“Yes, that happened what I told you could happen, though not quite as ill as it might have been. Chieftains throughout the land called a Thing a short while ago, and yeomen flocked to it. They decided that unless the king gave her up, they would overthrow him and take her there themselves. Anything to make an end of their woe. Some said this would be not only a lawless deed but a luckless one, for the woman would kill herself first, or ask her father to slay her. But others cried that then at least they two would die, whose selfishness had brought on so much death and ruin. They were on hand, though they kept aside and silent.

“Yesterday the meeting passed its award. Then Ragnhild trod before it. No man should call her coward, she told them. She would go, but only if they swore a renewed troth to King Haakon. They shouted it forth. I hear that some wept.”

“She has a bold soul,” said Hadding. “I feared we’d be too late to do more than avenge her. Noir I see she’s worth avenging, or, better, saving.”

“What if the matter had still been moot?” Ivar asked.

“Why, we’ve spoken about that, you and I. I’d have tracked the giant down. But it could have been a wearisome task. Instead, he’ll come to me.”

Ivar gave Hadding a long look. “I wonder if this is altogether happenstance,” he murmured. “From all I’ve heard, your weird is unlike other men’s.”

The Dane-king shrugged. “I know not what it is, any more than you know yours. Let’s get to work. I must start off betimes.”

They had in truth talked when their crews camped ashore along the way. Best would be for Hadding to arrive unbeknownst. His undertaking was wildly risky even without Jarnskegg being somehow forewarned. His men would take the longship to the lonely little Tarva islands and bide, except for a few who would go with him. They had come close to blows over who those should be. When he picked them he must take utmost care not to make the rest think that in his eyes they were less doughty. One man of Ivar’s who was willing would guide them, Thorfinn Thorgeirsson. He hailed from Dofra Fell and knew the Troll’s Hood.

Jarnskegg had long since blared his terms of peace. On that bare height, from which he could scan far and wide, he had heaped wood for a huge and smoky fire. Let a man set it alight. Let Ragnhild wait there by herself, or at most with a serving maid or two. Belike he would see the beacon. If he was off waging his war, he would get the news otherwise and hasten to her.