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

by Jerry Autieri

  Yet Audhild paid no mind, both hands now clasped hopefully beneath her chin as if begging Eldrid to continue. Ulfrik touched the amulet of Thor’s hammer at his neck and spit against evil, just in case Eldrid’s powers were true. The rest of the circle had recovered from their surprise and Eldrid now stood poised at the edge of her seat, one hand outstretched to the fire and the other grasping her staff.

  Her back arched as she wailed, head shaking as if trying to escape a trap. Her hair flew over her blindfolded face and the chair wobbled on the verge of collapse. Wide eyes twinkled in the light of the bonfire, watching Eldrid settle at last. Her head hung limp, hair concealing her face. Only the fire crackled and the breeze rustled the grass. At last she spoke. Her voice was hoarse and broken.

  “I have seen what will be and what must be done. Blood will cover this land before the summer ends and bones will grow white in the grass by first snow. The northern folk, people of fiery tempers and evil intentions, will bring their swords south. Our sons will feed their hungry blades, our children shall be their slaves, and our women will be shared among their men before they join their men in death.” Eldrid lifted her head and scanned the crowd with her blind eyes. No one moved, and even Ulfrik swallowed hard at the dark prophecy. “But the gods have shown me such terrible visions so that we may be warned. It’s true. The northerners sent a spy among us only two days ago. But by my magic he was slain before he could escape.”

  Eldrid’s lie broke the spell she had over Ulfrik. For a moment the images she had conjured had him believe she communed with gods, but now he knew this for the manipulation it was. He strained to see Audhild from his peripheral vision. She leaned forward, both hands over her mouth. Audhild must have known the fiction Eldrid wove, yet she seemed as enraptured as the others.

  “We must prepare for war, my children. When the spy fails to return, the northerners will bring their wrath down upon us. We must remember why we are here. Do you value your freedom? Have we traveled so far to only be threatened again by a new jarl and new laws? No, all outsiders are evil. All see we are beloved of the gods and their jealousy drives them to attack us. These people must be destroyed or we shall never know peace!”

  Eldrid paused as if expecting praise, but the circle remained frozen in amazed silence. Gudrod finally spoke, shaking himself as if aroused from a dream. “The gods have shown Eldrid a vision of what might be. We can stop this. We will defend our homes. All men of fighting age will prepare for battle. Who disagrees with this?”

  Heads shook all around the circle, and hesitant voices spoke up. “Not our homes,” said one. “I’m not going back to bondage,” said another. Enough people voiced agreement that Eldrid settled into her chair, head tipped back with a smirk.

  Ulfrik itched to speak against Eldrid, but knew the people would not listen. Truth has no power over what men wish to believe. Eldrid wanted her people closed off from the world so she could control them, and Gudrod abetted her. He stood, gathering men all while raving for the protection of their homes. A crowd formed around him, all anger and energy. If they could, they would march north this moment.

  Beside him Audhild observed Gudrod with narrowed eyes. A smile turned the corners of Ulfrik’s mouth.

  “Gudrod imagines himself a great chieftain,” he said, leaning closer to Audhild. “Eldrid’s vision has the people ready to follow any promise of victory. Looks like they’ve elected a new leader.”

  Audhild regarded him coolly. “The people need someone. A woman cannot lead men to battle.”

  “But a woman may choose who does.” Ulfrik folded his arms about his knees, as if the discussion was finished. For a moment, it seemed over. Eldrid slumped on her chair as if spent from her visions and Gudrod moved about the circle, encouraging men to violence.

  “You think Gudrod oversteps himself?”

  Ulfrik shrugged. “He has no ships to build nor any crew to command, so Gudrod would like an army.”

  Audhild studied Gudrod. Her lips were tight and thin as she considered. “You would like an army as well, no doubt. You’d have them build ships to bring the fight north, then sail off for Frankia without another thought for us.”

  Her eyes shifted to his, narrow and smug. Ulfrik held up a hand. “Attack is all wrong. We don’t know their land, strength, or anything else about them. I’d prepare for defense. Draw them down to us, offer them what they want, then give it to them.”

  “Give it to them?”

  “Along with a trap that will destroy them. That’s not what Gudrod is barking about, though. Seems he favors attack, but without knowledge of the enemy the risk is great. Inexperienced men trying to ambush what could be seasoned warriors, I hate to think of that outcome. Seen it too many times.”

  She again grew silent while Gudrod now had a tight group of eager-eyed young men hanging on his promises to rip apart these meddlesome northerners. Her chin tucked down as she considered her options. Ulfrik decided he had to tip the barrel in his favor.

  “Of course, should he be victorious I imagine Gudrod will stay in the north to consolidate control. He’ll have to or the enemy will be back next summer. The conquered people will be folded into his own. It will be a hard thing to keep both communities united. He might even break off, and why not? He has all the swords in his camp. No reason to take orders from anyone else.”

  “That will not happen.” She got to her feet now, and Ulfrik followed.

  “Maybe not. Even if victory isn’t so complete, he will be a hero. And when a hero comes knocking on your hall door, you may find it harder to resist allowing him inside—and we both know how much he would enjoy getting inside.”

  Audhild’s lip curled, as if the words alone repulsed her. “I see it now. This is your destiny, why the gods chose you to come to us.”

  “If ever there was a point we could agree upon, it is this.” Ulfrik inclined his head, hiding his smile. Audhild’s eyes were searching a distant landscape known only to her. Cheers for Gudrod drew her back, and she stared at Ulfrik. He raised a brow. “It seems no one else shares our vision of my true purpose.”

  She strode to Eldrid’s chair, chasing away the girl seated beneath it, and slapped her palm against its leg. Eldrid leaned over the side as if straining to hear.

  Ulfrik watched the brief exchange with a mixture of hope and disbelief. Only two days ago he had threatened Eldrid with a sword and had escaped punishment only by Audhild’s intervention. Now he wanted the sword returned and a warband in the bargain. He expected failure, and as Audhild spoke Eldrid shook her head like a fly had invaded her ear. Yet whatever leverage Audhild held over her sister—and by now Ulfrik knew it had to be powerful—prevailed, and she fell back into her chair with her head bowed and shoulders slumped. Audhild stepped back, arms folded across her chest.

  Within moments Eldrid howled and stood once more on her chair. The clamor and chest-thumping died as she outstretched her staff for attention. She hovered in the silence, a scarecrow woman wreathed in golden firelight.

  “That we must fight, no one doubts. But who shall lead? The gods have long ago prepared us for this day. They have sent one among us who is a king of the battlefield.” She paused, and a murmur spread. Ulfrik watched Gudrod’s eyes flash in the bonfire light, his smile replaced with a snarl. Eldrid slammed her staff down and half the circle leapt at the loud crack. “Ulfrik shall lead us to victory. The gods have granted me this vision.”

  Gudrod had lunged three strides before he caught himself. Ulfrik nearly laughed at the exasperation in the man’s expression. “What are you doing?” His voice was raw with anger. “This isn’t …”

  Clipping his last sentence, Gudrod glanced around at the confused faces. This isn’t what the two of you planned, Ulfrik thought. Too late now, your witch has already made her prophesies.

  Audhild stepped up, spreading her hands wide as she addressed the crowd. “Ulfrik was a great jarl and warrior. He led armies to victories over the Franks. You see him now as a humble man, but once he wa
s a maker of the raven’s harvest. We must not offend the gods by ignoring the gift they have given us for this purpose. He will lead us to victory over our enemies.”

  Every face turned to Ulfrik. Some stared in awe, others fear, and a few in repulsion. The scrutiny, something that he once sloughed off like a summer rain, was now a hailstorm. He had to summon more strength to stand straight than he ever had before. The judgment of these people mattered little to him, but their compliance was key to his plans. He needed them to believe they could win in battle, but only if he led them.

  “It was not until tonight that I understood my true purpose here.” He scanned the faces, skipping past the glares from the likes of Gudrod or Bresi Black-Eyes. “I have fought hundreds of battles, led men to victory, and saved their homes. I will do no less for you. Eldrid has foreseen it, and I will make it so.”

  Cheers met his speech that moments ago had been reserved for Gudrod. Audhild beamed with satisfaction, regarding him as if he were a long-lost brother returning home out a blizzard.

  Across the circle a small knot of men clumped to Gudrod’s side and stuffed their applause under their arms. Ulfrik finally smiled at them, anxious to get a sword and teach these bastards what a real warrior could do.

  Chapter 32

  The heft of a sword and shield in hand once more infused Ulfrik with confidence. He watched his men, thirty-seven total, drill as he instructed. One line locked shields and another reinforced from behind. The heaviest men kicked at the wall and tried to dislodge a defender. Too often the wall broke, as it had now. A defender just barely old enough to be called a man crumpled and the wall breached.

  Ulfrik leapt into the opening, shoving aside the attacker who had breached it. He slammed his shield into the left side, rolling up the defender’s shield, and plowed through the second rank. The second rank defender’s eyes were wide as Ulfrik pressed his sheathed blade into his guts to drive him back. He easily popped out behind the shieldwall and rounded on the men.

  “Your shieldwall is breached and I’m now cutting up the rear while my friends hold the gap open. You’re all dead.” He dropped his shield to the grass and hitched his sword onto his belt. “Can you explain how I walked through this line like it was door?”

  They studied their toes and the front rank man remained sitting on the grass. He dared an answer. “I didn’t brace properly.”

  “Wrong,” Ulfrik said. He grabbed the second rank man by his fur vest, then shoved him back into line. “You fell because this man was taking a nap on your back. If he had pushed back, I wouldn’t have broke through. Try it yourself.”

  Ulfrik tapped the man’s legs and he raised his shield. Ulfrik placed his own shield into the curve of the man’s back and braced his legs. With a nod from him, the man on the ground stood and took a running kick. His foot thudded into the shield, and the man grunted as Ulfrik shoved forward with his own shield. They held ground, though, and the man kicked twice more before stopping.

  “That’s how it’s done. Keep practicing. The front rank forms the wall but the second and third ranks keep it whole.” Ulfrik clapped the shoulders of his men as he walked down the line, meeting their eyes with confidence he did not truly have. These men could not become true warriors in the time they had. Fortunately, his plans did not require it of them.

  If he knew Lang’s people better, he would consider using his newly acquired sword to take Eldrid captive and bargain for safety among them. Yet too much remained unknown. Would they accept him, and if they did, would they be strong enough to withstand the attack Gudrod would lead? He had to test the strength of these people before bargaining with them. No matter the outcome of the battle, he had plans to save himself.

  He left the group to their drilling, noting the absence of Gudrod and his coterie. Over the last week Gudrod had grudgingly participated in basic drills. He made a pretense of keeping watch for approaching danger. Ulfrik could not deny it was important, but he suspected Gudrod used the time to plot against him. Now that Eldrid had endorsed him and gave him a sword, the village was seeing him in a new light. He was born a leader, and with his strength returned and weapons in hand, everyone saw him as such.

  A fog hid the base of the distant mountains, icy blue teeth against a late spring sky. Sea air was crisp in his nose and the grass wet at his feet. As he crossed the open fields of the village center, his stride possessed a bounce it had lost since his fight with Throst. Though his legs were sore and his stride shorter, he was whole. All he needed was his family, and he would be complete.

  At the next stop he found the women and elderly at their work, Audhild organizing them. As he approached, she stopped and waved. Her skin glowed in the morning light and her smile lent her a gentle grace. Ulfrik reminded himself that she was his captor, and no matter that she was also a desirable woman. Yet during this week, when his goals aligned with hers, he had grown to appreciate her more. Throughout all of this disaster, she had been a foil to Eldrid’s rabid madness. She was his caregiver and protector against her sister’s wickedness. He no longer saw her as an enemy. As she crossed the short distance to him, he admired her slender form and stirred at the sway of her hips. Why had such a beautiful woman remained alone? Why had he blinded himself to it before?

  “How are the preparations coming?” Ulfrik asked as she closed.

  “Come see what we’ve done. I think you will be pleased.” Her smile was sun-bright and a gull overhead called as if in agreement.

  A cluster of women sat on stools or benches besides a pile of straw. Their calloused hands wove and tied with quiet intensity, each woman crafting their part of the overall job. Audhild nearly skipped the final distance to the stack of completed items. She hauled up one straw dummy, holding it before her like a child. “We’ve made ten of these already.”

  Ulfrik plucked at the straw man, admiring the craftsmanship of the tied straw bundles woven into a man’s shape. “Put a shirt and pants on it and I’d swear I was seeing my own reflection in a lake.”

  The women laughed, and Audhild returned it to the pile. “This is the most incredible plan I’ve ever heard. Do you think it will work?”

  “Why would I have you do this if I didn’t? It will work—once. That’s all we need.”

  He stood with Audhild as the women demonstrated how they crafted the dummies. One square-jawed woman held up the head she was crafting. “It’s no more than making a scarecrow, really.”

  He attempted to tie a bundle on his own, but the straw came apart in his hands and fluttered to the ground. “I’ll stick to fighting.”

  More laughter followed, though Audhild’s laughter was weak and did not show in her eyes. Ulfrik felt his heart beat faster, wondering if Audhild was jealous. He turned away, making a show of searching the area. “Where has Gudrod gone? Haven’t seen much of him or Eldrid.”

  “Eldrid must rest. Prophesy drains her.” Audhild’s voice flattened at the mention of her sister. She pointed lazily up the hill. “Gudrod is with the boys, digging the ditches you ordered.”

  “I cannot imagine Gudrod the Great digging ditches.” The women’s levity had fled and Ulfrik’s face warmed at the collapse of their conversation. “I’ll check on his progress.”

  He left them with Audhild to their silent work, the impatient cry of a baby marking their presence behind him. Walking the path he had plotted, he considered how much of his plan depended on the battle progressing a certain way. Battles never took the turns commanders expected. The grassy field he crossed was the only logical spot for battle, and a retreat to higher ground also made sense. A cautious enemy would not follow, and a rapacious one would turn on the undefended village. He needed a vengeful enemy for his plan to succeed.

  The hilltop flowed away into a short field of grass and black rock. Much of the landscape was shaped as if it had been poured, layers leading ever higher. At the opposite end a shallow defile carved through the rocky shoulders rising out of the grass, clumps of it clinging like patches of hair on a balding
head. The work parties of boys were digging ditches and stocking driftwood and branches. He did not find Gudrod among them.

  “Not too deep,” Ulfrik said to one group already up their thighs in the hole. “We want the smoke to flow out, not stay trapped in the hole.”

  The boys paused, two stripped to their waists and glistening with sweat. They nodded, too winded to speak. Ulfrik turned to a different group stacking firewood in a completed ditch. He asked for Gudrod.

  “Gone into the ridge.” One of them waved generally at the defile. “Hasn’t come out for while.”

  “Took the ale skin with him, too,” muttered a second boy, who received an elbow in the side from his companion.

  “Keep up the good work. Don’t tire yourselves overmuch. You’ve got shield wall drills tonight.” The boys slouched. Ulfrik clucked his tongue at them. “When I was your age I’d swim the fjord in morning, drill all afternoon, and fight all night. Don’t complain.”

  “You can swim?” both boys asked at the same time.

  “Of course not. Makes my story all the more amazing, doesn’t it? Now back to your work.” He left them laughing and entered the defile in search of Gudrod.

  Shadows engulfed him and the air grew colder in the narrow gap. The smile left over from his banter drained away, and a flutter grew in his stomach. Over his long years and many battles, he had learned to trust the feeling. He thumbed aside the leather loop holding his sword in its sheath and continued through the jagged black rocks. The defile was as if a dragon had dragged its tail through the lump of earth and stone. Looking up at the walls on either side the sun glared into his eyes. Perfect for his plans.

  Perfect for Gudrod’s ambush.

  Two men stepped up to the ledge on his right, black shadows against the sun, and Gudrod blocked his path by standing in a dagger of sunlight straight ahead.

  Ulfrik’s hand flexed to his sword, but Gudrod did not move for his own. The two men above filed past him, and began to climb down behind. Ulfrik blinked impassively, but his gut tightened nonetheless. He had been lucky in his fight with Eldrid’s dogs. Would the same luck prevail again?