It was a proud oath, a bold oath. Everyone agreed it was worthy of a son of the Wolf. Ragnar and Bragi stared. Soren nodded his admiration. For Haaken, terse to the point of virtual non-communication, a speech of this length amounted to a total baring of the soul. He seldom said as many words in an entire day.

I havent forgotten Bjorn. Its his face, smiling, pretending friendship while he took Hjarlmas pay, here in my minds eye, that keeps me going. Hell die before I do, Haaken. Hell be the torchbearer lighting my path to Hell. Ah. I can see the agony in his eyes. I can smell the fear in him. I can hear him when he urges Hjarlma to hurry and establish the Draukenbring trap. The Wolf lives. He knows the Wolf. And his cubs. He knows that his doom stalks him now.

Well leave in the morning, after weve buried old Sven.

Bragi started. He had thought that the old warrior was sleeping.

A sad end for you, friend of my father, Ragnar muttered to the dead man.

Sven had served the family since the childhood of Bragis grandfather. He had been friends with the old man for forty years. And then they had parted with blows.

Maybe theyll be reconciled in the Hall of Heroes, Bragi murmured.

Sven had been a sturdy fighter who had taught Ragnar his weapons and had followed him in his southern ventures. More recently, he had been weapon master to Bragi and Haaken. He would be missed and mourned. Even beyond the enemy banners.

How did Bjorn warn them? Haaken asked.

Well find out, Ragnar promised. You boys rest. Itll be hard going. Some of us arent going to make it.

Six of them reached Draukenbring.

Ragnar gave the steading a wide berth, leading them on into the mountains. Then he brought them home from the south, down a knee of the peak they called Kamer Strotheide. It was a pathway so difficult even Hjarlma and Bjorn would not think to watch it.

Hjarlma was waiting. They could see his sentries from the mountain.

Bragi looked down only long enough to assure himself that Hjarlma had indulged in no destruction.

His mothers witchcraft was held in great dread.

He did not understand why. She was as compassionate, understanding and loving a woman as any he knew.

Slipping and sliding, they descended to a vale where, in summer, Draukenbrings cattle grazed. They then traveled by wood and ravine toward the longhouse. They halted in the steadings woodlot, a hundred yards from the nearest outbuilding. There they awaited darkness and grew miserably cold.

The inactivity told on Ragnar most. He got stiff.

Bragi worried. His father had grown so pale...

His mind remained a whirl of hope and despair. Ragnar believed he was dying. Yet he went on and on and on, apparently driven by pure will.