Zentmeister

"When the old gods are forgotten, they do not die—they wait."

In the year 1025, the Viking Age wanes.
Iceland bows to Christ. The Althing governs by law. And the gods of old fade to whispers.

But in the far Westfjords, something stirs.

Vetrúlfr Úllarson, a former Varangian captain and exile, returns from the East with foreign gold, forgotten warcraft, and a hunger no man can name.

He comes not in peace, but to raise Ullrsfjörðr from ash and ice; building walls, carving runes, and waging war on behalf of a dying faith.

From Reykjavík to Aachen, rumors spread: a ghost walks the North once more. Some call him the son of Ullr. Others, a wolf-cloaked demon.

But all will know his name.

and when the Valkyries call, he will answer.

Valkyries Calling

Ullrsfjörðr, Iceland; Late Spring.

The last snowmelt trickled down the stone channels lining the longhouse walls, carrying the memory of winter into the sea.

The hearth was low, fed now only by peat, its smoke clinging more to the roof beams than the air.

Outside, gulls wheeled, and the wind smelled of thawed grass and wet timber. It would be summer soon; the season of sails and swords.

Brynhildr sat at the high table alone, a cup of warm birch tea in hand. The longhouse was quiet this time of day.

Vetrúlfr had gone hunting with the huskarljar, and the halls echoed only with the soft murmur of weaving women and distant hammer-blows from the forges.

The Skraellingr thrall stood near the open doorway, light haloing her braided hair. She hadn't spoken yet; but Brynhildr knew. She always did.

"So," Brynhildr said, setting her cup down gently. "You heard."

Names in the Smoke