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98 vassals gathered to give thee the same bed in the Nidaros Fiord they gave thy father.”

Olaf sat silent a moment. Thorgills came up. “The helmsman has set our course to the Nidaros Fiord. Is it thy will to land on the Trondelag shore? To trust thy life to the Tronders, Jarl Haakon’s vassals?” Thorgills had addressed Olaf, but the bard’s keen eyes rested upon Thore.

Olaf looked affectionately at the scald. “Anxious as ever, my good Thorgills, and eager for my safety. I had indeed thought of going first to my father’s kingdom of Viken, but Thore hath promised me, nay he hath even sworn to me, that the Tronders are ready to receive me as their king, and that they no longer own Jarl Haakon as their overlord.”

“It is a good assurance, a full, fair promise, and sworn to our lord the king. That were a strong oath, so strong that if it break, many lives must be broken.” Thorgills’ tone was low, clear, and piercing. His words had a rhythmic flow as if he were reciting runes from memory, and not expressing his own thought.

Thore’s face paled. A chill passed over him. What might not be his fate if he betrayed Olaf into Haakon’s hands and, after all, these devoted followers of Olaf found out the treachery?

The king looked lovingly at the scald. “My faithful Thorgills, we will rule Norraway together yet, I with my sceptre, thou with thy harp!”