Einar the Silent was the only Viking who hated battle. He was the standard-bearer, carrying the massive war horn into battle, but he never blew it. He was strong and brave in the fight, but he yearned for peace and quiet.
During a final, desperate battle against a rival clan, the Jarl was struck down. The tide of the battle turned against Einar’s people. They needed the war horn's call to rally, to find their courage.
Einar stood amidst the chaos, the horn heavy in his hands. He could have rallied them to a bloody, doomed victory. He could have continued the cycle of violence that had claimed his father, his uncle, and now his Jarl.
He put the horn to his lips.
He didn't blow the war call. He played a soft, mournful melody, a song of farewell, a tune of peace. The sound cut through the noise of steel and screams, quietening the battlefield. Warriors on both sides stopped fighting, confused by the strange music.
In that moment of silence, the Jarl’s younger brother, a diplomat who had always preached peace, stepped forward and raised his hands, calling for a parley.
The silence held. The battle ended not with a victory, but a truce. Einar lowered the horn. He had sounded the horn of peace, a sound louder than any war cry
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