In late August, the caravan left Constantinople, its holds filled with spices and silks—and accompanied by three imperial officials whose faces were drawn with unease.
Following the sa route back to the Dnieper estuary, they sold off two surplus ships at a loss; the cargo was light enough that one rchant vessel sufficed.
Two months later, autumn winds cut cold through the river valleys. Rurik guided their lone ship into the Dnieper's middle reaches. The river was on the verge of freezing, so the caravan made winter quarters with his father-in-law's tribe. They would not depart again until March, when the thaw ca.
Vig, unwilling to idle away six months, found himself new pursuits. Each day he set aside two hours to train his body. The rest of his ti he devoted to studying the runic script with a Norse settler.
There were twenty-four runes in all, suitable only for short inscriptions, too crude for lengthy writing, and known to few. Vig pondered constantly as he learned, and resolved to spend two years in secret improving the system. If that failed, he would resign himself to mastering Latin.
anwhile, Byzantine envoys road the surrounding lands, trying to rally the Rus against the Pechenegs. Their warning was simple: if the nomadic threat went unchecked, it could one day swell into a storm like Attila the Hun—the Scourge of God—who once brought Ro to its knees.
In return, the empire promised skilled craftsn to teach advanced farming, as well as the sale of weapons and armor.
The Rus chieftains were unconvinced. To the west of the Dnieper the steppe tribes were weak, hardly worth worrying about. But to the east stretched endless grasslands, ho to countless clans. Should they provoke the Khagan and his wrath, tens of thousands of horsen could descend in vengeance.
At length they reached a compromise: tribesn could go south to serve as rcenaries in Byzantine outposts on the Black Sea—so long as the empire paid generously.
"Barbarian rcenaries… an elegant solution," mused the envoy. Northerners and Slavs were taller and hardier than Greeks, perfect heavy infantry for the empire's wars. He signed the agreent with relief; the true test of their usefulness would fall to the generals, not to him.
By April, the thaw released the river, and the caravan set off again. Two Viking shieldn chose to remain and settle. Though Rurik regretted their parting, their mission of vengeance was complete; Ivar raised no objection.
That left six n.
The upriver journey was long and punishing. By the ti they reached Lake Ladoga again, the year had turned, and it was already late September.
At their parting, Ivar invited Rurik to return with them to Gothenburg. But Rurik shook his head.
"Farewell, brothers. These black soils are my destiny. If, in years to co, we et again, may it be over ad and laughter."
He embraced each of them in turn—Vig, Ivar, Bjorn, Nils, Gunnar, and Orm—before watching their vessel vanish over the horizon.
From the spring of 841 to the winter of 842, nearly two years had passed since their departure.
When Vig saw Ragnar again, he was startled to find a new woman at his side, cradling an infant. She was Sola, Ragnar's new wife—and the youngest sister of King Erik.
Bjorn scowled darkly. "We're gone a little while, and he's already fathered a child."
Ivar only chuckled. "Years ago, a seer foretold it—our father will one day wear a crown, take three wives, and sire five sons. That fate cannot be changed."
He lifted the newborn gently. "Ubbe? A fine na. May he grow to be a worthy Viking warrior."
Ubbe? Vig's mind raced through history:
Ivar the Boneless Bjorn Ironside Halfdan Whiteshirt Ubbe the Brave Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye
If prophecy held true, Ragnar still had another marriage ahead, and one more son—Sigurd.
But Vig knew better than to place blind faith in mory. The butterfly effect of his presence was already altering the saga. Their fates might not unfold as the sagas recorded. He could only watch, and wait.
For now, he pushed the thought aside, and joined the feast, recounting their journey.
"When riders attacked us, the others scattered. I ran alone into the woods—then heard the brush stir beside the road…"
Vig didn't relish boasting, but in Viking society reputation was everything. He had to build his na, to one day stand among the likes of Ragnar and Lagertha, heroes whom n and shieldmaidens alike would follow.
"In the Black Sea city I spotted Borg the traitor. He rode a white stallion through the streets—I chased him over the rooftops, leapt, and snapped his neck."
"And look here—this Damascus steel blade, won in an imperial duel. The Empress herself doubted I had slain ten horsen, so she set a champion against . Two strikes, and he was down!"
The ad flowed, and Vig's tales grew wilder, until at last he collapsed with Dragon's Breath clasped in his arms.
By morning, Ivar was shaking him awake. "Up, Vig. It's ti to divide the spoils."
In a quiet room, the six n tallied everything. Each man's expenditures in Constantinople were subtracted: Ivar's fine sword Heartbreaker, Bjorn's pile of dubious sea charts, Gunnar's jewelry for his wife and children.
By contrast, Vig had spent the least, and so received the greatest share. His portion was worth at least twenty pounds of silver—equivalent to two years' taxes from Gothenburg itself.
The sum staggered him. Yet the thought followed quickly: Gothenburg had only two thousand souls, with land too poor to yield more. Small wonder the Norse turned their thoughts outward, to raid and plunder.
When all was settled, Ivar looked around the room.
"Brothers—you have stood with through two years of hardship. Our adventure is ended, and I thank you. From this day forward, if any man dares wrong you, he will answer to Ivar himself!"
~~--------------------------------------
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