Symphony of Shadows

45. Berserk

Somewhere on Berserker Island...

Dagur was not a patient person. His foot bounced irritatedly against the stone floor of his Great Hall. What was taking so long? His iron throne was mainly for decoration and certainly not for long-term use. She'd told him they would continue their discussion before midnight, so that meant she was officially late.

Dagur hated people who were unpunctual. How hard was it to show up on time? No, really? All you had to do was put one foot in front of the other and be there. Not hard at all.

Knock. Knock.

Ah, there she was. About time. The sound reverberated through the hall—empty, save for him and his two best warriors. Dagur liked to keep them nearby, he had plenty of enemies.

"Come in."

The large wooden doors creaked as they opened to reveal someone he wasn't expecting. A muscular, bald man with a dashing mustache stood with a jagged sword strapped on his back. Who was this stranger?

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Dagur kept his tone light but prepared to fight at any given moment. This man wasn't invited, and he wasn't one of them. He was a threat until proven otherwise.

"I come to bring good news to you and your people."

The stranger strode forward confidently, and the hairs on the back of Dagur's neck bristled. Who did this man think he was? He kept approaching and his guards brandished their weapons, lest he get too close.

"That's close enough. Tell me, what news do you bring?"

The man stopped in his tracks, but his formidable figure still posed a great threat.

"I'm sure you've heard of the Svikari. The meddlesome devil who continues to raid the villages in the archipelago? How many casualties have your men suffered at his hands? Fifty good men? One hundred?"

Dagur ran the numbers in his head and tried not to grimace at the answer. The stranger wasn't far off. It seemed like the damned Svikari held a particular grudge towards Dagur's village as his wrath went unmatched. The traitor had only directly murdered one Berserker, but the chaos his raids caused brought destruction and death. The death toll was near thirty so far. None of their offensive or defensive tactics had proved effective, but Dagur had a plan that would ensure the Svikari wouldn't harm a single member more of his tribe.

"Yes, I know of that filthy blood traitor. What of him?"

Dagur pretended to act bored and sharpened one of his knives. Was this random man just here to tell him more things he already knew?

"What if I told you there was a solution?"

Now that turned Dagur's head. How could this lone man have the solution to the archipelago's most feared threat? And how was his solution different from Dagur's own plan?

"Regular weapons don't work on the horde of dragons or that Night Fury. That's where my brother and his business partner come in. Our protection could be yours, but for a certain price."

Dagur stared at him dead on and then burst into laughter. He might be the Berserker, but this man was utterly mad. He liked the insane, but this was a different type of mental illness. Delusion, most likely. Doubling over in laughter, Dagur was truly tickled at the sentiment that his people would be successfully protected by three traveling business men. Odin, why hadn't he thought of that before? The man had a slight foreign accent, so he must not be from around here. Chiefs handled their own matters, not sold them to the highest bidder.

"If I ever need to sell ashes of burnt huts, I swear to write to you. But as for the protection of my village, I don't need an amateur, money-hungry mercenary to tell me how to run things, okay? Now leave, you weren't welcome, anyway. Didn't you see the sign outside?"