Heading home to the Hebrides, King Olaf spotted an opportunity to raid the lands of Andraes Vilhelmsson near the coast. Charging into the village of Lindahl, he spied that there was just enough room in the Birlinn Nathair Mhara to load additional booty. The defending bowmen were quickly dealt with by the mercenaries from the King of Norway but the mighty host of Danish warriors took longer to break down and the heavy rains prevented the burning of the village. Sensing defeat, the cowardly Vilhelmsson fled the fight. Alas, Olaf’s warriors were tiring and failed to land a blow on the advancing bodyguard. Olaf leapt into the fight with against the bodyguard challenging them, He had dispatched many noble but foolish men this way before and the first man fell swiftly to his flashing blade. Then, witchcraft struck as Olaf’s blade shattered leaving Him defenceless and outnumbered and he fell, a warriors death. Thus died Olaf a Mighty Warrior King. His warriors returned to the Hebrides with his body and He was buried at sea from whence He came, flames flickering and spluttering in the night skies in the shadow of the stones of Callanish as the Nathair Mhara sank below the waves.
The Saga of Iomhair MacAulay
I am Olaf’s eldest son and claim the Title King of the Hebrides following my Father’s untimely death. I had spent several years of life on Iona where I was educated by the monks, now a man of faith I set out to rule the lands in a different way from my father but am bound by our culture to be at feud with Vilhelmsson. New recruits have joined from other islands and during the long autumn nights We are patiently sharpening our axe blades, waiting and planning. Winter is coming.