After an early dinner, Leif, Freya, Astrid, Sigrida, Erik, and Brandr made their way to the docks, pulling a cart laden with belongings and honey barrels. Rinda, the gentle horse, plodded behind them, her head lowered as if sharing in their reluctance.

  They approached the small faering that would take them to the anchored knarr. In the distance, four trading vessels dotted the harbor, their decks bustling with activity as crews prepared for the morning departure. The contrast between the somber mood of the departing group and the businesslike efficiency of the crew on the knarr was stark, even from afar.

  As agreed earlier with the captain, the four young travelers would spend their last night in Honningdal aboard the vessel and all would depart first thing in the morning. The finality of leaving hung in the air, a bittersweet acceptance settling over them all.

  Leif patted the cart, his voice cutting through the melancholy. "Well then, let's get you settled, shall we?"

  Freya gazed at Astrid and Sigrida, her eyes filled with pride and a touch of sadness. "You've both grown so much," she said softly. "Not just in combat skills, but in spirit."

  Astrid beamed, while Sigrida struggled to find words, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. The thought of leaving this nurturing haven felt like tearing away a part of herself.

  "Thank you," Sigrida finally whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

  Freya pulled them both into a tight embrace. "Remember, girls," she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom, "Honningdal isn't just a place. It's the strength you've found within yourselves. Carry it with you always, especially in times of trouble."

  As she released them, Freya's eyes shone with a fierce determination. "The world out there may not always be kind, but you have the power to shape it. Never forget that."

  Leif turned to Erik and Brandr, his eyes twinkling with fondness. "Erik, that map of Skogstrand you created shows true craftsmanship. You have a real talent there."

  Erik ducked his head modestly, a small smile playing on his lips.

  Leif glanced at Brandr, struggling for a moment. "And your map was... uh... nice too, Brandr."

  Brandr burst into laughter, clapping Leif on the shoulder. "No need to strain yourself, Leif. We all know Erik's the finer cartographer here."

  As their chuckles subsided, Leif's expression grew serious. "Remember, boys," he said, his voice low and earnest, "the most valuable maps are those you chart yourself. Sometimes, you must venture beyond the known borders to discover new lands - in the world and in your hearts."

  As if sensing their impending farewell, Rinda huffed gently, stretching out her head towards the group. The four friends turned to her, each taking a moment to stroke her velvety nose and murmur words of affection. "You've been a wonderful companion, Rinda," Astrid said softly, as Sigrida patted the horse's sturdy neck. Erik and Brandr offered their own quiet thanks, recognizing the faithful mare's role in their Honningdal adventures.

  With the farewells complete, the weight of their parting words settled over the group. Freya's face suddenly lightened, breaking the solemn mood. "Now, girls," she called out, her usual cheerful tone returning, "did you pack enough honey cakes for the journey?"

  Sigrida nodded silently, holding back tears, while Astrid suddenly threw herself into Freya's arms for one last, fierce hug.

  Leif stood beside them, a kind smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. The couple's familiar, comforting presence contrasted sharply with the bittersweet mood of departure.

  Leif rowed them toward the anchored knarr in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. When they reached the vessel's towering side, Erik and Brandr helped first Sigrida then Astrid climb the rope ladder to the deck. Traders bustled past with crates and bundles, securing cargo in the limited deck space. Leif gave them a kind smile before turning the faering back toward shore.

  The small knarr, which had seemed cozy when they first boarded, now felt cramped after a night of sleeping and hours of sailing on the choppy waves. Astrid and Sigrida shifted positions constantly, trying to arrange their armor and Freya's package of honey cakes around the limited space.

  "My legs are falling asleep," Sigrida whispered, making Brandr grin.

  Astrid squirmed and rubbed her numb bottom against the hard deck. "At least it's just your legs."

  Even Erik, lost in thought about their journey ahead, cracked a smile at their discomfort. Around them, traders worked efficiently in the confined space, adjusting sails and checking cargo lashed down against the vessel's rolling motion.

  Sigrida suppressed a smile at Astrid's fidgeting and helped shift their armor to give her friend more room. Among the stacked cargo and moving traders, the ship's captain, Alfgeir, called over from across the knarr.

  "You might want to keep that armor on, girls. These sea-wolves usually keep to the southern waters - none have ventured this far north before. But with raiders growing bolder, we can't be too careful."

  "Sea-wolves?" Astrid asked, pausing in her effort to get comfortable.

  "Raiders," Erik explained quietly. "Pirates who prey on trading vessels."

  Erik and Brandr exchanged worried glances - their heavily laden knarr would be an easy target for a swift raiding vessel.

  From his position at the stern, Alfgeir's eyes scanned the horizon, as if expecting danger to materialize at any moment. He glanced back at the three trading knarrs following in their wake, their hulls heavy with cargo. "It's a grim business," he continued, raising his voice enough to carry to where they sat. "I've heard stories of lost ships and men these past few seasons. These raiders strike quick and vanish quicker, leaving none alive in their wake."

  His voice carrying over the sound of waves. "Some say it's sea draugar, malevolent spirits seeking vengeance. But who can say for sure?"

  Astrid went pale, her hand instinctively reaching for her amulet. Sigrida said nothing, only reaching out to squeeze her friend's arm in comfort.

  Brandr's jaw set in determination. "Whatever or whoever it is, we'll be ready," he declared, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

  Erik nodded in agreement, his face grim. "We'll protect the ship and crew," he assured Alfgeir, though worry gnawed at him.

  Alfgeir touched the Thor's hammer amulet at his neck, eyes still on the horizon. "The Norns must have guided you to my ship," he said, his tone lightening. "I'm thankful to have such capable warriors aboard."

  With a respectful nod, he returned his full attention to his duties at the stern. The young companions exchanged glances, the weight of their unexpected role settling upon them as they sailed into uncertain waters.

  Astrid turned to Erik, her eyes wide with concern. "Do you really think it could be a sea draugar?" she whispered, her voice tinged with apprehension.

  Erik placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's more likely Viking raiders, Astrid," he said softly. "And humans we can fight, if we stay alert and prepared."

  Astrid nodded, visibly relaxing at his words. "You're right. We should get ready, then." She turned to Sigrida. "Let's put on our armor."

  As the girls began donning their protective gear, Erik's face grew somber. He knew he couldn't delay the inevitable conversation any longer. The time had come to broach the subject of returning home.

  Brandr sat beside him, his expression tense. He understood the difficulty of the discussion ahead. A part of him recoiled at the thought of acknowledging Sigrida's status as a thrall, though he knew he couldn't ignore it any longer.

  Erik watched Astrid and Sigrida prepare, his mind racing through potential arguments. How could he convince them to return without sounding like a traitor to their dreams? The task before him seemed as daunting as any battle, and he found himself wishing for the simplicity of physical combat instead.

  The girls finished securing their armor, their movements precise and practiced after weeks of training. Erik caught Brandr's eye, receiving a subtle nod of encouragement. It must be done now.

  "Astrid, Sigrida," Erik began, his voice low and serious. "I think we need to talk about what happens after we reach Skipavik."

  The sudden shift in Erik's tone caught their attention. Astrid and Sigrida exchanged a quick glance before turning to face him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. The sound of waves lapping against the hull seemed to grow louder in the tense silence that followed.

  "I believe we should return to Skogstrand," Erik continued, his words careful. "Your father needs you, Astrid. The clan needs your position for a strong alliance. If we explain our actions and take responsibility together, he might be more understanding."

  Astrid's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and confusion in her gaze. "You want me to go back?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why now?"

  Before Erik could respond, Sigrida interjected, her voice firm. "Astrid doesn't want that, Erik, and neither do I. We left for a reason."

  Brandr, sitting close to Erik in the cramped space, shifted uncomfortably. Though he hadn't been part of their initial escape, he now felt a strong bond with the group. Despite feeling somewhat out of place in this conversation, he stayed sitting next to Erik, offering silent support.

  Erik took a deep breath, his gaze moving between Astrid and Sigrida. "I'll tell him you were frightened of Einar, that you would have run away alone if I hadn't helped. At least with me, you had protection. I'll take the blame - it might soften his anger towards you both."

  He paused, his eyes meeting Astrid's. "We could even try to persuade him to reconsider your marriage. Perhaps to someone more suitable than Einar - another chieftain's son, someone who will care for you.

  Astrid looked at Erik, a mix of sadness and determination in her eyes. "Oh, Erik," she said softly, "always trying to protect me. But I've learned something about myself in Honningdal. I have no intention of being forced into marriage - to Einar or anyone else. I'm willing to face the consequences of that decision."

  Her voice grew firmer as she continued, "And I won't let you take the blame. You were looking out for me, as always. But I would have left with or without you." She turned to Sigrida, her expression fierce with protection. "And I'll tell father I forced Sigrida to come. She had no choice but to help me escape - she was following her my orders."

  Erik's face reddened, a mix of emotions playing across his features as he tried to maintain his composure. Astrid caught his reaction and gave him a subdued smile, acknowledging the unspoken feelings between them, even if he was unable to.

  Sigrida watched this exchange, her own face a canvas of conflicting emotions. Unlike Astrid, she wasn't returning to a loving family, but to servitude. Her grim future showed in the tightness around her eyes and the set of her jaw. Yet, when she spoke, her voice was steady.

  "I won't let you shoulder this alone either," she said. "And I won't hide behind your protection, Astrid. I chose to come and I’m planning to say it." A glimmer of her rarely seen mischievous side emerged as she added, "But make no mistake, I don't plan on staying enslaved. I'll run again if I have to, now that I know how to do it."

  The determination in Sigrida's voice was clear, a testament to her resolve. Her eyes met first Erik's, then Astrid's, conveying both her gratitude for their friendship and her unwavering commitment to her own freedom.

  Erik sat silent, visibly moved by the girls' willingness to stand by him. He wanted to respond but his words failed him in the face of their loyalty, and he could only take a deep breath.

  Seeing Erik's struggle, Astrid reached out and gently touched his arm. "Let's not think about this anymore for now," she said softly, her eyes warm with affection. "We still have some time before we reach Skipavik. Let's enjoy these last moments together, all of us."

  She paused, her gaze holding Erik's. "And Erik, thank you. For everything you've done for Sigrida and me. I know the sacrifice you've made." Sigrida, standing close by, nodded in quiet agreement.

  Erik swallowed hard, emotion thick in his throat. For once, he didn't look away, his eyes fixed on Astrid's face.

  Brandr, observing the moment, offered a gentle smile to Sigrida. He lightly touched her arm, guiding her through the cramped space toward the prow to give Erik and Astrid what privacy they could find on the crowded vessel. His gesture spoke volumes, a quiet acceptance despite the challenges of their situation.

  As the day progressed, the group had settled into a comfortable silence. Erik and Astrid sat side by side on a coil of rope near the ship's edge, their shoulders almost touching.

  Erik's gaze was fixed on the horizon, his mind silently vowing to support Astrid, no matter what lay ahead in Skogstrand. He would stand by her choices, protecting her right to shape her own future.

  Astrid, fingers tracing her new arm band, reflected on her recent experiences and her growing feelings for Erik. The realization that she was falling in love with her childhood friend strengthened her resolve to resist any arranged marriage.

  Though no words passed between them, their shared warmth and occasional brushing of arms conveyed a deepening connection, one that neither was quite ready to voice aloud.

  Near the prow, Sigrida stood to stretch her cramped legs, stepping carefully around the secured cargo. Brandr followed, finding a moment of relative privacy in the close quarters as the traders focused on their tasks. Their quiet conversation meandered comfortably until Brandr's expression grew serious.

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  "Sigrida…I won't let you be enslaved again in Skogstrand," he said, his voice low but firm. "I'll protect you. I’ll come to Skogstrand with you if I have to."

  Sigrida could only smile, appreciating his gesture. Not wanting to dwell on thoughts of Skogstrand just yet, she changed the subject.

  "How long have you known?" she asked quietly. "About Astrid and me being runaways, I mean." Her perceptive eyes studied Brandr's face, recalling his lack of surprise during Erik's difficult conversation.

  Brandr laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling. "I suspected something was amiss when I met you in Skipavik. You both seemed... too eager for adventure, and unknown one at that. Erik confirmed it after the boat wreck."

  Sigrida fell silent, her mind drifting back over their time together. Despite knowing her secret, he had treated her with respect and warmth. A part of her wished this camaraderie could continue, that their friendship could grow without concerns of her status. Now, with his offer of protection in Skogstrand, she felt a surge of gratitude.

  She looked up at Brandr, about to thank him, when something over his shoulder caught her eye. Her posture stiffened abruptly.

  As the knarr rounded the cliffs, Sigrida's heart lurched. There, nestled in a rocky cove, was the unmistakable prow of a karve.

  "Brandr, look!" Sigrida gasped, her voice tight with fear. "A karve in the cove!"

  Brandr turned sharply in the cramped space, his experienced eye assessing the threat - at least fifteen warriors on the swifter, smaller vessel. "Raiders!" he shouted over the waves. "Karve approaching from starboard! Take cover!"

  Erik's calm authority cut through the sudden chaos. "They'll try to kill us before boarding! Shields and weapons - anything you can find!" He pulled Astrid behind him as she stood frozen in shock. The eight traders scrambled for shields and whatever makeshift weapons they could grasp in the confined space - oars, axes, cargo hooks.

  Brandr pulled Sigrida down behind him as the crew pressed against the knarr's high side, using it for added protection. "Stay down," he ordered, raising his shield.

  A volley of arrows arced through the air from the karve. Erik's shield deflected several shafts that whistled past. Astrid gasped, clinging to Erik's tunic with trembling hands, her eyes wide with fear.

  Through the chaos, she watched in horror as an arrow found its mark, striking a trader in the shoulder. The man cried out in pain and collapsed to the deck. Astrid's limbs locked and her eyes screwed shut, the reality of violence paralyzing her.

  Sigrida, crouching behind Brandr's shield, had recovered from her initial shock and turned to her friend. "Astrid," she said firmly, gripping her shoulders. "Remember Freya's training. We've prepared for this. We can do this."

  Astrid opened her eyes and blinked, Sigrida's words cutting through her panic. As her vision cleared, she saw Brandr already firing arrows at the approaching karve. The smaller vessel darted through the waves with frightening speed, while their laden knarr could barely maneuver.

  Erik handed Astrid his bow. "Take advantage of our height while we can!"

  All four began loosing arrows at the raiders. Their elevated position on the knarr gave them clear shots, and a few pirates fell. But the karve's agility let it close the distance rapidly, weaving to minimize their target.

  A volley of arrows from the raiders forced Erik and Brandr to duck behind their shields, making it difficult to return fire. In that moment of cover, grappling hooks clattered over the knarr's high sides. "Cut those ropes!" Erik shouted. "Don't let them board!"

  The traders hacked at the ropes while keeping their shields up. In the cramped space between cargo and edge of the knarr, Astrid stumbled over a coil of rope. Sigrida caught her arm, and their eyes met in shared fear. This was nothing like practicing forms in Honningdal's open meadows - here they could barely move without hitting cargo or crew.

  More hooks found purchase, pulling the vessels together. With a grinding crash, the karve slammed against the knarr's hull. The impact sent everyone lurching. Astrid and Sigrida clutched each other, fighting for balance on the rolling deck.

  "Stand your ground!" Erik shouted. "Use the height! Push them back!"

  As raiders began climbing the knarr, the cramped deck became a chaotic battlefield. The traders, though poorly armed, used their familiarity with the cluttered space to their advantage, ducking behind cargo and striking from unexpected angles.

  Erik and Brandr fought with deadly precision despite the confined quarters, their experienced footwork allowing them to maintain balance while dealing lethal blows. But outnumbered and with their attention divided, more raiders clambered aboard.

  Astrid stepped backwards, nearly tripping, as a burly Viking charged her. His sword arced toward her head. She tried to replicate Freya's defensive moves, but the rolling deck threw off her balance. Her thrust was clumsy - the blade only grazing her attacker. Her eyes widened in shock as he loomed over her, the reality of combat nothing like their practice sessions.

  Before the man could strike again, Sigrida's axe came down hard on his shoulder. He howled in pain, stumbling against the cargo. Panic flared in Sigrida's eyes as she swung again and again before he could recover, her strikes wild and frenzied. Blood splattered her face as she hacked with uncontrolled ferocity, her training forgotten in the panic of her first kill.

  Sigrida whirled in the tight space to face a looming warrior. For a heartbeat, panic threatened to overwhelm her - but then Freya's voice echoed in her mind: "Honningdal is with you everywhere, child." A sudden calm washed over her. Gripping her axe tighter, she found her footing on the rolling deck, remembering all those hours of practice.

  As the raider's blade swung down, Sigrida moved with deliberate precision in the cramped space, deflecting his strike before burying her axe in his side. Beside her, she sensed Astrid similarly transforming - her friend's initial fear giving way to focused determination as she wielded her sword with the control their mentor had drilled into them.

  A trader beside them, armed only with an oar, struggled against another raider. Working in the confined space, Astrid struck first, forcing the attacker back, while Sigrida's axe found its mark. Their actions weren't coordinated like their practice sessions, but they saved the trader's life.

  Across the knarr, Erik met his attacker with a fierce shield bash, stunning the man against the rail. In the moment of advantage, Erik's sword flashed, finding its mark in the attacker's exposed neck. As the raider fell, Erik's eyes caught the distinctive craftsmanship - a black and red dragon painted on a Drakefjell shield, the sword's superior metalwork unmistakable. Yet as he turned to face his next opponent, he noticed others wielding crude, unfamiliar weapons, their armor a mishmash of styles.

  His gaze flicked to the karve for a split second. The sleek vessel was unmistakably Drakefjell-built, its dragon-headed prow and refined lines marking it as the work of the realm's finest shipwrights. Questions raced through his mind, but there was no time to ponder them now.

  Nearby, Brandr fought with lethal grace despite the cramped quarters. His shield crashed into attackers, stunning them against the cargo, while his blade found the gaps in their defenses. The raiders, who had expected easy prey, now fell before his practiced skill.

  Astrid and Sigrida had found their rhythm on the rolling deck. Though their movements lacked their practice ground grace, they pressed each small advantage, their determination making up for their inexperience.

  The battle raged on, minutes stretching into what felt like hours. The initial odds began to shift - several raiders lay dead from arrows on the karve below, while others had fallen to Erik and Brandr's skilled blades. The traders, though two were wounded by arrows, fought with desperate courage, using their familiarity with the cluttered deck to their advantage.

  Through a gap in the fighting, Erik glimpsed movement behind them. The three trading vessels that had been following at a distance were now turning toward the battle, their large forms cutting through the waves with slow but steady purpose.

  The raiders too had noticed the approaching knarrs. With their advantage slipping away and reinforcements coming, uncertainty crept into their attacks.

  Suddenly, a voice boomed across the water, sending chills down Astrid's spine. A monstrous figure stood on the karve's deck - a giant of a man, his beard a mass of platinum braids adorned with bones and beads. His face, a canvas of scars and intricate designs, was contorted with rage.

  "Back to the ship!" Their leader's roar cut through the battle noise. "Row, or I'll throw you to the sea myself!"

  The remaining raiders leapt from the knarr's high sides onto their lower vessel, some nearly missing their footing in their haste. The karve's superior speed and maneuverability would be their only chance of escape with the three trading vessels approaching.

  "Odin's ravens watch our victory!" Alfgeir shouted from the stern, grabbing his Thor's hammer amulet. "The sea-wolves flee before the might of honest traders!"

  Cheers and whoops erupted from all four knarrs. But Erik, Brandr, Astrid, and Sigrida maintained their focus, loosing arrow after arrow at the retreating vessel. The sleek karve darted through the waves, its few remaining raiders rowing hard as they disappeared around the cliffs.

  The celebrating voices died as reality settled over Alfgeir's knarr. Of his eight traders, three lay dead and two more nursed arrow wounds.

  "Is it... is it over?" Sigrida whispered, her voice barely audible over the creaking of the ship and the groans of the wounded. She and Astrid clutched each other's arms, both trembling as the battle fury faded.

  The other knarrs drew alongside, their crews calling out offers of help. Several traders climbed carefully across to assist their wounded colleagues, bringing fresh water and medical supplies. The confined deck became crowded once more, but now with helpers instead of fighters.

  The deck swayed beneath their feet, slick with blood. They carefully stepped over bodies of both raiders and traders, the carnage unlike anything they'd ever seen. The acrid smell of blood mixed with the salty sea air made their stomachs churn.

  Astrid's hands trembled as she passed clean cloths to a trader tending a deep gash on his comrade's arm. Nearby, Sigrida held a wounded man steady as another stitched a wound closed. Their eyes met briefly, sharing a look of shock and disbelief at the destruction around them.

  As the triage neared completion, Erik approached the girls.

  "Astrid, Sigrida," Erik said, his voice laced with concern as he found space near them between the cargo and wounded. "Are you alright?"

  Astrid nodded mechanically, her eyes distant. "Yes, we're fine," she said, her voice hollow. But as Erik drew closer and gently touched her arm, the facade crumbled. Her breath hitched, and she felt the full weight of what had transpired crash over her.

  Sigrida moved closer, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. Around them, traders from the adjacent knarrs worked to tend the wounded in the confined space. "I don't know what I feel," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I…I've never seen—" Her eyes darted around the blood-stained deck, unable to settle on any one point.

  Erik's voice was gentle as he placed a hand on each of their shoulders, drawing them both in. "It's not easy," he said softly, his own eyes reflecting the pain of experience. "What you're feeling... it's normal. You both did incredibly well out there. I'm proud of you." He paused, letting his words sink in. "You fought bravely, and you survived. That's what matters now."

  Astrid and Sigrida leaned into Erik's touch, finding solace in his steady presence as they grappled with the aftermath of their first true battle. The moment of quiet reflection was brief, however, as the urgent demands of their situation reasserted themselves.

  "Erik!" Brandr's sharp call cut through the somber atmosphere. "We've got one still breathing over here."

  Erik turned, his hand instinctively tightening on his sword hilt. Astrid and Sigrida, still holding each other, carefully picked their way between the wounded and the traders from the other vessels to where Brandr knelt beside a gravely wounded raider.

  In the tight space, Erik crouched beside Brandr. "Who are you? Where do you come from?"

  The man's response came in labored breaths, his accent thick and unfamiliar. "We... we are of the Hrafnsmenn... from the southern fjords."

  Erik's brow furrowed. "Why do you sail a ship from Drakefjell? And Jarl Gunnar's emblem on some of your men – explain that."

  A flicker of recognition passed over the dying man's face. "Jarl Gunnar..." he wheezed, blood flecking his lips. "He aided us when... when no one else would."

  Erik and Brandr exchanged a look of confusion, their eyes widening at the mention of Gunnar's involvement.

  "Jarl Gunnar?" Erik asked in surprise. "What do you mean? How is he involved?"

  The man's eyes began to glaze over, his gaze drifting past them to some unseen horizon. With his last breath, he whispered, "He helped us..." before falling silent, his final words leaving more questions than answers.

  Erik reached out, as if to shake the man for more answers, but Brandr's hand on his arm stopped him. "Let him go," Brandr said softly. "He's beyond our reach now."

  They watched in silence as the unknown Viking drew his last, rattling breath.

  Behind them, Astrid felt Sigrida tremble against her. The reality of death, so close and raw, was almost overwhelming. Now, amid the trauma of battle, a new unease settled over them - the mystery of Gunnar's involvement, the very man they had fled. In the background, the surviving traders from all three vessels worked together, tending to the wounded and preparing the dead for burial at sea, their quiet voices a stark contrast to the earlier sounds of battle.

  Astrid turned to Erik. "What did that man mean about Jarl Gunnar?"

  Erik hesitated, his face etched with concern. "I'm not sure," he said. "He claimed Gunnar had aided them somehow. It's mystifying, but..." He paused, his brow furrowing. "I'm certain this was a Drakefjell ship. I saw Gunnar's emblem at least twice among the raiders. It wasn't just the ramblings of a dying man."

  "But the clan name he gave," Erik continued, "I've never heard of the Hrafnsmenn. And his accent was... strange. Unlike anything I've encountered before."

  Sigrida, who had been silent, spoke up. "But why would Jarl Gunnar ally with unknown raiders? It doesn't make sense."

  Before Erik could respond, they heard Alfgeir making his way through the closely packed traders now working on his vessel.

  Alfgeir's weathered eyes scanned the packed deck, taking in the scattered weapons and fallen raiders amid the traders from the other knarrs. "I’ve seen some of these emblems in the southern ports," he said, his voice low, "but others... they're unfamiliar to me."

  He carefully stepped between the helpers from other vessels to kneel beside the dead raider, pointing to a crude symbol etched into the man's leather armor. "This here, I've seen it before. But that one there," he gestured to another body nearby, "is new to me."

  Brandr nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "Their weapons and armor seem older, mismatched. No consistency between them."

  "Hmm," Alfgeir murmured, his weathered face creased with worry. "I suspect we're dealing with a mix of tribes, banded together for raiding. Could be the same lot that hit some settlements a few seasons back." He lowered his voice, glancing warily at the sea. "Word is, they were aided by draugr, appearing and disappearing by evil magic. Might explain their unnatural strength and ferocity."

  Astrid gazed at the fallen raiders, then out to sea where the others had escaped. "Could they really be spirits?" she whispered. "They look so human..."

  "I'm pretty certain they were human," Sigrida murmured. "But that's almost more disturbing..."

  A group of traders from the adjacent vessels began moving the bodies, preparing to heave them overboard. Alfgeir's head snapped up, his voice sharp. "Hold! Don't toss them yet. We need a closer look at their clothing."

  The traders paused in the confined space, exchanging confused glances but obeying their captain's order.

  Astrid and Sigrida watched this exchange with growing unease. The idea that these raiders might be part of a larger, organized threat sent a chill down their spines.

  Erik's hand tightened at his side. "But how does Gunnar fit into all this? And why would he ally with such a group?"

  Brandr shook his head, his expression grim. "I don't know, but I have a feeling we've stumbled onto something far bigger than a simple pirate raid."

  Alfgeir's weathered face creased with concern. "This is the farthest north I've seen these raids come," he said, his voice low. "Usually, they keep to the southern waters. For them to venture this far…it must be unnatural…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

  Behind him, surviving traders from all three vessels worked together, separating the raiders' bodies from their fallen comrades. The air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood.

  "Captain!" A trader called from where he tended the wounded. "We need you here."

  Alfgeir nodded, turning back to the young warriors. "Excuse me," he said, his voice tight with the strain of leadership. "We'll speak more of this later."

  As he made his way carefully through the crowded deck, Brandr, Erik, Sigrida, and Astrid found themselves pressed against the cargo, the weight of the mystery heavy amongst them.

  After a moment, Sigrida spoke up, her eyes on the traders working nearby. "Should we... should we help them?" she asked hesitantly.

  Erik nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Probably. It's the least we can do."

  With heavy hearts and minds full of unanswered questions, the four friends joined the traders from all three vessels in the grim task of cleanup, each acutely aware that their world had shifted in ways they were only beginning to understand.

  Astrid and Sigrida found themselves side by side in a small clear space, scrubbing at the blood-stained deck. The rhythmic motion of their work provided little distraction from the weight of their thoughts.

  Sigrida's hands trembled slightly as she wrung out her cloth, the water running red. She couldn't shake the image of the fallen raiders, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. The reality of battle, so different from the tales of glory she had imagined, settled heavily in her chest.

  Beside her, Astrid worked methodically, her face set in grim determination. Her mind raced with possibilities, each more alarming than the last. If Gunnar was indeed expanding his influence, allying with these unknown raiders, what did that mean for Skogstrand?

  As they worked in the confined space, Astrid and Sigrida's eyes met briefly. In that moment, they shared an unspoken understanding. The carefree days of practicing swordplay in Honningdal seemed a distant memory. They had now faced death, tasted battle, and glimpsed a world far more complex and dangerous than they had imagined.

  Silently, they returned to their task, each woman steeling herself for the challenges ahead. As they washed away the blood, it seemed to take with it the last remnants of their innocence, leaving behind a resolve tempered by the harsh realities they now faced.

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