Banners of the Northmen (19 page)

"I don't know, in fact. That gold torc on your neck is meaningless here. People can't eat gold and winter does not care for titles. We must eat, stay warm, guard our flocks, and survive until the sun rises again."

"I can help with the eating." He smiled at his own joke, but Runa blinked and carried on as if he had merely coughed.

"Be reminded I am the jarl's wife, and I rule this island and all the people on it."
I just can't enforce my rule,
she thought. "I will expect your obedience while you are here."

His mouth hung open in a half-formed laugh, but Runa stood before he could voice it.

"I don't wear this sword for show. Your first duty, once you are well enough, is to practice with me daily."

"Surely I hit my head on a rock and I'm dreaming. I'm stranded on an island of women and children and the jarl's wife wears a sax and wants to practice swordplay with me." He spread his hands wide. "No one would believe such a thing."

"Start believing." She shoved away from the bench and started for the hall door. "Your skalds will turn it into a poem one day."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Thrand and Kolbyr picked through the woods, stepping over fungus-laden logs and skirting the bare trees. Thrand's plan was simple: get close, distract and surprise Ulfrik, then flee. Since stealth mattered little, they crushed dead leaves and cracked branches beneath their feet and spoke to each other in normal voices. If anything, he hoped it would attract Ulfrik and spare them the search.

"Gods, did he walk back to Nye Grenner?" Kolbyr shoved aside a low branch with a curse.

"It's not a bad thing," Thrand answered in a lowered voice.

They had progressed deep enough into the gray and brown murk of the woods to lose sight of the army by the Seine, though the riot of noise echoed through the trees. Thrand drew a deep breath, his nose full of wet, earthy scents. Halting, he glimpsed a shape sweep across the side of his vision. Kolbyr stopped with him. They waited, and now a clear figure in a green cloak moved, head down and hands clasped behind.

"Remember the plan," he whispered to Kolbyr. Glancing at him, he discovered beads of sweat on Kolbyr's forehead and his eyes had grown round. "Are you still with me?"

Kolbyr swallowed, then nodded and licked his lips.

Thrand called Ulfrik's name, and the figure stopped, faced them. "Lord Ulfrik, we've been searching for you."

"You've found me. What's the matter?"

Trading looks with Kolbyr, they began to pick a path to Ulfrik. Thrand's pulse quickened and his neck tightened. Kolbyr's breathing became ragged and loud enough for Thrand to notice.

Trees crowded them and restricted fighting space. He watched Ulfrik study their approach, and a frown began to draw down his face.

"Well, what is the matter?"

Thrand's nervousness blanked his mind, and the demand stopped him as good as being bashed with a shield. Kolbyr continued, looping out to the left.

Suddenly Ulfrik stood straighter. Kolbyr began moving faster.

This is out of control. Kolbyr! Slow down!

Kolbyr burst into a sprint. Not only did he strike too early, but the rough ground impeded running. As he drew his sword, stiff-armed and artless, he stumbled.

No one made such a mistake with Ulfrik and lived to regret it. Thrand changed his plans.

"Look out, Lord Ulfrik!" Drawing his own blade, he plunged after Kolbyr.

Ulfrik had no shield, but all his weapons. Thrand dashed, catching his foot on a root and tumbling ahead. Kolbyr's blade caught an errant shaft of light.

With no effort, Ulfrik had unclasped his cloak and flung it at Kolbyr. In the next instant, he had ripped his sax from the sheath at his waist.

The cloak entangled Kolbyr's sword, but Thrand was already at his back. He rammed the blade into Kolbyr's kidney, piercing the mail links and driving deep into the flesh. Blood poured and Kolbyr screamed. It was cut short as Ulfrik's sword plunged into his belly with a metallic crunch.

Kolbyr danced as both men yanked out their swords, and gouts of blood pattered to the ground. His wide eyes held Thrand's as he toppled into the leaves and mud. Blood flew from his mouth as he landed and he seemed to about to raise his hand.

Thrand gave him no time. He saw the accusation in Kolbyr's eyes.
It was going to come to this at some point
, he thought, then he thrust his sword into Kolbyr's throat with a hollow crack and a gurgle of blood.

Next he was looking up through the branches at the gray sky. Pain bloomed at the back of his head where he had struck a rock. His sword arm felt heavy, and then realization came. In one deft motion, Ulfrik had toppled him and now pinned his sword arm by stamping on it. His sax drizzled Kolbyr's blood onto his neck as its tip hovered a hair's width away.

"Explain yourself," he snarled. "Or die."

"Lord, we were sent to fetch you back. The attack is coming soon, and Hrolf wants you ready."

"Hrolf sent you to find me?"

"Yes, lord." The words made his stomach burn. He lied, and Ulfrik would know it soon enough. He only had to live through to when the attack started, and then escape.

The blade dangled, beyond it Ulfrik's face a ball of furrows and scars that pulled into his beard. Hot blood rolled around Thrand's neck to pool behind his head. His hand still gripped his sword, and he released it, trying to force the blade away from his grip. Ulfrik's eyes searched his, darting up and down the length of his body. "You've served my family admirably, Thrand. I don't want to doubt you."

"Please don't, my lord." His voice trembled with genuine fear. Ulfrik's eyes blazed with killing lust, and once ignited in him never left easily.

"This has happened to me before, almost exactly like this." The blaze dimmed, and Ulfrik seemed to review a scene in his head. Thrand felt the foot lift from his arm, his hand tingling as blood rushed back into it. "I fear it is my fate to never enjoy the solitude of the trees."

The bloody sword lifted from his throat, and Thrand closed his eye in relief with a long slithering breath flowing from his nostrils.

"My eyes tell me you moved like a man on the hunt, but my heart wants to believe otherwise." Opening his eyes, Thrand found Ulfrik still had the short sword pointed at him, and he knew the lightning flash strike could pierce his neck in an instant. "Convince me the hirdman who defended my family with his life is not a traitor."

Moving with deliberate openness, Thrand sat up with his hands raised. Ulfrik's grip tightened on the hilt of his blade and did not waver in his defensive posture. "It is all as you say, lord. I am your man and my oath is true. I saw Kolbyr move to strike, and I defended you."

"Or you changed your mind."

"No! I could scarcely believe it. He followed through on his boasts."

Ulfrik raised his brow at the comment, and the sword blade tipped—barely perceptible but enough to indicate Thrand had found his opening.

"He was jealous of the silver I received from you. Always cursing your name, lord, and calling you a miser. Said you were a terrible jarl and a fake. He wanted to be paid like a hero, but didn't ever do anything for it. I tried to correct him many times."

"All that anger, and yet I never saw it." Ulfrik's voice sounded unconvinced, and the blade remained pointed at him.

"Only when he drank, lord. And then only around me. After yesterday's attack, he blamed you for leading us into death. Swore he'd make you pay for it. That's what he said."

"And he was drunk today?"

"Must be, lord."

"But not you?"

"No more than usual, lord."

Staring past the tip of the blade, Ulfrik's face remained impassive. If he did not convince Ulfrik, he might be forced to fight. He regretted keeping his hands out, since he could not reach his own sax in time to strike.

"Where would he get those thoughts, Thrand? Why would a man who sought to serve me become bitter enough to seek my death? Who taught him to hate me?"

Tears came with sudden and frightening ease. His breath grew hot and the wetness flowed over his cheeks into his beard. Thrand did not understand their origin, maybe for his brother, his failure, the fear of death, or even Kolbyr's murder. However they came, they were a blessing. He flung himself to the ground, balling up as if in pain and wailing and intent on riding the sorrow until Ulfrik was convinced of his sincerity.

"It was me, lord. Forgive me, but it was me!" He spasmed with sobs, and he found he could not stop. Something dammed up had broken free and he shuddered with cries like a little girl. His words were barely coherent. "W-when I am drunk ... I ... my words are evil. My mind burns with anger. I miss my brother, my only family. I blamed you, lord. It was wrong! My drunk raving, it poisoned him against you. Forgive me!"

Waves of sorrow crashed through him, and he sprawled out in his pitiful state for longer than he knew. Soon, he marshaled himself and he felt Ulfrik's boot prodding him.

"Get up and stop weeping."

Having never experienced such a powerful emotion, he lay drained, stirring only when Ulfrik's foot kicked him more forcefully. He sat up again, his face wet with tears, snot, and mud. Dead leaves clung to his hair and beard, and he batted them out with a trembling hand.

"Help me get him out of his mail." Ulfrik had already flipped Kolbyr and was hoisting the mail hauberk over the corpse's head. The scene sobered him. He had wiped the bloodied sax on Kolbyr's cloak and sheathed it.

If I struck now, I could surprise him
, he thought.
A solid thrust to his gut and he'd be finished. It's possible; he's not a god
.

"Get up and help me," he repeated, glancing at him.

Thrand's hand itched for the hilt of the sax hanging at his side. His own bloodied blade lay partially covered by forest debris only an arm's length away.

Flipping belt straps aside, Ulfrik began to work the mail up Kolbyr's body, being careful not to tangle the chain links.

Thrand's arm stretched for the sword.

Ulfrik stood and dropped Kolbyr. "Your sword?"

The two men stared at each other, and Thrand could not read Ulfrik's face. He had no expression: no anger, fear, confusion, nothing. Such blankness was more frightening than anything else.

"Yes, my sword is in the mud, lord. Rust, I don't want it to rust."

"It won't rust so fast. Help me with the mail first."

He was relieved at being caught; now he had an excuse to assuage any shame for not carrying through. He joined Ulfrik in removing Kolbyr's mail.

"What about his body?" Thrand refused to look at Kolbyr's face, though he imagined his clear dead eyes staring at him.

"Food for the ravens." He snapped off Kolbyr's purse, his silver Thor's hammer, and took his weapons, tossing them into a pile next to the folded mail.

"So you're leaving him here?"

"Gods, man! You are drunk. I've got unburied men piled at the foot of that Frankish tower. You think I'd spare a moment to honor a man who tried to murder me? I curse his soul to Nifleheim. Now, you can serve me by carrying all of this back."

Thrand regarded the pile, more than both his arms could handle. Ulfrik kicked Kolbyr's corpse, and his head lolled to the side. The dead eyes locked with Thrand's and he jumped in shock. Ulfrik laughed, and pushed him at the pile.

Laugh now
, he thought as he gathered the mail hauberk and weapons.
Tonight I will be gone with your slave and enjoying your treasure. Maybe I'll buy an army to carve that smirk off your face
.

Stumbling through the woods as Ulfrik walked behind, Thrand consoled himself with thoughts of vengeance.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ulfrik emerged from the woods to chaos. Men streamed toward the tower and the war machines lobbed rocks at the walls of Paris or the tower itself. War cries and weapons banged on shields combined with the crack of bowstrings and the snap of the catapults. Banners bobbed and spun above the heads of the Danes. Thrand looked back at him, his bloodied face pale and frightened.

"They started without us," Ulfrik said. He suspected Thrand might not be as innocent as his tears made him seem. However, with the battle started, he set aside his doubts. "Where did Hrolf say to meet?"

"He was just shouting for someone to find you, and I volunteered to go." Thrand's eyes were wide with terror, and he kept glancing at the distant tower.

Scanning the banners at the fore of the attack, none were familiar. As he worked back, he located the three jarls stationed at the rear, Sigrid, Knut, and Hrolf. Pushing past Thrand, he went to gather his crew and join Hrolf's standard. He collided with men rushing to the attack, shoving horizontally through to the shore. His men were already gathered beneath his banner, waiting at the riverbank. Einar held it in Toki's stead. As he approached, Snorri noticed him first.

"You've already been to the battle? It just began." Snorri's eyes darted past him to Thrand and his brow furrowed.

"No time to explain. Thrand, drop your burden here. Snorri, how many men are fit for battle?"

"Enough," Snorri answered, but he butted against him and whispered. "What has happened?"

"Later. Focus on the battle." Ulfrik saw the worry in his friend's face, and reassured him with a thump on the shield. Men needed confidence and belief in order to march into battle, especially after a defeat. He refused to shake the men's morale with news of betrayals. He stood before them, arms folded across his chest. Grim faces looked back at him. Behind them on the Seine, ships glided past with their crews of archers.

"Do you men still serve me? Do you still believe in victory?" Exchanging glances, they nodded and then voices joined. Soon they roared back their belief, and Ulfrik smiled. "Good! For I believe in victory and glory. But most of all, I believe in honor. And there is no higher honor than to bravely serve our oath-holders. No matter your fate today, you will be heroes in Valhalla. If I join you there, I will be glad. Someone give me a shield and follow me!"