The winds were howling. Wind was driving the rain sideways in sheets, drenching anything that came within reach. Thunder and lightning lit up the sky and provided the only auditory respite from the constant rain. This storm was one of a kind. This magnitude had never been seen before in living memory. It battered the coast of Norway, littering the towns and villages with leaves, wood and dirt. It had raged on for five days now, and showed no signs of stopping. During the storm, a ship was sailing up the North Sea. It was a battleship, ready for war, filled with warriors from all of Saxony and Prussia. Their goal? To destroy Norway.
Otte Hallinson was riding back from Christiana. Shadows were lengthening and the sun was lowering itself in the sky. When he finally agreed with himself that he should stop for the night, he swung himself off the saddle and sat down. Otte liked doing camp chores, as it appealed with his sense of adventure. Two flicks of his flint and steel, and there was a roaring fire going. As he was setting up his tent, the wind started to pick up. Rain started to fall from the sky. Lightning flashed and tinder boomed. The storm was here. Otte’s horse, Rouge, started to feel unsettled while Otte tried to find a cave. Any cave. A cave with a solid roof. There was a small crack in the ground where he could shelter. Once all of the equipment was inside, Otte realised how tired he was and fell asleep.
The following day was the worst. Rain had trickled down the stone liner of the cave and had almost flooded one section. The constant thunder and lightning meant that it was impossible to go outside. For once, Otte was discontent with nature.
Ten days later, Otte arrived at Ostrenborg, his home town. His father embraced him like a duck took to water. ‘We thought you were nearly dead!’ The rest of the town nodded their agreement. Suddenly the babble died away. The town looked to their chief, Leif Seafarer for help and guidance to pick up the pieces and move on from the devastating storm. But he was gone.
‘Where is our chief?’ said one. ‘What are we going to do?’ exclaimed another. It was Otte’s father, the blacksmith that took control of the situation. ‘It’s alright. We will send a party of our best warriors to find Leif.’ Otte wasn’t one of them, however, he set off on a quest of his own, determined to save his town, whatever it took. All that was left of him was a note the following morning.
Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back one day.
I will come back.
Hamburg was a busy city. There were ships everywhere. The tall masts created a forest of bare trunks. However, many of these masts did have sails. One of them happened to be Jaunt, the ship Otte was sailing on. As he left the decks of the small craft, he stood in awe. People were everywhere. Pubs and inns were roaring with trade and the markets were filled with the echoes and shouts of many bargainers. Otte, his boots finally on solid ground, went searching. Not for Leif. That could wait. It was more for a place to stay. Instincts told him that it wouldn’t be worth it to just do it in one day. That would never happen. Instead, sneak around and get an idea of what he was facing, and then plan to do what he wanted.
The Erdberren was a small inn, just off the main thoroughfare of the Hamburg Quay. The owner had a small strawberry farm a few days’ ride away and his customers were mesmerised by the stunning taste of the red berries. Otte chose probably the worst day to come in. Wilhem, the owner, had just had his crop ruined by the storm and since the inn lived off trading of the latter, the customers were not happy. When Otte finally opened the door to a jingle of a bell, the glowering mood first told him that he was not a man to cross. But since the storm, it looked like no-one was happy to see him. Especially since he was Norwegian.
‘I’d like a room for two nights,’ Otte told Whilhem. ‘Sure. Would you like any meals to be included in the price?’ ‘Yes, that would be ideal. Dinner only. I’ve got my own supplies.’ ‘12 marks.’ The one silver coin and the two bronze marks rolled over the counter.
As the night rolled in, Otte couldn’t sleep. Why? He was afraid of what would happen to Leif. He had to save him now. Under the cover of darkness, Otte slipped out of the inn. The streets were dead. Treading softly to avoid being heard, he inched his way over to the Ruling House. Always one step ahead, Otte had the foresight to look at the layout of the city and draw a map. Now he definitely knew that it was worth his while.
Slowly but surely, he arrived at the gates of the Ruling House. ‘Who goes there?’ barked the sentry. Otte winced and hid behind a tree. The armoured guard relaxed. Climbing over the five metre fence, Otte arrived at the prison. Getting out his lock-picking kit to open the door, he heard a sound. ‘What are you doing?’
His instincts told him to run. A guard of soldiers was approaching. Maybe that sentry was just faking to see if he would break in. He would never know, but now was not the time to be thinking that. Drawing out his sword, he faced the enemy. Dodging a side cut, he knocked out a guard with a well placed blow. One of the others knocked him off balance, but he recovered quickly and with another blow, he hit his solar plexus and drove out all the air. The others were now running. They had been told to dispose of the intruder. Now he had dispatched two of their best soldiers in a matter of five seconds.
Otte went back to picking the lock. At this rate, it would be about five minutes until they came back. Not a lot of time. The tumblers finally clicked and the lock sprung open. ‘Yes,’ he whispered quietly. Now to find Leif.
‘Otte, you finally found me. I thought I was going to die here,’ Leif praised. ‘No time for celebrations. Reinforcements will be here in about a minute and we need to get out.’ Leif nodded his agreement. ‘Here, take your axe,’ Otte said absentmindedly as he reached the rack of confiscated items.
The soldiers arrived just as Lief swung his axe, testing the balance. ‘Let’s get ’em,’ he said.
The battle raged for two minutes. Otte accounted for two of the twenty defenders, as he didn’t want to get in the way of the deadly axe strokes. Only one survived, because he deserted as soon as it looked like they weren’t going to win, which was about ten seconds in.
Leif nodded to Otte. ‘Good job, I’m proud of you. Now, to get home.’
Rounding Sognefjord, Otte looked behind them. There was a whole armada of ships following them at a distance of around five kilometres. ‘Nearly home,’ Otte mentioned. ‘Right you are.’ Agreed Leif.
As they sailed into the fjord that they called home, the whole town was there to see them. ‘Thank goodness you’re alright,’ said Otte’s father in relief. ‘We can’t celebrate now. A whole armada of ships is coming and they won’t stop.
The whole town was now galvanised into action. People were scurrying everywhere. Men were preparing defences and fetching their weapons, and women and children were scurrying to safety. About two hours since Otte and Leif had got home, the soldiers docked on the beach.
The soldiers started at a steady jog, not wanting to waste their energy. Otte tested his sword, miming a few strokes in the air. Once they reached the big pine at the dock, Leif called out to his fellow warriors, ‘Let’s get ’em!’ he cried out. The fierce foray of about forty warriors poured out of the homes and buildings. The invaders were caught by surprise. However, they didn’t run because their comrades were behind them urging them on.
It was a fierce battle. It raged on for three hours before the Saxons finally signalled their retreat and left. Though there weren’t many of them left. Of the one hundred and fifty that arrived, only seventy two left.
Otte finally felt like he was a warrior. Until then, he had gazed up at them, larger than life figures. Now he was finally an equal. This story was not one that would pass easily. It would go down for many years. And so would Otte too.