The drums beat out a steady pulse, almost like a heartbeat, while a piper droned on with a strangely-shaped wooden flute. The northerners, wrapped in furs against the late autumn chill, walked in silent procession down the hills of Rovngalad towards the harbor. Wulfric and the other thralls followed some distance behind, outside the circle of light cast by the torches. Even though Halvard's family was on the far edge of the crowd, leading the procession, Wulfric could still make them out. Halvard and his siblings seemed to tower above the ordinary villagers, dwarf them by the sheer virtue of their presence. Steinarr, Jarn and Geirr walked beside them, the Houndoom's horns and Aggron's plates gleaming in the torchlight.

When they reached the pier, the northmen stopped and formed a rough semi-circle around Halvard. The jarl raised his face to the sky and stood silently for a moment before spreading his arms wide. "Today, people of Rovngalad, we gather to celebrate our harvest, and to honor our sons who have grown so strong!" Several people cheered, and a handful of boys were pushed to the front of the crowd, Svein among them. Dismas squawked and alighted from Wulfric shoulder to fly above the gathering for a better view.

Halvard locked eyes with each of the boys in turn. "I've watched all of you grow up into men your fathers can be proud of. It is through the strength of your backs that we brought in the harvest to spare it from the Storm Bringer's wrath. It was the strength of your arms that propelled our longships through the sea. You hunt for us, you fish for us, you honor the village. And as you have honored Rovngalad, now Rovngalad honors you!"

The boys lined up before Halvard, and he gave each one of them an iron bangle that fit over their wrist. He spoke to them quietly, in words Wulfric could not hear, and the boys responded. When Halvard had told Wulfric about this ceremony after their language lesson several days prior, he had explained that the boys would swear loyalty to him as jarl, pledging the strength of their arms to fight for him and to protect his lands. Then the boys would each receive a kiss from the jarl's wife, but as Halvard was unmarried and uninterested in marrying, this role would be fulfilled by the Ragnhildr, as the highest ranking woman in Halvard's family. Then, each boy would be handed a small bowl full of mead, a spiced and honeyed drink, that they were to drink in one long pull.

Wulfric smiled when he saw Ragnhildr give Svein a quick hug as well, and Torvald tousled the boy's hair before handing him the bowl. A few of the other boys had coughed after drinking their mead, but Svein fought down the urge even though it was plain he wanted to. This made Torvald smile wider, and the warmth in his eyes when he looked at Svein was almost enough to banish the predatory, aquiline cast from his features.

Once each boy had taken an arm ring and sworn their oath, their parents came forward to present them with the first pokemon that could be truly their own. For Svein, it was one of Geirr's pups, a Houndour sired on another Houndoom in the village a few months before. Wulfric also saw Ulfi the boat builder give his son Odmund a Timburr. A good choice, now that Odmund would be helping his father at the docks, and would need a partner able to support him. Other boys received pokemon like Lillipup, Skiddo, and Espurr, pokemon to help them work the fields and bring in the Mareep herds.

Halvard smiled in a way that Wulfric could only describe as beatific, spreading his arms in a magnanimous gesture. "And now," the jarl boomed. "We feast!"

Thralls appeared at the fringes of the northmen gathering, bearing long wooden tables and platters laden with food. The northmen parted around them as the revelry commenced. Wulfric was not needed to serve, and so he retreated to a dark byway of Rovngalad and knelt down to pray.

"Oh Great Arceus, Lord Most High, your humble servant beseeches You to give Your blessing to Svein this day. Though he is not of Your flock, he is a strong lad, and true of heart. Perhaps one day he may yet honor You in his heart. For this I pray."

Halvard stormed up the main thoroughfare several days later, Wulfric and Svein, laden with firewood, had to hurry to keep up. Talvar, Svein's Houndour pup, panted along at the boy's heels. "Every cursed year!" the jarl snapped. "Every year I have to go and bow to that damned usurper!"

Torvald had no difficulty matching his brother's stride. "And every year, you throw a tantrum. You know it is our duty."

"I know full well what my duty is!" Halvard shot back. "And I plan to do it! I just don't have to like it!"

"Then stop acting like a petulant child," Torvald said with a sigh. "At least this year we have the Wailord hunt to brag about."

"Oh, of course, the Wailord hunt." Halvard turned and spat. "That's what I think about bragging about the damn Wailord. The Wailord doesn't matter, because I still have to kiss Ingmar's boots!"

Torvald seized Halvard's arm and lowered his voice to a hiss. "You know he would slaughter everyone here if you didn't."

"I'm so sick of being the Fool of Rovngalad. How much longer do you—"

"Soon." Torvald allowed a ghost of a smile to play across his lips. "By this time next year, you'll be drinking your mead out of Ingmar's skull or we'll all be feasting in the cold halls of the Bringer of Death." He turned and glowered at Wulfric. "This doesn't concern you, priest. Keep moving."

After their language lesson that night, Halvard and Wulfric lounged by the hearth, the northman drinking his customary horn of strong ale. Dismas was perched on Halvard's knee, and the jarl was absentmindedly stroking the Chatot's feathers with one finger. "I wonder if Dismas could shout as loudly as Sigrund," Halvard mused. "It would take some practice."

"Dismas isn't much for fighting," Wulfric replied.

"Have you ever tried?"

"Not really."

"Then how would you know, eh?"

Wulfric shrugged and conceded the point. "May I ask you a question?" When Halvard shrugged, Wulfric sat up straighter. "What were you and Torvald talking about earlier? You have to go see the man who killed your father? I don't understand."

Halvard threw back the rest of his ale, and instantly Valdis was at his side with a fresh cup. The northman tried to smile at his sister's Kirlia, but it didn't reach his eyes. For a long moment, Halvard just stared into the fires of the hearth. Finally, he sighed. "Ingmar, whether I like it or not, is king of these lands. All the jarls in the north must go to his hall once a year and pay him tribute. If I don't, my life and my lands are forfeit. For most of the jarls, it's simply an inconvenient duty to tend to after the harvest's brought in, a chance to drink with men from other clans and trade gossip. But for me…" He took a drink and wiped the froth from his mustache. "Ingmar knows the shame he cast on me when he killed my father and uncle, and he loves to rub my face in it. Every time the jarls gather, he shames me again. I'd love to just stick a knife in him and be done with it."

"So why haven't you?"

"If there was just me to think about, I would have. But Rovngalad needs me. If I were to kill Ingmar under his own roof, as his guest, the other jarls would be honor-bound to make war against me." Halvard shook his head. "The only consolation is that Ingmar is bound by the same rules I am. So long as I'm at the Meet, he can't kill me either, and once I'm home, he wouldn't dare go up against me when I know the land better than he does. He's a bastard, but he's not stupid." Halvard fell silent again for a spell. "You ought to come with me."

Wulfric was stunned. "What? Why?"

"Because I said so. I'm the jarl, right?" Halvard smiled ruefully. "Mostly, I think I ought to bring you because it would annoy Torvald and Skaldi. That's reason enough. But I want to bring you because you're the only one who sees me as Jarl Halvard, not the Fool of Rovngalad." The northman threw back his ale, set his cup aside, and threw one last log on the fire. "It's late. You should go to sleep."

And so three days later, Wulfric found himself once again curled up in the belly of a longship, clutching a damp cloak around his shoulders as the northmen cut through the northern sea. On this voyage, Halvard had told him, the ships would not likely leave sight of the coastline as they travelled up the northern straits to Yeavenguut, Ingmar's seat of power. Svein and the other boys who had gotten their arm rings were all on Halvard's boat, and so Wulfric's usual seat next to Ulfi was taken by Odmund. When Wulfric was to take his first turn at the oars, Torvald patted the bench beside him. "You're with me today, priest."

The warrior rowed in silence for a long while, the muscles in his neck and arms flexing and straining. Though Wulfric was panting and his arms had begun to ache, Torvald's breath came at a measured pace, and Wulfric was reasonably sure that the water dampening Torvald's brow was merely spray from the ocean, and not the sweat that drenched was even now freezing on the faces of the other men aboard.

"I want you to be very careful," Torvald said, taking Wulfric by surprise. The warrior kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, where Branna roosted on the prow. "I've seen the way you look at things, Wulfric. Where most men see only the river, you see the currents moving underneath." The oar rose and fell several more times before Torvald spoke again. "Though my brother hates the title that Ingmar fashioned for him, it's not without a grain of truth. Halvard thinks he's invincible, but we both know that's not true. I try to keep an eye on him, but I can't be everywhere at once." Another stroke of the oar. "Will you help me in this?"

"Of course," Wulfric said. "That's why Halvard brought me along."

"Then perhaps my brother isn't as foolish as he appears."

Wulfric hid a smile and feared he was about to overstep himself. "He also did it because he thought it would irritate you."

Torvald rolled his eyes. "Never mind then."

That evening, as the sun set on the western horizon, turning the waves gold and orange, the northmen sailed into Yeavenguut. Like Rovngalad, Yeavenguut was deep within a fjord, but unlike Halvard's humble collection of fisherman's huts and fields, Yeavenguut was an imposing stone fortress with a modestly sized town bustling within an outer palisade. The mouth of the fjord was guarded by two stone towers, and even from a distance, Wulfric could see the archers standing atop them. As the longships sailed into the gap between them, Halvard wordlessly stood up and jumped onto the ship's railing before diving into the ocean. Wulfric watched the small splashes the jarl made as he stroked beneath the water's surface until he reached Uthald, taking up his place atop the Gyarados's spiked crown. Uthald surged forward to lead the ships up to the docks.

A small man with a balding pate and another man in a hooded red robe hustled forward to meet Halvard as the jarl strode up the wooden planks. The balding man inclined his head in something that barely passed as a bow and clasped his hands in front of him. "Jarl Halvard, King Ingmar is waiting for you in the hall. I am to accompany you." A Klefki bobbed behind the man's head, its iron and bronze keys clanging.

Halvard gave the man a look that spoke of supreme distaste, and for a moment Wulfric thought he would shove him off the docks. But the moment passed, and Halvard simply nodded. "I know the way," was all he said. Halvard snapped his fingers and Steinarr, who had been resting placidly in the stern of Halvard's longship, got slowly to his feet, careful not to upset the boat. Ulfi and his son affixed a ramp that allowed the Gogoat to descend into the shallow waters, and once Steinarr drew level with Halvard, the jarl swung up into his customary place on his back. Halvard glanced over his shoulder at Uthald. "You behave yourself until I get back." Then, he tapped his heels lightly against Steinarr's flanks and cantered off through the thronging main street of Yeavenguut, scattering the crowd before him.

Torvald jumped over the ship's railing and landed nimbly on the dock. He shouldered his pack as Branna alighted on his shoulders. "Trygi," he said, nodding to the steward.

The balding man nodded back. "Torvald. A pleasure to see you again." His words lacked any kind of inflection, his eyes remaining as dull as chips of stone.

As Torvald brushed by, he shoved Trygi off the dock and into the water. "Would that I could say the same." Trygi spluttered and tried to get himself right side up while Halvard's men all roared with laughter. Trygi's Klefki made to rush at Torvald, but Branna spread her wings and shrieked and the Klefki demurred. "We'll set up camp in the usual spot, boys," Torvald called over his shoulder. "Get those ships unloaded!"

The northmen quickly and efficiently unloaded their own gear and the things they had brought to trade at Yeavenguut from the ships and moored them. As they all went to follow Torvald, Wulfric felt a hand clamp down on his arm. The figure in the scarlet robe, silent throughout all the proceedings, looked him up and down from heavily lidded eyes. "You aren't one of ours," they rasped, in a voice that Wulfric could not determine was masculine or feminine. The figure's lips were completely black, though whether it was some kind of cosmetic or their natural state, Wulfric was not sure. Something rustled underneath the robe, and a Sabeleye poked out its head, fixing Wulfric with its unblinking stare.

"Get your filthy hands off him!" Wulfric felt himself be yanked back and the scarlet figure released their grip. Skaldi leaned in close to the figure's face and hissed. "Wulfric is Jarl Halvard's!" the northern priest spat. "You don't get to touch him!"

Skaldi led Wulfric away, muttering to himself under his breath. "Thank you," Wulfric finally said.

Skaldi glanced at him. "I didn't do it for you, priest. Agmundr corrupts everything he touches, and you're Halvard's property." Skaldi shrugged. "I don't much like him."

Svein and Odmund caught up with them then, chattering excitedly as they took in the sights and smells of Yeavenguut. Wulfric tried to pick out strands of the conversations, but the multitude of dialects and accents was too much for his tentative grasp of the northmen's language. The exited the fortress town by means of another gate, and went some distance into a stand of trees outside the walls. Torvald had already started a fire and was cooking some of the salted meat they had brought with them. Ulfi took Odmund while Svein and Talvar hurried over to Torvald. The warrior mussed his nephew's hair and inclined his head to Skaldi. The priest nodded back and began setting up his own bedroll. "There will be a feast tonight," Torvald said to Wulfric. "Normally, any thralls not belonging to the household would be barred, but you'll be coming along with us. I'm sure plenty in Ingmar's court will be amused by a southerner who speaks our language as well as you do. But I need you to stay alert, like we spoke about before."

"I understand."

"And bring your Chatot too. I'm sure they'll like to see him. If you need me, if Halvard is in danger, send the bird with a message. I'll come to you as quickly as I can." Torvald reached up to where Skerast was hovering behind his head and ran a finger along the flat of one of the blades. "If you don't stay alert, this place will kill you."