Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) (34 page)

As he rested his head against the wall, he closed his eyes and inventoried his choices. He could save himself and Finn and forget Vilhjalmer for another day, or, he could still attempt to free Vilhjalmer. Freeing Hrolf's son seemed an impossible task now that he would have to wade through a camp of hostiles and break into a fortress guarded by men well aware of his intentions. Yet returning to Hrolf in failure may mean he had saved his own life but ruined any value in living it. Hrolf would have no mercy on him, especially now that Grimnr and Amand knew Vilhjalmer's true identity. Any plan to escape had to include Vilhjalmer, or it would not be true escape.

No other choice existed but to save Vilhjalmer. Now the gods merely had to show him his moment and he would act. They had left his hands free, which was a sign they would place a weapon in them soon. He only had to watch for it.

A shadow fell over the light seeping between the planks of the door and someone pressed his face to the crack in the doorjamb. "They're getting the noose prepared. Won't be long before you're swinging like a common thief."

"Is that you, Vigrid?" Ulfrik leapt to the door then pressed his ear to it. The answer did not come, and he banged on the door.

"You used me to get closer to Grimnr," Vigrid said through the door. Ulfrik could feel him leaning against it, the two of them separated only by the planks.

"That's true, and I'm sorry for the deceit."

"I doubt you would have been sorry were you not caught. Grimnr would've killed me in your place, just because I spoke for you."

Ulfrik slid from the door and stepped back. "He is not that sort of man."

Their exchange stultified, and Ulfrik began to pace the small, empty room. Flies buzzed around him, attracted to the waste left by former captives in the corners. He paced until his leg grew sore then realized at some point the voices outside had fallen quiet. He turned in time to hear the bar lifted out of the door and have it sweep open. Mellow dawn light framed him against the wall as he faced Grimnr, his bulk filling the doorway.

"As I promised, hanging at first light." Grimnr was a shadow that turned from the door to allow two others to point their spears at him. They barked at him to exit, which he did.

Outside the fresh air hit his face like an open palm, and the two guards herded him at spear-point toward Grimnr and Vigrid. Ulfrik's eyes swept past them to the throng of men at their backs. What seemed every Northman in the camp that was not bedridden pressed from all sides. For such a crowd, their silence was more awesome than their numbers. Grim faces stared out at him, some old and scarred and inscrutable, some young, dirty, and curious. Rank upon rank of fighting men, survivors of Einar's surprise assault, had gathered to see him die.

"The name Ulfrik Ormsson is well known here," Grimnr said.

"Not all of them know me," he said, so quietly his voice was faint to his own ears. He searched the crowd for familiar men, but saw nothing more than the same beaten and bent faces common to all warriors. "Do men even remember my name?"

"Time is a battle that fame always loses," Grimnr said. "But you have not been gone so long that the land has forgotten you. I was not here for your days of glory, but I am here for your death. I've kept your hands unbound and expect you to act with honor. Do not be foolish in the final moment, when so many have come to witness how a hero goes to his death."

Another guard shoved Finn beside him, and his young companion fell to the ground with a grunt. Ulfrik did not bend to help him, but allowed Finn to struggle to his feet. He clutched his side, the wound from the bandit camp still troubling him. His normally smiling face was contorted in fear and his freckles stood out like brown sand scattered over snow. His eyes were wet, and the threat of tears Ulfrik saw there set a fire in his gut.

"Straighten yourself," he snapped. "A man will not die until his hour is at hand, and if it is, no tears will keep it at bay. You know this."

"But I don't have to be happy for it."

"It is not our time," Ulfrik said. "The gods have not seen us this far to hang us like slaves."

"But like oath-breakers," Grimnr said. "The gods have no love of false men. Now enough foolishness."

The crowd parted as their guards shoved them forward. Ulfrik held his head up and back straight, hands loose at his sides. Even if he could grab a weapon, he had no hope of fighting out of this press. He fixed his eyes on the distance and allowed himself to be herded toward the Seine, where over the heads of the crowd he spotted the crowns of oak trees and the masts of ships at the riverside. The crowd started a low murmur as they funneled Ulfrik and Finn to the hanging tree. As they drew closer, a few voices called out, but Ulfrik did not hear what they said.

The hanging tree was the tallest of the hoary oaks that had defied the encroachment of the camp. Pines, elms, and other trees had once populated this stretch but now were either stumps or holes in the earth. These three trees stretched out their thick limbs like the Norns themselves, reeling out their skein of Fate to rule the lives and deaths of men. One shape already dangled and twisted from a limb. The mute Frankish girl's neck had stretched an impossible length. Her glossy, beautiful hair hung over her face, but he did not need to see it to know crows had already pecked out the soft parts. The black birds clung to the branches around her, staring down with what seemed hunched shoulders and greedy black eyes.

"Not me. Not today," Ulfrik muttered at them. The crowd gathered tighter, but gave the hanging tree a wide berth. He would not escape back toward the camp, of that he was certain. The only route lay toward the water, and he could never launch a ship in time. As his guards held their spears at his back, Ulfrik scanned Grimnr, Vigrid, and the other hirdmen for weapons. Their swords were tight in their sheaths, impossible to grab without a struggle. All of them wore daggers at their waists, and were simpler to draw. He would have to take Grimnr as a hostage and bargain his way out. It was not the best plan, for one good archer could solve that standoff. Ulfrik had done it himself with a throwing ax. But desperate as he was, he saw no other way. His palms itched at the thought of seizing the dagger when Grimnr approached.

Then he froze.

Over Grimnr's shoulder he locked eyes with Konal. The angry white and red scars that flowed across half his face made him stand out among the others. Konal's expression was tight and focused, and a group of men stood shoulder to shoulder with him that must have been his crew.

Grimnr broke in between them and grabbed Ulfrik's arm to lead him to the tree. "I liked you as Ulfar the White. It's a sad thing to hang a good man."

"Then don't." Ulfrik struggled to turn toward Konal again, but Grimnr held him firm and laughed.

"You earned the noose." Grimnr held him still while others set ladders to the trees then climbed up to secure the ropes to the limbs.

Ulfrik felt the hilt of the Grimnr's dagger press into his side. Finn stood like a wilting reed, his white face, staring in defeat at the ground. Konal had come with a crew, and now Ulfrik had a true chance at escape. Whatever differences they may have over Konal's treatment of Runa, they were sword brothers once. Such bonds were stronger than iron and just as enduring. Konal had come to his aid and now waited for Ulfrik's signal.

He leaned away from Grimnr, who frowned up at the hanging trees. Finn still hung limp, Vigrid at his side.

Striking like a snake, he slammed into Grimnr's ribs and yanked the dagger from his belt. In the same motion he slipped his foot between Grimnr's and collapsed him to the ground.

Vigrid and Finn stared in amazement, but Ulfrik already leaped Grimnr's prostrate body. He swept up with his dagger, slashing Vigrid's throat from collarbone to ear. His eyes rolled back and he crashed into Finn.

"To me!" Ulfrik shouted at Finn, then he spun toward the crowd. Only the front ranks reacted, most with astonishment but others falling away as if charged by a bull. Konal did not waver, but drew his sword and his crew followed. The scrape and hum of blades eager for blood filled the air and Ulfrik roared in joy as he bounded to Konal. "To your ship! Hurry!"

The crowd rippled with confusion, men pressing forward while others retreated. In four strides he reached Konal, and put his arm out in greeting. "I can't remember a day I was happier to see you."

Konal's blade flicked to his throat, catching him under the chin and pressing into his skin. He backed up, and Konal pushed closer as his crew flowed around him.

"You should have stayed dead." The voice was a ragged whisper, but the words cut no less deeply.

"Wait!" The voice from behind was Grimnr's. "He's mine."

Ulfrik stared into Konal's pale eyes, and realization plowed into him like a ship crashing into an iceberg. His hands went cold and his muscles slackened. Before his death, Throst had taunted him with a warning that someone within his hall had participated in his betrayal. Ulfrik had suspected Hrolf, and even as he risked everything to save his son, Ulfrik still suspected him. Yet Konal stood with cold iron pressed into his neck, scarred face tight with anger and baleful eyes glowing with hatred. He was unrecognizable now. He was the traitor. He sold him to Throst, then stole his wife and hall. A man he had named a sword brother and friend.

Then he was sailing backward, the sky a pale blue above him. He crashed on his back and a rock dug into his spine. Grimnr loomed over him, his bulk blotting out the sky and his long braid falling over his shoulder. "You murderous pig! I'll gut you myself!"

CHAPTER FIFTY

"What do you see?" Runa asked, tugging at Gunnar's arm. She cursed her poor sight, but the distant shore was nothing more than green and black smudges.

"Two nooses, and one body already strung up." Gunnar stepped back, and his face was as hard as winter ice. "A massive crowd has gathered around the hanging trees. It must be for Father and Finn."

Runa's first reaction was to collapse into tears, but she grabbed the rail and dug her fingers into it. That Runa, the weepy and powerless woman, stayed married to Konal. Runa the Bloody has returned once more. She had led men in battle, killed for her home and family, and helpless tears did not befit who she was. She stood straighter and met Gunnar's dark eyes with the same icy determination.

"We will aid them, even if it is our handful of crew against their army."

Gunnar smiled. "I agree. What that herd of sheep needs is a wolf to scatter them. Set a panic among them, and we will not have to fight. They will fight themselves."

Runa strained to see the opposite shore, but the river was wide and clusters of ships blocked the view. It seemed every ship had gone to dock, explaining why they had slipped upriver without any deterrents. How Gunnar planned to scatter this many enemies eluded her. But as she counted the few masts not blurred from her poor sight, she snapped back to him.

"Burn their ships!"

"It's like setting their children on fire."

They both turned to the casks of oil. Aren sat atop one and picked at the hem of his cloak. Gunnar started to shout orders to his crew. "Take the short oars," he said. "We'll be getting close to those ships on the other shore. Aren, start moving those casks to the sides."

"What can I do?" Runa asked. Gunnar stared at her, then smiled.

"There is touch-wood and a striking steel in my sea chest. You get the kindling started so we can set the fire with haste."

The ship lurched and creaked as the crew rowed back into the river. The sails were drawn but the wind still buffeted from the east, which would aid them greatly in escape but hinder their crossing of the Seine. Gunnar groaned as he worked the tiller, but he managed as well as any man with two hands. Runa fumbled through his sea chest, pulling aside clothing, a seal skin cloak and boots, and layers of blankets. She removed a small pack and shook the contents into her hand. A dirty cloth doll spilled out along with a delicate silver chain that had a silver pendant of Thor's hammer attached. She held these in her palm and the implications sunk in.

Could I be a grandmother? she thought. The incongruity of the joy she experienced at realizing this shamed her. Unless Ulfrik were alive to share that news, then she did not want to know. She stuffed the contents back into the bag, then found the striking steel, flint, and touch-wood. The pungent scent of the fuzzy touch-wood filled her nose as she cupped it in her hands. Beside the chest was the tinder box, blackened with soot and filled with dried twigs. Blocking the wind with her back, she broke the touch-wood into pieces and sprinkled it into the tinder box, then using the flint and striking iron she struck sparks onto the kindling. Aided by the swift-burning touch-wood, the kindling started to burn. When she stood again they had crossed to the first ships.

She strained to see up the shore to the three trees, but only saw one body dangling there. She let go her breath when she realized the hanged corpse wore a dress. The crowd had disappeared behind the rise of the land, but she could hear the mass off onlookers as a murmur of voices and clanking iron. She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes at the nooses on the trees, then turned to Gunnar.

"The fire is ready," she said.