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

Ulfrik nodded as he stripped off his cloak to cut bandages. The wound was deep and long, flowing blood at a steady rate. Finn was right: the wound was not bad.

It was deadly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Runa kept her head lowered in the hall, moving among servants whose expressions ranged from surprise to pity. The five hirdmen loafing at a table did not see her at all, drinking and either rolling dice or betting on their friends. Their brittle laughter made Runa's hands tremble with rage. There had been a time only six years past when she had been regarded with respect. Most of Ulfrik's hird had gone to Einar's hold, and the men Konal recruited had been selected for their drinking tolerance rather than military power. She scowled at them lost in their gambling, her cheek stinging in answer.

"Lady Runa, your face?" A woman, Groa, who had been a servant to Runa since her time in Nye Grenner, intercepted Runa as she crossed the hall. She was a few years older than Runa, but toil had grayed her hair and lined her face. Her rough hand reached out to tilt Runa's head into the light, and she sucked her breath as it did.

"Not now," Runa said. "I just want to get some air."

Groa frowned. "How's your sight? Blurry?"

"No more so than yesterday. Please, I'll be fine. It looks worse than it feels." As if to deny Runa's lie, a cold needle of pain raced across her throbbing cheek as she spoke.

They stared at each other while the rest of the servants flowed around them carrying out their chores. Groa's mouth formed unspoken words, the same protests she made every time Konal's rage ended in violence. Both knew all talk was pointless. Groa's eyes faltered and she relented, stepping aside. Runa patted her arm and continued out of the hall.

The sky was blanketed with woolly clouds and a cool wind lifted her hair over her face. Just the touch of it on her injured cheek elicited soreness. Their small fort consisted of the main hall, blacksmith, barracks, and a smattering of homes all ringed by a wooden palisade. The lands beyond were nominally under Konal's rule, but Hrolf the Strider was the true force from here to the sea, which was miles upon miles of land. Konalsvik, as it was called, hid far back behind the Frankish borders where Einar now held a larger, more important fortress. Hrolf understood Konal's true potential, and had kept him away from a position where his mistakes could cost him. A river flowed nearby, dumping into the Seine. It was about the only thing of importance in the area.

Runa folded her arms across her chest and shuffled down the main dirt road. A dog barked and children ran between buildings. The blacksmith's hammer clanged in the distance.

She hated her life. This morning had only served to deepen that hatred. Only her son, her youngest son, Aren, remained with her now. Her eldest, Gunnar, was probably dead, having stolen a ship to search for his father and never returned. Hakon now fostered with Einar and made it clear he would never return to her side while Konal ruled. Her brother Toki's daughter, Kirsten, was given away in marriage at age thirteen and died with her first child the following year. Konal helped her endure all of this by drinking, bragging, and beating her when she reminded him of her unhappiness.

Fate was a strange thing, and her journey from a jarl's daughter, to a slave, to a jarl's wife, and finally a defeated old woman made no sense. Was this all that life meant?

She stood watching the playing children, the boys fighting mock battles with sticks while the girls cheered for their heroes. Her decision became clearer.

Divorce had never been a choice, not without family to support her. Einar would take her in, but with the Frankish border he would be pressed to his limit. While she could lean on him, she had to bring value to Einar's table. She also had to be certain Konal would not do something rash when confronted with her demands. She had never feared him to kill her, but his violence came easily these days.

A divorce would shame him, though it was her right if she chose it. Handled wrong, it could end in blood. The thought chilled her.

With Hakon now turned seventeen, he was a man capable of accepting his inheritance. The jewels she had secreted all these years should pass to him, in part to aid his future and to support her after leaving Konal. Aren remained the problem, for he was not yet a man at age fifteen, though some could argue it so. To get him from under Konal's control would be no easy thing. The law was clear enough that the father claimed the children. Yet if she could arrange to have him away when the time came, Aren might have a chance to avoid returning. Despite being his blood father, Aren did not love Konal and suffered under his demands for obedience in all matters.

No matter what happened, divorce was not a common thing for men of station. Common folk exercised their rights with less care for their reputations and standing. Though she knew another year living under Konal's unpredictable moods was not an option, humiliating him brought risks to not only herself but to her children. Even Einar would be caught in the backlash. She wondered if the guilt he felt for Ulfrik's death would be enough for him to endure a bad relationship with Konal.

The children's battle was ending, little bodies falling over in exaggerated death throes or little men dancing in victory. She smiled at them as she considered her next step. Einar would have to help her. Hakon fostered with him, learning the ways of leadership and battle. A visit to her son would be a good excuse to talk to Einar and determine where he stood.

The children scampered off and the wind gusted again, the scent of rain in the air. Like the children at play, Runa hoped to just disappear.

CHAPTER NINE

Runa had spent her day lost in idle thought, doing nothing more than wandering the confines of the hold. Women traded news and gossip freely with her, some staring intently at her bruised face while others strained to ignore it. Runa found their reactions interesting if pointless distractions from what bothered her. As the day closed she had to return to the hall and at least oversee the evening meal. She had avoided it all day, no doubt doubling the weaving that Groa and the other women would have to do without her. Now that people tottered off to their homes and hearth light shined from open doors, she had to return to Konal.

The clouds had broken up, never delivering the promised rain, and a balmy wind pushed her along the path as if shooing her home. Two men in dark cloaks and faceplated helmets waited at the hall doors, more attentive than usual. In fact, Runa paused at the way the two stared at her. She could see the whites of one man's eyes.

"I assure you it's me," she said with a small laugh. "Is something wrong?"

The two exchanged glances and Runa felt her stomach tighten at it. Her first thought was something had happened to Aren on his trip to Einar's hold, but then realized he had already been gone a week and ill news would have reached her already. Shaking her head to chase away the doubts, she proceeded up the path and between the guards. They let her pass, but as she entered they stopped another man approaching behind her and told him the hall was closed.

Inside the front room, she removed her cloak and hung it on a peg. The doors to the main hall hung open and a fire crackled in the hearth. The cooking pot was not on its trestle, and no servants were preparing the evening meal. Looking to either side of the door, the benches and tables were still against the walls, and no one was present.

"I've been waiting for you. Come inside." Konal's voice was strained and thin as he tried to force it across the short hall. He sat at the high table, rigid and with both hands folded before him. He wore a clean red cloak, one Runa had not seen him wear before, and his clothes were fresh as opposed to his habit of wearing the same things for days on end.

"What's going on? Where is everyone? The evening meal?"

"I'm not hungry. I sent everyone away. You and I have some things to discuss. Come here."

Runa had known Konal for many years, and even with the changes age and alcohol had wrought upon him, she had never seen a mood like this. He did not move as she approached, but yet seemed on the verge of an explosion. His terrible red and white scars stood out on his face and neck against the dancing hearth light, but more striking were his pale eyes sparking like flint. They never wavered from hers as she came to the table before him. He nodded toward the bench, and she sat as if she were lowering herself onto a trap.

"What is this, Konal? Are you trying to frighten me?"

"Why would time alone with me frighten you?"

"You almost knocked out my teeth when we were alone this morning. Maybe you want to finish the job." Runa put more bravado into her statement than she felt. He did not respond, but kept a serene yet arrogant smile like one of those Christian saints in a church tapestry.

"I did some thinking about this morning. Believe it or not, I do think about how we have come to be at each other's necks. I like it even less than you, and for all your self-pity you cannot see that I have made sacrifices for your benefit that you never recognize."

Runa turned aside and leaned away from the table. "This again? Yes, you ran to my side the moment Ulfrik was buried and yes you saved me the cruelty of widowhood. But I'd rather be a lonely widow than a married woman with a broken jaw."

Konal closed his eyes and inhaled, then slowly let out his breath. "This is not the discussion I want to have."

"Maybe it's what I want to discuss? Look at my face. The man I married would not have done this to me, but now this new Konal is all too ready to strike me for the slightest insult to his honor. I dared to look at a keepsake from my dead husband and that deserved violence? What if I should speak of him? Maybe you'd cut out my tongue?"

Runa watched the flush flow around Konal's scar tissue, but he held the same arrogant smile, even if his nostrils flared to betray his anger. She knew he was on the brink of another outburst. However, were he to hit her again then she would have every ground for declaring divorce immediately. The hall might be empty, but people would be crowded outside to know what happened within it. She could make a case for public humiliation, and then Konal would have to consent to a divorce.

"As I said, I considered this morning. That sword bothered me, and not just for what it means to you. I know you wanted to believe Ulfrik lived even after seeing his head and hearing Einar's account of his death. When my brother, Kell, died I went through the same thing, but I moved beyond it as I thought you had. But this morning I was reminded that you still carry his memory."

"Is that so wrong? He was my husband for almost twenty years and the best man I ever knew."

She noticed Konal's hands were clamped tight on the table, and that they trembled. It was as if he were harboring a mouse beneath them that he feared to crush.

"I used to think he was the best man I ever knew, too. Until this morning."

They stared at each other, and his haughty smile shrank away. "Why this morning?"

"Because while you were gone I went back to our bed to clear away that rusted sword. While I was there, I thought of what else you might be hiding in that chest beneath the bed. The one you were so eager to keep me from seeing that you even goaded me into striking you. I took it to the blacksmith to break the lock and wasn't I surprised at what I found?"

"W-- What did you find?" Runa's eyes shifted to the red cloak draping Konal's shoulders. Her heart began pounding against her ribs.

"Well, you're looking at it. A fine red cloak. I was disappointed there was nothing more. So I took it back to our bed and replaced it. But here's where Fate guided my hands. I think you know what I found next."

Runa wavered on her bench, a wave of weakness crashing over her. "There was nothing else to find."

"But there was more. As I folded the cloak I discovered something hard in its hem. I cut the edges of it and here's what tumbled out."

He lifted his cupped hands off the table and a pile of glittering, winking jewels sparked reflections under Konal's chin. She had not seen the gems since she and Ulfrik replaced them into the hem of a new cloak, and the memory of their brilliance paled beside reality. Even under these conditions they were breath-taking reds, blues, yellows, greens, and a few stones like clear ice. These were the gemstones prized off a golden cross given from the King of Frankia as a gift to the King of England.

"At first I could not believe these were the same gems my brother and I had searched half the world to retrieve. After all, my dearest friend Ulfrik had told me himself that though Fate had delivered him the bishop who possessed these treasures, he did not ever see them himself. These gems were to have been lost to time. But how does one forget such a pile of jewels? I have never seen the like since, and just like family I know my own when I see it. Dearest Ulfrik stole my treasure and lied to me and my brother about it. He let my brother go to his grave believing he had lost a king's fortune."

"You did lose it and Ulfrik found it. There is no law that he return it to you, not when you stole it to begin with."