The Raven (Spirits of the Norse Book 2), page 1
THE RAVEN
SPIRITS OF THE NORSE BOOK 2
KATE ROBBINS
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, are entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
Copyright © 2022 Kate Robbins
Cover Art: https://www.wickedsmartdesigns.com/
Editor: Michelle O’Connell
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 978-0-9940890-7-6
Created with Vellum
For Maria whose strength is an inspiration to us all!
CONTENTS
1. Chapter One
Dublin, Ireland, October, 936 AD
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-One
22. Chapter Twenty-Two
23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Pre-Order The Wildcat, Spirits of the Norse, Book Three
Acknowledgments
Also by Kate Robbins
Coming Soon!
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
DUBLIN, IRELAND, OCTOBER, 936 AD
The stench of rotting fish and burning peat was thick in the air as they docked. Magnus Haraldson followed his brother, Gunnar down the gangway and through the busy markets of Dublin. Magnus had been to many ports over the last few years, but none could match the trepidation and fear emanating from every corner of this one.
Pockmarked wenches pushed heavy carts with fly infested fish, toothless old men huddled together for warmth, and threadbare clothed children milled about by the dozens begging for scraps. The scene was not welcoming.
They’d been sailing for what seemed like an age from Ayr in Scotland and Magnus was hungry, tired, and in want of a woman. But all that would have to wait. As they meandered through the crowded streets and onward toward the gates, his fingers gripped his dagger. This might be a Norse settlement, but it was nothing like theirs on Islay. Nay, this was not a place one visited for pleasure. This was where one went to disappear, or in their case, forge a covert alliance.
They had recently aligned with Giric MacDomnail and through him, King Constantine of Scotland. Their goal was to band together to push back the English King Athelstan. King Olaf of Dublin was part of that plan.
They crossed the ramparts and stopped at the gates where they were questioned by the guards. Magnus wasn’t worried about entry, but was not happy about leaving his weapons outside. Not here. The reeking air came from more than just the putrid provisions. Everything here felt soiled, like King Olaf had given up on the place. Well, by Odin, he would need to do better than this if they were to keep King Athelstan at bay. When the proposal from Magnus’ Scottish brother-in-law to strengthen this alliance had been first suggested, Magnus scoffed. How could they possibly join together against such a foe? But somehow he’d been convinced, and so here they were on the doorstep of Olaf’s kingdom, if one could call it that.
“You’re very quiet, brother,” Gunnar said as they passed through the gates.
“I do not like what I see,” Magnus said.
“Nor do I, but we need Olaf’s banner.”
“That remains to be seen,” Magnus said as he eyed the guard who took his weapons. The man wore a shiny chest plate of steel and a helmet that was far too polished for that of a seasoned guard.
“Through those gates and keep to the right,” the guard said once their weapons had been confiscated.
Magnus looked left and right as they crossed over yet another bridge and toward two large wooden doors flanked by more guards with their spears crossed.
Once they reached the end of the bridge, the guards pulled open the doors and stepped back to permit entry.
The moment they stepped over the threshold, Magnus’ jaw dropped. The palisades were high enough to keep what lay beyond from view. Instead of amassed decay in the form of people or their wares, here were finely garbed men and women set about in what appeared to be a covered market. The aroma in the air could not have been in greater contrast; breads, roasting boar, and bubbling pots piqued Magnus’s interest.
What lay beyond was even more surprising. Instead of a wooden longhouse, which was a common structure in his people’s villages, it appeared Olaf had made one out of stone. The view from this angle suggested it was twice as long as his brother’s on Islay and nearly twice as high. The only thing taller at the moment was the palisades.
“Gunnar, where in Odin’s name have we landed?”
“I am not quite certain, brother, but I have envisioned such a place in my dreams when I think of Valhalla.”
Magnus couldn’t reconcile the contrast. Why the vast poverty outside and the appearance of decadence inside the gates? There was only one person who could answer that question at this point, and they were about to meet with him.
They approached the longhouse and waited until more guards opened the doors for them. Magnus turned around as a flash of green fabric caught his eye. Its owner was cloaked in black and walking away from him. A bright flaming lock of hair fell from the cloak and landed over a shapely shoulder. Magnus watched as it bounced and glinted in the sunlight. A large man walked beside her and held her elbow. He turned and glared at Magnus then urged her forward. A heady scent of cloves followed the pair and as he looked down, he could see leaves trickling from a pouch on her arm.
“Magnus, are you coming?”
Magnus blinked a couple times at Gunnar then shook his head. He nodded and followed Gunnar inside the longhouse.
It only took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The set up inside the stone structure was not entirely unlike any other longhouse. A grand fire pit was flanked by roasting, steaming, or boiling delights that made Magnus’ stomach rumble in approval. He counted ten tables on each side of the pit leading up to the main table at the head behind which sat the largest chair Magnus had ever seen with great buck horns protruding from the back. Small groups of men and women took up most of the tables.
Before he could scrutinize any further he noticed the din in the hall had dwindled to the crackling fire and one spitting pot.
“State your name and business,” a nearby scruffy Viking said from over his horn.
“Gunnar Haraldson of Islay. This is my brother Magnus. We are here to speak with King Olaf.”
“What makes you think King Olaf wants to speak with you?” another voice could be heard amongst the crowd.
This was irritating. Magnus suspected Olaf was sitting among those gathered, and he himself may not be forthcoming among strangers either, but for Odin’s sake, they had been permitted entry. Why the scrutiny here versus at any of the other guarded locations outside of here?
“King Olaf has created quite the kingdom for himself here. He will want to speak with us if he wants to keep it,” Magnus said. Gunnar slowly placed his hand on Magnus’ arm. He may have just overstepped, but he would rather face the man directly than play these games.
“What my brother means to say is that it is in Olaf’s best interest to hear about meetings we have engaged in with King Constantine of Scotland. Should he not be interested, we will take our leave.”
When no one spoke, Gunnar turned toward the door and motioned for Magnus to follow. As they reached the door a voice spoke up.
“I am Olaf Guthfrithson, and I will hear you, Gunnar Haraldson of Islay.”
As they turned, Magnus realized that Olaf had been sitting not farthest from, but closest to the door. He stood and approached. A man of great stature, but not nearly as tall as Gunnar or himself. He wore furs strapped around his chest and his blond hair hung shaggy around his shoulders. He did not look like a king.
“I welcome you to my hall. You have travelled far, and I will offer you food and drink. Then you will tell me your tale of this King Constantine.”
Olaf walked on ahead with the presumption of a king that the two visitors would follow. Near the middle of the fire-pit, Olaf sat at a table and motioned for the brothers to sit opposite.
“Hilde! Bring food and ale!” His bellow was loud enough for the women at the far end of the hall to scurry to the pots and trenchers of food on display. Within short order, enough food and drink for their entire crew was placed before them. Magnus was hungry enough to simply stick his face into the mound of food and inhale, but he waited for the nod from Olaf to begin.
Gunnar heaped meat and bread onto his trencher and Magnus followed suit. He had to admit, though food in Gunnar’s hall was always good, there was something extra special here. Be it the flavour or tenderness of the meat or the softness of the bread, Olaf’s feast was superior.
When they’d filled their gullets to the brim, they sat back and waited. Olaf had merely picked at his food leaving Magnus to assume he’d already partaken.
“We are thankful for your hospitality, Olaf,” Gunnar said after he’d finished the third horn of ale.
“Islay must not be as plentiful as I’d heard,” he said with a grin. “I would swear you two haven’t eaten in a month.”
“You’re not far off. We visited the MacDomnail before our visit here. ’Tis been nigh on a month since we ate in my hall.”
“I can believe it. Please enjoy as much as you like. My table is your table.”
Olaf sat back and watched Gunnar. Magnus could see the calculation in the man’s eyes. He had many questions and had not yet decided if he would partner with them or not. Magnus was certain of it and Gunnar was too trusting. All of this could still result in them leaving empty handed. Magnus wasn’t sure which outcome would be best, but he was certain, he didn’t want to be on the opposite sides of Olaf. The man had a lot of resources at his feet—they would soon see how he used the power that came along with it.
“Tell me about your engagement with King Constantine,” he said to Gunnar.
“The man is obsessed with Athelstan. He is convinced based on an attack on my sister that he has mobilized plans to invade the North lands and claim all for himself.”
“And how is your sister involved?”
“My sister recently married a Scot. But I’m sure you already knew that.”
“I did. The great shield maiden of Islay. I admit, I was disappointed to hear it.”
“Is that so?” Gunnar asked. “I understand Constantine wants you to be part of his family.”
Magnus was lost. “Are you saying that you already know the Scots king wants an alliance? If that is the case, what are we doing here?” His patience was wearing thin. Was he the only person who was in the dark at the moment?
“I pieced everything together from a long and enlightening conversation with your friend Snorri Short-Beard.”
“I assure you, that man is not a friend,” Magnus said.
“I also understand you have property of his that you plan to return once you leave Dublin.”
Returning loot from a legitimate raid was unheard of. But he had agreed to just that for the sake of Gunnar’s peace.
“I will return Short-Beard’s loot. But I warn you that man is planning to invade. I merely delayed his ability for a while.”
“Short-Beard will not step one foot farther east than the boundaries I have already set for him on Islay. I have given your brother my word on that.”
“Now that business is resolved,” Gunnar said, “what are your thoughts on the Scots and English?”
“I see our alliance tipping the balance in favour wherever we align. Mind you it will be a more challenging existence to be surrounded by English, which is why I will lean toward Constantine. Do you feel he is honourable? If I put my trust in him, will I make life easier or harder for the people entrusted to me?”
Magnus couldn’t help but think about those outside of the gates.
“I sensed no dishonour,” Gunnar said. “MacDomnail trusts him wholeheartedly and my sister trusts him. That is enough for me.”
“Ahh, the shield maiden has a part to play in this after all. She is a fierce warrior, but do you tell me she has a strategist’s mind as well?”
“She always has,” Magnus said. He had to give her that much. He may never be perfectly happy with her having married a Scot, but he had to give her the credit she was due.
“Then that is enough for me as well. It appears I have underestimated women of late.”
“What does that mean?” Magnus asked. Unbidden, a lock of flaming hair flashed across his memory and he swore he could smell cloves.
“It means, I plan to listen more,” Olaf said and grinned.
“I am never given the chance,” Gunnar said. “Between my sisters and our healer, I am usually in the wrong.”
Magnus gave his brother a sidelong glance and noted the forlorn look about him. He suspected the man’s connection to their healer Freydis and his missing her of late from her time spent with Saga in Ayr, but perhaps now was not the time to belabour that point.
“Where does this leave us?” Magnus asked. The conversation had taken an odd turn and he wanted to refocus and return to the ship. Something about this place unnerved him.
“You do not like my hall?” Olaf asked.
“I admire your hall, King Olaf.”
“But?”
“Will you be offended if I speak freely?” Magnus usually did, but under circumstances where he understood the people in his company better. Right now, he wasn’t even certain he knew Gunnar that well.
“Your hall and everything inside the palisade walls are bountiful and pleasant.” Magnus glanced at Gunnar who shook his head slightly.
“Go on.”
“Outside—”
“Outside people are starving and rotting like the food they are trying to peddle.”
“That is what I viewed.”
“And what is your question?”
Did this man have no conscience? “My question is how could you let that happen?”
Olaf smiled and leaned back. “You are the first man in two years to ask me this. I commend your bravery. The truth is the people inside of these walls have pledged their fealty to me and me alone. They are rewarded with food and drink and shelter as long as they continue to do so and rise to the occasion when they are asked. Those outside the walls have determined they do not need my protection as they do not want to serve a Viking king. Should they change their minds, they will be welcomed inside.”
“And the children?”
“All orphaned children are immediately brought within these walls and paired with a family who will care for them until they come of age and can decide for themselves.”
While it sounded like a reasonable arrangement, something still felt off about the place. The hair had been prickling at the base of his neck ever since he’d walked through the last gate, and he couldn’t shake the feeling.
“And your men? Are they loyal?”
“No one truly knows if one’s men are loyal, Magnus. Do you think your brother would bet on your loyalty with his life?”
“I would,” Gunnar said quietly.
“I honour my family,” Magnus said.
“Ja, but that has not always been the case. Did you not steal from a rival going against your chieftain’s wishes?”
“I did, but that was to protect the clan.”
“But you disobeyed him. That would be enough for me to question your loyalty to me.”
Magnus sat back and considered what Olaf said. What he suggested was closer to tyranny and under those circumstances, neither Magnus nor Gunnar would be willing conformists.
“To be very clear,” Gunnar said quietly, enough for Magnus’ ears to perk up, “we are here to forge an alliance, not pledge fealty. That honour belongs to King Harald and him alone.”
“I respect your current allegiances and assure you they will not interfere with the business we conduct this day.”
A guard came toward them and whispered something in Olaf’s ear. He nodded and motioned someone forward from the door.
“Now please enjoy the rest of your meal. I have other business to attend.”
With that, he stood and walked toward the large chair at the head of the hall. On the other side of the fire-pit, a black cloaked figure and a man walked toward Olaf and bowed low. The hair stood at the back of Magnus’s neck again and he stared, willing a lock of hair to tumble loose.
“Magnus, did you hear me?”
He shook his head and turned to look at his brother. “We will return to the ship and make sail for Islay. We have come to do what we said we would and there’s no further reason for us to stay.”
