Gretele.odt

They felt like real Vikings as they sailed from Halstaad Fjord to find the Black Clan hideout and end the menace once and for all. The news spread like wildfire and as they readied their boats, a crowd of men had assembled at the wharf. They all carried spears, swords and harpoon guns. It was one of those events. The men chanted the names of the Clan leaders and demanded to come along.

What was a spontaneous decision was now regular war campaign. The few voices of caution were insulted and called cowards. No insult was as deep or as powerful as calling a Norse a coward.

And what could really stop them? The Black Clan was good at raiding and intimidating one opponent, but not a small fleet filled with battle ready Vikings instead of fishers. Oh this was like the days of old, when Clans fought clans.

Isegrim stood in the wheelhouse next to Greifen who steered this Ragnarsson boat and looked out the windows across the endless ice and saw his little son outside on deck. Not even five years old and already he stood at the very bow ignoring the ice cold wind.

The Clan leader of the Aalberts was sitting next to the small chart table, holding a horn of heated ale with a good helping of Aquavit in the potent mix. “Thy heart must burst with pride, Isegrim. Thy scion look at him, there is no fear in that boy. How old is he?”

Whenever he was away from Gretel,