TK Special #2 - krazydiamond... What's More Krazy Than A Diamond?

SERPENT OF RAGNARÖK

They led him to the center of the long house, facing the gathered council with the fire at his back. The flames highlighted the sharp planes of his face and teased over the distinctive scares scrolled on the curve of his left cheek. Irons on his wrists dragged on his posture, hunching his shoulders. His tongue darted out, tasting the air like a curious serpent. An apt comparison, since he'd slithered out of Forseti's hold thrice over. Not this time, not when they caught him up to his elbows in entrails.

The skald leaned forward, apprehensive what sentence the Ting would deliver the murderous whoreson.

"If they were smart, they'd remove his hands before exiling him," said a gruff voice beside him. The skald looked askance at his companion, refusing to divert his complete attention away from the prisoner.

"If they were smart, they would send him directly to Hel."

The other man snorted, his reply withheld as Raevil stepped forward to address the gathered men.

"Jokul Grundison, you are guilty of unwarranted slayings. By judgment of the Ting you are banished from these lands. Your fate shall be decided by the sea. Pray to the gods for mercy."

Acquiescent murmurs rose around them, but the skald did not withdraw his scrutiny from the prisoner. It was he, and he alone, who caught the smile twitching at Jokul's chapped lips.

***

Most prisoners stood in stoic silence or choked sobs as their vessels were made ready to cast them to the open water. They certainly did not whistle a jaunty little tune. It made the men nervous, casting a speculative eye at Jokul as they loaded the sparse provisions on a boat little bigger than a faering and about as seaworthy.

Further up the beach, the skald and his companion also observed the spectacle, the surf teasing the sand at their feet.

"There is something amiss," he whispered to the salt air, "We are playing into the hands of a power greater than one man."

His companion laid a massive hand on his shoulder. "I've not had enough drink for talk of the gods this early. You worry too much my friend. That slip of a boat will sink at the first shift in the wind and that will be the end of it."

"Then why is he so bloody confident, Hamal?"

The big man shrugged, and absently flicked a biting fly from his arm. "I'm certain he'd remain confident if you set him on fire. Can we be off before I'm nibbled down to my bones?"

The skald spared a rare smile for the man. "All that mead yesterday has sweetened your taste." The two turned to go as the whistling tapered off.

"Leaving without saying goodbye, Eadric?"

The skald tensed at his name, turning to the man who used to steal sips of ale from their father's table with him. The one who'd shared so many secrets, except for the darkest one.

"Farewell, brother, may the gods spit on you when you meet them."

Jokul grinned, wisps of his unwashed hair caught in the sparse patches of beard on his chin. He'd lost a great deal of weight during his confinement, leaving his skin gaunt and gray. The image of a true madman where his elder brother once stood.

"Ah, but my god is always with me," he said, his eyes large and luminous in his sunken face.

Two of the shore men grabbed Jokul's shoulders, escorting him into the craft before releasing him from irons. It only took three of them to launch the skiff from shore. Eadric looked on as the ship was caught up in the off shore currents and swept out to open ocean. He kept watching until his murderous sibling was nothing but a speck on the horizon.