Chapter 296: Ivar the Boneless
"Whither fled Ivar the Boneless?"
It was a question that crawled through the foggy moors and dimly lit taverns of Northumbria like a shadow. It was a terrifying whisper exchanged between nervous farmers huddled around crackling hearths, and a frantic murmur echoing through the grand halls of English lords.
Three long years...
For three entire years, the lands of England had not seen a single trace of Ivar the Boneless.
Some folks confidently claimed that Ivar had finally succumbed to his cursed, brittle bones, dying a quiet and pathetic death in a distant land. Others swore they heard a tale from a drunken, one-eyed sailor that Ivar had been betrayed by his own men, his twisted body thrown into a muddy river to rot.
For a brief, naive moment, the people of Northumbria had almost started to feel safe...
Then, the witch arrived. She had appeared out of the morning mist in the town square of Eoferwic, draped entirely in black raven feathers and carrying a staff made of polished human bone.
The local guards had tried to arrest her, but they were frozen in place by the sheer, terrifying power of her voice.
"The Boneless serpent did not drown in the muddy waters!" the witch had screamed, "He has crawled from the abyss, shedding his old, weak skin! He now sits by the blazing fires of the Iron Vikings! The iron and the bone have united in the smoke, and a storm of thunder is coming to devour your crowns!"
By the next morning, the witch had vanished without a trace, but her prophecy had not. Like a plague carried by the wind, the terrifying news spread to every inch of England.
From the lowest beggar in the mud to the highest king on his throne, everyone was asking the exact same question.
Is he really alive?
Hundreds of miles away, Ragnar sat at his desk in City Titan.
Outside his sturdy window, the sky was dark with rain.
Ragnar gently rubbed his tired eyes, trying to focus on the metal object resting on his desk.
Leofric stepped into the room. In his hand, he tightly gripped a rolled-up parchment sealed with black wax.
"Leofric?" Ragnar asked. He could tell by the look in his minister’s eyes that this wasn’t a report about grain shortages or delayed timber shipments.
"What is wrong?"
"A ship just arrived from the coast of Northumbria," Leofric said. He walked forward and placed the damp parchment on Ragnar’s desk.
"It is an urgent report from our deep-cover spies. Ragnar... the militia is being called up. Lords are hoarding food behind their castle walls. They are preparing for a massive war."
Ragnar frowned, picking up the letter and breaking the black wax seal. "A war against who? Erik is holding Calais in France, but we haven’t sent a single ship toward English shores. Why are they panicking now?"
"Because of a prophecy." Leofric explained, pulling a dry cloth from his pocket to wipe the rain from his face.
"A witch appeared in Eoferwic. She gave a massive public speech claiming that Ivar the Boneless did not die in a river three years ago, as the rumors suggested."
"Ivar? I haven’t thought about that madman in years..."
"Read the rest," Leofric urged quietly.
Ragnar’s eyes moved down the page. He read the exact words of the witch’s mighty speech. He read how she claimed Ivar was now sitting by the fires of the ’Iron Vikings.’ He read how the rumors had spread to every inch of England, creating terror that Ivar and Ragnar had joined forces to conquer the world.
Ragnar slowly lowered the parchment, a look of confusion washing over his face.
Before he could speak, the door opened again. Louis the Stammerer walked in, carrying a large wooden bucket filled with coal dust.
"Ragnar, I did it!" Louis announced loudly, dropping the heavy bucket onto the floor. "f we keep this up, I can start mass-producing the muskets by the end of the—"
Louis stopped mid-sentence, noticing the silent in the room. He looked at Leofric’s pale face, and then at Ragnar, who was staring blankly at the wall.
"Why does everyone look like someone just kicked their favorite dog?" Louis asked, crossing his arms.
"England thinks Ivar the Boneless is alive," Leofric stated. "And they think he is hiding here, in City Titan, working with Ragnar."
Louis blinked once. Then he blinked twice.
"Ivar the Boneless?" Louis shrieked, "The psychopath? The man who supposedly tortures people just to hear what sounds their vocal cords make? You’re telling me all of England thinks he is here? With us?"
"That is what the prophecy says," Ragnar murmured.
"Well, is he?" Louis looked around the room.
Ragnar sighed, "I have no idea where Ivar is. I assumed he was dead, just like everyone else."
At that moment, the door creaked open for a third time. Bjorn stepped inside, he was holding a half-eaten apple.
"I heard shouting," Bjorn said, taking a loud bite of his apple. "Are we fighting someone? Because my three thousand pikemen are getting very bored poking hay bales..."
"England," Louis groaned, "We might be fighting all of England. Because a witch told them Ivar the Boneless is sleeping in our guest room."
Bjorn paused mid-chew. "Ivar? Truly? If England wants to bring a war to our shores because of a ghost, let them come. The sea will run red!"
"We are not ready for the sea to run red, Bjorn!" Louis snapped, "We have three thousand men waiting for guns that haven’t been built yet! We don’t have enough black powder to supply a drawn-out defensive siege!"
"Louis is right," Ragnar said.
Ragnar stood up, picking up the damp spy report. He walked over to the window, looking out at the glowing fires of his city.
"Think about this logically," Ragnar said, turning back to his three commanders.
"If Ivar is dead, then this witch was paid by someone in England to stir up a panic. Someone who wants to unite the squabbling English lords into a single army to wipe out City Titan before our industry grows too powerful."
"But... what if the rumor is true? What if Ivar is alive?"
"Then where is he?" Louis asked nervously.
"If he is alive, and he hears that a prophecy claims he is allied with me..." Ragnar smiled, "Where do you think a man like Ivar the Boneless is going to go?"
The room went completely still.
"He will come here," Bjorn whispered, "To see the Iron King for himself."
"Exactly," Ragnar declared, "Whether we face the combined armies of England, or the legendary wrath of Ivar the Boneless himself, the solution is the exact same."
"Louis, I need those muskets," Ragnar said, "I don’t care if you have to hire every single man, woman, and child in the city to haul coal. We accelerate production immediately."
Louis swallowed hard, "I will need double the rations for the forge workers."
"You shall have it," Leofric agreed, already opening his ledger and scribbling notes furiously.
As his ministers rushed out of the room to execute their new orders, Ragnar looked back out the window into the rainy night.
Somewhere out there, across the freezing waters, Ivar the Boneless was either rotting in the mud, or marching straight toward City Titan.