Sword Brothers

by Jerry Autieri

  Ulfrik stared at Vilhjalmer, his hands turning so cold he tucked them beneath his arms. "Gunther has ever been a friend to me. His son, Mord, that I could believe. But not Gunther."

  Vilhjalmer shrugged. "I've no proof he has done more, but of his orders I am certain. You do not doubt you've had a hidden foe working against you? No man climbs as high as you without making enemies."

  "I know my enemies. They're on the opposite side of the shield wall." Ulfrik now looked away, his heart in his throat.

  "Not every enemy is so easy to see. You are successful, and Gunther and Mord both are ambitious and greedy men. You may love Gunther, but I never have. He has always wanted to own me, to force me to befriend his unlucky and unlikeable son so that when I am grown into my inheritance I will favor them." He paused and leaned forward. "Favor them as I would favor you. Do you see how they may resent you?"

  "Did you come here in darkness to turn me against my oldest friend?"

  Vilhjalmer rubbed his face and sighed. "Of course not. I came to save your life."

  "I'm at risk of dying from boredom. So thank you for the conversation."

  "Your son, Gunnar, has made a mistake so big that I scarcely believe he's the same man I thought I knew. It is why I have decided to help my father make the right decision, whether or not he agrees with me. You must leave tonight. Tomorrow your head will be taken, placed in a sack, and sent back to your family. It will be escorted by an invading army and all your family will be put to death once they are captured. My father will weep in the deep of his heart, but to do less would ruin his reputation."

  Ulfrik's bloodless hands clenched and he blinked at Vilhjalmer. "What did he do?"

  "He left witnesses alive to his crimes, that's the short of it. But in detail, he took his men to Byrgisvik. Do you know the place?" Ulfrik shook his head. "Well, it is a hamlet of four farms with a church holding it together. Franks mostly live there, though our people have joined them. The church serves all Christians for miles around, and do you know whose church it is? Father Lambert's."

  "Gunnar went to find Father Lambert?"

  "He did," Vilhjalmer lightly slapped the table as if drawing the conclusion had been a challenge. "But Father Lambert was not there. He's been taken to Rouen to recover from his wounds. So Gunnar burned down the church with everyone inside, then tracked down any who fled and killed them as well. I don't know where he went now, but personally I hope he sailed off the edge of the world."

  "He left witnesses, who happen to know who he is?"

  Vilhjalmer snorted a laugh. "He did. A young girl hid in the underbrush while her brother was run down. The dark-haired man with one hand who led the group told him how he hated Franks. Then he chopped off the brother's hand before cracking open his head. The girl says she fainted and when she awoke her brother was dead and Byrgisvik a smoking ruin."

  Ulfrik put his cold hands to his hot face. "He broke the terms and forfeited my life."

  "No doubt intending to prove Father Lambert had not lost his legs. Aren voiced that doubt to me, and while it is a good thought, it is misguided. The Church has decided upon your death, and facts will not interfere with it now. You killed a bishop, and that's the only fact. Now Hrolf must execute you or he will never be able to take a hostage again."

  Biting his lip so hard he tasted the coppery blood, Ulfrik stared blankly ahead, imagining how he would beat Gunnar to death if he ever saw him again. "That boy, he never grew up after losing his hand. He became someone else after that. His temper rules him, and it has killed me, his mother, and his brothers. I'll kill him myself."

  "I don't disagree, but now is not the time. At dawn you will be dragged out for a beheading. I'm setting you free before that happens."

  "Why? Even if I escape, I am now wanted by your father. He will bring his full weight to bear. I am a burden to anyone allied with me."

  A small smile appeared on Vilhjalmer's face. "I have admired you since the day we met, and every year since I've found a new reason to believe you are my father's most important man. He is being forced to part with you, but I am unwilling to let you go."

  He stood then rapped on the door. The man outside entered, a young and strong warrior with the still smooth skin of youth. He kept his head down, but in his arms he carried a bundle of mail and three swords. These he placed on the table, and Ulfrik recognized his long sword and sax atop his mail coat. The man dropped a pack from his back, along with a plain wooden shield and leaned these against the table before closing the door and leaning against it.

  Vilhjalmer picked up his own sword and carefully drew the gleaming blade with a metallic whisper. He held it low, its point to Ulfrik's feet.

  "I have prepared a disguised escort to take you home. You will gather your wealth, family, and what men will follow, then leave these lands. I will ensure you that my father does not pursue or interfere with your departure in anyway. But before any of this is done, you must swear loyalty to me. Put your hands upon my blade and pledge to serve me when I call, and to do no harm to my father, his people, or his reputation."

  "I am an old man now and my fighting days are close to an end. What good will I do you in the future?"

  "Let me worry for your usefulness. You can teach me your secrets, for one. For now, you must decide if you accept my offer."

  Ulfrik stared at the blade then up into Vilhjalmer's smiling face. He took it lightly in his hands. "I swear loyalty to you, Vilhjalmer Hrolfson, never to be broken but in death."

  Vilhjalmer sheathed his sword and raised Ulfrik to his feet. "In time, my father will understand why we did this tonight. For now, find your family and flee this land. Go south and trouble the Danes and petty jarls who are always bickering and fighting. One day I shall conquer that land, and it would be good for you to be already among them."

  "Is that your first command to me, Lord?" Ulfrik could not help but twist the title in jest, and Vilhjalmer smiled at it.

  "Just a suggestion. As for Aren, I doubt he will rejoin you in time to make your escape. I will find him and watch out for him. He is still an outlaw, but I will ensure he finds his way back to you when all is settled."

  Ulfrik picked up the bag and the shield. "You've packed for me. What about my men? You'll have them released?"

  "It's already done. I knew you would not leave without them. Good luck to you, Ulfrik. You once saved my life, and now I save yours. Our scales our balanced."

  They clasped arms a final time before the door opened and Ulfrik stepped outside for the first time in weeks. The air was surprisingly fresh on his face, and in the darkness he saw the dull gleams of mail in the dim light of Vilhjalmer's candle. He was returning home a fugitive, but smiled nonetheless.

  "You're certain you can prevent your father from attacking?"

  "First there will be a crazed hunt to find where you escaped to, then I will tell my father in private what has happened. He will be madder at my going behind his back than your escape. Knowing you are sworn to me will ease his mind. Besides, I half suspect he knows what I am doing. Yet do not waste time. The Church has its own resources to find you."

  Ulfrik nodded, then turned to join his escort and his freed men. Despite the promise of safety, he recalled Vilhjalmer's warning and his stomach ached at the thought. Violence might follow no matter what anyone wanted.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  "I want you to kill the mighty Ulfrik Ormsson," Mord said, standing on the bank of the Seine. He searched the black line of trees on the opposite shore, thick pines like sharp teeth against the stale morning sky. "My spy is certain he has escaped, but is not sure how. He will gather his men and ships, then flee out of reach. You must get him before then."

  The bandit leader standing beside him was called Knut the Hound, a thin, nondescript man with a bald head and a scar on his crown that formed a crater. Mord wondered if it collected water when it rained. His beard was dirty blond and wagged when he spoke.

  "No easy thing. He will be on alert and surrounded b
y his men." Knut kicked a rock into the brown water. "I could never get close enough."

  Mord sneered at him. "You are supposed to be a great killer, capable of deeds unreachable to normal men. You have worked for my wife's family, and they recommended you. Have I contacted the wrong man?"

  "I'm your man," Knut said. He turned from Mord and began walking down the shore.

  The insolence stoked a fire in Mord's belly, but he held his tongue. He was out of options now that Ulfrik had inexplicably been freed. The servant in Mord's pay reported that Hrolf was in an uproar at the news, but later he appeared calmer and had no immediate orders for pursuit. Ulfrik, that lucky bastard, had evaded sure death and someone had given Hrolf reason to pause.

  "Then you will kill Ulfrik and his sons?" Mord asked, rushing to catch up. "He has been gone a day already, and must be at his hall by now. Maybe you can do a hall burning?"

  Knut stopped and regarded him with hooded eyes. "If it's such a simple thing, why not do it yourself? Why pay my price?"

  "Because I can't be shown to have a part of this. I will be ruler in those lands after Ulfrik is gone, and it would not do to be known as a murderer. Yet Ulfrik must die, or he will hover around me like a moth to a lamp. And it is no easy thing to kill him. So I need a man of reputation to make it happen."

  "I have worked for the Franks many times, but not our own folk. It's not our way, really. You should challenge him to a duel and kill him there."

  Mord blanched at the thought, remembering his father's warning as well as Ulfrik's uncanny swordsmanship. "This way is more practical."

  They both stared at the river flowing past. A fat, high-sided trading ship, a knarr, rowed upriver with an escort of two sleeker fighting ships. When it had passed, Knut broke the silence.

  "They will all be alert for trouble, but they will also be in haste to escape. That will work to my advantage. Ulfrik and his sons will be easy to spot, but I cannot possibly get all of them in the time that I have."

  "You must kill the sons," Mord growled. "They will come back for revenge."

  "I have a plan for the sons, but it relies more on luck than skill. I will need aid and some simple preparations to make it work. If you provide this I will have an assistant set the trap. Even still, it may not kill all his sons."

  Mord laced his hands at the back of his head and sighed. "All right. You kill Ulfrik and his sons are targets of opportunity. I will pay you extra for every son killed. We don't have time to haggle, so let me hear your plan."

  Knut gave a faint smile. With his plain looks and unimposing stature he appeared more like a wainwright than a skilled killer. The bald head made him seem older than he was. "There are two points where he will be vulnerable. Leaving his hall and boarding his ships. Before or after he will have too many men surrounding him. I just have to get close enough to him to cut him, and he will be dead before the sun sets."

  "I'd prefer him to die straightaway," Mord said. "Why the delay?"

  "Poisoned blade. But I will usually strike a fatal blow in the first attempt. The poison is just a precaution in case circumstances force me to flee."

  "And how will you get so close to Ulfrik?"

  Now a wolfish smile came to Knut's face and the killer inside of him shined through. "That secret is what makes me useful to the Frankish nobility, and why you are paying me so richly. I will get right beside him and he won't know the threat."

  The sun peeked through the clouds and bounced off Knut's bald head. Mord stared at him through the glare. "I suppose that's all you'll tell me. Then here's the first half of your payment. The rest comes after confirmation of Ulfrik's death. Remember, get his sons as well."

  "I will speak to your men about the sons. They must work fast if we expect to catch them." Knut then grabbed the pouch of gold Mord offered and weighed it in his palm. "But do not worry. I've not failed any job before, and I don't take work I think I cannot do."

  "Good, then I look forward to hearing of Ulfrik's death tomorrow."

  They parted, with Knut saying nothing more and ambling down the riverbank to his rowboat as if going fishing. Mord watched him go and heard the crunch of approaching footsteps. He did not bother to turn, but watched Knut launching his boat. The rocky voice of Magnus the Stone came over his shoulder.

  "He says he can do it, then?"

  "Only Ulfrik is guaranteed. I worry for leaving his sons alive."

  Magnus gave a derisive snort. "The sons are all fools. Gunnar is like a wild boar that you can bait into any trap. The young one would probably piss himself if you came at him with a sword. Only the middle one has some potential, but he's not his father. As long as Ulfrik is dead, you will have no worries with the brothers. We'll handle them one at a time."

  "My father thinks differently."

  "I love your father dearly, but he is old. He worries like an old man. I don't think you need to even kill Ulfrik, but I can see why it makes sense."

  Mord faced Magnus and narrowed his eyes at him. "If Ulfrik lives he will hound me incessantly. I cannot have him nipping at my heels forever. Besides, if he hasn't yet learned how I've maneuvered him into this disgrace, he will with enough time. Then it would be open war."

  Magnus shrugged, then pointed with his chin toward Knut's boat. "Your wife says he murdered a count in his bedchamber. Do you believe it?"

  "I don't know. He seems like nothing, but I sensed evil underneath his skin. I think he will be ruthless enough to do what we need, and by tomorrow morning I will be rid of Ulfrik's influence for good."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Ulfrik walked through his empty hall, his hands brushing tables stacked with used wood plates. His footsteps rustled over the rotted straw on the ground, echoing through the milky light of the hall. He had a mind to burn this hall to ash, but considered one day he might return to reclaim it. A slave grunted from the far end of the hall, the bald, old Frankish man struggling to drag the iron cooking pot to the front doors where hirdmen would retrieve it.

  Despite the frenetic pace of his return and his rushed reunions with everyone, he now moved with slow deliberation. Was he really dragging everything including the cooking pot off to a new land? He could scarcely believe he had to flee, but now understood he had evaded a far worse fate. He had lost Hrolf's support but gained Vilhjalmer's, trading king for prince, or perhaps a better thought was trading the past for the future. Hrolf was old, and while he might rule many years, his son would doubtlessly inherit his power. He might even usurp it, and Ulfrik would return to the kingdom he helped forge.

  The doors opened and the exhausted slave cowered from the light spilling inside. Rather than hirdmen, the curves of Runa's shadow appeared. He stepped up to the high table and extended his hand to her.

  "Come join me here one last time before we leave."

  She stared at the slave as she walked past, then turned her bright smile to Ulfrik. No matter how she had aged, she was a radiant beauty as perfect as the day they had met. She still moved with the grace of the young, lacking the bent and painful tilt of other women her age. "What are you doing in here? We don't want to load the ships at night. There won't be a moon tonight for all the clouds."

  "There are not many memories in this hall," he said, looking up to the rafter where his banner had hung and now only cut rope dangled. "Still, it is hard to leave. I am being chased out like a rat."

  Runa took his offered hand. Her skin was cool and rough from the work of spinning and weaving, and hard calluses formed where she had taken up her sword practice again. He guided her to his side and slipped an arm around her.

  "This is a setback," she said, fitting into the hollow beneath his arm. "But we have loyal men, ships, and plenty of riches. You have the jewels?"

  He slapped his waist. "I'll carry them myself for now. They're seeds for a new life. I suppose it is what Fate had always planned for us."

  She nodded. "Aren will be all right?"

  "He's with Einar," he said with confidence he did not possess. "V
ilhjalmer will watch out for him, and will help him reunite once we send word of where we settle."

  "I am not afraid," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "As long as we are together, it is all that matters to me. Do you think there is still land enough in the Danelaw?"

  "We will make room if we must, but there is still much of Northumbria yet to conquer." Ulfrik had set his sights on England as a temporary landing for his people. "It will be good to take up the sword again. I don't know if I could settle for another year of peace."

  Runa smiled, then squeezed him. "Strange as it seems, I don't think I could either. War is all we've known, and having you lying around the hall with no great plans to occupy your thoughts made for a hard year." They both shared a laugh, and she slipped from under his arm. "Be quick here. I will be with our grandchildren. They are excited for this."

  "They don't understand what's happening." Ulfrik kissed Runa's forehead and walked her to the front door. "Go keep them from getting underfoot."

  "And Ulfrik," Runa said as she paused at the door. "We are all angered with Gunnar, but he was trying to do what he thought would help. Do not humiliate him. I'm certain he's already feeling foolish enough."

  "You said he was thinking. I don't think he was." She lowered her head and glared at him. "But I've not said anything to him, have I? Relax, Wife, I will keep the peace. I've learned a few things in my old age."

  She gave him a slow nod, then smiled before exiting.

  Ulfrik turned back to the hall, noting that the cooking pot remained by the door yet the slave had vanished. He owned a dozen slaves, and while they had been treated well. he wondered if they planned to flee. He never beat them, and he fed them well. Their clothes were plain, clearly the garb of slaves, but cleaned and replaced whenever they became too old. Still, people loved their freedom and he supposed they might slip away during the confusion. He would not have time to chase them down.