FICTION | FANTASY | STORMBORN
Stormborn: The Legend of Ylva, Chapter 3 — The Challenge
Ylva responds to the jarl’s summons.
Ylva followed Aelfred calmly up the hill in the town’s centre. Like Aelfred, she was dressed in her leather armour and carried her shield and axes. The townsfolk looked at her with a mixture of anticipation and suspicion. But like the jarl’s messenger, Ylva had dressed for war to send a message.
The massive warrior huffed and puffed on the last few metres to the jarl’s hall before he pushed the colossal doors open and signalled Ylva to follow him. About 20 metres down the hall sat a man in his early fifties, with a greying beard that insufficiently hid the battle scars on his face.
“My jarl, I present to you ….”
Ylva pushed the colossal, huffing warrior out of her way, opposed solely by his meagre protest.
“Eirik,” Ylva addressed the self-assuredly smiling jarl, “I am Ylva Lifadottir! I heard you wish to be honoured by my presence.”
Satisfied, she watched as the smile disappeared from the jarl’s face for a moment before he composed himself again. His oldest son, Balder, stood to Eirik’s right. He was an imposing and proven warrior for his young age but looked dumbfounded at Ylva’s slight.
“Ylva Lifadottir, I have summoned ….”
Ylva raised her hand.
“I am not summoned.”
A slender young man standing further behind and left to the throne snickered silently. Ylva knew him as Davynn, the jarl’s younger son, though he was rarely seen in town. Her father had said Davynn was a scholarly man who knew not only about numbers and history but also foreign letters.
“Ahem. Ylva …,” Eirik said, searching for words, “Thank you for coming. I have something to discuss with you.”
Ylva folded her arms, her expression plain.
“Those raiders had no right to behave like that in my parents’ house. If not me, you should have punished them.”
“Oh, this is not about the raiders.”
The jarl seemed to enjoy catching her off guard and gestured toward his oldest son.
“You know my first-born son Balder, don't you?”
“I do. He is well-known for his strength and exploits….”
The jarl and Balder looked satisfied, the latter glancing at his biceps.
“… and for being few with words when he isn’t boasting ….”
The muscular Balder glanced around the room, confused.
“… and easy to comprehend thanks to a lack of complexity.”
Davynn laughed, earning an evil eye from his father. Before the jarl could protest, however, Ylva cut him short.
“But also loyal and trustworthy and known to never let a friend or fellow warrior behind.”
Balder shrugged and slapped his sour-faced father on the shoulder.
“Sounds about right, Ylva,” he boomed, followed by laughter, “All of it!”.
Eirik glanced at his son disapprovingly, forcing himself to smile before addressing Ylva again.
“Young shieldmaiden, I propose marriage between you and Balder, our bravest and strongest warrior!”
“I have to decline,” Ylva said, “I don’t think he can manage to watch over my children while I’m away raiding for months.”
“He … he will be jarl someday. Don’t you wish the honour to bear his children?”
“I don’t fit into my armour with a big round belly. That bookworm might be more suitable,” Ylva pointed at the snickering Davynn, who fell silent immediately, “He likes to stay inside and could probably manage my estate and watch after children.”
“What? How dare you speak to me?”
The jarl glared at Ylva, his right hand clenching his throne’s armrest.
“You send your tactless ruffian to my parents’ inn days after those raiders caused trouble. You did nothing back then. My parents hosted you and your kin like everybody else in this town. They pay taxes and give back to the community. You have obligations too. So how dare you speak to me?!”
“Balder will be jarl someday!” Eirik repeated himself angrily.
“If you or he aren’t bested before that day.”
“What insolence!” Eirik boomed, “How ….”
Balder laughed and stepped forward, gently silencing Eirik with a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Father, wait. Such honesty and courage are rarely seen in men and women alike. And Ylva is right. Truth be told, I know many great fighters — men and women — but none can compare to her. She deserves to be asked, how can I win your favour?”
Ylva leaned back and smiled, not a mocking but a kind smile for a change. She stared at the ceiling, her arms still folded.
“The man that bests me in a contest,” Ylva announced, “shall get the opportunity to prove himself worthy.”
Before anybody present could react to her words, the shieldmaiden turned around and left the hall, followed by Aelfred and the jarl’s sons shortly after. Eirik looked toward a dark corner of the room and the man emerging from the shadows.
“Erland, this did not work according to your plan.”
“Don’t worry, my lord. There are other ways to take control of her magic,” the shorter, dark-haired man said, “That temper is her weakness. Earlier or later, she’ll reveal how to exploit that.”
“I hope you are sure about that. Else, this is on you.”
The man smiled, tugging at his sleeves.
“Don’t worry, my lord. She is very fond of her parents, after all.”
Later that day, the town’s bachelors lined up at Lifa’s and Fjell’s inn to answer Ylva’s challenge. She didn’t mind the exercise, and although her mother was worried, Fjell didn’t mind the additional income either.
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