Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) (17 page)

Hrut nodded in agreement. "I'll alert Einar of your arrival. Your son, Hakon, is eager to see you as well."

A whirlwind of feelings sped through Runa knowing Snorri was well and her son was present. The mystery of the entire adventure took her mind from the horrible weight of Konal's threat, even if only for this moment. Aren was still in his grip, and she would have to return for him. Yet still, something momentous was afoot, and her heart raced in anticipation.

The arrival went as any one would expect. Bera, Einar's graceful wife and Runa's dear friend, came with her three daughters to welcome her. Konal's guards stayed at a close but respectful distance. Bera had seemed untouched by age with her hair full and lustrous and no lines on her plump face. She artfully ignored the bruises on Runa's cheek and kissed her on the good one. "Be welcomed," she proclaimed warmly. As she hugged her, she whispered in her ear. "Why the guards?"

"Konal," she said, her eyes falling away. "I was hoping your daughters might entertain them long enough for me to meet with Snorri?"

They stared at each other, Bera's expression inscrutable, then she looped her arm into Runa's and laughed. "I see no harm in that. Snorri is anxious to see you."

For the next hour Runa and her guards were in the mead hall, where all the important men were conspicuously absent. Bera made small talk with her, but Runa did not hear it and smiled her way through the conversation. She was constantly scanning for the arrival of Snorri or Hakon, anyone who could reveal why she had been summoned. Bera's three daughters had taken up with the guards and each was as charming and beautiful as their mother. A few well-timed giggles and several overlong stares had Konal's guards mystified.

Bera stood suddenly and spoke loud enough for Konal's men to hear. "You really must see these patterns my daughters have been weaving. They are quite clever. Come to the loom with me."

Only one of Runa's minders bothered to glance at her move toward the walls where the looms were set up. Bera pulled fabric out of the basket and spoke under her breath. "Hrut should be outside the hall to take you to the men."

"Thank you, I hope Konal's guards won't raise a fuss."

"If they are any good, they will, and if I become angered at their behavior, I have two dozen men ready to restrain them." Bera smiled. "Go now and don't worry for your minders."

Outside the hall the night was cold for summer. The rain had not fallen from the clouds, but instead left the air wet and heavy. Hrut had a cloak prepared for her. "They are all gathered and ready for you."

Runa's heart was racing and she felt faint. She could not grasp what they had to reveal in such secrecy. Eyrafell was much like Ravndal had been, and she felt a familiarity as Hrut led her along the roads to a long barracks building in the shape of a ship's hull. Orange light flickered beyond the open door.

"Go inside," Hrut said. "I will be out here if you need me again."

She crossed into the barracks, finding rows of beds with trunks and bags of gear, racks for shields and swords, as well as stands for mail armor that she mistook for people in the dim light. The central area at the hearth held a long table with benches, and three men standing before it.

"Snorri, you scared me witless with that lie of being dead!" She crossed to the old man, who leaned heavily on his walking staff, and gave him a hug. His beard tickled her cheek as she did, reminding her of the ugly bruise she displayed there. As she pulled back, Snorri's cloudy eyes fell on it and his face folded up in anger.

"I'm sorry for the lie, girl. Judging by your face I was not mistaken in bringing you here."

"Mother, what happened?" Hakon pulled her into a hug, then brushed her hair over her ear.

"I didn't travel all this way to explain a bruise on my face. It's nothing, my son." She had not seen Hakon since Yule, and she studied him for new scars. He was the image of Ulfrik, though leaner and not as tall. His clear blue eyes were fierce and his golden hair had captured a wave from Runa's own tightly curled locks. Singular to him was a beak nose that lent a raptor-like cast to his face. He held her at arm's length now, examining her bruise and shaking his head.

"Sorry to bring you here under such deceit. We had urgent need of you and had to conceal our true purposes," Einar said. The giant man stood over her, and gently kissed her forehead. She remembered when he was only a round-headed, awkward boy who was too shy to speak to her. His mother, Gerdie, had been a friend to Runa during one of the worst periods of her life, and now he extended the same respect to her as his mother had.

"What could be so urgent and secretive?"

All three men shared a look, but Hakon's was most telling. A smile nearly exploded from his face, and though the hearth fire burned strongly, the light was still not enough to determine if those were tears in his eyes. He had always been her most emotional son, and the most needful of her support. She attributed it to being kidnapped in his youth.

"Come now," she said. "Don't look at each other, since it's me you want to tell. Someone just say it."

"I should be the one," Snorri said. "Since I'm breaking my promise. Did Aren say anything to you?"

Runa's mouth hung open, caught between a smile and a word. She shook her head, blinking.

Snorri adjusted his grip on the staff and Einar held his shoulder for support. Hakon took his mother's hand.

"It is as you always believed." His voice was low and rough with age, but his eyes glittered with vigor. "Ulfrik is not dead. He is alive, and visited both me and Aren only a week ago."

She heard the words. All three men watched her carefully, and Hakon squeezed her hand.

"Mother, are you all right? You look pale."

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Her entire body felt numb. Einar now stood beside her and began to guide her to a bench. She did not understand why they appeared so frightened.

"What do you mean he's alive?"

"It's what you think it is, lass. He has been gone but not dead all these years."

"You saw him?"

"Spoke to him, along with Aren."

The room grew dark for a moment and she was aware of hands holding her up.

"Mother, here, drink something."

"He's alive?" she said in a tiny voice. "Why not come to me?"

"That's not a concern," Snorri said. "But right now he is in grave danger."

Runa looked right at Snorri's eyes, saw his solemn expression.

Then the world went dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Konal downed the last of the ale. It was harsh and bitter, the worst of a long series of bad kegs. He flung the horn aside, sending it crashing into the corner of his darkened hall. Servants jumped at the impact but none dared meet his eyes. Only that hag, Groa, stole a glance at him then turned aside. She had never liked him, and the feeling was mutual. All the old woman did was poison his wife against him. He should have driven her out long ago, and gods be damned if she had been a dear friend to Runa. A real friend does not poison marriages.

Hirdmen close to the high table raised their horns and toasted Konal's anger. He glared at them, but they were too drunk to notice his displeasure. Light and a cool breeze filtered in from the open smoke hole and front doors of the hall. Shadows flickered beyond the threshold, men passing on their duties. He rested his head in his hands and scowled at the open door. How he wished for such a simple life, uncomplicated with responsibilities and the demands of an oath-holder. He wished for the days when his twin brother, Kell, had been alive and the two sailed the oceans with naught but their crews and swords against the world.

Sighing heavily, he stared down the long empty board. He was alone here at the high table, as he had been for so many years. Runa may have slept beside him, but her heart was forever lost in a dream of her dead husband. She had seen his head along with everyone else. Einar had witnessed the death. What more did the woman need? She had been keen to grab him as a drowning man grabs driftwood, but once she had felt safe again, all the dissatisfaction began to surface. Was it not bad enough that fire had made him ugly on the outside, but that she had to make him ugly in his heart as well?

He clutched the gems at his belt and his frown deepened. A king's fortune now hung at his hip, and his deceitful wife had hid it under his bed for all this time. Such an insult was staggering, but then to attempt to steal it again while he was gone. Had she lost her mind?

Men laughed and boasted, a few started a brawl that drew others to bet on victors. He was alone in the hall despite all these men. They did not care about him, only what gold and ale he could provide them mattered. When either was gone, he would be utterly friendless. Of course, the gems at his hip could prevent that, but converting these stones to something more easily spent would be difficult. Not many men could pay what these were worth, and the one who could, namely Hrolf the Strider, would put a claim on these treasures for himself. In fact, Konal did not doubt Hrolf would be tempted to kill him and take the treasure for himself. It was that valuable.

"Where's Aren?" he asked suddenly, then belched. To his shock, one of the servants hovering at the edge of his vision stepped forward with an answer.

"He said he was stepping outside for air, Lord."

"Air? A man shouldn't have to go anywhere to find that." He slammed a palm on the table, and the front ranks of men turned on their benches to face him. He stared at them, their faces blurry and unclear. After another belch, he pointed at one gap-toothed man with a red cap. "Do you have to find air?"

The man's face fell at the question, but his companions began to snigger. "I never thought to look for it."

"He farts enough to keep himself in foul air all day," said the man beside him, and the whole table erupted in laughter.

Konal slapped his hand on the table again. "That's right! I'm going to find my bastard son. He's right bastard too, but you all know that."

When he stood he stumbled, and his men laughed even harder. Along the way to the exit, he bumped men and benches, but none dared do more than laugh or help him on his way. He passed the brawling men, their scuffle over and both sides nursing bloodied and swollen faces. He stopped at the obvious loser, his left eye swollen shut. "You look like my wife."

"Maybe he can warm your bed tonight," said one of the victors and more laughter exploded.

As Konal staggered outside, he left his men in high spirits, proof that he was as good a leader as Ulfrik had ever been. "We didn't laugh this much under you," he muttered to himself. It was late afternoon and the sky above was dark and the western horizon stained orange. Over the tops of the stockade walls, birds flew home for the night. Within the walls, people scurried to make the most of the last light of day. Konal wobbled down the tracks, people stepping out of his path with a bow and a word of greeting. He knew where Aren would be hiding. Same place every time.

Unsurprisingly, he was at the stone Runa raised in memory of Ulfrik. He stood facing it, one hand touching the gray rock flecked with lichen and bird droppings. The runes graven into it followed a snake pattern and were strengthened with red pigment. Not many knew how to read runes, but he did, and the words haunted him. For Ulfrik Ormsson, a great hero and father and a terror to his enemies. Aren's hand was tracing the serpent shape that contained the runes.

"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."