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"Smoke briefly passed across the openings of his nostrils and then dissipated. Twice more smoke made its way across his face until at last a slight cough came from his body. “Something is wrong – need to roll over,” he thought.“Rolled over onto something– fingers slightly moving – hurts – head hurts – feel sick.” He faded out. “Angus! Angus?” The volume by which his name was called out painfully pierced the innermost depths of the brain within his throbbing head so that he felt the muscles within his torso tighten, and then came the vomit. His body writhed for a moment until he was done and then once again lay still. Suddenly his face was cold, cold from liquid running down the sides of his face and neck to soak the collar of his tunic. “Cold,” he thought as his tongue moved to touch the very inside portion of his lips. Now he could hear the hooves of horses trotting close by, and he felt the ground beneath vibrating. Once again the cold liquid fell in rapid drops upon his face. He sighed. “Where?...home?” He faded into unconsciousness."In the mid 1000s AD the Viking Age was in full swing. Vikings from Scandinavia terrorized the coasts of Europe, launching bloody raids in which at times, hundreds were murdered, raped and left destitute or enslaved. The second son of one of the most renowned Viking jarls of his time, Angus Ovarssen yearned to go on the raids with his father, elder brother and the other men in his fathers hird. Soon enough Angus would get his chance to take up the spear, sword and shield and wear the chain shirt and helm of a Viking warrior. He would get much more than what he bargained for, and his adventures would take him far beyond where he could ever have imagined. Not only would his own fate rest on the strength of his character and courage, but the fate of his people may be in his hands in their darkest hour.