Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6)

by Jerry Autieri

  Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Author's Note

  RETURN OF THE RAVENS

  by Jerry Autieri

  Copyright © 2015 Jerry Autieri

  CHAPTER ONE

  Three shadowed men blocked the path before Ulfrik. Their bodies coiled with explosive power as they treaded the narrow dirt strip, sunlight flickering across dull iron helmets and tattered gray furs. The darkness of the surrounding woods joined behind them, weaving the threatening shapes into a black mass. The lead man's eyes were lost in shadow, but a crooked nose split with a white scar dominated a tangle of brown beard and bent mouth. As he drew closer, his gnarled sword hand flexed to the hilt bobbing at his side.

  "They don't have to mean trouble," Ulfrik said as he extended his arm across Finn's chest. Finn bucked against it, his young and freckle-splattered face contorted into a scowl.

  "And black clouds don't always mean rain, except when you're stranded outside with no shelter. Then you can count on a soaking."

  A thin smile cracked Ulfrik's dour face, and he let his hand drop away to his own sword hilt. He lacked mail or hides for protection, not even a shield. Only long experience killing foemen offered him any defense. He set his feet wide and settled into the center of the path. Even birdsong fell away as he challenged the trio of shadows drawing upon him.

  "Hail, friends," he said. "What good fortune it is to meet fellows on the road."

  The lead man stopped and his two companions halted close behind so their bodies melded in the shadow like a single broad-shouldered beast. A patch of yellow light struck the leader's head, illuminating cold blue eyes and a wolfish smile.

  "Good fortune, indeed, but for who it remains to be seen."

  "You're Northmen," Ulfrik said, a hint of relief in his voice. He was still unsure of Frankish and Norse borders after his long absence. "Danes, from your accent, I take it."

  "Isn't it nice to find old friends?" The lead man's voice was rock-on-rock rough. "But this ain't a visit, brother. You're in my way on my road and there's a tax for that."

  Ulfrik smiled and looked about as if only just realizing his place. "Have I not come into Hrolf the Strider's lands? If Hrolf collects a tax for this unused goat track, then he's far poorer than I recall."

  "Ah, one for jokes, are you? That's good, like it better than the ones that beg or piss themselves. All the same, friend," he warped the word like a curse, "I'll be taking swords and packs off you and your boy lover."

  "I'm eighteen," Finn said.

  "Not a boy," Ulfrik said.

  "That's how you're going to play it?" The leader's sword hissed from its sheath, and his two companions in shadow slid their blades free. "Enjoy your laughs now, 'cause it ain't going to be funny when you're trying to hold your guts in."

  Ulfrik drew his sword with lazy confidence, offering them a smirk. However, his stomach fluttered and his hands grew cold. These were strong and young men built to withstand their own foolishness. Ulfrik, however, felt his age from the ache in his hips and legs to the burning twitch in his shoulder. A hundred battle scars raked him from the inside, tearing at his confidence like a hungry wolf.

  "Three to two is a poor bet," Ulfrik said, ranging his sword at the knot of enemy. "I've cut down twice as many enemies in one stroke. Better to stand aside and let us on our way."

  The leader guffawed and his companions joined him. "Old man, you're so funny I may keep you around for some fun. Now put down the sword and do as I say."

  Ulfrik burst into action, a lightning strike at the lead man's sword hand. The blade gouged a chunk of flesh from the knuckle, drawing a surprised scream. Finn wasted no time, darting into the underbrush lining the thin track.

  "You dog-shit bastard!" The scar-nosed leader stepped back to parry Ulfrik's follow-up strike, their blades clanging together as the two other's leapt to their brother's aid.

  Pushing through, Ulfrik collided with the man behind the leader, a thick brute swathed in a wolf pelt and reeking of urine and sweat. He stepped on the man's foot then drove his shoulder into his chest, sending him toppling back. Ulfrik whirled in time to catch the leader's follow-up strike with the blade of his sword.

  Hurry up, Finn, he thought. The two of them had become a tight fighting team in the years spent as merchant ship guards. Ulfrik set himself as an anvil upon which Finn hammered their foes. Ulfrik's deep, mature strength and Finn's serpent-swift, precise strikes were natural complements.

  Reemerging from the brush, all attention centered on Ulfrik, Finn plunged his sword into the kidney of one of the enemy. The yellow-haired brute's eyes flashed wide enough to show through the shadowed hollows of their sockets. His sword dropped as Finn shoved him forward into the leader, sending both off balance.

  The remaining man slashed at Ulfrik's exposed leg, but he had left it out as bait. He stepped out of the blow but rounded his blade on the attacker, slamming against the helmet and spinning it on his head so the noseguard blocked his eye. He had hoped to kill with the strike, but had only disoriented the man. Ulfrik spun away, leaving this one for Finn.

  His face was flushed red, camouflaging his freckles, and Finn pierced the hamstring of the man as he fumbled with his helmet. He screamed and grabbed his leg as he fell. A man on the ground in battle was as good as dead, and Ulfrik assured it with a quick stroke across the enemy's neck. Brilliant red sprayed across the dirt track and splattered Ulfrik's legs.

  "Get him before he runs," Ulfrik's voice boomed, no longer the voice of a tired old man but once again that of the battlefield commander and jarl he once was. The leader had regained his footing and wa
s already sprinting into the woods. Finn sprang after him like a hound after a boar.

  Ulfrik had reclaimed his strength and battle sense out of the wreckage of his life, but his stamina for sprinting and chases never returned. His gait carried a slight limp now, and hard running was better left to younger men or moments when death loomed.

  Following snapped branches and quivering underbrush, Ulfrik plodded toward Finn's hollering. The gleeful howl echoed off the pines trees whose roots threatened to trip the unwary. He dashed the final distance, finding Finn wrestling the larger man. The two rolled over root and rock, neither having an advantage for long, though Finn had wound his hand into the enemy's hair and pulled hard.

  He considered letting the battle play out, but the risk to Finn was too great. He stuck his sword into the ground and drew his knife. Approaching from behind, he worked the cold iron blade under the throat of the attacker.

  "Don't struggle or you'll cut your own throat," Ulfrik said into the man's ear, spitting out the final word with disgust. "Friend."

  The man released his grip on Finn, who scrambled out from underneath. His gray shirt has ridden up to his chest to reveal red scrapes across his belly.

  "I'd have had him in another moment. Bastard was just fatter than I thought." Finn ran his arm under his nose. "Thanks for saving me the trouble."

  "All right, tax collector. I warned you about the odds. But you just saw an old man and kid lost on the road."

  "Save your bloody talk." The man threw an elbow back into Ulfrik's gut that winded him, but the blade remained in place. Finn, now on his feet, had recovered his sword and jabbed the point into the man's thigh. He went still and remained seated in the dirt.

  "Answer my questions," Ulfrik said. "Are these Hrolf the Strider's lands? How far are we from Rouen?"

  The man struggled, but Ulfrik dug the blade into the flesh. He could smell the grease of the man's hair. "You're on the border still. This is Frankish land."

  "And who rules this place?"

  "Count Amand."

  Finn looked at Ulfrik expectantly, but the name meant nothing to him. He shrugged, then dug the blade harder and forced the man to stand up. His legs were getting numb from crouching in the cold dirt. They rose with great care, Ulfrik for his sore legs and his prisoner for the edge at his neck.

  "How many more in your bandit group? Tell me where they are so I can avoid killing the rest of them."

  "It was just us."

  "Liar." Ulfrik pulled the blade until blood trickled and the man bucked.

  "Gods, it's true! We were headed to join the count's army."

  "You were Hrolf's men?"

  The man waved his free hand. "No, Meldun Wood-Eye's men. Meldun died of fever so we left."

  "But not to Hrolf? Why the Franks?"

  "Because they're winning, and the count is hiring our people for a fair wage. Look, just free me. I've told you the truth, just like you asked. Ain't nothing else I know. You're right, we saw you for easy pickings and were wrong. That's all there is to it."

  Ulfrik glanced at Finn, and he gave a slow nod. An angry fire warmed his belly, and Ulfrik's mouth pulled tight in anger. "The Franks are my sworn enemies, as are the dogs that sit under their tables and eat their scraps. Your life is done, you traitorous pig."

  The man grabbed Ulfrik's arm, but the knife cut into his neck. Hot blood poured over Ulfrik's hand as he sawed deep into the throat. A thick jet of blood sprouted and the man went limp with a gurgled curse. Ulfrik shoved him to the ground, tossing his knife aside and standing over the crumpled body.

  Neither he nor Finn spoke as the spout of blood slowed to a trickle that the earth drank up. The forest sounds of cracking branches and distant birds filled their silence. When Ulfrik spoke, it was slow and sonorous.

  "We are going back to war, Finn. The enemies here are fierce and do not deserve our mercy. They would offer none to us."

  Finn shook his head, the flush still a red stain on his cheeks. His thin red beard did not conceal it.

  "If Northmen are joining the ranks of the Franks instead of Hrolf, then it is a bad sign. I fear I may have taken you into a danger far greater than I had expected."

  "It's all right, Ulfrik. I chose to accompany you."

  They scavenged the bodies for useful items, each of them taking a helmet along with silver and supplies, then set out along the path again. Their long foot journey north had revealed a changed Frankia. He no longer understood it, and it had not welcomed him as he had dreamed it would. He feared the pile of dead Northmen behind him were only the first signs of something far worse.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ulfrik sat on the mound of dirt, legs crossed, arm folded to his chest, one hand clamped tight over his mouth. His leg pumped with nervous energy as the red sun sagged behind the fat oak at the west. He studied it, a bead of sweat rolling down into his eye making him squint. The shadow of the main trunk stood out in a stark V shape as the disk of light set behind it. He uncoiled at the sight, a heavy sigh of relief following.

  "This is the right place," he said. "See the arrow shape against the setting sun?"

  Finn, who was stripped to his waist and standing in a hole almost as deep, drove his shovel into the ground and paused to look. His face broke into a wide smile. "Hey, I see it. It's as straight as you said it would be."

  "This is definitely the place. Keep digging."

  "Are you going to help?"

  "I'll carry the treasure, if that's what you're asking? You just dig."

  Despite recognizing where he had buried his treasure, he still fretted for finding it. The memories were hazy, and he did not have his giant-sized second in command, Einar, at hand to remind him of what he had done. They had wasted days digging in spots that yielded nothing, or finding his treasure cache had been plundered. Now he regretted not killing a slave to bury with the treasure, for without a guardian spirit the silver had fled him. They were still in Frankish territory, lands that had once been firmly under Hrolf. No doubt the greedy Franks had sought plunder caches and had cleared his away.

  The small field was notable for a copse of aged oaks with straight trunks and the stream that gurgled behind them. Finn's shovel crunched against rocks and he cursed. Ulfrik constantly scanned the surroundings for followers, but only a gentle summer breeze stirred the grass into a thin whisper. When the shovel came down again, he heard a wooden thump.

  "I've got something!" Finn tossed dirt out of the hole, then threw his shovel after it. He began to dig with his hands.

  Ulfrik dropped down into the pit, his heart pounding.

  "I recognize that box. Here, let me help." He began digging out the small box, racing with Finn to extract the treasure. Relief spread through him as they worked it out of the ground, a fat worm twisting in the hole left beneath it. They lifted it together, though it was light and small enough to tuck beneath a single arm. Ulfrik could not remember what he had buried here, but from the size of the box it must have been jewelry.

  "I can't wait to see a real treasure hoard," Finn said as he pulled himself out of the hole. He extended his arm to Ulfrik, and helped haul him out. "This is so exciting."

  "Gods, lad, don't piss yourself. This is a trifle of what I've buried in these lands, and even less of what I had buried in my hall." Ulfrik thought back to the banner he had flown at the siege of Paris, a red robe that he had taken from a slave who had turned out to be a bishop. A king's fortune in jewels had been sewn into its hems, more wealth than even Hrolf the Strider had at the time. No one but he and Runa knew of that treasure.

  The cover had been latched with a simple bolt which, now rusted, fought Ulfrik as he worked it open. When it snapped free, he carefully opened the top. Finn crowded at his shoulder, as if ready to dive headfirst into whatever Ulfrik revealed.

  "No," Ulfrik said. The box lid dropped into the dirt as he stared at the contents.

  "Look at that," Finn said. "A gold chain."

  "A single gold chain," Ulfrik said, fishing out t
he braided chain with his finger. He held it out as if it were a stinking fish. "I buried more than this."

  "Well, it's got to be worth a lot." Finn reached out to touch it, and Ulfrik shoved the chain into his hands as if it were cursed. He turned back to the pit, hands on his hips looking down into it blackness. The final light of the day was fleeing and leaving a trail of shadow.

  "Someone dug up the rest of it," Ulfrik said.

  "There's nothing else in here but a red stone. Looks valuable." Sounds of Finn tapping the box followed, but Ulfrik remained staring into the pit.

  "I remember now. There was a cross on the chain, set with red and white stones. There were supposed to be other things here too. Silver plates and cups. Why did the thieves not take the chain?"

  Only the swishing of the grass answered him. He heard Finn stand, his knees cracking. "Maybe if they left some of the treasure behind they'd avoid the curse you left on it?"

  "I didn't leave a curse on it."

  "Thieves wouldn't know that. This is better than the other places we searched. This chain has got to be worth a herd of goats, at least."

  Ulfrik whirled on Finn. "A fucking herd of goats! I'm going to win back my lands and titles with a herd of goats?"

  "I was just--"

  Snatching the chain out of Finn's grip, Ulfrik thrust it skyward. "This is all you gods left behind for me? This is all that's left of my treasure? A chain worth a herd of goats?"

  He flung it into the dirt, and Finn rushed after it. His freckled face, normally bright and open, was dark with shame. Finn rubbed the chain on his pants to clean the dirt away. Ulfrik stared after him, heaving as if he had been rowing at top speed.

  Their silence was heavy and sullen, Finn burnishing the chain while Ulfrik stared in disbelief. It would have been easier to accept if thieves had taken everything or he had failed to remember where he had hid his treasure. Finding only a piece of it forced him to confront his poverty, and how much he had once possessed.

  "Let me see that a moment." Ulfrik held out his hand for the chain. Finn did not turn to face him, but dropped it into his waiting palm. He bounced it a few times, feeling its weight and the warmth left from Finn's touch. "It's not so bad, really. We'll hack it down to bits if we have to. It's a place to start."