Serpents Curse (The Saga Of Dane & Astrid, Book 2)

The Saga of the Jomsvikings

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Magnus Bledwell

There are also a number of other texts retailing the adventures of the Jomsvikings, which give completely different versions of key facts, for example about who founded them and where Jomsborg even was. His friend Earl Arnfinn holds a fiefdom in north Germany from Charlemagne d. The earl has an incestuous relationship with his sister who bears a son.

Slaves are told to expose it but, as always in this fable, leave it where it will be found by King Gorm and his hirdmen hunting. The babe is found in rich fabric knotted into a tree, so Gorm calls him Knut knot and adopts him and leaves him his kingdom. Knut himself has a son he names Gorm who will later be known as Gorm the Mighty.

He is looking out over his kingdom, the sea has receded to dry up. He sees three white oxen come out of the sea, eat all the grass, and return to the sea. Three red oxen with large horns come up from the sea, strip all the grass, and return to the sea. Three enormous black oxen come from the sea, eat all the grass, and return. Then a loud crash as the sea rushes back to where it had been. Three red oxen mean three winters with little snow but not good.

The three black oxen mean a dire famine. The crash of the sea means civil war between great men close to Gorm. The queen pledges to prepare for the famine and when it comes there is enough food to feed all, whence she becomes known as the wisest woman alive and the Glory of Denmark. Next year another invitation but this time the earl and his men see waves crashing and the sea turning red the conflict between Knut and Harald — this never happens as Knut is killed by a Saxon arrow — see below.

The king is all for attacking and ravaging Holstein but his wife calms him and invites her father who explains what kept him home three times and interprets the events as warning that boys yet unborn will cause great strife. Aethelstan is king in England Aethelstan gathers an army and defeats the Danes near Scarborough. One day the men were swimming by their ships when English men attack with bows, mortally wounding Knut. The English rally and the Danes are decisively expelled.

They return to tell King Gorm who dies of heartbreak and is buried at Jelling ? Harald Gormsson is elected king who will become known as King Harald Bluetooth Angered he goes off to serve King Harald, rising to become his counsellor. Fjolnir has had his revenge. He says yes and travels to Fyn for the grand wedding feast. That night in their wedding chamber Ingibjorg has a dream she is weaving on a loom the threads of which are weighted with human heads.

When his father dies he goes a-viking every summer. As a result of his carousing a servant woman, Saum-Aesa, falls pregnant and bears a son He will grow up to be the Sven Forkbeard who rebels against his father and conquers England in He harries Denmark and the farmers complain. Next spring he asks for more ships and harries fiercely all summer. When he meets his father he threatens him and Harald buys him off with more ships. Finally King Harald sets off with 50 ships to confront him. The fleets meet off Bornholm.

Day-long battle is inconclusive and the ships anchor. Harald goes ashore with a handful of men and makes a fire. They choose the latter and Sveinn progresses to an Assembly at which he is voted new king of Denmark. Everyone leaps to their feet. He is restless in Wales, so leaves it to Bjorn the Welshman to manage and goes a-viking the coasts of Scotland and Ireland for three years, gaining great loot and then sets sail east to Wendland. And then someone had suggested that he, Sigurd, as the only person with an existing set of dragon-hide armor, test the Roman version to see if it was flawed in comparison with his jacket and trousers.

As the weight of the new armor settled around his shoulders and Gudmund and Gunnar helped tighten the ties and close it up, he focused on breathing deeply and calmly. He'd checked the leather backing, and it was all dragon-hide—and not replaced with cow-leather, as Thorred had worriedly suggested at dinner last night. The armor secured, Benjamin handed him the helm—made of iron and more dragon-leather with scales of iron sewn onto it, with each metal scale having a dragon-scale riveted to it—and Sigurd placed it on his head.

He walked out into the yard, his friends following him at a short distance.

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Hookfang was dozing nearby in the springtime sun, his new scales glossy. Snotlout remembered a year ago, when he'd started shedding on the way back from Brycgstow, and how cranky and itchy he'd been. He couldn't say that he'd seen seventeen winters—not with the paltry light chill that they called winter this far south—but his seventeenth natal day was in five weeks, if he'd figured correctly, and… well…. He waved to Hookfang, and instructed his best friend to breathe fire at him. Hookfang cocked his head, but when Snotlout repeated his instruction, he obeyed, spitting out a light stream of fire at Sigurd, who braced for it.

Heat washed over him, the fire clinging to the armor and burning. He could feel the heat, but it was bearable. He waved to Hookfang to cease, and, still confused, his friend did so. And he turned and gave a thumbs up. And then his human friends were running over, stamping out the remaining guttering fire, cheering and backslapping him. Their armors would be made next. According to Jorn, they wouldn't be sent out again until those were completed—unless there was an emergency.

Astrid watched with glee as the egg cracked open. A small beak emerged, and the baby dragon gave a weak coo. Reaching into the nest, her hands protected by fine gloves—babies or not, they'd learned last year that the hatchlings could give nasty nips—she gave the baby its first meal, a finely chopped herring, which quickly vanished.

It gave a stronger coo, and she stroked its head and crest with the tip of a finger, smiling—and giving a small sniffle. All of the babies were giving her emotions a ride like her very first on Toothless' back, and she'd had to fight back a few bouts of tears from her mood swings teaming up with the hatchlings over the last few days.

The baby curled up in the remains of its egg and went to sleep, and Astrid moved on to the next little nest to check on the inhabitants. They'd gotten most of the scale-lined stone pits finished in time, along with a tunnel to connect the Rookery undertunnels—now known as the Hatchery—to the Broodery, and moved the viable eggs over through the new passage.

Doors at either end would confine both the heat from the Broodery and potential escapees from the Hatchery, and Nightmare lamps gave light in sconces along the wall. Workers wandered around, helping and feeding the newborn hatchlings, with a number of the smaller dragons that could fit through the human-sized spaces assisting as well. It was one of the most amazing and fulfilling moments of Astrid's life. The eggs would rock back and forth, and then a small crack would open at one end… and a little beak or nose would stick out a moment later.

They were adorable, and while Astrid was well aware that in another two weeks, they'd be an utter handful of chaos, fettered only by the double doors and the watching workers, for the moment, they were the absolute cutest things in the whole of the world. Even the baby Gronckles and Whispering Deaths were enough to elicit coos of awwww … from the onlookers.

Several hours later, she'd lost count of how many hatchlings she'd helped, although Fishlegs hadn't. He was keeping careful count of how many and of what types were being born. As the dinner hour approached, and the rate of the hatchings coming out of their eggs died down further, the majority of the workers in the Hatchery left to prepare themselves. Tonight was the Thing. It had originally been scheduled for two days earlier, on Astrid's birthday, but that had turned out to be the peak of the hatchings, causing the postponement of the vote.

Entering the hall, Astrid and her family made their way to the head table. The room was packed; while there were still dozens hard at work in the Hatchery, and Astrid's family in Vedrarfjord,, every other member of the Old Tribe was present—and those that weren't here had left proxy votes with the attendees. Astrid herself held her parents' votes, and those of several of her cousins.

Stoick stood over the table. We all know why we're here! Like a year ago, it's the dragons, and how we go about with them! There have been two proposals to the law—one from Clanhead Bladewit of the Ingermans, and one from myself! If any of you wish to address the Thing—briefly," he added with a scowl, "before Clanhead Bladewit and I make our final arguments, now is the time. The speeches that followed did stay brief; the tribe had been arguing over this point for months now, and it really was unlikely that any speech now would change someone's mind.

However, a handful of people did stand up to address the Thing. Clodgall, as full co-author of Bladewit's proposal, gave a rationale on tradition. Gobber was next, and he and his half-brother passed each other to and from the speaker's stand.

Astrid felt a shiver from the looks that they gave each other. But Gobber was cheerfully informal and matter-of-fact for Stoick's proposal. Rikard was next, speaking for Stoick's and for the sense of general acceptance of outsiders, dry and fatherly. Then Astrid's grand-uncle, Sigmund clan Hofferson, apologetic to his father and clanhead but determined, spoke in favor of Bladewit's.

Hammeredge clan Ingerman spoke for his mother's proposal with strength and a degree of worrisome grimness; as he returned to his seat, he gave Fishlegs and Heather poisonous glares. Gruffnut clan Thorston was outright threatening and angry, citing the poisoner from Thawfest no less than three times, and argued strongly for Bladewit's proposal. He was followed by Hardnut clanhead Thorston, who reproachfully appealed for Stoick's proposal, followed by his twin sons, Thicknut and Chestnut, who did the same.

Stoick nodded and returned to the speaker's stand; as he scanned the room, Astrid's heart hammered in her chest. It's time to vote! A show of hands, by those present, for my proposal! Hands went up, and Astrid started to breathlessly count, including her own. The rules were simple: The proxies were called, and Astrid, her heart thudding in her chest, cast the nine votes that had been entrusted to her.

She and Hiccup and Wulfhild shared horrified looks between them as their tribe agreed that control of the dragons would be entrusted to their clan… but at the cost of keeping them reserved only to the Old Tribe and "allied clans. The beast was inside. He could hear the distinctive fluttering of those leathery wings, smell the scent of the scaly hide and the smoke of its breath…. He crept inside in a crouch, his spear in hand.

In the dim light from the daylight outside, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and then moved forward. The dragon, or something else, had smoothed out the stone of the cave walls, which at least made the footing easier. And then, in the near-darkness, he saw it. A vast uncertain shape, noticeable only because of the way it breathed and moved in the blackness.

With a yell, he clutched his dragonskin cloak around himself as the sudden heat blasted at him. He dodged to the side, spear and cloak-hem clutched in hand, and crouched low, the glow of the beast's breath giving him bare light to see by. He darted to the side, and the dragon attempted to climb up the side of the cave, but, with a well-timed swing of his spear, he tripped it.

It fell to the cave floor with a thud, the wound that he had given it in the winter visible as a hideous scar along its leg.

It tried to roll out of the way, but he slammed his spear-butt, shod in metal, onto its wing. It screeched in pain and snapped at him as he stepped onto the wing to immobilize it. He saw a light from its throat—warning that it was about to breathe fire again—and spun to put his cloak around himself.

Heat hit him once again and he could smell bits of his hair burning, but the thick locks denied the fire a bite on his scalp, much like trying to light a log versus shavings for the firepit—and he'd made sure to soak the locks in water before entering. Its breath exhausted, he swung the iron-shod spear butt at it, knocking the snake-like head to the ground. Walking over to it, he prepared to kill it with a single thrust from his spear into its brain, when it looked up at him submissively. He hesitated for a brief moment, and then, with an intimidating shout, flared up at it, raising his arm and spear in front of it.

He could see it clearly in dim and guttering light coming from behind him—almost certainly the remnants of its fire-breath. He pointed his spear at its head and then, when it lowered itself even more… he put his boot atop its head. Looking around at the solemn faces of his assembled privy council, Mac Bethad drummed his fingers on the table in the secure council room and took a deep breath to ready himself.

So the spies are back from the Hooligans' festival. Please tell me that we have good news? According to the numbers we gained, that will be twelve thousand additional dragons for the Hooligans. No, we are looking at the seed of a new Roman Empire, to span the known world.

That being said, I do have a suggestion for later…". But his wife's second cousin, a… this sounds absurd, but I swear to you it's the truth… the heir ess of the Bog Burglar tribe down in Deheubarth. And, it seems, long term allies with the Hooligans—to the point where the husband of the current chieftess is the first cousin, once removed, of Haddock's wife, and the heiress is her second cousin. The entire room seemed somewhat stunned at that, and then Mac Bethad leaned forward across the oaken table. That sent a murmur around the room. Or, at least, I have found no evidence to contradict it.

Furthermore, there were several instances over the winter that have raised my hackles. I believe that they are preparing to begin raising an armed force in earnest. First, while I accept that the Hooligans have long since had the law against thralldom, they have never applied it on the scale that they are doing so now—and furthermore, while it has been part of their laws, this is a distinction that many miss, and instead, those freed from thralldom are ascribing it to the actions of the Haddock clan personally.

As a result, they are rapidly accumulating a substantial number of devoutly and directly loyal freed thralls. First there was the overthrow of Veisafjord over the winter, and, I just found out, during that same visit, there was apparently a meeting or rally of them in Vedrarfjord when Hiccup and his immediate inner circle overnighted with his in-laws.

From what I heard, at the culmination of the rally, after many statements of gratitude and thanks from the freedmen, they then all swore allegiance to Haddock, personally. Apparently there is an ongoing debate among the Old Tribe of Berk on who they will grant dragons to—and it seems that many of them favor it being limited to their own numbers, unsurprisingly—but ultimately, they forget that they are but a few hundred, and the Haddocks command the loyalties of an equal number already, and both Stoick and Hiccup have opposed that measure.

Furthermore, I've noticed reports of legends being built up around Hiccup as a caring leader figure to the freedmen and to others. There was the incident in Vedrarfjord with the rally, the helpful visits to the various villages in the Highlands near their lands over the last year—the story of Haddock reimbursing Glenfinnan for their raided cattle has spread like wildfire—and now a freedman rescued very publicly at their festival from his former master. From what we've found, it would not take much to cultivate a fanatical sense of loyalty among the freedmen to Hiccup and Stoick, at which point…" he spread his arms helplessly, "put them on dragons, and there is his army.

Aye, that hangs together. But how can we defend against such an attack? Especially if it comes from within our own vassals? Mac Bethad exhaled slowly through pursed lips. What's the good news? It seems to have paid off. The seed has apparently sprouted, and we should have luck there, if all goes as planned," Taskill reported, and more than one person at the table looked at them curiously.

That was one of their best chances to make a lasting impact. He is located in a city called Seville, far to the south, so it will take some months, but if we can hold off the Hooligans from conquest for that length of time, we will finally have an adequate weapon against them. He spread the parchments out on the table, and Mac Bethad leaned forward to examine them. Designs for weapons, made by Haddock himself. And this," he tapped a second parchment, "is a net launcher, designed to tangle dragons in mid-air. And before you ask if these are flights of fancy or practical designs," he tapped a third sheet, " this is the very weapon that Haddock used to shoot down the Night Fury and start this whole mess.

Mac Bethad looked at the sheets of parchment, and, for a wild moment, felt a sense of relief. These stolen designs… they might be his kingdom's chance at freedom before it was conquered by the new power that had appeared in his hinterlands barely a year before. Mac Bethad exhaled in relief and excitement. I imagine that you've save the best for last. Thank you all for reading! I'm expecting a fair bit of screaming after that last scene, so I'm gonna go Hide Under Rocks. On a more practical note, before anyone asks again , let me be absolutely clear: In this setting, a small number of the eggs will explode during development if the firebreathing organs develop incorrectly.

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On a final note, a quick heads up; I have advanced carpel tunnel syndrome in both hands. Tomorrow, I have a doctor's appointment to hopefully start treatment. I don't know what condition my hands will be in after that, or how long it will take to heal. But between that and other circumstances, I might not be able to post a chapter next week, although I will do my best. If that is the case, I will continue to post through to the end of Book II and then go on my hiatus as planned, even if that takes me into November.

Norse viking

Just In All Stories: Story Story Writer Forum Community. Movies How to Train Your Dragon. Stir until something explodes. Let simmer and take cover. And then stand back and watch the fireworks. A Threat Perceived It is better to live than to lie a corpse, The live man catches the cow, I saw flames rise for the rich man's pyre, And before his door he lay dead The lame rides a horse, the handless is a herdsman, The deaf in battle is bold, The blind man is better than the one that is burned, No good can come of a corpse.

This acceptance of those who were different, who were strangers, who were outsiders, gave the Reformed Norse a strength in diversity that stood them well, especially in those early years … — The Second Flowering Of Yggdrasil: An Analysis Of The Norse Resurgence, Bog Burglar Visitor Hut, Isle of Berk, Alban Hebrides April, AD The sound of drunken singing came in through the shuttered windows, but two sets of breathing were the only sounds being produced within the confines of Cami's private bedroom—the primary privilege of rank she had, in the crowded spaces of the island at the moment.

And they had made use of that privilege extensively , this afternoon. Cami rolled over in the furs and tried to think. Cami eyed the discarded dress on the floor and grimaced slightly. But they hadn't encouraged this. Cami would be heading back to her village soon, along with the rest of her people, and they wouldn't see each other again for months… She swallowed. Bracing herself, she sighed and gently shook Merida awake. Time for me to go? They looked at each other and dove out of bed, scrambling for their clothes. Elinor marched into the room, right above Cami, and froze.

No man of any worth will marry her—" "Then I will! You… women can't marry women! Her lover was staring at her, slack-jawed, the dress dangling limply from one hand. I'll swear up and down that we're only friends, that you're a pure virgin, that—" Merida took two steps towards her and pulled her into a kiss—right in front of her mother, who made a noise that Cami had never heard before and couldn't be bothered to classify. At first, she had loved it when she could feel the baby moving. Now she just wished that her daughter would give it a rest. A dragon was flying in. She grinned and reached out to tousle his hair.

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Walk back with me? Breaking the kiss, she asked, "So, any news? So Ruffnut helped and poked him in the belly. The laughter burst forth as a great guffaw that ebbed to a chortle. As he finished chuckling, she smirked. Magnus added, "But things are working out with Wulfhild, Hiccup and Astrid, at least. Then her eyebrow rose and she motioned Magnus over. He'd never dared to dream that he'd find such a peaceful place again in his life. Come, sit with us! No, why he thinks I'm his friend, I don't know, but he came to my rescue—" "From your old owner, yeah, we heard. I heard that from a passing bard, up in Fear Manach," Fintan said.

Maghnus the brewer scowled. Instead, we got stuck with all of the scutwork—" Maire interrupted him, pointing her spoon at him emphatically. Fintan watched him go. So why do they need to—" "Keep proving ourselves to men like you? Toothless did the fighting for him! Murchadh scowled at him. You're both from Vedrarfjord, right?

A Thing Of Vikings Chapter A Threat Perceived, a how to train your dragon fanfic | FanFiction

He looked back down. Fintan looked him in the eye, trying to find some hint of falsehood. So, Fintan… what is it that you want help getting started? Stoick grinned and sat back down. For others… well…" Fintan listened eagerly as his lord spoke intently about his gods—and Una gave Fintan occasional grateful looks that amused him. Well… um…" Fergus took a deep breath and said, "The heiress… Camilla?

Stoick, in contrast, beamed and started to laugh uproariously. Not the sort of thing I expected of Vikings. Fintan put his elbow on the table and braced his cheek against his hand in thought. He turned to his older sons and brothers and said, "Come! I offer you hospitality," Jannick said formally. The man and woman both tensed. Jannick walked up to them cautiously. Jannick would live up to their example on how to treat guests. They haven't been treated well, wherever they've been," he replied.

The food that they'd be feeding to their guests… had been harvested in part by their own people. And Jannick was not the only one in the area that owed them a debt. Despite having read all three of them multiple times, he read each of them once again. Father Sechlainn, I set myself about this evening into my night's prayers early, and was interrupted by a most insistent summons that I come outside as once. But the last parchment… it gave him pause. By their fruits you shall know them, thus Spake the Lord. Constantinople, Roman Empire The armorer came over to Sigurd and his friends, carrying a suit of armor that jangled slightly as he walked, and placed it on the arming stand.

Gudmund, leaning casually against a wall nearby, asked, "You all right there, Sigurd? I'm just not looking forward to the next part of this test," he said honestly. But the Greek Fire units had wanted some to make armor for their fire-men, the infantry wanted some to make armor for their troops, even the paymasters wanted some to use as money… Finally, for reasons that he still didn't understand, they'd worked things out. And the best way to do that was put it on and let a dragon breathe fire at him. It was time to give this a try.

He couldn't say that he'd seen seventeen winters—not with the paltry light chill that they called winter this far south—but his seventeenth natal day was in five weeks, if he'd figured correctly, and… well… Hopefully he'd live to see it. But for the moment, he didn't have to worry about them being burned by their own dragons. Watching the hundreds of babies being born… It was one of the most amazing and fulfilling moments of Astrid's life.

Finally, Stoick turned to Bladewit, and she gave a polite nod and a waving motion. There was no way that there were enough hands raised… Stoick seemed to notice the same. Three hundred and eighty-one votes for Bladewit and Clodgall's proposal. Foothills of the Southern Ural Mountains, Near Bashkort The hunter crouched at the mouth of the small cave, small bones littering the grass nearby. He could hear the distinctive fluttering of those leathery wings, smell the scent of the scaly hide and the smoke of its breath… He crept inside in a crouch, his spear in hand.

It was asleep, and he cautiously walked towards it, his spear at the ready. And then… underfoot… He stepped on something. And the sound echoed. And the dragon's eyes opened in the darkness. And its jaws opened towards him. The dragon was flaring up in front of him, its neck and wings extended, screeching at him.

He howled back at it. It rushed at him. It cringed and lowered its head before him. What else in the bad news? That being said, I do have a suggestion for later…" "Aye, aye, save it. Mac Bethad rubbed at his eyes with thumb and forefinger. At Kobo, we try to ensure that published reviews do not contain rude or profane language, spoilers, or any of our reviewer's personal information.

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