Banners of the Northmen

by Jerry Autieri

  "How does it feel, lad?" Snorri asked, his eyes creased from his smile. "Lands and title are as good as gold, even better."

  "I don't know what to think." Ulfrik laughed, a foreign nervousness suffusing him. "Everything is changed now."

  "Soon the world will know your name," Einar said.

  "My father was right to praise you," Mord added.

  Ulfrik stepped back, touching his head. "This has been a strange morning. I need time to consider things."

  Snorri laughed. "All right. But don't think I'm going to call you 'sword of the gods.'"

  Ulfrik left them laughing among themselves. Falling into the crowds of people hustling to prepare for the next attack, he let his mind drift. Bouncing through the groups, he could not concentrate. Eventually he wandered toward the trees. In his youth the forests provided a place for him to think as well as play. Deprived of that luxury in the barren Faereyar Islands, he looked forward to a short walk beneath the bare branches. He had to make sense of the changed landscape, and what it meant for his future.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Don't do that where everyone can see!" Thrand hissed through clenched teeth. "For the love of the gods, I can't believe you slit their throats!"

  Kolbyr and Thrand strolled among the frenetic crowds running along the banks of the Seine. They leaned together so their words were kept from others, though no one had any concern for them. A second attack on the tower was planned and everyone had a task assigned, but Thrand and Kolbyr had slipped theirs.

  "Well I couldn't throttle them, and smashing their skulls would be obvious." Thrand looked aside from Kolbyr's angered retort, and smiled at a sour-faced man carrying sheaves of arrows under his arms who passed close to them.

  Wiping his face in frustration, he halted and grabbed Kolbyr's cloak. "And slitting their throats was not obvious?"

  "Course not. Just a quick jab and cut." Again Kolbyr demonstrated how he had slit the throats of Ulfrik's men as they lay dazed after their ladder had crashed.

  "I just told you not to do that!" Thrand slapped Kolbyr's hands down.

  "You're drunk again," he said, pulling out of Thrand's grip. "Plenty of cutting went on yesterday. Who's to know what I did from me slicing the air?" He slashed the air with his phantom knife in front of Thrand's face.

  Batting the hand away, he snapped back. "Any fool can tell a throat pierced with an arrow from one slit with a knife. Did you think of that? I stuck arrows into their necks, which is more reasonable."

  "And all of Ulfrik's favorites getting an arrow in the neck isn't obvious either?" Kolbyr stopped again and frowned. "You are drunk. Your breath is half beer and half fog. You're getting worried, Thrand, and that worries me. No one could tell what happened in that mess other than who lived or died. Neither Ulfrik nor anyone else suspected us. We reduced our worries yesterday, not increased them."

  Thrand searched Kolbyr's hard face. His clear eyes showed no fear, no concern that his undisguised murder would reveal their treachery. People swarmed around them, shouting and shoving, but they faced each other like two rocks in a swift flowing river. Deciding that Kolbyr could not be swayed, he refocused on the goal. Tugging Kolbyr's cloak, he asked him to follow as he set out toward the woods.

  "Listen carefully and decide now if you're with me on this. A second attack is planned this afternoon. Even if our side wins, I think we stand a good chance of dying. I can't get rich if I'm dead." A large man shoved between them, nearly bowling him over. With a curse, he continued to move through the crowds for the trees. "So there's a change in plans. We take Humbert now, and force him to guide us through his secret paths to the treasure."

  "And your plan for dealing with Ulfrik? I doubt he is willing to stand aside. Maybe we should wait until the attack begins, then slip back here to get the slave."

  Shaking his head, Thrand grunted. "We'd stand out like two cowards, and everyone would see us. Besides, I've got something better planned."

  Exiting the crowd and now only a spear-throw from the woods, he stopped and leaned in to Kolbyr. "While I was out this morning, I spotted Ulfrik headed into these woods. Alone."

  He let the words hang, waiting until realization glittered in Kolbyr's eyes. "But there are only two of us."

  "You distract him and I will put my sword through his liver. He trusts us and won't expect a thing. Alone in the woods, with all this noise to cover us, the timing is perfect. In fact, you might say the gods have given us this chance."

  Kolbyr's face darkened and he stroked his beard. A fire kindled in Thrand's guts, but he clamped his mouth shut against the angry words. Kolbyr had to help him, as Thrand knew he could not overcome Ulfrik alone.

  "He is a great warrior. I've seen him fight three men at once."

  "Three enemies. We are two of his friends and he won't be prepared. Think on it. He dies in the woods and when he doesn't show for battle men will search for him. During that time we escape with Humbert and before anyone realizes, we're gone from their reach. I told you at the beginning we might have to kill Ulfrik to ensure we get the treasure."

  Kolbyr nodded, tentatively, but then with vigor. "All right. It's true; this is our best chance."

  Thrand unhooked the loop holding his sword in its scabbard, and Kolbyr did the same. "By tonight we will have a fortune in heathen gold."

  Laughing, he led Kolbyr into the woods where Ulfrik awaited his doom.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Runa froze in her steps outside the hall, buckets in both hands swaying from the sudden stop. For a moment it was Ulfrik's voice she heard, the deep tones vibrating through the walls to her, but the laughter was wrong—neither strong nor joyous enough to be him. She flushed at her foolishness, then resumed lugging the filled buckets of water to the hall. Rain had refilled the barrels over night, and the wet grass licked her ankles as she rounded the corner into the hall.

  Elin and another woman relieved her of the buckets as she entered. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she caught sight of Gunnar seated with Konal and several of the older boys. Despite his bruises, he narrated his shipwreck to his audience with exaggerated gestures, describing steep waves and crashing ships with wide swings of his arms.

  "One night of sleep seems to have restored our guest," Elin said as Runa followed her to the hearth. She upended the bucket into the cooking pot, swirling up the pitiful remains of the prior night's soup.

  "A man of surprises," Runa said. She swished a spoon through the thin soup, sniffed its pungent odor, and determined it could be served, then turned to Konal.

  Something about the way Gunnar responded to Konal's story irritated her. She could not decide the exact reason, other than the familiarity with her son felt presumptuous. Is he attempting to manipulate me? she thought. Gods, Runa, why are you seeing danger everywhere?

  Sitting on the bench beside Gunnar, she arrived in time for Konal to conclude his tale. "And then I was saved by you three brave men. An amazing tale, is it not? My skalds will make it a poem one day."

  "You have a skald?" The oldest boy leaned forward, a fourteen-year-old who had begged to go with Ulfrik but instead remained with his mother and sisters.

  "We have two, and many more visit us." Konal smiled at Runa. "They sing of my adventures, and those of my father and brothers."

  "Now they will sing of your black lips and blue face," Runa said. "And how you could scare a troll."

  Gunnar and his friends erupted with laughter, but Konal sat back with a raised brow. "When I'm recovered, I can do more than scare a troll. I can kill him, with one hand!"

  Again the boys rollicked in laughter, and even Runa could not deny a smile to Konal's ridiculous claims. "Don't exert yourself yet. Helga, the healer woman, will visit you today, and until she says you are recovered, rest is what you need. Now you boys have chores to do with the men gone." Gunnar moaned, and Runa clucked her tongue at him. "Off to them. Go! Bitter cold out there and the clouds are dark. Rain last night but snow today. So get the sheep indoors."
r />   The boys filed away. The oldest one wore a sax like Runa, and he thumbed it as he paused. "When you are well, will you practice with me? My Da used to before he went a-viking, and he wanted me to protect our home. So, well, practice is important."

  Konal nodded. "True words, and I would be pleased to help when my nursemaid releases me."

  Runa watched Gunnar leave with his friends. He carried himself with a posture so much older than a boy of nine. She took relief in his courage, but regretted how fast youth slipped away.

  "It feels good to be up and talking again." Konal rotated his shoulder, holding his ribs with a grimace. "They are fine boys, disciplined. Not like my children."

  "You have children?" She detested the question the moment it slipped from her mouth, but she was further angered at the wry smile drawn through Konal's swollen face.

  "Two boys and three girls. My youngest girl is my favorite, the rest are a sword in my side."

  "I'm sure their mother feels otherwise."

  "Mothers. And I don't know what they feel, since I stay at sea mostly."

  Runa stiffened at his correction, not wanting to know more than she already did. She beckoned Elin to bring the soup, and changed the direction of their conversation. Elin swept in with two steaming bowls of soup. Runa clasped her cold hands around the bowl to warm them.

  "It's a poor meal," she said. "But we are poor people. You will not be getting fat this winter, unless your brother finds you earlier."

  Regardless of the steam, Konal slurped from his bowl. He put it down, speaking with a mouthful of fish. "I haven't eaten in days, and haven't eat anything hot in weeks. This is a feast."

  The word hit Runa, knocking free memories of the great feasts Ulfrik had thrown in the past. She had chided him for the wastefulness, but secretly she enjoyed organizing them and cooking for so many. It was a joy lost to her, and regret mingled with her memories. Had Ulfrik been here, he would find a way to feast Konal even if he spent his last bit of silver to do it. Now, scraps of the prior night's meal were the best she could offer.

  "I'm glad you're enjoying the feast. Since you are recovered enough to talk about adventures and family, I have matters to discuss."

  Konal looked expectantly over the top of his bowl, but did not slow down in dumping soup into his gullet.

  "We are barely provisioned to care for ourselves, and your arrival is a further burden. The gods have been harsh, and winter is when they cull our numbers. I've lost a child to the winters, and more friends than I want to count. You are welcome here, but you are also stuck here. So you will have duties to carry out and earn your place with the rest of us."

  "Duties?"

  Now the wry smile appeared on Runa's lips. "Were you thinking of lying back until your brother finds you, if he ever does? While you recover, your duties will be light, but I expect you to do more. You are taking from us, so give back. It is fair."

  Konal's brow furrowed and he thoughtfully placed his bowl on the table. Runa scrutinized him, her hand idly plucking a lose wrap on the hilt of her sax. His surprise gave her pleasure. "What sort of duties? I am a lord, you know."

  "I don't know, in fact. That gold torc on your neck is meaningless here. People can't eat gold and winter does not care for titles. We must eat, stay warm, guard our flocks, and survive until the sun rises again."

  "I can help with the eating." He smiled at his own joke, but Runa blinked and carried on as if he had merely coughed.

  "Be reminded I am the jarl's wife, and I rule this island and all the people on it." I just can't enforce my rule, she thought. "I will expect your obedience while you are here."

  His mouth hung open in a half-formed laugh, but Runa stood before he could voice it.

  "I don't wear this sword for show. Your first duty, once you are well enough, is to practice with me daily."

  "Surely I hit my head on a rock and I'm dreaming. I'm stranded on an island of women and children and the jarl's wife wears a sax and wants to practice swordplay with me." He spread his hands wide. "No one would believe such a thing."

  "Start believing." She shoved away from the bench and started for the hall door. "Your skalds will turn it into a poem one day."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Thrand and Kolbyr picked through the woods, stepping over fungus-laden logs and skirting the bare trees. Thrand's plan was simple: get close, distract and surprise Ulfrik, then flee. Since stealth mattered little, they crushed dead leaves and cracked branches beneath their feet and spoke to each other in normal voices. If anything, he hoped it would attract Ulfrik and spare them the search.

  "Gods, did he walk back to Nye Grenner?" Kolbyr shoved aside a low branch with a curse.

  "It's not a bad thing," Thrand answered in a lowered voice.

  They had progressed deep enough into the gray and brown murk of the woods to lose sight of the army by the Seine, though the riot of noise echoed through the trees. Thrand drew a deep breath, his nose full of wet, earthy scents. Halting, he glimpsed a shape sweep across the side of his vision. Kolbyr stopped with him. They waited, and now a clear figure in a green cloak moved, head down and hands clasped behind.

  "Remember the plan," he whispered to Kolbyr. Glancing at him, he discovered beads of sweat on Kolbyr's forehead and his eyes had grown round. "Are you still with me?"

  Kolbyr swallowed, then nodded and licked his lips.

  Thrand called Ulfrik's name, and the figure stopped, faced them. "Lord Ulfrik, we've been searching for you."

  "You've found me. What's the matter?"

  Trading looks with Kolbyr, they began to pick a path to Ulfrik. Thrand's pulse quickened and his neck tightened. Kolbyr's breathing became ragged and loud enough for Thrand to notice.

  Trees crowded them and restricted fighting space. He watched Ulfrik study their approach, and a frown began to draw down his face.

  "Well, what is the matter?"

  Thrand's nervousness blanked his mind, and the demand stopped him as good as being bashed with a shield. Kolbyr continued, looping out to the left.

  Suddenly Ulfrik stood straighter. Kolbyr began moving faster.

  This is out of control. Kolbyr! Slow down!

  Kolbyr burst into a sprint. Not only did he strike too early, but the rough ground impeded running. As he drew his sword, stiff-armed and artless, he stumbled.

  No one made such a mistake with Ulfrik and lived to regret it. Thrand changed his plans.

  "Look out, Lord Ulfrik!" Drawing his own blade, he plunged after Kolbyr.

  Ulfrik had no shield, but all his weapons. Thrand dashed, catching his foot on a root and tumbling ahead. Kolbyr's blade caught an errant shaft of light.

  With no effort, Ulfrik had unclasped his cloak and flung it at Kolbyr. In the next instant, he had ripped his sax from the sheath at his waist.

  The cloak entangled Kolbyr's sword, but Thrand was already at his back. He rammed the blade into Kolbyr's kidney, piercing the mail links and driving deep into the flesh. Blood poured and Kolbyr screamed. It was cut short as Ulfrik's sword plunged into his belly with a metallic crunch.

  Kolbyr danced as both men yanked out their swords, and gouts of blood pattered to the ground. His wide eyes held Thrand's as he toppled into the leaves and mud. Blood flew from his mouth as he landed and he seemed to about to raise his hand.

  Thrand gave him no time. He saw the accusation in Kolbyr's eyes. It was going to come to this at some point, he thought, then he thrust his sword into Kolbyr's throat with a hollow crack and a gurgle of blood.

  Next he was looking up through the branches at the gray sky. Pain bloomed at the back of his head where he had struck a rock. His sword arm felt heavy, and then realization came. In one deft motion, Ulfrik had toppled him and now pinned his sword arm by stamping on it. His sax drizzled Kolbyr's blood onto his neck as its tip hovered a hair's width away.

  "Explain yourself," he snarled. "Or die."

  "Lord, we were sent to fetch you back. The attack is coming soon, and Hrolf wants you ready.
"

  "Hrolf sent you to find me?"

  "Yes, lord." The words made his stomach burn. He lied, and Ulfrik would know it soon enough. He only had to live through to when the attack started, and then escape.

  The blade dangled, beyond it Ulfrik's face a ball of furrows and scars that pulled into his beard. Hot blood rolled around Thrand's neck to pool behind his head. His hand still gripped his sword, and he released it, trying to force the blade away from his grip. Ulfrik's eyes searched his, darting up and down the length of his body. "You've served my family admirably, Thrand. I don't want to doubt you."

  "Please don't, my lord." His voice trembled with genuine fear. Ulfrik's eyes blazed with killing lust, and once ignited in him never left easily.

  "This has happened to me before, almost exactly like this." The blaze dimmed, and Ulfrik seemed to review a scene in his head. Thrand felt the foot lift from his arm, his hand tingling as blood rushed back into it. "I fear it is my fate to never enjoy the solitude of the trees."

  The bloody sword lifted from his throat, and Thrand closed his eye in relief with a long slithering breath flowing from his nostrils.

  "My eyes tell me you moved like a man on the hunt, but my heart wants to believe otherwise." Opening his eyes, Thrand found Ulfrik still had the short sword pointed at him, and he knew the lightning flash strike could pierce his neck in an instant. "Convince me the hirdman who defended my family with his life is not a traitor."

  Moving with deliberate openness, Thrand sat up with his hands raised. Ulfrik's grip tightened on the hilt of his blade and did not waver in his defensive posture. "It is all as you say, lord. I am your man and my oath is true. I saw Kolbyr move to strike, and I defended you."

  "Or you changed your mind."

  "No! I could scarcely believe it. He followed through on his boasts."