Author's note: I'm being official. Here goes, they ain't mine if you haven't figured that out. If you can figure out a way to legally make money off of them would you give me a hint. /If it's in between the backslashes it means it's projected thought, telepathy or a close cousin./ If it's in italics it's thoughts, often things better unsaid. A dictionary for unusual words is at the bottom of the story.

Thanks as always to my muses K.T the opinionated. (I wouldn't want her to be any other way) Pookwana of the mighty red pen. A wonderful lady by the name of Christine has been kind enough to beta this monster for me.

About the story: Yes, this is based on the movie The 13th Warrior. Which is based on Michael Crichton's story The Eaters of the Dead. Which in turn is based on the old Anglo-Saxon saga "Beowulf". I have shamelessly borrowed dialogue from the movie at points, seeing no way to improve upon the words. I have also borrowed the concept of the enhanced senses from the old TV show The Sentinel. Which may have been borrowed from elsewhere according to a lawsuit.

Historical note: There really was an Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan. In 922 he journeyed north from Baghdad as part of a embassy sent by the Abbasid Caliph to the king of the Volga Bulgars. His might be the first chronicler of the Norse.

The story is about this completely out of his depth Arabic poet named Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan from the Caliph's court in Baghdad. He messed up at home and showed . . . too much interest in a very powerful man's wife. For which he was sent to be an ambassador to the north. Which in reality means he was banished and they expected him to die out in the wilds. So off he goes into the north with Melchizedek an old friend of his father's to keep him company. While the caravan he is traveling with are trying to escape from Tartars, they run across a Viking encampment at which point the Tartars flee not wanting to cross steel when there would be little profit and much loss of life.

This is kind of running behind the scenes of what the movie covered. Seen more from the Norse side of the fence. I've gone and made Edgtho the brooding scout, always dressed in black, a sentinel. Five enhanced senses and a knack for going looking for trouble. The enhanced senses are very handy to have around when folks are trying to kill you and your buddies. Problem is with all good things there seems to be a down side. The senses can over whelm him and he becomes catatonic. Standing there like a statue waiting for some one to come along and lop off his headed. That's where Herger comes in. Herger is the womanizing, smart-alecky translator. He's a guide. Nature's way of helping out our poor sentinel. This is the fella that tries to keep the sentinel out of trouble by taking care of Edgtho when his senses turn against him. There's a problem there too. Guides are notoriously soft hearted, possible empathic and they NEED to help people. See TROUBLE really, really likes guides. They create a symbiotic relationship the longer a pair is 'bonded' the less likely they are to survive if the other one dies.

Now, on with the story.

Littel Brodir

Excerpt from the journal of Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan, Ibn Al Abbas, Ibn Rashid, Ibn Hamad. Emissary to the north:

I am Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan, Ibn Al Abbas, Ibn Rasid, Ibn Hammad. And things were not always thus. At one time, I was a poet in the greatest city in the world. Life was easy and I lived without care. Until one fateful day, I met a beautiful woman who belonged to another man. Her jealous husband complained to the Caliph who made me the ambassador to the land of the Tossuk Vlad - a country far to the north. I was banished from my home and from all that I knew. So, I journeyed by camelback many months into the lands of barbarian peoples - accompanied by Melchisidek, an old friend of my father - through the lands of the Ogus, the Khazars and the Bulgars, into the lands of murderous bandits, called "Tartars", who attack caravans, slaughtering everyone. (Opening dialog from the movie 13th Warrior)

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"There will be trouble now that the Konungr is dead," Herger growled before taking a deep quaff from his drinking horn. The blond haired Norseman looked over at his companion.

"There is always troub . . .," Edgtho's head came up abruptly, sensitive nostrils flared. The dark eyes began to search the south river bank.

"New trouble brother?" Herger asked softly laying a grounding hand on his companion's back. He tried to see what had caught Edgtho's attention. Why do I bother? It is not as if I can see that far.

"Riders . . . men of the south lands . . . Arabe. One of them . . . ," Edgtho's voice broke off once more.

"Unbonded guide," Herger hissed sensing the other's coming. "Can you tell if he is on search?"

"It does not matter, I was found long ago Sjálfr." Edgtho gently tugged on the bond braid in his chosen's hair offering his rare sweet smile.

"The Southmen have never recognized our bond. I do not believe any guardians live in their lands," Herger said thoughtfully.

"Once they did. My grandfather told it was from the south lands the first of my line came," Edgtho answered.

Herger looked over and grinned at his Sentinel. "Well then a systrungr may have come to call, Sjálfr."

"Arabe? Red headed Weath, the bard joined the pair and studied the approaching riders.

"There is an unbonded guide," Edgtho reported.

"Trouble follows a guide like his shadow," Weath recited the old adage, teasingly looking over at the tense Herger. "Now that there are two of them, Skeld will be burning offerings all night."

"Untrained this guide, else he'd wait to be acknowledged before seeking the camp. He will need instruction," Herger grunted.

"You and Weath," Edgtho suggested.

"If he tries to claim you, I will kill him," Herger snarled. Reaching up he grasped the back of his bonded's neck and shook the bigger man gently.

"Of course you will," Weath agreed with a laugh. "There'd be fewer children in your house if you were as jealous of your wife as you are your Sentinel."

Edgtho hid his grin behind a hand, stroking his beard thoughtfully. The dark eyes danced with mirth as the old . . . trouble raised its head once more.

Herger sniffed derisively, then grinned widely rocking on his heels. "Long months we're gone to sea. Sinead isn't dead. A good thing for you that I'm not a jealous man."

"The baby had red hair," Edgtho remarked to no one in particular.

"Red as red can be," Herger agreed.

"I only saw that shade of red once before," the dark haired Sentinel looked over to study Weath's bright red mane.

The bard flushed brightly. "I apologized all right! It's been eight years. The usige betha is very strong stuff."

"Very strong," Edgtho once more stroked his beard.

"Come to think of it . . . Why were you in the bed with Sinead and me?" Weath demanded sharply looking over at the black haired sentinel.

"It was cold and Herger and Maeve were making too much noise," Edgtho studied the river with great interest.

"Herger was in bed with your wife?" Weath spluttered.

"Well, we were in bed with his," Edgtho reminded cheerfully.

"You're both crazy," Weath threw up his hands and stomped off. Spinning around the bard yelled, "No, all four of you are touched."

Herger shrugged and yelled back cheerfully. "I forgive you . . . again."

Edgtho looked over at his guide and raised an eyebrow.

"He hasn't been the first one to pass out since," Herger chuckled.

"That much whiskey, he wouldn't have been able to do anything even if he had been awake." Edgtho smiled faintly.

"Are you ever going to tell him that your mother had red hair?" Herger asked.

"Not if I can help it." Edgtho's lips curled into a mischievous lop-sided smile.

"It is time to go home, Herger," Edgtho suddenly became serious.

"Soon brother, Skeld has said this will be the last time we sail with Buliwyf. He sees no more journeys," Herger said quietly.

"Skeld has said such things before and been wrong," Edgtho reminded.

"Yes he has," Herger passed the drinking horn to his bonded and Edgtho drank deeply.

"Not this time." Edgtho sighed.

"You feel it too." Herger exchanged a troubled look with his sentinel.

"Yes," Edgtho hissed. "Go in and tell Buliwyf of the Southman's coming." The sentinel handed back the empty horn. "I will keep watch."

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There, the fancy one. Are all guides like brightly feathered birds? Edgtho thought to himself in amusement.

/We bait a trap for those whose eyes are captured by bright and shiny things, Magpie./ Herger's 'voice' teased

/And the women?/ Edgtho didn't try to deny the teasing, long familiar with Herger wandering around in his head.

/Of course the women. Women love guides./ Herger 'laughed' agreeably.

/Tom cat./ Edgtho sniffed.

/You are chaste enough for both of us my brother./ Herger smiled.

/Sjálfr, Halga is drunk./ Edgtho kept up a running commentary on the confrontation occurring between the huge warrior and the caravan master. Halga was running on in his native tongue growing more frustrated by the minute as the Arabs simply stared in incomprehension. He burped loudly in the caravan master's face before excusing himself politely. Planting a huge fist on each hip he announced something loudly before pulling the shocked Arab out of his saddle, tucking him under one arm and made his way back to camp setting the stranger down by a cook fire.

/What is happening?/ Herger demanded.

/Halga invited them to dinner./ Edgtho chuckled.

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The warriors kept their guide in the great tent while his sentinel prowled the camp restlessly, keeping his eye on the newcomers. The traders that had come with the unbonded guide and his companion took great care not to offend the Norsemen.

"One of the slaves said that their king died it must be that which has them on edge," a trader spoke softly to his friend.

"Perhaps, but notice how much interest they show in the 'Ambassador'," the man sniffed disdainfully.

"What would they want with that peacock?" the first trader wondered.

"Who knows what Northmen want," the second trader bent back to work, trying not to shiver as the black dressed sentinel passed by

"That one may be the worst of them all," the first trader whispered, making a sign for protection against evil.

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Edgtho slipped quietly into the main tent. Pack members eased back, allowing Herger to rise from the table.

"Are you satisfied Sjálfr?" Herger's step was light and very much a stalk as he confronted his sentinel.

"The unbonded comes," Edgtho growled before pulling his guide firmly to himself. The dark head lowered to snuffle under his bonded's beard.

"If you're hungry I'll get you a plate," Herger chided as the sentinel's teeth closed gently on flesh.

"Mine!" Edgtho mumbled, worrying the flesh a bit more before moving back to study his handiwork.

"Yours always, brother," the guide soothed.

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When the two Arabs, the unbonded guide and the old man who acted as his guardian, entered the tent the warriors politely ignored them but studied the pair stealthily.

Several of the pack brushed past the Arabs subtly herding the pair towards Herger. When the old man called Melchisdek tried to speak to Rethel, the archer simply walked away. Turning to Edgtho, Melchisdek tried to communicate once more.

/He's painted and perfumed like a woman./Edgtho hesitated a moment studying the guide closely, now that Herger was near enough to anchor him.

/He shows a normal interest in the dancing girls. Different ways I guess?/ Herger 'said' once more listening in on his sentinel's thoughts.

The older man spoke in an unfamiliar language to the sentinel obviously trying to ask something. A soft grunt and Edgtho led them over to his guide and nudged Herger with his foot.

"Play nice," Edgtho reminded before slipping away leaving the guides together but watching closely.

After a brief struggle to find a common language, the old man called Melchisdek and Herger settled on Greek and began conversing.

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"What do you think of this Arabe guide?" Herger asked, pulling his sentinel down to nest against him late that night.

/The metal needs tempered but I think there is fine steel in that blade./ Edgtho 'said' as always more comfortable mind to mind than with words when something of importance was discussed.

/He stood his ground even with Buliwyf slaying Thorkel in front of him./ Herger agreed reluctantly.

/Thorkel was a fool to challenge Buliwyf for command. As for the guide he is of no threat, bonded. I am yours./ Edgtho rolled to his back and exposed his vulnerable neck and belly.

/Mine are you?/ Herger's 'voice' went . . . dangerous.

One of those bondings then. Edgtho shifted in anticipation as his normally light hearted guide turned feral. I best keep well covered for a few days so I don't have to listen to Weath and Skeld. Herger did well tonight not killing the Arab.

Edgtho hissed and growled when his bonded 'pounced' and began to bond wildly.

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"Well, well about time you join . . . ,"Weath's words broke off with a whistle as Herger joined his companions at the river to bathe. Finger shaped bruises, a few scratches and numerous bite marks covered the fair skin of his shoulders and neck.

"You cried out like a woman in labor," Skeld snorted. The guide flushed in reaction to the words. "Edgtho got a bit wild did he?" the red head teased. Herger glared darkly at his cheerful companions.

"I expect the whole camp heard that claiming." Weath laughed. "Marked you good didn't he?"

"Yes he did," Herger said in satisfaction. The blond's powerful body shivered as he jumped into the icy water. Dipping his head he quickly washed his hair and body before rushing out of the river.

Placing a large foot on Herger's towel and clean clothes, Buliwyf scowled at the marks on the guide's body.

"A Sentinel thing, my lord. Nothing is wrong," Herger's tone was contented as he nudged his chieftain to the side.

"It is well?" Buliwyf asked, being careful not to overstep the bounds of propriety. Guardian pairs were notoriously touchy when it came to their bond.

"It is very, very good," Herger grinned, snatching up his towel.

Edgtho silently joined them, dropping a deer at the feet of his guide.

"It's about time you fed me," Herger snorted. "I expect you think I'm going to cook this for you?"

/Of course./Edgtho 'said'.

The companions circled around their Huntsman impudent hands pulled back the dark thick curls revealing the bite marks, not only on the sentinel's throat but across the back of his neck.

Edgtho looked sheepish and gingerly touched the spots. No way to hide these even if Herger was willing for me to.

"So, Herger was not the only one crying out in the night." Buliwyf's eyes danced.

Herger simply smirked as his sentinel flushed deeper.

"Truly brothers, is all well?" Weath asked seriously.

"Very well," Edgtho grunted distractedly. Taking the comb from his bonded's hand he began to groom Herger. The guide's eyes were half closed as he relaxed into his sentinel's tender care.

Smiles were exchanged by the pack as the sentinel began to purr, indicating his contentment. A satisfied little growl filled the air once the two braids had been replaced in his bonded's golden hair. The first braid indicating their bond, the second for their pack. Buliwyf, Roneth the Rider, Ragnar the Dour, Helfdane the Fat, Rethel the Archer, Haltaf the Boy, Halga the Wise, Skeld the Superstitious, Weath the Musician, Hyglak the Quarrelsome. The new king and his bodyguard.

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The next few days Edgtho hung around the edges of camp but made no attempt to approach the foreign guide. Herger set himself up as translator for the Arabs and spent much time with them. Great curiosity was shown by the inquisitive guide as Herger led them around and explained things the Arabs didn't understand.

Great relief was shown once Wyglif the old king was sent on his death voyage. The initial wildness of the bondings had settled back into the comforting touches as the new guide became part of their camp. The older guide settling in as teacher for the younger.

It was some three mornings later when the hung-over Herger drug himself off the floor of the great tent, propping his chin on the table he looked across the table at the smug Arab guide.

/I hate him./ Herger 'whimpered'.

/Serves you right drinking yourself into a stupor./ Edgtho chided.

/Sjálfr, don't you love me anymore?/ The miserable guide sought sympathy.

/Of course I love you. It is you, who are responsible for your misery. I tried to get you to come to bed but no, you must match horns with Ragnar./ Edgtho reminded cheerfully.

/Kill me, please./ Herger asked.

/Certainly not. You'll feel much better once you've eaten. Would you rather have fat pig or eggs with brains?/ the sentinel 'said'.

Herger turned a bit greener and swallowed hard. Edgtho really is unhappy with me. I have to get my mind off my head and gut.

The Arabe guide spoke, then his companion translated his question into Greek. Herger frowned and looked out the door to see what boy they were yammering about.

/They arrived during the night. Bad news and a quest for help I'm thinking./ Edgtho 'commented' to his bond brother.

Hung-over warriors grumbled at the superior attitude the Arab guide projected as they roused. A faint smile here, a nudge there and the game of 'lets make the Arab spew' was on. A bowl of hot water was carried in by a bondswoman and passed to each of the warriors . . . some rinsed their mouths and spat into the water as it came to him. Each man acting more crudely then the one before. Herger blowing his nose and adding the mucus to the bowl almost won the bet.

"He's even greener than Herger," Weath sniggered.

The crowning touch was when the bowl was passed to the Arab for his own use. A delicate push with just the tips of the fingers on his left hand scooted the bowl well down the table.

"Aw, he's not as squeamish as we thought," a warrior chuckled.

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The hall fell silent as the boy from the ship came in to plead his cause. The seasoned warriors shifted uncomfortably as the boy's words brought back stories told by fire light in darkest winter. Troubled looks were exchanged along with a touch of true fear. The old trouble had reawakened and those who can not be named were moving against Norse settlements. A dark look was exchanged between Buliwyf and Edgtho.

/We are going, you and me?/ Herger 'nudged' his sentinel.

/I am the Huntsman. Wolves are in with the sheep brother. Can you sit idly by?/ Edgtho asked.

/No. This is one hunt we can not avoid./ Herger agreed.

When the Angel of Death, the old oracle, called for warriors in the number of the moon cycles in a year, Buliwyf claimed his place as first man.

/We will have good company on this hunt./ Edgtho said sadly.

/Skeld's worries are coming to pass. This may well be our last battle./ Herger admitted. /Let me get back to the translating./

Immediately members of the bodyguard began claiming a place as one of the thirteen. Men drummed tables and raised their voices in cheers as each man claimed his spot. Edgtho claimed the fourth making plain his intent to the gathering. The secret plotting among the Jarls was for nothing, the watchman would stay loyal to his Lord. Where goes the Sentinel, there also would go the guide. Weath soon joined the hunting pack, followed by Herger. Skeld waited until he would be the 12th man, his lucky number. The room fell silent as the Angel of Death raised her voice once more. The thirteenth man could be no Northman. He would be the young guide much to the Arab's dismay.

Dictionary

Konungr-king old norse

Sjálfr Self old norse

systrungr cousin old norse

jarl earl old norse

usige betha water of life (scotch)scots gaelic