The wolves followed all day, but by night they disappeared. Runa declared they went home bored, but Ulfrik and the others were less optimistic.
“You have no sense, girl,” Yngvar said. “They’ll be back with the pack tonight, to catch us while we sleep.”
Runa fell silent, and Ulfrik knew it was true. They would have to build a big fire and stay alert. It would waste the last of their kindling, and he was still not certain of the days ahead. He thought they were close to Frodi’s border, but the snow made an already unfamiliar landscape indecipherable. He watched the sun, and ushered them all southwest. It was all he could do.
Night came, painting the forest black. Their small supply of kindling made a decent fire and the few dry branches they gathered helped. The fire crackled and sparks hissed into the air. They sat close to it, enjoying a warmth they would not find again for the rest of the trek.
Ulfrik had never been attacked by a wolf. When he was a boy, a freeman’s son had been killed by wolves. The parents took the boy’s body to Orm’s hall, where his father had paid the freeman silver for his loss. Ulfrik could not recall the details, but he had not forgotten the boy’s corpse: the face had been chewed right off.
The first wolf howled. Nothing followed. Then another howl answered the first. Ulfrik and Magnus were sharpening spears out of the straightest branches they could find. The spears would not pierce mail but might injure a wolf enough for it to retreat. They were still sharpening when the first luminescent eyes appeared at the edge of the firelight.
The men stood with their spears in hand and Ulfrik ordered them to form a circle with Runa, holding a burning branch to defend herself, in the middle. All around, growls ringed them. When the first wolf appeared he was shaggy and grizzled, with a scarred snout and yellow fangs. The growls became throaty howls as others emerged from the ring of darkness. The whole pack had come, five in all, to pull down a meal.
“Insistent bunch,” Yngvar commented. “Must be poor hunting these days.”
“The deer herds have been getting smaller,” Ulfrik said. “These pups probably haven’t been getting their fill. But we could use their furs.” The chatter, Ulfrik knew, was to calm them all, to make light of the danger encircling them. Then maybe they would become as confident as they appeared.
The first wolf leaped, coming straight at Ulfrik. But it was a feint; the real attack came from behind him, at Magnus. He heard him bellow and then stagger. Runa screamed, flailing her smoky brand. Yngvar jumped forward and thrust with his makeshift spear, scoring a jab to a wolf’s snout, ripping its flesh and gums. It yelped in pain. Then confusion was upon them.
The wolves sprang up at them, seeking to unbalance and overwhelm. Runa screeched louder than the wolves howled, and Ulfrik and the men roared into the onslaught, matching the ferocity of the beasts. Ulfrik sidestepped one, and it landed in the fire, its fur exploding into sparks and spinning flames. The next took him down with it, and his spear fell from his grip.
He punched it in the eye as it pounced down on him, but somehow its teeth still grazed his hand, tearing the flesh. The beast snarled and slid off him. The world was a jumble of snow, mud, foul breath, and flame. Runa windmilled her flaming branch. Yngvar sprang at the creature, thrusting and screaming. Ulfrik could not see Magnus, but heard his bear-like bellowing.
Before he could stand, the wolf pinned him again and bit for his face. Ulfrik blocked it with his mailed arm. The force of its jaws crushed down on his forearm, but the fangs were warded off. The stench of the beast was like spoiled meat, and its slaver splashed across his face as it savaged his arm. Fire blossomed in his left calf as another wolf seized his exposed leg. Ulfrik kicked and thrashed, screaming and pounding the wolf on top of him. But his unprotected leg was like mutton to the second wolf. He felt wetness trickle down his calf and pain bore into his ankle. He screamed, his pain and anger combining in one brilliant blast as he kicked out.
Suddenly, the wolf atop him disengaged and fled. The pressure on his leg released, and as the second wolf fled, Ulfrik saw Yngvar leaning into a spear thrust through the side of the first wolf. With its death, the others fled. The attack was over.
It was darker and colder now. Their formerly blazing fire was scattered and dying. Runa stood, lank and disheveled, holding her torch as if it weighed as much as a mace. Magnus, sweating and breathing hard, was still standing. Underbrush swayed where the wolves had bolted. It took long moments to register what had happened, then Ulfrik looked at his leg. His deerskin pant leg was torn and brilliant red blood pooled in the muddy snow. A throbbing, burning pain flared in his calf and he fell back, sucking in his breath against the agony.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Yngvar said, kneeling by Ulfrik’s side.
“You don’t sound convincing.” Ulfrik looked away as Yngvar tied off the wound to staunch the blood. He bit back a scream as his friend packed the wound with snow to clean it and deaden the pain.
“We’ll have to make a stretcher for him,” Magnus said, inspecting the bite. Ulfrik’s arm throbbed as well, but it was nothing compared to his leg. “
“No, I’ll walk. It’s not serious, like Yngvar said. I’ll just need some help, that’s all.” Despite his talk, he made no effort to move.
Runa appeared above him. Her hair fell about her face, casting it into shadow, but Ulfrik did not need to see her expression to understand the worry she felt. He just hoped her frown was for him, and not for the loss of her freedom. As soon as that thought arose, he pushed it away. Why do I doubt her?
She floated there for a moment and placed a trembling hand to his cheek. His scream sent her falling backward, startled. Yngvar had begun stitching the wound, and Ulfrik had not braced for it.
“Where in Thor’s name did that come from?” Ulfrik asked.
“Magnus took his wife’s kit. There was a bone needle and thread there. Lucky for you.”
Better prepared, Ulfrik lay back to endure the sutures in silence. They had been weakened; the wolves would know that, too. No doubt the beasts would return to try to finish him. He mused that the animals must be as desperate as he was. Is this, too, a sign from the gods? he wondered. Are they showing me the desperation of the land, warning me to flee?
Hot pain gripped his leg and cold took the rest of him, but he suppressed his discomfort as best as he could. He had to lead these people to safety—on one leg if he must.
Seventeen
Grim took the snowfall as an evil sign. He stood in the door of his hall, watching the snow pile up around the barracks. Snow was infrequent in the south, unlike in the north and west. He had never traveled there, but some of his new men came from those parts and said that winter meant death for the old and weak. No doubt, this winter would mean death for someone. His hall smelled like death, even with the bodies of his slain warriors recently removed for burial. Only one was a local man. His family had arrived through the snow that morning to collect his wergild. Men were always reaching for his gold, now that he had some to give.
Grim held aside his bloodied bandage to spit into the snow, as much to curse it as to rid his mouth of the flavor of the poultice. Winter had come earlier and fiercer than expected; yet another challenge to his plan. This rankled him, since his plan was brilliantly simple: eliminate his father and brother, neutralize Auden’s threat, enjoy Grenner’s wealth, and kiss the ass of some far-off king. How had it become so complex? Grim wondered. Don’t the gods love a bold plan?
He scanned the woods in the distance, a black gash below a gray sky. The falling snow intensified as he lingered in the doorway. Maybe the snow will finish Ulfrik where I couldn’t, he thought. He had sent a scout back to Magnus’s farm to search for signs of Ulfrik’s fate. Now the storm threatened to foil even that simple plan. At least the snowfall had been light enough this morning for Aud to take her walk.
His hand moved to the pouch of poison in his tunic pocket. He fingered the plump deerskin that brimmed with instant death. All he needed was the nerve to
slip it into Aud’s food. What’s one more death after all I’ve done? Better to tie off these loose ends right away.
Grim turned back inside his hall, snow-blind for the first few strides. Sheep had been herded indoors for the storm, and they bleated and nudged each other as they chewed the floor rushes. Women were preparing a breakfast of eggs and cheese at the central hearth. The hall reeked of smoke, shit, ale, and sheep. The household guards were settled at long benches, their spears placed up along the walls and their helms parked astride. His men nodded as he passed. More out of duty than anything else, Grim surmised. But he didn’t care, as long as they nodded.
Taking his seat at the high table, he beckoned a slave girl to his side. She came slowly, a dull-witted smile on her face. Probably hit on the head too many times, Grim thought. But he wanted her for warmth. Too bad Snorri let the pretty one escape. Grim had been looking forward to bedding her until he got an ax in the face; he hadn’t felt much like rutting after that. But with the warmth of the slave girl pressed to his side, he was beginning to feel those stirrings again. That was a good sign, and it encouraged him enough to work his hand down the front of her dress and squeeze her breast. She flinched and squeaked, then gave him a wan smile, which Grim returned, even though it pained him to do so.
A serving girl placed his meal before him and he gulped down the soft eggs. The slave girl ate nothing, just looked expectantly at him. Or was she looking at his wound, which he had exposed in order to eat? He didn’t care anymore. A jarl does not need to look handsome, after all.
From her accustomed spot along the bench to his right, Aud watched him with pale, inscrutable eyes. It was a good spot, between two windows where a deep shadow concealed her. She would sit there, her elbow leaning on her leg, for hours watching him intently, as she had watched his father before him. Did she suspect? Grim wondered if her magic allowed her to hear his thoughts.
On finishing his meal, Grim shoved away his plate, belched, and forced his dim-witted companion away. The men had returned to talking. The sheep wandered around them, bleating, and one even chewed at the hem of a man’s jerkin. Grim took all this in while still trying to observe Aud where she hovered in the shadows.
He saw her rise with some effort, resembling a swaddled babe in her wraps and blankets. She paused after standing, then stepped into the yellow light and began to hobble toward him, warding off a ewe that refused to move out of her path. Grim’s poultice had already been changed at sunrise. She had no business with him, and usually stayed away unless it was time to change his bandages.
When she had waddled too close to ignore, Grim gave a feeble smile. It appeared to stop her, and Grim realized he had probably never smiled in her presence. He tried to act more surly. “What? Is it time to fill my mouth with shit so soon? If I wasn’t feeling better, I’d swear you were letting this take too long.”
“No, Lord,” Aud wheezed, as she resumed her arduous journey to his table. “In fact, this morning I was considering discontinuing the treatment. You’re healing quickly enough. Watching you eat breakfast and fondle the girl made me think I was right.”
She arrived at his side and put her cold, shriveled hand to his face to inspect his wound. Her small eyes told him nothing, as usual. She twisted his face to one side and then the other, and then let it go. She picked up the bandage he had left on the table. “It’s dry,” she said, throwing it back down. “I thought as much this morning. You don’t need the treatments anymore. Does it hurt?”
“Only if I smile or scream,” he said. So the treatment worked, he thought. For a moment, he felt like abandoning his intention to kill the hag.
“It hurts only half as much as it could,” Aud said, sitting down at the table. “You’ll have a scar, but that suits you anyway. Just keep it protected and clean. If you can manage that, my lord.”
“I can manage that! By all the gods, if it means no more bandages, or that bag of shit in my mouth, I can manage.” The wound stung as he smiled.
For once, Aud smiled back, revealing two brown teeth remaining in livid gums.
Does she suspect the plan in my mind? Grim wondered. His left hand fell to the pouch in his pocket. Now would be the most natural time to slip her the poison. He stood up, palming the pouch and holding it to his leg. “Aud, you have worked great healing magic.”
Grim raised his voice, calling for the hall’s attention. The men fell silent and the women stopped their work at the hearth. A sheep bleated into the silence.
“Aud has proclaimed me healed,” he announced, pointing to her. The hag winced at the attention. “I am deeply grateful to her service. As well as she tended my father in his illness, so she tended me. Let us all drink to Aud’s health!” He turned to the slave. “You, girl, fetch a cask and mugs.”
“You do me too much honor, Lord Grim,” Aud said, slouching as if to slink toward the shadows beneath the table. The shrew has a weakness after all, Grim thought. This is turning out to be an excellent plan.
“Nonsense!” he protested, knowing he was over-acting his part, but enjoying it still. “You must join us in a drink. Just one gulp, woman. I’ll get your cup.”
He leaped from the high table down to the floor. One woman rolled a small cask of ale to the hearth while another brought mugs, bowls, horns, anything that could hold the drink. The men were smiling and laughing; who would not enjoy starting the day with a round of drinks? Grim waded through the animals and grabbed a bowl. Placing it beneath the cask, he filled it with ale until it brimmed. “Hurry up, boys! Get here while I’m pouring!”
Eager for a taste of the lord’s reserve, the men crowded around and Grim pretended to enjoy serving them. But he got what he counted on. The women were handing out bowls and horns, the men were gathering around, the ewes bleated and wove in and out of the press. In the confusion, Grim dropped the poison into a bowl of ale. He jerked his head up to see Aud watching. Did she see? Did she hear? It was impossible to know what a witch might be able to do.
Grim pocketed the empty pouch and took up Aud’s bowl along with a horn for himself. The bowl splashed as he carried it to Aud, his hands cold and trembling. His heart was pounding, but Aud seemed to suspect nothing. He placed the bowl before her. She looked at it like she had never seen ale before.
“Everyone has a horn now? Good! Let us drink to honor the one who healed me.”
Grim raised his horn, and the men of the hall needed no more encouragement. Some praised Grim’s health; others praised Aud’s skill. Grim held his toast until the last. He could feel his arm shaking, as though he held a boulder over his head, and his voice quavered too, before he got command of it. “Thank you, Aud. Your healing magic is a great blessing for Grenner. To Aud!”
The others echoed him and stamped their feet on the wooden floor or banged the tables. Then Grim and his men guzzled their ale. Grim watched Aud down the side of his horn as he drank. She just stared at her ale, her ancient hands on either side of the bowl. Did she know?
“Come on, Aud,” he coaxed. “Just swallow it down fast. We’re waiting on you.”
She nodded, to the bowl rather than to him. At first, she seemed to pause, and Grim expected her to fling the bowl away. Then she snatched it up and gulped down the ale as he had insisted. It poured over the side and down her chin until she put the bowl down empty.
Nothing happened. Aud wiped her mouth with the back of her arm. Still nothing. Grim expected a poison so lethal that she would die immediately. He felt the heat return to his hands. Did I not use enough?
With a sudden jerk, Aud bolted upright and her eyes widened. She opened her mouth and made a gurgling sound as bloody tears sprang to her eyes. Grim watched in horror as she staggered from the high table to the floor beneath it, clawing at her throat.
He swung his head in the direction of the men, but they were more concerned with refilling their drinks than with Aud. Only the idiotic slave girl was watching, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide with fear.
Aud vomited, sho
oting forth a pool of brown ale along with the rest of her stomach contents. She gasped. Ropes of spittle hung from her jaw and her hair straggled in the vomit. Then she howled.
Grim looked around again. The men were beginning to notice.
Turning back, he saw Aud sitting on her wide rump, staring at him with bloody eyes and wiping her spittle-flecked mouth. “You think that can kill me?” she screeched. “After my years spent handling poison you’d have to do better than that.”
“What happened?” Grim affected concern. “Why, you’ve fallen, have you? How unfortunate.” He had to get to her before the men crowded around to hear her. She had to die, even if he had to strangle her.
She stood much faster than Grim thought she could, and coughed up blood. Seeing her bloody face, the men gasped and recoiled and the women screamed.
“My own poison.” Aud spat. “You surprise me, Grim.”
Grim leaped towards her and reached out to clamp a hand over her mouth, but she was not as frail as she seemed. Knocking his hand away with one hand, she reached into the folds of her blanket with the other.
She screeched as a plume of black smoke puffed around her. Grim fell back, dissuaded by the horrid stench. The hall was in panic now, and most of its inhabitants were running for the door; only a few reached for their spears. Witchcraft was not something men could fight with weapons.
“You want to kill me, do you?” Aud appeared from the smoke. It had stained her face gray and formed muddy streaks where the blood and drool covered her face.
Grim toppled involuntarily at her approach. As her quivering fingers stretched for him, he kicked back across the cold earthen floor, his heart a fury and his breathing short.
Aud fell before him, and more blood gushed from her mouth. Facing him, her eyes level with his across the floor, she said in a wet croak, “You are cursed, Grim Ormsson. Your life is cursed.” She dropped her head and wheezed. “You will know no peace, no woman. You will have no children. Your brother will return to dance in your guts. You will die by his hands. I make this your doom.”
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