The sail snapped as Hakon"s crew lowered the yard. Those men not scrambling to secure the heavy sail ran their oars through the oarlocks and pulled to Egil"s shouted cadence. They would row the rest of the way, for they were entering the narrow Karmsund Strait, where the wind blew erratically.
Hakon gazed behind him and smiled at the forest of masts. In one month they had amassed one of the largest fleets the North had ever seen — a fleet to rival his father"s at Stavanger, or so the elders among them said. While they feasted the arrival of spring, the war arrow made its rounds to the mead halls of chieftains and jarls far beyond Sigurd"s Trondelag. Up and down the coast went the official summons, accompanied by the promise of battle, riches, and fame earned in the ranks of the god-favore
