RAGNAR’S POV

Victory tasted like blood and sweat in my mouth as I wiped my sword clean on the cloak of a fallen raider. The battle had been fierce but brief, our superior tactics and discipline making short work of the sea wolves who had been terrorizing the coastal villages. Around me, my warriors were checking the dead and tending to their wounds, their faces grim but satisfied.

This was our third victory in as many weeks. The northern campaign was going better than I had dared hope when we first set out from Harald’s court. The raiders we had been sent to eliminate were fierce fighters, but they lacked organization and strategy. They fought like wild animals – dangerous in the moment but easy to predict and counter.

“Another good day’s work,” said Thorstein, one of my veteran captains, as he approached with his ax still dripping red. “These sea dogs are starting to learn that attacking our coast comes with a price.”

I nodded, surveying the battlefield with a practiced eye. Fifteen raiders dead, two of my men with minor wounds. It could have been much worse. These northern wolves were known for their savagery, but they had underestimated the skill of seasoned warriors.

“Have the men gather what supplies we can use,” I ordered. “We’ll camp here tonight and move on the village of Saltfjord at first light. The survivors will have run there to warn their kinsmen.”

The campaign had been going so well that I was beginning to suspect Harald’s true motives weren’t what they appeared. Yes, the raiders were real, and yes, they needed to be dealt with. But sending me – one of his most experienced jarls – on what amounted to a cleanup mission seemed like overkill. Unless, of course, the real purpose was simply to get me away from court.

Away from Astrid.

The thought of my wife sent a familiar pang through my chest. It had been three weeks since I left her at Harald’s court, three weeks of wondering if she was safe, if the king was keeping his word about her protection. I had received no messages, no word of trouble, but that didn’t ease the constant worry that gnawed at me like a hungry wolf.

Every night when I lay down to sleep, I saw her face. Every morning when I woke, my first thought was of her safety. The separation was eating at me in ways I hadn’t expected, making me understand just how much she had become part of my very soul.

“Sir,” called out young Olaf, the warrior whose life Astrid had saved back at the stronghold. “We found something you should see.”

He led me to where several of my men were standing over the body of what appeared to be the raider leader. The man was bigger than the others, with elaborately braided hair and expensive weapons that spoke of successful raids and accumulated wealth.

But it wasn’t his appearance that caught my attention. It was the silver armband he wore, marked with symbols I recognized.

“That’s not a raider’s mark,” I said, kneeling beside the corpse for a closer look.

“No sir,” agreed Bjorn, who had been examining the body. “That’s court silver. Royal issue.”

I felt my blood turn cold as the implications hit me. This wasn’t just a random raider captain – this was someone with connections to Harald’s court. Someone who had been supplied with royal silver and possibly royal orders.

“Search all the bodies,” I commanded. “Look for anything that might tell us who they really were.”

My men set to work with grim efficiency, and within minutes they had found more evidence that made my suspicions concrete. Several of the dead men carried coins from the royal treasury. One had a letter written in the court language, though it was too blood-soaked to read clearly.

These weren’t random sea raiders at all. They were Harald’s men, disguised as raiders and sent north to create the very problem I had been ordered to solve. But why? What was the point of such an elaborate deception?

The answer came to me like a physical blow. This wasn’t about eliminating raiders – this was about eliminating me. Harald had sent me north under the pretense of a military campaign, then sent his own men disguised as enemies to ensure I never made it home.

But if that was his plan, it had failed. We had won every engagement, killed every force sent against us. Unless…

“Form up,” I shouted to my men. “We march for Saltfjord immediately.”

“Sir?” Thorstein looked confused. “It’s nearly dark. Wouldn’t it be better to wait for morning?”

“No. If these men were reporting back to someone, their failure to return will be noticed. We need to reach the next target before word spreads that we’re still alive.”

My warriors moved with the swift efficiency of men who trusted their leader’s instincts, even when they didn’t understand his reasoning. Within an hour, we were on the march, moving through the twilight toward what I now suspected would be our final battle.

The path to Saltfjord wound through a narrow valley between rocky hills, the kind of terrain that was perfect for ambushes. I kept my men in tight formation, scouts ranging ahead and behind, every sense alert for danger.

But the attack came from a direction I hadn’t expected.

The arrows fell like deadly rain from the cliffs above us, striking down three of my warriors before we could react. Then the war cries echoed off the valley walls as men poured down from both sides, trapping us in a killing box with nowhere to run.

These weren’t disguised courtiers or hired raiders. These were professional warriors, well-armed and well-trained, moving with the discipline of men who had fought together for years. They outnumbered us at least three to one, and they had chosen their ground perfectly.

“Shield wall!” I roared, but even as my men responded with practiced precision, I knew we were in trouble. The narrow valley gave us no room to maneuver, no way to use our superior tactics to overcome their numbers.

The battle was chaos – a swirling melee of steel and blood and screaming men. I fought with everything I had, my sword cutting down enemies faster than I could count, but for every man I killed, two more seemed to take his place.

Around me, my warriors were falling. Good men, loyal men, dying because their king had betrayed them. Thorstein went down with a spear through his chest. Young Olaf fell with his skull crushed by a war hammer. One by one, the men who had followed me faithfully were being cut down.

A massive warrior with a scarred face and cold eyes came at me with a two-handed ax, and I barely managed to deflect the blow that would have taken my head. The impact sent me staggering backward, and before I could recover, three more enemies were on me.

A sword pommel caught me in the temple, sending bright lights exploding across my vision. Strong hands grabbed my arms, dragging me down despite my struggles. My sword was torn from my grip, and suddenly I was on my knees in the mud and blood of the battlefield.

The scarred warrior stood over me, his ax resting casually on his shoulder. Around us, the sounds of battle were fading as the last of my men were overwhelmed. The ambush had been perfectly executed, a trap within a trap that had caught us completely off-guard.

“So,” the warrior said, his voice rough with dark amusement, “the great Wolf of the Northern Seas isn’t so fearsome after all.”

I tried to struggle to my feet, but more hands pressed me down, holding me in place. Blood was running down my face from the blow to my head, and my vision kept swimming in and out of focus.

“You know who sent us, don’t you?” the scarred man continued. “You know why you had to die out here, far from court, where no one will ever know the truth of what happened.”

Harald. Of course it was Harald. This whole campaign had been an elaborate execution, designed to eliminate me while maintaining the pretense that I had died honorably in battle.

“The king will reward us well for your head,” the warrior said, drawing a long knife from his belt. “But first, I want you to know that your pretty little wife won’t be mourning you for long. I hear she’s already being comforted by a younger, more ambitious jarl.”

The words hit me harder than any physical blow. Astrid. What had Harald done to her? Was she even still alive, or had she already paid the price for my defiance?

The scarred warrior raised his knife, the blade glinting in the fading light. “Any last words, Wolf? Any final boasts about your famous victories?”

I met his eyes steadily, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear. If I was going to die here, I would die as I had lived – without bowing to any man.

“The great Ragnar is about to die in my hands,” the warrior said with savage satisfaction, lifting the knife high above his head. “What a fine story this will make.”

The blade began its descent toward my throat, and I closed my eyes, thinking of Astrid’s face, of the life we might have had together if the king’s ambition hadn’t destroyed everything.

Then I heard the whistle of an arrow cutting through the air, followed by a wet thud and a strangled cry of pain.

My eyes snapped open to see the scarred warrior staggering backward, an arrow buried deep in his chest. His knife fell from nerveless fingers as he looked down at the fletching protruding from his ribs, his face a mask of shock and disbelief.