Sword Brothers

by Jerry Autieri

  The two men screamed and both had crumpled into a dark pile in the center of the track. Einar raised his hand a second time and the archers lowered their bows. After waiting a dozen heartbeats, Einar nodded for them to exit their hiding places. Aren stepped onto the track as if emerging from a nightmare. The two men were filled with arrows, a spiny heap in the gloomy light. A black puddle flowed out from beneath them, and Einar stepped away as it expanded.

  "Well, that was good shooting," Einar said, prodding the pile with his ax. "Too good. I hoped one would be alive yet."

  Aren's heart still pounded despite the passing of the danger. "At least they did not make it back to Mord's hall."

  "They nearly did," Einar said. "Mord's land is not far down this path, just a bit farther north. Now let's strip them of valuables to make it seem like a robbery."

  The archers began hauling the bodies to the side of the path. Aren watched them at the gruesome work. Blood flowed steadily from one of the corpses and filled the air with its coppery scent. He had never seen such blood.

  Then he saw the dark figures down the path. He tapped Einar's shoulder, who was bent over one of the bodies. The giant jarl followed Aren's pointing figure and he stood up from his crouch. "Looks like they had friends coming."

  "Friends?" Aren's question was answered by shouts from the distant group. Aren's first instinct was to dash into the underbrush and get away. Who knew the enemy's number? They were a black clump of waving swords and spears. What if they were just the start of a column of warriors? Yet escape was not Einar's consideration. He bellowed a war cry and charged along with his five archers, who had drawn their swords. None of them even had a shield.

  "Wait! This could be a trap," he yelled, but he might as well have warned the moon. Einar's men became an equally dark shape hurtling at the others.

  They clashed together with a clang of iron and shouts of anger and pain. Aren stood frozen to his spot. He had never fought a battle. His real father, Konal, had not taught him much, and his stepfather Ulfrik had not put any faith in his fighting. If neither man believed he could fight, then why should he?

  Screams echoed in the growing darkness. He saw men stumble and fall, but he did not know who. Only Einar was distinguishable for his great size and the two-handed ax he wielded with practiced skill. He did not chop, but hooked and stabbed with the sharp horns of his ax head. He appeared to prevail, but at this distance Aren was not sure which side would win.

  He wavered, realizing his sword was still safe in its sheath. He put his hand on it. This is a test, he thought. The gods will decide whether to aid me or not based on what I do now. Cower like a child and they will scorn me like one.

  The blade hummed when he drew it, and the blade flashed with the final rosy light of the day. He raised it overhead and roared.

  He charged in beside Einar. Up close that battle was pure confusion. He did not know who to attack, until a man solved his confusion. A fearsome man with a double-braided beard slashed at him. Aren slipped back, feebly clanking his sword on the attacker's blade in an attempt to parry. The enemy laughed and pushed forward, now breaking through the line Einar's men had formed across the path. Aren was the easy prey and this wolf had scented him.

  The enemy had a shield, but did not seem to wear any other armor besides a leather cap. His sword licked at him again, and Aren tried to remember what he had been taught. He again skipped back, and as the attacker roared for another strike Aren backed up, anticipating the killing blow.

  He slipped into the underbrush, and the enemy growled with frustration. "Coward! Raven-starver!" he shouted. "I'll gut you yet."

  Aren's foot caught on a rock as he backed up. The man was lunging after him, shield forward. Aren reached down and grabbed the rock just in time for the man to reach him. He fell back again, leading his attacker farther from the road.

  "Stop and fight me, you goat turd!"

  The man raised his shield and marched forward. Aren felt the cold, gritty weight of the rock in his left hand. He hauled back and let it sail.

  In the gloom, the enemy did not see the rock streaking for his head. Aren assumed it would miss and was already crouched and searching for another. Yet a heavy thud and grunt caused him to look up. The man staggered and fell.

  Aren leapt like a cornered rabbit, but unlike a rabbit he did not bolt for a hole. He sprang at the fallen enemy. He was already crawling to his knees when Aren plunged his sword to its hilt into the soft flesh at the enemy's neck. He growled with agony, the whites of his eyes bright in the dark, and blood bubbled up black from his mouth. Aren felt the man's pulse vibrating up the sword, and released it to let his foe drop into the dirt.

  "Aren?" he heard Einar calling. He answered with a shout, but stood transfixed over the fallen enemy. Einar and another of his men arrived at his side. They were both splattered with blood.

  "I ran away," Aren said, his voice small and defeated.

  Einar laughed and clapped him on his shoulder. "You killed a foeman. Your first, yes?"

  Aren nodded and Einar grabbed him close. The stench of blood was overwhelming, but Aren did not complain. "Congratulations, you are a man today! Your father would be proud of you."

  "I don't think so," Aren said, not certain why he did.

  "It doesn't matter how you killed him, only that you did. You used your mind against his strength. Such deeds are what songs are made from."

  Einar clapped him again and laughed. "Come now. Mord's men are all dead and some of mine are hurt. Let's finish our work and be away."

  Aren continued to stare at the dead man. He had killed an enemy and now the gods would aid him. He had become a man worthy of their favor.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Ulfrik stood on the hill and watched the shipbuilders below scurrying over the frames of his ships. They looked like ants picking clean the bones of a beached fish, carrying wood and tools back and forth from the rows of hulls. Behind the builders the Schlei Inlet sparkled in contrast to the green cliffs of Jutland, and hundreds of ships crowded the piers and jetties of Hedeby. He wondered at how many of those ships were fighting men answering his call. He inhaled the sharp sea air and turned to join his own men.

  Behind him Finn and ten of his best hirdmen waited. The former slave woman, Elke, also had refused to let him out of her sight. She smiled nervously at him, seeming to debate hiding behind Finn or standing still. Ulfrik smiled but passed her as he returned to the main town.

  "Two more crews are prepared to join us," Finn said as Ulfrik passed him. His freckle-faced companion fell in beside him. "When do you think the ships will be ready to sail?"

  "By the fall we should have all we need," Ulfrik said. He stared ahead to the crowded town of Hedeby. Despite its cramped, ramshackle appearance, the town was home to many wealthy merchants. The ease at which he had haggled a price for his gems was a testament to the wealth concentrated here. Dozens of hearths chugged smoke into the air above it, and people wove through its maze of streets intent on their own business. Even from this distance the hum of people engaged in trade was like a buzzing fly.

  "What are we going to do with all these men now?" Finn asked. "They'll be bored, and you'll remember we were warned about causing trouble."

  "They arrived on their own ships? Then they can sail off on other adventure while they wait. I'll not bear responsibility for their actions."

  They had been in Hedeby for close to a month, and Ulfrik hated the crowded, arrogant city. This was a place where all was weighed in a merchant's scale, and everything from one's boots to one's honor could be converted to gold. He preferred to stay outside the earthen walls, where his own ships remained beached beside the Eider River. They had followed the portage routes to the Treene River which dumped them in the Eider, and in turn brought them to the estuary in Hedeby. The river water reminded him of Frankia, and he preferred its muddy scent to the hot and foul stench of a crowded merchant town.

  As they left the hill for the main track into the
town, Elke let out a short gasp from behind. Ulfrik turned, finding her already pale skin grown whiter. The hirdmen around her continued past, but stopped when Ulfrik put up his hand.

  "What is wrong?" He followed her gaze down the slope to where a group of men were climbing the path toward them. A rotund man in fine clothing waddled ahead of six guardsmen all wearing white and red surcoats over their mail. The man pointed at him, scuttled four more steps, pointed again, then continued his struggle to mount the hill.

  "You know this walrus?" Ulfrik said. "From before I freed you?"

  "Yes," she said. Elke had spoken little about herself since Ulfrik had freed her, yet he asked little of her. She had become a companion, following him like a lost puppy and as eager to please as one. He had pushed her off on Morgan and the other women as often as he could, not wanting to worry for her when dozens of decisions required his attention. She had only been a comfort in his bed, and then only as someone soft and warm to fill the emptiness beside him.

  "Jarl Ulfrik Ormsson?" the fat man hollered from a distance. He waved at him, walked seven or eight paces, stopped to wave again, then continued his arduous trek.

  "I'll die of old age before he arrives," Ulfrik said. "Finn, come with me and the rest of you protect Elke."

  They strolled down the track, and the fat man was so intent upon his footing he drew up short when Ulfrik set himself before him. His blubbery chin quivered as he staggered back. Faded blue eyes wide with surprise were hidden behind puffy creases of pink flesh. He wore a heavy mustache that buried his mouth, but otherwise kept his head shaved close to the scalp. A golden crucifix swung from a chain across his chest, and beneath it a silver amulet of Thor's hammer twirled from another chain.

  "Who are you to call my name so brazenly?" Ulfrik folded his arms, not even glancing at the guards behind the man.

  "I am Udolf," he said, straightening the hem of his red linen shirt. His Norse was lightly accented, not his first language, but any trader wanting the best goods learned it well. "I have been searching for you for days."

  "You can't have her," he said. "I found her and I freed her."

  Udolf's mouth hung open and his arms hung limp at his side. He gasped soundlessly, like a fish left to die on the shore. "She told you about me?"

  "No, but she's frightened of you and that means you either owned her or represent the man who thought he did. I don't need to know more."

  "Well, that's a problem. I did own her, and she fled. She was never properly sold to you, and so that makes her stolen property. The law is clearly on my side in this matter, and I will have her back."

  "So you're a slave trader?" Ulfrik picked up the cross from Udolf's neck. His guards bristled, but a glance from Ulfrik stilled them. He twisted the gold cross in his fingers. "Doesn't the Christian god despise your kind?"

  "Jesus asks only that a slave be treated well. And Elke was treated well, better than I imagine you treat her."

  "Ah," Ulfrik let the cross drop back to Udolf's chest. "You seem to know much about me."

  "How can I not? Your name is everywhere, with your vast treasure of jewels, building of ships, bringing warriors in search of glory and gold. You came from nowhere and yet you are as a king to your people. That's worthy of gossip, don't you think?"

  "It's worthy of a song," Ulfrik said. "So, how much for Elke? I would not steal from you."

  Udolf smiled. "I am afraid that's not possible. I had a buyer, and he is quite set on having her. He has come from far away, a rich prince of the south. His buyer is patient but stubborn."

  "How valuable could she be to you? I've been here nearly a month and you only now bring this to me. Elke is no more a slave, and is under my protection. If your southern prince wishes to challenge me for her, then he may try his best. I have not lived to this age and grown to such wealth because I am timid and easy prey."

  "You do not wish to take this stance. These men are dangerous and will not be denied. I tell you this for your own good."

  "She has been gone from you for over a month, walking Hedeby's streets for almost that whole time. You and your buyer are too stupid to deserve her return. Now unless you have something besides threats, waddle back down this track to whatever box you call a home. We are finished."

  "You will regret this choice," Udolf said, his eyes lost in midday shadows.

  "I regret nothing." Ulfrik's voice was low and full of threat. "Challenge me again and you will find your head separated from this sack of fat you call a body."

  Udolf did not back down, but instead puffed out his chest. "You are not the first raider to sail into town with a bag full of rocks and think himself king of the world. If you think your foot is on my neck, then you are mistaken. Reconsider your decision, Ulfrik Ormsson, or you will not see your fine ships completed."

  "Threatening my life? Talk about a foolish decision. Lesser men have died for that, so be grateful I'm allowing you to walk away."

  Udolf stepped back and bowed. "My gratitude is endless, as is your arrogance." He straightened the religious icons on his chest, then gave a wolfish smile. "You don't understand how this town works."

  Udolf and his guards swept back down the track, leaving Ulfrik with Finn to watch him depart.

  "He's a lot faster running away than he was climbing," Ulfrik said.

  "Do you think he means to kill you?" Finn asked. "We've still got months ahead of us, and your sons haven't returned with their extra crews. I think this man is serious."

  "Of course he's serious. So am I." He turned back to Elke, who hid among his hirdmen like a child afraid to be punished. He extended a hand to her. "Udolf is gone, and if he comes back I will make it the last thing he does. Though I think you should stay close to me for now. No more playing with my grandchildren unless I am there."

  Elke nodded and accepted his hand as he guided her to his side. "I will never be able to repay you for this."

  "If Fate wishes it, then a way will be found. But I am content to know you are free. When we sail, I will take you wherever you wish to go."

  She smiled then studied her feet. Ulfrik had expected her to ask to remain at his side, but perhaps she had been too shy. He renewed his walk into town.

  "We need to send a message to Aren," he said. "It has been too long and he must know my plans. I need you to organize at least five men for the task, men he would recognize and trust. Traders are leaving Hedeby every day. At least one must be going to Frankia. He and Einar will need to prepare for my return and settle a safe landing for our new fleet."

  Finn nodded and they all walked in silence into the shadows of the town. Already the babble of hawkers and merchants as well as the scent of waste made his head hurt. He glanced at Elke, who walked with hands clasped at her lap and head down. Her golden hair was still short after the fashion of a slave, but she would be beautiful when it grew back.

  He felt eyes searching him as he crossed the streets of Hedeby, pushing through the crowds of self-absorbed craftsmen and traders. It was as if he were entering a thicket surrounded by prowling wolves. He held his head up and continued down the road.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  "Is there no end to the bickering of these people?" Mord asked. He sat on a chair that mimicked Hrolf's high seat, but was far less ornate and much smaller. Beneath him the priest and his flock of laymen huddled in a tight knot. They were all Franks, each with pleading, wide eyes and drawn faces. They glanced down when he looked at them, suitably respectful of his authority, unlike their leader who had a habit of taking what was offered and asking for more.

  "Hrothgar's farm is the most suitable location for a church," the priest said. He was a thin man with a hard, crooked nose and handsome smile. He looked more like nobility than a leader to farmers, but perhaps this was the manner of task the Church gave fledgling leaders. His simple black robe offset the shinning silver cross hung over his neck. Mord imagined it had just been polished to its current brilliance. "Father Lambert nearly died to secure it, and yet Hrothgar
refuses to recognize the primacy of the church. We will pay him a fair price."

  Mord doubted the price would be anything close to fair, but it was better than his dark thoughts on the matter. Ulfrik's former hall was now his own. The blood stain where Bishop Burchard had died was ironically a brown shadow beneath the priest's feet. While it was a grand hall, it was built with no inspiration, as if Ulfrik knew he would abandon it. Had he planned to leave it? If so, why? Mord did not have an answer, and knowing that Ulfrik had slipped all attempts to kill him filled him with rage. His hands gripped the rests of his chair.

  "Jarl Mord?" The priest interrupted his thinking, leaning in with a quizzically raised brow. "Have you been listening to me?"

  "How could I not hear the wonderful word of God that ever spouts from your mouth. You can't get rid of Hrothgar. The bastard should've followed Ulfrik when he left, but he's a coward and no friend of mine or yours."

  "Do you make light of God's word?"

  "Father Brice," Mord said, relieved he remembered the priest's name at last. "I apologize if I have been distant and rude. Only last night I received disturbing news about the intentions of an old enemy. It has stolen my concentration."

  Nodding as if in the know, Father Brice lowered his voice. "So it is true that Ulfrik Ormsson did not die on those burning ships? While I am not a man of violence, I am sorry he did not meet his end."

  Mord narrowed his eyes at the priest. "How is it you are so knowledgeable?"

  The priest shrugged. "The burning ships were witnessed by locals and so they passed on their news. It has taken time, but word has traveled to me. It is not much to know."

  "Very well," Mord said, leaning back in his chair. He caught the eye of one of his hirdmen. "You, take twenty men. Burn Hrothgar's farm to ash and kill him and his family. Put their heads on a spear as warning to others."

  The hirdman blinked, but without a word left the hall to carry out the order. Mord did not doubt it would be done. His hirdmen were not local and were known for ruthless efficiency. Father Brice blanched and his followers wrung their hands.