Sword Brothers

by Jerry Autieri

  A rumble of excitement came to the group as men discussed the potentials of so much wealth. Hakon remained frowning, and when Ulfrik raised a brow to him, he spoke over the voices of the men.

  "Gems only have a use if converted to gold. Who would buy yours and how can you be guaranteed a fair price?"

  Ulfrik smiled, and wondered if Hakon asked the question for himself or the benefit of the men. "A good question, and it leads to the next step in my plan. We must raise ships and men, and that requires gold beyond what is packed upon my ship. So these gems must be sold, and my time on a merchant ship was well spent in this regard. I know where to take these for a fair trade. The markets of Hedeby in Jutland have all that we require, both shipbuilders and merchants prepared to trade. Of course, with such wealth at stake, I will need my loyal hirdmen to guard it. For that service, I shall decide upon a share of the gems' value to be given to all, after the final trades are made."

  Now the hum of excitement grew louder and Hakon nodded with approval. Gunnar smiled at the other end, but he seemed lost in his thoughts. Once the rush of buoyant talk dwindled, he raised his hand to speak.

  "So Hedeby for gold and ships, but what of men? To ensure Mord and Gunther's destruction and to challenge Hrolf, we will need hundreds of men. Maybe even thousands."

  "Hedeby is also a hub of news. Trust me when I promise you our arrival with so much wealth will attract attention. We need merely to announce we seek fighting men for adventure in Frankia, and we will draw hungry swords from every corner of the world."

  His men cheered the statement, but Gunnar pursed his lips and shrugged. "That may be true, but do we have time enough to wait for men from every corner of the world to arrive? And if word travels so widely, surely Hrolf will learn our intent and prepare to meet us. Wouldn't a surprise attack be better?"

  "Good points all." Ulfrik stopped pacing and stood before Gunnar. "I will announce an intention to invade Ireland or some other country instead. We can reveal our true purpose to the men once we are underway. Now as for enough men, we are at the mercy of luck. We cannot attack without sufficient numbers."

  "I have an idea," Gunnar said. His smile reminded Ulfrik so much of Runa that he had to turn aside. "During my time a-viking, I made a name for myself around the Northumbria and the surrounding countries. Men owe me favors and my name should still be known. I could recruit from these places, and spread the news of our plans to the right places. It is better to take your offer into the places where men are prepared to sell their swords than it is to wait for them to find you. I can do that."

  Ulfrik considered Gunnar's plans, and agreed with his son's logic. He needed as many men in as short a time as possible. He had to remain close to the shipbuilders and ensure their progress did not stall. "And your family? They should remain with me. It will be safer for them in Hedeby."

  "Yes, that would be better. Some of the places I intend to go are dangerous."

  "Then it is settled." Ulfrik clapped Gunnar's shoulder, who flashed a wide grin. "I will provide you gold gifts for the new warriors you will bring me."

  "I will fill my ships with fighting men. I swear it."

  "Excellent. Hakon will accompany you as well."

  "What?" Hakon asked, frowning. "You will need me at your side for all this business in Hedeby."

  "Yes," Gunnar agreed. "He would be better off helping you with the shipbuilders."

  "You two will do this task together," Ulfrik said, pointing at each of them. "And you will return together, or do not return at all."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Ulfrik saw the village rising out of the horizon and called a halt to the column of men. The sun was bright and the sky clear, but he did not see smoke, white or black, rising from the dark rectangles that outlined the houses. The men groaned as they lowered the ships they portaged onto the grass. He had taken his two longships, which were sleeker and lighter than the knarrs he had given to Gunnar and Hakon. They dropped their burdens into the knee-high grass as well, collapsing alongside their companions.

  "Do you want me to scout ahead?" Finn asked. "Were you expecting to find this?"

  "Were you?" he asked. "You were with me the one time I made this journey. Do you remember a village?"

  Finn shrugged. "Doesn't take long to throw together a few houses. They could've settled this route after we were here. I'll go have a look."

  He waved Finn forward, then lowered himself to the grass and turned his face into the breeze. He smelled the earth and the grassy scents, and he could not help but think of playing with Gunnar and Runa in the grass fields surrounding the hall of Nye Grenner. The memory made him feel tremendously old. For a fighting man he was aged, but he still acted on the impulses of his youth. He wondered if men would look upon him as a broken relic and scorn his call to battle. Why should they follow a leader who might die before he ever delivers on the promises of gold? He turned away from the cooling breeze and stared at the ground.

  He heard the swishing grass as Finn returned to him. "It's a shell of a village. Burnt out and looted long ago."

  "Well, it was a poor idea to build a steading so close to these paths. As many raiders as honest merchants must pass this way. They wanted to profit from that traffic, I bet."

  Finn offered his hand to Ulfrik. Once he would have scorned the help, but now his old bones were too grateful for it. He dusted off his legs, and without a word from him the men returned to the ships. With more than twenty men on each side of the hulls, portage still was heavy work.

  "I misjudged the speed of portaging these ships. We should rest in those ruins. We will make Hedeby by late tomorrow, if we are on the right path."

  With a leg up from Finn, Ulfrik mounted into the prow, then grasped the beast head set there. He ordered them forward and the ships lifted off the grass, and the men trudged ahead. The long, graceful ships bobbed over the fields as if in full sail. Their shields were on the racks, like the colorful scales of a great sea snake. The same distance that Finn had run took the men three times as long to traverse. The ships were loaded with war gear, supplies, and treasure. Normally they sang their rowing songs to aid their strength, but now crossed to the village with only grunts and curses.

  They set the ships down at the center of the village. Ulfrik noted that most of the walls that had faced them were all that remained of some of these buildings. At best, the five buildings were nothing more than burnt-out frames or a place to set a lean-to. Still enough rubble and debris clogged the buildings to warrant a deeper investigation.

  "Check all the buildings and we will make a fire. Gunnar's wife will cook for us tonight." Men cheered at that announcement. Morgan appeared at the rail of the other ship and smiled. She was one of only a handful of women accompanying them, and while Ulfrik loved her as the wife of his son, he hardly knew the woman. He expected she would do as he told her while Gunnar was away.

  Ulfrik directed but otherwise stayed out of the way of his experienced men. They showed the younger men to their duties, while others investigated the houses. He went to Morgan and helped his grandchildren to the ground. The girls, Hilde and Thorgerd, squealed as he helped them jump to the soft grass. The youngest, Leif, cried out in joy as his mother handed him down to Ulfrik's arms.

  "I'm tired of carrying you all day," he said. "One day I will need you to carry me." Leif laughed as Ulfrik set him down. "You girls help your mother prepare. I'll watch your brother."

  Leif took his hand and they went to supervise the men setting up the cooking pot.

  Then he heard a woman scream. It was not from his women, but from one of the ruined buildings. He heard men shout. Ulfrik released Leif's hand, and he pointed at Finn. "Watch the boy."

  He dashed across the brief camp toward the sound. In the evening light, he saw a shape dart out and one of his men chasing. The fleeing figure wore a plain gray dress but otherwise the setting sun blinded him to the details. He heard her distant screams as he passed the house. One of his hirdmen was kneeling wit
h his hands over his face, but otherwise Ulfrik saw no blood.

  The fleeing girl tripped and her pursuer was right behind. Ulfrik caught up to find his hirdman, Hamar, wrestling with a young woman who kicked and screamed, uselessly pounding the man's body with small fists. He did not understand what language she spoke, but he recognized curses in any tongue. Hamar finally wrestled her to stillness.

  "Looks like we've caught a runaway slave," Hamar said as he hauled her off the ground. The hirdman presented her like a fat bass fish to Ulfrik. "A feisty one, too."

  The slave's clothes were plain and dirty, and torn at the left shoulder. Her hair was cropped closed to her head, making it seem larger than the rest of her thin frame. The rusty collar and red marks around her neck confirmed the image of a slave. However, that is where the resemblance to a slave ended. She stared defiantly at him, as if he dared to touch her she would strike him dead. Her eyes were as clear as blue ice, and though her cheek was bruised he saw uncommonly clear skin for a slave woman.

  She looked nothing like Runa, but he could not help but see her in this woman. She was proud, probably arrogant, hid her fear well, and spirited. She tugged at Hamar's grip, not to flee but as if desiring to stand on her own.

  Grass crunched as someone ran from behind and her eyes shifted from Ulfrik to the approaching hirdman. Fear flickered across her face and Ulfrik turned to see a fist punching toward her head.

  Ulfrik deflected the blow, then interposed himself between the woman and the hirdman. "Lord? The bitch hit me in the face with a timber. I think she loosened a tooth."

  "She improved your looks, Thorbert. Lower your fists." Ulfrik placed a hand on his shoulder to calm the man. "She was frightened for her life, that's all."

  "She's a slave, Lord. Look at her."

  Ulfrik gave Thorbert a warning glare and the warrior relaxed but frowned at the woman. Others had gathered around the commotion, but most of the men tended to setting up their camp before nightfall.

  Turning to the woman, Ulfrik met her eyes. She held them for a moment, then appeared to think better of it and lowered her head. Ulfrik smiled. "So, slave, do you understand me, or do you only speak a foreign tongue?"

  She nodded and Hamar shook her. "Then address him as a lord or I'll thrash you."

  "Yes, Lord. I speak your language." Her voice was bright and youthful, but her Norse was thickly accented.

  "You are not one of my people. Your speech gives that away." He paused and glanced around himself. "Are you alone?"

  "Yes, Lord."

  "No one else escaped with you?" The woman shook her head. "No one is pursuing you?" Ulfrik lowered his voice and gave her a serious look.

  "No, Lord."

  "These ruins are safe, then. No one hiding over the next rise?"

  "They are safe, Lord. I've hid here for many days."

  "And where were you going?"

  Now her defiance slipped and Ulfrik saw her shoulders slump. "I don't know, Lord. I wanted to go to the coast, but then thought I would be captured and sold. Seems I will suffer that fate anyway."

  The woman's eyes glittered in the evening light. He could hear her imploring him for mercy, though she would not say the words. Such bold pride made his own eyes feel hot, summoning a memory of Runa. "No, you won't. I knew a woman just like you once, and she did not deserve slavery. Your pride reminds of hers."

  Her eyes went wide and she looked up at him. He did not know her spirit, and realized his mercy was brought on from the grief of his wife's passing. Yet he could no more see this woman remain a slave than he could his own granddaughters.

  "I claim you as my own slave." He looked to Hamar and nodded at him. "Release her."

  The woman did not run, but cowered as Ulfrik stepped closer. She closed her eyes as he reached out for her slave collar. He plucked at it, feeling the warm, scaly touch of the rusted iron. He had seen hundreds of slave women in his life. He still owned a half dozen slaves, and two were women. Yet touching the collar around this slave's neck was like reaching back across the years. He remembered how Runa had begged him to cut the slave collar from her neck, and he had delayed. He had feared she would run from him with her newfound freedom, and he had wanted to keep her close. He smiled at the memory.

  "As your owner, it is my right to grant you freedom. Which I do as of this moment. You are a free woman. These men are witnesses to it."

  The slave's eyes opened and tears spilled. She crashed to her knees and bowed at his feet. "Thank you, Lord."

  His two hirdmen blinked at him, and he smiled. "Thorbert, I'll find some silver to ease the pain of your lost tooth." He looked to Hamar. "I will pay for the capture and sale of this slave to me. Now take her to the smith and have him cut this collar from her neck. I will have Morgan find her better clothing."

  The slave rose, her tears leaving muddy tracks on high-boned cheeks. "I cannot thank you enough, Lord. I dare not ask more of you, but I still have nowhere to go. May I stay with you?"

  "Of course," he said. "We are going to Hedeby. I assume you escaped from there." The woman's bloodless expression confirmed his guess. "Well, you will be under the protection of Ulfrik Ormsson, and no man will challenge me over you."

  She again thanked him, and as he turned to leave she stopped him with a question. "Why have you treated me so kindly?"

  "I told you. You remind me of someone I once knew."

  That night, she visited his bed. He still did not know her name. She must have felt obligated to comfort him, but he did not want the body she offered. He merely held her through the night, and hot tears streaked his cheeks as he remembered another slave woman who had once slept in his arms.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Aren pulled the hood of his cloak lower and tucked his chin down. The sun was gliding to the horizon and shadows grew deep and long. Ruts in the well-trod path through the light woods filled with black. Aren's hamstrings ached from riding the horses they left behind with Einar's other men and he wondered at how quickly they had managed to travel.

  "You don't have to do that," Einar said. He stood beside him, a giant with arms folded and his massive ax resting against his hip. "No one is looking for you out here."

  He put his hands down, running his palm over the rough grip of his sword. His thumb searched for the loop that kept the blade in place, and for the tenth time since sitting in ambush he confirmed he could draw his blade without hindrance. Einar, five archers, and Aren remained hidden among the trees. They had galloped along another path, one Einar claimed would cut ahead of the two men Mord had sent to Einar's hall.

  As they had expected, Mord's men made hasty excuses to end their visits early. Einar was certain to let everyone witness his sending them off. Within the hour of slapping their backs, Einar gathered ten men and horses and left by his eastern gate to pursue them. Aren had reluctantly been dragged along, but he had no choice. What could he tell Einar? Sorry that I have burdened you with sheltering me, but I won't aid you in my own defense. Worse still, could he admit he had never fought in open battle, and that the only man he had ever blooded was his father--and even then it was a stab in the back that only crippled him. So he followed Einar in his hasty plan. The only contribution Aren made was to leave Gils and his escorts at Eyrafell to make it seem as if he had not yet left.

  His heart pounded in his ears and his palms sweated. With any luck the archers would kill Mord's spies outright, but Einar had mentioned questioning them first.

  "Don't worry so much," Einar said, his voice deep and confident.

  "Am I so obvious?"

  "You twitch at every breaking twig and keep touching your sword as if you're afraid it has vanished. We're only facing two men, and we have another five with horses down the path to aid us if that has changed. You are in no danger."

  "I've heard too many stories of plans going awry."

  "Thinking is good," Einar said, then unfolded his arms to lay a giant paw on his shoulder. "But thinking too much before a battle is the best way to
get killed. You cannot die before Fate has decided your time. If tonight is it, then even should you survive these enemies you will be thrown from your horse, or Thor will hit you with a thunderbolt. So don't worry."

  "How comforting," Aren said. He stared down the ever-darkening path. "If they take much longer arriving we won't have shots at them."

  "We don't need accuracy. Just fill the area with two or three arrows from each archer. Something will hit."

  They waited longer, and Aren began to worry their plans had been revealed. Twilight fell and the last diffuse light of the day was scattered in the trees. Einar hefted his ax, crouched, and pointed with its haft toward the path. "They come. Be ready."

  "You can see them?" Aren peered into the indigo gloom but saw nothing. Only after concentrating did two loping shapes resolve from the shadow.

  The archers placed arrows to their strings, but pointed them at the ground. The two shadows drew closer. They moved at a fast walk, neither speaking but both with heads down intent upon the path before them. Aren snapped back to Einar, who only peered from the underbrush like a wolf studying a wounded deer. None of the other archers moved.

  He wanted to tell them to strike now or risk discovery. Surely Mord's spies would spot them. They were not well disguised and Einar's blade or the arrowheads must be sending telltale glints. How was it the two had drawn so close yet not spotted them? Then he realized his sword was still safe in its sheath. What if they charged for him? He would never draw it in time and they would cut him down. Dying with a sheathed weapon during battle was the mark of a coward. He wasn't a coward, just not suited for fighting.

  Einar raises his hand and the archers raised and released their arrows. The air around Aren's head hummed with the snapping bowstrings. The archers already grabbed another shaft from their quivers before they saw where the first ones had landed. Their bow staves bent gracefully as they pulled back and released another arrow. Again the loud thrum made him jump.