The Thrall (The Viking Hero Series Book 1)

The Thrall

by Njord Kane

© 2016 by Njord Kane. All rights
reserved.

No part of this book may be
reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying
form without written permission of the author, Njord Kane, or the
publisher, Spangenhelm Publishing. You must not circulate this book
in any format.

Published on: June 1, 2016 by
Spangenhelm Publishing

Interior Design and Cover by: Njord
Kane

Library
of Congress Control Number: 2016938507

ASIN: B01E1WCLKE

ISBN-13: 978-1943066-117

ISBN-10: 1943066116

1. Fiction 2. Fantasy 3. Historical
Fiction

First Edition.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

No
kitten was harmed in the production of this book.

In a glaciated valley where rocky green slopes
descended into the crisp blue waters of a long narrow Fjord, there
stood the tall mossy thatched roof of a longhouse.

There was nothing particularly special about this
long pitched roof from any of the other long pitched roofs scattered
about on the sloped hills leading into the fjord. Except this
particular long pitched roof belonged to the household of Bjord
Thorsson, the local blacksmith.

Bjord's longhouse was easy to pick out because of
the black smoke that often bellowed out from the fires of his forge
burning inside. One didn't suffer the cold of winter inside the
house of a blacksmith.

Inside lived the ever busy household of the
blacksmith. Most of their daily toils were conducted around the
central fire pit in the very heart of their home.

The aroma of fresh rye
bread filled the air inside the house. Gwenda, Bjord's wife, was busy
making bread. She always made extra knowing that it would be gobbled
up with the fresh cheese she had to go with their meal.

They already goggled
up nearly half of it with the leftovers of yesterday's bread early
this morning.

Her mother Helga sat
near the fire with her distaff and was diligently spinning wool. She
hummed an old lullaby in some old and forgotten language. Nobody in
the house understood the words except Grandmother.

Nobody really knew how
old Grandmother Helga really was. Gwenda had once confessed to her
husband when they first married that she wasn't really sure if Helga
was her mother or grandmother.

Helga maintained many
of her old habits and always wore a scarf over her grayed hair, which
she put in a partially braided bun.

The smell of
fresh bread wasn't the only thing permeating the air of the
longhouse. Near the fire hung a haunch of mutton, rubbed
with
dried sweet grasses and honey, t
hat
slowly smoked.

Directly over the fire hung a black kettle that
had been fabricated years ago by her husband's father's father. A
tribute to the durability of the skilled blacksmiths
that had been passed on their trade generation after generation.

The pot was slowly
being filled with chopped root vegetables by the blacksmith's
daughter Thelsa. This would later become the stew for the evening
meal. Seasoning and chopped slices from the smoking mutton will be
added to it later.

Thelsa was a young
girl who was just a few Yules past puberty and already she looked
just like her mother when she was a young woman herself.

At one end of
the house was the byre where the family's livestock was kept. Th
ere
were three cows and six sheep in the byre, not to mention one
temperamental goat, which the family appropriately named, "Grumpy."

Grumpy didn't like being with the rest of the
livestock. He felt he was much too important to be considered with
the cows and the sheep. He never stayed in his pen. Most mornings,
members of the household would awaken to see Grumpy standing over
them and staring them in the face, chewing on whatever mischief he
got his chompers into this time. Whenever anyone got up to put him
back into his pen, he'd protest with a loud bleat and have to be
dragged back into his pen as he resisted the whole way.

On the other end of the longhouse was where Bjord
worked his trade. It was the blacksmithing area. There was a large
forge and an anvil stone that set deep into the ground.

The anvil stone was much too large to have been
brought into
the house when it was
built. The blacksmith's house was built over the massive anvil stone
to accompany the smith's needs.

It was upon this anvil
stone that Bjord was busy pounding away upon a piece of red hot iron.

Bjord was a large
middle aged man with a thick bushy beard. Strains of gray wove their
way through the dark curls of his beard. Lines of experience ran
across his face to match that helped reveal his age.

His long bushy beard
was most likely a compensation for his balding head. Something Bjord
would never admit. However, balding or not, he still grew out what
little of it was left and tied it back into pony tail by a leather
cord.

Bjord preferred to
wear heavy leather boots and brown leather pants due to his trade.
It only takes stepping on a hot piece of iron slag once to make a
blacksmith prefer wearing leather boots. He also wore a loose undyed
sleeveless tunics, which was always dirty and stained black due to
the dirtiness of his profession of working iron. He also wore a
leather apron that protected him from the flying sparks when hot iron
was struck.

Bjord was striking hot iron now. He was making an
ax head for chopping wood. Each swing of his hammer made the tell
tale sound of metal clinging that rang through the walls and echoed
out into the stillness of the surrounding area.

He worked with precision as he banged away,
shaping the heated chunk of iron gradually into the shape of an ax
head. His arms were as strong as the iron he worked from many years
of pounding metal into its new shapes.

Along the walls hung various tools that the
craftsman had made that he had available for trade. Besides tools,
there was also a variety of spear heads, shield bosses, and battle
axes as well. The blacksmith specialized in both the tools of war
and labor.

The axes he made were for a variety of uses and
styles. Axes had existed as a part of his people's culture since
before any elder can remember. It was customary for just about
anyone within their culture to wear one in their belts. Even thralls
that were bound in servitude to their masters, wore an ax.

The axes they wore on their belts weren't
particularly large. The handles were no longer than a man's forearm
and the ax heads were no larger than a man's outstretched hand.

The large battle axes were usually only carried
when going to battle. They had larger bearded ax heads and long
handles that made them nearly as tall as a man. A few of them hung
peacefully on wooden pegs along the wall.

Also hanging along the wall were painted round
wooden shields. They were made from planks of linden wood so they
were less likely to split in combat. All shields had iron bosses with
handles in the center. Some of them were even reinforced with leather
and had a band of iron around them to help reinforce their strength.

Hanging near the shields were a few iron helms and
a couple of partially completed chainmail shirts as well. The
chainmail was usually worked in the wintertime, when the cold and
snow kept everyone inside
their
longhouses. This was when time allowed for the more tedious demands
it took to make such items.

Chain mail armor had
hundreds of rings that needed to be riveted and linked together with
unbroken rings in a precise pattern. A finished mail coat would
bring the blacksmith quite a bit of silver, making it well worth his
effort.

Assisting the
blacksmith in his work was his son Sven, whom was also his only
apprentice. Sven, although tall for his age, was skinny in contrast
to his father's muscular bulk. His bushy dirty blond hair was
cropped at shoulder length and was as wild as his temperament.

It was always a
tangled mess when his mother would try to tame it with her comb.
Sven wasn't too particular about how his hair appeared. This annoyed
his mother to no ends.

Sven didn't care much
for the laborious life associated with blacksmithing. This was to
his father's annoyance. He often daydreamed of a life of adventure
and longed to be part of the heroic adventures of going viking.

He never dressed in
the woolen trousers or tunics that everyone else wore. Instead, he
insisted on wearing linen clothes and soft leather leggings that
laced up almost to his knees. He dressed for comfort, not work.

Sven was working
the forge's bellows and watching his father's hammer blows on the hot
iron in order to learn the trade himself. The forge's fire was kept
hot by the bellows
pumped on the side which forced air into
the burning coals, making them glow hotter.

Bjord was focused on his work and kept a steady
rhythm. He shaped the red hot iron until it needed to be put back in
the fire to be reheated. The hammer's chime only stopped when he
thrust the iron back into the forge's hot coals and barked out,
"bellows!"

Sven responded with a startled jump from the
sudden roar of Bjord's voice and grabbed the handle of the bellows.
He pumped the bellows in a steady and deliberate tempo. The rush of
air immediately made the fire glow hotter, sending tiny sparks and
smoldering embers into the air mixing with the smoke.

Sven hated working the bellows, it was a job for a
thrall, not an apprentice. Especially if the apprentice is the
blacksmith's son. But once again, working the bellows was his task.
It was always his task and he hated it.

Bjord set his hammer down on the anvil and with
his iron tongs grabbed the piece of iron he was working and turned it
in the hot coals. The piece of iron was already starting to glow red
again from the forge's heat.

He wiped a line of sweat off his brow as he
watched the piece of metal glow even more reddish orange from the
heat. Experience taught him just when the metal was hot enough to
work by the color alone.

He looked at his son Sven, whom was staring out
the door and daydreaming again. It was obvious how disinterested he
was in what he was doing.

"What's the matter boy, am I working you too
hard?" remarked Bjord, not really expecting an answer.

"No, I just think I'm ready to work the iron
and not always work the bellows like a thrall."

"You don't always work the bellows. Besides,
I have the thrall busy with other things, unless you want to trade
him places." Bjord snorted. "If you think you're ready to
shape the iron, then tell me if this piece of iron is ready yet. Is
it hot enough? You should be able to tell by now from its color
alone."

"Yes, it's ready." answered Sven without
much confidence.

"No it is not." Bjord angrily scorned.
"You still have much to learn, boy! If you'd spend more time
paying attention when I try to teach you this trade instead of
daydreaming and wishing you were somewhere else, you might actually
learn how to do this and become useful."

Bjord wasn't happy about his son's lack of
enthusiasm to learn the family's trade. It wasn't something you
learned right away nor learned passively. It took great attention of
detail to work metal.

Looking at his son, who was once again looking out
the doorway and daydreaming, Bjord decided to send him off to do
something else.

"You're irritating me right now, boy. I have
the thrall out sheering sheep. Go out there and help him gather the
wool or something."