Sigurd suddenly awoke, he was staring at the ceiling of some sort of tent like structure. He felt pain in his chest and head and that’s when he remembered.

His brother Ivar had killed him.

He sat up slowly, stifling a groan of pain. He was laid on a cot, surrounded by herbs, tonics and religious items similar to his own. Also personal items, women’s clothes. He could hear chatter from outside of the tent in another language, it seemed. He was completely confused and frightened. Where was he?