"Nils Hammarson angered a warrior," he said. "But his speech was within bounds, though barely.

"Nils Hammarson struck a warrior whose attack on him was without arms and not deadly.

"Nils Hammarson killed a warrior, though without intention.

"Nils Hammarson is stripped of all rights but one, beginning with the second new moon from now. By that time he must be gone from the lands of the tribes. If he is not gone by the second new moon, he will be declared a renegade. Notice of this judgment will be sent to the Jotar and the Norskar, and they will not take him in.

"One right is retained. Nils Hammarson is in his nineteenth summer and has fulfilled his sword apprenticeship. Where he goes he will be an outlander, unprotected by clans or laws. Therefore, when the ting is over, his hair will be braided and he will leave the land as a warrior."

The Eagle Clan grumbled at this leniency, but the ting had ruled. Three days later, Ulf Vargson, chief of the Wolf Clan, plaited the hair of the six Wolf sword apprentices who were in their nineteenth summers and gave them their warrior names. And Nils Hammarson became Nils Jarnhann, "Iron Hand."

Neovikings. The neovikings were members of a primitive, post-plague Terran culture that evolved in Sweden and Norway after the Great Death that left less than 10-4 of the pre-plague population alive. They consisted of three tribes: the Norskar in southern Norway, the Jotar in southern Sweden, and the Svear in central Sweden…

The term "neovikings" was applied to them by the post-plague psionic culture known as the "kinfolk." In some respects neoviking was not an apt term, for they were not sea rovers. They were primarily herdsmen, although hunting and fishing rivalled livestock in their economy and they practiced some agriculture. Perhaps their outstanding cultural feature was their unusually martial orientation, and in this they did somewhat resemble the medieval vikings. Tribe warred against tribe, and clans carried on bloody feuds.

They increased despite their love of bloodshed, however. Taboos, tribal laws and intertribal agreements restricted the causes of fighting, its circumstances and practices…

History… The rapid climatic deterioration finally became critical. They found it necessary to store increasing quantities of forage as the season of pasturage became shorter. Crops became poorer, and some lands that had been farmed became too waterlogged and cold to grow crops. Had this happened three or four centuries earlier, they might have lapsed into a purely hunting and fishing culture, but they had become too numerous and sophisticated for that. A coastal clan, familiar with fishing boats, began to build vessels large enough to carry effective raiding parties to other parts of Europe. A rather close analog of the medieval viking culture might have developed, had not…

(From the New School Encyclopedia, copyrighted A.C. 920, Deep Harbor, New Home.)

It was no fishing boat, but a broad cargo ship made for the open sea and a full thirty meters long. The prow turned upward, and the end was carved and painted in the likeness of a sea eagle with wings partly folded. The water was choppy, and a brisk southwest wind blew. The ship's course being southwesterly, the sail was furled and the crew leaned into the oars, their brawny backs wet with sweat. Through the blue sky moved flocks of small white clouds. The sun sparkled off millions of facets of sea surface, making Nils's eyes squint against the glitter. A low shore, featureless at first in the distance, drew gradually nearer, becoming low dunes backed by rolling heath. Woods of stubby oaks took form in some of the hollows. Nils Jarnhann had never seen the sea before, nor oak woods, and stood absorbing the beauty and novelty.

A break appeared in the dunes and became the mouth of a stream that flowed out of the heath. A short distance up the stream, on its south side, a town became visible past the shoulder of a dune. A lookout called down from the mast, and the stroke strengthened as the oarsmen began a chant, for this was their homeplace.

When the ship was tied to the wharf of oak timbers, the oarsmen became stevedores, and under the captain's direction began to unload the pine planks that made up their cargo. A movement caught the captain's eye and he turned to see his passenger approaching. The captain was a big man, but this fellow was bigger-more than a hundred and ninety centimeters tall, he judged, with muscles impressively thick and sinewy even to one accustomed to the sight of brawny oarsmen. His corded torso was bare and brown beneath the simple leather harness that supported his sword belt. Soft deerskin breeches were wrapped close around his calves by leather strips, and his callused feet were bare. A necklace of wolves' teeth hung on a thong across his thick chest and the skin of a wolf's head was laced onto his steel cap. Straw-colored braids hung to his shoulders. Obviously a warrior of the northmen, and a new one, the captain thought, noting the sparse soft beard and mustache so out of character with the physique.

Nils addressed the captain. "Will you hire me to help unload cargo?"

"When did warriors start hiring out as labor?" the captain asked.

"When they have spent their last coin for passage and need something to eat."

"All right. One krona when the cargo is all on the wharf, if you work well and make no quarrels. Otherwise, nothing, and the arrows of the town wardens if there is trouble." The captain believed in giving a man a chance and also in making things clear from the beginning. And fear wasn't a trait of his.

He matched Nils with a thick-armed man of medium height, and without words they made a point of pride in carrying bigger loads than any other pair working. Even with the breeze, all of them were soon dripping sweat-a familiar and agreeable enough experience both to oarsmen and warrior. Soon Nils removed helmet, harness, and sword, laying them with his other things on a rowing bench forward.

Well into the afternoon one of the crew suddenly shouted, "Hey! Stop!" A youth, who had boarded unnoticed, leaped from the gunwale carrying Nils's scabbarded sword. The captain, on the wharf supervising the piling, bellowed, drew his knife and threw it, but it clattered uselessly on the cobblestones. Nils's bare feet hit the wharf running. The thief was quick; he reached a corner and sprinted out of sight. A moment later Nils made the turn, and the thief realized he had dangerously underestimated both the weight of the sword and the speed of a barbarian who had spent much time running on skis. He drew the sword as he ran, then turned and faced his pursuer. Nils stopped a few meters from him, and seconds later several of the crew ran up, panting, to stand near.

"I can stand here as long as you can," Nils pointed out matter-of-factly. "If you try to run away again with the sword, I will easily catch you. And if you run at me to kill me, you won't be able to. But if you lay the sword down and walk away, I'll let you go."

The thief scowled and licked his lips nervously. He was Nils's age, lean and wiry. Suddenly he rushed at Nils, the sword raised to one side in both hands, ready to swing. The sailors scattered, and in that instant Nils sprang high above the swinging blade. A hard foot shot out, a powerful thigh driving the heel into the thief's chest and hurling him backward. He skidded on his back and lay still.

"What must I do now?" Nils asked.

"Is he dead?" asked the sailor that Nils had worked with.

"He's dead all right," Nils assured him, without needing to examine the body.

"Well then, there's nothing to do. A warden's likely to come around and question us, and we'll tell him what happened. He'll have the body taken away and that'll be the end of it. There won't be any trouble for you, if that's what you're wondering about."