Banners of the Northmen (30 page)

"Start talking or die." Two platinum-haired men stood in their trench, arrows laid across bowstrings drawn to their ears. Thrand tumbled back, hands in the air.

"Peace! I am one of you. I am sworn to Ulfrik Ormsson, and have been a prisoner of the Franks. Take me to him."

The men lowered their bows, reluctantly, Thrand thought. One man disappeared into the trench while the other waved Thrand closer. "I'll take you to him. How long you've been prisoner?"

"Longer than I can count."
And longer than I need ever have been
, he thought.

His escort took him as far as the central field where burnt-out bonfires spread their ashes into the wind. The man pointed at one of the buildings, distinguished only by the banners hanging before their doors. "Jarl Ulfrik's quarters there, though not sure if he's inside. He likes to patrol the trenches. What's your name again?"

"Thrand the Looker." He faced the man, ready to be tackled and beaten, but his escort simply struggled to focus on Thrand's good eye and smiled.

"Welcome back to the shit heap. Ulfrik will probably put you right back into the trenches with the rest of us. We need everyone in the line these days."

Thrand sighed as the obviously new man ambled back to his trench. Summoning his courage with a long breath, Thrand exhaled and approached Ulfrik's barracks. The green standard of Nye Grenner was gone, and Anscharic's cloak hung unmoving in the stiff breeze.

Suddenly his palms began to sweat and his legs trembled.
The cloak is right here
, he thought.
Just grab it and walk off, then join Anscharic in Paris. He promised a fortune, did he not? And the Franks will win this war. I could have all that I dreamed of, all that I killed for!

Standing before the unmoving cloak, its heavy wool hems still full and tight despite the tears and stains throughout, Thrand stretched a hand toward it. His hand lingered a moment, then he snapped it back as if touching fire. Before he could change his mind, he flung open the barracks doors and thrust himself inside.

In the moments it took for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, he heard surprised voices and saw vague shapes of people standing up from the floor. No one reached for a weapon or reacted with violence. Thrand rubbed his eyes and entered deeper. The hall was unadorned, nothing more than a simple enclosure for a hearth and a berth for men to sleep on the dry earth. Across the hearth pit was a tall chair and a table with benches pushed into a corner. Even at this distance, his blurry eyes locked with Ulfrik's cold gaze. At first, he seemed to not recognize him, but in an instant he was on his feet.

"Seize that man! Don't let him escape!"

Now men grasped at him, each one vying to be the man to fulfill the jarl's orders. Thrand recognized no one, each one a foreign face. Two men threatened to tear Thrand in half as they wrestled him forward. He flopped like a rag, surrendering fully to his fate. To do otherwise would not achieve the redemption he desired. He crashed into the dirt at Ulfrik's feet, and one of the men kicked him in his side. Ulfrik shouted them away, and his familiar hand gripped Thrand by the arm and hauled him to his knees.

"Look at you," he said, lips curled in disgust. "Death has already claimed you, but you still walk."

"I have returned to face your judgment." He raised his face to Ulfrik's, but found he could not hold his eyes. He dropped his head. "I am an oath-breaker and murderer. I deserve death. I have fallen as low as a man can fall, and now land before you to seek redemption."

Thrand stared at the earth, listening to the scandalized murmurs circulating behind him. He could feel the strange men pressing closer to him. Ulfrik stood over him, unmoving and silent. Thrand resolved to say no more, for he could think of nothing worth his breath. Life would come to a sudden end, he expected, and he wanted to savor every breath.

"You planned to kill me once," Ulfrik said. "But you instead protected me."

"No, lord, I feared you could not be defeated, and I killed Kolbyr to buy myself more time. I was not motivated by good intentions."

Several onlookers cursed him, others gasped, but Ulfrik grunted. Thrand closed his eyes, expecting a blow that did not fall.

"You aided Humbert in his escape, and sought to defy me. We both know what motivated you." Thrand nodded, realizing Ulfrik still held his secret of Anscharic's treasure. Even though it was a ruse to bring them to Paris, Ulfrik still apparently believed it existed. "You voluntarily entered the Franks' tower. Why have you been released, if not for more treachery?"

Thrand squeezed his eyes tighter and bowed lower. "My treachery is done. The Franks used me to help slip messengers through your lines. I know not where they went, but it was to seek aid. After this service, I was released to do one final act for Anscharic. He wanted me to capture your standard and return it to him."

"I will wrap his corpse in it. He can have it back in the grave," Ulfrik said. "Now stand up, Thrand. Look at me."

He did as commanded, and Ulfrik's face was no longer disgusted. Instead, he studied Thrand with a strange mixture of curiosity, anger, and pity. Thrand had earned all of it and more, and he did not flinch from it. For his part, Ulfrik appeared more tired and haggard than he had ever known him to be. Yet gold armbands and rings glittered where none had before, showing he had earned the respect of his lord and grown in power.

Though no other face was familiar, Thrand did recognize Einar. The giant man hung in the shadows behind Ulfrik's chair. His face was tight and closed, and he looked through Thrand as if he did not exist. Once they had been close friends, but like everything else, Thrand had destroyed that relationship with his drinking and self-pity.

"Here is my judgment for your crimes." Ulfrik took his chair, uncharacteristically stiff and formal. He scanned the men behind Thrand as he spoke. "You were once a loyal man who protected my wife and son, and risked your life to aid my brother and dearest friend in his time of need. I cannot forget what you have done for me. The law provides the right to claim your life, but I will not. Your life is yours to live, Thrand the Looker. Instead, I banish you from my lands and my people. You may not return to my banner, and to do so will invite death. I assume if I see you again, you will have chosen to end your life."

A clamor of disapproving, bloodthirsty opposition came from Ulfrik's men. Thrand stood, hand reaching for his neck. "But I should die. It is the only way to redeem myself for what I've done."

"You've heard my judgment," Ulfrik shouted. The disapproving crowd hushed as Ulfrik scowled at them. Satisfied at regaining control, he turned a gentler face to Thrand. "Death does not have to be the only way. Find another lord to serve and do so loyally, then your life will be redeemed with meaning again. Now be gone. Einar will escort you to the edge of our camp."

"No one will let me serve, and the Franks will kill me. Lord Ulfrik, you condemn me to death no matter what."

Men jeered him, and one threw the scraps of a meal into Thrand's face. Others began to pelt him with whatever came to hand, until Einar intercepted them and grabbed Thrand's arm. With a withering look, he pushed back the mob, and dragged Thrand from the barracks. Outside, Thrand began to sob. "I wanted to die today. I was ready for it."

"Stop crying," Einar said flatly. "I'll take you to the edge of the camp and then you're on your own."

Thrand stumbled behind Einar as he dragged him like a child across the cleared fields. Men paused to watch them pass. Thrand's mind was ablaze with confusion. He had prepared for death, but now had to live out his days as an enemy of everyone. Once out of sight of most men, Einar stopped.

"This is not the edge of the lands, but it is close enough. Go, and good luck to you."

"You are sending me to death. I will just kill myself, that's what I'll do. It's better than starving or becoming a slave to the Franks."

Einar bowed his head. "If Lord Ulfrik wanted you dead, he'd have done it. Don't be a fool. Listen, you have made bad mistakes and drinking has clouded your mind. I think you are better now. More of the old Thrand I knew. There are many battles ahead, and if you can find a way to serve Lord Ulfrik again he may yet accept you. We both know he is merciful and he has felt grateful to you all these years. Besides, no matter if motivated from greed or good, you did prevent Kolbyr from murdering him."

Thrand scanned the dark line of trees ahead and shuddered. "I cannot serve from that forest. I can't even hunt. I threw away all my rabbits, thinking I'd die today. Now I'll starve."

"Be a scout for us," Einar said, his voice brightening with his idea. "Watch the land for approaching Franks or signs of other trouble. I'll keep you supplied. If you can do this, you might redeem yourself with useful service. It's the best idea I have."

Thrand welcomed any plan that did not end with his death. "I will do it. I will do anything to be who I once was."

Einar's smile faded, and he patted Thrand's shoulder. "Don't think of what was, but what will be. And don't get me in trouble with Lord Ulfrik, or we'll both be scavenging the forests and wishing we were dead."

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

The fields around Ingrid's halls crawled with the black shapes of armored men converging on it. Birds circled in the gray skies above, and Runa studied them. She realized the sea birds had learned that groups of armored men left behind corpses for them to pick apart. She gently shook her head, disgusted that such a scene had happened enough to teach the birds. The mail coat hung heavy on her shoulders, and sagged from being too large. Her helmet, however, fit perfectly, though she had not realized the nose and cheek guards would restrict her vision so severely.

"No resistance yet," Konal said, standing next to her with his sword drawn. "Maybe there's no one here."

"They'll be in the hall," she said with feigned certainty. Her heart told her Ingrid had gone over to Thorod and Skard, but she lacked proof.

"Then we will drag them out." Gunnar drew his small sword and pointed it at the hall. Runa's heart jumped, looking at the childish hand of her son aiming his sword for a death stroke. She pushed the sword down.

"We will storm the hall, but you will remain on the ship." He whirled to protest, but Runa's anger flared. "No arguments! Don't cause me to regret allowing you to follow."

Runa blinked as he offered no resistance and sheathed his sword. Before he turned back for the ship, he hugged her. "Be careful, Mother."

Swallowing hard, she faced the hall. Her life was not in danger.

But Ingrid's was.

Seeing her pale form appear in the doorway, Runa's pulse quickened. Without a word, she charged ahead with Konal following behind. Kell and all the other crew stood in front of Ingrid, spears leveled and weapons drawn. Sweat beaded on Runa's forehead as she forced through the ring of men to stand before Ingrid.

"You have betrayed me," she said, leveling her sword. "In my husband's absence, I come to enforce your oath and have justice for your crimes."

"Runa?" Ingrid's eyes squinted and she leaned forward as if looking out to sea. "By the gods, you're in a mail shirt and helmet. You're wearing pants." Placing a pale hand over her mouth, she began to laugh.

Plowing her fist into Ingrid's soft gut, she let her collapse to the ground as she continued past into the hall.

"Restrain her and follow me," she shouted over her shoulder as she kicked open the hall doors.

Her eyes did not adjust to the dark hall as she swept in, and a momentary panic at her blindness filled her. A few women screamed, and several male voices shouted. The hall smelled like sheep and stale beer. When her vision returned, five men ringed Halla and several other serving women. Runa recognized none of the other faces. A man ran for another exit to Runa's left.

She glided across the pounded dirt floor and intercepted him as Konal and his men flowed into the hall. The man had not drawn his weapons, and pulled up at the sharp edge of Runa's blade. "You're not from here, are you?"

The four men in front of Runa drew their swords. Their trembling hands set the blades glinting in the dull light slanting in from high windows. None of them appeared confident, not with the dozens of scar-faced men flooding the hall.

Runa's opponent glanced at the door, estimating his escape. She already knew he was one of Skard's or Thorod's men. He had the same youthful, cocksure look as the invaders from winter. He flinched toward the exit.

Her blade slashed up and shaved off a hunk of his upper lip and the tip of his nose. He flew back, both hands covering his face as blood streamed onto his chest. She followed through, knocking him to the ground and running him through his gut. She could feel his pulse thrumming up the blade, and she yanked it free. His hands fell away and his breath gurgled blood in death.

Women screamed and Halla began to cry. Runa stared at the man she had killed. She had killed before, but that had been long ago and the man had tried to rape her. Seeing this young man leaking black blood into the dirt at her feet made her stomach lurch. Shaking her head, she stepped over the body with her bloodied sword leading her toward the others.

"Stand down and you will get a clean death. Fight and I will make death last for days."

Konal's men crammed forward, and the men on the stage of the high table glanced at each other. Certain they planned to surrender, she lowered her blade.

"For Skardholmur!" The four men leapt off the stage, slashing at anyone opposing them. One man plowed into Runa, sprawling her out.

Both Ulfrik and Konal had knocked her flat so often, instinct drove her recovery. However, she had never practiced in a mail shirt.

The weight of the mail on her chest pinned her flat. The man above her roared and raised his sword. She kicked into his legs, tripping him.