When a side character gets focus in a scene, they're either about to meet their end or join Bjorn.
-x-X-x-
Helsing stared at the destruction before him, his jaw clenched tight. Six longships lay burning on the beach, their hulls cracking and splintering in the flames. The bodies of his men were scattered across the sand, their blood already soaking into the shore. The acrid smoke stung his eyes, but he did not blink.
His warriors stood in complete silence behind him. More than a hundred men had rushed from the settlement when the horns' sound reached them, and they continued to arrive in small groups, each one falling quiet when they saw their leader's face.
Everyone knew better than to speak when Helsing was in this state. A berserker's fury was not something any man could survive unless he had the power to match it.
The flames danced in Helsing's dark eyes as he surveyed the carnage. His fists trembled at his sides. "Who did this?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Nobody answered. The defenders who had fled the battle knelt in the sand with their heads bowed. Most of them were the haskarls who had served the previous Earl of Borre, men who had been forced into Helsing's service. They knew what awaited them. In Helsing's eyes, their cowardice had cost him everything.
The silence stretched on. Even his own sworn huskarls, the ones who had abandoned their posts during the attack, remained mute. They stared at the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze.
Helsing's control snapped. "I asked you a question!" he roared, his voice carrying across the beach. "WHO BURNED MY SHIPS?"
The kneeling men flinched but still said nothing. Finally, one of the mounted man who had arrived first with the other mounted man spoke up. "It was SilverHair, lord. Even without the sails raised, there was no mistaking that white hair of his. It was the Earl of Kattegat."
"SilverHair," Helsing muttered, the name like poison on his tongue. He began pacing, his boots crunching on the bloody sand. "SilverHair." His mind raced with thoughts of revenge, of how he would make the young earl pay for this insult. "SilverHair."
A man in his late thirties who had served Helsing's father for years now, stepped forward. He carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to being heard.
"Losing the ships is the worst thing that could have happened to us right now," he said, his voice breaking Helsing's muttering. "We should have spent more time winning allies instead of making enemies. I don't think we can recover from this."
Helsing stopped pacing and turned to glare at him. "You have been saying the same thing for days now, and I am sick of hearing it."
He strode over until he was face to face with him. "Do you think I don't know our situation is dire? Do you think you are the smartest man here? I am tired of your attitude. Just because you follow my father around like a loyal hound, wagging your tail whenever he looked your way, does not make us equals. Do you understand me?"
The man's face flushed red with anger. He had been humiliated in front of all the men, and his pride would not stand for it.
"Fine then, Prince Helsing. Tell us what your smart plan is. We invaded a foreign land and turned everyone against us because you thought steel and fire would make them all bow down. Now it's just a matter of time before others hears of our situation, and once they know we can't sail back and that we are stuck here, what do you think will happen? Every man will come for us. They will ambush us on every road. So tell me, what should we do? Because I do not think we have much time left."
For a moment, Helsing considered killing him right there. His hand moved toward his axe, but he forced himself to stop. Instead, he turned to the mounted scouts. "Which direction did that bastard's ships go?"
"That way, my lord. Toward his home, we think."
Helsing nodded. Attacking Bjorn at Kattegat would be exactly what Silver Hair wanted. The young earl would be prepared for him there, with all his men ready and his defenses strong. It would be walking into a trap.
Helsing was anything but stupid. -_-
Helsing could feel the tension in the air. Some of the men were looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to show leadership in this crisis. Others glanced toward the man, the experienced warrior who had served his father faithfully for years. The division was subtle but present, and Helsing knew it could become dangerous if not handled carefully.
"The Earl of Kattegat has burned our ships," Helsing announced, his voice carrying across the beach. "That opportunistic bastard thinks he can strike at us and hide behind his walls. We have a blood feud with him now, and I swear by Thor's hammer that we will have our revenge."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "But this is exactly what he wants. He wants us to charge blindly at Kattegat where he will be waiting for us with all his men. We will not give him that satisfaction."
The warriors listened intently now, their earlier doubts replaced by grim determination.
"We will attack Tunsberg, the royal seat of the dead king first," Helsing continued, his voice rising. "Whoever dares to fight us, we will take their gold, their food, their women, and their ships. We will show everyone what happens to those who dares cross us."
At the mention of plunder and women, the men began to cheer and chant. Their war cries echoed across the beach, drowning out the crackling of the burning ships. The sound of their bloodlust filled the air and went on for several minutes. Even some of those who had been looking toward 'the man' moments before were now caught up in the promise of riches and glory.
'The man' remained silent during the cheering, clearly frustrated. He had wanted to say more, but Helsing had cut him off effectively by appealing directly to the men's greed and warrior spirit. The moment for challenging the prince's decision had passed, at least for now.
He didn't worry much about Helsing, the prince did not understand that no ruler holds all power by himself. Compromise is the burden of every king, whether he wills it or not. The elder princes had known this truth and were fit to be heirs, but both are gone now. What remains is an old king, and a reckless prince.
Helsing raised his hand for silence. "We march immediately. The sun will rise soon, and we will have the advantage of moving undetected this early. They will not expect us anyway to strike so quickly after our fight against the earl of Borre. And they don't know yet about our ships."
One of his trusted huskarls gestured toward the kneeling cowards. "What about these men who fled?"
Helsing looked down at the defeated warriors. They had accepted their fate with the resignation of men who knew they had dishonored themselves. "How do you choose to die?" he asked them.
They answered one by one, their voices calm despite their fear. "By beheading," each man said. They would not beg for mercy or show weakness anymore. To do so would deny them entry to Valhalla, and death with honor was all they had left.
"Granted," Helsing said with a nod. He signaled to several of his men to carry out the executions.
As the condemned men were led away, Helsing called for a mounted messenger. "Ride to Borre," he commanded. "Bring the rest of my warriors. Tell them to meet us on the road to Tunsberg. We have work to do."
The messenger spurred his horse and galloped away into the dawn's little light. Around the beach, Helsing's men began preparing for the march, gathering their weapons and supplies. The burning ships cast long shadows across the sand, but already the flames were beginning to die down.
Helsing took one last look at the destruction SilverHair had wrought. The young earl had won this battle, but the war was far from over. When they met again, things would be different. Helsing would make sure of that.
-x-X-x-
Six longships floated in the calm waters off the coast, anchored within sight of the forest that bordered the shores near what would one day be called Horten. The ships rocked gently with the tide, their crews waiting in silence.
Bjorn lay stretched across the prow of the lead vessel, his silver hair catching the morning light as he stared up at the cloudy sky.
His hands were clasped behind his head, and every few minutes he would let out a long sigh and shake his head, lost in thought. The other warriors watched him with growing confusion and impatience.
Rollo paced restlessly on the deck, his boots making sharp sounds against the wooden planks. He kept glancing between Bjorn and the shoreline, frustration clear on his face. Thorstein and Arne stood near the mast, whispering to each other and shooting worried looks at their leader.
Finally, Rollo could contain himself no longer. "Bjorn," he called out, his voice cutting through the morning air.
Bjorn did not respond. He continued staring at the sky, completely absorbed in replaying the recent battle in his mind. He examined every moment of the fight, searching for mistakes he or his men might have made.
The attack on Helsing's ships had gone well, they outnumbered them after all, but what if the enemy in another scenario had more warriors? His casualties would have been much higher because of the fighting style, and in this world where every fighting man was precious, he could not afford heavy losses this early.
He needed to reform his warband tactics, develop strategies that played to his strengths while minimizing risks. But the details eluded him, and he found himself going over the same scenarios again and again.
Rollo threw his hands up in exasperation. "What are we doing here? I do not see anything of worth in this place." He gestured wildly at the empty coastline. "Should we not be sailing back to defend Kattegat right now? Helsing will want revenge for what we did to his ships."
Still no answer from Bjorn. The young Earl remained lost in his strategic planning, oblivious to his uncle's growing agitation.
Rollo turned to look at his brother, hoping for support. Ragnar lay sprawled on the prow of another ship, picking his teeth with a small wooden stick and gazing off toward the western horizon.
He seemed completely indifferent to the entire situation. If the choice had been his, Ragnar would already be sailing west to explore new lands, to meet foreign kings and learn about different cultures.
This local conflict held no interest for him whatsoever. He was just here doing his duty and to not leave Bjorn alone, that's it. Bjorn was his son after all. What kind of father would leave his son fighting a war alone? Ragnar was not such a man.
Ragnar caught Rollo's look and simply shrugged, then went back to picking his teeth and daydreaming about distant shores.
The sight of both his nephew and brother ignoring the situation made Rollo's anger flare even hotter. He strode over to Bjorn and raised his voice to a shout. "Bjorn!"
The sharp sound jolted Bjorn from his thoughts. He blinked and turned to see Rollo standing over him with an angry expression. "What is wrong?" Bjorn asked, genuinely confused by his uncle's agitation.
"What is wrong?" Rollo repeated incredulously. He swept his arm in a wide arc, taking in their surroundings. "What are we doing here? You told us to wait, but what exactly are we waiting for? The men are getting restless, and every moment we waste gives Helsing more time to prepare his next move."
"We are waiting for news," Bjorn replied simply.
"What news?"
Bjorn settled back into his comfortable position and closed his eyes. "Good news hopefully. You will know when it arrives."
Rollo stared at him for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words. Finally, he threw his hands up again and stalked back to Thorstein and Arne, muttering under his breath about like father like son.
The three warriors huddled together, speaking in low voices about their concerns. Some of the other men began to shift restlessly, wondering why they were not taking action. The successful raid on Helsing's ships had filled them with confidence, but now they sat idle while their enemy regrouped.
Though Bjorn's haskarls while curious, it didn't bother them that much compared to the others.
More than half an hour passed before anyone spotted movement on the shore. A lone figure appeared at the edge of the tree line, running toward them at full speed. The man stumbled and nearly fell several times as he crashed through the underbrush, but he never stopped moving.
"Lookout!" called one of the warriors. Immediately, archers reached for their bows and began nocking arrows. The runners on shore grabbed their weapons and formed a defensive line.
Bjorn finally sat up, taking in the situation with calm eyes. "Put your bows down," he commanded.
The men hesitated, glancing at each other uncertainly. The running figure was still too far away to identify clearly.
The archers reluctantly lowered their weapons, though they kept them ready. The warriors on shore remained tense, hands on their weapons as they watched the stranger approach.
The runner finally burst from the forest and onto the beach, gasping for breath. He was young, barely twenty years old, with the lean build of someone who had grown up working hard for every meal. His clothes were simple farmer's garb, patched and worn from constant use.
The men on shore moved to block his path, forming a wall of bodies between the stranger and their ships. They did not know who he was or what he wanted, and they were taking no chances.
The young man bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. After a few moments, he straightened and looked around until his eyes found the silver-haired figure standing on the lead ship.
"Earl Bjorn?" he called out, scratching his head nervously.
The young man had heard stories about Earl of Kattegat, Bjorn, tales sung by skalds about his reputation. But he had never seen him, nor expected someone so young to be entering legend already.
Here he was, barely fifteen winter, yet the skalds were already composing verses about his deeds. Meanwhile, this messenger could not even save his own family after his father's death.
Bjorn nodded and studied the newcomer carefully. Three parallel scars ran across the man's forearm, they were deliberate cuts and not from any animal.
Bjorn had never met this young man before, but he recognized those marks. His scouts had described them to him, along with stories of a young man who bore them.
And this guy fits the profile. He was also just one among many who are helping Bjorn's men. This one was just the brightest of them. Or so they said.
"You must be Trygve. Trygve the Trustworthy, as they call you. My men have told me about your help. You know this land well since Borre is your home, and you have guided them through terrain they do not know. For that service, I am grateful."
Trygve nodded respectfully, though he was surprised that Bjorn knew his name. "Yes, my lord. However i did not know they were your men."
"And that bothers you?" Bjorn asked.
Trygve shook his head. "Not really. A lot of people hate Helsing and started helping your men. It seems for whatever reason we share the same enemy." He did not voice his curiosity about why exactly Bjorn opposed Helsing.
Trygve was smart enough to know his place in the world. He was just the son of a huskarl who had served the Earl of Borre, nothing more.
His father had died fighting against Helsing's invasion, cut down while defending his lord. Trygve himself had fought as part of the levy, alongside farmers and craftsmen who had taken up weapons to defend their homes.
When it became clear they were losing, Trygve and many others had fled rather than die uselessly. But their families had not been spared. His brother and mother had been taken as hostages, shipped off to Alfheim along with dozens of other captives.
Bjorn stepped closer to the rail of his ship, studying the young man's face. "What news do you bring?"
Trygve straightened, glad to finally deliver his message. "Helsing has gathered his entire warband and left the camp in great haste. But he marched in the opposite direction from where I came."
A slow smile spread across Bjorn's face. So his gamble had worked. After burning Helsing's ships, Bjorn had considered the prince's possible responses. Helsing could attack Kattegat seeking revenge, which would have been perfect since Bjorn could face him with prepared defenses and superior numbers.
Or the prince could strike at Tunsberg to seize the royal fleet stationed there.
The third option, retreating inland to Alfheim, seemed too risky and would accomplish nothing after coming so far.
Bjorn had made it appear that he was sailing home with his ships, giving Helsing time to make his choice. Now it seemed the prince had chosen Tunsberg, this option also suits Bjorn.
"I hope you men are not too tired from our little fight we just had," Bjorn called out to his warriors.
Leif grinned and called back, "That was barely a fight. We slaughtered them like sheep. Three of our brothers earned their place in Valhalla, but who can be sad about that? They feast with the gods now, and we will join them when our time comes."
The other warriors murmured agreement. The raid had been almost too easy, and they were hungry for a real battle.
Bjorn turned his attention back to Trygve. "We are about to hunt down some bastards who need to die, and glory will be ours to win. You can join us if you wish."
He paused, studying the young man's face. "It seems you're not helping us out of love. You have your own feud with Prince Helsing, do you not? Come with us. If the gods will it, you may even get the chance to kill him yourself."
Trygve knew he had little choice in the matter. Even if he tried to refuse, Bjorn would likely insist he comes along. They had only heard about each other through other people's words, and a rising leader like Bjorn would not trust him easily if he walked away now. Even if he was helping them before.
His message simply told Bjorn to go fight and ambush Helsing when he raids Tunsberg. Maybe Trygve is lying to him, setting Bjorn up to be ambushed. Who knows.
More importantly, Bjorn represented his only hope of freeing his family from slavery in Alfheim. He had to stay close to this silver-haired earl, at least until he found a way to rescue his mother and brother.
That was the real reason he'd been helping Bjorn's scouts, not out of loyalty to them, but because Trygve believed that the enemy of his enemy was his friend.
On top of that, all rulers wanted the same thing in the end, more power. He believed Bjorn was no different than any other ambitious lord.
"I would be honored to join you," Trygve replied, trying to inject the proper amount of enthusiasm into his voice.
Bjorn's smile widened. He gestured for his men to help the young man aboard.
Within minutes, the crews were pulling up their anchors and taking their positions at the oars. The sails were raised to catch the favorable wind, and the six ships began moving south along the coast.
Their destination was Tunsberg, where Prince Helsing would soon discover that Bjorn burning his ships had been the least of his problems.
-x-X-x-
Helsing stood overlooking Tunsberg, his two hundred warriors spread out behind him. It took them around some time to reach here, the sun will soon rise. He doesn't have much time.
The trading hub lay before them, its harbor filled with the ships he needed. Four Longships exactly, among other vessels.
This would settle two debts at once. First, he would get back some ships. Then he would crush the last pocket of resistance that dared stand against him. After Tunsberg fell, he would fill his warband, and nothing would stop his march on Kattegat.
The Earl there had humiliated him once. That mistake would cost the Earl everything, his lands, his people, his life.