Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) (39 page)

"Snorri and Einar both know of Ulfrik's return. Aren knows. It does not take much imagination to realize why you've done as you have. I only wonder at the timing of it. Who else are you working with, Konal? You want Ulfrik to stay dead to me and the rest of the world, as does someone else. Someone in power. But who?

She saw Aren step from the shadows, waving his hands to stop her, but she did not want to. It felt good to grind this shame into his face. "You look amazed. Do you think yourself so sly that I wouldn't guess? Are you--"

He was upon her in an instant, faster and more accurate than even his sober moments. He grabbed her by the throat and began to throttle her, his face a red mask of fury. "You know nothing, you arrogant bitch! You are my wife, and should keep your fucking mouth shut."

Her foot collided with his crotch and he collapsed backward, falling onto a bench and screaming in rage and pain. Runa collapsed in a fit of coughing to the table behind her, then Konal began to stagger to his feet.

Snatching an earthenware jug from the high table, she turned in time for him to leap on her. She slammed the jug against his temple with a loud clunk, but it did not break. His fist connected with her cheek and she crumbled to the floor.

"You dare fight with me? I am your husband, and I do not accept your divorce." He grabbed her leg and yanked her flat. "You cold-hearted bitch. You haven't given me a good fuck in years and then claim humiliation at my hands. I took you in when you had nothing."

"I had nothing because of you. You killed my husband to take his place!"

He kicked her side and she balled up. Her hands sought the jug she had dropped, but her fingers only brushed the smooth side of it. Konal shoved up her skirt with one hand and began working his belt with the other.

"Give it to me now, woman. Give me what you would have given to him." His destroyed voice cracked and broke as he bathed her with the smell of stale mead. "You belong to me. All of this belongs to me."

Runa's hand grabbed the jug again, and she flung it into his face. This time it shattered in a tinkling crash and he staggered back without a sound, his pants low on his hips. She scrabbled backward, sticking on the table legs and searching for anything to use in a fight. Konal was on his knees, his face bleeding. When nothing came to hand, Runa pushed off the floor and darted past him.

Aren stood pale and slack-jawed, and she yelled at him, "Run, get away from here."

Konal caught her ankle and she slammed to her face, narrowly missing the stone edge of the hearth. He dragged her into his arms, then pressed his lips to hers. Blood and sweat mingled on her tongue as she clawed at him, tearing his shirt and ripping his skin. Nothing stopped him, and he slammed her to the floor. White flashes of pain blinded her and her ears rang. Her skirt was over her chest now and she felt the cold on her bare skin.

"One last fuck, like it used to be. Remember that?"

"Get off me," she screamed. She punched at his head, but his strong hand caught it.

"I'd rather kill you than give you up," he said through bloody teeth.

Konal's eyes went wide and he dropped her hand. His mouth opened but no sound came. Runa pushed back, batting down her skirt to cover herself. Aren stood above Konal, tears flowing freely over his swollen, red face.

"You killed me?" Konal said, struggling to turn around. "With my own dagger? I'm ... your father."

Aren stepped back as Konal reached for him, but his hand dropped to the floor, then he toppled to his face. Runa saw the dagger sticking out of Konal's back, a dark stain blooming across the white fabric of his shirt.

She stared at Aren, whose lips trembled to speak.

"You're not my father. You're a gutless bastard, and I killed you."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Ulfrik leaned on the rails next to Gunnar, who worked the tiller of his ship with as much ease as a man with two hands. The hook he wore was sufficient for the calm river waters, but he wondered at Gunnar's ability on the open seas. His mind wandered from thought to thought, for he could not fix upon what he knew must come next. The splash of oars in the water was a calming rhythm, and the dark green of the trees pressing the river banks was a balm to his sight. Yet his pulse throbbed knowing the final confrontation with Konal was at hand. He had killed scores of enemies in his day, but never one who had been such a trusted friend.

The Oise River was half as wide as the Seine at this point, and the afternoon sun glittered off it as they cleared a bend. Ulfrik strained to see the fortress over the serrated tops of pine trees. At first it seemed distant, but as Gunnar's ship sailed closer he realized it was only a small fort that dominated a low hill.

"Not much of a fortress," Ulfrik said. "This was newly built by Konal?"

Gunnar nodded. "In the year after your death, the Franks drove back all the western border. Only Ull the Strong, that miserable old bastard, wouldn't shift. We had to surrender Ravndal, and Einar built a new stronghold in Eyrafell and Konal placed himself here. This is to hold the river against the Franks should they try to sneak an army up river behind Eyrafell."

"This fort doesn't look as if it would hold against a flock of doves."

"The Franks haven't come this way, so they must believe otherwise."

Both fell silent as the ship nosed for the shore and the empty dock. Ulfrik's stomach tightened when he saw a thin trail of black smoke rising from Konal's fortress. It was a thin ribbon like a streamer proclaiming the site of troubles.

"What is it you said about the Franks?" Ulfrik said, not taking his eyes from the smoke. A faint scent of burnt wood reached him.

Gunnar swallowed and shouted at his crew. "I'm taking us to the docks, then I want ten men with me and the rest of you to guard this ship with your worthless lives."

After docking the ship and selecting his ten men, Gunnar led them along the trail through the woods that ended at the hill rising to Konalsvik. None one spoke, but all were wary for an attack. At the walls they found the gate opened and unattended. The scent of burning wood was heavier in the air here, and from the top of the hill Ulfrik scanned the surrounding dark green carpet of treetops but saw no signs of an army.

"I don't like any of this," Ulfrik muttered to himself. Gunnar, pointing with his war ax, ordered men to open the gates as wide as they would go.

"Well, there's your fire," he said, again using his ax as a pointer. A building with blackened, smoking thatch sat opposite the gate. A dog with three arrows in its side lay in front of the building's opened door.

"Konal wouldn't attack his own men?" Gunnar asked.

Ulfrik did not answer, but drew his sword and entered. No one guarded the front gates, but once inside he saw the hall appeared to have men stationed outside. "Three at the hall doors," he said.

"Rank up," Gunnar ordered. "Shields out."

Gunnar walked at the front, unable to match his right-handed shield to anyone in line. Ulfrik joined with him and the two approached the guards, who upon noticing them disappeared inside the hall.

"Faster, while no one's about," Ulfrik said, and they broke into a jog. Once the guards reemerged, they were not alone.

Runa stood between them.

Ulfrik stumbled to a halt, blinking in disbelief. His mind was a beehive of confused thoughts, all conflicting for his next action. No matter how much time had passed, she was the same beautiful vision he had carried in his heart for all these cold and lonely years. Her hair was still full of tight curls that splashed over her shoulders, though now brushed with gray. Her back was straight and the years had not creased her face, other than to work lines between her brows. Yet best of all was her smile, a warm and welcoming smile that took away all his confusion.

He thrust his sword back into its sheath, stalked up the incline to the doors where she stood, then he grabbed her into his arms.

"I'm home."

Their kiss was deep, and he forgot his surroundings as he drank in the familiar scent of his wife. All the memories flooded back to him in that single kiss, and when she pulled away he looked her straight in the eyes.

"I did not want you to see me like this," she said, lowering her head. As if the words had removed a spell from his sight, he noticed the bruising and swelling on her cheek. An ugly red lump under her left eye was red and hot. He brushed her hair from it.

"I have dreamed of this moment every day. Nothing can ruin it." He kissed her forehead then set her back. "But for now I have to put it aside. What has happened and where is the bastard who did this to you?"

"Gunnar told you about how Konal found us?" She glanced past him, then placed her trembling hand on his chest. "He took us here and got drunk. He flew into a rage and ... did things."

"Like beat you?" The anger seeped into his voice and a red haze was already forming at the edges of his vision. She nodded in confirmation.

"I thought he would kill me."

Ulfrik saw the bruises on her neck and his hands itched to draw his sword and cleave Konal's head in two. "But he did not?"

She shook her head. "Aren stabbed Konal with his own dagger. It stopped the attack, but then his men went mad at this. Eleven of them had more honor than the others, and they protected me and Aren in this hall. The others ransacked the fortress and left. I don't know where they went. The craftsmen either fled or joined the looters. I don't think they will return."

"They took Konal's ship," Ulfrik said. "There was nothing at dock nor did we see it on the water. Runa, my soul, I would have killed him myself had Aren not done the deed."

Gunnar joined them and hugged his mother. "Killed by his own weapon and by his own son. I could never imagine a more disgraceful end to a life."

"He is not yet dead," Runa said, placing a hand over her mouth. "He lingers at the edge of life. We bandaged his wounds and placed him in his bed."

"Why?" both Ulfrik and Gunnar asked at the same time. Runa backed up a step, eyes wide with surprise.

"We just couldn't do it to him. After the fires of anger passed, that face is still the same face of a man who ... it's not so simple ... he does not deserve mercy, and yet." Tears began to roll down her cheeks, and Runa stomped her foot then covered her face.

"Don't be ashamed," Ulfrik said, taking her hands in his. They were small and cold, skin hard and rough from work at the loom. "I have dreaded this reckoning as well. No son should have to kill his father, and no wife her husband."

She looked up at him suddenly. "I have divorced him. He is not my husband. He never lived up to the word."

He stroked her hand, then kissed it. "Take me to him, and leave us alone. Worry no more for this."

Runa turned inside without another word, the guards parting to let Ulfrik pass. Gunnar paused, and when Ulfrik turned he found him red-faced and staring at the ground. Gunnar and Konal had been as close as kin, and for years he idolized Konal's stories of adventure. "Wait for me here," Ulfrik offered, and he bowed his head in acceptance. He needed a face-saving excuse or his reputation as Gunnar the Black might suffer with his crew.

Inside the hall, the rest of Runa's men waited around a table, their faces solemn. Four of them stood, but the rest only leaned back to regard him with indifference. They were unfamiliar, except for Aren who sat at the head of the table. His face was puffy and misshapen with bruises. When he smiled his front tooth showed it had been chipped. Glancing back at Runa's injuries and the vestiges of Aren's, his resolve strengthened.

"Where is he?" Ulfrik's voice was like a lead ball dropped in the smothering silence of the room. Aren pointed at the door behind the high table, a typical location for a jarl's quarters.

He clomped across the hall, then stepped onto the rise where the high table sat. He faced the men and placed his hand upon his sword. "You have protected my wife and son, and for that you have my gratitude, and in time you will have a reward to match it. You are all still sworn to Konal, and I must know if you will hinder me in what I do next. Your jarl has revealed himself as the foulest sort of traitor, one who posed as a friend. Today I will avenge myself and claim what was once his as my own. Jarl Hrolf the Strider will support me in this."

The men lowered their eyes and stole glances at one another. With his hand upon the hilt of his sword, he waited for a challenge, but none came. Ulfrik narrowed his eyes at them and inclined his head, then he turned for the door to find Konal.

Ulfrik recognized Runa's touch in the small, dark room with its neat organization and freedom of clutter. Hanging on the opposite wall, a silver crucifix that had belonged to her brother Toki was tarnished black. The revolting scent of a tallow candle filled the room and mingled with the iron tang of blood. Konal lay on his bed, a red stained wrap about his torso and his hands folded over the hilt of his sword which had been tied into its scabbard with leather peace straps. His chest rose and fell with his labored breathing and his forehead glistened with sweat.

Stepping up to his side, he stared at his former companion's face. The burns scars had always been his defining mark, but otherwise he seemed a different man. His eyes were closed and sunken, his face pallid and gaunt. Ulfrik's lip curled when he thought of the violence he had brought to his family, and how he had betrayed him to Throst. He swept Konal's hands from the sword, so that when he died it would not be as a warrior, but as the gutless coward he had become.