Snow clung stubbornly to the peaks as spring struggled to awaken the land. Kattegat's harbor was alive with the sound of hammers and saws, as Floki and his shipwrights worked tirelessly. The scent of tar, wood, and saltwater filled the air, proof that Bjorn's orders were being obeyed: more ships, stronger ships, ships that could carry Kattegat's fury to any shore.
But amidst the sound of work came a darker omen. A raven swooped into the great hall, its wings black as night. It landed upon the high seat where Bjorn sat, clawing at the wood, croaking its harsh song. Behind it came a rider, breathless, armor flecked with frost and blood.
He fell to one knee before Bjorn. "My lord… Jarl Eirik gathers his men. Already they raid the farms on the western fjords. They march with fire on their tongues, claiming you are no king but a butcher. They say Kattegat bleeds its own, and the gods will abandon us."
The hall rumbled with anger. Warriors slammed fists against tables. Sven Iron-Foot roared, "Give the word, Bjorn! We'll drag Eirik from his hall by his beard and feed his heart to the dogs!"
Astrid, calm and composed beside Bjorn, whispered low, "If you strike too fast, the Franks will be ready when you turn back. If you wait too long, Eirik will grow bolder. Choose carefully."
Bjorn rose, his presence silencing the hall. His eyes burned like a storm above a restless sea. "Eirik claims I am a butcher? Then let him taste the blade he names me for. But hear this—we will not fight him like fools in his hills. We will draw him into the open, cut off his retreat, and let Odin drink his blood."
The warriors roared their approval, their king's wrath igniting their hearts.
Before departure, Bjorn gathered his closest allies in the temple. Torches flickered against the carvings of Odin, Thor, and Freyja. The scent of blood and smoke thickened the air as a sacrifice—a black goat—was slain, its blood spilling across the altar.
Bjorn gripped his sword, lifting it high. "The gods gave me strength. They gave me wisdom. But men—men give me loyalty. And I say to you now, those who follow me will live in glory, their names sung until Ragnarok itself."
Sven Iron-Foot knelt, slamming his iron boot into the ground. "I am yours until death, my king."
Haldor the Tall followed, his booming laugh shaking the rafters. "I will drink from Eirik's skull and laugh as I burn his hall!"
Even Floki, mad-eyed and twitching, stepped forward, his lips curled in a wild grin. "I will build ships from his bones and sails from his skin if that is what you ask, Bjorn!"
One by one, the warriors pledged, their blood spilled into a bowl, their oaths binding them. Bjorn drank first, crimson staining his lips, then passed the bowl. The pact was sealed.
When Bjorn's warband marched from Kattegat, the sight was terrible and awe-inspiring. Shields glinted in the pale sun, axes rested on broad shoulders, and banners bearing the raven of Odin flapped in the wind. Women and children watched from the walls, some weeping, some shouting blessings.
Astrid stood with their children, regal and unshaken. She raised her hand, her voice carrying. "Return with victory, or not at all!"
The men roared in answer, and Bjorn smiled at her from atop his black horse. He knew she was not only his wife, but his anchor and his sharpest judge.
The march west was brutal. Snowmelt turned paths into rivers of mud. Yet the men sang, their voices rough, their spirits fierce. Sven's deep bellow carried across the columns, while Haldor's laughter rang like a war-drum.
By the third day, scouts returned. "Eirik camps in the valley by the river. He waits for us."
Bjorn's eyes gleamed. "Good. Then he has chosen his grave."
Dawn broke red across the valley. Mist curled from the river as Eirik's men stood in ranks, spears jutting like a forest of iron. Drums pounded, and horns blared across the hills.
Bjorn's warband gathered on the opposite ridge, shields clashing in rhythm, voices rising in song.
Bjorn rode before them, his voice booming across the field. "Men of Kattegat! Odin watches! Today we strike not for silver, not for land—but for honor! Eirik would call us slaves, but we are wolves! And wolves bow to no man!"
The warriors howled, slamming shields, their fury shaking the ground.
The charge began.
Like thunder, Bjorn's shield-wall crashed against Eirik's line. Spears shattered, men screamed, blood sprayed hot into the cold air. Sven Iron-Foot smashed skulls with his iron boot, leaving ruin with every stomp. Haldor swung his axe in great arcs, cleaving men in two, laughing madly all the while.
Bjorn himself was a storm. His sword rose and fell, each stroke a death. Arrows glanced from him as though Odin's hand deflected them. He ripped open a man's chest and devoured his heart upon the field, the sight striking terror into Eirik's warriors.
The battle was chaos—mud, blood, steel, and screams. Yet slowly, the tide turned. Eirik's men faltered, fear gnawing at their hearts.
Bjorn roared above the din, "Break them! Drive them into the river!"
And his men obeyed. The valley became a slaughterhouse, corpses floating crimson in the rushing waters.
At last, Jarl Eirik stood alone, his shield splintered, his breath ragged. He spat blood, glaring at Bjorn. "You are no king—you are a beast. And beasts are slain."
Bjorn stepped forward, towering. His blade struck once, clean and final. Eirik's head rolled into the mud.
Bjorn lifted it high for all to see. "This is what awaits all who whisper against Kattegat!"
The men howled, their victory song echoing through the valley.
Scene 6 – Victory and Warning
By dusk, Eirik's hall burned. His treasures were seized, his warriors either slain or bent knee to Bjorn. His daughters were taken as spoils, his banners torn down and replaced with Bjorn's raven.
Yet as the flames lit the night sky, Astrid's words returned to Bjorn. The Franks are waiting. Every drop of blood spilled here gives them time to sharpen their steel.
Bjorn stood over the battlefield, his warriors feasting and laughing behind him, and whispered to the raven circling above.
"Let them come. Let them all come. I will carve my name into the bones of the world."
The storm had only just begun.