Ragnar Ironborn's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The first camp had listened. Two hunters and a spearman heard Ragnar tell how the beast fell. They liked his fire. But when he asked them to follow, the spearman spat and said, "Follow you where? You've got no roof, no walls, no hall. A man swears his blade to a place, not a stranger with two axes." The others nodded and drifted back to their fires. Ragnar walked out with nothing but Lily beside him. "He's right," Lily said. "You need a seat. Give them somewhere to kneel." Her tone left no room for argument. Lira Renshaw, a leathery old trailguide, sold him the answer. She kept maps in a cart hung with charms, and she drew her notched machete across one route before he could pay. "That way's death," she said. "But there's an old longhouse a half-day north. Dark timber, iron bands, stone footing. Strong bones. Empty now." She grinned with brown teeth. "Empty because the last band there fed something." Ragnar took the map. By dusk he stood before the fortress. Its dark timber walls rose two stories, bound with heavy iron fittings. A green shingle roof sloped over carved beams. He could hold a hundred men inside. He shoved the door. Something moved in the dark. A shape unfolded from the rafters and dropped to the floor. It was tall and lean, its hide a deep purple, its eyes burning pink. A barbed tail lashed behind it. The thing had no fear in it. It hissed and came straight for him, claws wide, hungry to tear anything living. Ragnar swung. His axe scraped off armored hide and threw sparks. The creature's tail whipped his ribs and knocked him against the wall. His iron-banded leather took the blow, but the breath left him. The thing pinned him with one clawed hand and reached for his throat. "Hold still," Lily said. Her braid shot past his ear like a cast rope. It coiled around the creature's neck and both arms and cinched tight. The thing thrashed and screeched. Its claws raked empty air. "Now," she said. "It won't hold long." Ragnar wrenched free and set his boots. He brought both axes down together into the creature's skull. It shuddered, folded, and went still. Lily's braid slid loose and settled back over her shoulder. He stood in the wide hall, chest heaving, and looked around. Stout walls. A high roof. A hearth waiting for fire. This was a hall a king could rule from. "Bring the hunters," he told Lily. "Bring the spearman. Tell them the hall is taken. Tell them there's a seat now, and a man in it." He drove one axe into the great table at the center of the room. The blade bit deep and stood. Ragnar had his stronghold. Now the whole forest would learn there was somewhere to kneel — and Kragen Bloodsworn, whose exiles took what they wanted, would learn it too.