Ivar gestured with a gloved hand toward the rotting pig farm.
Sitting on a wooden barrel right next to the Greek spy was a third man.
He was wearing a rope around his neck, and a dark rune was burned directly into the center of his forehead.
Even in the freezing rain, the scarred man was flipping a steel throwing knife into the air and catching it by the blade.
"Kjartan might smell like cheap ale and bad decisions, but before he was a pirate, he was a scholar in Francia. If anyone can read Ragnar's chemical formulas and tell us if my theories are bullshit or not, it is him." Ivar said.
Though Ubba still looked skeptical, he grunted in agreement and kicked his spurs into his horse's sides, leading the way into the courtyard of the farm.
The Greek spy stepped out from the shadows of the rotting porch.
