Eric Olafson, Neo Viking (Vol 1 GC 27)

by Vanessa Ravencroft

Copyright© 2000 by Vanessa Ravencroft

Description: This is the first Volume of the Eric Olafson Saga (Volume 1 GC 27)

Tags: No Sex, Ma/Fa, Teenagers, CrossDressing, TransGender, Fiction, Military, Science Fiction, Aliens, Robot, Space

Published: 2018-07-27

Size: ≈ 234200 Words

Foreword

I was asked by my best friends to tell this story. At first I objected to the idea, but then it grew on me, mostly because during this journey I have met a vast host of beings and individuals. Some became friends and some became much more, were the word friend simply is not enough to describe the bond that is shared.

Some of these individuals became enemies and others simply played their part. It is to their memory I decided to dedicate this story.

For me it all begun on a planet called Nilfeheim, where I was born as Eric Olafson, son of Isegrim Olafson and Ilva Ragnarsson on October 7th,4999, Old Terran Time. and now I have come to the end of my journey in this Universe and time.

Even after almost 350 years my life does not draw to an end, but that part of my journey, the part my friends wanted me to share has come to an end.

I am getting ahead of myself and if you find it entertaining enough to follow my tale to the end I will tell you how and why I ended up on Narth Prime and what I have planned for my next and final journey.

As mentioned my human life and my journey began about 350 years ago on a very cold water world called Nilfeheim.

I am able to recall much of the details and so I decided to tell you this story from my perspective, but sometimes I will borrow the eyes and ears; the minds of others to tell this story.

With this I welcome you into my world.

Sincerely;

Eric Olafson, aka the Dark One

(Union Citizen)

Prelude Part 1: Year 4989, OTT

Once the burg had been a beacon of wealth and might. It was perched atop the rugged dark rocks that made up the Olafson Rock. Tattered and torn scraps of fabric flapped from rusty poles as sad reminders of long gone glories. At one time these rags had been bright flags with black wolf heads upon vibrant Olafson red.

The mighty walls of this ancient Nilfeheim Burg had been a bulwark and shield for many generations of Olafson Vikings. Not the clans of the East, not the thundering storms of the Spring year, not the horned monstrosities of the Nogoll invasion had managed to breach these walls. But now stone and Duro-Crete were crumbling, rust and decay was everywhere.

This was the last year of Shortsummer and soon Longnight would once again descend upon Nilfeheim.

Volund Olafson stood with crossed arms on the parapet above the main gate and gazed towards the south.

Volund was, like all Olafsons, a big and strong man, but his massive hands hefted neither harpoon nor ax or sword lately.

They had been reduced to casting nets from the deck of an Elhir boat, as the Olafson clan had sold its last boat during last Longnight because his clan needed money to heat the burg or it would freeze to death.

The winds were already cold again and tugged at the Fangsnapper cape the big man was wearing as his slate-gray eyes scanned slowly across the horizon of the endless Nilfeheim Oceans.

It had not always been that way. The Olafson clan was an Old clan with a clean and uninterrupted line all the way back to the time when the first colonists from Earth landed on this planet.

Alrik Olafson was among the first, so Family Lore knew, to step onto the surface of this world in 2160.

Alrik was born in Denmark on Earth. His family, along with 12,000 others of similar origin, had been part of the Viking Movement that left their old planet to colonize this cold and harsh world.

It was Alrik's grandsons who had stepped ashore right here on this island, claiming it for the Olafsons. With the riches obtained pirating other Earth colonies, this mighty burg was built.

Even after Nilfeheim joined the Union and the space pirate days of the Neo Vikings from Nilfeheim ended, the Olafsons remained an important clan.

They stayed influential until the last clan wars almost 400 years ago. The Olafsons always had been known to be an especially wild and violent clan, even on a world full of skull-bashing Neo Vikings; they picked even more fights than others and formed alliances at the spur of the moment, but sadly for them, not always with the winning sides.

The last clan wars caused the Olafsons to lose their Nubhir farms and the Fangsnapper herds near Isen because of tribute payments to the victorious alliance.

The clan never really recovered from that; it took many decades for them to slowly regain some wealth and influence, but then Byrnjolf Olafson, Volund's grandfather, just had to pick a fight with the Trolle clan.

Of all clans at that time, it was the richest and most powerful. That loss cost the Olafson clan three hunting subs and two fishing vessels.

Oh yes, the Olafsons always fought like warrior gods and were famous for their fighting skills, but the Trolle clan had many allies. Fighting the Trolles had reduced their once sizable clan fleet to two fishing boats that were barely able to sustain them with food and left nothing for other essentials.

During the last Longnight and seven years of ice and snow, the Olafsons lost one boat to an accident and then had to sell the last one to survive. All they had left were the traditional tanneries in the under crofts of the west wing.

Volund feared that his firstborn son, Isegrim, would be the last Olafson clan Chief, lording over a starving clan that had to hire its men and warriors to other clans and would simply fade away into oblivion.

The future held a bleak end for the once so proud and strong Olafson clan indeed.

Six months ago, however, everything changed.

Volund had been in Halstaad Fjord, the biggest town on Nilfeheim, nursing a tankard of ale in the old Bredeberg Tavern; seeking to drown his sorrows when a fight broke out-nothing unusual on Nilfeheim, of course-but this fight went from brawling with bare fists to drawn swords and axes.

He didn't remember exactly what the argument was about, but he fought back-to-back with another man and together they cleared the room.

After the fight, he and the other man clasped underarms and declared friendship. The other Viking was Erik Gustav Ragnarsson, the clan Chief of perhaps the richest clan of all Nilfeheim, surpassing even the Trolle clan if the rumors were true.

Erik Gustav was already a member of the Circle of Elders and had been elected to be Nilfeheim's Representative to the Assembly at the distant planet of Pluribus Unum.

It was Erik Gustav, Volund was expecting, and just then he spotted a small black dot at the horizon that was getting bigger fast.

A sleek off-world skimmer, a luxurious Volvo F70, swooped down and landed on the concrete pad before the main gate.

Neo Vikings did not like off-world technology, but skimmers, Arti Grav fliers and Zero-Point powered boats were simply essential on a world without continents and only a few tiny islands for dry land.

Today was a special occasion, not only would Erik Gustav drink and feast with him but he also was bringing his only daughter along.

Erik Gustav was the heir and leader to the mighty Ragnarsson clan; but his only son died in a Tyranno Fin hunting accident only a year ago.

Erik Gustav had lost his wife to a disease before she could bear him another son which meant the Ragnarsson clan had no male heir.

Here on Nilfeheim, a clan without male heir meant the end of the clan. Only a male would allowed to inherit and carry on the Ragnarsson name.

Volund barked a loud command down to the gate and two of his men raised the steel portcullis.

The hydrogen-powered plant that ran the electric motor had been broken for almost 200 years now, so instead of using electric power, the gate had to be raised by turning hand cranks.

It was an old tradition and a symbolic gesture to open the gates for an honored guest. This is why he had lowered the rusty portcullis this morning in the first place.

While the creaking sound of metal sliding over metal indicated that his men labored to get the heavy obstruction up, so their guests could enter, he hurried down the narrow stairs, almost stumbling over a broken step. He cursed the sorry state of his own castle and then placed himself in a dignified stance behind the now open gate arch.

Volund grabbed warrior Oddløg's shoulder as he came from the crank alcove, sweating from the task of raising the heavy gate. "Quick, see that Isegrim is in his finest! Where is he? Does he not know what is at stake? Oh Oddløg, make haste!"

Oddløg was a stout warrior, not afraid to speak his mind. The scars over his body and face and the missing left eye were visible testimony of the many fights he had fought. "Aye, my Liege, I shall make haste and if I have to I will drag him up from the tanneries."

Volund gave his man a pleading look and then raised his hand and bellowed against the ever-blowing wind. "Hail, Erik Gustav of the Ragnarsson clan. Come and enter so we may clasp arms and raise tankards in friendship."

Erik Gustav, who had come before the gate was a grand sight indeed. This scion of the Ragnarsson clan was a tall man and had dark blonde hair, interlaced with the first silver of age, worn in thick braids as it was tradition. He was dressed in fine black leather, the silver falcon of his clan upon his chest. His right fist, inside a black leather and fur gauntlet rested on Mjördaren, the legendary broad sword of the Ragnarsson clan. Erik Gustav was known far and wide as one of the finest swordsmen, if not the best, of all Nilfeheim.

Nineteen men he had challenged and all nineteen had died.

The visitor wore knee high boots and a billowing fur lined cape. Besides his daughter, he was accompanied by high-ranking warriors of his clan. By the Gods! That daughter of his was a beauty, Volund could tell despite the cloak and veil she wore.

Now that the official invitation had been spoken, Erik Gustav came with a purposeful stride and approached Volund.

The Olafson chief turned his head and saw Oddløg running to the main building. There was no sight of Isegrim. He had given strict orders to his oldest son to be at his side at this oh-so-important meeting.

Volund was silently cursing his oldest son.

Oh aye, he knew why the son of the clan chief, his own flesh and blood, was drawn to the stinking bowels of the Olafson tannery like a Flicker fish to the lantern of a fisherman. Yet he had closed his ears to the rumors and prayed to Odin that it wasn't true, rumors that his own first born son was bedding a Nubhir hide scrubber's daughter who worked in the clan's tanneries.

Volund clenched his fists. As soon as this utterly important business was done, he swore to Odin, to descend into the crofts and tannery and put that wench to the sword and then beat sense into his oldest son.

Oh, why could Isegrim not be like Hogun, his second born?

Big, mighty Hogun, as honorable as he was strong. But Hogun was no longer here; he was gone, driven from his home by a now regretful father and the cursed laws and customs that made the first born alone heir to it all.

Only now could he admit to himself that it was he who had made the choice. He was the clan chief, after all, and could have declared anyone the heir.

Erik Gustav has reached him. They clasped underarms and Volund said, "Welcome to the home of the Olafsons. Aye, it has seen better days, noble visitor, but there is naught a dwelling old Norse call home upon our cold world that has seen more glory days. No other flag has ever been raised on our rock and oh so many have tried."

The clan chief of the Ragnarssons nodded. "Aye, many tales and much heroic lore is told about this rock. Legendary is the wrath and fighting skills of thy clan indeed, but what enemies and battle could not, the gnawing tooth of decay seems to accomplish."

"It is a source of shame noble visitor, yet this specter of decay that has descended upon my burg can not be defeated with sword and ax, but with the content of a well-filled purse."

"So let us to business then. Let us put forth our offspring, for I have need for an heir and you are in need of ... much else it seems."

The Ragnarsson chief half turned. "I present to you my daughter Ilva Ragnarsson, my last child and the pride of my heart. I hereby declare that she is of sound health and has not seen a man. Nor has any man laid eyes upon her since her twelfth birthday."

The veil she wore did little, however, to hide the incredible beauty of the girl. Volund had rarely seen a more graceful figure and a more regal curtsy as she performed the traditional moves of greeting.

The Ragnarsson chief looked past Volund. "Have you not summoned thy son? Have you decided against the solution we found during our last council?"

"Nay noble friend and honored guest. No Olafson has ever broken a word given. My son is on his way. He must have forgotten the time while doing his chores. Come then, Erik Gustav, join me in the High Hall. Meager our resources might be, but none shall say we neglect to be hosts. Come then and join me at our tables. You traveled far and spent much time beyond the heavens. Wondrous as your journey might have been, what compares to honest Viking food and mead?"

Erik Gustav followed Volund, waved his entourage of daughter and warriors to follow, then put his arm on Volund's shoulder. "You too should travel, just once, to see Pluribus and the wonders of our Union; but aye, a repast of Norse making is what I desire."

---

Just as the one-eyed warrior suspected, Oddløg did find Isegrim in the arms of the Nubhir hide scrubber's daughter.

His heavy hand fell on Isegrim's shoulder as his head was buried between the ample breasts of the blonde, who shamelessly grinned a triumphant and almost evil smile at him.

"On your feet! The fate of the clan rests upon thy shoulders. A suitable bride has been brought into these crumbling walls. A creature of high birth indeed; her dowry alone would enable us to purchase twenty new boats. I was tasked to bring you before our lord, and by Odin I will. You can walk or be dragged!"

Isegrim was a big, young warrior, but he also was a coward and feared Oddløg and the punishment his father would find. He untangled himself of the woman and got out of bed.

She cooed, "Go, my love, go and secure riches so we may live as your position demands."

Oddløg half drew his sword, "Silence, you wench! After the pact is made the old man will descend into these crofts and cleanse the filth you represent. Your father, your family, and most of all you are doomed after he hears from me what I have seen! I will be behind him to stomp out any filth he might miss."

The Nubhir hide scrubber's daughter's name was Gretel and only now did she pull the cover over her exposed breasts, and her eyes sparkled. "Isegrim you won't let them harm me?"

Isegrim was now halfway dressed. "I'll help him burn you on the stake or feed you to the crabs if it lessens his anger at me. I found joy in this bed, but I shall find joy in other beds. You are but a woman after all."

Oddløg grabbed Isegrim's boots and pushed the first born son of Volund past the door frame and placed his own boot quite forcefully in Isegrim's behind.

"Make haste, your Sire has summoned you."

Erik Gustav sat at the old wooden table in the High Hall across from Volund, his right hand holding a tankard and his left moving over the surface of the massive table. "Wooden furniture on a world without trees, the Olafson Burg still holds treasures and its name is spoken with respect all over this world of ours."

Volund raised his tankard. "Olafson ale is one of these treasures, not that we can make as much of it as we used to. The grain comes from beyond Nilfeheim and so does the hops. " He took a deep drought.

Erik Gustav did the same, gave the rest in his tankard a thoughtful gaze, burped from the deepest region of his barrel chest, and slammed his flat hand on the table; beneath his veneer of sophistication, the lord of the Ragnarsson clan was still a Norseman.

"Countless are the repasts and delicacies available to me while I represent our insignificant world at the breathtaking Assembly of the Union, yet having a full-bodied ale at the right temperature, served in a Tyranno tooth tankard to warm your very innards, and then hailed and praised by a belch worthy of Thor are not to be had."

Volund leaned forward. "What news of the Union then? I do remember the excursion to Pluribus from when I was in Union school."

Erik Gustav wiped his beard. "I am representing our world for seven years now. Do you know how many times I was called to press an issue, to convey news?" The Ragnarsson man held up his fist. "Not a single time. Volund of the Olafsons, while we Neo Vikings squabbled over fishing grounds, the Union went to war and almost defeated the Kermac."

Volund remembered the word and knew Kermac meant something opposed to the Union, but that was about all he remembered. "What victory is 'almost'? Either you win or you lose. Have we lost?"

"What began almost eighty standard years ago with the Kermac attacking Green Hell, ended just recently with a second signing of the Freespace Treaty and reinstating the Armistice of the Big Four. The Galactic Council lost significant territory and influence in that war; a situation that should not be entirely alien to the Olafsons."The Ragnarsson man could not stop himself, reminding Volund. He continued. "The Kermac and their Thralls were beaten and agreed to all cease fire conditions."

Volund shrugged. "I do not claim to understand such things, but why stop there?"

"Because a newly discovered society intervened on behalf of the Kermac. They are called the Blue and are distant relatives. The Blue are highly advanced and control much space in the Andromeda Galaxy. They..." Erik Gustav stopped. It was clear he had lost Volund's interest in the matter. He smiled sadly. "Exactly. This is why there are no calls; we do not care. My heart is still Norse and I understand; yet my eyes have seen wonders and powers that are more frightening than an angry Tyranno Fin while you share the water with it. I know how fragile and defenseless we really are." He sighed. "For this reason I cannot step down. For this reason I must remain exiled from the world I love."

Volund was not sure he understood what the other was speaking about, but he was pleased as she saw his son Isegrim decked out in finest warrior garb entering the grand hall. Oh aye, Isegrim Olafson was a dashing sight, full of strength and vigor, with raven black hair and glittering blue eyes.

Volund noticed with delight the bosom of the veiled Ragnarsson daughter rise in greater frequency as her beautiful eyes took stock.

Volund then paid attention to Erik Gustav's lament once more, but it appeared his guest had decided to no longer speak of matters that in Volund's mind were not important at all.

His noble guest waved at his daughter. "I amassed great wealth; both on this world and so much more beyond. I was blessed by a strong son and this lovely daughter. My son has died, and so has my wife and love. No other woman shall ever be by my side or share my chambers, so was the oath I made the day Hilda died. Hence no son of my blood will again be born."

He sighed as he looked at his daughter. "Only here on Nilfeheim is this a problem. My beloved and beautiful daughter cannot inherit-neither my wealth nor my name-but she can bear a son of her own. In this future son I place my hope."

Volund said, "My son is full of strength and he carries a name as old as Ragnarsson, but the words must be spoken."

"Aye indeed. What are we, if not shaped by our traditions and our honor? Volund Olafson, Lord Mighty of the Olafson clan, honored of old, your son may court my daughter for the purpose of marriage."

Isegrim sat in his finest at the table and stared at the veiled woman. Her hair, caught by a ray of sunlight, gleamed like gold. Her eyes were large and green. He could not keep his eyes off her. Gretel was forgotten. This princess, this creature of finest Nilfeheim stock would be his bride after the required time of courting. His father had just clasped arms with Erik Gustav Ragnarsson.

Both of them were pleased and more ale and beer was brought.

The old Ragnarsson still held Volund's arm. "Our clans are soon to be one, the day I can no longer raise my arm will be the day the Ragnarsson banner and shields will be placed in the Cave of Forgotten clans, but strong Olafson blood will mingle with mine in the offspring these two will have."

Volund's eyes glowed. "Aye, a grandson of this bond, wise and cunning as the Ragnarssons and strong as the Olafsons. When he becomes clan chief, who knows ... the throne of Lars Erikson could be his. Uniting the clans of the West and East under one banner." Volund raised his tankard. "His name shall be Eric to honor thy name. Eric Olafson!"

Erik, still holding the other's arm, agreed. "So I will be."

Neither man was sober anymore and both basked in the future glory of a yet unborn heir and spun the tales of conquest they all loved so much.

Erik Ragnarsson pounded his fist onto the table's surface and made tankards dance. "It is not proper that the father of my daughter's husband lives like this. It behooves the Olafson clan to be once more first among the clans of old. Ragnarsson Rock is big and well maintained; it will serve our future grandson as a fitting cradle. Come ye, Volund, move to my burg. Be its steward and master, let your son Isegrim be master and steward once our arms are weak and until he who combines our blood is born and has passed the Ancient Rite of Passage. This burg can then be properly renovated for future use."

"I can not deny the attraction of thy offer, but how can a burg have two masters?"

Erik Gustavson taking another deep draught of the strong ale. "I am more often than not away from Nilfeheim. By Odin's sacred spear I pledge everything I own, everything that is Ragnarsson, both on this world and everything beyond, shall be Eric Olafson's, he the yet unborn fruit of our children's union; but until that day he comes into his own, the Ragnarsson Burg shall know one master only, you, as its steward."

Erik Gustavson left Olafson Burg three days later, taking his daughter and warriors along.

Volund waited until the flier was a mere dot at the horizon; then he turned to his son who was standing behind him on the courtyard and smashed his fist with all his might square in the face of Isegrim, only to follow up with a hail of blows and kicks. He yelled, "Oddløg, my hand's getting tired. Bring me the whip."

Isegrim was a strong man already, but Volund was a true brute. Isegrim did try to land a few blows for himself, but the old man caught his arm and executed a painful lock, almost breaking his arm.

Isegrim was on his knees as Oddløg brought a broad leather whip made of braided and twisted Fangsnapper leather.

"Father, have mercy. I deserved the beating but let up in your rage. I have seen the beauty and I gladly obey."

"You are despicable. No warrior, no matter the reason, pleads for mercy, and no soul disobeys me on this rock. Not the Lowmen, not the Warriors, and not even you, my son."

Volund, however, dropped the whip and drew his sword instead. "Before we leave this rock and move to Ragnarsson Burg, I will cleanse this, our ancestors' home, from all filth."

He stomped with heavy steps down into the quarters of the Lowmen.

He killed them all, and his sword and arm were covered with blood as he hacked down another maid and yelled, "I will kill you all! Where is she?"

Volund raged like a demon, the old, cursed Olafson rage, that had been known by friend and foe alike, burned like fire in his eyes. Ancient lore and the legends of old spoke of Norse warriors who fought in a nearly uncontrollable, trance-like fury while wearing the pelt of a wolf.

Old Olafson clan legends claimed this rage had always been with the men of the clan, and this was the reason the wolf became the banner symbol of the clan. Once the rage took hold, they showed no mercy and knew no temperance. Volund killed them all-men, women, children and the old-but he could not find the source of his rage.

Gretel had hidden herself in a near-empty barrel of urine, the disgusting, reeking liquid collected from humans and Nubhir alike, to be used in a very old process of tanning skins into leather. Now, wet and stinking, she stalked between the dismembered bodies of the Lowmen, the slave-like class of people who had few rights, who were poor and existed in this society to serve and obey.

Her family, her own father, two of her younger sisters, her uncles and everyone she knew had been hacked to death in a scene of grisly gore.

Using her voluptuous body to seduce the son of the clan lord seemed such a good idea just so recently-a way to escape this filth and the abhorrent conditions that existed in the bowels of this burg. Now she understood the warning from her mother, telling her to stay away from the clan lords and high ones.

She knew of the stories that came from beyond the sky. But to her and all the other Lowmen of Nilfeheim, they had been nothing more than faery tales.

She knelt next to the lifeless body of her mother, only recognizable by her smudgy dress. Nilfeheim broad swords were terrible weapons.

It was always cold down here, the stench of hides, rotten meat, and the disgusting substances used to make leather now mingled with the terrible odor of fresh blood.

Some clans treated their Lowmen well and she heard some even paid them a little.

But Lowmen were not allowed to go to Union school by decree of the Elders and were kept by the clans like property.

What now? Even Elga, who cooked for the Lowmen, was dead.

She could not stay here. Eventually new Lowmen would be hired. There were always plenty in the outskirts of Halstaad Fjord, even poorer and hungrier than the rest, eager to do anything for a warm place and food during Longnight.

Gretel had watched the high visitors after Isegrim had rushed away.

There was a small window with an egress well from where it was possible to watch most of the courtyard without being seen, and she watched the other clan chief and his daughter.

She had a truly regal appearance, wore a fine velvet dress, and had clean blonde hair that shone like gold.

It was easy to look like that if you had nothing to do all day but play the harp, do needle work, and decide what sweetmeat to eat.

She wanted to be like that: desired, rich, and free.

However, now her family and everything she knew was gone, and if she were seen, she too would join their fate.

To escape from an island was not easy, perhaps one of the reasons the Lowmen had never revolted. It was forbidden to congregate, to plan, or to gather in enough numbers to overthrow the harsh and brutal clan masters.

But she swore to herself to find a way to get her revenge.

She kept herself hidden till the wee hours of the morning, when the ale and meat had felled those hulking monsters, and she gathered as much clothing as she could find.

There was a little motorboat tied in the sub pen, a natural grotto that had been enlarged and fortified with Duro-Crete on the north side of the rock and directly under the burg. Just like the gate above, this entrance could be closed with a steel portcullis, and like the ones above it needed electric power to be raised and lowered.

No one ever lowered this several ton barrier. All the muscle on Olafson rock could not raise it.

Gretel knew about the other son of Volund, and the tale that even Hogun Olafson could not turn the big wheel to raise the gate.

The Lowmen had little in the form of entertainment, so they often sat in circles and told stories. The second born had always been described as gentle and treating Lowmen equal and fair. Gretel did not believe these stories.

Eventually she managed to get the boat started, and guided it through the gate and out of the mouth of the grotto into the open sea.

She could not hope to make it all the way to Bifrost, the largest island where Halstaad Fjord, the biggest town, was located.

She heard them say the island was a good 1500 kilometers to the south.

Gretel would never find it in a small open boat without navigation equipment that she would not know how to use anyway, but she hoped to make it to Bendixen Rock, the traditional home of a clan that was an old enemy of the Olafson's.On a clear day, Bendixen Rock could be seen from the ramparts, far on the horizon to the west.

Prelude Part 2: Egill Skallagrímsson

Year 4990, OTT

The old man was known as the Hermit of the Skalil Rock. In whispered voices they also called him a Wizard and no one, not even the Elders themselves, dared to speak against his council in the rare events when he did appear at the Thing and took the seat of the Eldest.

His name was legend and his life now spanned over four hundred years.

There were still many stories told about the last great clan War, when the Lords of the Rocks fought each other. Not just with sword and axe but with weapons brought from beyond the sky, terrible weapons against neither walls of concrete or Nilfeheim rock could stand.

Egill was a young and strong clan lord back then, avoiding allegiances and not taking sides, but was dragged into the war as men of the Uhim clan attacked his Burg and killed every living soul, while he was away fishing.

Egill, having lost his beloved wife and his sons and everything he loved and held dear, went to war, and became the most ruthless killer and fighter of that war. Single handedly he killed hundreds of the Uhim Alliance and at the climax of that war he dropped a nuclear bomb onto Uhim Island.

The use of a nuclear weapon ended the war and brought the shocked clan leaders together. All clan leaders from both the Alliance of the East and the Western Pact signed the Truce of Uhim that granted anyone access to any part of the oceans. It also cemented the power of the Circle of Elders as the highest authority of law.

Egill, numb with grief, took possession of the Skalil Rock.

No one remembered who had built the small burg on top of the tall rock, but it was said to be haunted and remained unoccupied for ages, on a world where dry land was the rarest commodity.

Today no one remembered his full name, or that it was him who had nuked the Uhim clan into oblivion.

Yet he was once the clan Chief of the Skallagrímsson clan, and he was called Egill.

Ever since his wife had died, appearance mattered little to him. He wore worn leather pants, patched with different materials and in a very unskilled fashion, the tunic and the fur anorak were smudgy and torn. There wasn't much pelt left on the hooded fur cape and it too was stained and torn. Egill's emaciated face was framed by thin, stringy hair that had the same color as pale yellowish bones. His thin, unevenly growing beard was of the same color, but his eyes glowed with the spark of a bright mind.

For the most part of the past four centuries he lived all by himself on this tall rock formation that could be found in the so called Blue Reaches of the southern oceans.

Skalil Rock was a thin column-like rock, about three hundred meters tall and on top no more than about fifty or sixty meters across. The base of the pillar, at the point where it reached the surface was only about 120 meters in diameter.

Here he had planned to live out his natural life, but it was also here where he met Tyr and it was this god-like entity that gifted him with psionic powers.

To reach the small Burg, that was built on top of the rock pillar, one had to use a basket, attached to a steel cable and an electric winch.

The first year of a new Longnight had arrived; in another twelve or thirteen months the ice flows that already drifted around his burg would have become a solid ice surface.

Egill had just returned from one of his rare shopping trips. His submarine, the only one of its kind on all Nilfeheim, was loaded with the usual dry goods and packed groceries.

He sighed. This was the downside of being a hermit, he had no one to help him carry the things. He was muttering curses and grunted every time he carried boxes and bags to the elevator basket.

Egill did not turn as a deep voice in his head said, "You could get all the help you wanted or even buy one of these robots I heard about. Even use your telekinetics to float the things up in your nest. Instead of cursing the ice of the rock."

Egill placed a box with salt, spices and ready to eat dinners into the basket and turned. There, next to the sleek Submarine in the churning waves and between the ice floes, surfaced an immense whitish shape with huge triangular shaped fins on top.

The largest predatory fish known to Union science was the Tyranno Fin of Nilfeheim, sleek true fish, some of them bigger than the Blue Whales of distant Earth.

This albino animal that just surfaced next to Egill's submarine was the largest Tyranno on Nilfeheim and it was sentient.

Egill knew the white fish for almost his entire life. It was Egill who had given the fish a name and called him Tyr.

Egill was one of a handful people who knew Tyr, but many hunters and fishers had seen it over the many centuries man had been on this world. There were stories and legends about the White Tyranno told at the tables of the old taverns that lined the Western Seawall outside the city limits of Halstaad Fjord, where only fishermen and Tyranno hunters gathered.

Egill now did turn to face his humongous non-human friend and said in the same soundless mental way, "And you could use a fraction of your telekinetic powers to help me instead of giving me a lecture."

Now he approached the edge of the small dock at the side of the Pillar. "I am surprised to see you still awake. Longnight has begun."

"You short lived humans have not really noticed that the Longnights slowly grow shorter again, as they have been so long ago. I foresee the time when Longnights are of equal length with Shortsummer. Our rather odd orbit, caused in part by the fifth planet that is technically a failed sun and its massive gravitational pull, is slowly but surely deteriorating..."

Egill held his head. "Don't fill my mind with all those equations. I am not interested in those things. I don't even understand most of it. I am not like you who hangs around the Union school rock, telepathically spying on the kids and their lessons."

"Where else should a simple fish like me gain all the wonderful knowledge about the Universe and the United Stars? Thankfully, your off-world brethren are much more interested in in these things than you and this is the reason your kind could bridge the vast distance and invade my peaceful and quiet world."

"You are more a god than a simple anything. You know full well that all you have to do is reveal yourself to the Union Outpost. I may be a just a grumpy Nilfeheim loner but even I know that a talking fish would not raise many eyebrows out there. The Union would come and most likely remove and resettle all humans. Union law is quite clear on that. You are sentient and you have been here first."

"It is not that simple. This world was colonized before it became Union. After almost 3000 of your years, this is as much their world as it is mine. I am quite content with the arrangement as it is. Besides, without humans coming to this world I would not be sentient."

"How can we have anything to do with that? You told me you have been sentient being long before humans set foot on this planet."

"Because you humans always think in mono directional linear ways when it comes to time. Cause and effect always applies but does not always have to be in a simple line."

Egill sat down on one of the steel bollards and crossed his arms while he looked at the immense being before him with much affection.

"So you saying future and past are the same thing and that everything is already decided and that existence is preordained? If the future is set then there is no such thing as free will. With a set future, there is no good and evil. Heroes are heroes because the outcome is clear and criminals are not responsible."

"No Egill, the future is very much like a dough, an unshapely mass of possibilities, but there are many ingredients that need to be there. The outcome is predictable as a cake, but no one knows what shape it might take, if it is a good cake, or perhaps a burned excuse for a baked product..."

Egill, the groceries and everything vanished from sight only to reappear in the main hall of his small burg.

Tyr had once more demonstrated his tremendous psionic abilities. The translocation of almost a ton of groceries was no easy feat.

He simultaneously completed his explanation.

" ... meaning the framework of the future is there and can be predicted and some conditions are preordained."

"You are the only fish in the history of the Universe who can compare time with baking a cake. That is the only thing I really understood. The Norse of this world believe I am a wizard and have clairvoyance. They want me to throw the runes and then see the future as this is what a Seer and Wizard is supposed to do. But I am no Wizard and far from wise. What are these conditions you speak about?"

"It is shaped by events and decisions made in the past and in the now by the sum of all that is alive. These decisions are based on a very basic set of rules if you will. For example there is technically no such condition as cold. It is defined by the absence of heat. The same thing is true to many conditions and concepts. Darkness is the absence of light. Death the absence of life and so forth. Nothing occurs without having an effect. The very existence of the Metaverse as it is now depends on a balance. If light completely eliminates darkness, how can it be still light? If there is only good, how can it remain good?

The Saresii of old call it Proka-Aku and a religious philosophy of your own homeworld called Taoism calls it Yin and Yang. I am quite fascinated with the many religions and philosophies you humans came up with. To the Elders of the Universe, this concept is known as the RULE.

Some events must occur or perhaps prevented from occurring, and these events are preordained and therefore can be predicted. It is not clairvoyance.

Was the cake analogy not sufficient?"

Egill rummaged through the bags and boxes of his shopping trip and found the bottle of vodka he was looking for.

"I would lie to you if I said I understand, but it sounds as if it should make sense. So what does this all mean, big fish? Why are you telling me all this? I sense in all this there is the reason for your visit. Not that I am complaining, any reason you find to visit me is a good one."

"I am about to go to sleep, Egill but while I sleep there will be such an event, it is an event more important than perhaps any other."

Egill poured himself a generous helping of the clear liquid into a reasonably clean cup and topped it off with cola.

Here inside his burg he didn't have to be traditional. "Do you want me to wake you when it happens, whatever you think will happen?"

"No Egill, you can't reach me once I retreat to the Sleep Mountains. My mind is awake like yours, my body and nature is still Tyranno Fin.

I want you to go to the Olafson clan and be present when Ilva Ragnarsson delivers her first born and also be there at his naming day."

Gretel almost died, she had not found Bendixen Rock, nor seen any other land. She could not even see Olafson Rock anymore.

She had lost count of the day and nights she bopped in rough sea.

While the boat had a power cube with enough energy to steer that boat at least two times right around the globe, it wasn't very fast, had no cabin and was used to go relatively short distances over the open water so fishermen could attach air hoses to harpooned Tyrannos and Three Fins.

Finding one of the small islands that dotted the otherwise featureless ocean of Nilfeheim was almost impossible.

By now she was dehydrated and so cold she didn't even shiver anymore.

She had spent at least six or seven days at sea, cold, hungry and completely dehydrated.

But then there was a bright floodlight.

What happened next, she remembered only in dream like, vague images.

She found herself in a clean bed, in a shiny and strange place with friendly faces and mechanical things with hands floating in mid air.

A man came to her bed with a warm smile and said, "I am Dr. Capers and you are at the Clinic on Union Island. We have treated you for hypothermia, dehydration and a host of infections. The school bus flier who spotted you saved your life young lady."

Gretel started crying.

The doctor said. "We are short on Psych Staff, but I can request an Avatar if you like to talk to a female counselor."

Another man in white came into view. "You still need to learn a lot about Nilfeheim, she hasn't understood a word you said."

The man sat on the bed next to her. "You are a Lowmen's girl right? That would also explain why you were found trying to cross Nilfeheim oceans in something akin to a nut shell."

She nodded. "I am Gretel Hemstead of Olafson's Rock. Please don't take me back. I can not pay for anything but I can work."

"No worries, Gretel. No one will take you anywhere against your will. All services are free. You are on Union Ground and not even the Circle of Elders and all clan Chiefs can harm you here."

She made big eyes. "They can't?"

"No they can't. While the cursed Nilfeheim Exception is inhumane and forces us to close eyes to terrible things, here you are a free sentient being."

"What is to become of me?"

"You relax, take it easy for a while. Eat and sleep and watch GalNet. Social can get you a space bus ticket to any place you like. You can then take steps to become a Union Citizen. I can also run your DNA against the CITI if you permit that. Maybe there are relatives of yours out there."

"I don't understand what that means."

"Every Union citizen has a copy of their biological data inside a huge library of sorts, not all but many have permissions on file, allowing social services to find family ties."

"Lord Volund has killed everyone."

"It is not advertised and forbidden by these Elders, but there are Lowmen every year who manage to leave this world. It is a long shot, but who knows."

She felt like a different person, everything on this Union Island was clean, sparkling clean. There was wonderful food in a seemingly endless variety. It came out of machines and no one asked her to pay for it.

On the third day, the old doctor came to her room and commented on her good looks and how pleased he was to see her doing so much better. Then he said. "I have great news for you. You have a sister who lives on Holstein, a planet only a few lightyears from here. She awaits your call."

"A sister?"

"Why don't you speak to her? I show you how to make a GalNet call."

She did have a sister. Her name was Lora and she did remember Lora from when she was still very young.

Lora, so her family told her, had simply vanished one day.

This was not unusual. Lowmen, especially pretty women were raped and abused by the Lords and then murdered and disposed in the endless oceans. No one openly talked about it of course. But when she started to develop and begun to fill her simple dresses in an appealing way, her mother had warned her to keep it hidden as best as she could. She knew about the whispered stories when the women scrubbed hides or stomped them into vats of revolting liquids.

It was then she also learned that her looks and boobs could be used as means to get things from men.

This is how she caught the eye of Isegrim and seduced the foolish brute.

Now she had learned that her sister hid among leather bales aboard a freight skimmer and escaped in Halstaad Fjord.

Lora managed to reach the spaceport and Union Social Services provided her with a Non-Cit travel permit and a spacebus ticket to Holstein.

Holstein, so Lora told her, was the destination of many Lowmen who managed to leave Nilfeheim. There they could go to Union school and none of them ever looked back.

Lora had stayed on Holstein and was hired by a dairy farm.

After the long GalNet call, Gretel too left Nilfeheim aboard a spacebus.

Everything was scary at first. She saw beings that weren't human. Things that moved and talked. Appearing to her like living nightmares, but no one seemed to even notice. Humans acted as if these monsters were people.

But it did not take her long to see that no one was afraid and there weren't any clan lords anywhere.

The flight to Holstein was short and her sister greeted her with a long hug right after she had landed.

Her sister was a full citizen, even served her twenty two month citizen service as a Union court clerk.

Lora used to be a hide scrubber just like her, but now was a shift manager at a large industrial farm. She was responsible for 20,000 dairy cows and 200 workers, robots and earned 6300 credits every Union month. She owned her own home at the outskirts of Neu Itzehoe, a picturesque town of 300,000 surrounded by rolling hills and meadows full of green grass and light forests.

From Lora's veranda there was a wonderful vista across the town and a small space port in the far distance.

Lora was dating a local Manure Management Engineer and had serious plans to marry and get kids.

To Gretel, Lora looked more alien than the non-humanoid beings she had seen on the bus. Her sister did not wear braids, but had a modern haircut with bangs and shoulder long hair. Instead of linen dress, apron and bare feet, she wore a pantsuit, coveralls and short dresses, cute looking shoes and even had her own flier.

All this happened almost a year ago now.

Gretel too had changed since then; she had gained weight from all the good and seemingly unlimited food and after she was introduced to Virtu Reality she was addicted to it.

Lora tried to get her into Union school and a young adult class, but Gretel did not like school. She didn't really like anyone telling her to do things.

It was a Wednesday almost exactly a year since she had arrived; she had herself hooked into Dream Maker and enjoyed the carefree life of a simulated princess. Just as she wanted to join her Avatar friends at a party, the virtual world flickered out of existence and she found herself on the Dream Maker couch and her sister standing by the GalNet terminal, Lora's finger still resting on the shut-down sensor. "Gretel, we need to talk."

Gretel blinked. "Could that not wait till later? I was invited to a Bubble tree party."

"No it can't wait. Because I know the horrors and conditions back at Nilfeheim, I let you do whatever you like but I can't have you stay in Virtu for the rest of your life. I see you didn't go to school again. How do you plan to become a Union Citizen and get work?"

Gretel sat up and glared at her sister. "I don't want to learn useless things about other planets and I never want to work again." She cupped her breasts. "I can get anything I want with these."

"This is not Nilfeheim, Gretel. The Union will provide you with any opportunity and with endless chances to become whatever you want to be, but the Assembly decided long ago that every individual has to work for it. Free loading is simply unfair to all the others that do work."

Gretel clenched her fist. "All I want is revenge and kill Volund, kill that blonde Ragnarsson bitch and make every Olafson pay for what they have done to father and the others and for every Hemstaad who had to work like a slave.

I want to be Isegrim's wife and become a Lady of the clan and make them all do whatever I say. That is what I want, not learn useless things and become the Lowman slave for another clan chief you call employer."

Lora slowly nodded. "I understand that better than you think, little sister. I too had dreams of revenge, but here I am free. I am a woman and equal to men.

All this I have earned on my own. I need not to ask anyone for anything. This freedom and my new life is more important to me than to brood over revenge. Revenge that would take me back to that cold world of ours with little chance of success." Lora sighed. "You chose whatever destiny and path you want. I gave you a chance to do the same as I did. Now I am going to sell this house. I have signed a marriage contract with Heinz, my fiancee and we move together. I want kids now and a family of my own.

You may change your mind and get on the track of becoming a citizen and a way to support yourself and I will help you with that, or by Sunday you need to find your own way and do whatever you like."

"I will return to Nilfeheim, but not before showing you how grateful I am for what you have done. Let me show you what the Union Post office delivered this morning. You see I did not reject all schooling and learned quite a lot from GalNet shows."

Gretel revealed a thin spray bottle and released a faint cloud of liquid mist right into her sisters face. "It's quite illegal so I was told and the Shaill call it Will Bender. It was very expensive and I had to use much of your Credit savings, but it is the next best thing to those fabled Psionics and just as effective."

Gretel laughed as she stared in the suddenly blank expression of her sisters face. "This stuff will make me the queen of Nilfeheim.

Prelude Part 3: Isegrim marries

4991 OTT

Not in the last five hundred years did the Olafson Burg look as spectacular as it did today.

Gone were the rag-like remnants of cloth; replaced by brand new flags in vibrant red. But not only Olafson red waved in the stiff breeze of Longnight winds, there were black flags with the silver falcon of the Ragnarssons.

The obvious cracks and patches of crumbling concrete had been filled with expensive Duro-Crete or were simply hidden behind a decorative banner.

A brand new Hydrogen generator hummed happily in the basement right next to the burned out 1000 year old scrap heap of the old one and sent electricity to a thousand lamps or more.

Volund caressed the fine dark red leather he was wearing and found his long fur-trimmed cape quite regal.

The heavy golden clan chief necklace was around his neck and his right hand was on the hilt of Hevnen, the great broadsword of the Olafson clan. He once again felt like a clan chief should, proud, mighty in stature and looks.

He stood by the window of his chambers.

This was the second year of this season's Longnight. Temperatures already dropped to -15 °C during the dim day and reached -20 °C at night. In another year, the ocean surface around Olafson Rock would be thick enough for a man to walk or drive across to the other burgs in the vicinity.

The temperatures were unimportant to the Lowmen, Bondi and Freemen laboring outside to make the Burg fit to hold a wedding.

It was tradition to hold the wedding at the groom's home, otherwise they could have already moved to the much bigger and well kept Ragnarsson Burg.

Luckily this Burg was not small and there was ample space for all the guests.

Erik Gustav had given him a more than generous advance on the bride's dowry.

He had never seen such a sum on the readout of his Union Bank Account and the two coffers filled with Iridium coins standing behind him were to pay the local merchants and the workers.

After all only clan families and members of the free families in town were Union citizens and had bank accounts.

The rest of Nilfeheim still relied on good old fashioned coin based currency.

His son Isegrim stood in the middle of the court yard, dressed quite similar as his father, but with the addition of a Nubhir wolf mask. These masks were tremendously popular among the Neo Viking warriors, as they gave them a fierce and frightful appearance and the leather and pelt kept their faces warm.

In the bright light of the floodlights, he was an eerie sight as his breath steamed between the permanently growling fangs of the Nubhir mask and made it almost look alive. There were much cheaper alternatives and until recently the Olafsons were forced to tie a piece of Fangsnapper fur before their faces.

The Ragnarsson clan had the largest Nubhir wolfs and the biggest Nubhir farm. Ragnarsson leather and fur was far superior to Olafson leather and more expensive.

Volund watched his son order the workers around, making sure everything was perfect before the actual wedding would take place.

Volund turned, took a pitcher set for him on a small ante table by the window and filled his empty tankard with more of the warmed ale.

His eyes fell on a two dee picture image, a traveling Image Taker and Knife Sharpener had made of his wife Grimhild. Many years ago.

He raised his drink and said, "I wish you could be around to see all this. Thanks to the upcoming wedding of our son to the oldest daughter of the Ragnarsson clan I could now afford all the beautiful things a chief's wife deserves. Most of all I now could afford a flier and take you to the Union Clinic instead of seeing you die in child labor."

He drank and as always imagined seeing that special glitter in her eyes. "Our stubborn first born has seen the fair child of the Ragnarssons and he has forgotten all about everything else.

I just wish our beloved Hogun would return. We Olafsons are fast to anger and fast to break all things around us, including the bonds that make a family what it should be."

He was glad that he was all alone in his chambers as tears dropped into his massive beard. "I have never treated you the way you deserved to be treated, and now that you are gone, I miss you and too late I realize how blessed I was. I pray to Odin to give Isegrim the wisdom to not make the mistakes I have made."

With a sigh he took his own wolf mask and decided to visit the mount of rocks under which he had buried her and the stillborn baby girl that should have been his daughter.

HOGUN

Several light hours away from Nilfeheim and beyond the orbit of the systems outermost planet, a small ice ball called Hel with nothing on it but an automated SII - GalNet Repeater, a rugged, boxy-looking space ship dropped out of quasi space.

Not all that many space ships made it to Solken System. Other than the occasional freighter and the monthly space bus, there was almost no traffic.

The dull brown ship of finest Karthanian engineering was certainly not a space bus. Even though this Karthanian built Super Cruiser had freight bays, it wasn't a freighter either. The openly displayed weapon turrets pointing in every direction made it clear this was a ship of war. While the ship and the openly displayed weapons were perfectly legal, some of the hidden ones were not.

The Ship Master of this hulking ship was a massive Pertharian. The rest of the crew were, with few exceptions, members of the physically strong and very strong species of the Union. There was a Maggi Sauron, two Oromarls, three Purple Throat Shiss, Four Triple Strongs and a former Plato Slave.

They had all gathered on the bridge of the ship they called the Great Dame. In their midst stood a human, he was neither the smallest nor the weakest aboard.

The Ship Master said to the big human, "We are here, this is Solken System." To the Purple Throat Shiss at the Comm Panel the Pertharian said, "Go and hail the spaceport and call for landing instructions and make sure you transmit our transponder codes. I don't want them to call any Navy asset to check us out."

The Shiss did what he was commanded to do and hissed to the Sauron sitting next to him, "That is something we should avoid indeed."

The Pertharian again addressed the human, "Hogun; I sure hate to see you go; you have been a true brother in arms. Are you sure you want to leave us? I gladly increase your share, but I have offered that before."

The big man had a strange expression on his face as he looked at the planet they approached. "Rathuur, no man could ask for better friends as I have found in the ranks of Rathuur's Brigands, but I am going to marry the girl that is waiting for me for so long. And then I want to settle down, take over that little inn she inherited and have some kids. No amount of credits could change my mind."

The Pertharian put one of his arms on the man's shoulder. "I have never met a man more honorable, more dependable or being able to best me in a contest of arm wrestling."

The ship belonging to this famous, barely legal mercenary outfit dipped through the planet's atmosphere after it received landing permission.

It took Hogun almost an hour to shake all the hands, claws and similar appendages as he made his way to the landing ramp, but finally he had said his last good byes, shouldered a big Duroplast box and made his way to the passenger terminal while the Grand Dame reversed her Arti Grav and climbed back into space. Hogun could not blame them for their haste.

While Rathuur's Brigands were a legal registered mercenary outfit, with a solid reputation and no federal rap sheet, some of the weapons both the ship and the mercs used were everything but legal.

While the outfit would never do anything that could harm the Union or go against Union interests, (Having a Pertharian outfit leader almost guaranteed that) they weren't as law abiding as perhaps they should have been.

Most of the contracts they fulfilled, while he was a Rathuur Brigand were targets outside Union Space and laws had little meaning there, some of their jobs could be called acts of piracy.

Hogun turned and raised his head to see the ship disappear into the lead gray sky. Then his gaze scanned across the mountains of snow that had been piled to the sides of the spaceport landing field.

On the other end stood a Meteor freighter loading densely packed blocks of ice and snow. The freighter had the logo of the Silver Hawk Emporium on its side. So rumors were true, the Ragnarsson clan was associated somehow with Silver Hawks Inc. The company logo and the heraldic hawk of the Ragnarssons were almost identical.

Silver Hawks Inc. was not the biggest Company out there; but even he who had spent most of his off-planet time in the fringe regions or beyond Union Space had heard of the Silver Hawk Emporium stores that seemed to spring up at every spaceports.

He grinned and shook his head. His father Volund would never get the idea to ship worthless snow by the shipload off planet, not knowing that a shipload of clean water ice would be a sell able commodity on any desert planet. Desert planets far outnumbered water planets after all and ninety percent of all Union citizens needed water in some form or another.

The spaceport seemed bigger than it had almost twenty years ago when he had left Nilfeheim, hiding as a stowaway in a much smaller freighter than the bulky Meteor.

It was freezing cold, and the wind had a nipping bite to it, but here gravity felt just right and the air tasted wonderful.

He reached the terminal and the Customs Inspector must have been a local Freeman. He had all the hallmarks of a Neo Viking, but was clean shaven. The man did not display any clan insignia or colors of any particular clan. The Customs Inspector wore a laughable Thompson E-Blaster in a similar unpractical covered holster, but Hogun was sure the man probably had never any reason to pull his sidearm.

The man was a Neo Viking and as such not a small person, but he had to tilt his head back to look into Hogun's face and he said, "We usually never get any private ship traffic, so don't mind me asking what kind of business do you have here?"

"What business I have on my home planet is none of yours, Freeman. I am a lawful Union Citizen and that is all you need to know. Scan my CITI and be done."

The customs officer did and said, "We don't have any police on Nilfeheim so we like to check who comes, especially in a heavily armed ship and a box full of weapons, but your CITI checks out and the weapon scan identifies only registered and legal weapons. You do know the local laws about these right?"

"I am an Olafson. I was born here."

"Oh an Olafson! Welcome home then. I bet you came for the wedding!"

"What wedding?"

"Everyone talks about it of course. Isegrim Olafson is marrying Ilva Ragnarsson."

Hogun once again shouldered the box and walked past the man. His enormous right hand clenched into a stone-hard fist ever since the man mentioned his brother's name. The main reason he had left in the first place.

Then as he passed into the lobby, he saw her standing there with her hands demurely folded before a white apron and wearing a traditional blue dress to long flaxen braids, Freydis Bredeberg.

His chin dropped. He had sent her a letter via Union Post over three months ago, that he would return and gave her an approximate day of arrival, all that came to his mind was, "How did you know I was coming today?"

She smiled the most charming smile and looked at the big man with deep love burning in her eyes. "I came here to wait for you every day, since I got your letter."

He dropped his box and scooped her into his arms.

WEDDING

As it was ancient tradition the first day of the wedding festivities began on a Friday to honor the goddess Freya and make her bless the newlyweds.

And what a day it was; the First Keeper of Hasvik himself officiated the ceremony in the great hall of the Olafson Burg, with real oak tree branches and mistletoe shipped from Earth itself decorating the hall.

All the Elders were present and so were many clan chiefs, friend and foe alike.

There was hushed whisper as the Eldest, the Hermit of Nilfeheim appeared and blessed the couple. He threw the runes and as he foretold a son to be born, both Volund and Erik Gustav almost burst with pride.

Volund was not even ashamed of the tears he cried as he embraced Hogun, his long lost second born, who also appeared before the gates and requested admission. Hogun, now a grown man, was a head taller than the tallest Norse and as massive as only a Olafson would grow, with arms bigger than some of the strongest men's upper thighs.

During the festivities he bested them all in challenges of strength and arm wrestling. Hogun put great shame upon the Elhir sons Leif and Arnfinn as he won a challenge of strength against both of them at the same time.

Isegrim threw the axes straight and true and cut Ilva's braids.

Food and drink was consumed in enormous quantities, the rafters and halls vibrated of the merry laughter and the old songs of the gods and war. There was not a dry eye and not a viking heart untouched as Ilva sung the Song of Sif to honor her new husband and no one believed there was a more beautiful woman on all Nilfeheim.

It was near midnight of the third day of festivities, most of the guests were more than drunk and the event was long past its climax. Isegrim had danced the Dance of Ax and Sword with more skill than even Volund hoped for.

Ilva skillfully tended to his cuts and bruises and the Elders praised the wedding as a testament to the value and importance of the old traditions.

Egill found this a perfect time for him to slip out the door. He liked the food and the drink, but he was a hermit for too long to feel really comfortable around crowds.

Many of the guests were already sleeping, or held on to tankards with glassy eyes. Some were still singing, but not as clear and vigorous as they did hours ago.

One of the servants helped him into his ragged looking Fangsnapper coat. However as he went through the door into the bitter cold of Longnight, a man approached him. "It is a long time we have seen each other, Old Egill."

"You should talk, Elkhart. Compared to you I am still as young as a freshly hatched Silver-flicker."

The man with the stringy white beard was Elkhart the First Keeper. Only a handful of beings knew that this old man had been born on Earth and was the Ship Master of the Stockholm Ark.

Egill did not know how the man managed to stay alive for almost 3000 years now, but then he himself was now a little over 400 years old and beings of great age were rare but not uncommon in the galaxy spanning Union beyond the clouds of Nilfeheim. "I am surprised to see you away from your secretive nest underneath Mount Muspelheim."

"And I am surprised to see you. What was it that made you abandon your tall rock? You have never been known to attend festivities."

Egill drew the seams of his cloak closer together. "The Olafson's and the Ragnarsson clan coming together is a momentous event, these are old clans with much history and clout." Then he cursed. "I am too old to freeze my face off and stand around in the cold. You know where I live and you can come by and tell me how things are underneath your mountain and why you have officiated instead of the current First Keeper. Risking exposure of your little secret just to officiate in a wedding is not something I expected."

Elkhart appeared immune to the cold, dressed in only a thin cloak, exposing his bare legs. "Yes I think it is time I visit you. Since you have not been at Hasvik for ages. Expect me then in the next weeks to come."

Egill snapped in his usual grumpy and coarse way. "Don't think I will clean just because you decide to visit." But he added in a softer tone. "There is more to this wedding, is there?"

The Ancient Keeper brushed snow out of his beard and raised an eyebrow, "The White One has send you here has he not? He too sensed the significance and that is why you came."

"You should not be able to read my mind, but yes Tyr has asked me to witness the Union between Isegrim Olafson and Ilva Ragnarsson. I do not know why. He tends to be even more cryptic than you."

"I can't read minds as you can Old Grump. I do not have the benefit of a godlike friend who can bestow such talents, but I am around for a long time and I can see patterns that are invisible to others."

"And you are an Old Liar. I know you are far more than just an old man who forgot to die."

"Perhaps, perhaps not; let us continue this when we meet at your burg. I am already afraid it is worse a pigsty than it was eighty years ago, when I seen it last, but it will be warmer."

"You can stay away if you don't like it." Egill grunted and stomped slowly down to the main gate. Then he turned and said. "See you then Old Keeper, and by Odin's name get a thicker coat. I am getting cold just looking at you."

The Old Keeper waved and said. "Have a safe journey back to your burg." Egill turned around one more time and saw the figure of the Old Keeper slowly dissipating just like a ghost; becoming insubstantial and then from one eye blink to the other the old keeper was gone.

Egill grunted. "Old man my ass, you are about as human as Tyr."

Prelude Part 4: Volund

4999 OTT

The crumbling walls of Olafson Burg were no longer on his mind. Volund was now the steward of Ragnarsson Rock. Erik Gustav had kept his word and had given him stewardship and the rule of all that was Ragnarsson on this world.

There were tanneries in the extensive basements, several Nubhir farms on the permanent ice of the southern pole region and large Fangsnapper herds, but most of all there were five modern and well kept fishing boats and three Hunting Subs in the cave-like, voluminous Submarine Pen.

Volund was once more doing what he loved best. He commanded the Hunting Subs, harassed the boats of the clans of the East and returned to the Xchange at Halstaad Fjord with Three-Fins and Tyrannos in tow. Life was good and the name Olafson once again spoken with respect at the Xchange Cafe and the Taverns.

He had just returned from another long trip to the Uhim grounds and decided to have a few tankards at Hogun's Inn.

His second born also had married, in a small and far less spectacular ceremony to a daughter of an Eastern clan no one of the Western clans really knew much about. Hogun's wife, a Bredeberg, however was given an Inn as part of her dowry. Her father won it in a gambling venture.

So it came Hogun was an innkeeper now. To everyone it was clear that this was his true calling. Hogun's Inn became one of the most popular Inns of Halstaad Fjord, not in the least due to the cooking and grilling skills of Hogun and the collection of local and Off World beers and ales he offered.

It was the very Inn he had met the old Ragnarsson and where his fortune and the fate of the Olafson clan changed forever. Fights and brawls were a thing of the past, at least in Hogun's Inn. No one in his right mind wanted to make Hogun angry. It had not taken very long and Hogun's almost inhuman body strength became the source of many tales and stories.

Volund greeted his second born and grabbed his underarm in the traditional greeting. "The hunt was good, my son. Let me celebrate with my men under thy roof and bring good ale and hearty food. The boats are fine indeed but the cooking skills of my men are much to be desired."

While Hogun went into the kitchen to personally fry a few Tyranno steaks for his father and the boat crew, Pit, one of the Freemen working for Hogun, served tankards of mead and ale.

The mood was merry and the food was good. The hours went on and Oddløg, celebrated for his expert harpooning that killed a Tri Halfer, was comfortably drunk as he staggered into the back to relieve himself.

While Hogun had spent considerable money to install modern Union grade recycler bathroom stalls and urinals, he had a hard time making the long time patrons use it. The old Vikings much rather went out in the back as they had done so many times before.

During Shortsummer it stank horribly despite the Gong Farmers, Lowmen paid by the Innkeepers to remove the disgusting mess left behind. Until recently the Lowmen had to use pick axes to break the frozen mess from the old Sea Wall that begun right behind the row of Inns and Taverns, of which Hogun's Inn was one.

Hogun however paid one of his own employees and to clean a good section every day with a high pressure washer to keep the mess managed and placed big signs everywhere inviting them to use his modern toilets.

All this was of no concern to Oddløg, he had pissed against that Sea Wall behind the inn for as long as he could remember and he would do so tonight.

He was just about to relieve himself as a movement just out of his field of view made him turn his head. He laughed roughly, "Aye the spears and harpoons of Olafson warriors are legendary in size and length, are you ashamed of yours or why are you hide in the shadows?"

A woman, of all things, stepped into the yellowish light of an age old lumi plate glued to the back of a building. "Oh I remember the spears of the Olafsons; yours is rather pathetic."

Of course the back of the Inns were frequented by the harlots and prostitutes of the lowest kind; seeking to earn a coin or two to support their usually fatherless families living at the outskirts of town. The Circle of Elders tried to prohibit it, but it was an open secret among the Freemen and the clan-born alike. However she didn't really talk like one.

He said. "After I am done you better be gone or I tan your hide, harlot."

"Of course you will and you one eyed bastard don't even remember who I am." She raised a small pen like device and something sharp pierced Oddløg's skin right underneath his chin.

She came closer. Now he recognized the woman, it was Gretel.

She wore a red dress underneath her cloak and said, "What a fitting place for you to die. I had to hide in a barrel of piss to hide from your master, now you going to drown in it."

Oddløg tried to reach for what stung him but he could not.

Gretel laughed, and said. "Go get him boys, he is all yours."

A gang of ragged looking Lowmen peeled from the shadows, armed with clubs and pick axes.

They would have never dared attack a clan warrior in command of his strength. Yet Oddløg could not even lift a hand, his muscles felt like blubber, as the four Lowmen started to hit him.

He could not even yell for help or raise alarm and he fell face first into the the yellow snow and ice and saw his own blood flow and freeze. The last thing he heard was Gretel's cold laugh, "You are only the first."

No one could tell Volund where Oddløg was even after almost a month. No one had seen his right hand man. Now crime and murder were rare but not entirely uncommon. The Olafson's had a fair share of enemies among the clans of the West and then of course there were the clans of the East, the pirates of the Black clan and there was Oddløg's temper. He never could stay out of a fight, pass a brawl or not get mixed up in a duel. Volund was sure his friend had met his fate, or he would have shown up by now.

There was no police or anything like that on Nilfeheim except at the spaceport but the spaceport security could not and would not enforce the law beyond Union ground. Volund only noticed Oddløg missing after almost three days, as he had a serious hangover and suspected Oddløg to sleep his off in the bed of a Lowmen wench.

He did call the Union Clinic but Oddløg had not been there and had not been treated recently.

Volund felt the loss and was sad that he could not give his friend a decent burial.

But then the new burg had many warriors and Volund hoped that wherever Oddløg found his fate, he did it fighting and would be welcomed at the table of the Aesir.

What distraught him more were the reports that his son was no longer spending much time with Ilva but was seen almost daily flying to town and returning late.

That a man of his strength had a few concubines on the side was understandable, even though it was neither traditional nor proper. Volund himself had cheated a few times on his beloved wife while she was alive, a fact he regretted now.

But the good news were that Ilva was now pregnant. Hogun's wife, who also was a midwife, told him the good news, after nature took his course and in about eight months there would be twins and if the midwife was right, one of the twins would be a boy.

While he was sure the Union Clinic could determine that for sure, there was no need to involve the Off-Worlders.

Volunt had just left the Inn, talking to Hogun, hoping he had news of Oddløg simply being sick or still drunk or perhaps nursing the bruises of a fight he lost.

Hogun, never known to be drunk, recalled the night and remembered Oddløg going for a piss, but could not recall seeing the old warrior coming back.

Hogun watched his father leave.

He remembered Oddløg well, from the time before he had left

Oddløg had a mean streak as wide as the behind of a pregnant Fangsnapper, but Hogun remembered him as being smarter than most, with a keen sense for trouble and very quick reflexes. True Oddløg was drunk, but not more than at any other time. If he would have died in a fight, there would be others wounded or injured as well.

He put his fur cape around his shoulders and said to Pit, one of his employees, "Take care of the place. I be back in a few hours."

Pit simply nodded, but Pit never spoke unless absolutely necessary.

He went out the back, past the modern bathroom facilities he had just put in and proceeded to the so-called sea wall.

This was a tall dike kind of structure, erected by the first colonists that arrived on this, the largest open landmass on Nilfeheim. They did that bone breaking labor to protect the then small and only settlement on Bifrost, as they called this about Ireland sized island, from flooding.

Hogun, who had visited Earth and knew what the Ireland reference meant, smiled about the simple minds of his ancestors. Nilfeheim had no moons, and no tides. The ice that came in the long winter came from the existing water, the water level did not raise a single centimeter in Shortsummer.

There was no need for a seawall, millions of tons of rocks and concrete were used to build this great defense against, well, against nothing really.

Halstaad Fjord and the entire region from up the most northern tip of the island, called Ice Jättens Näsa where the small village of Honningsvåg was, all the way to Mount Asgard and the Mehir field was the land that Lars Erikson had claimed for himself and his family. No clan, no family of Nilfeheim had ever dared to claim this region, not even during the many clan wars.

An old burg-like structure North of the city, well mostly a big pile of rubble, had been erected when the first colonists actually arrived, long after Lars Erikson had died. Deep underneath that crumbled structure they had placed the stone coffin of the first and still only leader of all Nilfeheim. Above in the sealed hall, the legendary throne of Lars Erikson.

Hogun knew the story of Nilfeheim well, perhaps even better than the Elders themselves who suppressed and ignored much of it.

As strange at it might sound, he had learned more about Nilfeheim while he was away than he ever could on Nilfeheim itself. The Central Archive of the Union, held every piece of information ever written or recorded about Nilfeheim. While there was no one except perhaps the elusive and almost forgotten Keepers of Hasvik who kept an unbiased record of history.

Hogun loved this world but he no longer saw it as a Neo Viking but also as Union Citizen.

The seawall section here on the western side of the island separated the actual town of Halstaad Fjord from the sea harbor and the ocean port facilities.

Halstaad Fjord had grown much, even in the almost fiveteen years he had spent in his self-chosen exile. Over a million Freemen and an uncounted number of Lowmen. Hogun was certain at least another million was living in the small villages and towns dotting the island's surface.

While Halstaad Fjord and Isen Lansby, the two largest settlements had something akin to a town council, there was no actual government for the entire planet other than the Circle of Elders. There were no social services, no police and no one ever asking for a census to find out how many that actually lived on the planet.

Hogun was convinced that none of the Elders or clan Lords really ever wanted a count to be done.

Such a result could technically make it to the Assembly or a Union Court, carried there by a member of the Lowmen, and maybe show that there were far more Lowmen than there were clan Families. Something that might put the so called Nilfeheim Exception in jeopardy.

Of course Nilfeheim was not the only Union member society with certain exceptions to Union laws, almost every society had some local conditions that did not entirely fit with Union laws. He understood concessions had to be made to make this magnificent multi culture society work.

Hogun sighed as he watched four men dressed in rags working with pick axes, hammers and shovels to remove the disgusting mess the patrons of the many Inns left behind.

Here on the sea-facing side of the big wall were many fishing and hunting related businesses. This part of town was called Harbor's Row and between the shops and stores that offered tackle, nets, harpoons, ropes and all the many things seafaring vikings needed, were many of the traditional inns, taverns, guesthouses and pubs that catered to the tastes and needs of this rough clientele.

As far as Hogun knew, he was the only business on Harbor's Row featuring indoor plumbing and bathrooms.

He walked up to the men. He recognized two of them and they knew him. They were called Gong Farmers but also much worse.

One of them removed the filthy piece of fur he had before his nose and mouth, now as Longnight was here, against the cold. The temperatures thankfully reduced the usual stench to a minimum. The thin man bowed. "Lord Olafson!!

"Dietmar, did I not tell you to simply call me Hogun? Why are you cleaning this by hand? Have I not purchased a modern pulse washer?"

"Yes, Hogun you have but we are cleaning this section for Arnhilf's Tavern, he doesn't have one."

Hogun put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Go get the pressure cleaner anytime you need it. Didn't I give you money to buy real boots, an apron and a good filter mask?"

"Yes you did, but I used the money to feed my family. It lasted almost an entire month and we ate good."

"Loki curse that stubborn council of Elders, these are conditions as bad as in the slums of N'Ger."

Hogun dug a handful of Iridium coins out of his pocket, while the man asked, "The slums of what?"

"A place beyond Union Space with conditions that should not exist here on my own home world."

Hogun knew he made no sense to the man, as he would have made no sense to anyone local and handed the man a size able sum of money. "Here, you and your friends go to Friesenheim's or Silverhawk's, and buy the things I asked you to get before. Then you get my power cleaner and clean the whole stinking wall from up there, all the way down to Messmer's restaurant. You will work for me and I pay you each the usual hourly wages. That should keep you guys busy for the foreseeable future and your families fed. The deal is off if I see you without the gear I want you to have, understood?"

Dietmar grinned broadly. "You are the only Lord who cares about us for sure."

"What I actually came out here for is to ask if you have seen a fight, or a dead body someone asked you to take away?"

"Not a fight Sir, and we haven't removed any dead bodies since Eklund the Barber asked us to dispose one, but that was still during Shortsummer."

One of his still partially masked companion said with his voice muffled behind the piece of fur, "There was a lot of frozen blood right behind your Inn just a few days ago." He leaned forward. "The Nubhir gang gave us half a bit, to clean it up. I found this."

The man held up a brass claps, it featured the Olafson wolfs head engraved into it.

Hogun was not entirely surprised by that. He somehow expected to hear Oddløg had been killed right behind his tavern. The question was, why it was done in an ambush and not in an open fight. He thanked the men and urged them to do what he asked them to do.

He was just contemplating what to do when a big bellied Neo Viking stepped before him. The man was Arnhilf, the proprietor of the tavern with the same name and technically competition to Hogun.

Arnhilf gestured to the Lowmen walking off the job and said with an angry tone, "I hired that vermin to clean that stinky mess."

"And I hired them to clean the whole damn wall with proper tools and gear. These are Nilfeheimers just as you and me and not vermin!"

"You must have lost some of your mind while you were gone. These are Lowmen."

"Do you know where Freemen and Lowmen actually come from? Do you know none of your ancestors came to this world aboard the colonist arks? No my friend, your roots and theirs are from the slaves and hostages our pirating ancestors brought back from all the colonies they raided."

Arnhilf shrugged. "Makes no difference to me. They are Lowmen, I am not. However since you pay them to clean the entire wall, let me get in on some of the cost. I am thinking of getting toilets like you do, have you figured out yet how to make them use them?"

Hogun sighed. "No, not yet. Did you know the Nubhirs are back doing shady business back here?"

Arnhilf shook his head. "Didn't the Elders send warriors last year to stomp out that gang?"

"Apparently not. This is the problem with our society. No police."

"This is what is good about our society. We don't need Off World law, but we should simply put a torch to the entire South Side of Halstaad."

Hogun knew how difficult it was to eliminate groups like the Nubhir Gang. Jobs like that were the bread and butter of Rathuur's Brigands. Eliminating such elements from fringe world colonies.

Here on Nilfeheim it would be almost impossible, as the Nubhir gang usually preyed only on the Lowmen and only occasionally bothered the Freemen. Why they attacked and killed an armed warrior was disturbing, but Oddløg was drunk and maybe clubbed before he could defend himself or raise alarm. His gear most likely sold and the body dumped somewhere.

It wasn't a big or very influential gang but, as much as the Elders tried to cover it up and deny it existed, there was prostitution and with it came the usual element of pimps and shady characters.

Since there was no police or anything like that, he decided to go to the South End himself. It was a longshot of course but if Oddløg got murdered behind his Inn, he wanted to make sure, nothing like it happened again.

Until recently going to town used to be a long trip with an ice skimmer boat, but the Ragnarsson burg came with three expensive Arti Grav Skimmers and Volund loved using the expensive and luxurious Volvo. All the rich clan Chiefs had fliers and usually the expensive kind.

As he landed in the burg's spacious courtyard he noticed the big GM flier Isegrim his son more or less had made his own.

Near the big General Motors flier lingered a man, all dressed in gray. There were many faces he didn't know but Volund remembered seeing the man several times in the company of Isegrim.

"Servant speak quick, have you seen my son?"

"Aye Sire, he is down at the submarine pen, most likely using the bunk of the lead boat with his guest."

"What guest?"

The man had a pointed nose and his dark eyes gleamed with a strange fire as he said, "Lord Volund, do not let me be the bearer of such news. I spoke too much already"

"Tell me!"

"A woman that is not his wife. Her name is Gretel Hemstaad."

Volund actually grabbed the man by the collar.

"It cannot be! Tell me all you know or die!"

"Unhand me Sir. I am neither thy servant, nor thy slave. Your son is bedding a woman that is not his wife and he does it right here on the burg for many days now. He is using the bunks in the fishing boats, everyone knows."

Despite his boiling anger, he still noticed that there was something eerily familiar about the man he assumed was a servant of the Ragnarssons.

Volund let the man go, hot rage knotting his stomach.

"Does Ilva know"

"She is pregnant and I doubt anyone had the heart to tell her, Sire."

Then he almost whispered. "Does Erik Gustav know?"

"You are the steward, of this rock but it is the Burg of Ragnarsson and there are many eyes and ears. It should be assumed that little happens between this walls that is not eventually carried to his ears, but for now he is far away."

Volund stomped towards the stair house and the long flight of steps that led down to the submarine pen. "Let us end this madness, before he returns and hears about it. Bring a weapon and tell my thy name.

"I am Harkun, Sire." Again there was a very odd expression on the strange man's face as he answered.

Volund was too enraged to ask more questions. The Olafson clan Chief did not want to go back to his crumbling burg, cast out in shame before all Nilfeheim. He had tasted the power and the wealth of Ragnarsson.

Isegrim had sworn in the presence of the Elders to honor and cherish his bride and be as true as Balder himself.

Oaths and promises done upon the Spear of Odin in front of all the Elders were perhaps the most sacred custom of all Nilfeheim. If word came before the Elders or Erik Gustav all that was won would be lost.

The flight of stairs was long and steep. Steps made of Duro Crete wound down to sea level, almost 200 meters. And he did make it to the last landing, as he saw Isegrim standing there at the bottom of the stairs.

"By Odin where is the wench? She escaped the sword the last time, but by the Gods she will not see the light of day again. And you son will learn that you are not too old to feel my hand like you never felt it before."

Isegrim simply laughed, "Soon I am the Lord of the clan. Your time has come old man. I won't be a mere steward, I will be master.

She is not here, but she was part of this trap we set for you."

Someone pushed Volund from behind with great force and he lost his footing; only now did he notice the shimmering fat smeared over the next steps, there was nothing to hold on, no hand rail. He fell and tumbled down the stairs, Isegrim stepping aside to kick his father, who had survived the stumble more stunned than truly hurt, but like a mad man Isegrim did not let up and kept kicking his father.

The person who had pushed him came into Volund's view, it was the tall gray-dressed man, holding a hammer of war. "I am Harkun, Father. Born in wedlock to a Freewoman you knew as Hildigunn. A woman you raped. I am a bastard aye, but I am your son.

The stranger brought down the hammer in a bone crushing blow onto Volund's legs. "My mother, shunned by her family and shamed, killed herself!"

Another blow. Volund groaned in mind numbing pain.

"Not like this! I want to fight!"

Isegrim uncoiled a steel cable. "Remember the whip father? I had this made especially for you and carried it for this day. We know you would come and waited for you."

The whip snapped across Volund's raised arms.

Harkun brought down the hammer again. "You die by the hands of your Sons. Beaten to death like a mangy Nubhir wolf."

The next blow broke Volund's skull and the clan Chief of the Olafsons died with a wet gurgling sound.

Isegrim clasped Harkun's arm. "I am clan Chief now and as soon as my dear betrothed wife gives me the son she bears, I kill her and the child and inherit it all. Then my brother, I marry the one I truly love and you will be raised to prominence and I give you the Olafson Burg that is now vacant and much of Ragnarsson riches for your own clan to rise."

"We shed the blood of our Sire together, brother. I will serve you and be your man servant, for no one shall know my heritage until that day you make true of your word."

Isegrim uncorked a big bottle of ale and poured a generous helping over the bloody heap that was once was his own father. "He really should have been more careful on those slippery stairs while drinking all this Ale."

Hogun had left his sturdy flier at Halgrav's, the construction supply yard of a family of stone masons that had become rich on a world of burgs and stone buildings. Manfred Halgrav, the current owner, was the only man that came close once to beating Hogun in an arm wrestling match, back when they both went to Union school and had been friends ever since.

After a little chat with his old friend, he walked towards South Down. Here, past the few industrial yards with high fences and vicious Nubhir wolves guarding premises, began the part of Halstaad Fjord few Neo Viking really knew existed and none ever really frequented.

Despite the fact that a thick blanket of snow covered most of the misery, it was still a dirty place that did not really belong on Nilfeheim.

A woman, her trade obvious by the pink dyed fur came closer. "Four bits get you a night you never forget, big man."

"If you can tell me where the Nubhir gang hangs out, I give you a bit."

He did not see more than her eyes behind the pink fur mask. "You are a Lord. Asking such questions could mean serious trouble, but you might find them at the Freya's Veil a little further down the street."

He handed her an Iridium coin and went on.

As he turned to see where she went, she was nowhere to be seen.

The place was indeed not hard to miss, as he noticed perhaps the only neon colored light sign on Nilfeheim, outside the spaceport. An animated woman went through a series of suggestive dance moves, flickered and repeated the sequence. A sturdy metal door below that sign.

As he entered and stomped the snow off his boots, about a dozen characters turned to see who let in the cold draft that brushed through the dense atmosphere of cheap booze, body odor and the sickly sweet aroma of some kind of smoke that was certainly not Terran type tobacco.

During his travels he had been in places like this many times, finding it on Nilfeheim however was something that disturbed his Neo Viking soul to the core.

A Lowman openly wearing a Thompson E blaster stepped into his way. "What's a Lord snooping around South Down? Asking questions about Nubhirs. You are not looking for the big four legged ones, right?"

The man rested his hand on the blaster. "You better go back. Swords and axes don't cut it here."

Hoguns hand darted forward and clasped around the man's throat. "I could squeeze that ugly thing you call a head right off your shoulders, before you even get a chance to draw that Thompson halfway out its holster."

With his other hand, Hogun brushed aside his coat and drew a Bo-Zap III and pointed it at another man who had begun to draw something. "Go ahead, pull it."

While Hogun was known to be gentle and friendly to all, he had returned to the planet of his birth wanting to escape the evil things he had done and the filth he had seen. Finding it here was making him angrier by the moment, and as much as he tried not to succumb to the old Olafson rage.

He now noticed the man he held by the throat was not moving, he tossed the limp body, when a sharp distinctive crack of a Kermac Line blaster and a blinding flash burned a man concealed behind a curtain that hung before a doorway, perhaps to the kitchen.

The curtain had caught fire as the man still holding a spear gun dropped to the floor.

Hogun whirled around, cursing himself for making such a rookie mistake.

There stood a tall thin man with a face that looked as if an unskilled artist chiseled it out of a piece of rock. The man did not wear local costume, but a dark purple leather suit with a criss crossing leather harness, and an old but well kept Union Fleet issue Officer's Coat without any rank insignia. Hogun knew that angular harsh looking face well. "Carl?"

Ignoring the barkeeper throwing a bucket of water on the burning curtain and the rest of the local vermin, the man came close. "That steel poker gun might have even pierced you, big man. Why don't you finish whatever business got you in here and then we have a drink and talk."

Hogun was as surprised as pleased to see that man. "Aye let's do that."

He approached the bar keeper. "If you don't want the Elders sending warriors to raze this dung hole to the ground, tell me who leads the Nubhir gang."

The bald man was wearing a smudgy apron was horrified by the huge man. "Lord. Uwe was the man you grabbed, he was the leader."

Carl grinned as he crossed his arms. "Seems you haven't changed all that much. Your interrogation technique hasn't improved that's for sure."

Hogun looked around, the man and everyone but the bar owner was gone.

He signed and said to the bar man. "Those Nubhirs are involved in the disappearance of a clan warrior, you tell them the Elders will hear about it and their days are numbered."

He then turned to the man named Carl and said. "Let us go. I have a tavern of my own. It's cleaner and then you tell me why you are here on Nilfeheim of all places."

The news of Volund's death traveled fast, two Elders did arrive an entire day later. They examined the body and the stairs. They noticed the broken bottle and the strong smell of Ale and Aquavit and declared the death a tragic accident and confirmed that Isegrim indeed was in line to be the next clan Chief of the Olafson clan.

This part of Isegrim's plan went well and he did act like a grieving son should, but the rest did not go as planned.

The Elders confirmed that Volund and Erik Gustav did make a witnessed contract to make the yet unborn son the heir of it all and the contract only named Volund as the steward and made no mention of Isegrim.

All bank accounts were closed to him and the Ragnarsson Warriors, Freemen and Servants refused to obey his commands until the situation was settled.

Erik Gustav Ragnarsson himself was already on his way from distant Pluribus to be present at the birth of his grandchildren.

Of course the old scion of the Ragnarssons was informed about the accident and sent message he would take matters in hand as soon as he arrived.

As Isegrim wanted to visit his pregnant wife, he noticed two big Ragnarsson Warriors, Reinhold and Orkning, standing outside his wife's chambers, each of them resting their gloved fists on large swords and wearing full Warrior's dress. Both men were known to be among the finest swordsmen, second perhaps only to Erik Gustav himself.

That was a preview of Eric Olafson, Neo Viking. To read the rest purchase the book.

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