"Longer than I can count." And longer than I need ever have been, he thought.
His escort took him as far as the central field where burnt-out bonfires spread their ashes into the wind. The man pointed at one of the buildings, distinguished only by the banners hanging before their doors. "Jarl Ulfrik's quarters there, though not sure if he's inside. He likes to patrol the trenches. What's your name again?"
"Thrand the Looker." He faced the man, ready to be tackled and beaten, but his escort simply struggled to focus on Thrand's good eye and smiled.
"Welcome back to the shit heap. Ulfrik will probably put you right back into the trenches with the rest of us. We need everyone in the line these days."
Thrand sighed as the obviously new man ambled back to his trench. Summoning his courage with a long breath, Thrand exhaled and approached Ulfrik's barracks. The green standard of Nye Grenner was gone, and Anscharic's cloak hung unmoving in the stiff breeze.
Suddenly his palms began to sweat and his legs trembled. The cloak is right here, he thought. Just grab it and walk off, then join Anscharic in Paris. He promised a fortune, did he not? And the Franks will win this war. I could have all that I dreamed of, all that I killed for!
Standing before the unmoving cloak, its heavy wool hems still full and tight despite the tears and stains throughout, Thrand stretched a hand toward it. His hand lingered a moment, then he snapped it back as if touching fire. Before he could change his mind, he flung open the barracks doors and thrust himself inside.
In the moments it took for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, he heard surprised voices and saw vague shapes of people standing up from the floor. No one reached for a weapon or reacted with violence. Thrand rubbed his eyes and entered deeper. The hall was unadorned, nothing more than a simple enclosure for a hearth and a berth for men to sleep on the dry earth. Across the hearth pit was a tall chair and a table with benches pushed into a corner. Even at this distance, his blurry eyes locked with Ulfrik's cold gaze. At first, he seemed to not recognize him, but in an instant he was on his feet.
"Seize that man! Don't let him escape!"
Now men grasped at him, each one vying to be the man to fulfill the jarl's orders. Thrand recognized no one, each one a foreign face. Two men threatened to tear Thrand in half as they wrestled him forward. He flopped like a rag, surrendering fully to his fate. To do otherwise would not achieve the redemption he desired. He crashed into the dirt at Ulfrik's feet, and one of the men kicked him in his side. Ulfrik shouted them away, and his familiar hand gripped Thrand by the arm and hauled him to his knees.
"Look at you," he said, lips curled in disgust. "Death has already claimed you, but you still walk."
"I have returned to face your judgment." He raised his face to Ulfrik's, but found he could not hold his eyes. He dropped his head. "I am an oath-breaker and murderer. I deserve death. I have fallen as low as a man can fall, and now land before you to seek redemption."
Thrand stared at the earth, listening to the scandalized murmurs circulating behind him. He could feel the strange men pressing closer to him. Ulfrik stood over him, unmoving and silent. Thrand resolved to say no more, for he could think of nothing worth his breath. Life would come to a sudden end, he expected, and he wanted to savor every breath.
"You planned to kill me once," Ulfrik said. "But you instead protected me."
"No, lord, I feared you could not be defeated, and I killed Kolbyr to buy myself more time. I was not motivated by good intentions."
Several onlookers cursed him, others gasped, but Ulfrik grunted. Thrand closed his eyes, expecting a blow that did not fall.
"You aided Humbert in his escape, and sought to defy me. We both know what motivated you." Thrand nodded, realizing Ulfrik still held his secret of Anscharic's treasure. Even though it was a ruse to bring them to Paris, Ulfrik still apparently believed it existed. "You voluntarily entered the Franks' tower. Why have you been released, if not for more treachery?"
Thrand squeezed his eyes tighter and bowed lower. "My treachery is done. The Franks used me to help slip messengers through your lines. I know not where they went, but it was to seek aid. After this service, I was released to do one final act for Anscharic. He wanted me to capture your standard and return it to him."
"I will wrap his corpse in it. He can have it back in the grave," Ulfrik said. "Now stand up, Thrand. Look at me."
He did as commanded, and Ulfrik's face was no longer disgusted. Instead, he studied Thrand with a strange mixture of curiosity, anger, and pity. Thrand had earned all of it and more, and he did not flinch from it. For his part, Ulfrik appeared more tired and haggard than he had ever known him to be. Yet gold armbands and rings glittered where none had before, showing he had earned the respect of his lord and grown in power.
Though no other face was familiar, Thrand did recognize Einar. The giant man hung in the shadows behind Ulfrik's chair. His face was tight and closed, and he looked through Thrand as if he did not exist. Once they had been close friends, but like everything else, Thrand had destroyed that relationship with his drinking and self-pity.
"Here is my judgment for your crimes." Ulfrik took his chair, uncharacteristically stiff and formal. He scanned the men behind Thrand as he spoke. "You were once a loyal man who protected my wife and son, and risked your life to aid my brother and dearest friend in his time of need. I cannot forget what you have done for me. The law provides the right to claim your life, but I will not. Your life is yours to live, Thrand the Looker. Instead, I banish you from my lands and my people. You may not return to my banner, and to do so will invite death. I assume if I see you again, you will have chosen to end your life."
A clamor of disapproving, bloodthirsty opposition came from Ulfrik's men. Thrand stood, hand reaching for his neck. "But I should die. It is the only way to redeem myself for what I've done."
"You've heard my judgment," Ulfrik shouted. The disapproving crowd hushed as Ulfrik scowled at them. Satisfied at regaining control, he turned a gentler face to Thrand. "Death does not have to be the only way. Find another lord to serve and do so loyally, then your life will be redeemed with meaning again. Now be gone. Einar will escort you to the edge of our camp."
"No one will let me serve, and the Franks will kill me. Lord Ulfrik, you condemn me to death no matter what."
Men jeered him, and one threw the scraps of a meal into Thrand's face. Others began to pelt him with whatever came to hand, until Einar intercepted them and grabbed Thrand's arm. With a withering look, he pushed back the mob, and dragged Thrand from the barracks. Outside, Thrand began to sob. "I wanted to die today. I was ready for it."
"Stop crying," Einar said flatly. "I'll take you to the edge of the camp and then you're on your own."
Thrand stumbled behind Einar as he dragged him like a child across the cleared fields. Men paused to watch them pass. Thrand's mind was ablaze with confusion. He had prepared for death, but now had to live out his days as an enemy of everyone. Once out of sight of most men, Einar stopped.
"This is not the edge of the lands, but it is close enough. Go, and good luck to you."
"You are sending me to death. I will just kill myself, that's what I'll do. It's better than starving or becoming a slave to the Franks."
Einar bowed his head. "If Lord Ulfrik wanted you dead, he'd have done it. Don't be a fool. Listen, you have made bad mistakes and drinking has clouded your mind. I think you are better now. More of the old Thrand I knew. There are many battles ahead, and if you can find a way to serve Lord Ulfrik again he may yet accept you. We both know he is merciful and he has felt grateful to you all these years. Besides, no matter if motivated from greed or good, you did prevent Kolbyr from murdering him."
Thrand scanned the dark line of trees ahead and shuddered. "I cannot serve from that forest. I can't even hunt. I threw away all my rabbits, thinking I'd die today. Now I'll starve."
"Be a scout for us," Einar said, his voice brightening with his idea. "Watch the land for approaching Fra
nks or signs of other trouble. I'll keep you supplied. If you can do this, you might redeem yourself with useful service. It's the best idea I have."
Thrand welcomed any plan that did not end with his death. "I will do it. I will do anything to be who I once was."
Einar's smile faded, and he patted Thrand's shoulder. "Don't think of what was, but what will be. And don't get me in trouble with Lord Ulfrik, or we'll both be scavenging the forests and wishing we were dead."
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
The fields around Ingrid's halls crawled with the black shapes of armored men converging on it. Birds circled in the gray skies above, and Runa studied them. She realized the sea birds had learned that groups of armored men left behind corpses for them to pick apart. She gently shook her head, disgusted that such a scene had happened enough to teach the birds. The mail coat hung heavy on her shoulders, and sagged from being too large. Her helmet, however, fit perfectly, though she had not realized the nose and cheek guards would restrict her vision so severely.
"No resistance yet," Konal said, standing next to her with his sword drawn. "Maybe there's no one here."
"They'll be in the hall," she said with feigned certainty. Her heart told her Ingrid had gone over to Thorod and Skard, but she lacked proof.
"Then we will drag them out." Gunnar drew his small sword and pointed it at the hall. Runa's heart jumped, looking at the childish hand of her son aiming his sword for a death stroke. She pushed the sword down.
"We will storm the hall, but you will remain on the ship." He whirled to protest, but Runa's anger flared. "No arguments! Don't cause me to regret allowing you to follow."
Runa blinked as he offered no resistance and sheathed his sword. Before he turned back for the ship, he hugged her. "Be careful, Mother."
Swallowing hard, she faced the hall. Her life was not in danger.
But Ingrid's was.
Seeing her pale form appear in the doorway, Runa's pulse quickened. Without a word, she charged ahead with Konal following behind. Kell and all the other crew stood in front of Ingrid, spears leveled and weapons drawn. Sweat beaded on Runa's forehead as she forced through the ring of men to stand before Ingrid.
"You have betrayed me," she said, leveling her sword. "In my husband's absence, I come to enforce your oath and have justice for your crimes."
"Runa?" Ingrid's eyes squinted and she leaned forward as if looking out to sea. "By the gods, you're in a mail shirt and helmet. You're wearing pants." Placing a pale hand over her mouth, she began to laugh.
Plowing her fist into Ingrid's soft gut, she let her collapse to the ground as she continued past into the hall.
"Restrain her and follow me," she shouted over her shoulder as she kicked open the hall doors.
Her eyes did not adjust to the dark hall as she swept in, and a momentary panic at her blindness filled her. A few women screamed, and several male voices shouted. The hall smelled like sheep and stale beer. When her vision returned, five men ringed Halla and several other serving women. Runa recognized none of the other faces. A man ran for another exit to Runa's left.
She glided across the pounded dirt floor and intercepted him as Konal and his men flowed into the hall. The man had not drawn his weapons, and pulled up at the sharp edge of Runa's blade. "You're not from here, are you?"
The four men in front of Runa drew their swords. Their trembling hands set the blades glinting in the dull light slanting in from high windows. None of them appeared confident, not with the dozens of scar-faced men flooding the hall.
Runa's opponent glanced at the door, estimating his escape. She already knew he was one of Skard's or Thorod's men. He had the same youthful, cocksure look as the invaders from winter. He flinched toward the exit.
Her blade slashed up and shaved off a hunk of his upper lip and the tip of his nose. He flew back, both hands covering his face as blood streamed onto his chest. She followed through, knocking him to the ground and running him through his gut. She could feel his pulse thrumming up the blade, and she yanked it free. His hands fell away and his breath gurgled blood in death.
Women screamed and Halla began to cry. Runa stared at the man she had killed. She had killed before, but that had been long ago and the man had tried to rape her. Seeing this young man leaking black blood into the dirt at her feet made her stomach lurch. Shaking her head, she stepped over the body with her bloodied sword leading her toward the others.
"Stand down and you will get a clean death. Fight and I will make death last for days."
Konal's men crammed forward, and the men on the stage of the high table glanced at each other. Certain they planned to surrender, she lowered her blade.
"For Skardholmur!" The four men leapt off the stage, slashing at anyone opposing them. One man plowed into Runa, sprawling her out.
Both Ulfrik and Konal had knocked her flat so often, instinct drove her recovery. However, she had never practiced in a mail shirt.
The weight of the mail on her chest pinned her flat. The man above her roared and raised his sword. She kicked into his legs, tripping him.
A spear thrust overhead and impaled the attacker's shoulder. Runa used the moment to scrabble to her feet. In that time, the three others were dead and her opponent tumbled to the ground as the spear lanced in through his neck.
The hall vibrated with screeching women, most of who had crumpled into weeping piles around Halla. She stood with both hands clutching a wooden cross over her chest. Her face was drained of color and her mouth hung slack. Runa hated her sister-in-law for all the trouble she had brought to her family. Smelling the blood and fear, again Runa could blame Halla for more misfortune. For a moment, she envisioned ending her curse, but shook the thought from her mind.
"Five fighting men," she stated flatly. "Who named Skardholmur as they died? We are at war with Skard and Thorod, are we not, Halla?"
"Christ protects me," she said, thrusting the cross in front of her.
Runa removed her helmet, and sneered at her. Throwing the helmet onto the floor, she whirled to view the hall. Dark faces crowded it, making Ingrid's platinum hair stand out like the moon at midnight. "Bring Ingrid forward. I will give my judgment now."
She did not know the proper way to handle a wayward bondsman. As far as she knew, it was within her right to kill Ingrid. No matter what she decided, she needed to appear above worry, fear, or care. She needed to be a powerful and confident leader, so that the men she planned to lead in battle would believe in her. She shoved Halla aside with her bloody hand, leaving a dark red stain on her shoulder, and pulled the bench of the high table forward. Runa stepped onto it, standing high above all others.
"Ingrid, you swore an oath to my husband and now I find you in league with our enemies."
Ingrid hung between two men. Both Konal and Kell emerged from the crowd, standing beneath Runa to lend their presence to the judgment. Behind them, men began dragging the slain enemies from the hall, but not before picking over the corpses for valuables.
"Your husband is dead!" Ingrid raised her head, her face pasty white and contorted with hate. Blue veins stood out on her head and her thinning hair clung to her sweaty cheeks. "I owe nothing to you. I look to the safety of my own people."
"And that safety is harboring my enemies and sending them south to rape and murder."
Ingrid let her head drop, but Runa knew she had revealed the truth. Her hands trembling, she struggled to keep her voice even.
"Over winter, men who looked just like the five we found here invaded my hall. I killed them, as you might have guessed. Before the last one died, he told me how you took them into your hall, how you spoke to them about the easy prey to the south and all the gold awaiting them. He said you promised them anything they could take, as long as you were left alone. You were kin, after all."
"Stop!" Ingrid shouted. Raising her head, her lips quivered and tears streaked from her eyes. Her puffy eyes locked with Runa's, searching them for mercy. "I did as I must, to protect my people."<
br />
"You don't deny anything I've said?" Ingrid bowed her head, crying more powerfully. "You thought to protect your people by sending enemies into my hall, to rape me and kill my son? They held my son with a knife to his throat. Shall I show you what that was like?"
Even in her mail shirt, her motions were too fast for anyone to stop. She leapt from the bench and latched onto Halla. With all the strength of her training and anger, Runa yanked her before Ingrid. She clasped one arm about her waist, and with her other hand drew her sax to Halla's neck.
"This is what you sent to me. Do you like it?" Runa jabbed the tip into Halla's chin, drawing blood and a piercing scream. Ingrid refused to watch, so one of the men twisted her head to face Runa.
"Do you like this? Is this how I should protect my family?"
"She had nothing to do with this. Please, leave her alone."
"Neither did my son," Runa said, then shoved Halla to the ground. "Enough. You are worse than an oath-breaker. You are a traitor and an enemy. Do you not wonder who these men are?"
Ingrid stirred, half raising her head to peek at the men around her.
"They are my army. They will sail with me to destroy Skard and Thorod. I promised them blood and plunder from all my enemies. You have sided with them, Ingrid."
"All the men were gone! For years I stood with you, and for years we had less and less. What was I supposed to do? I did not know you had an army."
"Had you known, your loyalty would not have been swayed?" Runa nodded to a man, indicating he should pick Halla from the floor. "My husband has doubted you for years, and I've doubted you from the start. No excuses will save you now."
Ingrid and Halla both stared at her, unblinking eyes locked to hers. Runa let them wonder at their fate, before she gave her decision.
"You should die for your crimes, but I am sure if my husband were here he'd find mercy in his heart. He would forgive you." She stepped down from the stage, and placed her hand on Ingrid's head. "But I am not my husband."
Banners of the Northmen Page 23
