“She lives, and she carries another life—one that might be my child. It makes me even more eager to have her freed and at my side.” Ulfrik ran out of words.
Toki shook his head and appeared disturbed by that news. Already regretting his words, Ulfrik patted Toki on the back. “Go and rest, and think on this. I am sorry I’ve upset you.”
“No. You are right. I’d rather know now than find out in the thick of battle. What if I saw her and was distracted? It could end my life. You did right.”
They parted after a brief silence, Ulfrik to rejoin his men in celebration, and Toki to order his thoughts in the dark night.
***
Silver moonlight traced delicate outlines of the men as they rowed in silence. Ulfrik piloted Wave Spear, with Raven’s Talon gliding under Toki’s steady hand only a few oar lengths distant. Six more ships spread out on the water, all following Thor’s high-sided vessel. Two hundred warriors in mail and helmet closed on the bay where Frodi’s three ships bobbed at dock. Only the dip of oars made any sound.
Marching overland to join the attack were two columns of men that would add another one hundred warriors to Thor’s army. Their strike was to be timed to take place at the same times as the main body’s assault, dividing Frodi’s attention between two forces.
Ulfrik’s pulse quickened. He was not worried for his crew, not with the support they had from Kjotve’s veteran forces. He was worried for Runa. He had entreated Thor to tell his men to watch for her, and Thor had mentioned it in his final address before they set out, but Ulfrik doubted anyone would pay heed.
I must find her before anyone else does.
They did not land directly at the docks, choosing a patch of beach further up the fjord and moving in silently, like night spirits. Once everyone assembled, ten men were left to guard the ships while the remaining force organized into columns and marched the remaining distance to the docks.
Frodi’s ships were guarded—to Ulfrik’s surprise. Thor sent three men to deal with the sentries, instructing them to return once the way was clear. There must be two or three times their numbers in guards, Ulfrik worried. I doubt three men are up to the task.
After an agonizing wait, Thor gave a signal to move ahead. There was no sign of violence as Ulfrik passed the docks. He saw a man watching from a ship’s rails and feared a sentry still lived, but then he noticed the man was dead, propped to make it appear he kept watch.
The spring air was cold and cricket song filled the night. The moon winked in the northern sky, beyond the tops of high pines, and painted the world silver and gray. Between the pines, the wide, rutted track crawled away to Frodi’s hall. Thor stood in the center of the track, silently arranging his men into groups. He and his berserkers would lead the main attack, up the center. Rolf and his small band would stay with them. Ulfrik’s men would join a flanking force to loop around from the east. Frodi’s home would be hit from every direction but the north, where only mountains and wolf packs awaited him.
They set off at a jog. Someone drew his sword early and earned a smack against the skull from Yngvar. An errant flash could alert Frodi’s sentries. Ulfrik had divided his forty warriors into groups of ten, taking one himself and giving leadership to each of his veterans: Yngvar, Toki, and Snorri. Each group had drilled together until time had run out. Ulfrik hoped the training paid off as the column of men snaked toward the hall.
In the distance, a horn blasted. Someone had spotted them. Ulfrik was glad it was not his troops that had given away the attack.
“This is it,” he hissed. “We run now. Kill without mercy, for you will be shown none.”
No one shouted, but their blades sighed as they were pulled from their sheaths. Footfalls thudded on the soft ground as the men shot forward. Ahead, lights flared in windows and the main hall brooded on its high mound, only its rooftop visible as they ran. Ulfrik wanted to get there first, not for the glory of killing Frodi or Bard, but to locate Runa. Rolf had claimed she slept there, in the hall.
Ulfrik heard a swish and felt air rush past his face. Then someone behind him screamed and tumbled. Arrows clattered among them, one even caught in his gray cloak. In the dimness, he could see a line of archers forming between buildings and shooting frantically as his group flitted past.
“Shields!” he screamed. Yngvar repeated the order to the men behind him. The group rushed together, unslinging shields from their backs. More arrows flew toward them, shrieks erupting where the shafts found flesh. “Scatter the archers! Forward!”
Ulfrik led the charge. The archers were not prepared, and knew it. They fell back, melting into the shadows between buildings. Already, a blaze had started, illuminating the night. “We have to get to the hall now, before it is burned down!”
He led his men after the archers, spilling into the maze of buildings. He wanted to gain control over the main track and push on to the hall. “Yngvar, lead your men as planned,” he yelled. “I’ve got to get to the hall before it burns.”
Not waiting to acknowledge Yngvar’s response, he burst onto the main road.
Then he stopped.
Frodi had not been surprised. On the same hill where Ulfrik had fought only months ago, warriors stood bristling with spears, held out from locked shields. This time, however, Frodi had twice the men, maybe even more. Flying over their heads was a white banner with a black raven at its center—High King Harald’s standard.
Thor’s main force was already sweeping up the track to charge the hill. Before they had left, Ulfrik had thought it humorous, attacking Frodi after so recently declaring friendship. Now, Ulfrik wondered whether Thor would still laugh.
The berserker lord didn’t hesitate. There was no parley, or chance for surrender. Thor bellowed a war cry and charged. His men thundered up the hill to where the banner flew. The crash of shield on shield filled the night.
“Finish off the archers!” Ulfrik shouted as he started toward the fight. He would have to skirt the battle line to get into the hall. There would be more men inside as well, and his men would have to stand their own.
Ulfrik joined the line on the far right flank. Thor was at the center, hacking with his tremendous ax. The clash of the battle was the loudest sound Ulfrik had ever heard. His ears were filled with screams of pain and rage, with the rasping metal and the shattering of wood. He slammed his shield into the enemy before him, Fate’s Needle slipping beneath it to return slicked with gore.
The battle line tottered back and forth, spilling corpses out as it rolled on until the earth was sopping and dark with blood. Ulfrik and his men pressed into the enemy’s gap, folding up on their flank and wrapping around. It felt like bending a thick iron bar braced in a rock, but slowly they forced the flank.
Then the western flanking group from the woods struck. Their timing was not as planned, but it was perfect. Reinforcements filled the gaps and formed a lap around the enemy. Frodi’s line broke, men scattering like hens from a fox.
The Raven Banner fell. Ulfrik glimpsed Thor raising the banner in one hand and Frodi’s severed head in another.
Now is my chance. The enemy before Ulfrik pushed past him and fled, leaving the way to the hall open.
Ulfrik did not hesitate. “With me, to the hall!”
Men were already battering down the door. Ulfrik threw himself on their backs just as the door splintered and collapsed. The screeches of women and children met them. Hirdmen stood before guarding their weak charges, grim-faced, their spears leveled.
Ulfrik and the men at his back leaped into the fight. The foeman Ulfrik found blocking him stabbed down at Ulfrik’s exposed foot. But he stepped too far. Fate’s Needle slithered into the man’s belly, easily parting the chain links of his mail shirt. He fell forward as Ulfrik, already looking ahead into the bright hall, withdrew his blade.
“Runa! Where are you?” Ulfrik called. All about him, men struggled and died, but Ulfrik just pushed on into the crowd of old men, women and screaming children. He seized a woman by the arm, his bloody hand sta
ining her sleeve. “Where’s Runa? Where are the slaves?”
The woman stared at him with crazed eyes. When she didn’t immediately respond, he jerked her up to his face and repeated his demand. “I don’t know!” she cried. “She went with Bard and Lady Svala to the back rooms!”
Ulfrik shoved through the crowd and into the back rooms of the hall. Riches were strewn over Frodi’s quarters, as if the place had already been ransacked. He could have made himself wealthier than he ever imagined, but he was not searching for treasure. Where a bench had been pushed aside, a small door, which looked like part of the wall, hung open.
Ulfrik rushed through it, out to the back of the hall. He scanned from side to side. In the moonlight, he saw a gray horse with people bustling about it.
Ulfrik’s side ached and his temple throbbed, but he sprinted to it regardless. As he ran, he saw a shadow of a man hitching the horse to a sledge, and two other men hoisting a pregnant woman onto the sledge.
“Runa! Runa, jump off!”
The three men whirled around at his foolish announcement. Suddenly, Ulfrik realized he was alone.
“Kill him!”
Bard gave the order; Ulfrik recognized his voice and saw his red hair in a sudden beam of moonlight. The two other men drew their swords, silver blazes in the night, and stalked toward him. Bard mounted the driver’s seat and took up the reins.
“Ulfrik!” Runa shot to her feet, but Svala yanked her down. Runa pushed her away, but Svala was stronger.
Ulfrik had one chance. He dropped his shield and stuck his sword in the grass. Pulling a throwing ax from his belt, he ignored the two approaching enemies. He lined the ax-head up with Bard, who was flicking the reins, and let the ax fly.
Svala was still grabbing at Runa and they stumbled around like two drunken dancers. Runa wrenched her arm free and kicked Svala, just as the ax hurtled towards them.
Time stood still, the next moments stretched out before Ulfrik. Everyone moved as if the air was as thick as pinesap. The ax splintered Svala’s head and she fell backward onto her son, spilling her brains into his lap. Bard had just jerked the sledge into motion, and Runa, standing off balance, tumbled backwards onto the ground as the sledge lurched forward.
Ulfrik yanked Fate’s Needle out of the grass, then scooped up his shield with the other hand as his two attackers started their charge. He flung the shield at one, the metal rim crashing into the man’s teeth. Ulfrik parried the other man’s attack. Still hunched over, Ulfrik punched the man in the groin.
The attacker tumbled aside as the first man recovered from the shield bash, but Ulfrik was in control again. The sap that had slowed time evaporated. The second attacker roared forward and took a wild swing. Ulfrik skittered away and carved a deep slice into the back of the man’s thigh. He crumbled, with a howl that persuaded the other attacker to leap to his feet and flee.
Ulfrik whirled to see Bard’s sledge vanishing into the night. He did not care, as long as Runa was unhurt. She lay crumpled on her belly, and he ran to her, tears threatening his eyes. “Runa! Are you hurt?”
Gingerly, he flipped her over and put his head to her chest. When he heard the strong beating of her heart, he nearly cried for it. But she was unconscious and blood leaked from her mouth and nose. Ulfrik wrapped her in his cloak and took her into his arms. “My Runa,” he said, rocking her. “I will keep you safe. You will be all right.”
Buildings everywhere were ablaze, and the screams of the dying and wounded echoed in the uncaring night.
Thirty-one
Grim was practicing with his ax, not far from the main hall and barracks. Sweat streamed down his back and his massive muscles ached with the repetition of practice strikes. Months of constant warfare had beaten Grim into a warrior notorious for rabid ferocity and sheer strength, but now, following Harald’s long campaign in Gautland, Grim’s days were idle.
Jarl Guthorm had sent Grim with honor, which meant much to Harald and his closest men. After several battles, Grim had come to the direct notice of the king and was appointed to Harald’s guard, standing with him in the front ranks of the shield wall.
Harald soon rewarded Grim with gold and silver, far more than he could have obtained squatting in the farmlands of Grenner. Grim had picked the finest weapons and armor from the spoils of battle, and had no responsibility other than protecting the king and killing his enemies. It was a life more glorious than he could have imagined; the only blot upon it was Aud’s curse.
Being close to the king, Grim heard news from men who had visited distant places. He learned that Ulfrik had sworn himself to Kjotve the Rich and Thor Haklang, building ships and a hall of his own. But Grim also knew the curse was still upon him; he could feel it tugging at him while he slept. Fell shapes shambled through his dreams, ghosts that threatened and chastised him. He kept the bone amulet, but doubted its efficacy without Ulfrik’s bowstring. No one but his brother had so much as ever nicked him in a fight. Would the power of the curse guide Ulfrik’s blade to his heart? Grim regularly begged the gods to keep his brother at bay, desperate to ensure he never met Ulfrik in battle.
The king had settled his sizable army in Trondheim, and tended to his family. Grim cared nothing for children, but particularly disliked Harald’s twin sons. Both were named Halfdan, one the White and the other, the Black. Grim could not tell the difference between them, other than their clothing. All four of Harald’s children were brats, which Grim supposed was the case for all princes, but the king’s sudden desire to spend time with them left his troops bored and irritable.
Grim kept occupied by drilling the younger men, or sparring whenever he could find a reluctant opponent. He had nearly killed a spindly armed boy for failing to keep up his shield. Unfortunately, the boy had been a friend of Harald’s twins, and Grim had been forced to apologize and pay for the injuries.
“There you are.”
Grim set down his ax and drew his thick forearm across his brow as two men approached across a field of waving blue-green grass. The day was clear and cool, right at the meridian of spring and summer.
“The king is calling his men together,” the taller of the two men said. “You must return to the hall immediately.”
Grim gave a short nod and a grunt. “I’ll go right away.” Grabbing the ax high on the haft, he started to walk. “What’s it about?”
“He’s not calling us to chat about the weather,” said the other man. They turned back the way they had come, to walk with him. “But it’s big news. He’s calling for everyone.”
Grim didn’t fill in spaces in the conversation. He didn’t like to talk. He had discovered that keeping his mouth shut helped him avoid trouble. The other two traded jokes as they walked.
“So are you always practicing with that ax?” the tall one addressed Grim again. “Don’t you ever relax?”
“I like to be ready.”
“For what?”
“For cutting out the tongues of fools who ask too many questions.”
After that, the two men fell behind and let Grim walk alone to meet the king.
***
Harald’s men were arriving from all over, herded together by runners, slaves, or, as was Grim’s case, other hirdmen. Harald’s eldest son stood next to his father as they waited outside the hall doors. Where the sun touched Harald Finehair’s lustrous, well-groomed hair, it turned to blazing gold. His son had inherited something of it, but nothing as magnificent as Harald’s.
As Grim arrived, he recognized the grizzled, hardened faces of Harald’s best warriors. Sweat flowed down his face and into his mouth; he blew it away angrily.
Once the group had assembled, Harald raised his hand for silence and attention, both of which he received immediately. He scanned their faces, his gaze as sharp as a bird of prey’s. When he spoke, his voice was sonorous. “I have had news from the south. The false jarls of the coast have made an alliance against us. Of this news, I am completely certain. Even now, they gather their men and ships and sail fo
r our lands.”
Growls rippled through the men. Grim ignored them, concentrating on Harald. He felt his chest tighten at the news.
Harald nodded, acknowledging the group’s anger, and continued. “They expect to catch us unaware, dozing in the summer sun like old men. But we will be ready; we are always ready! Prepare yourselves to sail at dawn. We will move first, and move fast, gathering up the levies as we sail down the coast. We will spring upon them and destroy them before they ever reach our homes.”
The men roared their approval and Harald pumped his fist in the air, roaring back at them. Grim joined in, although hesitant. The jarls of the southern coasts would include Agder’s Kjotve the Rich; Ulfrik could be among the enemy sailing to Trondheim.
Clusters of men drifted away, boastful and animated. Harald remained, speaking to his son and a few of his hersir. Catching his eye, Grim approached and bowed. “King Harald, may I ask if the Kjotve the Rich is among the men we will destroy?”
The hersir with Harald gave Grim a cool look, but Harald always made time to speak with his men, particularly those who guarded his flanks in battle. Harald raised his brow at the question. “He still calls himself King of Agder, so I believe he is.”
“Who is strong among his men, Your Majesty?” Grim had to know for sure.
“His son, Thor Haklang, is as much a leader as his father. He is a berserker, and a great warrior. Is that who you are asking for?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Grim said, bowing as he backed away. “I will not bother you any longer. It will be a pleasure to kill them both.”
King Harald nodded and turned back to his son and the hersir. Grim walked until he rounded the far side of the hall. Then, when no one looked, he threw himself back against the wall, clutching the amulet in his left hand and bracing himself with the right. He felt dizzy. The curse was coming for him. There was no escape. To flee would turn him into an outlaw—a short life. To sail with Harald would bring Grim to the only man who could stand against him. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that when he opened them, the curse would be gone.
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