashes and stones. Valdis's mother had not died in battle, but—she'd shown fierceness aplenty in her life, hadn't she? Ylva Leifsdóttir had fought alongside her cousins when they had been eager young wolves, part of their illustrious father's army. Surely the Valkyries would take that in account? Surely they would see in her a soul worthy of Odin's golden hall? Valdis desperately wished it so.

A knot formed in Valdis's throat as she beheld the charred remains of the stone ship. That was the only thing remaining of the woman who had borne her. Ashes and naught else. Mouth twisting, Valdis spun on her heel to descend the sacred hill, followed by a quiet procession. The whole of the village gathered in the longhouse, to celebrate the woman's life by sharing her favourite stories, by singing the songs she loved most, by drinking in her name.

Throughout the night, familiar, beloved sights met Valdis's eyes wherever she looked: her father's seat, where he had so often played the lyre to the great delight of all, the wooden beam she'd nicked while pretending to be a sword-toting Valkyrie, that rug on which she'd so often fallen asleep while listening to tales about warriors of old. She drew strength from this place—her place—and from the warm tones of the voices speaking to her. It proved what she had thought all along. These were her people; with them she belonged.

Somewhere, it felt as if the Nornir were smiling down on her. Valdis would not squander that chance.

While Rued had gone outside to relieve himself, Valdis took Brothir aside and said, low enough so only he could hear, "Brother, I need your help."

Brothir frowned. "What is it? Will there be any trouble?"

There it was, that familiar hint of concern. Her oldest brother could be such a worrywart sometimes. "There might be," Valdis replied. "You must tell the rest of our warriors, but as covertly as possible. Don't speak to any of my husband's men, do you understand?"

His eyes widened. "Valdis, is your husband—"

"Later!" she cut him off. "We'll speak of this later! Now is the time for action. Do as I ask." She paused and bit down her lip, before adding, so quietly she almost could not hear her own voice, "Please?"

Brothir grabbed her shoulder, briefly touching her forehead with his. "Of course, sister. Of course."

The evening was already well advanced when Valdis caught her brothers' gazes from across the meadhall. Brothir nodded, slightly. Valdis noticed that many members of her clan were looking toward her as well. Their faces were set with grim determination.

That was all she needed to act. Valdis stood from her chair, rather abruptly. Rued shot her a scornful glance.

"Where's the hurry, Valdis?" he drawled. "Don't you enjoy the pleasure of my company?"

Valdis placed herself in front of the table. "I have an announcement to make."

Rued had been lounging in his seat; he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "Oh? What is it you mean to tell me, my sweet wife?"

Valdis waited until all were silent, until she could feel the attention of both clans upon her. Then, she said, loud and clear, "I wish to separate from my husband."

Rued's smirk disappeared. Now, all eyes were upon him—and these gazes were anything but kind. He rose from his seat. "What did you just say?"

"Did I stutter?" Valdis snapped. "Or mumble? I wish to separate from you, Rued. In what way are these words not clear?"

His eyes flashed. "You've lost your wits. There is no reason for us to—"

"I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you," Valdis said, with all the venom she could muster.

"I have given you everything, woman!" Rued shouted. "Thralls, jewels, silver… what more do you need?"

You stole everything from me! Valdis wanted to scream. You stole my smiles, my love of song, my pride. You stole from me the last moments I could have shared with my mother in wretched Midgard!

Of course, Valdis did not—could not—say that out loud. Instead, she breathed in deeply and said, "It should be easy to dissolve the bonds of our marriage. Our clans have not been tethered together by the presence of children."

"And whose fault is that?" Rued roared. "Your father didn't tell me he was giving me a bitch with a barren womb when he laid out the terms of our union!"

Valdis could hear her brothers shouting in outrage behind her, but she raised her hand, silencing their rage. "Or perhaps," she said calmly, "it is your seed that is weak. You've plowed a fair number of thralls, yet I've never seen any of their bellies growing round. Why is that, I wonder?"

The blood fled from Rued's face. Murmurs flowed through the crowd surrounding them—mixed with laughter.

"You troll-cursed bitch," Rued said, advancing toward her and raising a hand. "You'll shut your mouth or—"

"Think before you act, Rued," Valdis said, not budging an inch. "Will you really show what little control you have over yourself by striking your wife in view of all? You'd only prove my claims that you are weaker than you appear." She had counted on him losing his temper in public; behind closed doors, she would not have fared as well. "Simply admit that you have not given what you promised to my family when you married me. That is all I ask."

"I have fulfilled my term of the bargain," Rued said with a savage smile. "I haven't burned your pathetic little village to the ground."

"Of course you haven't," Valdis replied, heart giving a slight jolt at his words. Control your fear, she reminded herself. "We would have put up a fight, and that wouldn't do. You always go for easy pickings. Like a fly that only seeks shit."

She could hear Broder clapping and roaring in laughter behind her. The rest of the Boar clan shared his merriment, their guffaws rippling through the meadhall. Valdis almost smiled; she had nearly forgotten how it felt, not being the main target of scorn.

Rued snarled, not too subtly putting a hand over the handle of his axe. The response from Valdis's clansmates was immediate; all leaped from their seats, moving to grab their weapons as well. No matter their age, their sex, or their status, the members of the Boar clan stood beside Valdis, united in their fury. Their show of strength only fanned the flame within her, making it burn ever brighter. Rued removed his hand, eyes darting to every corner. Valdis could see him mouthing a curse.

"Fine!" he spat. "I rebuke you, Valdis Eirikrsdóttir! You are no longer my wife!"

"And you are no longer my husband, Rued Hakonsson," Valdis replied, with cool assurance.

"And I am glad of it. What man would want such a shrew as a bride?" Rued leaned forward to whisper at her ear, "I will leave now, but I will return, with the whole of my clan sailing along this time. I will destroy your home and let my men hunt your people for sport. Those who will survive will leave this place in chains. I will break them, every man, woman and child, I will make them less than animals, until you come to me begging on your knees, as you should. This I promise you, oh dear Valdis."

For what seemed like an eternity, Valdis stared into his icy blue eyes, unable to muster any sort of response. She had endured three years of torment at this man's hands, yet a terror unlike anything she had ever felt now surged over her. Rued's threat was not an empty one; again and again, she'd seen what happened to the poor souls who had been unfortunate enough to stand in his way.

She herself had wielded the axe responsible for that violence more often than she could count.

And yet, if Valdis showed fear, everything would be lost. All the senseless horrors she had inflicted in Rued's name—all the senseless horrors that had been inflicted on her—all of it would be for naught if Valdis even faltered for a moment.

She glanced aside, seeing worried faces looking back at her. Jorund, their smith, with his gaggle of children behind him. Old Ranka, the völva of the clan, whose eyes were still bright and shrewd despite her age. Asfrid and Katla, sisters and shieldmaidens, who had been loyal playmates in Valdis's youth. And so many others who had shared her joys and her sorrows, her triumphs and her failures.

Valdis had no doubt that her people would prevail in a fight against Rued's men. Still, who among these beloved souls would follow the Valkyries to Odin's hall if Rued were to unleash his wrath upon the Boar clan? She did not care to find out.

Give me strength, Valdis prayed, to the gods, to the ancients of her clan, to the parents who had cherished her so dearly, give me strength, please, do not let me falter, do not let me show weakness.

"No," she managed, meeting his cold gaze once more. "You will never lay a hand on me and mine again. This is the oath I take, before my clan, before my ancestors, before the gods themselves. If you pursue me, you will suffer a humiliation so great that people all across the land will mock and curse your name over generations to come. If you hurt those I care about, you will be subjected to an indignity so grand that you will beg for death on your knees, as you should. This I promise you, Rued."

All she got in response was a snarl from the man who had dared call himself her husband. Without another word, Rued whirled on his heel, stomping out of the meadhall with the rest of his warriors. Only then did Valdis felt like she could release the breath she'd been holding.

"Valdis!" In an instant, Brothir was at her side, putting a hand on her back. "Sister, are you all right?"

"Gods!" Broder said, standing by Valdis's other side. "I've half a mind to pursue that thrice-cursed mongrel and—"

"No," Valdis said, interrupted him, "there is something more important I need you to do. We must prepare."

"Prepare for what—"

"You stupid girl!" Ketil exclaimed, finally moving from where he'd stood frozen. He grabbed Valdis's arm, digging his fingers into her sleeve. "You've just doomed us all!"

"Don't you dare put your hands on her!" Broder roared.

Valdis wrestled her arm from Ketil's grip. "The next time you touch me without my consent," she said, very calmly, "will be the last time you will ever use that hand, Ketil."

Ketil flinched as if she had struck him. "You don't know what you're doing," he said. "Gods, you idiot child, as if we were in a position to bring another clan's fury upon ourselves after the losses of the past years! Truly, you have no sense!"

"We won't have to face Rued and his men," Valdis said, feeling almost as if she had stepped into a dream. "We will be leaving."

Gasps and shocked murmurs followed that declaration. The people of her clan exchanged worried glances, before looking at Valdis with uncertainty.

"Leaving?" Ketil repeated. "Leaving where?"

"To England, and to greener pastures and greater glories," Valdis said. "We will join the Ragnarssons in their endeavour and win ourselves a new home." Only then could Valdis provide security and stability for her clan. Only then could she wash away the shameful stain of her marriage to that foul swine.

Only then could she atone for bringing Rued's wrath upon her people simply because she had been too weak to endure more of his cruelty.

"I stand with my sister!" Brothir shouted, and Valdis stifled a sigh of relief. Gods, all she wanted was to crawl into some hidden corner of her childhood home and weep. "To England we go!"

"To England!" Broder added, raising his fist into the air.

The next few days were spent in a flurry of preparations. Even with the new ships they could not carry the whole of their belongings to England. Heartrending choices had to be made, and Valdis felt like the cruelest of tyrants every time she forbade someone to bring to England a beloved family heirloom or what little livestock they still possessed.

Valdis herself had little to no keepsakes to take with her to their new home. Broder had inherited their father's shield, while their mother's sword had gone to Brothir. In the end, she settled on Eirikr's lyre. When she plucked on its strings, she could almost hear the deep rumble of her father's voice rising alongside hers. Then she had taken a small wooden box with her to the hill where her mother had burned, hoping to fill it with ashes from the woman's pyre and some earth from the homeland she was about to depart.

As she kneeled in front of the stone ship, Valdis dug her fingers into the ground, hoping to stop the shivers taking hold of her body. The cold wind whipping at her face was not helping. Then, Valdis's eyes filled with tears, and she screamed, letting out a long wail full of rage and shame and grief. She screamed until her voice was hoarse, she cried until she had no more tears, for all the times she had not allowed herself to feel, for all the times she'd let her heart be hardened by frost. And all at once it was over, and Valdis stopped, her whole body shaking. Gods, she felt as weak as a newborn lamb.

Then, she made an offering to Freyr, the patron god of her clan, and to Njörd, to assure safe passage on the swan-roads. Lastly, Valdis beseeched Tyr's help. Surely, the god of oaths and victory, the god who had sacrificed his hand to bind the Fenris-wolf and protect his people, surely him of all the Aesir would see the justness of her cause.

Afterwards, she went to Jorunn, the barber's wife who also worked with body paints. Valdis came out of the old woman's hut with her hair shorn to the barest of inches, and Tyr's rune tattooed on her chin. When she emerged on the docks, shocked murmurs went through the crowd gathered in front of the longships. Valdis wished she had but an infirm part of her father's charismatic presence. With only a few words and a grin, he would have soothed their worries and bolstered their courage. At that very moment, Valdis missed him so much it was almost painful. Even her mother—even blunt, pragmatic Ylva—would have known what to say.

All they had was her, however.

"I know I am asking much of you," Valdis told her people. "I know I am bringing frightening change upon your lives. But I swear, on Tyr's name, that I will devote myself to the protection and betterment of our clan. I will fight, with everything I have, to bring the glory and happiness you deserve. May the gods strike me where I stand if there is falseness in my heart."

Her declaration was met with more hushed words. She could see concern, even a touch of apprehension upon the faces staring back at her, but… there was no resentment, no mistrust in their gazes. Valdis's people stood beside her, for ill or for good.

Only a few of the village's elders remained on the docks as the longships sailed away, toward a cold sea. Ketil was among them; the fool believed he could parley with Rued, stave off his rage. Only the gods knew what would become of Valdis's stepfather. For her part, she believed he'd sealed his own fate by accepting submission to save his sorry skin. Valdis made the secret vow to never let her life be dictated by the whims of weaker men ever again.

Instead, she turned away, setting her gaze upon the great grey expanse stretching to the horizon. The sea could be harsh, cruel—even moreso than the wretched rabble that formed Rued's clan. Still, Valdis's people had been taming those waves for more generations than she could count. They would greet the inevitable storms in their path as one would greet an old friend—with smiles and songs.

The Saxons of England, however…

The poor Christian sheep would be met with steel.


Theotford, 873


The odour of burning hung thick in the air, and even a league away from Theotford Valdis could smell its stench on the wind. In front of her, Eivor spurred her horse into a gallop; no doubt she'd just been seized by the same worries afflicting Valdis.

Her fears were confirmed at the approach of the village; plumes of smoke rose above Theotford in great trails of black across the grey sky. Little remained of the outer parts of town but scorched ruins. A few villagers still stumbled through the charred remnants of their homes, though they scattered like rabbits at the sight of the three riders. Valdis suspected that she and her companions would not be given a warm welcome here.

"Theotford," Finnr muttered. "All that remains is…"

"Woodsmoke and ash," Eivor completed. "Rued's men have been here."

The rest of town was in better shape, but only slightly. In front of a half-burned house, a man was struggling to give his daughter a meagre piece of bread.

"Eat, my child," the father said. "These are no times to waste what the Lord has given us."

"What about you, Papa?" the girl replied. "There's so little. There will be none left."

From the looks of him, the man could have used a good meal as well. Still, he insisted, "Eat, so you'll have strength."

Valdis ducked her head, suddenly feeling shameful. She remembered a time where her nights had been plagued by memories of screams and sobs coming from people much like this man and his daughter. Would these nightmares start anew? Would the judgmental stares of the people of Theotford join the dead gazes of all those who had died under her blade in the three years she'd been married to that monster?

Would they hate her even more if they learned just why Rued had come to East Anglia in the first place?

She scowled; what manner of drengr was she, to entertain such strange thoughts about the lives she'd taken? Her ancestors would have laughed if they knew. What a strange and pathetic creature I've become, Valdis mused.

They climbed down from their horses, guiding the animals by the bridle as they ventured deeper into town. In the heart of a village, a small crowd of panicked people were surrounding a grey-haired man who was obviously trying to calm them down. Valdis recognized him; Reeve Wynnstan had often come to Northwic, first to advise King Aethelred, then to help coordinate supplies and relief for the victims of Rued's raids. The man had—understandably—no love for the Dane invaders.

"Everything is gone, Reeve!" a villager cried. "Everything!"

"Calm, my friend," Wynnstan replied. "We will rebuild. I promise you."

Another man was shaking his head. His clothes were caked with dirt and dried blood. "I en't got the strength no more…"

Wynnstan opened his mouth to say more, then stopped, eyes widening. Immediately, his benevolent expression gave way to a scowl full of mistrust and contempt. To his credit, he stood his ground even as the crowd parted to let Eivor through.

"You have a will of iron coming here," Wynnstan spat at her, "knowing your kind did all this!"

Eivor greeted his harsh words with all the stoicism Valdis had learned to expect from the woman. "Rued's clan is your enemy, not me. I come on behalf of the late Oswald of Elmenham."

Valdis felt a brief pang at the sound of his name, and she was visited by the memory of a bright, earnest smile. She grit her teeth and looked away, hating her own weakness.

"You're still a Dane from top to toe," Wynnstan retorted. "And it's your meddling that led to Oswald's death, leaving our kingdom for the worse."

"Oswald was a friend and ally, reeve," Eivor said, with more gentleness than Valdis would have expected. "He fought beside me, and I by him."

"And look where that got him."

Murmurs of assent went through the crowd at these words. Finnr let out a snort, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Valdis tightened her hands into fists. She could speak up, help Eivor make her point. And yet Valdis found herself struck with silence at the sight of these empty-eyed, wretched-looking villagers. What a pitiful queen she would have made.

"East Anglia will fall if Rued's clan is not defeated," Eivor continued, undeterred. "Fight with me to drive them off, for Oswald and your kinsmen."

"Pretty words, Dane," said Wynnstan. "But the men of Theotford have their own battles to fight."

With a scoff, the reeve made to walk away. Eivor looked at Finnr, who shrugged, and at Valdis. With this one glance, the two women knew they were of the same mind. Valdis drew her lips in a line, nodding to show that she would support Eivor in this choice.

Eivor walked up to Wynnstan, who frowned as he glanced back at her. "If you need an axe," she said, "I am standing right here."

His scowl deepened for a moment; clearly, he was considering her words, trying to find if there was any trap lying in wait within that bold declaration. Then Wynnstan said, "There's a village to the east, King's Bury. It's where our dear King Edmund was laid to rest after you Dane dogs were done with him. The village was taken by Rued's men a fortnight ago. And I'll not rest until it's back in our hands."

"We will take King's Bury for you," Eivor promised.

More gasps and mutters follow Eivor's words. The villagers, once gathered in a frightened huddle, edged closer. Valdis could hear the confusion and the mistrust in their voices. She took place beside Eivor, meeting their hesitant gazes head-on.

"Eivor is right," Valdis told the people of Theotford. "Save your strength and join us for the fight to come. We can put an end to these raids if we work together."

What a strange sight they must have made, two Dane shieldmaidens offering to fight for a group of Christian peasants. That bastard Rued would have laughed and laughed; oh, how Valdis hoped he was freezing his balls off in Hel's icy domain.

Wynnstan stroked his beard. "A bold offer... If you do as you promise, the pikes of Theotford will be yours."

Eivor nodded, and Valdis could see the spark of hope returning to her eyes.

"King's Bury's church has a great horn atop its steeple," Wynnstan continued. "If you manage the task, blow it and I'll know you kept your word."

"You will not be disappointed, reeve," Eivor said, inclining her head.


King's Bury, 873


The crew of Eivor's longship were strangely silent as they rowed ever closer to the waters of King's Bury. Valdis did not need to know these men and women to realize this was unusual. Eivor herself held the bow of the ship a little too tightly, lips drawn into a grim line.

It was not apprehension concerning the upcoming battle that left them so glum, Valdis was sure of it. Eivor and her crew had wandered the wartorn lands of East Anglia long enough to be afflicted by the ghastly curse brought about by years of conflict. They had seen the haunted and emaciated faces of the villagers, smelled the carcasses of the livestock rotting in the fields, heard the curses shouted in their direction by the grieving Saxons. Gods, it made Valdis almost wish she had never set foot in this land.

Then again, perhaps East Anglia would have fared better if she had never crossed the seas to reach its green shores.

Eivor instructed her raiders to stop rowing when they spied a column of smoke coming from beyond the river bend.

"Sten," she told one of her warriors, "go and assess the situation. Their numbers, their defences… if they have any prisoners. We must be quick and efficient."

"Of course," the man answered, before leaping out of the longship and swimming to the shore.

As Sten scouted ahead, the crew prepared their weapons and armour, calling on the gods for their favour. One shieldmaiden even made the sign of the cross, to Valdis's shock; the woman had invoked Thor's name beforehand. It left Valdis more shaken than she would have ever believed.

Eventually, Sten made his way back. "They're deeply entrenched in town," he said, "but their numbers are few. They seem to be taking orders from a woman."

"A woman?" Valdis repeated, brows slightly furrowing. In her time, there had been only one female drengr in Rued's band: Ragnhild, who had been a thrall in her youth—and who was known for acts of singular cruelty as if to make everyone forget those humble origins.

"Hair the colour of mud, a great scar on the side of her head. Is it anyone you know?"

Valdis nodded. That was Ragnhild all right. "She is a formidable warrior, but not a particularly cunning one."

"So we have the advantage of numbers?" Eivor asked.

"We do," Sten answered. "Let's do it, Wolf-Kissed. It'll be easy."

"The village is at the top of the cliff," Valdis countered. "They'll have archers posted, surely, who can slow us while we make our ascent from the docks. And they can retreat inside the church if the battle turns to our advantage. We need to plan this carefully, take out the archers swiftly."

"I agree," Eivor said with a slight smile. "I will take our best archers and sneak closer to take theirs down. Valdis, you will lead the rest of the crew around to bar them from barricading themselves inside the church. We will crush them from both sides."

"Good," Valdis said. "May Odin keep you in his sight, Wolf-Kissed."

"And may Tyr guide your axe, Valdis of the Boar clan," Eivor answered with that cocksure grin of hers.


King's Bury, 873


Valdis and Eivor's warriors hid from view as they watched the comings and goings of the raiders occupying King's Bury. Ragnhild and her band were acting carelessly, surely certain that no one would dare attack them. Some were playing dice, most were laughing and drinking… beside the village well, a few were cheering on two of their comrades as they were locked in a wrestling match. Rued would have punished them harshly for their insolence—but Rued was gone now, wasn't he?

In the distance, Valdis saw the first archer fall from his perch—and then another. Soon, the rest of their wretched brethren were shouting and rushing toward where Eivor and her own team were surely hiding. That was Valdis's cue; with a loud cry of, "VALHALLA!" she led Eivor's warriors through the northern entrance of town, catching their enemies unaware. Then her axe was biting into soft flesh, releasing a spray of red in the air. Soon, the ground was slick with blood. Valdis let herself relish the thrill of the fight: the emptying of her mind, the warming of her muscles, the purity of movement. At least she was no longer the husk she'd been five winters ago.

Briefly, Valdis caught sight of Ragnhild, hiding in the midst of her warriors; the woman had shown panic for all of a heartbeat, but soon she was screaming orders and invectives at her men. Ragnhild stumbled to her knees a moment later, one of Eivor's arrows protruding from her back. She raised a pair of eyes full of hatred, letting out a hiss of pain, as the last of her raiders fell to the ground, writhing in the mud while blood poured from his neck.

And that was it. Valdis released a breath, though her tensions did not ease. The rest of Ragnhild's men laid in a broken heap around her; the element of surprise had not allowed them to mount a proper counter-offensive.

Ragnhild was bound and brought before Eivor and Valdis. The woman's eyes widened in shock for the merest of moments as she realized just who was facing her, but then Ragnhild was grinning with a bloodied mouth, many teeth missing.

"My, if it isn't the Danish princess!" Ragnhild said, leering at Valdis. "Joining us lowly wretches, dirtying her dainty hands! I can't say I've missed looking at that prissy face of yours!"

Valdis did not rise to the bait. "Eivor, can you sound the horn, please? The reeve will want to know the outcome of the battle."

"Of course." Eivor nodded, heading toward the church. Ragnhild gave a nasty laugh.

"Still enjoy ordering people about, do you?" she asked, voice sour as curdled milk. "Even now as you are mucking around in pig shit with Christian hog farmers. Or, as I've heard, sharing their bed. Though is there truly a difference between the two, I wonder?"

Gods, how Valdis hated that smug face… memories surged in her, memories of shame and rage, memories of being poked and prodded like a beast in cage until she would explode in her fury. She inhaled deeply to keep herself from lashing out in violence. Instead, Valdis placed the blade of her axe at Ragnhild's neck, direly hoping the woman would not see just how much her hands were shaking. "Farewell, Ragnhild. You were a blight upon this world, but you've fought bravely to the end. Go with the Valkyries."

"Hah!" Ragnhild spat at her feet. "Haven't changed at all, have you? You've always thought that you were better than us, that you were more than a bitch at Rued's beck and call, but that's wishful thinking, isn't it?" Oh, how she delighted in Valdis's dismay; now she was surely aware that Valdis could not move a muscle, could not swing that axe, could not land the killing blow. "You're just like us—a thief, a murderer, a—"

"Oh, shut up, will you?" said one of Eivor's shieldmaidens—and with the swing of her axe, she silenced Ragnhild forever. "There," she said, as Ragnhild's head rolled toward Valdis, face forever frozen in an ugly rictus, "that's better, isn't it?"

It took Valdis some time to regain her composure. Why had she been unable to end Ragnhild's life, why? "Th-Thank you," she said, after a while.

"No problem," the shieldmaiden replied. In the distance, a deep, rumbling sound echoed; Eivor had blown the horn. Now, they would see if the reeve would come to their aid—if he had any honour.

When Eivor was back on solid ground, she announced the arrival of riders coming from over the north-west, bearing the blue banner depicting three golden crowns, the symbol of the Wuffingas.

"The reeve and his men must have come to our aid," Eivor commented.

"Took them long enough!" said one of her raiders, a balding, black-haired man. "Cowards, the lot of them!"

"Peace, Dag," Eivor said. "Wynnstan had to take care of his people first. That he answered our call nonetheless is a good sign."

"Did any of you find sign of the villagers?" Valdis said, frowning. Only the church remained standing among the charred remains of King's Bury. There was nowhere else the raiders could have kept prisoners.

Two of Eivor's warriors exchanged grim looks. A third hung down her head, face twisting into a hateful scowl. Then, she said, "Inside the church. It's not a pretty sight. 'Butchery' wouldn't come even close to describe what they did in there…"

Eivor's hands tightened at her sides, and Valdis could see a muscle jumping at the corner of her mouth. She seemed barely unable to suppress her fury. "Bring the corpses out. We will allow the reeve and his men to give them the proper rites."

"And those?" the shieldmaiden said, motioning the dead raiders with her head.

Eivor met Valdis's gaze, and the latter said, with great loathing, "Leave them as food for the crows. It's better than they deserve."

They were piling up the dead villagers and treating their own wounded when Wynnstan and his men rode into King's Bury. The reeve grew white as a sheet at the sight of the corpses, and he rapidly made the sign of the cross.

"God be good…" he breathed. Behind him, one of his men was retching copiously. The rest were exchanging angry whispers and horrified looks.

"They have been avenged, lord," Eivor told him.

"The only comfort I can find is to think that they've been welcomed in the Lord's embrace," Wynnstan said, barely containing his own anger. "And that their killers will be burning in Hell for all of eternity."

Eivor eyed him carefully. "I held to my oath, reeve. I hope you will honour yours."

"My promise holds, aye. Theotford will join you in the fight against Rued's clan."

"With your aid, we may yet save East Anglia."

The reeve gazed upon the church with some wistfulness. "In past times, that horn was used to muster fyrds all across our land. You may find others across Sudfulc who have warmed to its call."

"Good," said Eivor. "Whatever willing men you find, rally them soon at the ruins north of Burgh Castle."

"We will be there," Wynnstan proclaimed.

He and his men took up the grim duty of honouring the dead bodies of the people of King's Bury; for some reason, Finnr assisted them, his face showing unusual gravitas. Eivor called for a short break, telling her crew that they would soon move north to the forward camp.

"Eat, rest, treat your wounds," she told her warriors. "Afterwards, the opportunity for such things will be much rarer."

Her raiders dispersed, some preparing food for the rest of the crew, others searching the corpse of Ragnhild's band for loot and battle supplies. Eventually, Valdis found herself sitting by a fire with some of Eivor's raiders, including the blue-eyed shieldmaiden who had killed Ragnhild and the black-bearded man named Dag. Valdis inspected the shieldmaiden more closely; her face was familiar.

"You were with the Great Summer army," she said, finally recognizing the woman. "You served under Soma of the Sámi." Valdis also recalled that Broder had—unsuccessfully—tried to work his charm on her all night. "But I don't remember your name."

The shieldmaiden dramatically draped a hand over her heart. "Harsh! To think I've made so little an impression!"

Now Valdis was starting to understand why the woman had rebuffed poor Broder's advances. "I apologize. I must have indulged in too much ale that night."

"Didn't we all?" the shieldmaiden answered with a wink. "You can call me Birna, by the way. You could call me other things, but…" Birna bounced her eyebrows. "We'd have to learn to know each other better before that, wouldn't we?"

Valdis stared dumbly at her, almost as if the woman's words weren't quite sinking in. She's making a pass at me, she realized belatedly. For a moment, Valdis was struck by longing, and she remembered the feeling of a naked body against her skin, a most comforting and delightful warmth. Birna's blue eyes were large and expressive, just like—an invisible hand seemed to seize Valdis's heart in its icy grip. She hurriedly looked away from the woman's grin, muttering, "I… I am sorry… I…"

"Birna," another shieldmaiden gently chided, "leave the poor woman alone. She is still in mourning."

Birna's eyes widened in realization. "That little Saxon lord! Halfdan Ragnarsson had arranged for you to marry him, hadn't he?"

"That's right," Valdis managed.

"He seemed a strange sort, even for a Christian," Birna commented. "Absolutely not my type, but… he had courage enough, I suppose."

The one named Dag gave a scoff. "Gods… that stupid boy gets himself killed the first chance he has, and we are supposed to find this inspiring?"

Valdis's eyes snapped toward him. The man continued to grin in an insolent way, unaware of the rage emanating from her. His comrades, however, exchanged uneasy looks.

"Don't let Eivor hear you say that, Dag," Birna said, with a shrug. Valdis felt as if she could barely hear the woman through the fury thumping in her ears. "She was fond of the fellow, for some reason."

"Because this blighted land is making her lose her edge, that's why!" And Dag laughed.

With perfect clarity, Valdis pictured herself surging toward the man and plunging her knife into that fat neck. He would have never seen it coming; he would have had no chance. Women like Eivor were far and few—and they had to speak twice as loud, fight twice as hard, piss twice as far as the men around them to gain a modicum of respect. Valdis had been running her clan for the past five winters, acting as its Jarl in all but name—and yet still, she needed her brothers' approval and a man's ring around her finger to be considered a ruler in her own right.

Of course this subtlety was all lost on the man now smirking at her. One look at this Dag told Valdis all she needed to know about him—she'd lived with his ilk for three winters in Rued's clan. A sensible explanation was wasted on the likes of him; these men only understood one kind of language.

Valdis slowly went to her feet, fanning the flames of fury within her as she stared down at him. "Is there something you would like to say, drengr? If so, speak up so we can hear it."

The man's grin melted away like late spring snow under a merciless sun. He licked his lips before saying, "I think… why are we wasting our time trying to help some Christians living in a bogshit kingdom—"

"Then go on, say it directly to Eivor's face," Valdis said, ever so quietly. "Instead of conniving behind her back like a child afraid of a well-deserved beating. Voice your discontentment to Eivor, and accept her punishment if she disagrees with your assessment. If you cannot dare face your leader with mere words, how am I supposed to believe that you are man enough to fight our enemy on the field of battle?"

Dag's face grew crimson with anger. Around the fire, the rest of the raiders laughed and laughed. Still, Valdis felt no satisfaction over this small victory, only great lassitude. She downed the rest of her soup and left the circle of drengir, heading downhill toward the river.

Valdis cleaned her blade first, a habit that had been harshly drilled into her head by her mother. Then, she cupped her hands to gather some water, splashing it over her face. From what little she saw of her reflection, she looked dreadful.

Valdis sighed, spreading her fingers into the river. These waters flowed west to Northwic, where they would turn north, eventually reaching Elmenham and mixing with the Wensum river that Oswald loved so much. She had forgotten the comfort of such simple pleasures, how soothing it was to feel the invigorating coldness of water on her skin; now she longed to run her fingers through furs warmed by a hearth fire, through verdant blades of grass, through unruly blond curls—

Valdis retracted her hand as if a serpent had bitten it. Gods, she could not even trust in her own mind these days. She stood up with a sigh, contemplating the last rays of the sun glistening over the water. Again she wondered: why? Why had she stilled her blade? Valdis had not hesitated when she'd plunged that dagger in that scout's side, back in Northwic. Any man who questions your courage and feels no shame, there's your answer, she had told Oswald back then. It was not so long ago. Why had she not followed her own advice now?

With another sigh, she glanced upward, where Eivor's raiders were still celebrating. Their cheerful voices and camaraderie left her nostalgic for something she'd never truly experienced. Eivor had given Valdis a rare chance indeed, taking her alongside her crew. She had allowed Valdis to accomplish her girlhood dream, the one that had been so cruelly dashed with her father's death and her marriage to Rued. Valdis suddenly found herself wishing that she had met the Norse woman sooner; how many glorious battle they could have fought side by side, united together in search of Valhalla? Perhaps, she thought, heart pounding a little, it was still not yet too late to—

No, Valdis realized, her hopes sinking, she could not leave her people behind to pursue some selfish dream. Her clan had left behind everything they knew to follow her to England. And now they had suffered because Rued had pursued her across the sea. Valdis would take responsibility for that folly and provide for her people, as her role as a Jarl's daughter dictated.

By then, a familiar figure was making her way downhill. A wry grin tugged at the edges of Eivor's mouth. "Valdis," she began, "I hope you're not shunning the company of my warriors."

"I am not," Valdis responded. "It's only… after a fight, I often feel the need to cleanse myself. It's a sort of ritual, I suppose."

Eivor nodded. "A good habit. I would have done the same, if not for my duties as leader of this raiding crew."

"How many wounded do we have?" Valdis asked.

"A few, though for most the injuries are superficial." Eivor's jaw was set tight. "But one of my men was shot in the stomach. Egil. A better hunter you'll never find."

Valdis took a deep, steadying breath. "How is he?"

"Ready," Eivor answered with the same grimness.

Valdis closed her eyes, committing the man's name to heart even though he was but a stranger to her. "I am glad to hear it. The Allfather will surely welcome a warrior of such courage."

"He will."

"You have an exceptional crew. Talented in the fighting arts, yet loyal beyond compare. It's no mean feat. The most boisterous of warriors often have the most fragile of egos as well."

Eivor snorted. "Don't I know it."

"Still, you should keep an eye out," Valdis continued. "That man, Dag. You will need to remind him who is in charge soon, I believe."

"He's my brother's man," Eivor said, in half a mutter. "It's not my place to rebuke him."

It was a surprisingly weak comeback from one such as Eivor. Still, Valdis refrained herself from saying so. "They've adapted well to England, your people."

"Yes, but still…"

Valdis raised her eyebrows, surprised by that hint of sentimentality. "Yes?" she prompted.

"I miss Norse winters," Eivor said. "I love the stillness of the woods in the snow, the softness of one's footfalls. I miss the days where all you can see stretched over the horizon is a world of white."

With a pang, Valdis remembered that morning when Oswald had come to see her at the docks in Elmenham, his smile as he had asked about her homeland—and how quickly she'd rebuffed him for this show of honest curiosity. "I miss the smell of sea salt in the air," she admitted, "how you could almost taste it on the tip of your tongue."

Of course, there was so much of her old life that Valdis still yearned for. How she longed to relive those cold nights spent snuggling with her mother under the furs while her father spun yarns about wondrous figures from the past; his stories about shieldmaidens like proud Brynhildr and sorrowful Sigrún always left her starry-eyed and eager to follow into their footsteps. Perhaps eventually Valdis would have done the same with her own children, keeping her little ones close as she sang the sagas their grandfather had taught her—

Gods, here she was again, dwelling on childish regrets. These sweet dreams were out of reach; she had to accept the fate the Nornir had woven for her.

"Ja?" Eivor said with a wistful smile.

Valdis gave her a sidelong glance. "Here, everything stinks of rotting weed. Must be because of all of those bogs. And yet we're all fighting over this marsh kingdom as if it were Asgard itself."

"Marsh kingdom or not, here there is land for everyone," Eivor pointed out.

Not everyone, Valdis found herself thinking. The lands where her clan had settled were drenched in the blood of the Saxons who had died defending their home. Five years ago, that thought wouldn't have moved her so much; only the needs of the Boar figured in her heart back then. But now…

Valdis stood up with a sigh. "I should get going. To Elmenham. We will meet up in the forward camp shortly."

"I could come as well," Eivor said. "I could help you convince the people of Elmenham to stand beside us in battle."

"No," Valdis said, "I must do it by myself. It would be presumptuous of me to seek the throne yet refuse to meet the people when I ask them to risk their lives, wouldn't it?"

"At least take Finnr with you. Poor man is half a ghost. Perhaps this will give back some vigour to his old bones."

"Perhaps," Valdis conceded. She stood, patting the other woman on the arm. "Thank you, Eivor. The gods have sent you to us in our time of need, I'm growing certain of it."

Eivor snorted a little. "You're starting to make me question their judgment."

Perhaps in other circumstances—in another life where they would have sailed and shed blood together as battle companions since their early years—Valdis would have grinned and laughed. Instead, she only said, "We will fight side by side again soon."

"I will look forward to it," Eivor answered.