At dawn on the first day of summer, the longship Rikmans-yflir lay ready at the harbour. Its dragon-headed prow faced the sea. Its crimson sail snapped proudly in the morning wind. Its crew stood assembled upon the dock. And at the centre of the gathering stood Rikus Rikmansen, attempting to look heroic.
Unfortunately, he had put his helmet on backwards.
Sven the Goat headbutted him.
The helmet rotated into the correct position.
"Thank you," said Rikus.
Sven sighed.
The voyage was already proving exhausting.
The villagers crowded the shoreline to bid farewell.
The Jarl offered a blessing.
The seer watched silently from the cliffs above.
The blacksmith handed Rikus a replacement axe.
It was not as fine as the missing one, but it would do.
"Try not to lose this one."
"I won't."
The blacksmith laughed.
Several nearby fishermen laughed as well.
Even the axe seemed doubtful.
The crew boarded.
Ropes were cast off.
Oars dipped into the sea.
Slowly the Rikmans-yflir slipped from the harbour and began its journey into the unknown.
As the village disappeared behind them, Rikus stood at the bow and smiled.
"Adventure awaits."
"It certainly does," muttered one of the crew.
The first few days passed peacefully.
The weather remained fair.
The winds were favourable.
The sea sparkled beneath the summer sun.
The crew settled into life aboard the longship.
Rikus attempted to help.
His efforts were appreciated in theory.
In practice they caused complications.
On the second day he became tangled in a fishing net.
On the third day he accidentally dropped the cook's kettle overboard.
On the fourth day he confused the navigator's charts with a menu.
No one was entirely sure how.
Through it all, Sven watched carefully.
Whenever disaster approached, the goat somehow appeared at exactly the right moment.
Several sailors began claiming that Sven was protected by the gods.
Others suspected he was simply smarter than everyone else.
Both theories gained support.
One evening the crew gathered beneath a sky full of stars.
The sea was calm.
The wind was gentle.
For a brief moment everything seemed perfect.
Then Rikus spoke.
"I don't think anything can go wrong now."
Every sailor froze.
A heavy silence settled across the deck.
The navigator slowly lowered his cup.
The cook crossed himself.
Sven buried his face in his hooves. Far away, thunder rumbled.
The storm arrived the following afternoon.
Dark clouds gathered on the horizon.
The sea turned grey.
The wind sharpened.
Within hours the calm waters had transformed into a raging wilderness.
Towering waves crashed against the ship.
Lightning flashed across the sky.
Rain hammered the deck.
The Rikmans-yflir rose and plunged through the storm.
The crew fought bravely.
Sails were reefed.
Ropes were secured.
Oars were pulled aboard.
Every man worked to keep the vessel afloat.
Every man except Rikus.
Rikus spent most of the storm sliding from one end of the deck to the other.
Several sailors had to rescue him repeatedly.
At one point Sven bit the back of his tunic and prevented him from being washed overboard.
Again.
"Thank you," said Rikus.
The goat stared at him.
The look required no translation.
Night fell.
The storm intensified.
The sea seemed alive.
Great walls of water rose around the ship.
Thunder shook the heavens.
Lightning illuminated impossible shapes beneath the waves.
The crew grew uneasy.
The navigator gripped the railing.
"Has anyone else noticed that?"
Everyone had.
Something enormous moved beneath the surface.
At first it appeared to be a shadow.
Then the shadow grew larger.
And larger.
And larger.
Until it was impossible to ignore.
The sailors exchanged nervous glances.
Old stories returned to their minds.
Stories of monsters.
Stories of sea spirits.
Stories told around winter fires.
The water suddenly erupted.
A gigantic tentacle burst from the sea.
The crew screamed.
Another tentacle followed.
Then another.
Then another.
The ocean itself seemed to rise around them.
The Rikmans-yflir had sailed into the hunting grounds of the Kraken.
For a moment no one moved.
The sailors stared.
The monster stared.
The storm raged around them.
Rikus slowly stepped forward.
The crew looked at him in disbelief.
The Kraken looked at him in curiosity.
Sven looked at him in concern.
"What are you doing?" whispered the navigator.
Rikus considered the question.
Then he smiled.
"I have an idea."
The crew groaned.
Sven groaned louder.
The last time Rikus had announced an idea, an entire mead hall had burned down.
Lightning flashed overhead.
The Kraken's eyes glowed beneath the waves.
The ship rocked violently.
The storm howled.
And somewhere beneath the dark sea, unseen by the crew, another pair of eyes watched with interest.
The eyes belonged to the Kraken's daughter.
And before the night was over, she would change the course of history.
For the fate of the Rikmans-yflir was about to be decided.
Not by swords.
Not by strength.
Not even by luck.
But by the most unlikely weapon Rikus Rikmansen possessed.
His ability to make absolutely anyone laugh.
Even a sea monster.
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