The Storm God's Gift (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 5)

by Jerry Autieri

  “You’re certain they’re yours?” Ulfrik asked a second time.

  “This is our territory,” Hrut said, eyes never leaving the water. Men took up the long oars and prepared to prod the riverbed for rocks as they closed to the bank. “If they were Franks, we’d be filled with arrows now, wouldn’t we? Besides, those are Gunnolf’s colors on their shields. The yellow-haired giant is Kleng Flat-Nose, leads our scouts.”

  Folding his arms, Ulfrik said nothing more. A giant like Kleng seemed a poor choice for a scout, but he trusted Hrut’s word. Stein Half-Leg was already waving at them from the bow. He supposed whatever news these scouts possessed would be worth hearing. Better he knew the situation before arriving in Gunnolfsvik.

  Ulfrik had spent three days sitting on a chest lodged against the mast. Stein and Hrut took turns at the steering board, but it was easy work navigating a river. The rowers alternated their duties and thereby ensured swift progress. They had traveled west until reaching the Eure River confluence, where they turned south. The shallow draft of the longship meant it could sail in water shallower than the height of a man’s knees. The rivers of Frankia were the Northmen’s roads. Ancient Frankish kings had built low bridges to stop them, but on this journey Ulfrik noted at least three burnt-out ruins that must have once been these bridges and their towers, one only a few miles behind them.

  Men prodded the riverbed with long oars as the ship safely navigated to the bank. The crew tossed ropes to the scouts, who hauled the ship onto the muddy sliver of bank. A gangplank splashed into the shallows and Stein Half-Leg jogged down to embrace the tall man named Kleng. Ulfrik shared a glance with Einar, and both gathered their cloaks tighter. Ulfrik touched the hilt of his sword, brushing the reassuring hardness of the pommel, then followed Stein off the ship.

  Arm-clasping and back-slapping each man, Stein paused to introduce Ulfrik and his crew. Kleng inclined his head to Ulfrik, but guarded his welcome. He seemed more intent on sizing up Einar, who was his better in height and strength. “We heard you made the deal with Jarl Ulfrik,” he said.

  “News travels so fast?” Ulfrik shared an amazed look with Einar and Stein. “Then the Franks have heard as well.”

  “No doubt they have,” Kleng agreed. His expression was solemn and he glanced at his companions. “There’s news on that score. It’s why I wanted to meet you here.”

  “Let’s hear it, brother,” Stein said. He waved Hrut down from the ship.

  “We clashed with the Franks two days after you left for the north. Was a surprise attack on Gunnolfsvik. We beat them, as good a blood-letting as I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s great news,” Hrut said as he jaunted down the gangplank to join them. “With our reinforcements, we can push into them instead of holding the line.”

  Kleng bowed his head. “We’ve made a truce with the Franks. That’s why we’ve been watching for you; don’t want you clashing if you run into them along the way.”

  Ulfrik’s stomach began to burn thinking of the wasted time and trouble he spent to travel south. He scowled at Stein, but he was intent on Kleng. His face was bright with bemused confusion.

  “Why would we make peace if we bloodied them? Why not cripple them instead? It makes no sense, brother.”

  “Aye, well, it will in a moment.” Kleng rubbed the back of his neck, and Ulfrik already anticipated the next words. He nearly matched in his mind what Kleng said next.

  “Gunnolf was killed in the fighting, and your brother too. He died the next day. We won, but we gave our best to do it. We needed to call a truce until we knew of your success with Hrolf.”

  “Father is dead?” Stein asked, his voice rising. He grabbed Hrut’s arm, who also stiffened at the news. “And Arni died with him?”

  Kleng gave a heavy nod and his companions stared at their feet. Ulfrik turned to Einar, who let a brief grimace escape to confirm he shared the same doubts Ulfrik did. They both let a thick silence rule the moment, the croaking of frogs and the buzz of insects filling in. After a respectable pause, Ulfrik interjected.

  “With Gunnolf and his son gone to the feasting hall, who negotiated the truce with the Franks?”

  Stein looked up sharply at the question, a frown overtaking him. “Yes, who made that foolish choice?”

  “It was Bjorn Hairy-Cheeks. He took over when no one else knew what to do?”

  “Bjorn, small wonder.” Stein spit the words like spoiled ale. “That coward was ever prepared to wave a hazel branch and beg peace. That’s not how my father would’ve wanted it. My mother would’ve told him so.”

  Kleng straightened at the mention of Stein’s mother, but no one else seemed to notice his worry. Ulfrik already mistrusted Kleng, and now he knew something else was bothering him.

  “We should hurry home,” Hrut said, gently shaking Stein’s arm. “You can settle matters with Bjorn and Jarl Ulfrik can take over. Come on, we’ll be home before nightfall.”

  The group broke up, and though Stein offered to take Kleng and his men aboard, they declined. They noted the crowd watching from the deck and decided they preferred the open air. Kleng helped launch the ship back into the river, and soon Hrut was steering it toward Gunnolfsvik.

  In the final leg of the journey, Ulfrik spotted a wooden tower perched atop a cliff in the blue distance. Pine trees grew beneath it like dragon’s fangs. Einar whistled, and Hrut laughed.

  “It’s the Frank’s idea of a fortress, just a tower for them to frown down on us. We never let them build the rest of it, and once we surrounded them up there they gave up. It’s empty most days.”

  “You could see for miles up that high,” Ulfrik said. “You don’t occupy it yourselves?”

  Hrut shrugged. “Franks trap us in it just as easily. Maybe now that there’s a truce, we can safely get up there. I’ll take you to the roof if you like.”

  “I would,” Ulfrik said, imaging he could see to the edge of the world from such a height. “Once I’m in command, we’re going to burn it to the ground if we’re not going to use it. I can’t see the reason for letting our enemies have a stronghold so close to ours.”

  Hrut shrugged again and spit over the side. The remainder of the trip, Ulfrik spoke encouragement to his men and prepared them for their arrival. He wanted a sharp display of discipline that would inspire confidence, and encourage Bjorn Hairy-Cheeks to embrace Ulfrik as leader. He pulled Einar aside for a final word as Hrut glided the ship into the docks of Gunnolfsvik.

  “If this becomes a spat between Bjorn and Stein’s followers, we’re leaving. We’ll take this ship as payment for our troubles.”

  Einar smiled. “Neither will be pleased with a stolen ship, and one of them might have sense to guard it.”

  “Then we will go burn up that truce with the Franks and lead them back to Gunnolfsvik. That’ll settle their differences for a while. And did you notice how Kleng seemed to be keeping something back from Stein? There’s more going on than we know. Keep the men ready and near the ships until we know what’s happening.”

  Dockhands caught ropes tossed to them and pulled the ship to its berth. Two other ships sat at dock, and berths remained for two more. Trees had been cleared back from the surrounding lands, creating a wide swath that swept back to stockade walls much like the black walls of Ravndal. Though only gone three days, the similarity summoned a pang of homesickness. Happy curls of smoke rose above it and birds circled overhead in a scene of perfect peace. If a battle had been fought, Ulfrik noted little in the way of damage or death. He guessed the Franks must have attacked from a different approach.

  A throng of warriors awaited them, word having traveled ahead of their arrival. A tall but frail man with a beard that seemed to weigh down his head stood before them, and Ulfrik guessed he was Bjorn. Stein leapt the rails and stalked straight for the man, and Hrut followed in such haste that Ulfrik had to secure the steering board for him as he followed his master.

  “Bjorn Hairy-Cheeks, what is this about a truce with the Franks?” Stein Hal
f-Leg punched the air to emphasize his frustration. Bjorn had opened his arms in welcome, but quickly dropped them as Stein drew up to him. Their height difference made it seem like a child scolding his father, as Stein continued to holler. “You disgrace my father’s and brother’s deaths with your cowardice.”

  “Keep our men aboard ship,” Ulfrik said. “I’ll go down alone.”

  Bjorn and Stein exchanged calmer words once Hrut intervened, and Ulfrik could not hear them as he climbed the rails off the ship. Stein’s crew followed, men sharing wary and confused glances with each other and the dockhands. All of them approached the waiting group as if approaching strangers. One crewman had his hand on his sword hilt, and Ulfrik began to consider there was more tension here than just upset over a foolish truce.

  “It’s not a permanent peace,” Bjorn said as Ulfrik joined Stein’s side. “Now that you have brought us Lord Ulfrik, we can renew the fight. It’s nothing to be so angered about.”

  Bjorn turned a bright smile to Ulfrik and bowed with a grandness that betrayed its insincerity. In other circumstances Ulfrik would have rebuked the man, but given the bridling emotions, he only grunted at Bjorn. Instead, he focused on Stein. “There is never permanent peace with the Franks. Your servant is right.”

  He glanced at Bjorn when he called him a servant, but noted no change in the thin man’s expression. It was a cold mask of a false smile buried under thick beard.

  “We’ve given them time to recover. I want them smashed for good,” Stein said, bordering on a whine. The note of petulance in his voice made Ulfrik wince. He had not considered that Stein might be a spoiled son of a petty jarl, and only now began to see a streak of immaturity peeking through his otherwise competent demeanor.

  “Now that Jarl Ulfrik and his men are here we will burn out the Franks from this land.” Again, Hrut put his hand on Stein’s shoulder and shook him gently as he spoke. “For now, think on your family and the families of the men who died.”

  Stein paused, a slight color in his cheeks. “Of course. What would I do without you, Hrut? My brother and father must be laid to rest, and my poor mother needs me.”

  Bjorn lowered his head and the men with him shifted uneasily. Stein picked up on it, demanding to know what had happened.

  “Your mother was so distraught at the death of your father and brother, she died upon hearing the news.”

  Stein stood with his mouth hanging open. No one knew what to say, least of all Ulfrik. He reflexively gripped the Thor’s hammer amulet at neck, a shock of cold surprise filling his gut.

  “That’s impossible,” Stein said. “My mother was stronger than that. She can’t have died.”

  Bjorn did not answer, nor did any of his followers. Stein searched everyone’s face, his eyes growing red and watery. Hrut placed two hands upon his shoulders and began to guide him away. He leaned into Ulfrik as he did.

  “I will take him to the hall,” he said. “Bjorn will see that you and your men are lodged in a clean barracks. We were to have a feast tonight, but perhaps we shall only have a light meal given this news. Forgive our rudeness.”

  “Do not trouble yourself with it,” Ulfrik said. “See to Stein and do not worry for my comfort.”

  As Hrut left, he met Bjorn’s expectant gaze, the sycophantic smile returned to his mightily bearded face. “Yes, don’t worry, Jarl Ulfrik. I will see to you and your men.”

  But Ulfrik did worry.

  Chapter 8

  The barracks were exclusive to his men, but far from clean. The musky scent of the last inhabitants lingered thick in the air. Even the sharp notes of fresh-burning logs in the central hearth did not dispel it. Lice crawled in the beds and the straw was rotten. All people lived like this, but Ulfrik had long grown accustomed to better beds with fewer bugs. He curbed his disdain, not wanting to appear above his men in their hardships. Yet he soon realized the men did not consider lice-ridden beds stinking of another man’s sweat and piss as hardships. They flopped down their bags and themselves, tearing off boots and cloaks with exaggerated yawns.

  “I’ve forgotten what it is to itch with lice,” Einar said. “I should’ve thought to bring extra combs.”

  “And no women to help us pick out the bugs,” Ulfrik said. “So I’ve got to settle for your fat fingers running through my hair. This is going to be a long campaign after all.”

  Einar snorted and swept the rotten straw off the bed. “They’ve been fighting the Franks. We can’t expect them to have prepared anything better.”

  Ulfrik paused, drawing Einar’s attention with his silence. He stuck his chin at the open door. “Come outside with me a moment.”

  Beyond the door, the fresh air hit him like a wet hand. The storm of the prior night had scrubbed Gunnolfsvik, leaving behind a fresh earthy scent. The townsfolk were at their business for the most part, though the majority seemed to be converging upon the mead hall atop a short hill. Einar gave him a quizzical look.

  “Do you see any signs of this surprise attack that Kleng claimed happened recently?”

  Einar stood straighter, scanned the buildings while his face grew more disbelieving. Ulfrik gave a weak smile.

  “You don’t see anything either. I’ve been telling myself the Franks hit from either the south or eastern approaches, but there are just too many trees there.”

  “We don’t know the land,” Einar countered, and Ulfrik shrugged in agreement. “They must have fought outside the walls.”

  “Then where are the bodies, the piles of broken shields, spear hafts, and bent swords? There’s the smithy, but I don’t see anything stacked outside.”

  “So it’s around back. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that my eyes do not see what my experience says I should. If we’re being lied to, I want to know why. I’m going to demand a look at the battlefield. Let’s find Bjorn.”

  Ulfrik started to move but Einar’s hand restrained him. “Is that wise? Maybe we should see how things develop. Stein and Hrut have a lot to work out and our making trouble might set off more problems.”

  “We’d not be making trouble if there’s a battlefield to show us.”

  Einar and Ulfrik stared at each other, but Ulfrik relented. The truth would likely not be anything more than a misunderstanding. “All right, we will wait to be summoned. But have a care for what goes on here and keep your sword ready. The death of Stein’s family creates a gap for someone to grab leadership for himself. We don’t want to be involved with it.”

  “Agreed. I’ll make sure a watch is posted at every direction.”

  They continued to settle into their barracks and Ulfrik passed the afternoon conversing with his men while surreptitiously checking the main hall for any sign of activity. Not until late evening did Stein and Hrut return together. Seeing them approach with calm confidence released a knot that had held Ulfrik’s stomach all day. He met them with Einar outside the barracks.

  “Sorry for the rough quarters,” Stein said. “You will be a guest in the main hall, but right now everything is—confusing.”

  “You have much weighing on your mind,” Ulfrik said. Stein’s gaze drifted past him to the horizon as if he were watching for something. Ulfrik followed his gaze, which caused Stein to shake his head.

  “And sorry for my distraction. I can’t believe what has happened while I was gone.”

  Ulfrik said nothing, hesitant to overplay his sympathy. If he were to make an army of these men, a soft demeanor would work against him. Instead he shifted his attentions to Hrut. “I want to see the battlefield where Stein’s father bravely gave his life. Can that be arranged?”

  “Why?” Hrut’s brows drew together.

  “Answer me without asking a new question.” Ulfrik folded his arms, and Hrut exchanged a bemused glance with Stein.

  “I’ll ask Bjorn to take us tomorrow morning.”

  Satisfied, Ulfrik nodded. Einar shifted his stance and cleared his throat. “Was the battle fought at your walls? Kleng said it was a surpris
e attack.”

  “I wasn’t there, was I?” Hrut replied, folding his arms as well. “But I heard it happened farther afield. Scouts picked up their approach and our men caught them in the open, out by the tower.”

  “A foolish risk to leave your walls,” Ulfrik said.

  Hrut and Stein both had no answer. Stein promised cooks to be sent to down to the barracks for the night and the next day they would hold a proper feast in the hall.

  The meal was average and the women who served it were old, disappointing Ulfrik’s warriors. The night passed without event, though Ulfrik found sleep difficult even with posted guards. Another terrible thunderstorm kept him awake. He had only begun to sleep when roosters crowed and announced the new day. He took the morning to tour Gunnolfsvik and was satisfied to find wreckage of battle: broken weapons and mail all piled up for repairs near the blacksmith’s forge. During the tour, Ulfrik realized a young woman had been following him. When he decided to confront her, she darted away.

  By midday Hrut had come prepared to show Ulfrik and Einar to the battlefield. They met outside the barracks where Ulfrik watched his men drill, more to dispel their fatigue of inaction than the need to practice.

  “I will wear my war gear. Give me a moment to prepare.” Ulfrik turned to enter, but Hrut grabbed his arm.

  “If we leave now, we will still have time to climb the tower before dark. We should hurry.”

  Ulfrik frowned at Hrut’s hand upon his arm until it fell away like a dead leaf from a branch. Without another word, he donned his mail and helmet and strapped on shield and sword. He would not be seen as anything less than a war leader, particularly not on a battlefield. He also suspected Franks could be in the area looking to recover bodies or gear, and did not want to be unprepared for a fight. He emerged from the barracks with Einar and another man named Hogni, who was nearly equal to Einar in height if not in strength.

  “We’d provide an honor guard for you, Jarl Ulfrik.” Hrut’s eyes widened at the two giant men flanking him in their freshly scoured war gear.