"It is with great sorrow, Leif, that Jarl Gunnar must decline your request to aid you with your fight against the Björn clan." The messenger, a weathered young man named Erik, concedes while we gather around the massive meeting table in the war room of the longhouse.

The air in the room thins, while my body responds subconsciously to Leif's silent response. My muscles tense and my senses expand causing me to pick up on the small vibrations of the room. The flickering flames from the candles heard along with the tightening leather of Leif's wrist cuff. A soft clear of the throat breaks the silence and Svea approaches the table, resting her hand on the flexing forearm of her husband, "Did my father give an explanation as to why he won't render any aid?"

"Yes. We've been suffering attacks from skogamaor (outlaw) parties. Our trading routes have been severed leaving Birka weak and tired. We simply do not have the strength to help at the moment."

"Do they mean to overtake Birka?" Leif raises his eyes to Erik while his hands remain planted to the table centered in the room. From my long gaze to Leif, my attention falls to the maps centered on the table. One, with it's corners curled and held in place by wooden figurines of local animals. Our lands, separated by veins of rivers and mountains. The spaces in between, typically the heavily wooded areas, belong to several skogamaor tribes.

"Faen (fuck). If Dainn (stag) clan won't help us then who will?" Leif barks and shoves from the table as I approach. "Are you sure, messenger? What if I road to Birka and requested aid myself?" An in-person request would put the alliance in jeopardy, especially if Jarl Gunnar were to decline again. A face-to-face request is a last chance for a Jarl to obtain help. If Svea's father were still to refuse I'm not sure where the alliance would stand. Not to mention the marriage between Leif and Svea. After what happened last night, I'm unsure how thin their marriage thread is.

"I am. We are weak. Almost every night we are fighting to keep the bandits outside our walls. Without the trade routes we will starve."

I voice my sudden thought, "What if we were to help? Give aid and help terminate the bandits?"

"We should prepare our warriors for our own fight against Björn clan." Jorgensen chimes in disregarding my fleeting comment.

"No," Leif lifts his hand to his father then stares at me. "We need our allies for this war. And Stag clan needs assistance with the bandits." Our gazes remain fixed on one and another. Then Leif dips his chin, speaking only to me, "We can not leave Ormensthorpe defenseless."

He is correct. We could be attacked any moment. If we were to take a war party from Ormensthorpe to help the Stag clan we might as well start lighting the funeral ships now. But if we go as a small party of ten men or maybe less...

We both nod and I begin to grin, "They fight using the forest. Stealth." Leif adds to clue in the room as to what we are thinking.

"Fight fire with fire?" I smile, my adrenaline growing along with the curve of my lips.

"Precisely, my brother." Leif cocks a knowing brow. The gesture momentarily warms my chest. The thought of him unaware to what Svea and I have done blossoms into a selfish exhale of breath. A breath I didn't know I'd been holding since the intimate moment last night.

"We would be in your debt," Erik interjects plummeting me back to reality as Leif's gaze hardens like stone.   The momentary relief replaced with guilt knotting in my stomach. Avoiding the stormy blue glare of Leif I look away like an animal meeting the eyes of a predator. Then pair of emerald green eyes catch mine with the warmth of  summer grass.

"Our borders could be under assault as we speak, my son." Jorgensen crosses his arms in defiance. "Sending our much needed weapons will—."

"We don't stand a chance against Björn clan alone. Even if they've lost their leader. We will help Jarl Gunnar, it's our only chance." Jorgensen concedes dropping his grey head and goes silent. "Tove?" Leif continues and I force my slumped spine to straighten, "As my right hand, you will join me."

I bow my head, "Svea." Her name on his lips causes me to shudder, "You will remain here, to lead in my place." She tears her attention from me and gives her husband a nod of acceptance. Before last night, spending time with my brother would have been a joyous occasion. To rekindle our bond over bandit blood would have been an occasion I'd pray to the gods for. However, each time my eyes meet his all I see is what I'd done yestereve.

"Anders." I state clearing the clog in my throat, "The slave. I wish him to travel with us."

"Why?" Leif snorts a laugh and leans against the table with a tick to his jaw.

"If he's left here, surely he'll be assassinated." Either by the villagers or the person who hired him. "He's a good warrior, one more blade will help."

"That blade nearly killed you, Tove? Is it smart giving him another chance?" The room goes silent. A minute passes, then two. Then Leif speaks again, "I suppose you only need one hand to yield a sword. He will remain under your charge, Tove." If we manage to survive the next several days I don't want to lose my chance in finding who is orchestrating my death. I am certain the Irishman know's who it is. So, the closer I keep him the closer I'll be to finding out the answer.

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With a toss, I throw an entire bucket of water onto Anders, who I've cleverly renamed as Rottur (rat). He shivers, drenched and dressed down to his underthings as I try to expel the ripe stench that's wafting from the one-armed man. His wound has been cauterized and wrapped in a cloth at the nub just below his elbow. "Come on, Rottur. Hurry up." I say throwing his old clothes into the empty bucket.

He mutters something surely an obscenity in his mother tongue and with his single hand begins cleaning himself continuing with the slue of his language. His mutterings are drowned out by the whinnies and calls of the horses from the stables behind him. Five of them are being readied for the journey as I take care of Rattur and his stench.

"This is a stealth mission," I taunt with a mischievous smile, "We can't give away our position because of your wreak."

Anders throws me a heated glare but goes silent. He's a large man, taller than myself and Leif. Branded with thick muscles and broad shoulders bolstering a barrel of a chest. His scalp now clad with the slightest shadow of a light orange. "Are you so daft to give your assailant a blade? I could slit your throat in your sleep, Lochlannach."

"Lochlannach?"

He turns away in a grimace and I watch the flexing fords in his back move and he continues to clear the the stench from his body. "It means 'Viking'."

"Ah, and what is the word for Rottur (Rat)?"

"Francach."

I laugh escapes me. And I grab the clean robes hanging from the stable fence, "I'll stick with Rottur."

The Irishman dries and takes the clothes with an audible reluctance. He dresses behind the stables just in time for the sounds of a gang of hooves departing the cover of the stable.

Anders and I join the small party at the entrance as the stable hand gives one last check over to the mounts. There are a total of six of us, not including Erik the messenger. Hardly a war party, but each one of us a skilled warrior.

Armed to the teeth I ignore the heavy weight of the ring hidden away in my pocket. But the sight of Hefna tacked up with a bridle and gear calms me. I cup her velvet-soft nose in my hand giggling as she searches for treats that are not there. "Are we ready for another adventure?" I speak low to her as she snorts into my hand.

"The animal can't understand you, Lochlannach." Anders says utop his chestnut colored horse clutching his nubbed arm to his chest. My hand, soaked in Hefna snot, wipes clean on Anders leg. The annoyed disgust coming from the Irishman is formed in a grunt while I find the foothold of the stirrup and kick myself to the saddle. The twinge of pain sets small fires to my back but I hide the pain away with a tightened jaw.

"We will send a sacrifice for your successful return." Svea speaks to Leif, gazing up at him with her misty green eyes. The cords in her throat strained leading mine to do the same. I swallow it down and settle into the saddle padding Hefna's neck. "I love you," Svea adds resting her hand on Leif's knee, then glances to me holding my eyes for an uncomfortable long second.

Leif throws a look from his shoulder forcing my attention to remain on Hefna then nods to Svea, "Elskan (my love)." Then with the gentle nudge of his heels his horse struts forward. With a slight push with my heels Hefna follows and I gnaw on my cheek as we brush passed Svea. "Tove, protect our Jarl." She tells me in a hushed tone.

"Always." I affirm then fall back, allowing Anders to ride in front as to keep a careful eye on him.

I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. And it felt good writing this chapter. I don't do much of editing when I write so apologies for the errors.

At this point, I'm trying to just get back into writing. Thank you so much for reading my story 💝

I love Anders nick name lol and I love seeing Toves humor pop out. I think it'll be the beginning of a lovely friendship lol

What do we think of the plan? And the Skogamaor? It can't be so simple can it?

I'd love to know your thoughts

CC