INTRO
 
Welcome to CHAPTER 32 of the Kinsmen Die podcast, home of fantasy fiction based on Norse mythology that’s written and read by me, Matt Bishop.

In this podcast I read my first novel, Kinsmen Die, one chapter at a time with mini recaps and/or excursions into the myths I’ve referenced in the text.

Today, we’re back with Vidar Odinsson. Since it’s been a few chapters since we were him let me explain…no, there is too much, let me sum up.

Vidar is the jarl of a district named Vithi. One of the towns in that district, Hals, had been attacked by the Jotunn and burned to the ground. Vidar fought the Jotunn and killed them all…in so doing he was completely taken over by the disir, the spirit, inside him. That spirit makes Vidar a baresark. Luckily his father, Odin, arrived and saved Vidar. Once he recovered, thanks to his half-brother Baldr, Vidar convinced his father to let him figure out how the Jotunn had gotten all the way to Hals undetected.

And that is where we find Vidar in this chapter.

Let’s do this.

Vidar
Vidar and his warband rode through the broken, blackened, half-standing gates that had once protected Háls. They’d ridden down through the fields and farms, crossed the river and now clip-clopped their way through the town’s scorched foundation stones and bare ribs of frames. 
The town was built atop a low hill with the ridge behind it. Háls had been home to those who worked in the mines, cut timbers from the forest blanketing the mountains, or ranged far and wide trapping animals for pelts.
A few piles of thatch or…worse…still smoldered, despite the fresh snow that had fallen during the night. The air was crisp, and Sól was warm on his back. Were he not leading a warband through a dead town, it would have been a perfect day – aside from the dull, empty thud of hooves and the occasional sharp tang of burned wood. Although the town had burned down, there was no ash anywhere—the Jotunn shamans had used it all to spin those black longships.
Háls was laid out in a circle, with four main streets and smaller streets running in concentrically smaller rings. He led his column up the main street that ran from the southwest entrance, through the town and then up the mountain’s shoulder to the mine.
Something shifted and fell with a clatter in the shell of the building to his left. Hrimfaxi danced sideways, and Vidar shot a quick look into the shadows—nothing there. He frowned at his own jumpiness and snuck a glance sideways at Garilon, whose only reaction had been to drop one hand to his sword’s pommel. He clucked his tongue, urging Hrimfaxi forward again, and led his column leftward around the broken, scorched bones of the large council hall at the village center. The remaining beams and columns stood like nithing poles, their scorn and curses focused on him.
Rán’s hof loomed on the northern side of the street, black and empty. Smears of mud, soot…or blood…crisscrossed the temple’s stone floor, along with fallen scorched rafters and columns. This was one of a few dozen buildings in Háls that used—had used—stone foundations, lower walls, and floors. The heavy thatched roofs and wooden frames were gone, their ashes scattered across the plains.
An approaching clatter of hooves drew Vidar’s attention up the street leading northeast. A pair of scouts approached fast, horses blowing and lathered. Even the scouts were winded.
“Jarl, we’ve found the trail—and it’s fresh.”

***

“Do they know we’re here, Skeggi?” Vidar asked, settling in beside the scout on his left and Garilon on his right. They were well hidden inside the snow-laden firs a couple spear lengths  from the road the miners used—the very one so many had been killed on.
Vidar had rushed out of Háls, driving his warband, and the thirty Einherjar his father had left him, up the mining road till they reached the mining camp just as Sól was nearly down below the western mountains’ teeth; Máni was on his way up. The damp, sharp air made him think snow would fall during the night.
“I doubt it, Jarl,” Skeggi said. “But they must know their warband’s been destroyed. When we snuck up on ‘em, they were tearing down some of the longhouses to build those barricades you can just see…there.”
A low barricade of rough-hewn stakes blocked the entrance to the mining camp itself. The Jotunn had positioned it between a pair of longhouses.
He frowned and squinted, trying to spy any Jotunn warriors squatting behind the first barricade. If there were any, it would take sharper eyes than his to spot them.
The chill evening wind blew low swirls of snow across the road.
“Attacking now would be foolish,” he said, glancing at Garilon.
“I agree, Jarl,” his kjolr said in his axle-creak voice.
Vidar gestured along the forest’s verge, which ran a ragged path within a dozen yards of the nearest longhouse. “Have you scouted along there?”
Skeggi nodded. “Yes, Jarl. The ground falls off quick the further you go, so much so that we only saw one group of Jotunn watching that whole approach. They have a barricade in place there too, but it’s sparsely manned, either because they don’t expect an attack or they don’t have the numbers.”
“Or both,” Garilon muttered.
“Could we attack along that unprotected flank?”
Skeggi shook his head. “It’s a sheer rock face covered in ice, Jarl. Only way up is with grapnels and ropes, and even if they somehow didn’t hear us, they’d see us once we were up top.”
Vidar caught the slight nod from Garilon which meant, he guessed, he should trust the scout’s assessment. “All right, Skeggi, thank you.”
“With your permission, Jarl, I’ll scout the far side of the camp.” Skeggi pointed back down the slope. “We’ll work our way up to where the steeper slopes begin. There’s plenty of boulders to use as cover.”
“And if they have their own scouts there?” he asked.
“We kill them quietly.”
Again, the slight nod from Garilon.
“And you’re certain you can do that without raising an alarm?”
“Yes, Jarl. Absolutely.”
“All right. Go ahead. Take a few men you trust, and send word back when you’re done. We’ll be ready.”

OUTRO
Well, folks, that was CHAPTER 32 of Kinsmen Die. I hope you enjoyed it. 

We were with Vidar as he and his war band, along with some Einherjar, snuck up on a group of Jotunn who remained behind in the mining camp in the mountains north of Háls. 

Within the remnants of Háls, I mentioned the temples of Aegir and Rán. I used the Norse word: Hof. According to Simek’s dictionary of northern mythology…pretty much my go-to resource…that word just means “temple.”

And, frankly, that’s about it in this chapter.

I do want to make one slight correction — I misspoke in last week’s eposide. I said that Hel was one of Loki’s daughters. I should have just said she’s his only daughter. 

He does have four sons: Vali and Narfi, whom we’ve met. And, Jorm and Fenrir. Jorm is Jormungandr, the world serpent. Fenrir is a gigantic wolf. More about them in a future episode.

Next week we’re back with Vafthrudnir and Helveg.

Before then, if you have the time and inclination, please take a few moments to rate and/or review the podcast — that provides valuable feedback for me and helps boost the show’s visibility. As does sharing it.

And if you’re so inclined, shoot me an email at mattbishopwrites@gmail.com.

I’d love to hear from you.
  
As always, I’m going to read from the Havamal, sayings of the High One, Odin himself.

As usual, I’ll be reading from Bellows and Larrington. We’re still nearing the end of the verses in which Odin provides advice about how to conduct oneself in a hall during feasts. 

Bellows, Verse 32

Friendly of mind are many men,
Till feasting they mock at their friends;
To mankind a bane must it ever be
When guests together strive.

Larrington, Verse 32
Many men are devoted to one another and yet they fight at feasts;
amongst men there will always be strife, guest squabbling with guest.

Thanks for listening.