"Let's get the girl and begin," Ulfrik said.
He shouldered the ax and led Finn back toward their small camp. For days they had hid on the outskirts of Thorgest's base, watching the bandits' activities. He had feared Gils's barn fire would have drawn their attention, but like all bandits after an easy haul, they spent most of their days celebrating. They shared a few women for entertainment, at least by what he could see from outside the hall. They raised pigs and a goat, but otherwise did little else. These were opportunists and lay-abouts Ulfrik understood all too well. His only frustration was his lack of numbers; otherwise, he would have had Thorgest's head by now. Thorgest, the bandit leader, made one obvious appearance to witness a brawl that had spilled out of his hall. He had a whore under one arm, Ulfrik's sword at his side, and Ulfrik's gold chain about his neck. That had been his sole showing, and while he was strong and scarred, he was also bleary-eyed and careless.
He would soon be dead.
At camp, Gils's youngest daughter sat tied to a tree, gag still filling her mouth. Calling her the prettiest daughter stretched the compliment, for Ulfrik considered her only marginally better than ugly with thin brown hair and a protruding forehead. He assumed the bandits would covet her young flesh. He had not learned the girl's name, not wanting to put a real person to the tool he used her as. With luck she would survive, and he certainly planned on it. He had taken her hostage from Gils to ensure the farmer stayed quiet and did not betray them, and he had kept his word. The girl, too, remained docile when her gag was removed to eat and drink. He stood before her now, hands on his hips.
"Are you ready to earn back your freedom and return to your family?"
Her dark eyes were wide and she nodded furiously. Ulfrik smiled, and gestured to Finn who pulled out her gag and cut her free from the tree. He helped her stand and steadied her as she adjusted.
Ulfrik cupped her jaw and forced her to look at him.
"Here's what you'll do. Take this knife and hide it on your body. Go to Thorgest's camp and tell them you've escaped us. He'll press you about how you did it, so tell him you slipped us in the night and became lost. Here, tear your dress." Ulfrik grabbed her collar and tore the thin fabric to reveal the top of her cleavage. It was not as enticing as he had hoped. "Show him a bit of tit and you'll be on his bed straight away. That's when you call out for me and stab him. We'll rush in and finish the rest. You'll be safe to return home after that."
The girl stared at him in disbelief. Her trembling voice was barely audible. "You can kill all of them like that?"
"You'll have their attention. Three will be dead before they know it; three will die as they turn to face us; and three will die when they try to fight. That's nine dead. This is the only way, girl. You ready?" He pressed into her hand the small knife he had taken from Gils's farm and held it there. She continued to stare, her mouth struggling to form words.
Finn led her away and soon they were watching her approach the hall. She seemed tiny in the bland light. Two men appeared out of the shadows of the hall, one with a spear lowered. She started talking, and the men nodded, eventually taking her inside.
"How long before she betrays us to Thorgest?" Finn asked.
"The moment she realizes he has two teeth and smells like shit and ale, she'll be pointing the way to us. I just hope the bastard doesn't decide we can wait while he gets a better look at her body."
"I'll string the bow anyway." Finn put six arrows into the ground next to him as he readied his bow.
"Make every shot count," Ulfrik said. "I'll take up my position. Good luck."
They nodded at each other, and Ulfrik looped around the far side of Thorgest's small hall. As expected, all nine men filed out of the hall with drawn swords or leveled spears. Some had grabbed shields and helmets, expecting an easy ambush of Ulfrik and Finn approaching the hall. Thorgest followed behind, Ulfrik's sword bright in his hand. He opened his mouth to bellow a challenge when Finn loosed his first arrow.
The lead man collapsed with an arrow in his chest, barely giving a shout. In the moment it took for the others to notice his death, a second man spun away with a grunt as an arrow caught him in the face. The seven men, crowded at the door as they were, jumbled into each other as some tried to duck back into the hall and others leapt for cover the opposite way. Another arrow took a man in the leg and he fell in the midst of them.
Ulfrik charged out of the cover, screaming with his ax held overhead. Thorgest had fallen back into his hall while the remaining men turned toward him. Five faces drawn stiff and white with fear turned toward him. The charge was suicide against prepared men, but they were confused and frightened. Finn dropped another man as Ulfrik closed on the targets.
"There's only two of them," shouted Thorgest from the safety of his hall door. "I've got this one. Take the bowman!"
Thorgest charged out with his shield in front of him. The four remaining men whirled with their shields. Finn's fifth arrow sank into one of the shields.
Cutting to the side, Ulfrik veered from Thorgest's charge and began running in the opposite direction. His leg pained him and he cursed laying a plan that required him to run. Finn had the much longer run, and the more dangerous part of the plan. Once he had dashed to his set spot at the edge of the woods, he whirled back on Thorgest.
The bandit leader's fury was hot, having just lost four men. His face was red and lips curled back in a snarl as he hurtled forward. Ulfrik had the advantage of reach with the ax, and swept it at Thorgest's torso. A man can pull in his limbs or duck his head to avoid a blow, but no man can alter the trajectory of his body in flight. The ax swept into his side, the wedge-shaped head hooking him around his back like a fish on a gaff. He slewed to the side and crashed to his face. Ulfrik had little skill with the ax, but knew its advantages well. He slid around Thorgest as he fell and now had the ax raised overhead.
"Stop!" was all the bandit leader could shout before the ax slammed down on his head. His skull split with a wet crack and a jet of blood arced onto Ulfrik's arms. He let the ax go and pounded Thorgest into the ground.
"So I've stopped," he said over the corpse. "Now I'll have back what you've stolen."
He retrieved his sword and scabbard, then lifted the chain from Thorgest's neck after he had wrenched the ax out of Thorgest's skull. A search through his gore soaked clothes yielded the silver amulet of Thor's hammer given him by Gytha, as well as two others. "Seems the Storm God had no affection for you," he said as he stashed the other amulets. He would have to return later, for now he had to help Finn.
He did not return the way he had come. Finn's final destination lay to the west, and Ulfrik loped through the trees to where he expected to find Finn celebrating his kills. There were no sounds of battle, which was encouraging, but he approached the area with caution. The small clearing appeared in the trees and he saw Finn against a tree with no one else. Before him, the covered pit they had dug for days was now open.
"It worked!" Ulfrik shouted, exiting from the trees. Finn waved a tired hand at him but said nothing. "That was brilliant shooting. Reminded me of my old friend Snorri in his younger days. That man could shoot. Let's see what you caught."
He jogged to the pit and looked inside. Four bodies were impaled on stakes, three were dead and another struggled in silence with a stake that had impaled him through his left side. "Hey, no need to let this one suffer."
Looking up at Finn, he froze in horror.
Finn's clothes were soaked with blood. His freckles stood out in sharp contrast to the whiteness of his flesh. He gave a weak smile. "One of them threw a spear and cut my leg. It's not bad. What's wrong?"
Ulfrik schooled his expression, knowing full well any panic on his part would worsen Finn's condition. He drew a breath and smiled. "Seems like a scratch, but let's have a look at it."
"I almost missed the log we set over the pit. Could you imagine if I fell into my own trap?"
"I'd not let you live it down." Ulfrik gingerly peeled back Finn's shir
t, finding the cut on his side and continuing around to his back.
"Wish I could've seen them fall in there, but I was busy running. Then a lucky bastard stuck my leg."
As far as Ulfrik could see, Finn's leg was unhurt. He gently leaned Finn forward and saw the ragged gash over his kidney. Had the throw been true, Finn would have died instantly.
"See, it's not bad." Finn's voice was already weakening, as if he were falling asleep.
Ulfrik nodded as he stripped off his cloak to cut bandages. The wound was deep and long, flowing blood at a steady rate. Finn was right: the wound was not bad.
It was deadly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Runa kept her head lowered in the hall, moving among servants whose expressions ranged from surprise to pity. The five hirdmen loafing at a table did not see her at all, drinking and either rolling dice or betting on their friends. Their brittle laughter made Runa's hands tremble with rage. There had been a time only six years past when she had been regarded with respect. Most of Ulfrik's hird had gone to Einar's hold, and the men Konal recruited had been selected for their drinking tolerance rather than military power. She scowled at them lost in their gambling, her cheek stinging in answer.
"Lady Runa, your face?" A woman, Groa, who had been a servant to Runa since her time in Nye Grenner, intercepted Runa as she crossed the hall. She was a few years older than Runa, but toil had grayed her hair and lined her face. Her rough hand reached out to tilt Runa's head into the light, and she sucked her breath as it did.
"Not now," Runa said. "I just want to get some air."
Groa frowned. "How's your sight? Blurry?"
"No more so than yesterday. Please, I'll be fine. It looks worse than it feels." As if to deny Runa's lie, a cold needle of pain raced across her throbbing cheek as she spoke.
They stared at each other while the rest of the servants flowed around them carrying out their chores. Groa's mouth formed unspoken words, the same protests she made every time Konal's rage ended in violence. Both knew all talk was pointless. Groa's eyes faltered and she relented, stepping aside. Runa patted her arm and continued out of the hall.
The sky was blanketed with woolly clouds and a cool wind lifted her hair over her face. Just the touch of it on her injured cheek elicited soreness. Their small fort consisted of the main hall, blacksmith, barracks, and a smattering of homes all ringed by a wooden palisade. The lands beyond were nominally under Konal's rule, but Hrolf the Strider was the true force from here to the sea, which was miles upon miles of land. Konalsvik, as it was called, hid far back behind the Frankish borders where Einar now held a larger, more important fortress. Hrolf understood Konal's true potential, and had kept him away from a position where his mistakes could cost him. A river flowed nearby, dumping into the Seine. It was about the only thing of importance in the area.
Runa folded her arms across her chest and shuffled down the main dirt road. A dog barked and children ran between buildings. The blacksmith's hammer clanged in the distance.
She hated her life. This morning had only served to deepen that hatred. Only her son, her youngest son, Aren, remained with her now. Her eldest, Gunnar, was probably dead, having stolen a ship to search for his father and never returned. Hakon now fostered with Einar and made it clear he would never return to her side while Konal ruled. Her brother Toki's daughter, Kirsten, was given away in marriage at age thirteen and died with her first child the following year. Konal helped her endure all of this by drinking, bragging, and beating her when she reminded him of her unhappiness.
Fate was a strange thing, and her journey from a jarl's daughter, to a slave, to a jarl's wife, and finally a defeated old woman made no sense. Was this all that life meant?
She stood watching the playing children, the boys fighting mock battles with sticks while the girls cheered for their heroes. Her decision became clearer.
Divorce had never been a choice, not without family to support her. Einar would take her in, but with the Frankish border he would be pressed to his limit. While she could lean on him, she had to bring value to Einar's table. She also had to be certain Konal would not do something rash when confronted with her demands. She had never feared him to kill her, but his violence came easily these days.
A divorce would shame him, though it was her right if she chose it. Handled wrong, it could end in blood. The thought chilled her.
With Hakon now turned seventeen, he was a man capable of accepting his inheritance. The jewels she had secreted all these years should pass to him, in part to aid his future and to support her after leaving Konal. Aren remained the problem, for he was not yet a man at age fifteen, though some could argue it so. To get him from under Konal's control would be no easy thing. The law was clear enough that the father claimed the children. Yet if she could arrange to have him away when the time came, Aren might have a chance to avoid returning. Despite being his blood father, Aren did not love Konal and suffered under his demands for obedience in all matters.
No matter what happened, divorce was not a common thing for men of station. Common folk exercised their rights with less care for their reputations and standing. Though she knew another year living under Konal's unpredictable moods was not an option, humiliating him brought risks to not only herself but to her children. Even Einar would be caught in the backlash. She wondered if the guilt he felt for Ulfrik's death would be enough for him to endure a bad relationship with Konal.
The children's battle was ending, little bodies falling over in exaggerated death throes or little men dancing in victory. She smiled at them as she considered her next step. Einar would have to help her. Hakon fostered with him, learning the ways of leadership and battle. A visit to her son would be a good excuse to talk to Einar and determine where he stood.
The children scampered off and the wind gusted again, the scent of rain in the air. Like the children at play, Runa hoped to just disappear.
CHAPTER NINE
Runa had spent her day lost in idle thought, doing nothing more than wandering the confines of the hold. Women traded news and gossip freely with her, some staring intently at her bruised face while others strained to ignore it. Runa found their reactions interesting if pointless distractions from what bothered her. As the day closed she had to return to the hall and at least oversee the evening meal. She had avoided it all day, no doubt doubling the weaving that Groa and the other women would have to do without her. Now that people tottered off to their homes and hearth light shined from open doors, she had to return to Konal.
The clouds had broken up, never delivering the promised rain, and a balmy wind pushed her along the path as if shooing her home. Two men in dark cloaks and faceplated helmets waited at the hall doors, more attentive than usual. In fact, Runa paused at the way the two stared at her. She could see the whites of one man's eyes.
"I assure you it's me," she said with a small laugh. "Is something wrong?"
The two exchanged glances and Runa felt her stomach tighten at it. Her first thought was something had happened to Aren on his trip to Einar's hold, but then realized he had already been gone a week and ill news would have reached her already. Shaking her head to chase away the doubts, she proceeded up the path and between the guards. They let her pass, but as she entered they stopped another man approaching behind her and told him the hall was closed.
Inside the front room, she removed her cloak and hung it on a peg. The doors to the main hall hung open and a fire crackled in the hearth. The cooking pot was not on its trestle, and no servants were preparing the evening meal. Looking to either side of the door, the benches and tables were still against the walls, and no one was present.
"I've been waiting for you. Come inside." Konal's voice was strained and thin as he tried to force it across the short hall. He sat at the high table, rigid and with both hands folded before him. He wore a clean red cloak, one Runa had not seen him wear before, and his clothes were fresh as opposed to his habit of wearing the same things for days on end.
&
nbsp; "What's going on? Where is everyone? The evening meal?"
"I'm not hungry. I sent everyone away. You and I have some things to discuss. Come here."
Runa had known Konal for many years, and even with the changes age and alcohol had wrought upon him, she had never seen a mood like this. He did not move as she approached, but yet seemed on the verge of an explosion. His terrible red and white scars stood out on his face and neck against the dancing hearth light, but more striking were his pale eyes sparking like flint. They never wavered from hers as she came to the table before him. He nodded toward the bench, and she sat as if she were lowering herself onto a trap.
"What is this, Konal? Are you trying to frighten me?"
"Why would time alone with me frighten you?"
"You almost knocked out my teeth when we were alone this morning. Maybe you want to finish the job." Runa put more bravado into her statement than she felt. He did not respond, but kept a serene yet arrogant smile like one of those Christian saints in a church tapestry.
"I did some thinking about this morning. Believe it or not, I do think about how we have come to be at each other's necks. I like it even less than you, and for all your self-pity you cannot see that I have made sacrifices for your benefit that you never recognize."
Runa turned aside and leaned away from the table. "This again? Yes, you ran to my side the moment Ulfrik was buried and yes you saved me the cruelty of widowhood. But I'd rather be a lonely widow than a married woman with a broken jaw."
Konal closed his eyes and inhaled, then slowly let out his breath. "This is not the discussion I want to have."
"Maybe it's what I want to discuss? Look at my face. The man I married would not have done this to me, but now this new Konal is all too ready to strike me for the slightest insult to his honor. I dared to look at a keepsake from my dead husband and that deserved violence? What if I should speak of him? Maybe you'd cut out my tongue?"
Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) Page 4
