Fate's Needle

by Jerry Autieri

  “Now you are not helping,” Runa said, thinking she had overstepped her station. But Magnus remained as he had throughout their talk: a rough bulk of shadow seated opposite.

  When he spoke, it was thoughtful and calm. “Do you really have such belief in fate?” “Yes.” She composed herself. “I believe my fate is not to die a slave. I have no reason to believe I can escape this, but I am unable to accept that I will not. My father raised me nobly, and I was to be a noble’s wife. As the Fates weave my strand, whatever is woven into it will always be part of my thread.”

  This time Magnus laughed genuinely.

  Runa raised her eyebrows. “You may laugh, but I believe in what I have said. I will not be a slave. Lord Ulfrik has promised me as much.”

  The mention of Ulfrik’s name silenced Magnus’s laugh upon his lips. His last talk with Ulfrik had not been friendly.

  He likely blames Ulfrik for his family’s death, Runa thought. Whatever positive work she had begun with Magnus now crumbled. He folded his arms and shifted away until only the silhouette of his wide shoulders was visible.

  Runa leaned back and shored up her leaf blanket. She closed her eyes, hoping sleep would find her soon and half listening for Ulfrik’s footfalls.

  “He will give you freedom if it suits him,” Magnus said suddenly.

  “He has sworn it!” Runa lurched up, feeling anger flush her face. “I got him his sword and he promised me freedom if I did. As soon as we are safely away, he will remove my collar.”

  “I heard about that promise,” Magnus said, still hidden within the shadows. “But he’s not beholden to a promise made to a slave. So what if he breaks it?”

  “He would not do that!” Runa yelled, forgetting that they were supposed to be hiding. “Ulfrik would never do that to me. He…”

  Runa stopped short, surprised by what she was about to say. Did Ulfrik have feelings for her, or was she merely imagining it? This was a terrible time for her to consider that he might. Her feelings ended whatever it was she had intended to say. Instead, she huffed and fell back to her bed of leaves.

  Magnus laughed, but suddenly clamped his laughter off into silence. Runa glimpsed motion to her left. The shadows of two men, intertwined, appeared. Before either Runa or Magnus could react, the men disengaged and one toppled to the ground between them.

  Fourteen

  A bonfire cracked in front of the hall as Grim approached, throwing orange light out into the moon-bright night. Men patrolled the perimeter in pairs, with one holding a spear and the other a torch. Grim took no chance on his safety.

  Returning to the hall had not consoled him as he had hoped. In fact, he dreaded having to take up the high seat. Certainly, he deserved it—after all, he had murdered for it. But now he discovered all of the other nuisances that attended it. For one, the unexpected trouble of pacifying his own men. He had paid some in silver, some in gold, and had given them all the bloodshed a warrior could want, yet they grumbled and murmured the entire march back from Magnus’s farm.

  Things had not gone as he had hoped. Grim knew Vandrad would be waiting in the hall, drinking his wine and eating his food, ready with a stupid smirk and an insult about the failure of Grim’s trap. But at least Ulfrik had showed, and Magnus had served as an example to the other men. They had all escaped him, true enough, yet how could he have anticipated a surprise attack from the stragglers of Auden’s forces? How they even found him was unfathomable. Yet, for this, Grim expected nothing less than derision from Vandrad. He could hardly wait for Vandrad to return to High King Harald.

  Halting before the bonfire, Grim ordered the bodies of the fallen to be laid beside the hall. Truly, the trap had not gone as well as he had hoped. Fifteen men had followed him to the farm and only nine returned. Grim promised extra pay for their troubles, which seemed to settle most of the men, but now, as he pointed to the side of the hall, the few men he could see were glowering at him, clearly wanting the dead laid out in the hall before they were properly cremated. Tradition be damned! He needed no reminder of his failure laid out in his own hall. “The bodies will be fine there. I’ll have sentries posted, and the fire will keep animals away,” he told them. “Besides, they will be burned with honor soon.”

  The men fidgeted and shook their heads, but laid the bodies out as directed. Grim paid no further attention. With a small bow, the guards opened the door to the hall and Grim strode from the bracing night into the bright, rosy light inside. To Grim, the hall seemed abnormally long and wide, seeming to stretch beyond its true size. Grim rubbed his eyes to set them right, yet the place still looked alien to him. The main hearth blazed, projecting a happy glow throughout the vast hall. Fresh rushes were on the floor, and a clean, smoky scent filled his nose.

  Vandrad and his two bodyguards sat at the far end, at the high table. Grim felt the wound on his face pulse the moment his eyes met Vandrad’s across the smoky expanse. He detested the easy manner in which Vandrad read him. Pulling his shoulders back in defiance, he strode toward him.

  “Lord Grim!” Vandrad hailed him loudly, as if he were standing atop a mountain and looking down on him. “I assume your prey has eluded you.”

  Grim stopped before Vandrad and his men, but did not face them. His shoulders slumped as he brought his booted feet together. “They all showed, as I planned, but we were ambushed by stragglers of Auden’s men, whom you were responsible for gathering up. We lost Ulfrik after the fight.” Grim stared at the floor and put one hand to his bandaged face, feeling the throb of pain and anger as he clenched his jaw. He pushed the rage out of his voice, affecting the fierce calm of a seasoned ruler. “If I did not have to complete your work, I would have succeeded. But instead we were taken unaware and lost several men in the fight.”

  At last he looked up at Vandrad, who sat between his bodyguards, his hand gripping a silver cup filled with mead. Ignoring Grim’s accusation, Vandrad took a sip from the cup in reply. Then he carefully placed it aside and fixed his neatly trimmed beard, offering nothing more than a smile as an excuse for his failure.

  Grim leaped up to the high table, smacking away the cup and slamming his fist on the board. “You were supposed to kill anyone you found! But you left half an army for me to deal with! I should send your head back to Harald for your fucking stupidity!”

  Grim had barely ended his torrent before Vandrad’s men were on their feet, hands to their swords. In response, several of Grim’s warriors stepped forward with their hands on their hilts. Vandrad remained seated, a twisted smile playing on his face. Holding Grim’s stare, he wiped the splash of mead from his face. “Everyone stand down. Lord Grim is merely expressing his frustration.”

  In the face of Vandrad’s calmness, Grim bit back his fury. He pulled up from the table and looked around. Not all of his men had come to the ready, he realized angrily, and several held sheepishly to the shadows. With a grunt, he waved them off. Somehow, Vandrad was winning, but he couldn’t figure out why.

  “Now, if Lord Grim would like to know the details of my operation, I’d be happy to explain.” Vandrad, still smiling, appeared to be restraining a perverse glee. “We found several men who had been away during our raid. We eliminated them, along with any farmsteads that did not immediately pledge fealty and offer hostages. I cannot believe we missed half of an army, though I will admit a determined group could have avoided our search.”

  “You’re calling me a liar!” Again Grim raged. He threw both arms in the air and spun away from Vandrad’s smirk. “You insult a king in his own hall!”

  Behind him, Grim heard Vandrad rise. He turned to find the tall Vestfolder already grasping the back of his arm. His jovial demeanor vanished. Vandrad’s voice was little more than a hiss in Grim’s ear. “If you call yourself a king, behave like one. Honor your dead and let the living know they fought for a man worth their lives. Or soon there will be a new king of Grenner.”

  Vandrad released his grip and backed away. With his usual practiced smile and bright voice, he ad
ded, “Such is my advice, Lord Grim. Please find some value in it.”

  Grim stood dumbfounded, feeling anger beat in his head and throat. But he realized the worth of Vandrad’s advice. The man was a cousin and advisor of High King Harald, and he was assumed instrumental to Harald’s rise to power. Grim had forgotten this, in his rage. He softened his stance and let his voice drop to a normal tone. “You two,” he indicated men at the far end of the hall. “Bring the dead inside and make preparations for their funerals. If they had family, send runners to tell them they can see me for their gold.”

  He dispensed his orders petulantly, like a child forced to his chores, but it was enough to make Vandrad smile and nod his agreement. Grim looked away, the exhaustion of the day finally weighing him down. With a wave of his hand, he indicated he would be in his room. For now, it felt the only safe place for him to forget what a fool he had made of himself.

  ***

  Once inside his room, Grim unstrapped his sword and let it thud to the floor and then pulled off his armor and collapsed on the bed. The bandage on his face was old and dirty, but he hesitated to remove it. The wound was healing better than expected, but the hole created by his missing teeth still festered and hurt. Aud’s poultice worked if kept in his mouth, but the foul thing would not stay in place when he had so much to say. He had not expected to have to explain every detail to everyone. His father had never seemed to do anything but drink, eat, and take his share of plunder and whores. Grim had expected as much, too. Not this, he thought morosely. Not this.

  Sometime later, he lay half-sleep atop his furs when he noticed his lone candle was ready to flutter out. He was feeling the night’s cold or he would have slumbered by now. Stiff and sore from fighting and marching, he rose and hobbled over to the plate of dried fish and cheese that someone had set out. Eating was both slow and painful, but if he mashed up the food it went down easier.

  Grim lingered at the table, the events of the last days playing over in his head. I’ve really done it, he thought. Auden is crushed. All of Grenner is mine. I thought this would feel better than it does. But he knew what nagged him; he had been avoiding the thought for a while.

  Aud. She had to be eliminated. The witch could easily betray him, just as she had done to his father. Killing her was not as simple as putting an ax through her head. If she saw the blow coming, she could curse him. Grim feared nothing more than a witch’s curse. Men you could fight with sword and shield. But magic? Only other magic was proof against it.

  In the dying light of the candle, Grim decided how he would rid himself of her. The same poison she had fed Orm could be fed to her. One big dose ought to do it. He only had to secure the poison from her. Of course, she wouldn’t just hand it over, but he had seen her stash it in a sack amid the pile of junk gathered in the hall where she slept. Every morning, he had noticed, Aud went for a walk. During that time, he would exchange the poison in the sack with sand. The poison, she had told him, was tasteless and odorless; getting her to imbibe it would be the least difficult part of his plan. The old hag would die without ever seeing the blow coming, unable to curse him, or his hall.

  Grim shoved his plate away and returned to his bed. He felt better already.?

  Fifteen

  Ulfrik threaded his way back to Yngvar, confident he could return to Magnus and Runa. The cold of evening rattled the trees and painted the woods dull gray and yellow. Evidence of a chaotic fight abounded. Arrows hung from trees. Branches were broken and underbrush trampled. The crimson of blood and the glint of lost weapons caught Ulfrik’s eye wherever he looked. He slowed, concerned enemies might still remain. Only the flutter of woodland birds returning to their nests reached him. He circled the woods, wanting to call Yngvar’s name, but not yet ready to risk announcing himself.

  Eventually, Yngvar found him.

  From the gloom, Ulfrik heard his name—weak and distant at first, but distinctly his name. He turned to the source, dropped to a crouch, and glided through the underbrush. Yngvar’s silhouette appeared from the surrounding trees. He held up a hand, and then Ulfrik saw his brilliant smile gleam from the twilight. Ulfrik crouched beside him, asking if he had been hurt.

  “One of those goat turds got a lucky hit to my head.” He pointed to a trickle of blood on his face. “The ax handle, not the blade. Bastard wasn’t so lucky, though. Someone ran him through.”

  Yngvar was strong enough to stand and walk, but was unstable and dizzy, so Ulfrik slung his friend over his shoulder, grabbed Yngvar’s sword, and began to pick a path back to others.

  Now confident that no enemy dwelt nearby, they detailed the events since they had parted. Ulfrik warned of Magnus’s mood.

  “His family was murdered with as much cruelty as Grim could muster. All to set an example and to bait him. Give him time to recover, at least.” Yngvar sympathized.

  Ulfrik grunted in agreement and then listened to Yngvar’s account. Yngvar had found himself in the center of an attacking force—Auden’s men who had survived the hall burning. They screamed Auden’s name as they attacked, and Yngvar had been mistaken for one of Grim’s men. His protests made no impression, and he ended up fighting everyone until the melee ended and he staggered under the blow of an ax haft. Yngvar had fallen, but one of Auden’s men had killed his assailant in that lucky moment. He decided to remain hidden, since Auden’s man had thought him dead. Eventually, Grim’s horn sounded three times.

  “Later, when I struggled to my feet to look for you, I fell down and heaved until I came up dry. I hoped you’d come for me eventually. Grim’s men almost found me while searching for their own dead.”

  As the light faded, their progress slowed, but soon both could hear the low rumble of Magnus’s voice not far off. Ulfrik increased his pace, still cautious of his footing. Yngvar was heavy, and Ulfrik was ready to drop him. When he came to where Runa and Magnus were huddled, he let Yngvar fall between them.

  The concussed man crawled to a tree and propped himself up, assuring the others he had suffered only a minor blow. “Really, being dropped like that was worse than the knock to my head,” he said with a chuckle.

  Relieved to be free of his burden, Ulfrik dropped Yngvar’s weapon next to him and sat on the cold ground to rest, as Magnus and Runa hurried to Yngvar’s side. While the three clustered together, speaking in hushed, excited voices, Ulfrik took a moment to finally consider the situation.

  He immediately panicked.

  As he reviewed the events of recent days, his stomach fluttered and his breath grew short. We are doomed, he thought, trying to stop his thoughts from registering on his face. The appearance of Auden’s surviving men had been fortuitous, saving Ulfrik from the trap Grim had set for him. But their allies were now scattered and destroyed. In the chaos of the fight, they had lost the furs and other vital supplies salvaged from Auden’s village. As if to remind him of the horror to come, a cold wind rushed between the trees. An early, murderous winter was coming. Fat clouds squatted low on the horizon; they would deliver rain again soon, and if the cold worsened, they would bring snow and ice.

  Yngvar was retelling his adventures for the entertainment of the others, delighting Magnus with every death he reported. Runa was fussing over Yngvar’s head, even as he repeatedly waved her off.

  How can I provide food and shelter for all of them? Ulfrik thought. The gods gave him no sign. Even as his stomach rumbled, he knew tomorrow they must hunt, gather nuts, and find food, although probably not enough for four people, before moving off. Grim would surely return, or at least send men to scout the woods. His lips trembled at the thought of his brother. How did I let Grim destroy our home?

  Yngvar finished his tale and everyone fell to their own thoughts. Ulfrik knew each must worry as he did, but he was their lord. As Auden and Orm had shown him, he must be strong for them. No doubts. No fears. Only certainty of victory. He sat among them, still and silent, hoping he looked braver and more certain than he felt.

  ***

  Dawn slipped
in barely recognized behind a pall of sullen clouds, and Ulfrik awoke from a cold and fitful sleep. Magnus and Yngvar still snored beneath their beds of leaves, although Runa had been up a while and was returning with hazelnuts carried in a fold of her tattered skirt. Ulfrik smiled at the sword strapped around her waist. He doubted she could draw it in a fight, but the belt cinched in her waist, revealing the curve of her hips that defied her time in slavery. “There are still fallen nuts that the pigs have not eaten.” She smiled as she approached and then poured the nuts to the ground in the center of their camp. “I saw a rabbit, too. But I couldn’t do much about it. These will have to carry us until we can get to safety.”

  Ulfrik laughed at Runa’s simple assessment of their plight, but he was glad for her work. She beamed when he thanked her, and flushed pink as she lifted a rock to shell the nuts. Ulfrik knelt beside her and helped, the two working in a companionable silence. When half of the hazelnuts were shelled, Runa said, “Is there something you want to ask? You keep looking at me.”

  Ulfrik felt his face burn, only then realizing he had been sneaking glances. He could see enough flesh beneath her ill-fitting clothing to know he would enjoy seeing more. He mumbled an explanation and focused on shelling the last of the nuts. This was the first quiet moment the two had shared alone, and he still couldn’t understand why he had mistaken her for a boy on that first day. She was delicate and thin, but she had a woman’s shape. Only the rusted collar that chafed her neck marred her beauty.

  “Thank you for saving my life, Lord Ulfrik,” Runa said, giving him a gentle smile. “You could have left me to die yesterday.”

  “You are of my household,” Ulfrik said, and then winced at his poorly chosen words. “I had to take care of you.”

  Runa’s hand hovered over a nut and Ulfrik anticipated a reprimand, but instead she focused on her work as she spoke, mashing the nut and ruining it. “Well, once you lead us to safety and return my freedom, I will ensure you are repaid for your sense of duty. When I find my brother, I will tell him how well you treated me.”