Eric Olafson, Neoviking 001d

Prelude Part 4: Volund

4999 OTT

The crumbling walls of Olafson Burg were no longer on his mind. Volund was now the steward of Ragnarsson Rock. Erik Gustav had kept his word and had given him stewardship and the rule of all that was Ragnarsson on this world.

There were tanneries in the extensive basements, several Nubhir farms on the permanent ice of the southern pole region and large Fangsnapper herds, but most of all there were five modern and well kept fishing boats and three Hunting Subs in the cave-like, voluminous Submarine Pen.

Volund was once more doing what he loved best. He commanded the Hunting Subs, harassed the boats of the clans of the East and returned to the Xchange at Halstaad Fjord with Three-Fins and Tyrannos in tow. Life was good and the name Olafson once again spoken with respect at the Xchange Cafe and the Taverns.

He had just returned from another long trip to the Uhim grounds and decided to have a few tankards at Hogun’s Inn.

His second born also had married, in a small and far less spectacular ceremony to a daughter of an Eastern clan no one of the Western clans really knew much about. Hogun’s wife, a Bredeberg, however was given an Inn as part of her dowry. Her father won it in a gambling venture.

So it came Hogun was an innkeeper now. To everyone it was clear that this was his true calling. Hogun’s Inn became one of the most popular Inns of Halstaad Fjord, not in the least due to the cooking and grilling skills of Hogun and the collection of local and Off World beers and ales he offered.

It was the very Inn he had met the old Ragnarsson and where his fortune and the fate of the Olafson clan changed forever. Fights and brawls were a thing of the past, at least in Hogun’s Inn. No one in his right mind wanted to make Hogun angry. It had not taken very long and Hogun’s almost inhuman body strength became the source of many tales and stories.

Volund greeted his second born and grabbed his underarm in the traditional greeting. “The hunt was good, my son. Let me celebrate with my men under thy roof and bring good ale and hearty food. The boats are fine indeed but the cooking skills of my men are much to be desired.”

While Hogun went into the kitchen to personally fry a few Tyranno steaks for his father and the boat crew, Pit, one of the Freemen working for Hogun, served tankards of mead and ale.

The mood was merry and the food was good. The hours went on and Oddløg, celebrated for his expert harpooning that killed a Tri Halfer, was comfortably drunk as he staggered into the back to relieve himself.

While Hogun had spent considerable money to install modern Union grade recycler bathroom stalls and urinals, he had a hard time making the long time patrons use it. The old Vikings much rather went out in the back as they had done so many times before.

During Shortsummer it stank horribly despite the Gong Farmers, Lowmen paid by the Innkeepers to remove the disgusting mess left behind. Until recently the Lowmen had to use pick axes to break the frozen mess from the old Sea Wall that begun right behind the row of Inns and Taverns, of which Hogun’s Inn was one.

Hogun however paid one of his own employees and to clean a good section every day with a high pressure washer to keep the mess managed and placed big signs everywhere inviting them to use his modern toilets.

All this was of no concern to Oddløg, he had pissed against that Sea Wall behind the inn for as long as he could remember and he would do so tonight.

He was just about to relieve himself as a movement just out of his field of view made him turn his head. He laughed roughly, “Aye the spears and harpoons of Olafson warriors are legendary in size and length, are you ashamed of yours or why are you hide in the shadows?”

A woman, of all things, stepped into the yellowish light of an age old lumi plate glued to the back of a building. “Oh I remember the spears of the Olafsons; yours is rather pathetic.”

Of course the back of the Inns were frequented by the harlots and prostitutes of the lowest kind; seeking to earn a coin or two to support their usually fatherless families living at the outskirts of town. The Circle of Elders tried to prohibit it, but it was an open secret among the Freemen and the clan-born alike. However she didn’t really talk like one.

He said. “After I am done you better be gone or I tan your hide, harlot.”

“Of course you will and you one eyed bastard don’t even remember who I am.” She raised a small pen like device and something sharp pierced Oddløg’s skin right underneath his chin.

She came closer. Now he recognized the woman, it was Gretel.

She wore a red dress underneath her cloak and said, “What a fitting place for you to die. I had to hide in a barrel of piss to hide from your master, now you going to drown in it.”

Oddløg tried to reach for what stung him but he could not.

Gretel laughed, and said. “Go get him boys, he is all yours.”

A gang of ragged looking Lowmen peeled from the shadows, armed with clubs and pick axes.

They would have never dared attack a clan warrior in command of his strength. Yet Oddløg could not even lift a hand, his muscles felt like blubber, as the four Lowmen started to hit him.

He could not even yell for help or raise alarm and he fell face first into the the yellow snow and ice and saw his own blood flow and freeze. The last thing he heard was Gretel’s cold laugh, “You are only the first.”

No one could tell Volund where Oddløg was even after almost a month. No one had seen his right hand man. Now crime and murder were rare but not entirely uncommon. The Olafson’s had a fair share of enemies among the clans of the West and then of course there were the clans of the East, the pirates of the Black clan and there was Oddløg’s temper. He never could stay out of a fight, pass a brawl or not get mixed up in a duel. Volund was sure his friend had met his fate, or he would have shown up by now.

There was no police or anything like that on Nilfeheim except at the spaceport but the spaceport security could not and would not enforce the law beyond Union ground. Volund only noticed Oddløg missing after almost three days, as he had a serious hangover and suspected Oddløg to sleep his off in the bed of a Lowmen wench.

He did call the Union Clinic but Oddløg had not been there and had not been treated recently.

Volund felt the loss and was sad that he could not give his friend a decent burial.

But then the new burg had many warriors and Volund hoped that wherever Oddløg found his fate, he did it fighting and would be welcomed at the table of the Aesir.

What distraught him more were the reports that his son was no longer spending much time with Ilva but was seen almost daily flying to town and returning late.

That a man of his strength had a few concubines on the side was understandable, even though it was neither traditional nor proper. Volund himself had cheated a few times on his beloved wife while she was alive, a fact he regretted now.

But the good news were that Ilva was now pregnant. Hogun’s wife, who also was a midwife, told him the good news, after nature took his course and in about eight months there would be twins and if the midwife was right, one of the twins would be a boy.

While he was sure the Union Clinic could determine that for sure, there was no need to involve the Off-Worlders.

Volunt had just left the Inn, talking to Hogun, hoping he had news of Oddløg simply being sick or still drunk or perhaps nursing the bruises of a fight he lost.

Hogun, never known to be drunk, recalled the night and remembered Oddløg going for a piss, but could not recall seeing the old warrior coming back.

Hogun watched his father leave.

He remembered Oddløg well, from the time before he had left

Oddløg had a mean streak as wide as the behind of a pregnant Fangsnapper, but Hogun remembered him as being smarter than most, with a keen sense for trouble and very quick reflexes. True Oddløg was drunk, but not more than at any other time. If he would have died in a fight, there would be others wounded or injured as well.

He put his fur cape around his shoulders and said to Pit, one of his employees, “Take care of the place. I be back in a few hours.”

Pit simply nodded, but Pit never spoke unless absolutely necessary.

He went out the back, past the modern bathroom facilities he had just put in and proceeded to the so-called sea wall.

This was a tall dike kind of structure, erected by the first colonists that arrived on this, the largest open landmass on Nilfeheim. They did that bone breaking labor to protect the then small and only settlement on Bifrost, as they called this about Ireland sized island, from flooding.

Hogun, who had visited Earth and knew what the Ireland reference meant, smiled about the simple minds of his ancestors. Nilfeheim had no moons, and no tides. The ice that came in the long winter came from the existing water, the water level did not raise a single centimeter in Shortsummer.

There was no need for a seawall, millions of tons of rocks and concrete were used to build this great defense against, well, against nothing really.

Halstaad Fjord and the entire region from up the most northern tip of the island, called Ice Jättens Näsa where the small village of Honningsvåg was, all the way to Mount Asgard and the Mehir field was the land that Lars Erikson had claimed for himself and his family. No clan, no family of Nilfeheim had ever dared to claim this region, not even during the many clan wars.

An old burg-like structure North of the city, well mostly a big pile of rubble, had been erected when the first colonists actually arrived, long after Lars Erikson had died. Deep underneath that crumbled structure they had placed the stone coffin of the first and still only leader of all Nilfeheim. Above in the sealed hall, the legendary throne of Lars Erikson.

Hogun knew the story of Nilfeheim well, perhaps even better than the Elders themselves who suppressed and ignored much of it.

As strange at it might sound, he had learned more about Nilfeheim while he was away than he ever could on Nilfeheim itself. The Central Archive of the Union, held every piece of information ever written or recorded about Nilfeheim. While there was no one except perhaps the elusive and almost forgotten Keepers of Hasvik who kept an unbiased record of history.

Hogun loved this world but he no longer saw it as a Neo Viking but also as Union Citizen.

The seawall section here on the western side of the island separated the actual town of Halstaad Fjord from the sea harbor and the ocean port facilities.

Halstaad Fjord had grown much, even in the almost fiveteen years he had spent in his self-chosen exile. Over a million Freemen and an uncounted number of Lowmen. Hogun was certain at least another million was living in the small villages and towns dotting the island’s surface.

While Halstaad Fjord and Isen Lansby, the two largest settlements had something akin to a town council, there was no actual government for the entire planet other than the Circle of Elders. There were no social services, no police and no one ever asking for a census to find out how many that actually lived on the planet.

Hogun was convinced that none of the Elders or clan Lords really ever wanted a count to be done.

Such a result could technically make it to the Assembly or a Union Court, carried there by a member of the Lowmen, and maybe show that there were far more Lowmen than there were clan Families. Something that might put the so called Nilfeheim Exception in jeopardy.

Of course Nilfeheim was not the only Union member society with certain exceptions to Union laws, almost every society had some local conditions that did not entirely fit with Union laws. He understood concessions had to be made to make this magnificent multi culture society work.

Hogun sighed as he watched four men dressed in rags working with pick axes, hammers and shovels to remove the disgusting mess the patrons of the many Inns left behind.

Here on the sea-facing side of the big wall were many fishing and hunting related businesses. This part of town was called Harbor’s Row and between the shops and stores that offered tackle, nets, harpoons, ropes and all the many things seafaring vikings needed, were many of the traditional inns, taverns, guesthouses and pubs that catered to the tastes and needs of this rough clientele.

As far as Hogun knew, he was the only business on Harbor’s Row featuring indoor plumbing and bathrooms.

He walked up to the men. He recognized two of them and they knew him. They were called Gong Farmers but also much worse.

One of them removed the filthy piece of fur he had before his nose and mouth, now as Longnight was here, against the cold. The temperatures thankfully reduced the usual stench to a minimum. The thin man bowed. “Lord Olafson!!

“Dietmar, did I not tell you to simply call me Hogun? Why are you cleaning this by hand? Have I not purchased a modern pulse washer?”

“Yes, Hogun you have but we are cleaning this section for Arnhilf’s Tavern, he doesn’t have one.”

Hogun put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go get the pressure cleaner anytime you need it. Didn’t I give you money to buy real boots, an apron and a good filter mask?”

“Yes you did, but I used the money to feed my family. It lasted almost an entire month and we ate good.”

“Loki curse that stubborn council of Elders, these are conditions as bad as in the slums of N’Ger.”

Hogun dug a handful of Iridium coins out of his pocket, while the man asked, “The slums of what?”

“A place beyond Union Space with conditions that should not exist here on my own home world.”

Hogun knew he made no sense to the man, as he would have made no sense to anyone local and handed the man a size able sum of money. “Here, you and your friends go to Friesenheim’s or Silverhawk’s, and buy the things I asked you to get before. Then you get my power cleaner and clean the whole stinking wall from up there, all the way down to Messmer’s restaurant. You will work for me and I pay you each the usual hourly wages. That should keep you guys busy for the foreseeable future and your families fed. The deal is off if I see you without the gear I want you to have, understood?”

Dietmar grinned broadly. “You are the only Lord who cares about us for sure.”

“What I actually came out here for is to ask if you have seen a fight, or a dead body someone asked you to take away?”

“Not a fight Sir, and we haven’t removed any dead bodies since Eklund the Barber asked us to dispose one, but that was still during Shortsummer.”

One of his still partially masked companion said with his voice muffled behind the piece of fur, “There was a lot of frozen blood right behind your Inn just a few days ago.” He leaned forward. “The Nubhir gang gave us half a bit, to clean it up. I found this.”

The man held up a brass claps, it featured the Olafson wolfs head engraved into it.

Hogun was not entirely surprised by that. He somehow expected to hear Oddløg had been killed right behind his tavern. The question was, why it was done in an ambush and not in an open fight. He thanked the men and urged them to do what he asked them to do.

He was just contemplating what to do when a big bellied Neo Viking stepped before him. The man was Arnhilf, the proprietor of the tavern with the same name and technically competition to Hogun.

Arnhilf gestured to the Lowmen walking off the job and said with an angry tone, “I hired that vermin to clean that stinky mess.”

“And I hired them to clean the whole damn wall with proper tools and gear. These are Nilfeheimers just as you and me and not vermin!”

“You must have lost some of your mind while you were gone. These are Lowmen.”

“Do you know where Freemen and Lowmen actually come from? Do you know none of your ancestors came to this world aboard the colonist arks? No my friend, your roots and theirs are from the slaves and hostages our pirating ancestors brought back from all the colonies they raided.”

Arnhilf shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. They are Lowmen, I am not. However since you pay them to clean the entire wall, let me get in on some of the cost. I am thinking of getting toilets like you do, have you figured out yet how to make them use them?”

Hogun sighed. “No, not yet. Did you know the Nubhirs are back doing shady business back here?”

Arnhilf shook his head. “Didn’t the Elders send warriors last year to stomp out that gang?”

“Apparently not. This is the problem with our society. No police.”

“This is what is good about our society. We don’t need Off World law, but we should simply put a torch to the entire South Side of Halstaad.”

Hogun knew how difficult it was to eliminate groups like the Nubhir Gang. Jobs like that were the bread and butter of Rathuur’s Brigands. Eliminating such elements from fringe world colonies.

Here on Nilfeheim it would be almost impossible, as the Nubhir gang usually preyed only on the Lowmen and only occasionally bothered the Freemen. Why they attacked and killed an armed warrior was disturbing, but Oddløg was drunk and maybe clubbed before he could defend himself or raise alarm. His gear most likely sold and the body dumped somewhere.

It wasn’t a big or very influential gang but, as much as the Elders tried to cover it up and deny it existed, there was prostitution and with it came the usual element of pimps and shady characters.

Since there was no police or anything like that, he decided to go to the South End himself. It was a longshot of course but if Oddløg got murdered behind his Inn, he wanted to make sure, nothing like it happened again.

Until recently going to town used to be a long trip with an ice skimmer boat, but the Ragnarsson burg came with three expensive Arti Grav Skimmers and Volund loved using the expensive and luxurious Volvo. All the rich clan Chiefs had fliers and usually the expensive kind.

As he landed in the burg’s spacious courtyard he noticed the big GM flier Isegrim his son more or less had made his own.

Near the big General Motors flier lingered a man, all dressed in gray. There were many faces he didn’t know but Volund remembered seeing the man several times in the company of Isegrim.

“Servant speak quick, have you seen my son?”

“Aye Sire, he is down at the submarine pen, most likely using the bunk of the lead boat with his guest.”

“What guest?”

The man had a pointed nose and his dark eyes gleamed with a strange fire as he said, “Lord Volund, do not let me be the bearer of such news. I spoke too much already”

“Tell me!”

“A woman that is not his wife. Her name is Gretel Hemstaad.”

Volund actually grabbed the man by the collar.

“It cannot be! Tell me all you know or die!”

“Unhand me Sir. I am neither thy servant, nor thy slave. Your son is bedding a woman that is not his wife and he does it right here on the burg for many days now. He is using the bunks in the fishing boats, everyone knows.”

Despite his boiling anger, he still noticed that there was something eerily familiar about the man he assumed was a servant of the Ragnarssons.

Volund let the man go, hot rage knotting his stomach.

“Does Ilva know”

“She is pregnant and I doubt anyone had the heart to tell her, Sire.”

Then he almost whispered. “Does Erik Gustav know?”

“You are the steward, of this rock but it is the Burg of Ragnarsson and there are many eyes and ears. It should be assumed that little happens between this walls that is not eventually carried to his ears, but for now he is far away.”

Volund stomped towards the stair house and the long flight of steps that led down to the submarine pen. “Let us end this madness, before he returns and hears about it. Bring a weapon and tell my thy name.

“I am Harkun, Sire.” Again there was a very odd expression on the strange man’s face as he answered.

Volund was too enraged to ask more questions. The Olafson clan Chief did not want to go back to his crumbling burg, cast out in shame before all Nilfeheim. He had tasted the power and the wealth of Ragnarsson.

Isegrim had sworn in the presence of the Elders to honor and cherish his bride and be as true as Balder himself.

Oaths and promises done upon the Spear of Odin in front of all the Elders were perhaps the most sacred custom of all Nilfeheim. If word came before the Elders or Erik Gustav all that was won would be lost.

The flight of stairs was long and steep. Steps made of Duro Crete wound down to sea level, almost 200 meters. And he did make it to the last landing, as he saw Isegrim standing there at the bottom of the stairs.

“By Odin where is the wench? She escaped the sword the last time, but by the Gods she will not see the light of day again. And you son will learn that you are not too old to feel my hand like you never felt it before.”

Isegrim simply laughed, “Soon I am the Lord of the clan. Your time has come old man. I won’t be a mere steward, I will be master.

She is not here, but she was part of this trap we set for you.”

Someone pushed Volund from behind with great force and he lost his footing; only now did he notice the shimmering fat smeared over the next steps, there was nothing to hold on, no hand rail. He fell and tumbled down the stairs, Isegrim stepping aside to kick his father, who had survived the stumble more stunned than truly hurt, but like a mad man Isegrim did not let up and kept kicking his father.

The person who had pushed him came into Volund’s view, it was the tall gray-dressed man, holding a hammer of war. “I am Harkun, Father. Born in wedlock to a Freewoman you knew as Hildigunn. A woman you raped. I am a bastard aye, but I am your son.

The stranger brought down the hammer in a bone crushing blow onto Volund’s legs. “My mother, shunned by her family and shamed, killed herself!”

Another blow. Volund groaned in mind numbing pain.

“Not like this! I want to fight!”

Isegrim uncoiled a steel cable. “Remember the whip father? I had this made especially for you and carried it for this day. We know you would come and waited for you.”

The whip snapped across Volund’s raised arms.

Harkun brought down the hammer again. “You die by the hands of your Sons. Beaten to death like a mangy Nubhir wolf.”

The next blow broke Volund’s skull and the clan Chief of the Olafsons died with a wet gurgling sound.

Isegrim clasped Harkun’s arm. “I am clan Chief now and as soon as my dear betrothed wife gives me the son she bears, I kill her and the child and inherit it all. Then my brother, I marry the one I truly love and you will be raised to prominence and I give you the Olafson Burg that is now vacant and much of Ragnarsson riches for your own clan to rise.”

“We shed the blood of our Sire together, brother. I will serve you and be your man servant, for no one shall know my heritage until that day you make true of your word.”

Isegrim uncorked a big bottle of ale and poured a generous helping over the bloody heap that was once was his own father. “He really should have been more careful on those slippery stairs while drinking all this Ale.”

Hogun had left his sturdy flier at Halgrav’s, the construction supply yard of a family of stone masons that had become rich on a world of burgs and stone buildings. Manfred Halgrav, the current owner, was the only man that came close once to beating Hogun in an arm wrestling match, back when they both went to Union school and had been friends ever since.

After a little chat with his old friend, he walked towards South Down. Here, past the few industrial yards with high fences and vicious Nubhir wolves guarding premises, began the part of Halstaad Fjord few Neo Viking really knew existed and none ever really frequented.

Despite the fact that a thick blanket of snow covered most of the misery, it was still a dirty place that did not really belong on Nilfeheim.

A woman, her trade obvious by the pink dyed fur came closer. “Four bits get you a night you never forget, big man.”

“If you can tell me where the Nubhir gang hangs out, I give you a bit.”

He did not see more than her eyes behind the pink fur mask. “You are a Lord. Asking such questions could mean serious trouble, but you might find them at the Freya’s Veil a little further down the street.”

He handed her an Iridium coin and went on.

As he turned to see where she went, she was nowhere to be seen.

The place was indeed not hard to miss, as he noticed perhaps the only neon colored light sign on Nilfeheim, outside the spaceport. An animated woman went through a series of suggestive dance moves, flickered and repeated the sequence. A sturdy metal door below that sign.

As he entered and stomped the snow off his boots, about a dozen characters turned to see who let in the cold draft that brushed through the dense atmosphere of cheap booze, body odor and the sickly sweet aroma of some kind of smoke that was certainly not Terran type tobacco.

During his travels he had been in places like this many times, finding it on Nilfeheim however was something that disturbed his Neo Viking soul to the core.

A Lowman openly wearing a Thompson E blaster stepped into his way. “What’s a Lord snooping around South Down? Asking questions about Nubhirs. You are not looking for the big four legged ones, right?”

The man rested his hand on the blaster. “You better go back. Swords and axes don’t cut it here.”

Hoguns hand darted forward and clasped around the man’s throat. “I could squeeze that ugly thing you call a head right off your shoulders, before you even get a chance to draw that Thompson halfway out its holster.”

With his other hand, Hogun brushed aside his coat and drew a Bo-Zap III and pointed it at another man who had begun to draw something. “Go ahead, pull it.”

While Hogun was known to be gentle and friendly to all, he had returned to the planet of his birth wanting to escape the evil things he had done and the filth he had seen. Finding it here was making him angrier by the moment, and as much as he tried not to succumb to the old Olafson rage.

He now noticed the man he held by the throat was not moving, he tossed the limp body, when a sharp distinctive crack of a Kermac Line blaster and a blinding flash burned a man concealed behind a curtain that hung before a doorway, perhaps to the kitchen.

The curtain had caught fire as the man still holding a spear gun dropped to the floor.

Hogun whirled around, cursing himself for making such a rookie mistake.

There stood a tall thin man with a face that looked as if an unskilled artist chiseled it out of a piece of rock. The man did not wear local costume, but a dark purple leather suit with a criss crossing leather harness, and an old but well kept Union Fleet issue Officer’s Coat without any rank insignia. Hogun knew that angular harsh looking face well. “Carl?”

Ignoring the barkeeper throwing a bucket of water on the burning curtain and the rest of the local vermin, the man came close. “That steel poker gun might have even pierced you, big man. Why don’t you finish whatever business got you in here and then we have a drink and talk.”

Hogun was as surprised as pleased to see that man. “Aye let’s do that.”

He approached the bar keeper. “If you don’t want the Elders sending warriors to raze this dung hole to the ground, tell me who leads the Nubhir gang.”

The bald man was wearing a smudgy apron was horrified by the huge man. “Lord. Uwe was the man you grabbed, he was the leader.”

Carl grinned as he crossed his arms. “Seems you haven’t changed all that much. Your interrogation technique hasn’t improved that’s for sure.”

Hogun looked around, the man and everyone but the bar owner was gone.

He signed and said to the bar man. “Those Nubhirs are involved in the disappearance of a clan warrior, you tell them the Elders will hear about it and their days are numbered.”

He then turned to the man named Carl and said. “Let us go. I have a tavern of my own. It’s cleaner and then you tell me why you are here on Nilfeheim of all places.”

The news of Volund’s death traveled fast, two Elders did arrive an entire day later. They examined the body and the stairs. They noticed the broken bottle and the strong smell of Ale and Aquavit and declared the death a tragic accident and confirmed that Isegrim indeed was in line to be the next clan Chief of the Olafson clan.

This part of Isegrim’s plan went well and he did act like a grieving son should, but the rest did not go as planned.

The Elders confirmed that Volund and Erik Gustav did make a witnessed contract to make the yet unborn son the heir of it all and the contract only named Volund as the steward and made no mention of Isegrim.

All bank accounts were closed to him and the Ragnarsson Warriors, Freemen and Servants refused to obey his commands until the situation was settled.

Erik Gustav Ragnarsson himself was already on his way from distant Pluribus to be present at the birth of his grandchildren.

Of course the old scion of the Ragnarssons was informed about the accident and sent message he would take matters in hand as soon as he arrived.

As Isegrim wanted to visit his pregnant wife, he noticed two big Ragnarsson Warriors, Reinhold and Orkning, standing outside his wife’s chambers, each of them resting their gloved fists on large swords and wearing full Warrior’s dress. Both men were known to be among the finest swordsmen, second perhaps only to Erik Gustav himself.

Isegrim growled at them.

“What is this? I have not ordered any guards, remove thyself. These are my wife’s chambers and these premises are the realm of the clan Chief alone. Now begone!”

Reinhold’s fist made a creaking sound as it slowly gripped the hilt.

“Oh aye, Isegrim of the Olafsons this is indeed the realm of the clan chief but thine is it not. The true lord of this burg may command us, until he declares you the steward, thy commands are not ours to obey.”

Orkning moved his hand over the hilt as well.

“You can of course seek dominion and lordship over us the old Viking way and challenge us. Oh aye Isegrim, fight one of us and succeed and the rest of Ragnarsson will follow you.”

Isegrim was strong, but never practiced the old skills. He was a decent harpooner and he gained skill with the cable whip he loved. But deep down and past all his bluster and bravado he was coward and snorted, “It is good my wife’s chambers are guarded after all and Erik Gustav is only days away.” Isegrim leaned forward and said. “I will be master of this burg and then your fate will change.”

“We are Free Warriors Isegrim, we can choose and decide to challenge you at any time. Rest assured our step is surefooted and you won’t find us on slippery stairs.”

Isegrim clenched his fists and passed the two warriors and entered Ilva’s chambers.

He had to admit even pregnant she was a beauty of no compare. Deep down he wondered himself why he was still drawn to Gretel.

The Nubhir hide scrubber’s daughter had returned and was even more voluptuous than before. She was vulgar and had an abrasive, demanding character. Ilva on the other hand was gentle and loving and always proper.

Gretel had been gone for years; then a letter reached him, perfumed and on real paper, wanting to meet him at the spaceport.

He went, perhaps more out of curiosity and as he saw her and after a drink they had together he realized he was deeply and madly in love with Gretel. At least this was how he described this burning desire to to do what Gretel wanted, it had to be love. Nothing else made a man act like such a fool.

He told Ilva his version of the events and she condoled him by embracing him in her soft arms, believing every word he lied to her.

In her arms he even felt more confused about his strange attraction to Gretel.

He caressed Ilva’s golden hair. It was soft and had a shine of gold. Gretel’s hair did not feel like this and it had the color of dirty straw.

“Say my beloved wife, how are things with you then? Do you feel well?”

“Quite so Isegrim, the babies are doing fine. Your brother’s wife is a good midwife.”

“How long do you think?”

“Freydis thinks it is due early October, but I think it will happen right in the middle of that month.”

It was August already and, only two maybe three months at most. When his son was born and had his naming day, he inherited everything according to the pact Volund and Erik Gustav made.

So all he had to do was kill his son and by default inherit it all.

Of course he had to kill Ilva too but that is what Gretel wanted anyway and then she could move to the Burg and be his wife.

Carl was sitting at the family table in Hogun’s Inn.

Hogun came out of the kitchen and placed a truly huge plate before the man.

“This is called a Viking Shield and is my most popular dish. Grilled Tyranno Fin steak, crisp fried Fangsnapper loin strips, mashed seaweed buds, fresh Nilfeheim bread. That bowl in the middle filled with Tyranno Fin stew, dig in!”

“You tell me one single human being can eat that? It’s enough to feed a family of Boloth.”

“I just had one for breakfast.”

Hogun also served a big mug of beer. “This Olafson Ale, my own family makes it.”

Carl started eating and rolled his eyes. “Oh sweet Lord, this is good.”

Hogun also sat down and put his elbows on the table and watched with pride as his Off World friend ate with obvious delight. “Now if it is not my business tell me, but I am sure surprised to run into you. It doesn’t surprise me that it was South Down where we met, but you on Nilfeheim?”

Carl tried to manage a huge chunk of meat, he had just forked into his mouth. He held up his hand while he was chewing.

Hogun grinned and took a sip of his own mug of ale.

Finally Carl swallowed and pointed at the meat. “You could make a killing with that on the XChange you know.”

He too took a swallow of the Ale and grimaced. “This stuff on the other hand is, no offense to your family, only good for cleaning deckplates.”

“It’s an acquired taste. I get you some Holstein Pilsner.”

Carl nodded. “A cold beer, yes that be the thing.”

Hogun and Carl were alone; at this hour even the most persistent patrons had staggered home. Solken, the local sun, was already lingering behind the distant horizon, too distant to really brighten the day or to lessen the freezing conditions.

Carl said. “I ran into your old gang about six standard month ago. Ever since we took down the Renegade Dai on Saragon together we are sort of friends, but you know that of course as it was you who saved my bacon.”

Hogun placed a big tankard of cold beer on the table. “Yes I remember.”

“Well Rathuur told me that you are no longer with them and quit the Merc business for good.”

Curt stuffed another piece of meat in his mouth, this time not big enough to make him stop talking. “About eight weeks ago, I tracked a Shaill drug dealer with a sizeable bounty to a planet in the neighborhood. Anyway I completed the contract, but what Rathuur told me about you kept make me think if it wasn’t time for me to quit that business as well.

You know that rolling stone existence is getting old. Always on the move with no place to call home.

Long story short, since I was in the neighborhood and remembered you telling me about Nilfeheim, I decided to drop by and maybe stay a while perhaps even for good.”

Hogun spread his hands. “It’s not the most exciting place and what we have in terms of nightlife you already know, but if you look for a place, this cold ball of ice has its charms.”

Carl pointed at the plate he actually had almost finished. “None of the least very good food.”

“Got a place to stay?”

“Well I have my things at the local Portel and had some fun with a girl all in furs last night. I was planning to find a local real estate agent today.”

“We don’t have real estate agents on Nilfeheim. There is a list of places for rent or sale posted in the Town Hall, but this Inn of mine is big, and there is a spacious apartment under the roof. Nothing fancy, very basic tech but clean and comes with board, the kitchen is always open.”