"Gods, Aren, he wasn't even your real father," Konal shouted as he staggered up to him. Aren bowed his head and did not answer. Konal stood behind him, unable to think of why he wanted to see his son.
"I had begun to forget what he looked like," he said, still not turning to face Konal. "His eyes were what I remembered best. Smart and alive, looking deep into your heart."
"What nonsense is this? You're looking at a rock. If I knew you and your mother would be crying over this pebble all the time, I'd have never let you raise it. I should knock it over and put Ulfrik to rest."
"You tried to step into his shoes, but they did not fit. Not as a husband, a father, not even as jarl."
Through the thick fog of ale, Konal still felt the knife cut to his heart. He seized Aren by his arm and twisted him around, pulling his square face up to his own.
"You'd better take those words back."
"Or you'll break my arm or smash my face like Mother's? Do it, but it won't change the truth of what I said."
"And what did you say?" He twisted Aren's arm harder and he winced in pain but did not cry out. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut as Konal pushed his arm to breaking. When he failed to relent, he released him. "I asked you a question."
"Are you too drunk to hear me? I said you cannot replace my true father nor replace Mother's true husband nor the people's true jarl. You are a fake, and always have been. That's why you're drunk all the time and why you hate everyone. You tried to steal a man's life, and it failed."
"I did not steal anyone's life!" Konal's shouts drew others to stare at him, but he searched about as if to dare anyone to approach. People snapped their heads back to their own business. He stood over Aren, who clutched his arm and hung his head. He grabbed Aren's shirt and pointed a finger into his square face. "You are fourteen and old enough to know words like those carry heavy consequences. You make such an accusation again in public, and I will defend my honor."
Aren looked up in a sneer. "Defend your honor? Your honor is a little far gone for that."
He threw Aren against Ulfrik's memorial stone and he flattened against it. His face had gone white, but he tilted his chin back defiantly, a look derived straight from Runa and one that set Konal's teeth on edge. A moment of clarity burned through the ale and he realized how much Aren understood his pain. Since the boy learned to speak he had always been saying things beyond his age, and seeing things no one should see. A fear gripped him at that thought. Did he know everything?
"This is ridiculous," Aren said, stepping away from the stone. "You're drunk. Go sleep it off and leave me alone."
As Aren walked past, Konal slammed his fist into Aren's gut. The boy doubled over and vomited out his dinner. Konal grabbed his thin hair and flung him back onto the stone. "You think Ulfrik is your father? You want to be close to him? Let me help you."
Aren attempted to dart away, but Konal latched onto him with both hands and pressed him against the stone. Then he grabbed Aren's head by the hair and began to rub his face over the runes for Ulfrik's name. "This is where he is, son. Get close to him."
He smashed Aren's face against the rock, pulling his head back and slamming it again. Aren struggled and kicked, and it only drove him to slam harder. He smashed Aren's face until he lost count, stopping only when blood smeared the stone. He released Aren and let him collapse into a pile like a discarded cloak. His son remained balled up and shuddering with sobs. Konal looked about, discovering the area devoid of onlookers.
After catching his breath, he suddenly realized he had almost killed his son. His hands went cold and the drunken haze over his vision cleared. He bent over his son's body, hesitating to touch him. When his fingers were about to brush Aren's shoulder, his son whirled on him.
His face was swollen, lips broken and probably his nose as well. Blood flowed from both nostrils and his teeth were red with blood as he snarled. "Don't touch me! You are not my father! My father is alive and he will have revenge upon you for what you did to Mother and me!"
"I'm sorry," his voice was again a quiet, ragged whisper. "I shouldn't have--"
"He never died. That head was not his. He's with Einar now, and will be coming for you. Your face will be smashed on this rock. I swear it!"
Aren staggered to his feet and dashed away. Konal stood staring at the blood stains on the rock.
"Alive? That's not possible." But was it impossible? Runa had been summoned to Eyrafell, and Aren had not been himself since returning from it. If Ulfrik were alive, he could not imagine the complications.
"You have to be dead," he said. He glanced at the memorial stone, and his heart flipped in his chest. A bloody handprint covered the runes for "a terror to his enemies."
"And if you're not, then you must die again."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Runa sat on the bench, hand covering her mouth, and her head still swam from having passed out. Hakon sat pressed to her side, arm around her shoulder and hand on her knee. Snorri and Einar both sat on a bench across from her. As night deepened, so did the wavering shadows of the hall, and to Runa all three men seemed to meld with the darkness as if all were a dream. Heads of men poked into the open door, but upon spotting them disappeared without a word.
Snorri had described every detail of Ulfrik's return and of the news he had shared. They now sat in thoughtful silence, and Runa imagined imprisonment in Iceland. The place had been legend as far as she had known, and traders spoke of it being out of reach of normal ships. Yet Ulfrik had lived there all these long years, and had found his way back to her. The feelings swirling in her heart were a confusion of joy, sadness, anger, and dozens of other sensations she could not identify. As Hakon held her and smiled, she decided to follow his lead and be happy Ulfrik was alive.
"I don't know the details of Ulfrik's task, but Hrolf sent him in disguise to join Count Amand's forces," Snorri said. "After rescuing Vilhjalmer, he expects lands and gold as a reward, and I've no idea what that means for his decisions about you. But I told him about Konal, and he had that look we all know so well. He's not going to let it pass."
Runa felt heat on her face and studied her lap rather than meet anyone's gaze. "I never expected to be judged for what I did. I thought him dead."
"Not judge you, Mother," Hakon said, squeezing her shoulders. "But free you from this shameful life Konal has brought you. Look at your face. Father would go mad at seeing that bruise."
She smiled weakly. "I'm not sure that's what I want to happen."
"We're getting ahead of the matter," Einar said. The giant man folded his muscular arms across his chest, gold armbands and rings glinting in the hearth light. "Only days ago my men were sent to contact spies in Count Amand's forces. This is a regular meeting that happens every month. They collect the information and send it back to Hrolf. This time, however, after they had received the latest news from the spies, matters worsened."
Runa stared at him, eyes searching between Einar and Snorri. "How so?"
Einar leaned forward on his knees. "The spies were being followed by Count Amand's men. We did not see if Hrolf's spies were overcome, but we are certain they are known to Count Amand."
"Ulfrik is to contact these spies, but in their last report they made no mention of him," Snorri added.
"They would not know to expect him," Einar continued. "Nor did my men know to ask after him. But now that we are sure Count Amand's men are following the spies, Ulfrik may be in danger."
Runa did not feel fear, only anger. Her fist tightened and she narrowed her eyes trying to recall Ulfrik's face. The moment I learn you are alive, she thought, is the same moment I'm warned you may die?
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, whisper thin and hoarse enough to sound like Konal. "If he must die again, I do not want to suffer the same pain twice."
"You can help him," Einar said.
"Carry this news to Jarl Hrolf, girl." Snorri stood from the bench, wrestling with his staff. He hobbled over to settle beside her s
o she was now pressed between him and Hakon. "If he knows his son and spies are in danger, he will take action."
"I still don't know why it should be me. Why torment me with this worry?"
"Girl, Hrolf has a soft place in his heart for you." Snorri patted her knee. "You're also a lot better looking than the lot of us."
"It's likely Hrolf might do nothing at all with this news," Einar said. "In fact, any action is dangerous. Maybe Amand plans to let the spies continue, maybe feeding them wrong information. In that time his son might be freed."
"But his men would be doomed," Runa said. Einar shrugged. For her own children's safety she had let far more than a half dozen men die.
"I could not sway him," Hakon said. "I'm too inexperienced in some people's eyes. Otherwise I'd go in your place, Mother."
"He thinks he's ready to rule Paris," Snorri added dryly. "You know Einar cannot leave with the Franks acting up all along the border. I'm too old. There's only one choice that makes any sense."
"Me," she said softly. "I have to at least convince Hrolf to send warning to Ulfrik."
"It would risk exposing him, and could spell his death and a worse fate for Vilhjalmer," said Einar.
"Or it could save Ulfrik. And you'll forgive me for not caring a whit if Vilhjalmer lives or dies."
Einar laughed. "Oh, he won't die, but it would be a sword over Hrolf's neck. That's his only son!"
Surrounded by the men dearest to her heart, entrusted with securing Ulfrik's safety, the choice did not even figure into her mind. "I have to leave immediately, but Konal has sent guards to watch me."
"I was surprised at that," Einar said, rising from the bench with a sigh. "I will detain them and send my own with you. It is important that this be kept a strict secret among us alone. Not even my wife knows why we are meeting tonight. The fewer people who know, the better we can protect Ulfrik."
"Aren knows, and he is trapped with Konal." She looked up at Einar and his lips were tight. No one spoke for long moments.
"I have no right to interfere with Konal," Einar said. "Delaying his men from their orders is insulting enough. He's done nothing wrong."
"Do you see my mother's face?" Hakon leapt from the bench, fists balled at his sides. "You're telling me that's not wrong?"
Einar stared at Runa. "What a man does with his wife under his own roof is not my business. If your mother sought my help, I'd lend it to her, but I've not heard a complaint."
"But with my father returned things will be different," Hakon said, looking between Runa and Einar.
"Oh, lad, things will be much different," Snorri said. "But that's a worry for another day. For now, we need to get your mother on the road to Hrolf."
"Travel down the Seine is still the swiftest and safest method for traveling west. You'll leave at dawn with a full crew. They will see you to Hrolf, and home again."
"I can't go home again," she said, striking her palm with her fist. "Get my son away from Konal, and I will remain here until Ulfrik returns."
They all lingered in silence, Einar nodding then leaving the hall. Hakon returned to her side and draped a consoling arm around her. Snorri remained standing but averting his eyes to the distance.
"Aren is Konal's son," he said. "Until he is a man, his father decides everything for him."
"I'll not have him be a hostage, and you know that's what Konal will do the moment he learns Ulfrik is alive." Runa stood and faced Snorri. "So make him a man and get him away."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ulfrik and Grimnr's hirdmen spent their time in drills, patrols, or idling in Grimnr's hall. A cold night was settling on the camp, but Ulfrik's waist burned from the rigors of a full day of shield wall practice. The bench he sat upon was unforgiving, and he yearned to lay out flat. Yet with his new sword brothers at his side, he could do little more than smile through the soreness and wish he were younger. The hall was spacious and smoky, lined with banners of a dozen petty chiefs all subordinated to Grimnr's standard of a black wolf head on a red background. Grimnr's table was set higher than any other Ulfrik had seen, as high as his knee. That table was empty now, but a row of mugs and drinking horns spread out before his seat and solemnly awaited use.
The drinking started early, with a tasty ale in strong supply this night. A plump serving girl worked a newly tapped cask, snatching up one mug or horn after the next and refilling it until suds overflowed onto her hands. Vigrid sat next to him and ensured he never had an empty horn.
"A hard day's work is rewarded with a hard night's drinking," he said, slapping Ulfrik's shoulder.
"A fine way to end the day," he said. "But without something in my belly I'll be under the table before the sun sets."
His protests brought laughter and another full mug that slid across the board to slosh its contents over its rim. Though he spoke lightly, the truth of his predictions began to manifest in dizziness and a warm glow on his face.
"You're the new man," Vigrid said. "And we haven't seen how well you drink."
"You can tell a lot about a man by how he holds his drink," said another man with bushy eyebrows from across the board.
"Oh yes," Vigrid agreed. "I think you can tell quite a bit. Here, I'll match you this one."
Raising a mug to Ulfrik's horn, there was nothing to do but put it back. The drink went down easier than the last, and the pain in his back diminished with each mug. Others cheered them on and clapped as they finished. Before Ulfrik could belch, a fresh horn of frothing ale was shoved into his hand.
This continued until he was surrounded by the rest of the hirdmen, each cheering his drinking. He did not notice Grimnr's entrance until the crowd parted for his arrival.
Ulfrik liked Grimnr the Mountain. True to his name, he was a giant to rival Hrolf or Einar, and he wore his hair in a long braid to his waist. It was an impractical style, Ulfrik thought, prone to being grabbed in battle, but Grimnr had the scars to show he had survived whatever the shield wall had thrust at him. The day Ulfrik stood before him and met with approval, a tingle of pride ran up Ulfrik's back. Such a feeling was rare in him, but Grimnr had a natural charisma that made men want to follow.
In another life Ulfrik would have liked to call him a friend, but instead he lied to Grimnr about every detail of his history and searched for weaknesses he might exploit if he ever had to kill Grimnr. Fate was unkind.
His ponderous bulk shoved through the gathered crowd and the bench across from Ulfrik cleared. He settled on it, a wolfish expression on his face, then leaned across the table.
"You've made a strong showing in drills these last few days. Heard you kick down shield walls like opening the door to a mead hall."
"A lifetime of practice does it," Ulfrik said. The crowd's boisterous laughter softened and many struggled forward to hear the answer.
"Aye, no lie in that," Grimnr said. The plump serving girl set two mugs of ale before him then shrank away. He did not acknowledge the drink, but studied Ulfrik. "I have to wonder why I've not heard of Ulfar the White before today."
"You have," Ulfrik said. "I met you five days ago."
He burst out laughing at his own joke, but no one else followed. He was already feeling weak from too much ale on an empty stomach, and his bad joke alerted him to be more cautious with his words.
"Your name has reached my ears at least once for each of these days," Grimnr said. He looked at him with a gimlet eye. "It seems in battle there's little you can't do, and your sword brothers are mightily impressed. So let's see how a battle of drinks goes for you."
He shoved one of the mugs across the table at him, ale splashing over the side. The surrounding hirdmen clapped and began to place their bets.
"Vigrid has already poured me three mugs in a row. I feel like crawling under the table."
"Three mugs?" Grimnr's lip curled in a sneer, then downed the mug before him. "I've had two already. Now it's fair. We begin."
He slammed the board and a roar went up from the hirdmen. Ulfrik found hi
mself staring at his mug while Grimnr chugged a fresh refill. Vigrid prodded his shoulder. "Drink, you fool. I'll keep the ale flowing."
He slugged the ale down, spilling as much as he could without being called a cheat. True to his word, Vigrid had a mug ready when he was done with the last. Three mugs later the room began to swim, and after another two he fell forward on the table.
Rather than cheers, he found himself being hauled onto the board. There was no sound but for the rasp of a dagger clearing its sheath. Grimnr held him down, his face red and frowning.
They know who I am, Ulfrik thought as Grimnr's massive hand crushed his neck. They're going to kill me right here.
The dagger point was at his eye and Grimnr snarled. "What's your real name?"
"Ulfar the White," Ulfrik managed to say through the choke hold. He tried to punch Grimnr but discovered men pinned both arms and legs to the table. He was as good as tied down.
Grimnr released his hold, then backhanded him hard enough for Ulfrik to see stars. He repeated the same question and Ulfrik gave the same answer.
"Where are you from? Who did you last serve?" The men dragged him up while the questions fired at him. His legs were like wilted stems and he collapsed. Rough hands hauled him upright and Grimnr appeared before him, dagger in hand. "Answer my questions."
"I served Leif the Unlucky. I am from Trodheim in Norway." He gave the answers he and Gunther One-Eye had prepared. Leif had been a real jarl who had died in battle along with most of his crew.
Grimnr growled in frustration, then Ulfrik was being shoved through the throng. They punched him in the gut, clapped him in the head, or beat his face as they cycled him through the crowd. Each one asked the same questions Grimnr had, and as drunk as he was Ulfrik held on to the lie. They had attempted to weaken his mind, and now they weakened his body as well. He crashed to the floor when a flurry of kicks landed all over. He crumpled into a ball to protect his face and body.
Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) Page 13
