Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) (3 page)

"They know what heroes carry into death and they would not leave a stone unturned. Those bastards piss themselves if a Northman even sets foot on one of their graves, but they don't fuss when digging up one of ours. I bet they scattered the bones." Ulfrik scowled at the thought of his brother Toki's bones being tossed out for wolves and dogs to gnaw, but he did not expect the Franks to respect the nobility of a fallen warrior.

After a long, brooding walk, they escaped the woods and found the farmhouse. It was a typical A-frame home, gray with age and stained black with rain. New thatch glowed in the summer sun and a pleasant white smoke waved from the smoke-hole to spread the sweet scent of firewood. Outside, one of the farmer's sons split logs while a stout brown dog began barking at Ulfrik and Finn. The son continued the work, but the doors of the barn opened in response and the white-haired old farmer peered out. In their first meeting he had introduced himself as Gils.

Ulfrik waved in greeting and Gils stepped out, setting aside a pitchfork and wiping his hands on his pants. The son continued to chop wood, the logs splitting and falling to either side of the stump. The dog's tail began to wag, though he continued to bark.

"Saw what you wanted?" Gils asked as he approached, his white hair bright in the sun. The son stopped chopping to collect the logs.

"It was all true," Ulfrik said. "I should have saved myself the trouble."

Gils spit and shrugged. "You thinking of joining the Franks then?"

"We haven't decided." Ulfrik peered off into the distance. "The old jarl really has no more power here?"

"Gone for good, he is. This is Frank land now, and they're good enough if you give them what they ask. Don't really need the old jarl, do we?"

It was Ulfrik's turn to spit and shrug. "Mind if we camp on your farm tonight? Tomorrow we'll move on."

"Where to?"

Ulfrik shook his head and Gils frowned, but he turned to his son. "Tell your Ma Ulfar the White and Finn Langson will be our guests tonight."

Though no one would expect Ulfrik to be alive, he used a false name to ensure his memory was not raised, particularly on lands he once ruled.

Gils's son left without a word, pausing only to steal a glance at Ulfrik before he disappeared into the house. Gils pointed at the barn. "The house is full, but you can sleep in the barn tonight."

They passed the rest of the day settling into a brooding silence while Ulfrik worked through his next steps. True to his word, Gils fed them a meal of chicken, onions, and beer. His two sons acted as if mute, sharing dark glances that Ulfrik did not trust. The wife and her two daughters chattered until Ulfrik's eardrums throbbed. When he and Finn settled into the barn for the night, he was glad for the silence.

They shared an empty stall, but the cow occupied the largest stall. "Even the cows live better than me," Ulfrik said, then laughed.

"Do you want me on first watch?" Finn asked as he spread his cloak out.

"Gils seems fine enough, but his two sons are strange. Keep watch for trouble. Wake me at midnight or when you feel sleepy."

In the darkness, Ulfrik listened to crickets and the breathing of the cow. Silvery moonlight shined behind the cracks in the barn door planks. Before long he was drifting into sleep, visions of the defiled burial mounds filling his young dreams.

He jolted awake, cold and rough hands on his ankles and wrists.

There was no silvery moonlight now, but a harsh torchlight flooding the barn with heat. Strange men pinned him to the ground while others wrestled with Finn. A third man stuffed a rag into his mouth, while he felt cords tighten around his legs.

Wasting no time, he wrested a hand free and punched one of his assailants in the head. The man staggered back with a growl. Another man grabbed his free hand and forced it to his chest, then his two hands were wrapped in cord. In moments he was tied like a hog for the slaughter and lying face down on his cloak. Finn was similarly tied beside him, eyes wide with terror.

"Two swords, helmets, knives." One of the assailants counted off their valuables. Ulfrik guessed a half dozen men filled the barn. The cow lowed in the stall beside him as someone invaded its space.

"Ah but look at this chain." Ulfrik heard their bags being dumped out and the clink of their meager treasures. "What's on them?"

Rough hands flipped Ulfrik over, and he was looking into the smirking face of Gils's son, the one who had been chopping wood. He frisked Ulfrik's body, finding the gold armband hidden under his shirt. He worked it off, then grabbed the silver Thor's hammer that Finn's mother and his lover, Gytha, had given him. It snapped off the cord and disappeared into the son's shirt.

"We've got everything. Let's get rid of them."

Ulfrik's heart beat against the base of his neck. Gils's sons worked with four other men to heave him off the ground and into the night. The man holding the torch aloft was Gils himself.

"Don't kill them," he warned the young thieves. "Drop them at the stream and cut them free."

"You worry too much, old man," said one of the strangers. "No one knows they were here but us."

The young men laughed and Gils repeated his admonition. A cart had been backed up to the barn with a horse ready to pull it. They tossed Ulfrik onto it like he was nothing more than a bale of hay. Finn followed on, crashing into Ulfrik's legs.

"Be back after dawn," said Gils's son as he took up the driver's seat with his brother. The four other strangers flanked the cart as it jerked to motion.

As the cart pulled forward, Gils, his wife, and his daughters turned to the inside of the barn. Ulfrik grunted and pulled at his bindings, but there was no slack. Knowing he had to conserve strength for the fight to come, he relaxed. Finn continued to wrestle as the cart trundled away from the farm, earning derisive laughter from their captor walking behind the cart.

Finn's eyes were bright with terror, and when he stopped resisting he stared at Ulfrik. There was nothing either could do, but he offered him a slow nod of reassurance. Whatever lay ahead of them, panic and fear would not serve.

He closed his eyes and waited for the ride to end.

CHAPTER FOUR

Runa sat at the edge of her bed and plucked at the wool blanket crumpled at its foot. Dark dreams fled from the sounds of morning and left her empty and tired. She rubbed her cold hand against her cheek to work away the vestiges of sleep. The space next to where she had slept had long been empty. As usual, Konal had risen before her and was off with his so-called hirdmen. He would not waste the morning with sleep when fresh summer mead was in stock. He and his men would start on those casks before the first meal of the day.

The walls of her room were tightly fitted oak planks that allowed no light to seep inside. Still, she heard the voices in the main hall and the bustle outside the walls. Only a candle burned halfway to its iron holder cast any light, and the tallow imparted a stale scent to the air. If she opened the door, the light from the main hall would flood her room, but she did not feel like greeting the surly folk this early in the day. Like Konal loved his mead, she loved her solitude.

Today was especially difficult for her. It was about this time when Ulfrik left her for the final journey. She remembered that day six years ago standing on the banks of the Seine, him preparing to sail south along some river to a place she never heard of before or since, and his solemn promise to return before Yule. He had kept the promise, but only his head had returned.

Runa fought the memories of that horrible day. Why had she insisted upon viewing the head? Why had they even sent it back, crushed as it was? Now that terrifying image was in her mind like a bloodstain that would never wash out.

Voices from the hall rose in laughter then died back to a murmur. She could not hide here all day. It would only sicken her. With a heavy sigh, she shoved off the bed again and exchanged her wool sleeping clothes for a plain green dress and white overdress. She combed her hair, but still refused to wear a head cover like other women. It was her last act of rebellion to leave her hair free, though now the tight ringlets of her hair were woven with gray.

On a whim she knelt on the floor and pulled a small chest out from beneath the bed. She held the key to its lock on her belt along with the other keys that symbolized her so-called authority of the household. In truth, Konal had allowed her nothing since marrying her. She twisted the key into the lock and was satisfied at the pop of the shank. Setting it aside, she raised the lid and stared at the contents.

She had not looked into this chest for years, at least since Gunnar's disappearance. Today she longed to touch something that took her to the past. Inside the chest were her final connections to Ulfrik. She realized it was foolish to hide them here, but sleeping over them each night lent her small satisfaction.

The first item she withdrew was her sax, a short sword that warriors wore at their laps and used for close quarters fighting. The old leather handle melded to her hand, and to touch it sent her back through the years to the days when Ulfrik trained her in swordplay. She lifted away the loop holding it in the wood scabbard and pulled up the blade. Rust had claimed it and she regretted not caring for it properly. She had killed men with this weapon, and now it was rusted and useless, a mere relic of a forgotten time.

Just like me, she thought, then snapped it shut in the scabbard. She laid it aside, then dipped back into the chest.

In both hands she lifted out a faded red cloak. There was nothing special about this beyond the expense of the dye used to color it. A smile bloomed on her face as she felt along its hems. Sewn into the edges was a fortune in jewels, the treasure that had led Ulfrik to Frankia. So much fate was woven into the cloak, it had to have come from the hands of the Norns themselves. Konal and his now dead brother Kell had been searching for this treasure when Konal was shipwrecked on Runa's land.

As Fate decided, Ulfrik found the treasure and kept it secret from Konal. This was to be their safety, a vast fortune to be called upon when all other reserves failed. Though now Runa might have need, she could never allow Konal to discover she possessed this treasure. To her great sorrow, he was no longer the man she had admired and even loved for a short time. His discovering the truth of these gems would invite violence.

"What are you doing?"

Runa yelped with shock, dropping the cloak into the chest. She whirled on her knees, hand on her throat. "Konal!"

"And what other man would dare enter this room with you alone?" Konal's voice was raspy thin, like a man choked in smoke. He leaned against the door, which she had not even realized had opened. The terrible scars that marred his face and neck were white and red, as if a fiery finger had stirred the flesh. She had once looked past those scars, but now it was all she could see.

"I asked what you were doing." Konal stepped closer, his soft boots sliding across the packed dirt floor. "What's this?"

Runa's stomach burned and she shoved the cloak back into the chest, but Konal was more interested in the sword. He reached down and snatched it from her. She caught the scent of mead.

"A sword? What are you doing with this bit of junk?" He yanked it out of the scabbard and clicked his tongue at the rust. "Gods, woman, cut yourself with this and you'll die of the bending sickness."

She stood and with her foot pushed the chest beneath the bed, hoping to distract him from it. Now placing the cloak so openly made her blush with shame at her foolishness. "That is my sword. Give it back."

He raised a brow at her, tugging the blade completely free. The rust had crawled down its edges, ruining it for all but sentimental purposes. "This should be destroyed before it cuts someone. I'll take it to the blacksmith--"

"No you won't," Runa said, then grabbed for Konal's arm. "I'll keep it in the sheath, just return it now."

Pulling his arm away, he started to complain then paused. He examined the scabbard, and his mead-fogged mind seemed to assemble the true picture. He stiffened, slamming the blade back into the scabbard.

"You don't need a weapon to protect you. You've got me now."

"Please, just allow me to keep it. I never meant for you to see it. You won't be bothered by it again."

"Of course you didn't want me to see it. You think I don't know why you're looking at it today? Think I don't know what day this is? If you could see your sad face, you'd not ask me why I drink so much."

"You drink because you're a drunk, and you're too scared to do the fighting of a real man."

The hard words used to enrage him, but they had nothing kind to say to each other for years and insults had lost their bite. He weighed the sword in his palm and answered thoughtfully. "The rust can be scoured off, then I'll have the blade melted down for something more useful than a sentimental piece of trash."

"No you won't!" She struck his shoulder, hurting her hand more than anything. Since being forbidden to practice with weapons, she had lost her old strength. Konal laughed and held the blade away from himself.

"Ulfrik has been dead for years. No foolishness about this sword will bring him back. Put him behind you and act with more dignity. You used to have more pride in yourself."