It foreboded a black harvest-time and a blacker winter.
With these misfortunes a fever rose in the blood of the men of Hightown.
Such things had happened before for the Norland was never more than one stage distant from famine; and in the old days there had been but a single remedy.

Food and wealth must be won from a foray overseas.

It was years since Ironbeard had ridden Egir's road to the rich lowlands, and the Bearsarks were growing soft from idleness.

Ironbeard himself was willing, for his hall was hateful to him since the Queen's death.
Moreover, there was no other way.

Food must be found for the winter or the folk would perish.
So a hosting was decreed at harvest-tide, for few men would be needed to win the blasted crops; and there began a jointing of shields and a burnishing of weapons, and the getting ready of the big ships.