Völmung left Heiðrrán after only two days. During that time, dark rumours and gossip fluttered from house to house, as the people gazed on him with either suspicion, or a strange sort of fascination. His face, when Sigrún had the chance to see it in the light of day, rather than cast in the shadows of twilight was far more masculine and daunting than she had originally thought it to be. She was not alone among the village-girls to think him handsome, for though his face was long and his nose somewhat long, there was a regal air to his face and a nobility to his features. But if he captivated more than one village-girl, they failed to impress him for he was to remain distant and distracted.
Though, the men took an equal if different sort of interest in him, they were to find him likewise distant if less cold. It was only Birgir who hosted him, who dared to speak to him when it was not necessary so as to ask of him, "I do hope that you have found our accommodations more than satisfactory, we are not accustomed to hosting guests."
"They have been more than satisfactory, I must confess I must be a poor guest, it has been some time since I have been in the company of those other than myself." Völmung replied at once, as he sat at their table.
"You need not be silent, or reluctant to call upon any of us, for anything at all!" Birgir's wife said to him, eager to set him at ease, "You helped to save our son Dain, and for that we owe you more than mere hospitality."
It was in this spirit that though he left with little other than the possessions of Helgi, strapped to two mules and his own on his person, he left with a great deal of warmth for Birgir's family.
Leaving in the dead of night, he departed ere any such as Sigrún or Gertrud, or any other grateful woman of the village might waylay him, and load him down with gifts of gratitude. What was left unsaid by the grateful, was that he might have departed to avoid the kindred of the eight who had died, some of whom bore ill-will for their deaths. None more so than the lady Fríða, who had lost her younger brother Aghi and felt bitterness against, all those around her who had participated in the hunt, and survived.
"They ought to hunt that stranger and pursue him, to his death," Fríða took to grumbling to any who might listen to her, in the days that followed.
Most tried, they truly did and none more so than Gertrud. She spent day after day, with the other middle-aged woman, and her newly widowed good-sister (who was rather more wan than furious). Gertrud and Gertrud alone would visit them, offering to care for their children notably those of Aghi's widow Hrafnhildr.
When she was not visiting with Aghi's broken family, Gertrud fussed over her daughter, saying often to her, "You should never have gone out there, to battle alongside the men! Look at your shoulder; this never would have happened had you kept away from the hunt. Really, between that and the eight who were slain in the battle, this is too horrible to think about!"
None of this though, was of any great concern to Sigrún who preoccupied herself with escaping her mother's presence, by spending ever more time practicing with a new spear in Thormundr's courtyard. She also spent a great deal of time poring over his library for a time, if only to learn more about the histories of Norvech. It was the poems and songs of the old line that had once ruled over the land of Norvech, and had triumphed it was at one time believed, over the enemies of all men and Elves, in the Wars of Darkness.
This interest of hers, was one shared by the likes of Thorgils much to her irritation, as there were times when she would have preferred to be spared his company. His and Auðun's, since both had a preference to hover over her or attempt to find exactly what it was that she was reading.
"It must be related to the Darkspire," Auðun would guess, as he drew near to her side as she read next to the still sleeping Gyða.
"No, Auðun it is but an ancient history of the line of Völsung," Sigrún answered him.
"Oh, I had thought you might well be finished with that tome," He replied disappointed every time. "Are you quite finished with the scrolls of Mundi?"
"I am only half of the way through the history of the Völsungs," Sigrún replied turning back to her reading.
"But it has been a whole two days since you borrowed it."
Sigrún at those words could not keep from feeling a certain amusement, as she muttered almost more to herself, "I doubt there is anyone who reads half so quickly as yourself, Auðun."
At those words, Auðun flushed scarlet with the young woman returning to her reading, while nibbling at some bread that her stepbrother had brought her but a few hours prior. Her reading was slowed by the continuous glances she threw in the direction of her foster-sister Gyða who continued to rest.
According to Thormundr, she should recover from the wounds inflicted upon her, though it would take some time. These words were a comfort to Sigrún who devoted herself, to ensuring the other woman had all that she might desire, while she slept, even going so far as to clean her.
"Sigrún, up to what point in the histories have you reached?" Auðun asked of her, interrupting her thoughts.
"Um, er let me see," Sigrún replied looking down at the worn blue backed volume that was almost in piece, pulling it up from her lap she swiftly searched through the pages before her. "Just before the Second Wars of Darkness, when the old Völsungs Kings returned under King Brynjarr."
"A remarkable King Brynjarr was," Auðun praised, and he might well have said more had he not been distracted by the sudden shouts that burst into the room, not unlike an uninvited guest.
Both of them were alarmed by the sound, and exchanged a startled glance. Throwing aside the book, onto the nearby table Sigrún was to follow after Thormundr's apprentice.
The shouts and cries erupted from the entrance of the keep, where they discovered Thormundr in the midst of a heated argument with the likes of Thorgils and Guðleifr. The three of them were shouting all at once, by the time the two youngest currently within the castle arrived thereupon the scene.
"What has happened?" Sigrún wondered.
To her relief Thormundr overheard her words and pointed an accusatory finger, in the direction of Thorgils, "This thief has held onto the map!"
"Which map?" Auðun queried confused.
"The Darkspire map you imbecile!" Thormundr snarled furiously, at which time he held up in his other hand, the yellowed, rolled paper he had just seized from his guards. "This in spite of the terrible danger and death it brought down upon Helgi and those of his house!"
"I merely wished to present it to you, as I was not entirely certain that it was the Darkspire map," Thorgils stammered adding.
"Do not lie to me boy," the sorcerer snapped at him.
Thorgils' face fell, wherefore he replied, "I had suspicions certainly however I was not entirely convinced."
"I still think we ought to burn the map," Guðleifr grunted joining also into the argument, to the immense annoyance of those around him. "It is far too dangerous, given the number of people who have died that the serpent-men may claim it."
"You are right father, I simply wished to confirm it was what we believed it to be," Thorgils said at once, with a sheepish look on his face.
"What other map could it have been?" Auðun demanded a hint of sarcasm in his voice, as he at last interrupted the debate between the three men.
"I am aware that it could well be the map, which that stranger spoke of, however given Helgi's vehemence I did not know whether it was the map or not." Thorgils retorted evenly, a glare thrown in his friend's direction.
"Enough of this argument," Thormundr snapped only to rub at his temple, "Auðun is quite right that it ought to have been burnt from the very beginning."
It appeared as though all would soon be resolved. They would burn the map, and all would return to their sleepy lives, with Auðun resuming his apprenticeship, Völmung to inform Helgi the Younger of his grandfather's passing, and Sigrún to continue to care for her foster-sister.
However, there was more to the situation now than any of them might have previously realised. It was Sigrún who realised first, exactly what the trouble was with burning such an artefact.
"Wait, I do not think that would be wise," She said suddenly with a sudden burst of awareness, they all turned to stare at her. "Were those Collubars all there was left of their people? Völmung said that he had pursued them from the north."
It was Auðun who realised what it was that she was worried over, first and he who said with visible distress, "I am not so certain at all that there could be more of those serpent-men!"
"Wait, do you mean to say that there might be more?" Guðleifr asked no less stricken and worried by the implications of this suspicion that had crept up on her.
"We cannot be certain," Thormundr decided firmly, tugging at his long beard he was to round upon the youths. "I must consult with the Order; the danger that menaces us over this map has outgrown my abilities."
"But if there are more of those beasts, they will seek to avenge their kindred, and we would have an obligation towards Helgi and his to avenge them in turn!" Sigrún said with some heat.
"But we do not know this for certain," Auðun objected at once.
"Enough, I shall consult with the heads of the Order, such as Shaltair and shall return in due time," Thormundr snapped wearily, "For now Thorgils, Guðleifr you two shall prepare supper. As to you Auðun, you shall look through the library in search of all that you might know not only about these Collubars, but also the old Kings."
"What of myself?" Sigrún asked, "I wish to be of assistance."
"You can be, by taking care of Gyða," Thormundr told her with such exaggerated patience that she felt some measure of uncertainty as to whether he meant those words.
She hoped it was not that he merely intended to humour her; she might have assumed it was so, were it not for Guðleifr who added with a small smile. "And you may help, with thy sister."
It was on the tip of Sigrún's tongue to say that Thormundr had already tasked her, with the caring for Gyða, when of course a great cry interrupted her thoughts and the moment between them all. It was Myrgjǫl, who had newly arrived, having only just escaped her mother who ordinarily kept a stern eye on her.
In recent days, she had given over the supervision of the girl to Hildr, and even on another day Wolffish that he might teach her to fish. Both of them were fond of the girl, and were always keen to teach her what they knew of their craft. Though, in the case of the former she sought often to teach the girl to bring men their meals and drinks, and to help in the kitchens with the cooking and baking. Both tasks that were important, and that all in the village and attached a great deal of importance to.
"She must be supervised, less she find her way into some trouble or other," Guðleifr said having seen her rushing up the stairs from his place near the top of the stairwell.
Barely repressing their smiles as Myrgjǫl leapt up, and began jabbering at some length as one might say, on and on about how well she had done with the fishing nets by the sea. The men were to direct her to her sister, who looked on with open dismay.
Only Thorgils was to become troubled by this reaction on her part, he was to later complain about her reluctance to help care for Myrgjǫl.
That night saw Sigrún liberated from her sister's company, much to her relief as the girl was sent home to Gertrud, with Guðleifr carrying her on his shoulders. This after her mother's husband had cast his stepdaughter a disapproving glance, at her visible relief to be rid of Myrgjǫl. It happened that shortly after he had departed for his home, Thormundr chose to depart himself. Taking some time to do so, as he was a man fond of his own comfort, who disliked travel and the discomforts that came with it, Auðun's master was to halt many times at the door.
Stopping his departure five times as he checked on this or that detail, he was to draw on his head the exasperated complaint from his pupil. "Master would you prefer that I go in place of thee? You have halted in thy attempts to leave the fort too many times, just go if such is thy intention. The road awaits and it shall not wait for very long, for the doubters and the lazy."
The impatience in his voice and the exasperation in his words struck the old man who harrumphed, never very fond of his pupil he grumbled. "You have no right to scold me, you who have never left this village."
Auðun's cheeks turned scarlet as he risked a glance in Sigrún's direction, with the young woman no less weary of the constant false departures of his master. So that she interrupted the argument, "Just go Thormundr all shall be as you have left it upon thy return. Except for in one regard; we shall make certain that there is some wine from Gallia taken out from the wine-cellar, and a deer from the forest hunted and prepared for thee shortly after your return."
"Which shall be hopefully within a month or two," Thormundr grumbled only to add with a small grateful smile, "But thank you my dear, I greatly look forward to such simple pleasures."
And so he left, if against his will.
Neither Sigrún, nor Auðun said a word at his departure. The first to break the silence was the latter, who proposed that they continue their earlier conversation inside.
Wearied, Sigrún was to prefer to retire to her foster-sister's chambers to continue to care for her, leaving only to help with the preparing of supper for the three of them.
Though, relations were to prove to be less than chilly, there was nonetheless an awkwardness that existed between Auðun and her. So that life together in the fort, was quiet if distant, with Sigrún and him hardly ever speaking.
The next great incident, took place late at night, after she had made certain to see off her stepfather, who had told her, "I will send Thorgils away right after supper."
"But of course," Sigrún agreed, at once with a shrug.
Staring at her, Guðleifr was to hesitate on the doorstep of the high-walled fort with a visible sense of dissatisfaction. "You really ought to follow hither before long."
"What? Why would I do that?" Sigrún wondered confused.
"Thy mother has begun to fret, and the neighbours are whispering once more, as many of them are wont to do when left to their own devices." Guðleifr retorted evenly, with a troubled expression on his face.
Irritably she grunted, "What whispers?"
"Whispers regarding being alone with Auðun, for an extended period of time," Guðleifr informed her unhappily.
The news was a surprise to Sigrún, who was to flush scarlet at this revelation that the village, had begun to murmur and grumble about her time spent in Thormundr's home. No less discomfited than he was, she was to ask of him, "What of my mother? Has she heard these whispers?"
Guðleifr remained silent.
Sigrún was troubled by this inadvertent admission. Unhappy, she hoped that her mother might believe her at this time, given that the sole reason she had chosen to stay in the fort was to help care for Gyða.
Plagued by these thoughts she was to return to her foster-sister's room, where she found the older girl still sleeping. It was when she left to fetch a bit of mulled wine from the cellar, she was to leap when she heard Auðun crying out her name.
"Sigrún! Sigrún! Come quickly, hurry!" He yelled from the top of the stairs, after she had been in the cellar searching for several minutes, for one of the smaller bottles of wine of Thormundr.
"Pardon?"
"It is Gyða! Do cease tarrying!" Auðun shouted from up at the top of the staircase, with the young woman doing as he called on her to do.
Full of worry for her foster-sister's health Sigrún was to throw herself, up the stairs past the kitchens, and a myriad of other halls and stairs, to the second floor of the keep. Fearing the worst, she had expected to discover her sister having passed away or on the verge of choking on her own spittle, or some such terrible fate. What Sigrún had not expected, was to discover that her sister was in fact, awake. Calling out her name in desperation as she threw the door open, she was left panting and gaping, as she looked on at the two startled figures within.
It was once she burst into the bed-chambers of the other woman that she found Auðun in the midst of lifting the older woman's head, that she might take a sip of wine.
"What has happened? Why are you wearing that frightened look, Sigrún?" Auðun asked of her staring in bewilderment.
He was not alone, as Gyða looked on with a similar look on her face, just before relief climbed up to her eyes, "Sigrún?"
"What do you mean?" Sigrún asked flabbergasted, by her friend's question.
"Gyða has awakened," Auðun informed her cheerily, still a little surprised at her sudden entrance in the older woman's bedchambers.
The news so pleased Sigrún that she was to find it difficult to find the appropriate words to celebrate the moment. Amused by this, it was to be Auðun who was to generously offer to go find food for the two women.
It was just as he left that Sigrún looked over to her foster-sister, having resumed her previous seat which had been abandoned by Auðun also. It was with a bit of disappointment that she found that her foster-sister had fallen once more asleep.
The rest that Gyða fell into was of a different nature from the previous. This was proven shortly after the rooster crowed the next day, with Sigrún awakening to find her friend hissing at her. Hungry, the older woman was to ask of her.
"Sigrún? Can you bring me some food?" The request was one that surprised the still bleary-eyed fisherwoman's daughter.
"But of course," She agreed at once even as she reminded herself of the previous day.
It was after several days that she was to be confronted by a complaint, she had not fathomed was in the works. It was Gertrud who visited her early in the morn' several days after Gyða had re-awakened, arriving in Gyða's bedchambers to complain to her. "Why do you insist on staying here, Sigrún?"
"Mother, I am here merely to aid with Gyða," Sigrún answered with exaggerated patience, deep down exasperated by her mother's pestering of her.
No less impatient, Gertrud was to refuse to attempt to hide though, "Gyða has awakened, and has Auðun to care for her."
"But he is a man," Sigrún insisted, "And he hardly knows her, he will necessitate assistance in caring for her."
"Yes, but Sigrún it is no less improper for you to stay with him, without being wedded to him than it is for him to see to undressing her and caring for her wounds." Gertrud persisted impatiently, as she rubbed at her elbows and lifted her chin up in defiance.
There was something in her words, in the manner in which she stamped her foot that was reminiscent of a bull, preparing to charge. It was a thought that greatly displeased her daughter who had the notion that her mother ought not to meddle, in her affairs.
Her behaviour mystified her daughter, who could not help but feel irritated, "I am helping where I am most needed."
"Sigrún, I am certain it feels that way, however where you are truly most needed is with thy own family," Gertrud snapped her anger beginning to show itself. "I do not ask very much from you-"
"But you do mother," Sigrún interrupted, "You ask me to turn my back on Helgi and his kindred."
"That is not at all what I am asking of thee," Gertrud responded, genuinely upset at her words.
It happened that Myrgjǫl chose that moment to race over hither, having seen her mother hurrying away from the village; in the direction of the fort she had at once wished to follow after her. Myrgjǫl was keen to play with Auðun, who was always happy to have her near the fort and eager to read old stories to her, or to play with her.
Distracted by her youngest daughter, she was to momentarily forget the reason for which she had come to visit Thormundr's fort. The younger girl was to try as always to capture and keep the attention of her mother, who struggled to divide her attention between the two. No less annoyed by Myrgjǫl, than her mother was Sigrún, was to turn away and return to her foster-sister's side.
The days that followed saw Sigrún spend time with her foster-sister, who slowly regained her strength, with the other woman refusing to speak of what she had seen. Still strongly affected by the events from several days before, Gyða was to when pressed refuse to speak of it. Preferring to speak only of her desire to return to Helgi's home, or of day to day affairs, Gyða remained resolved never to address the concerns of those around her.
The weeks passed in this manner, carrying on into the cold months with Sigrún assisting if reluctantly so, in the catching, carrying and gutting of fish. Doing so against her will, as her mother came to complain ever more often until at last Thorgils lost patience. "Only that hag Fríða complains along with mayhaps Baggi's wife, and all men and women with an ounce of sense in their heads pay them no mind, where Sigrún is concerned."
"Thorgils, do keep out of this matter, it does not concern you," Gertrud was to hiss at him, as they stood near to the entrance of the fort.
"It may not, however as you were the one who requested to accompany me to the fort, you have made it so that I must be concerned." Thorgils retorted throwing his hands in the air, "Sigrún should assist you I have no argument with that, but as the matter stands she is the sole person Gyða knows. Therefore, if she sets the still often panic-stricken girl at ease, who are we to argue against it or seek to tear the two apart?"
Much as she might have preferred to argue against the end result that occurred, after several more minutes of arguing and debating with them, Sigrún was soon volunteered against her will to aid as a fisherwoman. The work was hardly difficult, and required little in the way of discipline or strength she was not already accustomed to, as a Shieldmaiden. The only trouble was that it meant hours away from Gyða, and a great deal more time spent with her mother and younger sister. Time that felt ill-spent, if she was honest with herself.
Her mood was made all the fouler by the sound of hooves echoed from outside the keep, thundering up from outside and into every bedchamber within. It happened that she was hardly alone in noticing this oddity, as more than one person complained of sleeping poorly, and of how no one could find the horses that had produced the noise.
The only person, whom Sigrún was to enjoy the company of at this time, was the Wolffish who often worked alongside Gertrud, and laughed as easily as he swore, or slaughtered Collubars. A tune always on his lips, he considered the matter with Helgi to be concluded and was happy to return to plying his trade.
On one particular day, as they worked to dig a hole in the ice whereupon they fished through it for fresh fish one line at a time, he took to singing a small ditty. This one was one which brought a small snigger and smile to Sigrún's face.
"Dagr was a mighty fine wolf,
A fierce fellow, who ne'er didst paint himself yellow,
No sir, not this wolf, he would ne'er fall on his own fish-hook
Oh oy, oh oy, Dagr was ne'er foolish,
No sir, my father he was, he is brilliant because
He actually painted himself blueish
And not yellow, old Dagr was a fine fellow,
He just needs a little more paint is all,
Even as he feels a little faint,
From the cold water is all!"
Amused by the song, Sigrún very nearly joined in the singing of the song, to the amusement of the Wolffram. Her mother at the time, was in the midst of fussing over Myrgjǫl, so that for the first time in some time, it seemed as though the elder of the two girls had a moment's liberty from her endless fussing.
"It would seem Thorgils, will owe me several silver coins from his last voyage," Wolffish remarked with a slight chuckle.
Startled by this remark, Sigrún looked up to meet his gaze, "What do you mean?"
Several of the men and women busy with their own fishing holes, hardly paid them any mind though those nearest them and those fishing in the same hole smirked in amusement. The Wolffish sniggered in amusement also, which made her cheeks turn scarlet.
She might have huffed and complained, were it not for the fisherman remarking to her, "We had gambled five coins over the matter of whether you would ever giggle again. I said you could, no matter how bleak that night near the Mountain was."
The shrug that accompanied his words made her aware that to him, it was done less to embarrass her or in mockery and more to amuse himself. "If such is the case," She said with a hint of humour all to herself, "Mayhaps I shall have to claim several of the coins for myself."
"What? You cannot do that, I won them, they are mine," Wolffish whined at once.
"Now, now Wolffish, you ought to share since now she knows," Another of the men teased the wolf who grumbled beneath his breath.
"How many fish have you caught?" Gertrud asked interrupting the moment, as she returned to pick up her own line.
Wolffish nodded eagerly, holding up a small bag of fish he had caught, with a ready gleam in his eyes. If there was one thing that excited him, as much as the thought of adventure or playing did Myrgjǫl, it was the thought of fishing and the sea, even if that sea was frozen.
Though, she still did not take to fishing with the same enthusiasm as her mother, or the Wolffish obviously did, there was something to his eagerness that was contagious.
What was more was that her fondness for him, was only to grow ever more steadily after he was to remark to Gertrud at the end of the day, when Sigrún made to leave for the fort. "Let her boast of the fish she caught, she did well and Gyða could use more than soup in her belly at this time."
It was a kindly gesture, and one that Sigrún was more than happy to accept, though she had little inclination to boast of having fished. She knew her own efforts were rather humble in comparison to those of Gertrud and Wolffish.
Stepping on inside, she was relieved to discover that Thorgils had already left for the day, so that for once, the one occupying the later shift of the two guards, was her stepfather. He was in recent days far more preoccupied, and far less inclined to nose into her affairs than her stepbrother.
Mayhaps she could enjoy a quiet night with her foster-sister and Auðun, she thought to herself wistful for just such a night. Though, at times he annoyed her, Auðun was a reminder of a happier time, of a time when they once played in the fields and raced about through the forest.
"You look pleased with yourself," Gyða remarked by way of greeting her, as she sat up only for a brief flicker of disappointment to cross her pretty face, ere it became jovial once more.
Intrigued by this, and more than a little suspicious, Sigrún was to ask of her, "If you wish for me to go, I can go."
"What? But of course not, I am happy to see you," Gyða replied, only to ask of her, "Is that fish you have prepared for me?"
"Yes, fish I caught by my own hand," Sigrún told her proudly.
"Oh really? Do you intend to eat it in front of me?"
"No, it is for you sister."
"Really now? Not for Auðun? I daresay he will be disappointed," Gyða teased amusedly.
A bit of irritation made its way into her heart, and voice, so that Sigrún snapped at her, "If you have no wish for it, I could go deliver it to him. Or mayhaps, you might prefer I leave for my mother's home, to deliver it to Thorgils?"
The other woman's cheeks became pink, confirming her suspicions that Thorgils had charmed yet another young woman. It galled her that Gyða, could prove in that regard no different from the likes of Hildr, and countless others who came across him.
What charms he had were beyond Sigrún, who often found him to be no less a burden, one who the more those around her became attached to, the lesser and more lonely she felt.
"Ah there you are," Auðun's voice suddenly burst through the tense air, between the two young women, entering the room with another clutch of books he paused, sniffing at the air. "Is that fish?"
"Yes, Sigrún caught it, and prepared it just for you Auðun," Gyða said a hint of humour in her voice, as she winked at the youth before them.
Sigrún could have strangled her.
It was now Auðun's turn to redden, he was to however cough to clear his throat just before he muttered, "Erm, I- well that is quite the generous thought."
"She lies, I caught and prepared it for her, never you mind her sickening jests," Sigrún snapped with another withering look in the direction of the older woman. When she glanced back, it was in time to notice a brief flash of hurt and disappointment, cross over Auðun's face, which made her belly sink. "Though, if you should wish, you may eat some also. What is it you wished, to speak to us of Auðun?"
This offer made him brighten, seeing his smile was a relief to her with Sigrún watching as he set down the books he had collected from the library, onto the small table nearby. Speaking in a quiet, if husky voice Auðun informed her, "I have been reading through several of the tomes, regarding this map which Thormundr took with him to the Order. And while, I have not gotten further along with my research into the Collubar, I have however managed to discover that there is more to the matter of the Darkspire."
"How so?" Sigrún asked hardly as interested in the story, as he himself was at present. At that moment, she wished for naught more than to discuss it later, after her foster-sister had gone to sleep.
As she had before, at the merest mention of the serpent-men who had so cruelly slaughtered their kinsmen, Gyða froze. Staring at the two of them, she seemed as though she were reliving those moments to the sorrow of Sigrún, who shot Auðun a venomous look.
The sorcerer-apprentice for his part, turned pink once more, this time with an expression of utter shame and guilt on his face. "I do apologise Gyða, forgive me, I merely meant to say that I have been caught up in research regarding that is to say-"
"You may know a great deal, about the world and her history Auðun, but there is much you could still stand to learn about how to treat a lady, and delicate speech," Sigrún scolded him sharply.
"Apologies, lady Gyða," Auðun said at once.
To the consternation of the two, it did not seem as though Gyða had heard him. Rather, she simply continued to stare him, with an expression of horror and pain. Dissolving into a tempest of tears, she was to remain inconsolable for some time.
By the time that Sigrún stepped out from the bedchambers, to let her foster-sister rest she was entirely too weary to go look once more, for Auðun who had left to give them space. It had been a kind gesture rooted in the desire, to prove himself the opposite of a burden.
Quite where he had gone, Sigrún did not know. And if she was being honest with herself, she was not very much interested in answering that particular question. Not when she could think only to find her own bed, in the fort and to pull up the fur blankets up to her chin. Weary after a rather full day of caring for Gyða and shivering out on the ice, with most of the village she was soon shaken from her straw-bed a heartbeat after she had laid down in it.
A curse ready to be spat out against the rider in the night, who seemed to have gone from galloping about outside every three days, to every two.
"Sigrún, I must speak with you," Auðun was to say to her, bursting suddenly into her bedchambers to her surprise.
"What is this about?" Sigrún demanded of him wearily.
"It is about the history of the Darkspire," Auðun replied after a momentary pause, during which he cast her, the swiftest of apologetic looks. "I have studied at some length the history of the line of Bynjarr, and found that it happened to have been found at that time."
"What? I had thought it lost since ancient times?" Sigrún asked of him, confused.
"I do not think it was," Auðun informed her as he laid a large tome atop her bed, with a furtive glance in her direction. "You see, it was lost but Bynjarr sought to defend the Witch's Tower as it is also known, that is according to the record of Mundi, who lived almost a hundred and fifty years after him."
"Yes, it was found by that time was it not?" Sigrún queried.
"Yes, but not in the time of the First Wars of Darkness," Auðun replied exasperated, speaking as though she were particularly slow. "You see, it was lost just before the Wars, when the witch was first interred and has remained so until the time of Bynjarr, when he found it."
"How do you know that he found it?" Sigrún questioned still feeling as though she were trailing, somewhere quite far behind her friend.
Thormundr's apprentice pulling one of the nearby chairs sat down, ignoring how it creaked with age beneath him, as he leant forward, to skim through one of the volumes he had brought her. "Here is the first reference to it being lost, it dates back to the reign of Gunthar II, grandson of Gunthar I, of the ancient kingdom. It was some decades after the death of Sigurdr's death, some forty years after his funerary pyre. It was at that time that the witch, was at last laid to rest, though not before she swore to end the life of the heirs of Brynhildr."
"Yes, I am familiar with that part of the tale," Sigrún replied still not seeing what it was that he was trying to tell her.
"Do you not see it? If the tower was lost in the time of her great-nephews, the witch's nephew I mean. It must mean that given there is no reference to it being found until Bynjarr appears millennia later." Auðun explained with exaggerated patience, "As you well know, I have been doing a study of the kings of old, and have found few references if any to the Darkspire. The line of Sigurdr, that is to say the lineage of the Völsungs was to reclaim the kingship in the time of Sigurdr's grandson, who slew the Gunthar II."
"But the lineage was displaced, during the Wars of Darkness," Sigrún remarked quietly.
"Indeed, with Bynjarr appearing nigh on fifteen centuries later, in the figure of Bynjarr who was the fiercest of the lineage, since Sigurdr himself." Auðun replied quietly, at which time he leant back with a frown on his lips, "It happened that before he claimed the kingship, he was to prevent an attempt to open the Darkspire. The dark sorcerer Hjálmarr, sought to lay claim to it, with all his forces at which time Bynjarr, slew him and led a small army against them."
"How does this relate to the serpent-men and the map?" Sigrún asked feeling as though she had missed some sort of detail that her friend, had noticed and was only hinting at.
Auðun did not give way to impatience, but rather explained to her as he skimmed through the pages of another tome, one that he laid down on her lap. "You see, Sigrún? It happens that Bynjarr defeated Hjálmarr, had a map drawn of the Kingdom, wherefore he had a second done up, one which included what was then termed the 'Witch's Tower'."
"Wait, he drew up the map?"
"Yes, it would appear that he also made frequent pilgrimages there, every few years with a small company, just before the outbreak of the war, shortly after he united the realm." Auðun informed her, now moving from page to page, so swiftly that she did not have the chance to read what was on them. "You see? In the fifth year, sixth, seventh, eighth, all throughout his reign he visited it!"
"But he reigned for twenty-eight years, until he was cut down in the battle of Austmark, at the hands of the Svartálfar," Sigrún said cautiously, as she now went through the book herself. Handed another volume, this one dubbed the 'Annals of the sons of Bynjarr', a compilation of all the Kings' journeys and trips throughout the realm of Norvech. It was with keen interest that she discovered the answer to an intriguing question that occurred to her, as she combed through the pages rapidly. "The first thing he did, it says when he found out that the Svartálfar had returned, was make to secure the Witch's Tower, then to re-fortify its walls, set men to man them and then depart for the south east to ambush the Svartálfar forces."
"Indeed."
"Why is that? Why worry more over the Tower than the rest of the Kingdom?" Sigrún asked herself, as she leant back in her bed, a frown on her full lips. "Was he concerned about them, penetrating the interior and somehow stealing some of the magicks she was said, to have wielded in the time of Sigurdr?"
"No, I do not think that was it at all," Auðun informed her quietly, a frown on his lips as he leant forward, "I think Bynjarr when he heard of the living-dead who served them, the 'Unliving', he feared they may revive the old witch."
The revelation chilled Sigrún at once, and made her stare in bewilderment at him. The notion of an Unliving witch was a terrifying one, and not one that she wished to entertain for very long. It was as she considered the point that a new thought occurred to her. "Is that when the Tower was lost?"
"No, apparently he drew up a map for his successors to find their way there, and that is what Thormundr took to his superiors." Auðun told her, "Some of them made visits for a time that is until the last of them was slain in battle, by his Jarls shortly after the end of the war."
"May Hella take their souls for their betrayals," Sigrún grumbled beneath her breath.
"On that dear lady, we can agree," He replied with a laugh.
It was a chuckle that took her back to her childhood, so that she very nearly gave into laughter herself. She had another question in mind, and it was as she leant forward to ask him, about the map, "Is there anything else we may learn on this matter? Anything at all that, we may discover in preparation for Thormundr's return?"
In response, Auðun was to pull from the folds of his robes, of all things a map. Gasping at this, Sigrún was to remark on it, at which time her childhood friend admitted. "I drew it from memory, pay it no mind, Sigrún."
"But why would you draw a copy of the map?"
"Because, I felt uneasy about there being only one copy of the map, and wished to study it at greater length, and to compare it with the historic record these past weeks." Auðun was to inform her, only to admit, "Thankfully most of the records are in Norðron, with only a green-backed volume being beyond my ken."
"How so?"
Now Auðun became uneasy, admitting with a look of embarrassment at his ignorance, "It happens that this particular record is not in Norðron, or even in Old Norðron but instead in what seems to me, to be an Elvish dialect I am not familiar with."
"Which one is that?" Sigrún asked of him, "I had thought Thormundr would have taught you the tongue of the High-Elves, and of the Wilder-Elves."
"He did, and has but this is a different tongue, with some similarities to the former, and a great many differences, it is also unlike any Mountain-Elf dialect I have seen. It seems to have more in common with some Dwarvish tongues, than some of the Elvish ones." Auðun admitted visibly frustrated, "The tome of which I speak, is one that dates back to shortly after the Wars of Darkness, and that I found outside the library. The book is one that I've seen Thormundr read on several occasions. I do believe it is more a record of the Elves than one of Bynjarr and his line."
"What do the Elves have to do with the old Kingdom or the witch?"
"I am not so certain, Thormundr might know, but I do not." Auðun confessed with a shrug of his shoulders, wherefore he added, "Not that I suspect it is all that important, for the moment."
Before he could elaborate, on the subject of what might prove important, the door to Sigrún's bedchambers was thrown open.
Standing before them, looking from one to the other, Guðleifr was to ask of them curiously, "What is it that the two of you are up to?"
"We were discussing what happened to Helgi, and the old Kingdom," Sigrún admitted at once, glancing down swiftly before her to find the map that her friend had brought her missing.
"I had expected you two to be debating… something else," Guðleifr remarked a hint of disappointment in his eyes that flickered with weariness, as he told them. "I must tell you both something important, regarding what has happened with those Collubars. It is over, there is naught to discuss."
"But-"
"With all due respect Guðleifr," Auðun said to him, with a significant glance in Sigrún's direction, "I think the matter requires a greater deal of thought and investigation."
"Why do you think that it requires further investigation?" Guðleifr queried. "The Collubar are dead."
"True, but there might be more of them," Auðun argued, "My research has led me to conclude that there certainly possibly are, but that is not what concerns me."
"Why should we interest ourselves, about what concerns you might have? Those serpents are dead, one and all!" Guðleifr roared impatiently, only to glance furtively at his stepdaughter as though in search of support from her, when she only continued to stare at the apprentice he took matters into his own hands. Reaching forward, he seized a hold of Auðun, and made to lead him from Sigrún's room, "Come along you, and later we shall discuss this."
"Wait, Guðleifr! Do not treat me as you might a child," Auðun objected irritably, as he pulled his arm free from the grasp of the mighty warrior. "This is of the utmost importance."
"I did not know that was what you intended to speak of, why did you not speak at once of this suspicion on your part," Snapped Sigrún with equal annoyance as her stepfather.
Looking from one to the other, Auðun was to swallow more bitter words, "I was about to speak of that, and felt the logic of my suppositions needed to be explained in its entirety and why I think there is a missing factor to this entire matter."
"What could possibly be missing?"
"Because I have been asking myself, why in the name of all the gods would the Collubar suddenly appear to attack Helgi now? And just how did they discover that the map of Bynjarr was still in circulation?" Auðun countered sharply, as he met the gaze of the two astonished members of Gertrud's family.
"What do you mean?" Guðleifr demanded confused now, also.
"I mean that someone knew that Helgi, had the map and knew that he intended to visit with Sigrún, and someone had to have told the Collubars it still existed," Auðun revealed tartly, his words chilling their blood worst than the winter cold possibly could.
Guðleifr remained doubtful of Auðun's view that there was more to the mystery of the Collubars than first meets the eye for quite some time. He did not much like the notion that there had been someone behind the movement of the Serpents, so that he had contemplated the sorcerer's apprentice for quite some time. He was to think of the same figure as his stepdaughter, with both of them making reference to the green-eyed sepulchral figure that interrupted her feast.
"Yes, I am quite aware Guðleifr of him, however if I may ask; why would he warn of the dangers of ownership of the map, only to decide to later ambush Helgi?" Auðun demanded of the warrior, as he showed the other man the tome, saying as he did so. "See here? It is an account of every year of Bynjarr's reign, wherein it describes how he made frequent, annual trips to the 'Witch's Tower' which can only be the Darkspire."
Doubtful, Guðleifr did not look very convinced, even with the evidence shown to him, wherefore he called for a cessation to this discussion. "It is late, and it is hardly proper to be discussing such things in a girl's bedchambers."
"I am not some girl, you need protect in such a manner Guðleifr," Said Sigrún quite frostily, to the warrior who looked irritably at her.
"You are my charge, just as Thorgils and Myrgjǫl are," Guðleifr snapped at once.
"Except I am not thy child, and have never been," She retorted meeting the fire he had summoned against her, with her own icy coldness.
The hurt in Guðleifr's eyes was unmistakeable. A part of her would have liked to apologise, and to take back the words she had uttered, however she knew this to be futile. The words had been uttered, and so could never be withdrawn.
Turning away, he made to leave though he did not do so without saying over his shoulder, "You may not be my daughter, but your mother is still my wife and she cares most for you Sigrún. Therefore, remember that you owe greater warmth to her, and ought to visit her, as denying her is as a knife in her heart."
Those words were as a weight about Sigrún's throat in the days that followed. They were blatantly to her mind untrue, it was not that she was cold because she wished to be, it was simply that Gertrud was always keen to find herself next to her. Or she was always near at hand, to scold her, to tell her how disappointed she was with her for having participated the night when vengeance was had. If Sigrún was ice cold, it was a response she told herself, to an overbearing mother and not to a wounded mother who wished only to be close to her.
"It is not as though I am still a child, yet she and Guðleifr, persist in treating me as such," She was to grumble one day to Gyða.
"It is still better, to have parents than to have none," remarked Gyða with a shrug of her slender shoulders, "I should wish to visit the home of your birth and think, you would prefer it there."
Sigrún did not answer, on that point. How to explain to her friend, who had lost not one, but two families how it felt to feel so alone when surrounded by so many? It was a strange feeling, one that Sigrún herself did not know how to put into words.
Lonely, she was to change the topic of conversation, convinced that her foster-sister could not understand her. There was another reason she did not like to return home, but she knew it was a petty thing on her part, and most would only judge her all the more harshly for it. Weary of the judgement of others, she was to swallow her bitterness and resort solely to grinding her teeth in futile exasperation.
It was in this spirit that she joined Gertrud in the days to come, to assist with the work of digging through the ice, and fishing, gutting salmons and otherwise helping her family.
What weighed most heavily on her spirit, however was not the sense of isolation she felt with regards to her family, but Auðun's discoveries. She had no doubt, his silence in the days that had followed were due to him looking still further into these matters.
"Wolffish, if I may ask," She said one day shortly before Yule, "Why did you never go out into the world, to go Vikingr?"
"Why would you ask such a question, dear Sigrún?" Wolffish asked of her, as they bent over a small hole in the ice, the Wolffram's gaze fixed on the cold water below.
"I ask only because, I have been thinking about my own time abroad," She lied keeping her own focus on fishing, "And because I recall how vicious you were that night. The one of the raid, and how brave you were in comparison to… to myself."
"You were courageous, lady Sigrún," He assured her.
"No, I froze with fear and panicked yet you did not," Sigrún insisted ashamed of herself, yet unable to stop herself from pushing to know how he had kept from doing as she had done.
Wolffish shrugged his shoulders. Evidently he had not thought too greatly about what had happened that night some weeks ago, with a thoughtful expression on his face, he was to tell her, "I think it is only that I was seized by rage. I could not help it; once my blood was heated up I could not help but charge. As to your other query, the one regarding my inability to leave in that regard I could not imagine being away from here."
"How so?"
"It is just that I do not know life elsewhere," Wolffish confessed visibly embarrassed as he flushed scarlet, "I would rather not discuss it, as it is my most cowardly moment. Please can we put this subject behind us?"
The notion that the Wolffish might have had a cowardly moment, or have some trace of cowardice in his soul was amusing and ridiculous in Sigrún's eyes. She could not imagine him being any less, than what he was as he stood before her; a fisherman and friend, who was blooded but had shown himself to be the bravest man in the village.
This was not the end of Sigrún's hesitancy and uncertainty, regarding this sort of line of thought, though she did not ask anyone about such sentiments afterwards. She knew that were Thorgils or her other family members to be asked, they would immediately suspect her of wishing to leave. And though she was hardly on good terms with her mother, she had little desire to inflict such sorrow upon her mother.
It was also impossible to debate such things with her foster-sister, as Gyða was reluctant to hear of it, to recall the night of the massacres. So utterly and completely consumed by madness, was she when she did hear of them that she would tear all within her grasp and become utterly hysterical for hours. The one time that Sigrún saw this happen, happened during a short visit by Myrgjǫl in which the little girl asked about Jarl Helgi. The fact that her question was more rooted in how he had treated Gyða when she was young, and if she missed him now that he was dead, made little difference. Gyða still became maddened, and like a woman possessed so that she could not speak of what she had endured.
Worried for her, even as she was annoyed by Myrgjǫl's insensitivity, Sigrún had sent her home after giving her an earful, and forbidding her form visiting again.
"I did not mean to hurt her," Myrgjǫl replied, "I merely meant to enquire about Jarl Helgi."
"Intent does not matter, what happened does and what happened is that you reminded her of that night, now away with you Myrgjǫl and do not come back hither." Sigrún had growled impatiently pointing to the door.
The younger girl departed after giving her a hurt look, one that Sigrún neither cared for, nor felt much regret over. It was to be the source though, of much trouble between her and Thorgils, who was to find her the next day, to reprimand her while she was in the midst of fishing with Wolffish.
Pulling her aside, Thorgils was to pull her aside with a glance to the Wolfram, asking as he did so, "Sigrún may I speak with you?"
"I am a little preoccupied, I must help mother," Sigrún protested unsure of the reason for which he wished to speak with her.
"Now!" He hissed impatiently, so that she had to follow after seeing those around her such as Wolffish and his two younger brothers, giving her pointed looks. "Sigrún, what you did to Myrgjǫl was intolerable; you had no right to speak to her so."
"I merely told her that she ought to be careful with her words, with regards to Gyða," Sigrún snapped at him, irritated by his insistence to speak to her on this matter.
"And I say to you now, not as a friend but as Myrgjǫl's brother, you shall not speak to her in that manner again, you will choose every word with care. Do you understand?" Thorgils reprimanded her sharply; face stony and hard as granite.
"She is my sister also," Sigrún snapped.
"Then I would hope you begin to treat her as such, rather than as a nuisance," He retorted exasperated. "Until you do so, you will have no place among us."
The last words hurt, with Sigrún staring at him for several minutes. It was not her intention to show how much he had wounded her, but she could not help but feel a bubbling sense of resentment towards him for his harsh words.
Turning away she stormed her past the Wolframs, who looked from her to the frustrated blond man she had left behind without another word to him. To one side, Gertrud approached her, what she said Sigrún did not hear, her ears abuzz she cut her path through the forest and straight to the fortress, having no wish to continue playing at being nice with those around her.
So consumed was she by her own sense of hurt, by Thorgils' heated words was Sigrún that she did not hear Wolffish's snorted remark, or his brothers join him in reprimanding Thorgils. "Well said, Thorgils, well said now you have two sisters who have been reduced to tears," Remarked the eldest of the Wolffram family.
"Oh do be quiet Wolffish," Thorgils snapped.
"If you ask me," Oddr, the next eldest in the canine family just after Wolffish, "There was a far better manner to handle this manner, and to speak to Sigrún."
"Yes, she is no maid made of stone, she shares much in common with that youngest sister of hers," Wolffish's youngest brother, Freystein remarked shyly, a frequent playmate of Myrgjǫl's he added hastily. "Though, Sigrún ought not to have spoken to her that way also."
"How did the three of you even hear from where you sat?" Thorgils asked in disbelief, with a groan.
"Our ears are not so deaf as those of men," Wolffish remarked amused if briefly so, before he once more became serious. "Thorgils, your intentions were righteous I do agree with you about Sigrún's comportment, but as we said, she is still a maiden who has lost her only father."
"One of her fathers," Thorgils said stiffly, but seeing his friend shrug, he added, "My father is hers also, if she were to let him be one to her."
Once more the Wolfframs shrugged their shoulders. The youngest seemed to consider his point of view, the middle son was to look sceptical where Wolffish was indifferent.
"Now if you would be so kind, as to pick up Sigrún's rod that is if you intend to remain here, standing about doing nothing, especially since it is you who are responsible for chasing away Sigrún." Wolffish told his friend.
Thorgils groaned, and though he attempted to protest, he was to however swallow his exasperation and took up the rod though he did not want to. Within seconds he was reprimanded for how he held it, and told relentlessly how he had gotten worse since he stopped fishing with them.
After this incident, there was a tension that arose between Thorgils and Sigrún, neither of whom cared to speak to one another. The latter was still incensed about his interference between her and Myrgjǫl, while the former was full of frustration towards her and her coldness towards him.
"You really ought to have come to me, and I would have spoken to her," Auðun reprimanded him also, when the two found themselves together as the two preoccupied themselves with cutting some wood for Gyða.
"You have not been objective where my step-sister is concerned, I did not think I could rely upon you, to properly scold her, or so I had thought." Thorgils snapped almost at once.
Auðun threw him an annoyed look, "If you prefer you can see to the firewood alone."
Grumbling to himself, Thorgils was to swallow his words and nod his head. In return, the younger man was to promise him that he would talk to Sigrún. Promising to do so, because despite his own happiness to have Sigrún living in the same house, Auðun was of the view that she had indeed done wrong, as for all his fondness for her, Myrgjǫl was precious to him also.
This was the reason that some days after the discussion with Thorgils, Myrgjǫl was to be discovered by her elder sister visiting Gyða, who was at last able to leave her bed. Travelling the castle in spite of her wounds, she had taken to spending time in the kitchens cooking for the guards and Auðun.
Yet having retired early to her chambers, she was seated on the bed listening to Myrgjǫl, prattle on about the local fish, just as Sigrún entered the bedchambers.
Coming to a sudden halt, as she saw the younger girl, Sigrún was to bark out, "What are you doing here, Myrgjǫl?"
"I called her hither," Auðun told her, from where he sat to one side with taking down notes, only to look at her, "I wanted you to see that she and Gyða could make friends and that there was nothing to be worried over."
"I am quite recovered Sigrún," Gyða assured her, though Sigrún doubted the veracity of this statement.
Certainly the older woman could once again walk, could speak of Helgi where before she could not, or speak of Sigdis and the others of the house, there was a part of Sigrún that held fast to her doubt. It was some dark whispering voice that told her, her foster-sister was lying to her, with the younger woman unable to say so.
Reluctant to speak out before Myrgjǫl, she could not help but feel resentful once more of the young girl, for inadvertently putting her once more in such a position.
But most of all, she felt a part of her cool towards Auðun, whom she preferred to throughout the rest of the day ignore, though it meant that she had to listen to Myrgjǫl's prattling on about fish and her adventures in the forest. Paying scant attention to the apprentice, allowed her to focus even more attentively on Gyða, who still appeared shaken.
"Still, I should have liked to have been told, Auðun before you take such actions," Sigrún told him coldly, after she pulled him aside.
"Myrgjǫl is your sister, Sigrún," Auðun snapped at her, his arms folded before his chest.
"And not yours Auðun," Sigrún retorted coldly.
She could see that she had hurt him then, which she regretted at once. Not long after this Auðun was to leave claiming he was doing research that is until Myrgjǫl began to tire.
It was after the youngest in Gertrud's family was sent home with Auðun that Sigrún was to notice that he had left behind his volume on the reigns of those who had followed after Bynjarr. He had also left with it the map to the Darkspire he had drawn.
Baggi was a stout fellow, one who had always sought to make Yule truly a special event, often he organised a grand celebration alongside Gertrud and Thormundr. The trouble was that with regards to this year, it was to prove a very different affair. The first reason for this, was to be found in Thormundr's absence, as the sorcerer had left some time ago. Where he had gone, few knew and those that did would not speak of it.
The second reason had to do with Sigrún's return, with the girl serving as the harbinger of discord within the house of Guðleifr. Thorgils rumour had it did not get on with her, or so many whispered, with the patriarch no less annoyed by her frigidity towards her mother and sister. Gertrud was fussy all knew, and as her wayward eldest daughter had discovered, this could be trying for even the most patient of souls. Because of this the matriarch of the village had begun to become even more emotional and distraught, and even fussier to the exasperation of a greater number of people.
While Sigrún was previously determined to leave in the spring for Helgi's keep, to visit with the old Jarl's grandson, and to pursue the mystery of the Darkspire, she now considered doing so just after Yule. There was no secret to her reconsidering this decision, feeling monstrously alone and secluded from those she cared most for, she could not help but long for Helgi's home. There Yule had been a time of warmth, when there were new pastries, when the fire blazed in the middle of the mead-hall. There it was that men drank deeply from large drinking-horns and told tales of old, and of their achievements while the maidens listened intently, sighing and gossiping.
Sigrún missed it terribly. She ought not to have; there had been times over the years that she longed to return home, when she would miss her mother terribly. Did she share a great deal of the blame? Certainly, as she well knew that she could have been more patient towards her younger sister, but with Guðleifr now aware of the tension between the sisters and making his disapproval towards her made all the more visible. Sigrún had to comport herself all the better, or be even more patient towards him, even as Gertrud insisted that she get on with her new 'family'.
"Give it time dear, give it time! Why, you should spend more time with them and you will see that they really are quite the dears," Gertrud told her adding for good measure a moment later.
But this counsel much as it was well-intended, did not convince Sigrún, to do as bidden. She still had little inclination towards doing as her mother might wish her to do.
Though, where she might speak coldly to her mother's new family, Sigrún could not quite bring herself to speak out against her mother.
It happened shortly after she left to go home after promising her mother, "Tomorrow I may seek out their company."
This she said if distantly, the stiffness in her arms when she embraced her, and in her voice was undeniable and could not be mistaken for aught else than goodbye rather than farewell.
Gertrud nonetheless was wholly unaware of what Sigrún might have in mind, convinced as she was that the morrow would yield a better day, one in which her family might come together, she was to turn to return home happy in this knowledge.
It was shortly after the two women went their separate ways, and night fell throughout the locality that a great cry was to erupt. Quite why this was remained a mystery as the sound of hooves was indeed heard, with few at first knowing where the cry had come from.
"What was that?" Asked one villager after another, each of them stricken with panic and worry.
The sound of feet striking the ground now, tore through the village just after the sound of the hooves had died down and the cry had seemed to have been swept away by the wind. The cold silence that had followed chilled the blood of more than one person, as they trembled in their long-house.
"Who screamed?" Wolffish was to complain, having also overheard the great cry and third on the scene after Guðleifr and one of the other men, old Thorstein, one of the oldest members of the village and a man who was never very far from the tavern.
"It was Baggi's wife, Ragna," Guðleifr announced with visible sorrow in his voice.
"What was she out and about at so late an hour?" Gertrud asked arriving on the scene just as a number of other men did so, including Wolffish's mother, Hólmfríðr.
"I daresay she was likely visiting that girl of yours Gertrud," Hólmfríðr guessed with a shrug of her brawny shoulders, hardly a handsome woman by Wolffram standards she was a fierce giantess of a woman even by the standards of her people. She had her grey hair set in a number of braids that were the norm for their people, as she added. "I know she had said earlier in the day that she and her husband wished to bring some stew up to the keep."
"Why would she do that?" Hildr asked of her, arriving from the tavern.
"She has often done it in the past, for Thormundr and his servant, Auðun," Hólmfríðr mother of Wolffish remarked with a shrug of her shoulders.
"But the greater question is who might have done this?" Thorgils interrupted ever of a clear-mind as he arrived hither also, having just arrived from the fort, with Auðun and Gyða.
Not far behind them, was the plump Baggi who came hurrying along from the fort of Thormundr, at the sight of his wife's broken body he gave a great cry of his own. Throwing himself forward just as his sons' arrived also, they were to give way to grief of such a wretched sort that many were moved to tears.
Some such as Gertrud were already on the cusp of such sorrow, and regret due in no small part to her longstanding friendship with Friða. Others such as Hólmfríðr were hardier and were to take action at once, and to call for all to gather together to determine who might be missing.
This was a call to action that was agreed upon by Guðleifr, who turned to those arriving from the fort and Hildr, along with Hólmfríðr's brood of three sons and her two eldest daughters, Ingrið and Inga. "Go thither throughout the village, to find everyone and if there are any missing report to me at once. We must make certain that all the people of Heiðrrán are safe."
Each of them nodded their heads, and left at once leaving the body of the lady Ragna where it had fallen, the body as Guðleifr quickly determined had been run through by a lance. This was an unusual weapon for someone in the lands of the north to use at all, since there were few Knights. Knights were far more common in the lands of Gallia, Valholant and other kingdoms of the continent of North-Agenor, there were some he had heard who lived in the continent of Beveriand also.
But why would they come north? This was what bewildered him, and occupied his thoughts until at last the youths returned from their search of the village.
It happened that Hildr was to report first, saying to him as she and Gyða returned, "Women and children are all accounted for, none are missing."
Thorgils and Wolffish soon returned with all the men of the village, eyeing the wailing of the women with uneasy eyes as they did so. It was in this hour that Auðun appeared exclaiming as he did so, "Someone is missing!"
"Who?"
Auðun told him breathlessly, "Sigrún, she and my history of the later Völsungs are both missing!"