Ulfrik let his words hang. He knew the girl was bright enough to comprehend. She appeared to think, then turned to Toki. "I have not grown cold on Toki, as you say Lord Ulfrik. I have been frightened, and I've been ungrateful. Toki has a kind heart, and I enjoy his company."
"I think you're the only one willing to say that these days." Ulfrik meant it in jest, but Toki snapped his head up and Runa elbowed his arm with a frown. "Sorry, I am tired. I'm glad to hear you say so, as I guess Toki is. But you came here seeking refuge from a man you feared. Did you know Vermund is now dead?"
Halla's eyes widened and her cloak unfolded as her hand raised to her mouth. "Dead? What happened?"
"I killed him in battle," Ulfrik said, shooting Toki a silencing look. Runa patted his leg beneath the table, and Ulfrik let a small smile grow. "That is what happens in battle. Men die, and Vermund was one. This time. Now here's another thing to ponder. Your father has taken arms against me. If you are promised to Toki, I can be lenient with him. But his pride is amazing, and he may yet return to fight again. If we meet on the battlefield, only one of us will survive. And I'm certain it will be me. Does this change your heart?"
Halla shrank beneath her cloak, her eyes widening and face growing pale. Ulfrik did not relent in his stare, silently demanding an answer. Panic, confusion, fear, all played out on her face. She seemed unprepared to make a decision, and Ulfrik's fist balled at her wavering. He inhaled to prompt her again, then she spoke.
"I don't want my father to die. But he makes his own choices, and if those lead to death, then I must accept it. That is Fate, which cannot be denied." She glanced around at everyone, including her slave. "I have chosen Toki and he has chosen me, also the work of Fate. All of this loss saddens me, and it cannot be for nothing. If Toki will have me, then I will be his."
Toki slid across the bench to Halla's side, eyes flashing and mouth quivering. Ulfrik shook his head and rolled his eyes at Runa, who simply smiled. Toki took Halla's hands into his own. "Of course, I will have you."
"By the gods it's late," Ulfrik said as he stood. "The last thing I need is to sit through this. So hear my words, both of you. I'm your jarl and you are sworn to obey me in all things. I am sworn to protect you and your property. Let neither side forget the duty to the other. Halla, you are no longer my hostage but part of my home. I cannot guarantee your father's life. But I demand your loyalty."
Halla's eyes brimmed with tears, not joyful ones, Ulfrik suspected. Her voice quavered as she answered. "Yes, Lord Ulfrik. My loyalty is with you now. But I beg you, be kind to my mother. If the worst happens, please allow her to join me here. She needs me."
"I make no guarantees. I will treat her fairly, on that you have my word. Now all of you leave and let me sleep."
When they had all left, Ulfrik offered his hand to Runa and helped her from the bench. "You don't agree with this, do you?"
"Where there are wolf ears wolf teeth are close."
"You think she will betray us?"
"I think she doesn't know what she wants, no matter what she just said. That can be dangerous to us."
"But Toki will keep her in line."
Runa laughed and hooked Ulfrik's arm to guide him to their bed. "Toki looks at her and sees only sunshine. I will keep her in line, you can count on that."
Ulfrik laughed, then paused to stretch. "Maybe I should give you command of a ship. I'm always looking for a strong leader."
They laughed again, and once beneath the covers of their bed, Ulfrik fell into a sleep as deep as death.
Hardar's hall finally emptied of crying wives and weeping children. Except the moaning of injured hirdmen laid out on the floor, the place was quiet. He slouched on his chair, fire in every joint and pain at every movement. A thick gash flamed on his inner calf where a spear had narrowly missed his thigh. His eyes throbbed and whenever he closed them he saw a bloody slope of crumpled bodies and raining arrows.
He was ruined. His best men spent their lives on a wild gambit that was doomed from the first. Kjotve had counseled against a head-on attack, cursing it as foolish and weak. Hardar slid further down his chair, shaking his head at how he and Vermund had expected numbers to overwhelm Ulfrik. He had never seen so many arrows. If he had not guided his few bows to counter-fire, they would have all died without striking a blow. The thought made him twitch with a chill.
With the bitter business of paying weregild to the families of the dead finished, Kjotve emerged into the low light of the hall. His massive shape lumbered to Hardar in his chair, pausing beside him before pulling up a bench. "It was ill luck, Jarl Hardar. Your men say you didn't offer anything to the gods before setting out. Now that's another misstep, right there."
Hardar's eye twitched, then he exploded from his chair. He rounded on Kjotve, seizing his furs in both hands and hauling him off his seat. "You fucking arrogant turd! You could've turned everything. Ulfrik was on his knees even when we broke. You have a hundred men. A hundred fucking men! And you sailed off! Why?"
He shoved wide-eyed Kjotve back to the bench, bending over him, heaving like he had just lifted an anvil overhead. Kjotve's shock twisted to a wry smile. "Did you see his archers reforming? You were too busy running to notice, eh? I want Ulfrik, but not badly enough to charge into an arrow storm."
"But we had you covered. They chased us to the water and killed us boarding the ships. You were three spear-lengths away; you could've done more than abandon us."
Kjotve rose like a glacier emerging from the frigid sea. He stared down at Hardar, whose anger cooled in the shadow of the great jarl. Kjotve's voice was low but rich with potent ire. "You call me an arrogant turd, when I gave you every warning of your own stupidity. You and that fool Vermund were so full of yourselves, so sure I'd be willing to die for your whore daughter. You wouldn't listen to me. What could a foreigner know that you kings of grass and sheep don't? Well, you sailed past as fucking beacon. Do you remember what I told you?"
Hardar recoiled as Kjotve bore down on him. He nodded, recalling Kjotve's plea to turn around and find a way to strike with surprise.
"Good you recall. Ulfrik had hours to ready himself, and he did. Look what it earned you. I told you I would not charge upslope into waiting spears backed by arrows. That you managed to inflict the damage you did is a gift of the gods. Now you are a broken man. Ulfrik will sail into your fjord, burn your homes, rape your women, plunder your treasures, and put your head on top of a pole. All because you wouldn't listen to me."
Kjotve's words pushed him back into his chair, where he collapsed with his hands covering his face. He dragged them down his cheeks, pulling his bottom eyelids. The cool air touched the exposed eyes and drew water. Everyone left in the hall hung their heads or stared into the dark corners. Hardar sensed the air of desolation gripping the hall, but then inspiration flashed.
"I'm not defeated." Hardar sat up in his chair, looked into Kjotve's shadow-painted face. "Jarl Vermund has fallen, and his body not even recovered. He has family and allies throughout these islands. They will seek revenge for him. I have kin in the north yet to unite with me. But Ulfrik stands alone, and I have struck him a heavy blow."
Kjotve nodded appreciatively. "You better hasten to send word to your allies. It may be as you say, but I wonder if you will be alive to see it. Ulfrik is only hours away while your allies will need days to assemble, if not more."
"Have you no sense?" Hardar hissed under his breath. "These men cannot hear that. They need hope."
"They need a plan," Kjotve said, without adjusting his voice. "Let me deal with Ulfrik the way I suggested. It may be easier for me, now that you've reduced his numbers."
"A nighttime attack," Hardar said flatly. "Haven't you been in these lands long enough to know that even the darkest hour is never truly dark? It's not like your battles in Norway."
"But men sleep here, in whatever passes for night. It is enough. I do not need to strike him dead. I just need to cut off his legs. He will be watching for me, as he surel
y counted the sails that invaded his lands. But we can move with speed he cannot match. I have done this more times than I can count. I have touchwood to start a flame, something you lack here. Fire will spread, panic will greet it, and my men will do their work and be gone. You will then have the time to assemble your allies and finish matters for yourselves. Your name and glory will be preserved."
Kjotve's smile flashed from the blackness of his face. Hardar caught himself leaning in to hear the plan. Other men had wandered close, while Kjotve's veterans smirked at their leader's words. Suddenly Ingrid broke in from behind.
"But you risk Halla's life with raging fires. Ulfrik might even kill her!" Ingrid's voice rose to a shriek and vibrated with terror. Hardar spun on his chair, his hand itching to belt her, though she was too distant. She huddled at the edge of the hearth light, hands clasped at her chest.
"Lady Ingrid, I will rescue your daughter if I can. I give you my word." Kjotve's face brightened and his voice smoothed. He stepped toward her. "I have a plan for my fires that will bring no risk to Halla. I know Ulfrik won't harm your daughter. He is smart enough to make the threats, but not ruthless enough to carry them out. Trust me."
"Don't worry about what she thinks." Hardar stood up sharply and flipped a lock of hair off of his face. "Yes, try your best with Halla. But tell me more about your plans for Ulfrik."
Hardar touched Kjotve's shoulder and then guided him back to the bench. He glared at Ingrid, who stood with her hands still gripped across her chest. Kjotve winked at her and then smiled down on Hardar. "When I am done, Ulfrik will be ripe to pluck. You may take everything you want of his lands. Just give him over to me. I am anxious to have him in my service again."
Kjotve laughed, a laugh that echoed from the mist-shrouded plains of Nifleheim, where worms gnawed the ignominious dead. Hardar shivered, feeling the chill of that frozen world brush his heart.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ulfrik sprang to his feet, snatched his sword up from beside the bed, and dashed out of the hall dressed only in a linen shirt and pants. Then he awakened.
The horn blared again. But now Ulfrik heard the shouting and clang of swords.
The air was clammy and the twilight of summer night dyed the world a deep ocean blue. But yellow light stained the sky from where his ships were beached. Ulfrik screamed and dashed for the scene, his naked feet digging into the soft ground.
Men tumbled out of the barracks house, hauling swords, shields, or spears. They scattered without anyone to give direction. Ulfrik turned to them, shouting. "The ships are under attack. Get to the dock!"
His heart thudded as he rounded the barracks, arriving at the top of the slope. He looked across the field.
He felt like he had fallen into the ocean during the heart of winter. Two of his ships were wrapped in flames while the third sprouted ribbons of fast running fire along her rails. Flickering black shapes tangled against the brilliant backdrop. His guards battled the raiders who attacked with both spears and torches. His fourth ship had been dragged far enough away from the others to be out of danger for the moment. However, a few torches spun through the blue night to land near it.
Racing down slope, Ulfrik tore his sword from its scabbard. Men passed him and converged on the attackers from all angles. The horn continued to blast, then cut off suddenly. Ulfrik faced the water, and spotted the six ships. Two ships were beached while four bobbed further out to sea.
He took fleeting consolation from all the mercenaries on those ships being held at bay. But hot anger overwhelmed him as he watched his own ships burn to ash.
Arriving at the fight, he encountered complete chaos. His left side grew taut with the blazing heat from his ships. Men swirled about the field slashing with yellow glowing blades. A few bodies piled on the grass. One rolled over, holding his face. Friend and foe were indistinguishable in the rippling light of the fires. He feared his men fought themselves in the confusion.
"Prisoners! I need prisoners!" Ulfrik shouted to anyone who would listen. Despite the ever growing press of men, he felt desperately alone. He had no control over this brawl.
A spear flashed at him, and he skittered to the side. Ulfrik's attention narrowed to the one man. He wanted to capture this one prisoner. He was a reed thin blur of a leather jerkin and a red shirt. The spear point jabbed again, keeping Ulfrik at a safe distance. Ulfrik circled a moment, both hands on his sword and wishing he had a shield. The wicked spearhead stabbed for his unprotected thigh. Ulfrik struck down the shaft with his sword and closed the distance. But his opponent's reaction attested to his experience. In the instant it took Ulfrik to glide up the length of the spear, the enemy had drawn a long knife and plunged it at Ulfrik's ribs.
Instinct saved Ulfrik. He read the man's smile, knew the blade was coming, and twirled away at the last moment. But now both of them had stumbled out of position and were staggering to regain momentum.
Ulfrik was faster. His sword hacked into the back of the enemy's thigh. He toppled forward with a scream. Ulfrik stepped on his spear then stabbed the man's hand. He kicked aside the spear and flicked the long knife away with his sword. For now, it was all Ulfrik could do. A new threat had arrived.
Back across the slope, points of orange light bounced in a ragged line. Like glowing ants, the trail ran from a bright burning flame on the shore and pointed at his hall.
"The hall is under attack!" Ulfrik was sprinting back up the slope. Warning shouts rose among the throng of men fighting by the ships. Everyone able to break off combat ran toward the hall, their enemies slipping away.
Men still arriving to the fight now turned toward the new line of attackers. Ulfrik screamed like a wild animal, his throat nearly bursting. He could not stop thinking of Runa and Gunnar trapped inside a burning hall.
The attackers resolved into view from the gloom of the night. There were more attackers than the points of torchlight revealed. The torchbearers flung their brands at anything in reach. Between them, archers put arrows on their strings.
Ulfrik dove to the ground as arrows shrieked overhead. The grass whipped his face as he slid on his belly. Several men around him screeched and tumbled in broken wrecks.
It had been a covering action for the withdrawal. The arrows shot recklessly, wastefully, into the night. But neither Ulfrik nor his men could risk facing the shooters. The enemy hustled back toward their ships. Ulfrik craned his neck above the grass to see beached ships already launched. He saw errant flashes and gleams of iron as men boarded another ship and sailed off.
Ulfrik got to his feet, ran to the man near him and found him with an arrow jutting from his chest. He crouched again, still fearing the enemy archers. He looked back toward the hall. It was safe, the torches smoldering harmlessly in the dewy grass. The threat to the hall had been a feint to extract the enemies who had burnt his ships.
He ran, bent at the waist in case more arrows came. He found men in laying the grass, either taking cover as he had or pierced with arrows. He urged those still alive to follow. Without a horn to signal his men, he summoned as much strength as he could to shout his message. "They are retreating. Quickly, to the ships! We can still save them!"
Ulfrik knew they couldn't be saved. Two had settled into a rippling flame of a long burning fire, like giant logs on a hearth. The third still flew banners of fire, and might be salvaged. At least his fourth was still intact.
Someone had located a horn and blasted three times. Men rose from the grass, looking like ghosts emerging from burial mounds. Ulfrik's run flagged to a weak jog. Finally he walked the final distance, stopping at the circle of heat and light. Others shambled over to watch the flames crackle and pop and streak up into the blue night.
Ulfrik bit his lip, closed his eyes, and imagined that once he opened them again the fires would be extinguished. But instead, the deck of the first ship collapsed, spraying sparks into the air like a swarm of fireflies.
The sun had risen, despite Ulfrik's belief it would never again shine on him. F
og lay thick on the land and mingled with the smoke chugging from the smoldering ruins of his ships. By the time the fires died, two were like blackened whale bones. The third appeared repairable, though its seaworthiness would be questionable. Ironically, the undamaged ship was Raven's Talon, Toki's ship. He wondered what the gods intended him to understand from that sign. It seemed as much an accusation as an affirmation of Toki.
More men had been killed in the raid. More mothers, wives, and children wailed as they found the dead on the field. Ulfrik joined the survivors in carrying their bodies to the side of the hall, where Runa, Gerdie, and Halla covered the corpses in sheets held down with stones. Seven more had died in the fight, while a dozen had taken injuries.
Ulfrik worked in grim silence, but felt the unspoken accusations. You've offended the gods. You chose your friends over your people. You put pride and competition before the safety of your own. No one spoke the words aloud. But they nevertheless clanged in his head like an iron bell.
He sighed as surveyed men picking over the litter of the battle. The air smelled sour with soot and ash. Not even the birds called on this morning. With the blurry figures shuffling in the fog, Ulfrik thought this was what Nifleheim must look like: gray, hopeless, and dead.
"We've got a few prisoners." Snorri appeared from behind. Ulfrik startled at his words, which sounded as loud as a crumbling glacier in the defeated silence.
"Let's get to work on them. I want to know what we're dealing with." Ulfrik's own voice was ragged and hoarse. He followed Snorri past the hall toward the edge of the village. As he left, Runa's gaze followed him. Her face was creased with worry and her hair curled wildly in the humidity. She looked as if one night had aged her a decade. Ulfrik turned away, and set his mind on the captives.
"We dragged them to Thorvald's forge."
"We can use his blacksmithing tools to get the information we need."
Islands in the Fog Page 12
