Viking Saga: The Silver of Lindisfarne

The ash-tree Yggdrasil trembles, or perhaps it is just the winter chill in your bones. Your father, Jarl Sigurd of Raven-Watch, was murdered by his own brother three moons ago—a blade in the dark during the winter feast, while the mead-hall rang with song. Your uncle Hakon sits on the high seat now, wearing your father's arm-rings and calling himself Jarl. You escaped with twenty loyal huscarls, your father's sword, and the longship Serpent-Tongue. You have nothing else. No silver. No allies. No hall to shelter in when the north wind howls. The neighbouring Jarls watch and wait—they will support whoever looks strongest, and right now that is Hakon. To reclaim your throne you need silver—enough to hire the Bjorn-Giants mercenary company and buy the loyalty of the wavering clans. There is only one place where such silver can be found quickly: across the grey churning waters of the North Sea, on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, where soft Christian monks guard golden crosses and jewelled reliquaries protected only by prayer and the mercy of a foreign god. But the North Sea is not kind. Autumn storms can swallow a longship whole. The coast of Northumbria is patrolled by Saxon war-bands who have learned to fear the dragon-prowed ships. And even if you reach Lindisfarne, you must decide what kind of leader you will be—a butcher who takes everything and burns the rest, or a cunning Jarl who takes what he needs and leaves enough to return next year. The saga is yours to write. The skalds are listening.