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

by Jerry Autieri

  Runa spun toward them, the contents of the bowl spilling over onto her hand. She recognized three of the men as her own, but the other two wore blue cloaks over mail shirts. Their boots and pants were splattered with mud and their mail jingled as they strode confidently into the hall. She glanced back at Konal who stared vacantly at the men. When she turned back, the two strangers were facing her and she inhaled in surprise.

  "We have come with urgent news for you from Eyrafell." The first man, tall with piercing green eyes and a long, fuzzy brown beard, addressed her with a slight bow. She looked back at Konal, who still remained in a fog staring at them.

  "There is bad news," the messenger continued. "Snorri has taken ill and will soon be on to Valhalla."

  Her hand rose to her mouth, and her stomach went cold. "How? Aren, you were just with him."

  She heard Aren gasp and rise from his bench, but her eyes remained locked with the messenger. She did not know him, but she hardly spent time in Einar's hall to recognize any of his men. Something about him felt strange, however. His eyes seemed to flash another message at her.

  "He was in good health only days ago," Aren said. He now joined Runa's side. "What happened?"

  "He stumbled in the hall and struck his head," the messenger said. "He has been asking for Runa. He wants to see her before he dies."

  "Then we shall go to him." Konal spoke up and all eyes turned to him. "He is an old friend."

  "Jarl Einar has specified only Runa should come," the messenger said as he inclined his head to Konal. "He needs you here, for the Franks are hinting at a large scale action."

  "Then how is it safe for my wife to travel?" Had Runa known better, she would have thought his question sincere from the care in his voice.

  "We will escort her on horseback." The messenger indicated his partner. Konal snorted at this.

  "Two of you? If I am not to come, then I insist I send my own guards."

  "That's not necessary, Jarl Konal." Again the messenger glanced at Runa as he bowed. She felt as if he were warning her against the guards.

  "Wouldn't that make us more obvious?" Runa asked. "Maybe it is better with only two."

  "I insist." The finality of his words were like a hammer on metal.

  "What about me?" Aren asked, rubbing his hands together.

  The messenger appeared confused, looking at Runa with an expectant expression. She immediately grasped he did not know what to say.

  "He should come as well," Runa said.

  "He stays with me." Konal's whispering voice was stretched to its limits. He now stepped down from the high table, dragging his hand along it as he approached Aren. "He was just at Snorri's side, and if it is as they say, then travel is too dangerous for him. Do not contest me in this, Runa. I will not have it."

  She knew better than to challenge him. If Snorri were on his deathbed and asking for her, then she owed it to him to be at his side. He was like a father to her, as well as Ulfrik, and this news was one more twist to her heart she could not stand. Thinking of losing him at the moment she would need him most nearly brought tears to her eyes, but she shook the hair from her face and addressed the messenger.

  "We should leave as soon as you are fed and your horses rested." The two men bowed and gave their thanks to her. Konal guided her away with a firm grip, his hoarse voice a wintry whisper.

  "Give him my best," he said, not without a hint of sincerity. "But this has not spared you from your deceit. I know you were at the well, too."

  Her stomach flopped and she felt ready to faint. She blinked at him, finding no words. What could be said? He sneered and released her.

  "I will select the men to accompany you," he said, pausing at the doors from the hall. "Travel safely."

  She watched him go, then Aren touched her arm. She jolted at the surprise, and Aren fell back.

  "I don't trust this," he said, smoothing his hair after the shock of Runa's reaction. "Einar's messenger has more to say to you than he revealed. What will you do?"

  "I'll get the rest out of him on the journey. Don't worry for me, but take care of yourself. I think your father is using you to ensure I return."

  Aren swallowed and nodded slowly. "I know he is. I'm a hostage to my own father."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Runa and the messenger, who had given his name as Hrut Grisson, rode in a cart along the track to Eyrafell. The road was nothing more than ruts worn into the plains of grass from the frequent travel between the two fortresses. While they had thought to bring a horse for her, none had considered she did not know how to ride one. About three tries to get her on the beast convinced Konal to lend the cart. They had already been on the track for a day, and her back ached from the constant rattle and the poor sleep she had in the bed of the cart. Now fat rain clouds rolled over the horizon of dark trees and a strong breeze gusted across the grass. No birds dared fly in the wind, and so she had nothing to listen to beyond the wobbling and creaking of the cart's axle.

  "My husband's guards are behind us now," she whispered to Hrut. "I think there is more for you to tell me?"

  He shrugged, but checked over his shoulder. "We'll be at Eyrafell soon enough. What I have to say is best told there."

  She folded her arms, but the cart hit a rock and the jolt nearly sent her to the ground. "Do you have to hit every obstacle?"

  "Sorry, I don't often drive carts. It's a farmer's work."

  Runa brooded in silence, staring into the glare of the eastern sun and hoping to see Eyrafell rise above the horizon. Hrut's secret ate at her heart like a rat gnaws at sacks of grain.

  "I can't wait. Tell me now." He shook his head. "Is it the presence of my husband's men?"

  He nodded. "They'll have to go once we're at Eyrafell. They seem like good men, too bad."

  "Too bad?"

  "You'll see soon enough."

  The rest of the trip was an endless procession of jolts and bumps and Hrut's maddening silence. Once Eyrafell came into view, Runa's heart nearly leapt from her chest. The gates hung open to welcome them. The men greeted Hrut and his companion, but frowned at the three other men Konal had assigned to be Runa's minders.

  "We are here now," she said to Hrut. "Can you share your message?"

  "Snorri's not dying," he said. "But he and Einar desired a private meeting with you." He flashed his eyes at her three guards and realized now why Hrut regretted having them along.

  "That was a terrible lie," she hissed at him. "Snorri is family."

  He shrugged. "Wasn't my lie. What do we do with your guards?"

  Runa stared at the three of them dismounting their horses and handing them over to stable hands. She bit her lip and considered. "Easy enough to slip them. I am not here as their prisoner, so they cannot follow me everywhere."

  Hrut nodded in agreement. "I'll alert Einar of your arrival. Your son, Hakon, is eager to see you as well."

  A whirlwind of feelings sped through Runa knowing Snorri was well and her son was present. The mystery of the entire adventure took her mind from the horrible weight of Konal's threat, even if only for this moment. Aren was still in his grip, and she would have to return for him. Yet still, something momentous was afoot, and her heart raced in anticipation.

  The arrival went as any one would expect. Bera, Einar's graceful wife and Runa's dear friend, came with her three daughters to welcome her. Konal's guards stayed at a close but respectful distance. Bera had seemed untouched by age with her hair full and lustrous and no lines on her plump face. She artfully ignored the bruises on Runa's cheek and kissed her on the good one. "Be welcomed," she proclaimed warmly. As she hugged her, she whispered in her ear. "Why the guards?"

  "Konal," she said, her eyes falling away. "I was hoping your daughters might entertain them long enough for me to meet with Snorri?"

  They stared at each other, Bera's expression inscrutable, then she looped her arm into Runa's and laughed. "I see no harm in that. Snorri is anxious to see you."

  For the next hour R
una and her guards were in the mead hall, where all the important men were conspicuously absent. Bera made small talk with her, but Runa did not hear it and smiled her way through the conversation. She was constantly scanning for the arrival of Snorri or Hakon, anyone who could reveal why she had been summoned. Bera's three daughters had taken up with the guards and each was as charming and beautiful as their mother. A few well-timed giggles and several overlong stares had Konal's guards mystified.

  Bera stood suddenly and spoke loud enough for Konal's men to hear. "You really must see these patterns my daughters have been weaving. They are quite clever. Come to the loom with me."

  Only one of Runa's minders bothered to glance at her move toward the walls where the looms were set up. Bera pulled fabric out of the basket and spoke under her breath. "Hrut should be outside the hall to take you to the men."

  "Thank you, I hope Konal's guards won't raise a fuss."

  "If they are any good, they will, and if I become angered at their behavior, I have two dozen men ready to restrain them." Bera smiled. "Go now and don't worry for your minders."

  Outside the hall the night was cold for summer. The rain had not fallen from the clouds, but instead left the air wet and heavy. Hrut had a cloak prepared for her. "They are all gathered and ready for you."

  Runa's heart was racing and she felt faint. She could not grasp what they had to reveal in such secrecy. Eyrafell was much like Ravndal had been, and she felt a familiarity as Hrut led her along the roads to a long barracks building in the shape of a ship's hull. Orange light flickered beyond the open door.

  "Go inside," Hrut said. "I will be out here if you need me again."

  She crossed into the barracks, finding rows of beds with trunks and bags of gear, racks for shields and swords, as well as stands for mail armor that she mistook for people in the dim light. The central area at the hearth held a long table with benches, and three men standing before it.

  "Snorri, you scared me witless with that lie of being dead!" She crossed to the old man, who leaned heavily on his walking staff, and gave him a hug. His beard tickled her cheek as she did, reminding her of the ugly bruise she displayed there. As she pulled back, Snorri's cloudy eyes fell on it and his face folded up in anger.

  "I'm sorry for the lie, girl. Judging by your face I was not mistaken in bringing you here."

  "Mother, what happened?" Hakon pulled her into a hug, then brushed her hair over her ear.

  "I didn't travel all this way to explain a bruise on my face. It's nothing, my son." She had not seen Hakon since Yule, and she studied him for new scars. He was the image of Ulfrik, though leaner and not as tall. His clear blue eyes were fierce and his golden hair had captured a wave from Runa's own tightly curled locks. Singular to him was a beak nose that lent a raptor-like cast to his face. He held her at arm's length now, examining her bruise and shaking his head.

  "Sorry to bring you here under such deceit. We had urgent need of you and had to conceal our true purposes," Einar said. The giant man stood over her, and gently kissed her forehead. She remembered when he was only a round-headed, awkward boy who was too shy to speak to her. His mother, Gerdie, had been a friend to Runa during one of the worst periods of her life, and now he extended the same respect to her as his mother had.

  "What could be so urgent and secretive?"

  All three men shared a look, but Hakon's was most telling. A smile nearly exploded from his face, and though the hearth fire burned strongly, the light was still not enough to determine if those were tears in his eyes. He had always been her most emotional son, and the most needful of her support. She attributed it to being kidnapped in his youth.

  "Come now," she said. "Don't look at each other, since it's me you want to tell. Someone just say it."

  "I should be the one," Snorri said. "Since I'm breaking my promise. Did Aren say anything to you?"

  Runa's mouth hung open, caught between a smile and a word. She shook her head, blinking.

  Snorri adjusted his grip on the staff and Einar held his shoulder for support. Hakon took his mother's hand.

  "It is as you always believed." His voice was low and rough with age, but his eyes glittered with vigor. "Ulfrik is not dead. He is alive, and visited both me and Aren only a week ago."

  She heard the words. All three men watched her carefully, and Hakon squeezed her hand.

  "Mother, are you all right? You look pale."

  She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Her entire body felt numb. Einar now stood beside her and began to guide her to a bench. She did not understand why they appeared so frightened.

  "What do you mean he's alive?"

  "It's what you think it is, lass. He has been gone but not dead all these years."

  "You saw him?"

  "Spoke to him, along with Aren."

  The room grew dark for a moment and she was aware of hands holding her up.

  "Mother, here, drink something."

  "He's alive?" she said in a tiny voice. "Why not come to me?"

  "That's not a concern," Snorri said. "But right now he is in grave danger."

  Runa looked right at Snorri's eyes, saw his solemn expression.

  Then the world went dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Konal downed the last of the ale. It was harsh and bitter, the worst of a long series of bad kegs. He flung the horn aside, sending it crashing into the corner of his darkened hall. Servants jumped at the impact but none dared meet his eyes. Only that hag, Groa, stole a glance at him then turned aside. She had never liked him, and the feeling was mutual. All the old woman did was poison his wife against him. He should have driven her out long ago, and gods be damned if she had been a dear friend to Runa. A real friend does not poison marriages.

  Hirdmen close to the high table raised their horns and toasted Konal's anger. He glared at them, but they were too drunk to notice his displeasure. Light and a cool breeze filtered in from the open smoke hole and front doors of the hall. Shadows flickered beyond the threshold, men passing on their duties. He rested his head in his hands and scowled at the open door. How he wished for such a simple life, uncomplicated with responsibilities and the demands of an oath-holder. He wished for the days when his twin brother, Kell, had been alive and the two sailed the oceans with naught but their crews and swords against the world.

  Sighing heavily, he stared down the long empty board. He was alone here at the high table, as he had been for so many years. Runa may have slept beside him, but her heart was forever lost in a dream of her dead husband. She had seen his head along with everyone else. Einar had witnessed the death. What more did the woman need? She had been keen to grab him as a drowning man grabs driftwood, but once she had felt safe again, all the dissatisfaction began to surface. Was it not bad enough that fire had made him ugly on the outside, but that she had to make him ugly in his heart as well?

  He clutched the gems at his belt and his frown deepened. A king's fortune now hung at his hip, and his deceitful wife had hid it under his bed for all this time. Such an insult was staggering, but then to attempt to steal it again while he was gone. Had she lost her mind?

  Men laughed and boasted, a few started a brawl that drew others to bet on victors. He was alone in the hall despite all these men. They did not care about him, only what gold and ale he could provide them mattered. When either was gone, he would be utterly friendless. Of course, the gems at his hip could prevent that, but converting these stones to something more easily spent would be difficult. Not many men could pay what these were worth, and the one who could, namely Hrolf the Strider, would put a claim on these treasures for himself. In fact, Konal did not doubt Hrolf would be tempted to kill him and take the treasure for himself. It was that valuable.

  "Where's Aren?" he asked suddenly, then belched. To his shock, one of the servants hovering at the edge of his vision stepped forward with an answer.

  "He said he was stepping outside for air, Lord."

  "Air? A man shouldn't have to go anywhere to
find that." He slammed a palm on the table, and the front ranks of men turned on their benches to face him. He stared at them, their faces blurry and unclear. After another belch, he pointed at one gap-toothed man with a red cap. "Do you have to find air?"

  The man's face fell at the question, but his companions began to snigger. "I never thought to look for it."

  "He farts enough to keep himself in foul air all day," said the man beside him, and the whole table erupted in laughter.

  Konal slapped his hand on the table again. "That's right! I'm going to find my bastard son. He's right bastard too, but you all know that."

  When he stood he stumbled, and his men laughed even harder. Along the way to the exit, he bumped men and benches, but none dared do more than laugh or help him on his way. He passed the brawling men, their scuffle over and both sides nursing bloodied and swollen faces. He stopped at the obvious loser, his left eye swollen shut. "You look like my wife."

  "Maybe he can warm your bed tonight," said one of the victors and more laughter exploded.

  As Konal staggered outside, he left his men in high spirits, proof that he was as good a leader as Ulfrik had ever been. "We didn't laugh this much under you," he muttered to himself. It was late afternoon and the sky above was dark and the western horizon stained orange. Over the tops of the stockade walls, birds flew home for the night. Within the walls, people scurried to make the most of the last light of day. Konal wobbled down the tracks, people stepping out of his path with a bow and a word of greeting. He knew where Aren would be hiding. Same place every time.

  Unsurprisingly, he was at the stone Runa raised in memory of Ulfrik. He stood facing it, one hand touching the gray rock flecked with lichen and bird droppings. The runes graven into it followed a snake pattern and were strengthened with red pigment. Not many knew how to read runes, but he did, and the words haunted him. For Ulfrik Ormsson, a great hero and father and a terror to his enemies. Aren's hand was tracing the serpent shape that contained the runes.