Banners of the Northmen

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Ulfrik crouched behind the shrub willow, peering through the night at squat buildings outlined in silver moonlight. He focused on the mead hall. Orange light seeped from the edges of its doors, though no windows adorned this beggar's hall. His hands tightened on his spear, straining to listen but hearing only the purr of the sea on the nearby beach. With a grunt, he stood, the faded green tunic covering his mail hauberk catching a branch as he did. He replaced his helmet and sidled down slope to his men.

"They're in the hall, no guards at the door," he whispered to his gathered crew. Thirty men hugged the damp and cold earth, metals blackened with mud and dark wool cloaks drawn tight over their heads. Their breath rose in gray curls and their eyes flashed in the dark. They were as anxious as him to close the trap. "But there's no singing, no sounds at all."

The statement fell flat and the men traded worried glances. Toki pulled down his cowl and scratched his scalp. "They should be feasting or celebrating. Do you think they spotted us?"

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