The fireplace crackled at the end of the room; the shutters lay all closed, though it was morning. Twelve dimly lit figures sat at the long table, staring at him.
His chair at the head groaned loudly as Leif shifted. “Why don’t we let the sun inside?”
“It’s best that what we have to say does not leave the room, Burgomaster.”
“Isn’t that a bit dramatic?” he asked.
“We’re worried, Leif.”
He wasn’t sure which of them said what; their faces were barely visible.
“So be it,” he said. “You know me well. I won’t abuse my powers.”
“That’s why I’m sure you’ll understand when we say that Bjornhavn is in dire need of change.”
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of change?”
“We decided to call a prince from the Isles to rule us.”
“What?!” Leif perked up. The table shook as his belly slammed against the edge. “Bjornhavn has always been independent—that’s how we prospered all these years!”
They exchanged glances.
“We’re not prospering, though. There’s a parasite sucking our blood.”
“You can’t possibly mean…”
“That’s exactly who we mean—the harpies.”
“They’re Bjornhavn’s only deterrent against raids,” Leif said.
“We’d rather pay taxes at this rate. And I wouldn’t defend them if I were you.”
He frowned. “Are you trying to accuse me of something?”
“No, but you invited them. It made sense back then, but now we have strong reasons to believe you have been taking a cut.”
Leif gasped. “Preposterous! Haven’t I done plenty for this town?!”
“Yes, that’s why we’re giving you the benefit of the doubt and haven’t sent the proposal yet.”
What…? They were bluffing to scare me. Sleazy old bastards…
He settled back in the chair. “What do you want from me exactly?”
“We want them gone—if you can’t defend this town, an ambitious prince will.”
Shouts rang out in the market as he left the meeting. A group of harpies dragged a flailing merchant away from his stall. He gritted his teeth and followed them into the wilderness.
The audacity of these thugs. Right in front of the town hall, too.
They knocked the man out after a beating and made their way back with a stolen purse, joking amongst themselves.
Leif crossed his arms. “I told you to be discreet.”
“This one protested too much—it’s bad for business.” One of the harpies shrugged. “We have to set an example sometimes.”
“I don’t care about your business. This looks terrible for my image.”
“Here.” The harpy laid a silver coin on top of his belly. “For your troubles. I’m sure the boss will have more for you later.”
They left, laughing.
The purses Varetrix gave him were starting to look too light for the hassle.
Leif grumbled and pocketed the coin anyway.
Her ‘collections’ were useful because some of the money flowed straight into his pockets, unlike taxes. But this meant nothing if he couldn’t keep his job.
His two lieutenants joined him as Leif arrived at the market. They were technically part of the town watch, but he paid them extra on the side to keep them loyal to him personally.
“What did the council want, after all?” Magnus asked.
“They’re out for blood.” He guided them into a quiet alley. “Mine or the harpies’, either is fine for them.”
“What should we do?”
“I want you two to assemble a militia, and I’ll fund weapons,” he whispered. “But it has to be in complete secrecy—we’re going to drive the harpies out of Bjornhavn.”
Magnus scratched his blonde beard. “What happens afterward when their chieftain decides to retaliate? Varetrix is her daughter, and I have family in town.”
Ivar rarely spoke, but his low, quiet voice gave Leif chills whenever he did. “Me too. It’s too risky.”
“Tsk. You’re going to lose your jobs as well, don’t you get it? Everyone knows of our affiliation.”
“Rather my job than my daughter,” Ivar said.
Leif stared at them in disbelief.
These idiots…
He might’ve gotten rid of them already if they weren’t the two best fighters in Bjornhavn. Few people knew this, and those who did were no longer out there to spread the news.
All that potential was wasted if they were going to chicken out.
Fine. I’ll do it myself.
Bjornhavn didn’t have a vast pool of people Leif could recruit from; the residents were mostly graying, established merchants, craftsmen, clerks, and the sort. These wouldn’t risk their comfortable lives by taking up arms. The best candidates came from abroad and were just passing through.
He went to the tavern near the harbor.
Mugs tapped against wooden tables, the whole place smelling of sweat and dysentery.
“You said you’re the first mate.”
The sailor chugged down the ale Leif bought him, then wiped his mouth. “Aye. The boys listen to me.”
Asking the captains themselves was a no-go. They just wanted to get the job done and scram back home for more cargo.
Leif raised a little tower of coins on the table. “There’s more where this came from if you manage to convince your crew.”
“Just mine?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know other crews as well.”
Is he trying to play me?
There was no harm in asking.
“How many men are we talking about?”
The sailor scratched his chin pensively. “We brought thirteen in the Knarr this year, captain aside, times eight…? Help me out here.”
“That’s…” Leif’s eyes widened. “A hundred men.”
More than enough to expel the harpies if done right.
“Are you sure you can convince them all?” Leif asked.
The sailor glanced down at the pile of coins. “Not with this. I’ll need to wet a few palms.”
“Do you take me for a fool?”
“Not at all; take your time to consider. But I hope you’re not in a hurry, because we’ll only be back next year.”
“...”
“In any case, thanks for the ale.” The man finished his drink and stood up.
“Wait.” Leif put the whole purse on the table. “It’s too risky for me to go after them one by one.”
“Now we’re talking.”
“Bring them to my warehouse in three weeks.”
It should be enough time for me to get weapons.
A toothless grin spread across his face as the sailor snatched the purse. “Consider it done.”
Axes, clubs, and spears lined the walls. Ivar and Magnus arrived with the last shipment and closed the door behind them.
“Glad to know you’ll do this much for me, at least,” Leif said bitterly.
Magnus laid down the barrel with the rest of the weapons. “Hey, you’re still our boss. Nothing personal.”
Leif scoffed, then went to the door as someone knocked.
“It must be them.” He pulled it open. “Time to teach those thugs—”
Half a dozen scrawny sailors stared at him, one missing an eye and half his fingers.
“Is this the gig?” the crippled one asked.
“Where are the others?”
“What others? Arne just said there would be a gig for us here.”
“Arne, as in, the first mate?”
They exchanged glances.
Leif pressed his temples.
That bastard…
“So, are we getting paid?” one of them asked.
“Tsk. Get out of my sight; there’s no gig.” He whistled to his lieutenants and set off. “Let’s go after my money.”
They searched the tavern. Nothing. In the market, someone pointed them toward the harbor.
A figure lay sprawled between two longships at the end of a jetty, his red gums glaring, mouth wide open.
Leif kicked the empty cask aside and yanked a flaccid purse from the passed-out sailor’s belt. His forehead throbbed.
It was empty.
The harbor was quiet early in the morning.
“Get rid of him.” Leif tossed the purse into the water and left as Ivar and Magnus moved in.
A louder splash echoed behind him.
As satisfying as that noise was, it also punctuated the end of his career. Leif harbored no illusions.
His longhouse came into view. It had a spacious courtyard. Servants worked in the garden outside.
He locked himself inside and prepared to leave the town.
Blood-stained purses went inside bundles of clothes. Most people never touched a gold coin in their lives—he shoved a handful of them into a sack of flour.
He didn’t bat an eye as a commotion broke out outside.
It's gotta be those thugs again.
Not his problem anymore.
Packed chests and sacks lined the timber walls. Now he just had to call the servants, buy passage on one of the ships, and make himself scarce.
“Leif!” Magnus cried outside.
Tsk. Now they want me?
“I’m not here,” he said. “Go away.”
His lieutenant knocked repeatedly at the door. “Someone wants to see you. It’s important.”
A council member probably.
This must be a joke. Haven’t I been humiliated enough already?
He couldn’t exactly dig a tunnel under his house and disappear, so he had no choice but to entertain them one last time.
Leif unlocked the door with a grumble, then froze as a muzzle hovered a few inches from his face.
The white bear stared at him.
Am I dreaming?
An elegant woman dressed in a gleaming white gown rode the beast sidesaddle. The heraldic standard she carried breathed mist like a living thing.
Is that… magic?
“Katarina von Falkenhorst, the Witch of Winter, Chieftain of Nordrstjarna,” the bear said in a childish voice.
Leif swallowed.
“I’m not here seeking conflict,” the woman said. “Only to repair a wrong done to my subjects. Your cooperation would be appreciated, Burgomaster.”
Her subjects?
Behind her, his courtyard lay packed with a small Snoutling army, at least a hundred. Townsfolk gathered outside, murmuring.
He heard something about the harpies taking over their warehouse. Leif didn’t care. But he also didn’t know that their leader was this magnificently terrifying specimen. And the best part was:
She just wanted to talk.
His eyes widened.
The gods have answered my prayers.
They’d sent a herald from the heavens to save his job.
Though he didn’t pray. This was still a golden opportunity.
“Cooperation, of course—” Leif opened his arms wide and smiled. “Welcome to Bjornhavn!”