Chapter Five

“Harold!!!” Osmund shouted with a beaming smile on his face.  Harold felt a little uncomfortable as he’d been escorted into the hall.  It was clear when he arrived at the mansion that everyone had heard of his court martial and were either overly polite or outright ignored him.  But seeing Osmund he couldn’t help grinning at his old friend’s enthusiastic greeting.  Some of Osmund’s entourage frowned slightly and Harold could smell their annoyance with him.  Having a court martialed warrior in the Jarl’s receiving hall was close to sacrilegious.   

Osmund obviously didn’t care.  His pheromones made it clear he was not faking his happiness at seeing his old friend.  Harold dropped his kit bag with a loud thud and the two hugged.  Osmund’s warriors and ministers emitted even more pheromones of annoyance.  Standing holding each other’s arms, Osmund whispered, “Let me finish with this lot and then we’ll chat on the balcony”, nodding his head to the tall glass doors leading out to the balcony overlooking the mansion grounds.  Harold smiled at his friend and picked up his kit bag.   

Walking to the doors the Jarl’s followers moved out of his way, many of them not looking at him.  Opening the doors, Harold breathed deep and closed his eyes.  The smells of Sussex, Virginia were different yet similar to his family’s estates in Bardfield Saling in Essex.  It was relaxing to let the smells of the nearby forest fill him up.  Looking back through the doors Harold couldn’t help but admire his friend.  They had known each other since school.  It had been Osmund’s confidence and faith in Harold that had helped him through school, warrior training and even brought him back to the ranks of the warriors after WWII.   Osmund was a natural leader, charismatic, confident, and very much a team player.   All the things Harold wasn’t.  Harold always thought that was one of the reasons they like being around each other.  

Osmund finished with his people and walked out to Harold.  “You’ve gained some weight.” Harold said with a slight mocking tone.  Osmund grinned and showed his perfect teeth.  Becoming Jarl meant more than just being a leader of Fyrds of warrior packs and negotiating with other Jarl’s.  It also meant looking like a leader and to Osmund that meant nice teeth, long stylish hair and beard and tailored suits.  “You also look like draug with a subscription to GQ.”

“One of the hazards of my responsibilities.” Osmund replied, patting his stomach and stroking his beard.  Glancing at Harold’s duffel bag he looked at him, “Even so, I’ve not been out of touch with my warriors so much to not notice that your kit bag seems light.”  

“Ah, that.  Kit bags are loaded with gear for a pack operation.  My assignment is a solo one.  Which is why I’m officially here.”  Straightening his back and standing at attention Harold addressed his friend in a formal tone, “Jarl Osmund, I have accepted a mission from Jarl Cenric which requires operating in North America.  Do I have your permission to conduct this mission in your lands?”  

Osmund looked at his friend with an expression close to pity, “I grant you permission to operate in my lands.”  

Maintaining his formal posture and tone Harold replied, “Thank you Jarl Osmund.  I will strive to bring honour to you and your lands as I do my own.”

“The three sisters haven’t been kind to you have they Harold?” asked Osmund as he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  Harold relaxed with the touch of his friend, sighed and whispered, “That which has been, that which is becoming, that which must be.”  

Harold walked to the balcony, leaned his back against it and looked in the windows to the hall then to Osmund.  “You read the transcript and watch the video?” he asked.  

“Aye, and I believed none of it.  Harold, I have been to Washington State and talked with our farmers that live there.  I have talked with the warriors that have hunted many draugar there.  No one has ever heard of such a thing. The natives of that land have a few legends about wolves, but nothing anyone has shown to be related to our people.  And certainly no evidence those legends are based on reality.”  Harold could smell the pheromones wafting from Osmund.  They carried the scent of someone worried about a friend.

“Osmund, I smelled sheep blood on the draug I chased.  She had a backpack stuffed with money.  The story she is chasing may be nothing more than that, a story.  But consider this, she believes it and it seems the guild she came from believes it too.  That alone is worth investigating.” Harold’s smell carried a hint of desperation.  

“By all the gods Harold!  Don’t be ridiculous!  Do you want me to quote their damn Beriyt for you?  "Surely Cain and Lilith loves those who drink in their way" and, "And what cause have ye why ye should not drink in the cause of Al-Malik? For to Lilith and Cain belongs the heritage of the heavens and the earth." It’s their faith, their way of existence!  They believe they are part of their god’s plan for the world!  In all the history we have, there has never been a draug that has denied that.  Or at least lived a minute past their apostasy being discovered!” Osmund turned away from Harold and composed himself.  Turning back he said in an apologetic tone, “Harold, sorry, I didn’t mean to speak in such strong language to you.”

“No, it’s alright Osmund.  I suspect your concern for my future influenced you.” Harold looked in the windows to the hall and could see Osmund’s staff diligently not looking out the windows.  Osmund glanced in the same direction and lowered his voice.  “Harold, have you considered this might be nothing more than getting an awkward problem, you I’m afraid, out of the country and occupied long enough to let things blow over?  The word I have from the other Jarls is that Jarl Cenric and his staff have been embarrassed by your court martial.”  

Harold looked at Osmund and wished they were young again, in full Ulfhednar form, curled up together in front of the hearth in their room at school.  “Until just now, I’ve not let myself think of that possibility.”

“Oh, then I’m sorry Harold, but it may be the truth.” Osmund smelled sad and his face showed his concern.  

Harold turned and looked west across the farmland and forest, “Osmund, even if that is the case, I don’t care.  I’ve never worked well with a pack since the war, this was my third pack since then.  I’ve never taken a mate, though not for lack of trying by my sister-in-law and brother. I get reprimands on a nearly regular basis, but don’t care.  I think spending a decade or so wandering around North America looking for mythical draugar and Ulfhednar is what the Norn’s have been pushing me to.”   

Osmund stood next to his friend and looked at him.  “Well, Oðer wandered Midgard for

many years and eventually took his place next to Freya.  Perhaps you will be as fortunate.”

Harold put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and smiled his appreciation for the sentiment,

but knew his pheromones revealed feelings of resignation.