Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) (42 page)

"This man is dumb, Your Grace. He knows not of speech or manners, nor even more than the rudiments of Our Savior's teachings. In all respects he is a brute, employed to terrorize men into obeying the law. But I have seen a kinder side to this man, and so I have taken to instructing him in my spare moments. I know this is odd, Your Grace, but if ever there was a soul worth saving it would be this man's. I was about to take him inside, probably his first time in many years, and show him how to properly pray at church."

The bishop raised an eyebrow and then regarded Ulfrik as if he were a jewel on the merchant's table. "I'm certain he donates for the time he consumes, and that donation finds its way to our coffers, Father Engilbert?"

"Most generously," He bowed again. "He has learned that to support the church is to support himself."

The bishop grunted, then eyed his priest. "Send Wibert up when he's done with his business. And do be sure to fetch that water. They're waiting for it in the kitchen."

Disappearing back into the door, both Ulfrik and Engilbert stared at the yawning blackness. Ulfrik smiled and nudged him. "Inspired work, Father. You lie with a practiced tongue."

"You have damned me to hell," he said dryly. "Let's make haste. We will have to cross one large room where many of my brothers will be at work. Do not look at any of them, nor speak. Follow me and we will be up the stairs. From there, we may exit another way. God have mercy upon me."

"God will reward you with your own cloud when you die," Ulfrik said. "But I will reward you with your life and that of your friend's."

"May you burn in hell, you heathen bastard."

Inside the dark church Ulfrik did as instructed and kept his eyes lowered. The cloying scent of oiled wood and burning tallow filled the spacious room they entered, which appeared to be the main hall where Christians gathered. While he did nothing more than stare at the wood slats of the floor as he followed Engilbert, glints of gold and silver danced at the sides of his visions. For the brief moments he passed through that hall with its rows of well-worn benches, he imagined a king's trove of wealth must be stacked within it. It was no wonder Hrolf and Sigfrid had been so eager to knock down the walls of this city if this was the abundance of one church.

In back rooms, black-robed men with young attendants stopped their sweeping or scrubbing to stare at their passing. One called to Engilbert, but he mumbled a reply and pushed through the room to wide stairs. Their feet made hollow thuds on the risers as they climbed. At the landing, the old priest stopped and put a frail hand on Ulfrik's chest.

"Two guards will be at the door. The boy does not come out except for exercise or for prayer. Did you know he is a Christian? Even your people can understand the truth when they choose to."

"Well, pray that you get me past the guards without trouble," Ulfrik said. He had known Hrolf's marriage to a Frankish woman had converted him to Christianity, but it was a meaningless gesture. In practice, Hrolf held to the old faith and sacrificed to the old gods and got better results for it, at least to Ulfrik's mind.

"Maybe it's best you wait here for me. I can explain the boy is coming with me for prayer, which is not unusual. If they see you, I will have a harder time explaining it."

Ulfrik stared hard at him, but the priest's impassive face was inscrutable. "Remember Wibert. If you betray me or whisper a warning to those guards, he will die. I'll be listening to everything you say, and my hearing is excellent."

"No betrayals from me. I will get you the boy and take you to wherever you want to go. Just spare Wibert. I know your kind will try to kill us even if we keep our word to you, just so there's no witness to your crime. But if you have a conscience, Wibert should be freed. Keep me as a hostage as long as you need to feel safe of your secret."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Ulfrik patted the priest's arm. "Your loyalty to your friend is admirable. Be good, and I will do as you ask. Now fetch me the boy."

The priest climbed the last flight of the steps and Ulfrik strained to listen to his conversation with the guards. This was a large risk, as Engilbert could pass the guards nonverbal warnings or a hushed message. His hand was ready at his sword, and he half expected two guards to charge him with lowered spears. Instead, he heard doors creak, distant murmuring, then the footfalls of two people on the stairs.

Vilhjalmer was in front of the priest, who guided him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Hrolf's son was freshly clothed in a new outfit befitting his royal status. His hair was combed and neat, framing a clear and proud face with a strong nose and jaw. His regal composure held for a moment before it melted in recognition.

"It's you!" He rushed to Ulfrik and hugged him, all the pretense of royalty gone and nothing more than a child left in place. "Have you come to take me from this horrible place?"

"It is my sworn oath to save you from these Franks." He gathered Vilhjalmer to his side, then pulled a sheathed dagger from his boot. "I bought one of these for you. From hence forward no man takes you against your will."

Vilhjalmer accepted the dagger with wide-eyed reverence, then stashed it at the back of his waistband. "Father was right to send you. I thought I'd never live beyond these walls again."

Engilbert cleared his throat. "Whatever you two are babbling about, you need to save it for later. If anyone finds him out of his room, they might realize what we're about."

"Can I trust him?" Vilhjalmer asked, raising his eyebrow at the priest.

"No, his friend is held hostage to his behavior. He will only help you as long as he believes his friend endangered." He turned to the priest, switching back to his Frankish. "How do we get out of here without going through a room of priests?"

"At the bottom of the stairs, turn to your right and follow the corridor to a room that will let us out on the other side of the church. There is a courtyard similar to the one you found me in."

Ulfrik gestured the priest to lead the way, which he did with a disdainful sneer. At the bottom of the steps, he turned left toward another door. "That's the hallway. Don't look into the rooms along the way, but go straight to the end."

The door swung open and the bishop again appeared, his bushy eyebrows rising in surprise. He was not alone this time, but at his side was another old man dressed in a rich blue shirt that offset a gleaming gold crucifix. His hand was occupied stroking a swooping white mustache, and it froze in place as he locked eyes with Ulfrik.

"Count Amand," Ulfrik grumbled under his breath. For an instant he thought the count would not recognize him, but his hooded eyes shifted from him to Vilhjalmer and back again.

"They're trying to take the boy," Amand shouted, pointing with a finger bearing a gleaming red gem set in a fat ring of gold. "Stop them!"

Ulfrik launched himself at the count while drawing his sword. Behind the count, a group of guards swarmed forward in the doorway. Ulfrik slammed into the count with his shoulder, sending him back into the door which crashed shut in the face of the advancing guard. One man tried to stop it, and his hand was caught between the door and the jamb. His screams reverberated through the door. The bishop sidestepped as if avoiding a puddle of mud, but before he could scream, Engilbert clamped his hand over the bishop's mouth and wrestled him away from the struggle.

Count Amand's hand sought to grab Ulfrik's dagger while he kept the door pinned shut with the count's body. The hand fought against the door, four fingers wriggling like fleshy worms, and others battered from the other side. Ulfrik's actions had led to a stalemate, and his priority now became keeping the guards at bay. He raised his short sword and hacked at the fingers. Two flew away and blood sprayed over Count Amand's head, brilliant red flecks in his white hair. The guard beyond screamed, and Ulfrik cut again, shaving off another finger and finally slamming the door shut. He had to release the count for his next move.

"Vilhjalmer, help me," he called over his shoulder. "Use your dagger."

He released Amand, who toppled away in his struggles. Ulfrik then slammed the door tight and fed his sword through the arms used to hold the bar lock of the door. He whirled around and caught Vilhjalmer losing his wrestling match with the count as he bent Vilhjalmer's dagger aside. Ulfrik drew his last dagger from his boot and plunged it into Amand's back. The old count stiffened with a howl and toppled onto his face. Vilhjalmer scrambled away then turned on the prostrate count to drive his own dagger into his back beside Ulfrik's.

"Good work," Ulfrik said, breathless. "You're a man today."

"I am!" Vilhjalmer said, his blood-flecked face brightening. "I'm glad the old bastard is dead."

"Help me," Engilbert hissed. He danced around with the bishop, and Ulfrik would have laughed at the sight of two priests in black and white robes wrestling. The bishop's eyes were wide with horror as Ulfrik yanked the dagger out of Amand's back. "Sweet Jesus, don't kill him!"

Flipping the dagger around in his grip, he slammed the pommel into the bishop's temple. The old man went slack, but was still conscious. Ulfrik hit him two more times before he slumped. Engilbert fell back and made the sign of the cross. The bishop seemed dead, but Ulfrik guessed he might be dead. He had no time to decide as the guards at the door were battering it.

"Where's the bar for that lock?"

"That door hasn't been locked for years. I don't know."

Ulfrik cursed the loss of his sword, as well as his disguise. His guard surcoat was splattered in gore. He grabbed Vilhjalmer and leveled his dagger at Engilbert. "Show us the fastest way out. Now!"

The old priest yelped and began running back the way they had come. Once inside the main hall, he ran for the front doors where a few people had gathered in thoughtful silence. All along their route priests fell aside in horror, clutching their chests as if their hearts might fall out. They sprinted down the main aisle of the prayer hall and burst out of the double doors. All the sounds and odors of Paris slapped him in the face as they spilled down the stairs, Engilbert trailing behind. "Don't lose me. Wibert must be freed."

They dashed into the street, and Ulfrik's bloodied appearance caused people to fall away, and a group of three women screamed. He was about to tear off his surcoat when a guard in the same uniform ran up to them. He was a tall man with a narrow head and untrustworthy eyes, and he halted in front of Ulfrik with a look of horror. "What has happened to you?"

"No time to explain," Ulfrik said. "We must get this boy to the north gates."

The guard stared at him in confusion. "What accent is that?"

"I'm a Burgundian, all right? We can trade family history later. We have to hurry."

The guard stared at him then to Engilbert. "What's this about?"

"As he says, the boy is in grave danger. Help us clear the way." Engilbert placed a hand on the guard's shoulders. "You are doing God's work, son."

The guard glanced at Vilhjalmer then turned on his heel, drawing his sword and roaring at the crowd. "Get back! Clear us a path."

They rushed along with their new guard. Ulfrik appreciated the escort but needed to shake him before he attracted less gullible guards. As they trotted along, the sea of people parting for them, Ulfrik pulled at the guard's surcoat. "Wait, we can cut this way. It's faster."

Pointing at a side alley, he smiled hopefully at the guard, who stared down the alleyway. He slowly turned toward him, sword held against his leg. "I don't know what they call a shortcut in Burgundia, my friend, but this is not one. Are you a guard and you even a priest?"

In answer to the question, the bell from the church began to clang wildly behind them. The crowd remained parted but did not disperse. Like ravens, they anticipated violence and dead bodies for picking over. The guard tilted his narrow head at the sound, and his eyes lit up in understanding.

"You fucking liar," he said, lifting his sword with both hands on the grip. "Stay where you are."

He dropped one hand to his side and began patting his leg. When he did not find what he sought, he glanced down. Vilhjalmer instead lifted a horn up to him. "Looking for this?"

The guard's alarm horn had a cut strap that trailed from Vilhjalmer's hand. He smiled triumphantly, but the guard merely scowled then shouted. "Alarm! Call for the guard!"

The crowd closed in on them, and Ulfrik drew his dagger. "Nice job, Vilhjalmer. But next time lift his sword instead."

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

The guard stalked closer to Ulfrik while Engilbert cowered behind, babbling to God for deliverance or some such nonsense. The warning bell tolled and the cluster of people drew closer for a better look at what they supposed would be the uncommon spectacle of killing a guard and priest then arresting a boy. Ulfrik thought the guard's form was an insult, holding his sword too high and exposing himself to an easy strike.

Rather than mock the guard as he might have, he had to recapture lost time. The surrounding crowd was not deep, but calls for guards had rippled out like waves on a lake. He slid his feet wide and felt his center of power low in his hips, and when the guard inched closer, Ulfrik struck like a flash of lightning. He ducked under the sword, drove his dagger to the hilt in the guard's ribs, then relieved him of his sword. The guard collapsed with a gasp, and blood rushed into a puddle on the street.