Fate's Needle

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Fate's Needle Page 9

by Jerry Autieri


  Runa had bundled herself in furs and curled into the knotted roots of a tree. Ulfrik watched sleep overtake her before the night hid the forest in shadows. She must come from a hard family, to keep her wits and spirits with all she has experienced in recent days, Ulfrik thought, watching her admiringly.

  Eventually, Yngvar stood and threw a fur toward Ulfrik. He wrapped the fur around himself, planning to watch over the others for a while. But in moments he was buried in dreams deep as snow.

  ***

  They were all awake before dawn and resumed their journey. Looping north around Grim’s hall to reach Magnus’s farm would only add more time, but Yngvar thought he knew the way and they assumed Magnus had not stopped for the night. By now, he must have reached his home. Fate’s work would have been complete.

  Following Yngvar’s directions, they soon came to a deep stream close to the farm. As they made to ford it, Ulfrik had a horrible realization. Pulling up short, he turned to Yngvar. “This is a trap. Grim must know we would come to protect Magnus’s family. Yngvar, you said it yourself. Grim would head straight back if he knew we would be around.”

  Considering that, Yngvar stood speechless and Runa put a small hand to her mouth.

  “We are leaping right into his damn trap!” Ulfrik kicked the ground in frustration

  “He’s probably got men encircling that farm,” Yngvar agreed, recovering from his surprise. “We converge on the house and he pulls the noose tight around us.”

  Ulfrik ran through the scenario in his mind, concluding that Yngvar was right. But with knowledge comes choice—his father and uncle had often said so. Now he could choose to reverse the situation.

  “We scout the area. If we find Grim’s men first, we can strike with surprise. All I need is to get close enough to my brother to finish what I failed to do last time.”

  “Lord Ulfrik.” Runa hesitated. “What if they have more men? Won’t we all die there even if you can get to Grim?”

  Yngvar snorted. “We’re all going to die somewhere, girl. Don’t follow us if you are afraid of dying in battle.” With a more serious tone, he told Ulfrik, “She is right about their numbers. I doubt Grim will give a fair fight. It’d be easier for him to pelt us with arrows and then toss our corpses in the lake. Let’s be sane. If you can isolate him and kill him first, his men might surrender, especially if any of Snorri’s number are with them.”

  Ulfrik nodded his assent, and they doubled their marching speed but kept their swords loose in the sheaths.

  Soon, Magnus’s farm was before them. In the thin morning light, it looked squat and quiet. There was no sign of damage, but neither was hearth smoke rising from the main house. No bleat of sheep nor crowing of roosters sounded. In fact, nothing moved but branches swaying in the breeze. Ulfrik glanced about, stringing his bow. Yngvar did the same. Behind them, Runa gripped her sheathed sword like a stick.

  Ulfrik spotted the enemy first.

  As expected, green-cloaked men with strung bows and slender throwing spears crouched in the shadows of the trees. Ulfrik counted three, but Yngvar alerted him to at least two others. The sentries were dividing their attention between the farm and the woods.

  A cry came from the direction of the farmhouse. Ulfrik glimpsed Magnus not far away, bent over and digging in his field. His hulking body quivered with sobs. Ulfrik immediately understood what had happened, and his anger seethed. The sentries lazily turned back to watching the woods.

  Yngvar signaled that they should split up and take their shots. Archery in the woods was difficult, but with a few good shots they could whittle down the opposition.

  Wordlessly, Ulfrik guided Runa behind a tree, placing a finger over her lips. She nodded, her eyes wide, her face pale. He could spare no more care for her; she must watch out for herself. Yngvar shifted left, and Ulfrik, right. After finding a good spot, he knelt to steady himself, drawing an arrow to his chin. A stout, apple-cheeked man—one of the Vestfolder thugs—lined up for him.

  A swoosh of air behind his head and the thunk of an arrow striking a tree caught him off guard. An unseen sentry had found him. He loosed his own arrow, but the shot was ruined. Dropping the bow, he sprang forward, anticipating the next arrow as it sliced past him.

  A call went out, but Ulfrik still had not spotted the attacker. He was flat on his stomach for what felt like minutes, his mind a scramble of disconnected thoughts. Shouts echoed through the woods. Then the attacker revealed himself and pointed out Ulfrik’s location to the others. “One in the grass here! Get Magnus!”

  Ulfrik raised his head to see the apple-cheeked man turn his bow to Magnus, who was weeping as he dug graves for his loved ones. Before the man had drawn back the bowstring, an arrow thumped deep into his exposed armpit and brilliant blood poured out as he screamed. Yngvar, still unseen by the enemy, had saved Magnus.

  Confusion reigned on both sides as Ulfrik stood and fled, ducking a scatter of arrows. Falling back, he grabbed Runa, seizing her so hard she cried out. “Stay in the trees and go to the stream up ahead,” he said. “Do you know the way?”

  She shook her head, her eyes wide and dark with fear. Ulfrik snorted in frustration, knowing well that she was a stranger here. He let her go, hoping she would follow.

  The deep stream they had passed earlier ran north of the farm, and he was certain Magnus would have a fishing boat there. If he could get everyone to the boat, the current rushing down from the hills would ferry them to safety—to a nearby lake where local farmers supplemented their income with fishing. The difficulty was the open field between himself and Magnus, who continued to dig and sob, despite the shouts from the trees.

  Yngvar patiently lined up another shot at the confused sentries. A second man fell, clutching his throat. But the shot also revealed their location, and one sentry alerted the others. Hasty shots were wasted among the trees and they dropped their bows to draw swords.

  “Split up again,” Ulfrik said.

  With a nod, Yngvar leapt away.

  “Get to the stream north of here.” Ulfrik called after him, and then turned his attention to shouting challenges. Two men took after him while Yngvar drew away another group. Both Ulfrik and Yngvar had the advantage of knowing the terrain; the foreign warriors from Vestfold likely had no idea where Ulfrik was headed. Foreign they may have been, but the men were experienced. They did not lose sight of Ulfrik as he danced away, and soon seemed to realize the ploy. Soon, Ulfrik had lost sight of them, and he slowed to take stock.

  A spear flew instantly out from an unexpected angle; the tip crunched against his mail, but although it hurt, Ulfrik was unharmed. Had it been better placed, it would have pierced his unarmored leg. The thought galvanized him into a run, but another man halted his escape by leaping at him, brandishing a blade.

  Ulfrik tripped, guided by Fate, and spared death a second time. The man stumbled, then recovered. The fight lasted for a few brutal clashes of their weapons, and then the metallic clank and hiss died along with Ulfrik’s attacker. How he made the strike true, Ulfrik did not know. But his assailant now lay at his feet with both hands pressed to the slash that bled his throat dry.

  Runa appeared behind him, clutching his sword, still in the sheath. Her lips quavered, as if she might speak or cry. Ulfrik, though, had no time to listen. Shouts rang through the woods, and a horn sounded from the opposite side of the farmhouse. Figures wove between the trees, and where the yellow sun struck them, metal flashed. Some collided—swords raised to meet axes—and he realized some other force was attacking Grim’s men.

  Ulfrik had no time to count his fortune, only time to seize the advantage it afforded him. Grabbing Runa’s arm, he yanked her to a run, heading for Magnus. The burly man, still racked by convulsive sobs and oblivious to the mayhem encircling his farm, was shoveling the last dirt over the grave he had made for his family. Ulfrik’s sudden appearance did nothing to rouse him from his grief.

  “We must get away, Magnus,” he said, dropping Runa’s arm to put a hand on M
agnus’s shoulder. His gaze did not follow Magnus’s down to the occupants of the grave; he did not want to look upon any more death or loss. “We’re in danger here,” he continued. “The farm is surrounded.”

  Magnus stared blankly at Ulfrik, and the emptiness of his expression amid the unfurling chaos and violence stole Ulfrik’s words. Over Magnus’s shoulder, he saw flitting tableaus of men fighting between the trees. Once all combatants had found each other, the fight would resolve quickly, and any advantage Ulfrik had would die with the last warrior. Magnus was his responsibility. He had to get him safely away, but grief had stolen the man’s reason and his sense of urgency. Then it occurred to him how to jolt Magnus into action.

  “Grim is this way.” He pointed north, toward the stream. “Yngvar spotted him moving north. We can catch him if we hurry.”

  “I’ll rip out his guts!” Fury reddened Magnus’s face, and he threw down his shovel and wrenched his sword from its scabbard. “I’ll dance in his blood. I swear it!”

  Ulfrik grabbed Runa. Her face was etched with disgust, but she gave no voice to it and let Ulfrik drag her to action. They fled from the clangor of battle just as another horn sounded. Before them, a stretch of cleared land led to woods that would shelter them from arrow fire. Magnus outpaced them, bellowing, his sword winking the sun back at them as he ran.

  Ulfrik prayed Yngvar was making his way north as well. He had lost him in the confusion of battle. Every scream worried him that Yngvar’s blood might be seeping into the grass behind them. Yet he had the feeling Yngvar would not die easily; like a fox he would slip any trap set for him.

  Upon bounding into the tree line, tugging Runa along behind him, Ulfrik adjusted his direction and headed for the open land to his right. The slope of the land showed him where the water would run, and he urged Magnus in that direction. “This way, I think I see him making for your boat!”

  Magnus howled and crashed onward, taking them directly to his fishing boat, which was beached in the white sunlight ahead of them. Magnus slid to a halt. Looking about for his enemy, his sword held before him, he ran to the small boat and peered in. Although the boat was gnarled and scoured, Ulfrik judged it large enough to bear them down the current to the lake. As Magnus leaned into it, cursing Grim to the gods, Ulfrik let go of Runa and took his chance.

  Magnus did not react to Ulfrik’s thudding footfalls. Reversing his sword, so the pommel impacted squarely into the back furrow of Magnus’s neck, Ulfrik threw all his weight into the strike. A smaller man’s neck might have snapped with the force, but Magnus simply fell forward into the boat with little more than a grunt. Ulfrik tumbled over the side with him, landing atop Magnus and pinning him to the floor between the benches. Although dazed, Ulfrik grinned at the quick wit of his work.

  Runa threw her sword and a fur into the boat and hauled up her ragged shift, exposing a flash of white skin as she dove into the boat alongside them. Curses gurgled in Magnus’s throat as Ulfrik sprang out of the boat to launch it from the shore. Ulfrik pressed all his weight against the boat, but it would not shift. Firmly dug into the sand, the boat resisted any movement.

  “Runa, get out and push with me!”

  She did not respond. Ulfrik screamed at her again until she, too, threw her light frame against the bulk of the vessel. Magnus’s hand fumbled along the sides. Ulfrik put his back to the side and dug his heels into the earth. Feeling some give, he shoved harder.

  The boat broke free and caught the current, popping downstream and leaving Runa and Ulfrik to run alongside. Runa leaped first, and Ulfrik splashed alongside for several strides before jumping in after her. Despite Runa’s smile, Ulfrik’s brow was furrowed in dismay. Yngvar had not showed, and the boat was swiftly carrying them away from the farm. He considered calling for Yngvar, but quickly discarded the thought, afraid of reporting their escape to Grim and his men.

  The sounds of battle had vanished, and in the distance a horn sounded—three short bursts signaling that the battle was over. The victor Ulfrik could not tell. The boat edged into a deeper channel of the stream and the strong current carried them on. Ulfrik listened, hoping to hear Yngvar’s voice. He could not be sure if the noises in the woods on either side were the calls of birds, or the laughter of the gods.

  Thirteen

  Sitting on the lake’s shore, Runa sighed and shivered in the sharp evening air. Her clothes were still wet, and although she had taken the only fur, she had let it drag in the water where it became soaked and useless for the oncoming night. The band of pale yellow at the horizon would soon sag behind the trees, leaving her in the dark, with only the wind and the vast purple expanse of lake for company.

  She twisted around when she heard Magnus grunt and flip onto his back. He stared straight upward, arms and legs splayed as if he had fallen from the sky. Magnus had recovered his senses only after traveling too far downstream to do anything about it. He and Ulfrik had growled at each other like angry wolves, and although Magnus was the bigger man, Ulfrik was more ferocious. He had managed to wear Magnus down to silence. From that moment, Magnus had not spoken, and Ulfrik still angry, had stormed off to search for Yngvar. Runa sympathized with Magnus. She had not dared look at what Grim had done to his family, but she knew it was monstrous.

  Runa drew her arms tighter around her body as the wind strengthened. She wondered if the lake would freeze; certainly, a frost would ice the shallow surrounding ponds by morning. A few more nights like this and they might all die. Ulfrik had lost his furs and supplies in the chaos of the fight. Magnus also carried nothing but what he wore and his sword. Yngvar might already be dead. Runa’s confidence in their survival sank even lower than the setting sun.

  Pushing back the thought, she stood and walked to the trees. It would be warmer among them now that the sun had sunk. She passed Magnus, hoping he might speak or move, or otherwise indicate he wanted to live, but he remained sprawled on the beach, exactly where he had fallen when they made shore.

  Ulfrik still had not returned. Runa supposed he had either found Yngvar or been captured in the process of searching. As much as she wanted to feel anxious, she could not. She set about raking together fallen leaves to make her bed and cover her against the cold. Thinking too far ahead creates more worry, she told herself. And she had completely overindulged in worry since her capture months ago. There were simply too many bad things awaiting her to consider them all. For all she knew, she could be a feast for wolves before sunrise. Satisfied with the leaf pile, Runa dropped into it and scooped some over her lap.

  Despite her affected calmness, she shrieked when a heavy shadow drew up beside her. Runa put her hand to her chest and then forced a laugh. Magnus did not move, just stood as a hulking black shape. She wondered if he had lost his mind. Visions of herself being strangled by Magnus’s giant hands filled her head. Instead, he turned and crunched through the leaves to a tree opposite hers. Leaning against it, he slid down the trunk and slouched, as forlorn as a child’s abandoned doll.

  “They cut off his hands so he couldn’t hold a sword.” Magnus let that statement linger.

  Runa sucked in her breath, knowing that Grim and his men had denied Magnus’s son a warrior’s death. It was the death of an animal, not a man.

  “What was the purpose?” Magnus asked, after a deep sigh. His voice rasped. “What kind of man does this? We were farmers. Just one family. Were we that threatening?”

  Runa could not answer his questions, could not fathom the cruelty. There were no answers that could be given, no reasons for Grim to have tormented the boy even in the otherworld. Grim, she knew, acted out of hate and anger. He was the same kind of man who had come to her own homeland, murdering and destroying for no better reason than to take what he thought he deserved. He would plunder and destroy everything, anything he could.

  “He would’ve fought bravely. Certainly the gods will not be blind to that.” Runa was surprised at her own words. Through the darkness, she sensed Magnus’s eyes upon her. Now that she had creat
ed an opening, she had to fill it with more words, words she feared she could not find.

  “I know about loss,” she continued. “My parents were both murdered in their own hall. Only my brother still lives, somewhere out there.” She waved one hand, assuming she was pointing to the sea, but not knowing the true direction. “My sister died after our capture. The future I had expected will never come. My grand husband, whomever he would have been, will not have me now; none but a swineherd would take me for a wife.” Runa stopped, realizing she had said too much. Although she had thought the last of them spent, she found tears upon her cheeks and swiped them away with a small laugh. “I guess I’m not helping much.”

  Magnus’s shadow had still not moved. He was inscrutable in the darkness. Runa assumed him to be either angered by a slave’s rambling or lost in his own thoughts. She crunched down into her pile of leaves, feeling stupid and ashamed. Six months or more had passed, yet she still had not accustomed herself to slavery.

  “So why do you want your freedom?” Magnus asked. He sat motionless, but his tone was curious. Runa was surprised.

  “You have no family to help you, it seems. So why do you care?”

  “Because fate has left me but one strand to weave my hope upon,” she found herself replying.

  Magnus merely laughed. She did not know if it was from derision or admiration.

  “My brother was out with my father’s ship and crew when the Svear came,” she said. “If I can be freed, then I can find him. It is a small hope, but the only one I have.”

  “You are a strange girl,” Magnus said with an empty chuckle. “Finding him will convince me fate has a special plan for you. The world is wide, and a homeless man with a ship and crew can become lost within it. I don’t think you will find him.”

 

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