Situated on a natural harbor, the collection of buildings that make up Asvir reside on a prime spot of coastline. While most of the Hading coast is pebbly beach, the Asvir-claim is nothing but sweeping, fertile fields at great odds with the salty sea. A half-dozen ships cling to the seaside, their sails stowed and hulls unadorned by neither shields nor dragon-prows.


    "Tell me, Halla," Dad says as Asvir comes into view, the sun dipping close to the horizon. We''ll likely stay the night in the Hersir''s home, as travelling so close to the Hading woods after dusk is a fool''s gambit. The maw-beasts that call the forest home are eager to feast upon man-flesh, "how do you think Asvir came to be?"


    How do I think Asvir came to be? What kind of question is that? Obviously, it came to be by people building it. But Dad doesn''t want the obvious answer, he wants me to think deeper. So... It had to start somewhere, right? It couldn''t have just sprung up fully formed from Ginnungagap, could it?


    I tilt my head to the side, considering the sprawling collection of buildings clustered around the home of Dorri Rattlespear. Dorri isn''t the first Hading-Hersir. His father, Framarr of the Fierce Wind, was the one who Jarl Erikaer Corpsemaker appointed to the region; Dorri just inherited the position alongside the house.


    With that in mind, surely the Hersir''s house was built first, no? The rest would''ve been built after. But why would they need to build all the rest? Normally, everyone and their families live in the same house, under the same roof. They''d all be allied by blood, marriage, or employment, of course, but that''s just good sense. Can''t be living with someone you don''t have some connection to!


    So, what would prompt the construction of all those other houses? You can build a house to accommodate any amount of people by adding expansions as needed, so space couldn''t have been an issue. Could it have been a power struggle? Hm, no, couldn''t have been. While a power struggle could certainly warrant a new house, I can''t imagine that the power strugglers would put up with living on the same plot of land as their rivals. After all, only one man can be the landowner.


    And speaking of men of status, Asvir does have—according to others, anyways, I''ve not seen enough of the world to know one way or another—an unusual concentration of talented craftsmen. From smiths to cobblers to coopers, the walls of Asvir contain them all.


    I scowl, coming up short. There''s something there, something with the craftsmen, I can almost taste it. But as ill-fortune would have it—I''ll need to take an extra long bath to get rid of such poor luck—I can''t quite make the connection.


    Dad listens as I explain my reasoning to him, nodding along with every link I find. I flush, coming to my failure, embarrassment and shame rising within. Fortunately, Dad makes no comment of my lackings, merely gently providing the missed connections.


    "Just about every town and village started as someone''s farm," Dad begins as we draw close to Asvir''s plank-wrapped walls. "Only one I can think of that didn''t is Hedeby, but that''s a special case."


    "Why didn''t Hedeby," I ask slowly, taking my time to sound out the unfamiliar name, "start as a farm?"


    "It might have, actually," Dad hums as he considers the question before suddenly shaking his head, "Either way, that''s neither here nor there. So, lets say that you''re a wealthy, powerful landowner–"


    "Like you, Dad?"


    "I..." Dad pauses, pursing his lips as he casts a narrow-eyed glance around, "I suppose so, yes, but I must ask you to keep such thoughts to yourself while we call ourselves guests of the Hersir, if only for politeness'' sake."


    I frown, but concede the point. After all, making foes of the Hersir would end poorly for all of us, "I will, Dad."


    Dad nods, moving on with a quick pace, "Regardless, if you''re a wealthy, powerful landowner who tires of having to travel when his sword needs repairing, what can you do to soothe your troubles?"


    I shudder at the thought of a broken sword. Such poor fortune would surely infect those around it, but at least it isn''t as ill an omen as armor breaking, "I could buy a better sword, one like Crowfeeder that doesn''t break."


    Dad snorts, "That is certainly one option, yes, and a rather clever one at that. Can you think of another, however?"


    "I could..." Hm, how wealthy am I? "Could I buy a thrall who knows how to work sword-iron?"


    Dad''s smile lengthens as he chuckles, "And that''s another clever solution, but do you have any others?"


    "Well, if I''m wealthy enough to buy a thrall as skilled as that," I run thumb and forefinger across chin and jaw respectively while Dad signals for the sledge to stop, "then, am I wealthy enough to move a smith to my house?"


    "Indeed you are!" Dad says with a small round of applause, head gently swiveling as he surveys Asvir''s outskirts, "So, you''ve got yourself a skilled smith living under your roof and no longer have to journey to have your things fixed, good job, but a new problem presents itself. Can you guess what that might be?"If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    A new problem? Why is there always a new problem? Why can''t things just stay solved? Sighing internally, I get down to work.


    So, I''m a wealthy landowner and it''s the fact that I''ve got a live-in smith that''s causing the problem. Which means that this wasn''t a problem before I had the smith, so it can''t be related to non-smithing things. Well, maybe it can, but that''s for later thinking. For now, I''ll just focus on what problems a smith specifically might generate.


    Let''s get the obvious out of the way first: "Do I have access to a steady supply of metal?"


    "I''ll say you struck a deal with a dwarf clan for some metal, but good thinking. Metal and fuel," Dad adds as an after-thought, answering my next question.


    If metal and fuel aren''t the problem, and I''m probably getting along fine with the smith, then it''s likely that the problem has an external source. Jealous neighbors are always a source of trouble for the wealthy and powerful. And how could they make trouble in a way that relies on me having a smith? Eyes narrowing, I ask, "Do my neighbors plot to poach the smith out from under me?"


    Dad chuckles, "Certainly a way to put it, but you are correct. Just as you used your wealth to convince the smith to come live with you, others could very well do the same and you''re back to square one."


    "Even worse," I add, "because then I''d have to go to my jealous neighbors to have my things fixed."


    Dad smiles as doom dawns on the horizon. I can feel it in the air, the coming tragedy heralded by splaying, wriggling fingers. I try to dodge, to avoid any amount of the wretched death awaiting at the end of my fate-thread, yet it is all for naught.


    Dad ruffles my hair, leaving it in a horrid, tangled state. I sigh, retrieving a comb from my belt-pouch and running it through my crimson locks. It takes a lot of effort to get my hair this nice, dammit! The least he could do is let me keep it as is for a little bit!


    "Very smart," Dad says as I shuffle out of arm''s reach, "So, to avoid such a thing, how would you secure a smith to stay?"


    Hm, I could offer him more money than my rivals, but that could get expensive fast. I need a more permanent solution, something that ties him down. A-ha! "I marry him to one of my daughters."


    "That would do the trick," Dad nods as I quietly cheer, "but, let''s say you''ve already married off all your daughters, what then?"


    I pause my cheering, considering the wrinkle he''s thrown my way. What makes a man stay somewhere if marriage is off the table? Well, let''s take a deeper look; why do men do anything? For ordstirr, for the power that comes from recognition by their peers.


    If a man feels he has better prospects for gaining ordstirr elsewhere, then he will go to that place. Thus, if I want to keep the smith nearby, I should ensure that his prospects are better here than anywhere else. And how do I do that?


    Oh, wait! That''s it!


    Almost stumbling over myself in my excitement, I turn to Dad with a broad smile on my lips, "I make him a landowner! I give him his own house, one close to mine, and make him my neighbor!"


    Dad smiles again, "Very, very well done, Halla." I barely get a chance to preen before his hand ruffles my hair, undoing the hard-fought order I''d established mere moments before.


    "Indeed," a new voice adds as its master joins the conversation, "That was a fine display of clever thinking, one I must confess my hearing of."


    The Hersir of the Hading, Dorri Rattlespear, smiles as he approaches Dad and I. A sturdy man with hair of black-and-white, Dorri stands eye-to-eye with Dad. His ever-present spear, a gift of the sea commanded by Dorri''s will, floats at his side. Its haft bears a half-dozen rings that rattle and sing with every motion.


    "Steinarr Freedfire and Halla Steinarsdottir," Dorri continues, making the first greeting as is his right as Hersir, "it seems to me that I have luck''s favor on this fine day, for I was planning on paying you a visit." He lifts his hands in a soothing gesture as Dad stiffens ever-so-slightly, "Fear not, for it was simply to check in. The winter was hard for us all."


    Dad nods, shoulders relaxing as he breathes out a shallow puff, "Thank you for your concern, Hersir, but I am happy to report that my family has pulled through fully intact."


    "I am happy to hear that," Dorri smiles, eyes drifting across the sledge and its cloth-wrapped contents. "While I am quite eager to sate my curiosity, there is a more pressing matter to concern myself with." His eyes don''t stop their journey as his entire body follows their march, his movement only ending when he lays eyes on me. "The winds carried your clever words to me, Halla Steinarsdottir, and I feel it would be unfair if I gave you nothing in return. Thus," he flexes his hands, the sunlight glimmering off his finger-rings as he selects one from the display, "a gift from me to you, in the hopes that your wisdom grows to staggering heights."


    Sliding silver from his thumb, Dorri holds the little band of shiny silver out for me to take. While ultimately rather simple in design and construction, the inclusion of a tiny red gem is quite tasteful. Still, it''s not the silver or the rock that has my heart pounding so, but what it represents.


    I swallow, mouth suddenly dry, as I carefully accept the offered gift. Skin greets silver as my soul surges to new heights. Power floods my being, ordstirr gathering in great bundles like miles of thread woven into thick bolts of ready cloth.


    Ordstirr, the power of the soul''s glory, gained by the respect and admiration of others. It flows through my limbs, warming every inch of skin and filling it with might untold.


    Crimson flames erupt from my skin, my frami igniting of its own volition to contain the sudden surge of ordstirr. Though the fire heats the air into a wavy mess, it leaves my flesh untouched and unburnt.


    Dad chuckles, hand slipping unharmed through flames to rest upon my head, "I suppose I''ll have to teach you how to properly use your ordstirr, huh?"


    And that''s exactly what this is; my ordstirr. Ordstirr I earned through my own merit, not something I gained through simply being related to Dad or my extended kin.


    Gods, this feels good. Recognition at last.