Jerry Autieri - Islands in the Fog

He judged it time to keep his promise to Runa. Gunther One-Eye and his men, valuable as they had been, now burdened him. Winter approached and supplies dwindled. Some murmured the foreigners planned to occupy Nye Grenner.

Gunther had swilled a lake of mead and still appeared unsullied and cogent. Ulfrik beckoned him over, and Gunther left his small group to sit beside him.

"You've held a fine feast for such a small place. Your mead is made for the gods."

Ulfrik laughed politely. "I think you have drank the last of it."

"Then make more." Gunther doubled over in laughter, slapping the table.

"Gunther, I have to speak to you about your men."

"Don't say it. I know. We are leaving tomorrow."

Ulfrik's mouth hung open. "It's not that I'm ungrateful."

"Of course not, but you're poor and we've got all we can from you. You've shown me a good time here. I'm ready for something new."

"I would offer you to stay, but with all the chaos we have not prepared for winter. I'm sure we will meet again, though."

Gunther roared laughter once more. "Plan on it. Hrolf the Ganger is one to keep his men busy. Once that leg is better, you're going back to war."

"War?" Ulfrik sat up straighter. "What are you saying?"

"Give it time. Fill your ships with swords and men, and make ready. You have promised Hrolf to answer his call. And he will call."

Ulfrik swallowed and blinked. Gunther, laughing, rose and slapped Ulfrik's back. He staggered away, finally showing a hint of drunkenness. Ulfrik sat alone at his bench, presiding over the mass of people falling into drunken slumber. He glanced at the door to his room, remembering his oath to never again separate from Runa.

The gods, it seemed, still found him entertaining.