Kate Warren

I thought about switching to my humor novel for the rest of the month, because it's set at the North Pole, but then I realized that would be way more fun in the middle of summer. Last week Jorgen was missing his girls. This week, he still is, but he's a bit distracted...

     The snap of a twig had him reaching for his blade and turning at the same time. Moonlight shone bright enough that he instantly saw who had intruded upon his solitude and sheathed the weapon. “Maja.”
     “I did not mean to startle you,” she said quietly.
  “You should not be about by yourself,” Jorgen admonished. “Where is that cousin who usually hangs upon you?”
     Maja smiled. “Probably looking for me as we speak.” She blew out a breath. “A person can only take so much being looked after.”

That's my ten. I'll add more below, in case anyone is interested. Didn't get to adding the new gallery yet, so hopefully that will be next week. Thank you for visiting.

Kate


     “You seek solitude.” Jorgen nodded, understanding. “Shall I leave you then?”
     “I thought you said I should not be by myself.” Maja stated with a hint of amusement in her voice. “Though I can tell you I know how to use a dagger. Shall I show you?”
     Jorgen raised a hand and shook his head. “No need. I believe you.”
     “Tell me, if you will, about Hilvard.” She requested. “I have never been away from Islak.”
     “Life is much the same everywhere.” Jorgen began. “We work all year to make ready for winter, then huddle by our fires, drinking our ale and mead and waiting for spring.”
     “Yes, so I have heard from others of their lands.” Maja let out an exasperated breath, wishing the pain in her head didn’t make her so easily annoyed. “I wish to know what is different.”
     The king thought for a moment. “We have mountains in Hilvard. They rise up from the earth to the heavens it seems, until you climb one. In the valleys are lakes, some are quite beautiful, and the parts that are flat are flatter than most of Islak. The birds, beasts, and fish are much the same, though we have some flowers and berries that you have not.”
     “And the people?” Maja encouraged. “Are the people much different from Islaker?”
     “Perhaps a bit more rough, a bit less formal, but kind of heart, loyal, and brave…some of the bravest in the world.” Jorgen smiled to himself, thinking of his middle daughter, who he knew would one day put grown men to shame with her courage.

We left off last time in Chapter 3, I think? Everyone just learned, courtesy of Asgrid's brother, that Jorgen is in fact the king of Hilvard. Here's this week's snippet.


​     As soon as he was certain no one was watching, [Jorgen] broke into a run and quickly left the trees behind. He was breathing hard when he reached the water's edge. Kneeling, he cupped his hands and brought up the cold, clear water, splashing his face.  Jorgen let the water drip off his chin and stared out at the sea. A part of him always yearned to be a-sea, breathing salt air, feeling the motion of wind and water, and the rhythm of rowing when the wind failed him; another part yearned for home, for his children and his keep, his horses and his dogs. And he wished to see his people. Morgyt himself could be in Islak or Berunia, but he might have split his raiders into two parties, the better to terrorize more lands.
     Disgusted to have let that black-hearted rogue into his thoughts, Jorgen closed his eyes and pictured his little ones. Brita was the oldest, nearly a maiden, she had her mother’s lovely golden hair and her father’s brown eyes, and a gentle firmness that had her people listening to her in spite of her youth. Next was Thorkatla, as bold and noisesome as her name implied, all of eight summers old but she ordered other children around as if born to it—Katla was a shieldmaiden in the making, and took after her father with brown hair and eyes. 
​

Jorgen needed some quiet after all the hubbub and a short meeting with Harald Frodarsson. Below is the rest of his musing about his girls.

Quick announcement that the draft is finished! It's massive and will have to be two books. I also accidentally won NaNo again. And I'm planning to add a new gallery for this story in the Image Galleries section of the site in the coming week.

Thank you for reading, and please stop by again.

Kate

Last was Amma, the quietest of his children. In Amma was all of her mother’s beauty and eyes the same sky blue as Viga’s had been, but a temper that was all her own—she was an enchanting waif of a child, prone to chills, fond of music, and always seeming a bit lost in the world. Amma had been born three winters ago and reminded Jorgen of snowflakes, delicate and fragile, indeed she had nearly been named Drifa because at birth the soft wisps of hair she sported had been white as snow. 
     His heart squeezed and he caught his breath. How he missed those sprites and their quarrels. If all went well, he would have them in his arms again in a fortnight. After months away, that much seemed a short enough time to see their smiles and hear their giggles once more.

    The next morning, Jorgen allowed everyone an hour to break their fasts, perform necessary bodily functions, and otherwise begin their day, before calling a council of what leaders and elders were left to the village. He had spoken with his own most trusted men late in the night and they had all agreed to abide by whatever decisions the village folk made.
     "Asgrid Frodarsdottir," Jorgen nodded deferentially. "I see you brought your niece."
     Maja leaned heavily upon her aunt's arm but held her head upright. Her eyes snapped and only with difficulty did she manage to keep from speaking out that she had as much right there as did any man of Hilvard.
     "I value her counsel, and her judgment," Lady Asgrid explained. "I would not exclude her from this meeting any more than my dear Hjelmar would have."
     At this Jorgen raised his brows but said nothing, impressed that as great a warrior as Hjelmar would enlist the aid and request the counsel of one so young. 
     "As you wish." He said, shrugging as if it was no matter to him whether the family dogs attended. "There is little left here, as you well know. I do not pretend to have any knowledge of what supplies might still exist after the Berunians finished sacking your village, but there is little enough in the way of shelter for the coming winter. I offer protection and passage to my lands for any who wish it. Once there you may stay the season, and you shall be welcomed, fed, and treated as any others. When spring comes, you may choose to stay in Hilvard or return here, and my own men will escort you back and assist in rebuilding if that is your wish."
     The few men gathered spoke to each other in hushed tones. One elderly man, with a bandaged arm called out. "And what is it you require in return?"
     Jorgen acknowledged the man with a curt nod. "Anything you can recall about Morgyt's men, where they attacked from, where they planned to go next, anything at all that was noticed might be of use to me."
     "Why?" another man ventured. "The quarrel is between us and Morgyt. It does not involve you."
     "No, it does not." Jorgen agreed. "But Morgyt has plagued my lands, and my people, and I have vowed to stop him. Help me or not, as you wish. Accept my offer or not. But be quick about your decision. My men and I leave on the morrow at dawn."
     The foreigners strode out of the clearing, leaving the village folk to talk the matter over.


That's it. That's the last part. Copyright 2022. All rights reserved. Do not copy without permission etc. If you're still with me, please let me know what you thought of the chapter. Thank you!

Kate

     "That's the last of the homes." Jorgen's second-in-command said as he dusted his hands.
     Jorgen had worked long and hard, alongside his men and the people of the village, several had been found alive but far more had not. "Men of Islak," he addressed those male persons who were of an age and well enough in body to be of assistance, "We must find anyone who has hidden. Night will fall soon, and they will need fire and shelter. You know, better than we, where your people might have taken cover. Go and fetch anyone you can find. My men and I shall contrive enough shelter for all who come, and will share what provisions we have."
     The local men disbursed quickly, having been assured that the foreigners could be trusted. Truth be told, anyone who opposed Morgyt and his fellow Berunians was considered friend. This Andriksson of Hilvard had proved himself as far as the men of the village were concerned. None could be dirtier, more soot-streaked, or more wearied than this foreign warrior.
     Jorgen took a moment to converse with his men and decide which of the remaining structures would be best and most easily fixed for temporary shelter, and set teams to doing what they could. Then he stepped away from the men, and headed for the cave where the dirty and bleeding Maja had been left.
     The servant, Lene, fell in with his stride. "I know the way, woman." he said, not unkindly.
     "Certainly, you do," she agreed, and said no more, but kept pace with him.
     Jorgen chuckled to himself. The servant need have no fear for her lady's virtue, nor for appearances. The woman was in no condition for bed sport, nor was he. Perhaps the women folk of this village had lived in peace so long they were unaware that in war time no one cared for appearances, and few would care even if he did seduce the woman—which he had no intention of doing anyway. He had enemies to find and kill, and no time for dalliances.
     By the time the two of them reached the cave, they found a number of women and children had returned, some caring for the wounded, others merely trying to settle their little ones for the coming night. One woman in particular seemed to have taken charge and was directing the others.
     Maja had been moved closer to the north wall of the cave, still not too far from the fire, but she could be propped up with little trouble. At the moment she lay sleeping, a small blonde girl snuggled against her.
     "Jorgen Andriksson,” the woman in charge spoke with sad authority. "I must thank you and your men for your assistance. I hear you were of use to my niece."
     Jorgen ducked his head, recognizing the speech of a powerful woman when he heard it. "I merely told her she would live. It was Marta there who insisted I see to the lady."
     "You are modest,"  the noble woman insisted. "Marta has many qualities but she is of little help with illness and injury."
     "That is why I fetched him for Maja." The girl agreed with a nod.
     Again, the woman turned to Jorgen. "I am Asgrid Frodarsdottir, wife…” She closed her eyes for a moment before continuing. “Widow of Hjelmar Jensson."
     "I am sorry for you, Asgrid Frodarsdottir. Hjelmar was a fine man, and a fierce warrior." Jorgen said the only thing he could at a time like this.
     "Yes. A fine husband and father as well." Asgrid said with a tear in her eye. She brushed the stray drop away. "There will be time enough for tears later. Now I must see to my people. The cave will hold half a dozen families perhaps, but there may be others."
     On this point, Jorgen was able to relieve her mind of some of its troubles. "My men are making what repairs can be made to make shelter for all for this night, and our provisions shall be shared as well."
     "That is very good of you." Asgrid sat on a barrel that had not been there when Jorgen had examined her niece. "We shall open this seat of mine and drink to the dead."
     "And to the living?" Jorgen asked softly, unwilling to add to the woman's pain, but unwilling also to see her give up while her support would be needed to convince the villagers of what he had in mind.
     "Yes," she said, making an effort to appear brighter. "To the living. My daughters and sons are safe. That is a blessing of course. My eldest boy may speak with you about joining your men. He is injured as well as angry. He may try to sneak aboard one of your boats, though with a broken leg he will be clumsy about it."
     "I shall look for him." Jorgen agreed easily. "It might be best to let him be, for a time. A son of Ironfist would be an asset to my band, even if only for a day or two."
     Asgrid smiled. "My thanks once more, Jorgen Andriksson. You are wise as well as kind."
     The Hilvardi leader said no more and turned to rejoin his men fixing shelter in the village.
     “He has gone.” Asgrid said, knowing her niece no longer slept.
     Maja opened her eyes but did not try to move. “Thank you, aunt.”
     “I do not agree that it is best to keep your identity a secret.” Asgrid chided gently. “But I will do so—for a time—because you ask it of me. Here, let me take her.” Bending to take the child from Maja, Asgrid pressed a light kiss to her niece’s head. “Now sleep. You will want all of your strength on the morrow.”
     Maja settled more comfortably now that she could move the arm which had gone numb from the slight weight of her little cousin.  She closed her eyes and tried to block out all thought, but she could not. Where was her brother? Was he safe? Would she be able to send him word of the attack? What would he do if he knew? Perhaps it would be better only to say that she was safe. But that would never do. Surely Vakr would hear of the fate of the village, and know who was responsible. Even with Maja’s assurance of her own safety, Vakr would be only the more incensed and determined to avenge the deaths of their mother and father, and now their uncle as well.
     Tears came unbidden at the thought of her fierce yet kind uncle. Hjelmar had at first frightened her, but once he had caught her sneaking a treat and sneaked one along with her, a mischievous gleam in his eyes and a grin beneath his great reddish-brown beard, she had known him for a kindred spirit and a powerful ally in any and all kitchen raids she might wish to conduct. He had even once allowed her to don his helm as they “pillaged” the larder. The only condition ever laid upon these ventures was that Maja not say a word to her Aunt Asgrid about them.
    Maja curled herself tighter under the furs and fought waves of grief. She had thought there would be more time to spend with Uncle Hjelmar, riding across the meadow, screeching like a heathen as she was never allowed to do in Krossgata where she was a representative of her father and the crown of Islak. In Hjelmar’s village, though everyone knew she was the princess, she had been allowed a few brief weeks each summer to be just a child.
     Maja swallowed her tears and tried to clear her mind. Aunt Asgrid was right; she needed rest. On the morrow there would be a great many decisions to be made, and she knew her aunt would require her counsel. Her head hurt less, thanks to some herbs Lene had given her, but she could not quite settle and convince her body to rest.
     Forcing her breathing to slow, Maja carefully did not think about home, her parents, her brother, or her uncle. She did not think of the village either. Instead, she found herself picturing a handsome yet dirty face and deep, dark eyes, the color of which she did not yet know. There had not been enough light in the cave to see. Why Jorgen of Hilvard's face should intrude into her thoughts she could not say, nor why the memory of his eyes should be both frightening and comforting. He had not shown any sign of seeing her as anything other than an injured woman. No threat had been implied in his gaze, his questions, or his probing of her wound. Why then did she feel nervous thinking back to that brief moment when their gazes had met and locked? It had not been long, half a moment really, certainly not long enough to cause Maja any discomfort this much later.
     Rather than fight the thoughts, she allowed herself to be soothed by them. She was not afraid of her feelings, only confused by them. It could not be attraction she felt, she was certain, for she had felt that before and it was a far more overwhelming set of emotions. Flutterings of the stomach, skipping of beats of her heart, and a feeling of lightness to almost giddiness. None of that did the thought of this Jorgen Andriksson give her. And when her weary mind wondered how it would feel to have his strong arms around her, she paid it no mind at all, but rather snuggled deeper under her blankets as if she truly was held and safe.
     

   Copyright 2022. All rights reserved. Do not copy without permission, etc. Thank you for reading.

Kate

    The smell of carnage hung in the air, a palpable stench of death and destruction that filled Jorgen’s nose and made him want to strike something. His band of warriors had tracked their enemies for months, hoping to anticipate where the Berunians would strike next. Too late, he thought. They had not arrived in time to warn the people of Lundrskag of the danger facing them. Blood, smoke, charred bodies, and the remains of homes and barns were all he saw no matter in which direction he looked.
     “Spread out.” Jorgen ordered his men. “Search the village—what is left of it—and the forest and fields. Perhaps someone survived this slaughter.”
     The men obeyed without question. For more than a dozen years he had led them. Jorgen had proven his worth as a leader time and time again, both in peace and in battle. For this they respected him. Never would he ask the lowest of his warriors to do any task he would not willingly do himself.  For this they loved him. And in all the years, and all the wars, not once had he failed to obtain victory, not once had an enemy evaded him for long, and not once had a betrayal gone unpunished. While no man might say he was unjust, Jorgen’s men knew that his fury knew no bounds when he or his people had been wronged. For this, though they might not admit to as much, his men feared him.  The combination of feelings he inspired created in the eyes of his men, the stature of a legend, even a god—though never would any voice such a thought, fearing to displease the man who held such things as sacrilege.
     Jorgen stood a moment, watching his men as they looked into half-burned homes and called out to the air. Satisfied that his instructions were being obeyed, he strode to the edge of the village and began to help move timbers and stones from a doorway. 
     A shout heralded the first body found. The old man was injured, but his heart beat strong. He might live yet. Slowly they worked, clearing debris, looking for signs of life. A babe’s whimper gave away a hiding place that concealed a women with her children. Two more men were found alive, but badly wounded.
     Jorgen wiped an arm across his brow, smearing soot across his face. A small hand clamped on his arm with surprising force and he turned to see that it belonged to a girl with red braids and a frightened look. “Please.” She whispered, “My cousin is hurt. You must come.”
     “Your cousin. And who are you?” he asked, quietly so as not to scare the girl more than the devastation around them already did.
     “Marta. Marta Hjelmarsdottir.” The girl looked at him steadily, as if willing him to help her. “Will you come? You are the leader?”
     “Yes, I am, and I will come.” Nodding at two of his men to accompany him, Jorgen agreed. “Hjelmarsdottir? Your father is Hjelmar Ironfist? The Jarl of this village?”
     The girl, Marta, nodded and looked at him for a moment. “Have you seen him? Is he all right?”
     Jorgen gently directed her gaze back in the direction they were heading. “I have not seen him. He may be on the other side of the village.”
      In truth Jorgen suspected that Hjelmar Jennson was among the slain. A man with the reputation of the great Ironfist would have made his presence known, had he survived. Jorgen would have heard, if not seen, the jarl. But he was not about to tell this frightened child that her father was dead.
     She peeked up at him once or twice along the way, but said nothing—hesitant with these strangers, and Jorgen could well understand.
     “How did you know I was the leader?” he asked her.
     Marta shrugged. “I watched for a moment. Everyone was doing what you told them.”
     Shy, but clever. Jorgen could respect that. Marta put him in mind of his own eldest daughter, though the two of them seemed quite different.
     “What is your cousin’s name?” He asked, hoping the child would open up a bit.
     She answered without looking at him. “Maja.”
     He tried again. “Maja what?”
     “Just Maja.” After that, Marta remained silent.
     The girl led them to a cave where several women and more children hovered in fear. A fire had been built to ease the damp and chill of the enclosure, and near it lay a woman with blood streaming down her face, dirt in her hair, and dark eyes intense with pain. The lady struggled, attempting to sit, but Jorgen knelt and eased her back down. “Who are you?” she demanded quietly.
     “Jorgen Andriksson of Hilvard.” He spoke softly, and watched her wariness give way to exhaustion and pain. “Lie still. You are hurt, and I would know how bad the wound is.”
     The lady allowed Jorgen to examine her head and answered his questions as best she could. Her name was Maja. She was in a village on the coast of Islak visiting family, but lived farther inland in the town of Lenuka. And while he held up three fingers, one of his companions was holding two up behind his head. That made her smile a bit, and had Jorgen turning to swat away the hand of the offending wretch. “Your head will ache for a few days, and you may bear a scar, but you shall live, Maja.”
     “Tell me, Jorgen Andriksson,” she began, “does my uncle—the jarl of this village live?”
     They both looked at Marta, who was watching them intently.
     “I know not. My men are searching for survivors.” Jorgen hastened to tell her. Looking at the people huddled in the cave he addressed them. “The Berunians are gone from this place. If you wish to help in the search, you may do so without fear. None of my people will harm you.”
     An old woman came forward, grasped his hand, and kissed it. “Lord bless you, Jorgen Andriksson!”
     The people shuffled out, nodding in deference to the injured lady who lay still by the fire. A servant bustled about her, tucking the blanket more firmly, offering a bit of broth which was refused.
     The lady fixed Jorgen with an intent stare. “What are your dealings with the Berunians?”
     “You waste no time.” Jorgen almost smiled. “I seek to put an end to Morgyt’s false dealings and ambitions. He has harassed my people, my lands too long. I am sorry that I could provide the people of this village with no warning, but I looked for him to attack elsewhere.”
     “Morgyt.” The woman spat out the name. “He has killed many, and knows no remorse. Any foe of Morgyt’s is an ally to me.” She declared boldly.
     Jorgen’s gaze probed hers. “What has he done to you?”
     Maja’s eyes dropped to her hands. “There are those I loved who have perished because of his schemes. I am an orphan and a widow, thanks to Morgyt. Of close family all that remains to me is a brother, and I know not where he is, or if he still lives.”
     Comprehension apparent in his eyes, Jorgen spoke again. “You were in Lenuka when he struck.” It was no question, and yet she answered him.
     “No. I was here. My family sent me to my uncle, fearing an open attack from Morgyt’s forces. I had word later of my parents’ deaths, and my husband’.” Still, she would not meet his gaze.
     “And your brother?” he asked, suspicions forming in his mind.
     “A band of men smuggled the prince out of the city.” Finally, she looked up. “My brother was with them.”
     “The prince—what of the princess?” Jorgen asked. “It has been nigh on six months. Have you no word of her?”
     “No more questions.” The servant nearly shouted. “My lady must rest.”
     Jorgen nodded. “As you wish, good woman.” He turned his attention back to this Maja. “One of my men shall bring news of the survivors if you wish.”
     “There is no need,” Maja asserted. “The villagers will bring word.”
     “Surely.” The Lord of Hilvard agreed. “You must be anxious for your uncle. Come, men.” With that he and his companions departed the cave.
     "That was close," the servant whispered. "Too close. You must guard your words carefully."
     "I know, I know, Lene." Maja agreed. "But if I do not answer his questions, he will become suspicious. He must believe that I am no more than some woman, born to wealth perhaps, but of little importance."
     Lene sighed. "I shall do my best to shield you from further questioning, at least until you are recovered.  Now drink this." The servant ordered.
     Maja sat up, with the servant's assistance and drank the offered broth, though she did not taste it. "There, I have drunk your broth. Go now and find out if my uncle survived.  And if my other cousins are keeping quiet about who I am."
     "I would not leave you..." Lene trailed off when she saw the determined look in her mistress' eyes. "Very well, but only if Marta will stay and keep an eye on you. And no argument, princess!"
     Marta nodded her agreement and watched Lene leave. When she had gone the girl went and sat by her cousin. “Do you think Papa is all right, Maja?”
     “I do not know, Marta. I hope so.” Maja took the girl’s hand.
     Marta was a quiet and sweet as her twin brother Martijn was loud and tempestuous. She lacked her eldest sister’s confidence, but there was a calm sort of competence about her that had her younger siblings treating her with more respect than they might have otherwise.
     Maja sighed as she lay back, wishing there were more she could do for Marta, for everyone. But every time she attempted to rise she became dizzy. The last thing anyone needed was for her to fall and injure herself more. Her eyes welled with tears which she tried to blink back. If only there had been more time. If only she had thought as far as Morgyt looking for her in this village. If she had gone anywhere else, all these people might now be safe. 
     A voice in her head told her that she had saved lives, and that should count for something, but she could not help fearing that the entire village was a ruin now, and far more lives lost because of her presence. Her aunt and uncle would never have turned her away, but she might have found another place to hide, and they might live yet. Of course she did not know that they were dead. It only seemed likely. Her uncle would have fought, of that she had no doubt. Her aunt might have run to safety.
     Maja fought the urge to beat her fists on the ground and let one tear fall down her cheek. If she had not stumbled over that root, she would at least be able to help search for others, and tend to the wounded. As it was, she could only lie by the fire and wait for news to be brought. Perhaps she would not have been of much help, but anything would be better than being forced to wait and watch, unable to even rise from the pile of furs in which she had been deposited.
     "Maja?" a small, thin voice called.
     "I am here, dumpling." She called back as Marta rose to relinquish her place, making way for her baby sister. Maja reached a hand out to the youngest of her cousins. "What news, Dagmar?"
     The little girl shook her head, but took the offered hand and sat. "None yet. Do you think Papa and Mama..." she could not finish the question.
     "We must have hope, little one." Maja pulled her close and placed a kiss on her soft golden hair.  "They will be found."
    "What if they are not?" tears sparkled in Dagmar's eyes, and in Marta’s.
     Maja fought back a wave of grief; it was like her parents' deaths all over again. "Then you shall live with me, and I shall care for you." She snuggled the girl closer and prayed her aunt and uncle would be found alive.
 
 
     Copyright 2022, all rights reserved. Do not copy without permission, etc. If you made it this far, thank you, and please consider letting me know what you thought either in the comments below or via email (The Amazing Contact Form!) or Twitter. Part 2 will be posted in a few days.

​Kate

Welcome to another weekend in KateWarrenLand, and another Weekend Writing Warriors post. 8-10 sentences from one of my novels await you below. Click on the image above for more information on the WeWriWa blog hop!

Previously, Asgrid's brother Harald scared the heck out of everyone by riding up out of the blue, with a bunch of his people. Harald came to help though, so we're good. In the extra posted after the snippet, we learned that Jorgen is not just some guy, but in fact is the King of Hilvard. Let's see what this week's snippet has in store...

     “I am certain Asgrid Frodarsdottir knows that at times, sharing all of the truth can be a risk,” Jorgen said calmly, but with a look of annoyance at his brother. Turning his gaze back to the ladies of the village he continued. “Forgive the omission. It was not my intent to deceive anyone.”
     Maja felt her head moving of its own volition and quickly changed the motion to a shrug. “It is not as if you lied at all. We never asked if you were a king.”
     For the first time since coming to the village, Jorgen smiled. That expression transformed his face, from merely pleasant to distractingly handsome. The knowledge that her comment had been the cause of his amusement made Maja feel absurdly pleased with herself. 

That's ten sentences, if I counted correctly. There is more below for anyone who would like to read on, and a picture of Uncle Harald.

Thank you for stopping by, and I'll see you next weekend.

Kate

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[Maja] felt an answering smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and decided it was time to find anywhere else to be, and anything to occupy her mind. Turning on her heel she lost her balance and was caught in strong arms. Hesitantly she looked up to find that the arms belonged to someone with warm, rich brown eyes. Jorgen. King Jorgen, she reminded herself. “My thanks to you. I–I am well now.”
     “Are you certain?” Jorgen searched her face.
     Not trusting herself to speak, Maja merely nodded, and wrenched her gaze from his. He stepped back a pace and she set off toward her aunt’s house. Birgit hurried after her.
     “Maja?” Birgit asked, a look of worry on her face.
     Maja forced a smile. “I am well, cousin. Truly.”
     The younger girl looked skeptical, but said no more.

We left off with Lukkas moving to protect Maja as riders can be heard approaching the village. Everyone, local and Hilvardi alike is wonder what's coming next. Here's this week's 8-10 sentences.

     There was more shouting as the horses drew near. Suddenly the rhythm of hooves on dirt halted and a resonant voice yelled “ASGRID!”
     Nearly weak with relief, the lady stumbled forward until she gained enough steadiness to break into a run. Asgrid pushed her way through the small but determined band of warriors barring the entrance to the village, tears streaming down her face.
     The man who had shouted her name dismounted from his horse and caught her as she flung herself into his arms. “There now. All shall be well.”
     Maja and Birgit broke through as the foreigners stared in confusion while the village men went back to their work, apparently no longer worried. Birgit was the first to speak. “Uncle?”

More available below to add to the scene, and so you can get a feel for our new character. 

I'm going to rework the first few chapters to remove a character who drops off the page quickly anyway, and include the rest of Asgrid's children. Working on character art for them as well. The eight year old has a beard, if the AI can be trusted. ;)

Thank you so much for stopping by. I look forward to reading all of your excerpts.

Kate

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the more below...

Lady Asgrid pulled back from the newcomer’s embrace, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “This is my brother, Harald Frodarsson.”
     “Of course, I am!” the huge man bellowed through his red beard. “Did you think I was Morgyt come back again? Ha! I’m not half as ugly as that fellow.”
     Before anyone had a chance to say anything else Maja launched herself at Harald, crying “Uncle!”
     Harald shot a quick look at his sister before replying, “Ah, how is my favorite niece?” and giving her an extra squeeze.
     “Happy to see you!” Maja said with a smile. She had always liked Asgrid’s brother. He was a merry sort of man, and once a person got to know him, his height and bulk became far less intimidating. It had been many years since Maja had felt any trepidation in his presence.
     The young man stepped forward and introduced himself. “Lukkas Andriksson of Hilvard. It’s an honor to meet such a famed warrior. Surely all of Scandinavia has heard of Harald Frodarsson.”
     Harald eyed him briefly. “A smooth tongue that one has,” he said in a loud whisper. “Hilvard, ye say?”
     “Aye. Please allow me to present my brother, Jorgen.” Lukkas stepped back and sideways, to reveal his elder brother.
     “Jorgen Andriksson.” Harald said. “Of Hilvard?”
     Jorgen nodded. “Well met, Jarl Harald.”
     Harald threw his head back and laughed. “I should say so! Well met indeed, King Jorgen. Your reputation is well known to me.”
     The ladies’ eyes all swung to the Hilvardi brothers, waiting to see if any contradiction was forthcoming. When neither man refuted the statement, it was Asgrid who spoke. “King? Why did you not tell us?”
      “Jorgen likes to pretend he’s not a king,” Lukkas said with a grin. An elbow to the ribs from his brother changed his expression.

 
Last week we learned that Maja is the missing princess of Islak, which means her brother is the missing prince. Their parents were both killed when Morgyt the Wolf attacked the royal fortress city. Morgyt has been looking for Maja ever since, and the attack on Lundrskag (village we're in) may have been an attempt at finding her. Maja also had some thoughts about this Jorgen fellow from Hilvard. On to this week's snippet! We begin with Jorgen speaking.
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​     "There is little left here, as you well know. I do not pretend to have any knowledge of what supplies might still exist after the Berunians finished sacking your village, but there is little enough in the way of shelter for the coming winter. I offer protection and passage to my lands for any who wish it. Once there you may stay the season, and you shall be welcomed, fed, and treated as any others. When spring comes, you may choose to stay in Hilvard or return here, and my own men will escort you back and assist in rebuilding if that is your wish."
     The few men gathered spoke to each other in hushed tones. One elderly man, with a bandaged arm called out. "And what is it you require in return?"
     Jorgen acknowledged the man with a curt nod. "Anything you can recall about Morgyt's men, where they attacked from, where they planned to go next, anything at all that was noticed might be of use to me."