LIGHTNOVELSTORY Chapter 44: A Great Day
Thorfinn sat by Lagertha's bedside, her hand resting gently in his. The room was quiet, save for Bjorn's soft breathing as he slept soundly on the bed beside her. Lagertha was still recovering, her wounds not fully healed despite the magic Thorfinn had used. His abilities had their limits, and she needed time to rest. Thorfinn's mind was already on the journey ahead. He wanted to leave soon. It took most people a week to march to Darkmoon Forest, but Thorfinn was planning to do it in four days on horseback, perhaps less if he pushed himself hard enough.
Lagertha stirred, her voice soft but filled with worry. "Make sure they all get home safely... please," she pleaded. Thorfinn had told her what he believed the Jarl planned, and since then, she hadn't slept well. Rarely did she ever worry about Ragnar, for they all sought a good death. It was part of their way of life. But being torn apart by the Ulfhednar, savage wolves in men's form, was not an honorable end. Dying because of the Jarls schemes was something Lagertha could not bear for her husband and their friends.
"I will make sure they all return," Thorfinn reassured her, his grip tightening on her hand. He had prepared well—daggers coated in silver, a large amount of oil that would catch fire easily and cling to the skin of the beasts. He'd packed everything into Skíðblaðnir, his divine ship in the form of a cart, with Magnus' own horse harnessed to it. With the magic of the ship, Thorfinn doubted it would slow him down at all.
Lagertha groaned slightly, her hand instinctively going to her side, wincing in pain. "Be careful too," she said, her voice strained. "Rebekah is waiting for you. Her love for you is a rare thing, a once-in-a-lifetime gift. Don't throw it away by dying too quickly."
Thorfinn nodded, concern etched on his face. "Shall I get you something for the pain?" he asked.
Lagertha nodded, and Thorfinn immediately grabbed his satchel. He pulled out a few herbs, grinding them together before mixing them with water in a small pot over the fire. After a few moments, he returned to her side with a cup of the mixture, supporting her head as he helped her drink. "This will make you sleep and numb the pain," he said softly, his hand gently holding the back of her neck.
She smiled weakly as she finished the cup, her eyes fluttering as sleep began to overtake her. "Thorfinn... I worry for you," she murmured. "I wish we could've stayed on our farm... I wish we all could've stayed there."
Thorfinn gave her a sad smile. "I wish the same sometimes," he replied, his voice low. "But rest now. I'll make sure everyone comes home." He kissed her hand gently before standing and leaving the room. In the main hall, Storri was speaking with one of the servants. Storri had done well over the summer, managing the farms and overseeing the production of iron. He was experienced and reliable, which was why Thorfinn had appointed him as a temporary steward while he was away.
"Storri," Thorfinn called, catching the man's attention. Storri turned with a smile.
"Ah, Lord," Storri greeted him. "We found the old Jarl's food storage, just where Thyri said it would be. With this, we should have no trouble getting through the winter, especially with your surplus."
"Good," Thorfinn replied, placing a hand on Storri's shoulder as he led him outside. "I'll be leaving soon. While I'm gone, you're in charge until Lagertha has fully recovered. I want you to focus on building up our warriors. Offer them two silver pieces a week until this mess is sorted." Storri's eyes widened in surprise. Paying guards was not common in Kattegat. Most men raided during the season and pursued other trades when they returned. Offering two silver coins a week—more than enough for a man's loyalty—would no doubt attract plenty, though the rigorous training Thorfinn's men endured might turn some away.
"Yes, Lord. I'll make sure the word gets out," Storri said, still a bit in shock.
"Good," Thorfinn said, clapping him on the shoulder again. He headed toward the stable where his cart was ready, packed with supplies. Thyri stood there waiting, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Her cotton gown hugged her figure tightly, emphasizing her curves, and her breasts. When she saw Thorfinn, she smiled, her eyes lighting up, and they kissed softly.
"Be careful," she whispered when they parted.
"I will," Thorfinn answered, his tone steady. He glanced around, making sure no one was nearby. "Keep an eye on your mother. I don't want her meddling."
Thyri nodded, her fingers lightly tracing his chest. "I will."
They kissed one last time before Thorfinn mounted the horse, urging it forward. "See you soon," he said, his voice fading as he rode out of the village.
Thorfinn rode hard, pushing the horse as fast as he dared. The wind whipped through his hair, and the road stretched endlessly ahead of him. He knew he couldn't afford to waste time. Every hour counted, and the fate of Ragnar and the others possibly hung in the balance. He only stopped when necessary, letting the horse rest for a few hours each day before continuing his relentless pace. With luck, he would reach Darkmoon Forest soon.
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The Jarl stood tall in front of his assembled men, his voice loud and proud as he addressed the crowd. The sun was just beginning to break through the clouds, casting a warm light over the clearing, and he smiled as he surveyed both his supporters and Ragnar's. Today would be a great day.
"Today is a great day!" the Jarl boomed, his voice carrying easily across the gathering. "The forest is rich with prey, and the weather favors us! A full day of hunting lies ahead, and remember—the man who brings me the greatest quarry will win a grand prize! Presented by my own daughter, and he shall have a place of honor in my household!"
The words, on the surface, sounded like a promise of reward for skill in the hunt, but for half the men gathered there, they knew the true meaning. The Jarl's men were aware they wouldn't be hunting animals today. The quarry he spoke of was Ragnar and his loyal supporters. The prize would be for the one who brought Ragnar's head or the heads of his closest companions, brought back as trophies. And with the amulets, they would be protected from the Ulfhednar, the wolf-men lurking in Darkmoon Forest. The Jarl's plan was simple: let Ragnar's men fall victim to the beasts, then descend upon them when they were vulnerable.
Ragnar and his followers knew they would be attacked, though they had no idea just how bloody the day would be. Had they known the true extent of the Jarl's treachery, they might never have ventured this far. As the Jarl continued his speech, his eyes locked briefly with Ragnar's. "May the best man win," he said, with a slight grin pulling at his lips, knowing full well what he intended. With a wave of his hand, he gestured toward the forest. "Now, go forth!"
The men, both Ragnar's and the Jarl's, scattered toward the forest as if they were heading out for the hunt. But beneath the surface, both sides had their orders. The Jarl's men were to gather once out of sight, and follow Ragnar's trail deep into the forest where they would strike. Ragnar, on the other hand, had his own plan. His men were split into three groups of twenty. Torsten, disguised as Ragnar, would lead the largest group, drawing the Jarl's attention. The real Ragnar would double back with his own men and attack from the side, while another group would approach from the opposite direction, trapping the Jarl's men in a pincer.
As they moved through the forest, Ragnar and Torsten quickly switched clothes, shielded by the bodies of their men. Out of sight from the Jarl and his followers, Ragnar split off, his plan now in motion. Torsten's group, the one meant to draw the Jarl's attention, was made up of Ragnar's closest companions: Floki, Rollo, Arne, Erik, and Arwyn. It would be suspicious if Torsten was not surrounded by the same men who usually followed Ragnar. Each of them carried weapons suited for hunting—spears, bows, and knives—but they all knew this was no ordinary hunt. Arwyn, kept her sword and shield close, unwilling to rely solely on her spear. Though if worst comes to worst she could let the beast out of its cage.
"I hope Ragnar knows what he's doing," Rollo muttered as they walked, watching the other groups disappear into the forest in opposite directions.
"We are in the gods' hands now," Floki replied with a strange little giggle, though his tone turned more serious as he leaned toward Arwyn. "Can you smell any Ulfhednar near us?" he whispered.
Arwyn's cold blue eyes scanned the forest ahead. She shook her head. "They're not close," she said quietly, "but the wind's behind us. I can't tell for sure."
Floki let out another laugh, though it lacked its usual mirth. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough," he said, stepping lightly through the brush.
The forest was thick, the trees tall and dark, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The underbrush was dense, making it difficult to move without snapping twigs underfoot or brushing against thick bushes. Despite the growing tension, Torsten's group pressed forward, following the long overgrown path. The further they went, the quieter the forest became. The sounds of the other men had long since faded, and even the birds seemed to have fallen silent.
Arwyn's senses were on edge. She could feel the forest watching them, feel the presence of something lurking just beyond the trees. She tightened her grip on her spear, her knuckles white, but she didn't speak. Instead, she kept her eyes on the path ahead, her ears straining for any sound that might betray the presence of an enemy. Floki, sensing her unease, walked closer to her. "You feel it too, don't you?" he whispered. "The forest... it's alive with something."
The group pressed deeper into the forest, the thick brush and towering trees making it difficult to navigate. The trees were ancient, their twisted roots clawing at the ground, while their massive trunks blocked out much of the sunlight. The deeper they went, the darker it became, casting everything in shadow. Branches stretched out like claws, snagging on clothes and scraping skin. It felt like the forest itself was trying to slow them down.
Rollo swung his axe at the overgrowth, severing thick branches and bushes that got in their way. "This damn brush is thicker than a whore's thighs," he growled, pushing through the tangled mess. "Can't believe we're trudging through this filth."
Hours passed as they walked, each step heavier than the last as the terrain seemed to fight them. They exchanged banter as they moved, trying to lighten the mood, but the tension was palpable. Despite the small talk, everyone knew they were being led into danger, though the true nature of it was still unclear. Rollo swung his axe, cutting through the thick brush with a grunt. "Damn this forest!" he growled, hacking away at a tangle of branches. "I swear the trees are fighting back. It's like they don't want us here."
"Maybe they don't," Floki replied with a laugh, skipping over a root and twirling his dagger. "These trees have seen more than men ever will. Perhaps they're trying to warn us, hmm?"
Rollo spat on the ground. "Warn us? I'll take my chances." He then looked around "The Jarl hasn't made a move yet. Plenty of opportunities if he wanted to."
Arwyn walked behind them, keeping her nose to the wind. It still blew at their backs, and she could smell something—a group of men not far off. She assumed it was the Jarl's party, though she couldn't tell them apart by scent alone. She wasn't skilled enough to distinguish individual people, but she had memorized Thorfinn's scent. If he were here, she'd know.
After a few more hours of walking, Rollo finally called for them to take a break. "Alright, sit down and eat something. We've walked enough for now," he said, dropping heavily to the ground and pulling out some food.
The men gathered around, starting small fires and pulling out dried meat and bread. They were laughing and joking, their spirits surprisingly high considering the tension of the hunt. Rollo tore into a piece of bread, chewing loudly. "I'm starting to think the Jarl's too afraid to make a move. We've been walking for hours, and nothing's happened."
Arwyn, however, remained alert, standing on the edge of the group with her spear in hand, eyes scanning the forest. Her muscles were tense, her instincts telling her something was wrong. Rollo noticed her standing there and called out, "Come sit with us, Arwyn. You're making the rest of us nervous."
"I'm not hungry," she replied, her voice flat.
Rollo snorted. "The Jarl's not going to attack us so early. He'll wait until it gets dark. That's how these things work."
"I'm not worried about the Jarl," Arwyn said, her tone even colder.
Rollo laughed and looked over at Floki. "Don't tell me you've been filling her head with your stories."
Floki, who was using his dagger to slice an apple, pointed it at Rollo with a grin. "They're not just stories, Rollo. The Ulfhednar are real."
Rollo rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. "I'm sick of hearing about your damn wolves. There are no Ulfhednar left, and if there were, they'd be dead before they could touch us." He squared his shoulders, fists clenched, ready for a fight.
Floki stood up as well, a playful grin on his face. "Ah, the man who has no stories of his own hates to hear about others. It makes sense now."
Rollo clenched his fists in anger as he moved closer to Floki the other man drawing his dagger. Before either could act, Arwyn pushed herself between them, her strength sending both men stumbling back. "Enough," she said sharply, her eyes cold. "We're not alone. Look around."
Rollo growled, pushing himself back to his feet. "What are you talking about?"
"There are nineteen of us," Arwyn said, her voice steady. "There were twenty before."
The men all looked around, confusion spreading through the camp. A quick count confirmed it—Sigurd was missing.
"Sigurd's gone!" one of them shouted, panic creeping into his voice as they all scrambled to their feet, weapons drawn.
Rollo grabbed his battle axe, his face grim. "Start searching! He can't have gotten far."
Floki, more cautious, added, "Look for signs, blood trails, anything. He wouldn't have just wandered off."
The group fanned out, each man scouring the dense forest for any sign of Sigurd. Arwyn remained close to the ground, her senses sharp, but the thick smell of sweat and fear from the others overpowered her ability to track anything clearly. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them, just beyond the trees, waiting for the right moment to strike.
A sudden, blood-curdling scream pierced the air, sending a wave of dread through the group. Arwyn was the first to react, her spear in hand as she fought her way through the thick brush toward the source of the scream. The others followed closely behind, weapons drawn, eyes darting around as they searched for whatever had caused the scream. When they reached the spot where the scream had come from, they found nothing. No body, no blood, no sign of a struggle. Just the thick, oppressive silence of the forest.
Rollo roared in frustration, swinging his axe wildly into the nearby bushes, tearing them from the ground in his fury. "Come out and face me!" he shouted into the trees, his voice echoing through the empty forest.
"There are only eighteen of us now," Floki muttered, his voice unsettlingly calm.
"Find them!" Rollo bellowed, his eyes wild with rage. "Find the enemy and kill them!"
Torsten stepped forward. "We should stay together. Whatever's out there is picking us off one by one."
Rollo glared at him, his anger flaring. "Don't be a coward, Torsten!"
Torsten's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue further.
Arwyn ignored their bickering, her senses focused on the task at hand. Whatever had taken Sigurd—and now another man—was still out there, watching, waiting. She could feel it. The air was thick with the stench of fear and something else, something dark and primal. She gripped her spear tighter, her eyes scanning the shadows.
They were being hunted.
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Thorfinn rode hard, the horse beneath him panting from the relentless pace. His muscles ached, but it was nothing compared to the urgency he felt. He had pushed himself to get here as quickly as possible, and now, as the trees thinned, the forest opening up to reveal the outskirts of the camp, he knew he was close.
As he approached, two men blocked his path, stepping forward with crude, suspicious expressions. "Who the fuck are you?" one of them barked, his hand resting on the hilt of his axe.
"Thorfinn," he replied calmly, dismounting the horse and stepping closer. The name clearly struck them, their eyes widening in surprise. They hadn't expected to see him.
"You're supposed to be at sea," the other muttered, unease creeping into his voice.
Thorfinn gave a short nod. "I was. But the leviathan is dead now, so I had no reason to stay."
"Lies," one of them snarled, his hand tightening around his axe. "The leviathan can't be killed by a man. Only the Aesir could slay such a beast."
Thorfinn paused, looking them both in the eye. Without a word, he turned and walked to the back of his cart, pulling a long, wrapped object from beneath the tarp. He approached the men again, holding the bundle tightly.
"What are you doing?" one of them demanded, shifting uneasily. "Stop!"
Thorfinn's voice was calm, cold. "Will you let me pass?"
"You have no business here," one of them sneered, his hand gripping his axe tighter. "You should be dead."
Thorfinn sighed. With one swift motion, he unwrapped the object, revealing the massive, jagged tooth of the leviathan, gleaming in the fading daylight. The men's faces paled, their bravado quickly turning to fear.
"What is that?" the man with the shield gasped, lifting it defensively, though his voice trembled.
"The leviathan's tooth," Thorfinn said, voice low and dangerous. Without hesitation, he thrust the tooth forward. The man tried to block with his shield, but the massive fang pierced it as if it were made of cloth, driving straight through into his chest. Blood sprayed from the wound as Thorfinn kicked the man off the tooth, sending him sprawling to the ground, dead before he hit it.
The second man stood frozen in shock, but it didn't last long. With a scream, he charged, axe raised high. Thorfinn planted the tooth into the ground and met the man's attack head-on. Catching the swing mid-air, he spun around, using the momentum to throw the man over his shoulder, impaling him on the tooth.
The man let out a guttural scream as his body slid down the length of the tooth, blood bubbling from his mouth. His face twisted in agony as he tried to push himself off, but his strength faded, leaving him limp and lifeless.
More men from the camp had arrived by now, their faces marked with unease at the sight before them. Thorfinn grabbed the tooth and wrenched it free, pulling it from the dead man's body in one fluid motion. Blood poured from the gaping wound as the man crumpled to the ground.
Three men charged toward him, axes drawn. Without hesitation, Thorfinn hurled the tooth like a spear, impaling the first man before he could react. The second swung his axe at Thorfinn's head, but Thorfinn kicked up one of the dead man's axes, deflecting the blow and spinning around to slice the back of the man's knee. As the man dropped, howling in pain, Thorfinn slit his throat from behind, cutting deep and swift.
The final attacker rushed at him, but Thorfinn sidestepped, cutting the man's hand clean off. The man screamed, clutching the bloody stump, but Thorfinn grabbed him by the head, his eyes narrowing with focus. A pale blue light surrounded Thorfinn's hand as the man's head began to vibrate violently.
"What—what are you doing?" the man stammered, panic in his eyes. His words cut off as his skull started to crack, and within seconds, his head exploded, sending blood and bone splattering across the clearing.
Thorfinn stood, breathing heavily, his hand still glowing faintly. He looked around at the gathering crowd, their faces a mixture of fear and shock. Blood dripped from the leviathan's tooth as Thorfinn ripped it from the body of the man he had thrown it at.
"Who stands in my way now?" he roared, his voice echoing through the camp, sending shivers down the spines of those gathered. The men exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence shaken.
"Is there anyone else?" Thorfinn demanded, pulling the leviathan's tooth from the body of the man he had impaled. His grip was firm, his eyes burning with an intensity that dared anyone to challenge him.
"I stand in your way," came a low, emotionless voice from the crowd. The men parted as Finn stepped forward, towering over the others, clad in his byrnie and helmet, a sword and shield in hand. He approached Thorfinn with slow, deliberate steps, his eyes cold and focused.
Finn stopped in front of Thorfinn, standing a full head taller than him. His gaze was hard, unflinching, as he looked down at the man who had slaughtered his comrades.
"I stand in your way, Thorfinn Fjallsson," Finn said.
(AN: So we have started the good stuff again. Tbf I think the other chapters were pretty good but who knows maybe they are mid. I am a pretty mid writer but I do think my concepts are pretty fresh at least. Tbh I enjoy writing because I'm basically writing what I'd like to read and since I make it up as I go along not really planning it's like I'm reading a new story. Anywayssssss hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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