The Last Marigold

Storm On The Horizon

Alrik stood poised at the edge of a cliff peering into the horizon. He stared blankly at miles of churning grey waves that burst into white as they crashed along the stony shore. The outcropping that was his perch, was dressed in flora and fauna of breathtaking rustic browns and greens. The jagged cliff rose high above the ocean floor allowing for the perfect view from which to spot oncoming ships. But, one misstep would see a body to an injurious and watery grave. And in the crepuscular light, his vigilance increased tenfold. 

The soft grey of billowing clouds gave way to a more sinister color where the ocean met with the sky. A storm was brewing. A strong gust from the Northwind whistled past his ears. His dark green cloak rippled behind him and his shoulder-length auburn locks danced carelessly upon the wind. Alrik struggled to maintain his stance battling against the strength of the gale and the rocks shifting unevenly beneath him. 

He dropped to one knee, listening to the strange melody of wind howling through the ruins of Tynemouth Priory. A once proud structure left barren, stripped of its wealth through raids and war, and abandoned by its inhabitants. The sound of hoofs clopping against the bare rock drew his attention. He turned his head to find Wolfgard on a black stallion with a solemn gaze that bore into him.

"What do you see, Alrik?" Wolfgard shouted, tugging gently on his reigns, steering the animal away from the cliff. 

Alrik returned his gaze to the vastness of the horizon. At least two moons had passed since they received word of Bodil's voyage across the sea, to seek her father's aide. Since then he'd insisted they keep a man on the watch for the enemy's approach.  Even taking on the role himself from time to time.

His eyes lingered. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. He saw nothing. He had it in mind to report these findings to Wolfgard when something appeared in the distance. As small as ants, but he could see them. His heart drummed in his chest. He tensed visibly as he ran up a tally. There were at least sixty and more besides, with each ship holding anywhere from twenty-five to sixty warriors. 

"Ships, Lord, at least sixty by my count, with more approaching," He offered. "The whole of Kattegate maybe emptied if there are as many as I suspect." 

"It is a cull," Wolfgard replied, his body visibly stiffened. "Svalfi means to slaughter us all, down to the last man, woman, and child." 

"Then we must all prepare. Every man, woman, and child must take up arms to defend Uppsala." Alrik trotted to his horse and mounted in one fluid motion. 

"Yes. Let us return to make our preparations," Wolfgard agreed, "I expect I shall find Marigold engaged in her usual pursuits with your wife offering her vigorous encouragement."

Alrik let out a roaring laugh, "Is she still intent on becoming a shieldmaiden?" 

Wolfgard leveled a disapproving look on Alrik, "I will admit there is honor in it but I do not want her in the midst of a battle."

"We may have no choice in that matter. Besides, when have you ever been able to stop her?" Alrik questioned with a cheeky grin, before turning his horse and riding hard for Uppsala. 

"It is a point well made, Cousin," Wolfgard muttered grudgingly as he followed. 

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Brunhild's green eyes peered at Su'a suspiciously. There was something different about her. A slight enlargening of her breasts. A paleness to her lips and skin. Deep circles around her eyes. Her face was gaunt as if she had not been able to keep her food down for weeks. Brunhild observed a moment more as Su'a weakly clung to Somerhild, then puttered across the room, shuffling through baskets before stuffing some herbs into a small clay pot.