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

by Jerry Autieri

  "To me!" Ulfrik shouted at Finn, then he spun toward the crowd. Only the front ranks reacted, most with astonishment but others falling away as if charged by a bull. Konal did not waver, but drew his sword and his crew followed. The scrape and hum of blades eager for blood filled the air and Ulfrik roared in joy as he bounded to Konal. "To your ship! Hurry!"

  The crowd rippled with confusion, men pressing forward while others retreated. In four strides he reached Konal, and put his arm out in greeting. "I can't remember a day I was happier to see you."

  Konal's blade flicked to his throat, catching him under the chin and pressing into his skin. He backed up, and Konal pushed closer as his crew flowed around him.

  "You should have stayed dead." The voice was a ragged whisper, but the words cut no less deeply.

  "Wait!" The voice from behind was Grimnr's. "He's mine."

  Ulfrik stared into Konal's pale eyes, and realization plowed into him like a ship crashing into an iceberg. His hands went cold and his muscles slackened. Before his death, Throst had taunted him with a warning that someone within his hall had participated in his betrayal. Ulfrik had suspected Hrolf, and even as he risked everything to save his son, Ulfrik still suspected him. Yet Konal stood with cold iron pressed into his neck, scarred face tight with anger and baleful eyes glowing with hatred. He was unrecognizable now. He was the traitor. He sold him to Throst, then stole his wife and hall. A man he had named a sword brother and friend.

  Then he was sailing backward, the sky a pale blue above him. He crashed on his back and a rock dug into his spine. Grimnr loomed over him, his bulk blotting out the sky and his long braid falling over his shoulder. "You murderous pig! I'll gut you myself!"

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  "What do you see?" Runa asked, tugging at Gunnar's arm. She cursed her poor sight, but the distant shore was nothing more than green and black smudges.

  "Two nooses, and one body already strung up." Gunnar stepped back, and his face was as hard as winter ice. "A massive crowd has gathered around the hanging trees. It must be for Father and Finn."

  Runa's first reaction was to collapse into tears, but she grabbed the rail and dug her fingers into it. That Runa, the weepy and powerless woman, stayed married to Konal. Runa the Bloody has returned once more. She had led men in battle, killed for her home and family, and helpless tears did not befit who she was. She stood straighter and met Gunnar's dark eyes with the same icy determination.

  "We will aid them, even if it is our handful of crew against their army."

  Gunnar smiled. "I agree. What that herd of sheep needs is a wolf to scatter them. Set a panic among them, and we will not have to fight. They will fight themselves."

  Runa strained to see the opposite shore, but the river was wide and clusters of ships blocked the view. It seemed every ship had gone to dock, explaining why they had slipped upriver without any deterrents. How Gunnar planned to scatter this many enemies eluded her. But as she counted the few masts not blurred from her poor sight, she snapped back to him.

  "Burn their ships!"

  "It's like setting their children on fire."

  They both turned to the casks of oil. Aren sat atop one and picked at the hem of his cloak. Gunnar started to shout orders to his crew. "Take the short oars," he said. "We'll be getting close to those ships on the other shore. Aren, start moving those casks to the sides."

  "What can I do?" Runa asked. Gunnar stared at her, then smiled.

  "There is touch-wood and a striking steel in my sea chest. You get the kindling started so we can set the fire with haste."

  The ship lurched and creaked as the crew rowed back into the river. The sails were drawn but the wind still buffeted from the east, which would aid them greatly in escape but hinder their crossing of the Seine. Gunnar groaned as he worked the tiller, but he managed as well as any man with two hands. Runa fumbled through his sea chest, pulling aside clothing, a seal skin cloak and boots, and layers of blankets. She removed a small pack and shook the contents into her hand. A dirty cloth doll spilled out along with a delicate silver chain that had a silver pendant of Thor's hammer attached. She held these in her palm and the implications sunk in.

  Could I be a grandmother? she thought. The incongruity of the joy she experienced at realizing this shamed her. Unless Ulfrik were alive to share that news, then she did not want to know. She stuffed the contents back into the bag, then found the striking steel, flint, and touch-wood. The pungent scent of the fuzzy touch-wood filled her nose as she cupped it in her hands. Beside the chest was the tinder box, blackened with soot and filled with dried twigs. Blocking the wind with her back, she broke the touch-wood into pieces and sprinkled it into the tinder box, then using the flint and striking iron she struck sparks onto the kindling. Aided by the swift-burning touch-wood, the kindling started to burn. When she stood again they had crossed to the first ships.

  She strained to see up the shore to the three trees, but only saw one body dangling there. She let go her breath when she realized the hanged corpse wore a dress. The crowd had disappeared behind the rise of the land, but she could hear the mass off onlookers as a murmur of voices and clanking iron. She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes at the nooses on the trees, then turned to Gunnar.

  "The fire is ready," she said.

  Gunnar grunted at her as he pulled on the tiller. Aren hung over the port side and called out the distance to the first ships. They were coming in close enough for boarding. Runa joined her son and watched the muddy river water slap against the hull as they glided to a stop before the enemy ships.

  "Let's burn everything at this dock," Gunnar said. He grabbed a cask of oil and the rest of his crew did the same. "Were this another day, I'd steal every one of these. What kind of confidence do these men have? Leaving ships unguarded!"

  His boast was answered when two men on the closest ships popped over the rails. Both appeared confused, but one turned and fled. The one who stared like a fool died with a spear hurled into his chest.

  "Get that bastard," Gunnar shouted and three men leapt the rails to the dock.

  One shirtless man of rippling muscles and dozens of tattoos used a two-handed ax to hook a ship and anchor the boat while other men crossed with their casks underarm. Runa grabbed a shield off the rack, then stopped Gunnar as he prepared to cross to the dock. "I'll take your sax now."

  She drew it from the sheath at his waist, and then he leapt the rails. A man screamed in the distance and Runa prayed it was the fleeing man who died. Aren followed the men, a flaming brand in his hand.

  "Be careful," she shouted after him, but Aren did not seem to hear. He scampered after the men while she waited on deck. Flitting along the rails she wished she could do more, but getting over the side with any dignity in a dress was impossible. She gripped the sax in hand and practiced two or three strokes.

  The flames leapt up at the far end of the dock. The men were racing back, and as they went more ships took to flame. By the time Gunnar helped Aren over the rails, all but the closest ships were ablaze. The tattooed man released his ax, and the ship began to drift. Aren flung his brand as the men began to row, and when it hit the deck of the enemy ship, fire blazed into the rigging and rails.

  "It will take a moment for the fire to burn high enough to catch their attention," Gunnar said. "We can escape and burn other ships downriver."

  "Did you kill the runner?"

  Gunnar nodded as he took up the tiller again. "We did, and there were more. Some were ill and moved slower than snails. No need to worry for them now."

  He hollered at the crew to row, and the men were full of exuberance from their exploits. They pulled hard, laughing at the destruction they had wrought. Nearly a dozen ships were blazing, and Runa heard the first cries of terror drifting down to the river. She stared hard at the oak trees and the two nooses remained empty.

  "Did you see how fast they burned!" Aren said. His face was bright with a smile and shining with sweat. "We burned a fleet! Just us. That's going to
be a song one day, don't you agree?"

  "It will." She placed her hand on Aren's shoulder as they watched the flames strengthen. "Let's hope we bought your father time."

  "More ships!" Gunnar called. "On the shore, let's burn them to cover our escape."

  Again they glided to ships, but now the enemy was on alert. Guards emerged on the decks and Runa squinted at the dark shapes.

  "Arrows!"

  Runa did not hear who shouted the warning, but crashed to the gunwales and raised her shield overhead. She pulled Aren down. "Get under the shield, unless you want a hole in your head."

  A smattering of shafts plunked into the deck. One of the crew roared in pain.

  "Give it back to them!" Gunnar bellowed. A second sprinkling of arrows landed and Runa's shield buckled as a shaft pinged off it. She felt one thud into the wood of the gunwale.

  Beneath the shield, she saw feet of men gathering beside her. Aren pulled tighter to her side, and she threw her sword-arm around him. The twang of bowstrings was Gunnar's answer to the attack. The crew sent another shaft immediately after the first. All the while the starboard bank of oarsmen rowed and Gunnar turned his ship to face the attack. Runa remember the tactic. Gunnar was narrowing his frontage to deny the enemy targets, then he would board the ships and clean out their crew.

  "The bastards are running!" Gunnar shouted and laughed. His crew joined him and the ship banked hard, sending Runa and Aren falling against the gunwales.

  "It's safe now," Aren said, then pulled himself free from her protective grip.

  Standing, she saw five men dashing up the slope toward the safety of the tree line. Three ships were beached and tipped to the right in a close row. Gunnar pulled alongside these.

  "We should capture one," said a man close to Runa.

  Gunnar left his tiller and approached the man. "We should, but let's not test fate today. Hrolf will reward us for each ship we burn, of that I'm certain. Now to kill these fat seals and be gone."

  Crewmen jumped across to splash oil on the ships and Aren fired up another brand. Runa went to the stern and saw the enemy upstream swarming the docks like ants. Their angry cries were clear from this distance. Untouched ships launched into the river like rats fleeing a fire. Such destruction of so many ships would become a legend, but her part in it had not mattered to her. All she saw was flaming ships and black smoke. Unless it aided Ulfrik in his escape, the glory of it was nothing. She leaned her shield against the rail, tired of bearing its weight, and sighed.

  "How will Ulfrik and Finn find us in this madness?" she asked, shouting over her shoulder.

  When no answer came, she turned back to see most of the crew including Gunnar had boarded the other ship. Aren stood with his brand guttering beside his bother. The crew was shouting back and forth, the man who had wanted to claim a ship jabbing a finger at Gunnar's chest.

  The shouting continued, and the crewman's face turned bright red. Runa knew they were fighting for the ships, and Gunnar's expression darkened with each poke from his crewman's hand. At last Gunnar knocked the arm aside and the crewman grabbed Gunnar's shirt. In response, Gunnar slammed his cask of oil into the man's belly and kicked him back. In one fluid move he snatched the brand from Aren's hand and threw it on the oil-soaked crewman. Flames engulfed him with a whoosh, and his former companions jumped away.

  His screams bought a weakness to Runa's knees. As casually as if they had done nothing more than set fire to a bale of hay, Gunnar and his crew crossed back into their ship. Gunnar did not look at his mother, his face dark and tight with dark anger. Now she understood why they called him the Black, for it was not just for his dark hair and eyes. The horrid stench of the man wafted to Runa's nose, bringing back terrible memories of hall burnings and death. The crewman stood up and staggered to the rail, then flopped into the water with a splash and hiss.

  Aren fired two more brands and tossed them onto the other ships, setting all three aflame. He moved as if groggy, all of the former excitement gone. Runa let him go, and decided to keep to herself. The crew was reserved, but they seemed indifferent to the murder. That thought made Runa's skin tingle. Her son had murdered a man for disagreeing with him. Ulfrik had been tough on his men, but he always erred with mercy and never with violence. What had the long years away taught her son?

  A shout from Gunnar shattered her contemplative mind. "Thrice cursed gods! A ship!"

  Runa and the crew followed Gunnar's pointing figure to a fast-moving ship with full sails bearing down on them. Oars beat the water, making long and powerful strokes such that the ship seemed a horse galloping at them. Before she could join her son in a curse, another ship peeled from behind to the center of the river.

  Men scurried to their oars and to unfurl the sail. The best she and Aren could do was to stay out of the way. Runa retrieved her shield and wiped he sweat from her hand on her skirt. "Fetch a shield," she said to Aren. "You have Finn's sword."

  His puffy wide face was white with shock. "Gunnar's ship can outrun them, do you think?"

  One look over the rails and she realized the lead ship seemed to fly as if the gods themselves blew into its sail. She scooped him toward the rail with her shield. "They will shoot arrows as they close, then they will tie to our sides. If both ships lash onto us, we are doomed. Cut free any hook that bites our ship."

  Her heart pounded, and Gunnar gave the tiller to another man while he pulled on his shield. It had straps and a leather socket where he pushed his stump into, then he pulled the buckles tight on his arm. In his left hand, rather than draw his sword, he retrieved an ax from beside his sea chest. He pointed it at Runa, "Stay near me if we are boarded. Do as I say and we will prevail."

  The chase was short-lived, for the leading enemy ship came within bow range and arrows thudded into the deck or splashed into the water. Gunnar realized he would not break away, and ordered the oars shipped. The long poles slid back through the tholes and were tossed into the rack. The men pulled on their shields and grabbed spears from a rack at the mast. As the enemy ship approached, the first hooks sailed across the gap of muddy river. Runa watch one thud off the rail and plunk into the water. Another gouged into the rail as the long ship slid into position. Her sax was not strong enough to cut the rope. "Aren, cut that hook!"

  Now spears and arrows slashed the air in both directions, and Runa shielded Aren as he hacked at the rope, finally breaking it free. An arrow tore the shoulder of her blouse, and a warm stinging pain tore through her skin.

  "It's off," Aren shouted, but at least four others had found purchase. Angry men in dirty clothes and armed with flashing iron crowded the rails, and as their companions hauled the ships together, they prepared to leap the gap.

  "Get back," she said, grabbing Aren's shirt. "Let the men fight up front and we'll watch the opposite side."

  Men jumped onto the rails while Gunnar's crew set spears against them. The first eager waves spent themselves on the attack, either falling into the water or impaling on spears. At least three landed on the deck and began cutting into the crew. That gap was all it took, and soon all the enemy were swarming their decks.

  Runa and Aren held on with their shields up and blades forward. Gunnar howled his fury and hewed his enemies like rotten wood. He was a marvel to behold, fighting with the wrong hand but with such grace it seemed unfair to the enemy. His ax hooked the enemy shield, then he punched out with his own shield. Runa noticed now it was not lined with leather but with iron, and it shattered the face of the enemy as he rammed it home. He then stroked up with his ax, letting the other horn of the blade slice into his opponent. The body flopped overboard, and he repeated the same steps, hooking with ax and slamming with his shield.

  Then three men were upon them. Aren hid behind his shield and aimlessly slashed out. Runa deflected the first hit from one attacker, and cut down for the inner leg as she had known to do from years of practice. She missed.

  A flurry of blows backed her against the rails, when she realized her atta
cker had stopped and stared wide eyed at her. "It's a woman and a boy!"

  Her sax plunged beneath her shield and she felt the blade plow into the man's guts. He groaned and blood flowed from his mouth. Aren was on his back, hiding under his shield like a blanket while his attacker raised a foot to smash it down on him. He would be crushed.

  "Gunnar, help your brother!" She saw Gunnar's head snap around, then the third man charged her.

  "You bloody whore!" She flung her shield at him, striking him in the face and sending him skittering aside, then she leapt onto the back of Aren's attacker before he could bring his foot down.

  The two screamed, Runa stabbing him in the chest while he clawed at her. He got one hand into her hair and pulled. She fell back.

  For a moment she saw the sky.

  Then she saw the brown water and plunged into the cold, mute world beneath the Seine. Her dress tangled in her legs and she clawed at the water as if she could climb out. But she could not swim.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Grimnr's hand reached for the hilt of his sax, then he stopped and his head snapped up. Ulfrik used the moment to kick him in the crotch then head-butt him. The collision sent Ulfrik falling back with a lance of pain through his eyes. Yet in the next instant he was on his feet and facing an oncoming rush of the entire crowd.

  He feared they were converging on him, but they shoved past. Ulfrik spun around and found Grimnr retching on hands and knees. Three feet away Vigrid's corpse leaked brilliant red blood into the grass as Finn filched the sword from his hip. Swarming around them, men scrambled toward the Seine.

  Flames and smoke rolled skyward from the masts of ships at dock. His heart flipped in his chest and his limbs filled with power. He howled in joy. "Gunnar the Black! Runa the Bloody! The skalds will sing of you forever!"

  Finn forced his way to Ulfrik's side in the same moment Grimnr rose above the flow of bodies charging for the docks. "We've got to go."