Sword Brothers

by Jerry Autieri

  The ship rocked and tilted in the storm. After each breaking wave threatened to swamp his ship, he blew the sea water out of his beard and pulled the hair from his eyes to count the men. He could never finish the count before another wave doused him. His clothes were stuck to his body and his leg tingled from the rope tightening with each time he tumbled away. Chests and boxes had broke from their hasty ties and slid across the deck.

  "Throw those overboard," Ulfrik screamed. Loose debris could kill a man as surely as drowning. But his strongest bellow could not defeat the volume of the storm, and those who heard him only glanced up before lowering their heads again. His men would laugh at a thousand spears arrayed against them, but none were brave enough to face the fury of a storm.

  Grabbing the rails, he hauled himself to his knees and inhaled to shout his order once again. Instead, it died in his throat when a wave like a foaming fist of a sea giant loomed over his ship.

  It punched down on him, flattening him into the midnight world of cold, tearing water. He flipped onto his back and twisted in the water like a fish on a hook. His tie pulled at his leg with enough force that he felt as if his foot would be torn away. Worse still, as he twisted, his knee buckled and a lightning strike of agony shot through his entire right leg. He opened his mouth to scream but water poured into it.

  The wave washed over the ship, and while it was low in the water it had not swamped. The hold was a pond filled with shattered wood and his men were still aboard, though it seemed to him some had vanished. He noted a rope tied to the railing that fluttered in the wind.

  Finn huddled against the rail, flopping as the ship violently rocked and rain stung them like tiny arrows. He would have seemed dead but for his tight grip on the amulet of Thor's hammer he wore at his neck. Ulfrik had no care for his. Thor had already decided what he wanted to do to Ulfrik's ships, and no prayer would persuade him otherwise. He felt bad for you his young friend, who was nothing more than a pale face in a gray world of rain. He called out to him, and when Finn finally noticed Ulfrik attempted a smile.

  "This storm must soon blow out," he shouted, not knowing if he spoke the truth. "Hold steady a while longer. We will live, I tell you."

  Finn smiled and it warmed Ulfrik to see it. He was truly a good man, one of the best to have ever served him.

  Ulfrik nodded and crawled back to his place against the gunwale. Another wave slammed the ship and sent him sprawling head first into the deck. He rose again, each time more slowly than the last. He turned again to see his crew, but a wave counter-punched from the opposite side.

  A cask launched into the air.

  Ulfrik saw it, a smeary shadow careening for him. He scrabbled to his feet, but not soon enough.

  The cask smashed into the deck before him, did not break, then bounced into him. It caught him flush in the gut, and like a blow from a giant fist it sent him flying back to the rail.

  The small of his back flexed against the wood rail. His arms windmilled for something to grab.

  Then he plunged backward over the side and his leg yanked tight with another excruciating bolt of pain. His head slammed against the strakes of the hull and water splashed into his face. He could not see anything, but hung inverted over the side of the ship, his head dragging in the water.

  When the ship rocked, he was plunged beneath the waves. His screams were a gurgle and his eyes burned with salt. He came up just when he feared his breath was out. Again he saw nothing.

  Unless the storm did blow out soon, he would die hanging from the side of his ship.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Birds. Blue sky. Gentle rocking. A creak of wood.

  Ulfrik raised his head and cold water crawled down the back of his neck. His mouth burned with the taste of salt. He was on the deck of his ship. His vision was blurred and cloudy and it did not clear with blinking. It was as if peering through a gap in raw wool. He felt a cooling breeze on his legs and hips, and again raised his head to see his pants had been pulled down to his knees. He began to pull them up, working slowly as every joint in his body fired with pain. The sopping fabric dragged against his flesh, but he shimmied the pants up to his waist. The effort spent him, and he lay facing the sky.

  The dots of gulls overhead circled and he heard their faint cries. Land had to be nearby, but he was not certain. Part of him fought to look up and survey the damage and the other part suffered too much pain to move.

  "Finn?" His words were feeble and he did not expect an answer. Were he not so exhausted he would have jumped in shock when a hand brushed his shoulder.

  Ulfrik flopped his head to the side, and saw Finn lying facedown on the deck. His hair was flattened against his head and watery blood dripped from his nostrils. He smiled at him as if just awakening from a pleasant dream. Ulfrik struggled to his elbows and saw the rope still tied to Finn's leg, only it had been cut.

  He remembered being knocked overboard and dunked underwater, but nothing more. Realization flashed and he gave an astonished look to Finn.

  "You pulled me back aboard. Alone?" Finn closed his eyes and shook his head. Ulfrik's vision cleared though his eyeballs throbbed with every beat of his heart. Two other men lay unconscious near Finn, both facedown with their clothing torn and plastered to their bodies. All around debris shifted with the rocking of the ship and men sat or lay flat on the deck. Some were awake, staring listlessly into nothing as water dripped from their faces.

  "You saved my life," Ulfrik said. Again Finn did nothing but shrug and kept his eyes closed.

  Pulling himself up to the rails, he stared out across the flat ocean to the horizon. Faint dots marked ships, though he could not know whether they were his. Broken planking, lost shields, empty barrels, and other debris collected around the hull of his ship. He turned behind and saw a shore of dark pine trees where two other ships were already beached. Staggering across the deck, his legs lighting up with pain, he leaned against the rail, straining to see who waited on shore. Younger eyes might have determined who stood on the beach, but to him they were dots of color moving slowly. Several dots appeared to be waving both hands overhead, and he returned the gesture.

  Now he returned to checking on his crew. By count alone he guessed seven men had been lost, which was better than he had expected. The hold was still flooded, meaning all of their armor and weapons would be ruined. His remaining gold, if it had not been thrown overboard, would also be submerged. The ship's boat still remained tied to the rack at the center of the deck, and enough oars survived so the ship could be rowed. The mast and sail were also in good shape. The fat knarr sat lower in the water, but she had survived admirably. He did not want to imagine the fate of his warships, for those smaller, lighter vessels would have fared much worse.

  His activity galvanized the surviving crew to begin recovery. Soon men were bailing out the hold while others raised the mast and started work on the rigging. Finn and Ulfrik wordlessly set the steering board back into the water and used a length of broken rail to replace the lost tiller. They pulled together the remnants of their ship, and as the sun climbed to the top of the sky, they began rowing for shore. Another ship had beached farther north, and Ulfrik saw the crew filing down the strand toward the main group.

  After pulling their ship ashore, Ulfrik and Finn both joined Gunnar who had come to greet them. He was as bedraggled as every other survivor, and he held Morgan to his side as if a breeze might blow her away. He did not smile as Ulfrik approached.

  "Are my grandchildren safe?" Ulfrik asked as he worked through the loose beach sand. Each step was like a knife stab to each of his thighs.

  "They are gathering wood for a fire," Gunnar said. "Have you seen Hakon's ship?"

  Ulfrik faced the water. The waves lapped daintily at the shore, nothing like their monstrous shapes during the storm. Scattered shadows on the horizon had to be the remnants of his fleet.

  "If he's not on the ship that landed to the north, then he must be one of those scattered to the horizon."


  Gunnar lowered his head and released Morgan. She wiped a strand of hair from her face and gave Ulfrik a weak smile before leaving. "I don't know where we have landed. I sent men ahead to scout while we waited."

  Ulfrik grunted. Broken shields and busted wood rolling onto the shore caught his attention. "The storm and the signs of wreckage will bring plunderers. Any wrecks will be claimed by the local jarls, or if this is Frankia, Hrolf will claim us. How are your weapons? My mail is ruined without careful drying and scrubbing."

  "Same for us," Gunnar said. He waved at the ships leaning on the beach. "We had our extra weapons wrapped in sealskin, and those survived with only a touch of water. The rust can be cleaned from those blades, but like you our mail will need care or rust to nothing."

  Ulfrik left Gunnar and moved among his people, offering what comfort he could. Men stacked casks of mead on the beach, at least half of which were tainted with sea water. Supply was enough to camp for three or four days, but they would soon be forced to move from the beach. Other men tested the sea-worthiness of their vessels, reviewing the hulls and sails. Two more ships joined them on the shore, bringing the total to seven.

  By the late afternoon, Gunnar's scouting party had returned with news they had landed in Contentin where the locals still fell under Frankish rule. They warned off would-be treasure hunters, but Ulfrik still had men alert for danger. The news buoyed his hopes, as the peninsula that formed the bulk of Contentin was not far from his intended landing south of Hrolf's borders. Yet as the day wore on and many of those dots he had hoped were his own ships disappeared over the horizon, his stomach flared with burning anger.

  "Of all the ships I returned with, only seven have landed," he said as he stood just out of reach from the lapping waves. He inhaled the crisp sea air, still scenting the rain that had scoured his fleet from the earth. "All either destroyed or scattered by Fate's plans. All my gold, sent to the bottom of the sea."

  Finn and Gunnar stood behind him. Hakon was still missing. Finn broke the silence first. "But we are still strong enough to challenge Mord. We must have close to two hundred men, most of them warriors."

  "Challenge but not crush," Ulfrik said. He smiled bitterly. "Then there is the matter of getting at Gunther One-Eye. He's the real force behind all of this. Mord is just living his father's dreams. We'll never get to him as long has he hides in Rouen behind Hrolf's throne. And there's the key--Hrolf. He will have to stand beside Mord in any battle."

  "But he does not have to fight us," Gunnar corrected. "Unless Mord calls for his aid."

  Ulfrik snickered at the comment. "Of course he would call for aid. He has no shame. He hired a killer to stab me in the back. What kind of man does that but a weakling and coward?"

  The rolling waves and sounds of the camp filled the silence. A ship was in the middle distance, rowing for the billowing columns of smoke Ulfrik had set to attract his lost ships. He ran his fingers through his tangled, stiff hair. "I have no more than what I left with, and my fortune is spent. Fate has dealt me a harsh blow."

  "But your sword is still sharp," Gunnar said. He grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. His son's face was puffy from injuries sustained in the storm, but his dark eyes were alight with ferocity. "Sharp enough to cut a snake in two. So we are no longer the mighty army we had planned to be." Gunnar spit on the ground. "That's what I say to that challenge. We are better than Mord, and our vengeance is righteous. I have made too many mistakes in this life. I will not make the mistake of leaving this chance for revenge. We are where the gods have placed us. So let us use that as we may, and gut that traitorous bastard Mord and his blind father."

  Ulfrik hung his head. "I am shamed. You are right. We carry on no matter what the challenge. This defeat has shaken me, but I will not let it rule me. We will camp on this beach until we are sure all our surviving ships find us. After that, we will travel inland and meet the so-called free jarls who challenge Hrolf's rule. If we can ally with them, then we will have the numbers again to challenge Hrolf and avenge ourselves on Mord."

  The ship drew closer and Ulfrik turned hopefully to it, both Gunnar and Finn straining to see who commanded.

  "It's not Hakon," Finn said, his eyes sharper than the rest.

  "He will return," Ulfrik said. "He did not die in the storm."

  No one challenged how he could make such an assertion. In truth, Ulfrik did not know, but the statement was the only prayer he knew to offer his son. Not all ships were scattered and seeking a path back to shore. Some had broken apart and sank. He closed his eyes and imagined Hakon and Elke together on their ship, sailing for the signal fires.

  He had to believe Hakon was not dead.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Four days after landing on the Contentin beaches, Ulfrik had his ships back in the sea. He stood once more in the prow and watched his vastly reduced fleet slip by him as he sailed to the front of the formation. Gunnar and his family stood proudly at the rails of their dark ship, its red striped sail full of an eastward wind that would carry them to their destiny. Of the nearly thirty ships that sailed from Jutland, only ten remained. The others had wrecked or been lost, their crews blown off course or otherwise fleeing the bad luck that hung over their journey.

  Hakon and Elke again waved from their ship. They had returned only the day before, and Ulfrik's eyes were wet when he embraced his son on the beach. Even Gunnar wiped the corner of his eye. "And here I thought you dead just when I was starting to like you better," he had told his brother. They had lost most of their crew as well as their mast, making for a long journey. Ulfrik force-fit the mast of another ship that was judged unfit for open sea, and now they were rejoined in their journey home.

  "I hope Aren will find us before we attack," Ulfrik said as he took the tiller from Finn. The ship slotted into the front of the others and gulls screamed overhead, racing with the ship as if to see it off.

  Finn shrugged. "He is a canny man. I'm sure he has planned something for your return."

  He left out the assumption that Ulfrik's message had even been delivered. Aren never sent a return word, nor did the messengers return. Their travels would have been fraught with perils in the best of times, and far worse in today's world. Ulfrik scratched his head and grabbed the tiller.

  "He's a smart boy. He'll be ready for us."

  "What about your oath to Vilhjalmer?" Finn rotated his shoulders and winced. Everyone still carried their pain from battling the storm.

  "What of it? If it is convenient for me to honor it, then I shall. I'm an outlaw already, or have you forgotten? What worse can be done to me?"

  They spent a day sailing carefully along the coast. Debris in the water could have been the remains of his ships or of another unlucky vessel. The floating garbage plunked against the hull as Ulfrik sailed through it. Once they came to an estuary, they slipped deeper into the woodlands of the Frankish coastline. The Seine lay further north and here was land ruled by numerous jarls that loosely respected each other but bent a knee to no man. They lived their lives like men of old in a system Ulfrik's father would have recognized. He would never have bent a knee to either the Franks or Hrolf.

  Ten ships of fighting men were difficult to hide, and after an afternoon of rowing upriver, the local jarl's men formed up on the riverbank. Only every fifth man wore chain, though all carried shields of various faded colors and patterns. Ulfrik's men outnumbered them, though not by much. He had cut a hazel branch before setting sail and now had a man waving it from the prow of the ship. A lone figure, probably the jarl, dressed in mail and helmet, raised his open palm in acknowledgment. He stood before his men ranked up on a grassy bank, and behind them a forest of mixed pines and deciduous trees formed a black stripe.

  "I will take ten men in the ship's boat to speak with their leader," Ulfrik said to Finn. "You will remain aboard and if trouble starts I expect you know what to do."

  "I'd like more of a plan than that," he said. Ulfrik supervised his men untying the ship's boat and prepa
ring the short oars. They lowered it over the side and dropped a rope down to it.

  "There will be no trouble," Ulfrik said as he climbed down the rope to his waiting men. Gunnar and Hakon had similarly lowered their boats and now rowed for shore. The larger knarrs carried small rowboats, unlike the smaller longships whose main function was to deliver men to the place of battle.

  Once ashore, Ulfrik led his group of thirty men up the bank to the waiting jarl. He was a tall man, though still shorter than Ulfrik. His stomach bulged against his mail shirt, but his arms showed firm muscles entwined with gold armbands. A wavy lock of his graying brown hair hung over his left eye; his eyes were large and piercing. Ulfrik raised his hand in peace.

  "Hail, I am Ulfrik Ormsson and these are my ships. We mean no threat, though we come dressed for war." Ulfrik smiled at the way the jarl's eyes widened and his men stirred at the mention of his name.

  "I am Jarl Oskar Scar-Foot and these are my men." His strong arm swept over his lines of troops. "And we mean to protect our lands."

  "As well as you should," Ulfrik said. "You have heard of my name and reputation?"

  "You were Hrolf's do--um, second. Your reputation is well known." Oskar gave a weak smile to Ulfrik's raised brow. Calling him a dog would be fitting for how these men thought about serving a high king, but it would still be an insult. Ulfrik realized changing their minds would not be simple.

  "So then you know of my banishment?" Oskar nodded and the men lined behind him murmured among themselves. "Well, I have returned with an army at my back and an oath of revenge upon my lips. I need a place to camp my men before we head north to bring war and death to lands that once knew my protection. I would ask such a favor of you."