Banners of the Northmen (18 page)

Ulfrik accepted them into his hands like they were delicate pottery. Still warm from Hrolf's arm, he fitted one to each of his biceps as his friends watched. Emotions long held back gurgled up inside. The wealth he desired, the glory, the honor he brought to his family and men were to be found here in Frankia. Even without Humbert's gold, this adventure would allow him to provide a better life for all his people. Lost in his thoughts, he did not hear Hrolf's first words.

"Are you listening? I said that I name you Hersir. When we are finished here, you will hold part of my lands and the jarls there will be sworn to you."

"Hersir?" Ulfrik's face warmed at his inarticulate response. Fortunately, Hrolf roared laughter and slapped him on the shoulder.

"It's much to absorb, and there are details to work out. But for now you have one important duty, and that is to be at my side in battle. Remain with me at all times."

"As you say, lord." He spoke the promise even as he understood Nye Grenner was now finished. The people would follow him, and benefit from his future wealth and power. However, his simple acceptance of Hrolf's terms had shattered his independence.

"There are many men without lords after yesterday. I will be sending some to you. You will lead these men in battle today, and those who survive can choose to serve you or find a different lord. In any case, there is much to do yet. I will summon you before the assault so we can discuss strategy." Hrolf gathered his bodyguard and strode off toward the men gathering around Sigfrid's standard flying in the distance. Ulfrik watched him go.

"Congratulations," Gunther patted Ulfrik's shoulder, though his voice was flat and expression dull. "I told you joining us was the right thing for you. Fate is at work."

Ulfrik nodded, then met Gunther's eye in surprise. He understood now that the two of them were of equal rank, or at least much closer. Gunther had shamed himself for fleeing, and now he suffered Hrolf's scorn. He wondered if Hrolf's generosity was not inspired by a desire to humble Gunther. Being a tool, even in a roundabout way, sullied the exhilaration Ulfrik experienced at his change in fortunes.

As Gunther turned away, Snorri and Einar surrounded him, both speaking in a rush of praise. Mord, however, first tried to speak to his father, but was shoved away. He lingered a moment before joining the others.

"How does it feel, lad?" Snorri asked, his eyes creased from his smile. "Lands and title are as good as gold, even better."

"I don't know what to think." Ulfrik laughed, a foreign nervousness suffusing him. "Everything is changed now."

"Soon the world will know your name," Einar said.

"My father was right to praise you," Mord added.

Ulfrik stepped back, touching his head. "This has been a strange morning. I need time to consider things."

Snorri laughed. "All right. But don't think I'm going to call you 'sword of the gods.'"

Ulfrik left them laughing among themselves. Falling into the crowds of people hustling to prepare for the next attack, he let his mind drift. Bouncing through the groups, he could not concentrate. Eventually he wandered toward the trees. In his youth the forests provided a place for him to think as well as play. Deprived of that luxury in the barren Faereyar Islands, he looked forward to a short walk beneath the bare branches. He had to make sense of the changed landscape, and what it meant for his future.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Don't do that where everyone can see!" Thrand hissed through clenched teeth. "For the love of the gods, I can't believe you slit their throats!"

Kolbyr and Thrand strolled among the frenetic crowds running along the banks of the Seine. They leaned together so their words were kept from others, though no one had any concern for them. A second attack on the tower was planned and everyone had a task assigned, but Thrand and Kolbyr had slipped theirs.

"Well I couldn't throttle them, and smashing their skulls would be obvious." Thrand looked aside from Kolbyr's angered retort, and smiled at a sour-faced man carrying sheaves of arrows under his arms who passed close to them.

Wiping his face in frustration, he halted and grabbed Kolbyr's cloak. "And slitting their throats was not obvious?"

"Course not. Just a quick jab and cut." Again Kolbyr demonstrated how he had slit the throats of Ulfrik's men as they lay dazed after their ladder had crashed.

"I just told you not to do that!" Thrand slapped Kolbyr's hands down.

"You're drunk again," he said, pulling out of Thrand's grip. "Plenty of cutting went on yesterday. Who's to know what I did from me slicing the air?" He slashed the air with his phantom knife in front of Thrand's face.

Batting the hand away, he snapped back. "Any fool can tell a throat pierced with an arrow from one slit with a knife. Did you think of that? I stuck arrows into their necks, which is more reasonable."

"And all of Ulfrik's favorites getting an arrow in the neck isn't obvious either?" Kolbyr stopped again and frowned. "You are drunk. Your breath is half beer and half fog. You're getting worried, Thrand, and that worries me. No one could tell what happened in that mess other than who lived or died. Neither Ulfrik nor anyone else suspected us. We reduced our worries yesterday, not increased them."

Thrand searched Kolbyr's hard face. His clear eyes showed no fear, no concern that his undisguised murder would reveal their treachery. People swarmed around them, shouting and shoving, but they faced each other like two rocks in a swift flowing river. Deciding that Kolbyr could not be swayed, he refocused on the goal. Tugging Kolbyr's cloak, he asked him to follow as he set out toward the woods.

"Listen carefully and decide now if you're with me on this. A second attack is planned this afternoon. Even if our side wins, I think we stand a good chance of dying. I can't get rich if I'm dead." A large man shoved between them, nearly bowling him over. With a curse, he continued to move through the crowds for the trees. "So there's a change in plans. We take Humbert now, and force him to guide us through his secret paths to the treasure."

"And your plan for dealing with Ulfrik? I doubt he is willing to stand aside. Maybe we should wait until the attack begins, then slip back here to get the slave."

Shaking his head, Thrand grunted. "We'd stand out like two cowards, and everyone would see us. Besides, I've got something better planned."

Exiting the crowd and now only a spear-throw from the woods, he stopped and leaned in to Kolbyr. "While I was out this morning, I spotted Ulfrik headed into these woods. Alone."

He let the words hang, waiting until realization glittered in Kolbyr's eyes. "But there are only two of us."

"You distract him and I will put my sword through his liver. He trusts us and won't expect a thing. Alone in the woods, with all this noise to cover us, the timing is perfect. In fact, you might say the gods have given us this chance."

Kolbyr's face darkened and he stroked his beard. A fire kindled in Thrand's guts, but he clamped his mouth shut against the angry words. Kolbyr had to help him, as Thrand knew he could not overcome Ulfrik alone.

"He is a great warrior. I've seen him fight three men at once."

"Three enemies. We are two of his friends and he won't be prepared. Think on it. He dies in the woods and when he doesn't show for battle men will search for him. During that time we escape with Humbert and before anyone realizes, we're gone from their reach. I told you at the beginning we might have to kill Ulfrik to ensure we get the treasure."

Kolbyr nodded, tentatively, but then with vigor. "All right. It's true; this is our best chance."

Thrand unhooked the loop holding his sword in its scabbard, and Kolbyr did the same. "By tonight we will have a fortune in heathen gold."

Laughing, he led Kolbyr into the woods where Ulfrik awaited his doom.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Runa froze in her steps outside the hall, buckets in both hands swaying from the sudden stop. For a moment it was Ulfrik's voice she heard, the deep tones vibrating through the walls to her, but the laughter was wrong—neither strong nor joyous enough to be him. She flushed at her foolishness, then resumed lugging the filled buckets of water to the hall. Rain had refilled the barrels over night, and the wet grass licked her ankles as she rounded the corner into the hall.

Elin and another woman relieved her of the buckets as she entered. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she caught sight of Gunnar seated with Konal and several of the older boys. Despite his bruises, he narrated his shipwreck to his audience with exaggerated gestures, describing steep waves and crashing ships with wide swings of his arms.

"One night of sleep seems to have restored our guest," Elin said as Runa followed her to the hearth. She upended the bucket into the cooking pot, swirling up the pitiful remains of the prior night's soup.

"A man of surprises," Runa said. She swished a spoon through the thin soup, sniffed its pungent odor, and determined it could be served, then turned to Konal.

Something about the way Gunnar responded to Konal's story irritated her. She could not decide the exact reason, other than the familiarity with her son felt presumptuous.
Is he attempting to manipulate me?
she thought.
Gods, Runa, why are you seeing danger everywhere?

Sitting on the bench beside Gunnar, she arrived in time for Konal to conclude his tale. "And then I was saved by you three brave men. An amazing tale, is it not? My skalds will make it a poem one day."

"You have a skald?" The oldest boy leaned forward, a fourteen-year-old who had begged to go with Ulfrik but instead remained with his mother and sisters.

"We have two, and many more visit us." Konal smiled at Runa. "They sing of my adventures, and those of my father and brothers."

"Now they will sing of your black lips and blue face," Runa said. "And how you could scare a troll."

Gunnar and his friends erupted with laughter, but Konal sat back with a raised brow. "When I'm recovered, I can do more than scare a troll. I can kill him, with one hand!"

Again the boys rollicked in laughter, and even Runa could not deny a smile to Konal's ridiculous claims. "Don't exert yourself yet. Helga, the healer woman, will visit you today, and until she says you are recovered, rest is what you need. Now you boys have chores to do with the men gone." Gunnar moaned, and Runa clucked her tongue at him. "Off to them. Go! Bitter cold out there and the clouds are dark. Rain last night but snow today. So get the sheep indoors."

The boys filed away. The oldest one wore a sax like Runa, and he thumbed it as he paused. "When you are well, will you practice with me? My Da used to before he went a-viking, and he wanted me to protect our home. So, well, practice is important."

Konal nodded. "True words, and I would be pleased to help when my nursemaid releases me."

Runa watched Gunnar leave with his friends. He carried himself with a posture so much older than a boy of nine. She took relief in his courage, but regretted how fast youth slipped away.

"It feels good to be up and talking again." Konal rotated his shoulder, holding his ribs with a grimace. "They are fine boys, disciplined. Not like my children."

"You have children?" She detested the question the moment it slipped from her mouth, but she was further angered at the wry smile drawn through Konal's swollen face.

"Two boys and three girls. My youngest girl is my favorite, the rest are a sword in my side."

"I'm sure their mother feels otherwise."

"Mothers. And I don't know what they feel, since I stay at sea mostly."

Runa stiffened at his correction, not wanting to know more than she already did. She beckoned Elin to bring the soup, and changed the direction of their conversation. Elin swept in with two steaming bowls of soup. Runa clasped her cold hands around the bowl to warm them.

"It's a poor meal," she said. "But we are poor people. You will not be getting fat this winter, unless your brother finds you earlier."

Regardless of the steam, Konal slurped from his bowl. He put it down, speaking with a mouthful of fish. "I haven't eaten in days, and haven't eat anything hot in weeks. This is a feast."

The word hit Runa, knocking free memories of the great feasts Ulfrik had thrown in the past. She had chided him for the wastefulness, but secretly she enjoyed organizing them and cooking for so many. It was a joy lost to her, and regret mingled with her memories. Had Ulfrik been here, he would find a way to feast Konal even if he spent his last bit of silver to do it. Now, scraps of the prior night's meal were the best she could offer.

"I'm glad you're enjoying the feast. Since you are recovered enough to talk about adventures and family, I have matters to discuss."

Konal looked expectantly over the top of his bowl, but did not slow down in dumping soup into his gullet.

"We are barely provisioned to care for ourselves, and your arrival is a further burden. The gods have been harsh, and winter is when they cull our numbers. I've lost a child to the winters, and more friends than I want to count. You are welcome here, but you are also stuck here. So you will have duties to carry out and earn your place with the rest of us."

"Duties?"

Now the wry smile appeared on Runa's lips. "Were you thinking of lying back until your brother finds you, if he ever does? While you recover, your duties will be light, but I expect you to do more. You are taking from us, so give back. It is fair."

Konal's brow furrowed and he thoughtfully placed his bowl on the table. Runa scrutinized him, her hand idly plucking a lose wrap on the hilt of her sax. His surprise gave her pleasure. "What sort of duties? I am a lord, you know."