Henry singled him out, pointing his spear for the others to follow. Ulfrik realized too late he could not escape all five horses. Only one veered off to avoid fallen bodies, and the remaining riders bore down on him.
Shield still lashed to his arm, he ducked behind it. As the first horse reached him, he collapsed on his back and hid beneath his shield. One spear hit him square on the shield, while the others flew wide as the first wave galloped past. Sloughing off the shield, he grabbed an enemy spear, then flipped it to point at the next wave.
Ulfrik carved out the flank of a horse. It screamed and bucked, sending the rider to the dirt and disrupting the others. In the crash, Ulfrik again sprawled out, horse hooves slamming around him as he covered his head in fear.
Now Mord had raised the standard, and the Danes cheered. They crashed back into the mounted Franks like the tide into rocks. Staggering to his feet and retrieving his shield, Ulfrik bellowed encouragement. "Pull them down and chop them up! Victory is ours."
"Lord Ulfrik, watch out!"
Something hit his back, and he tumbled forward. A man screamed behind him, and fell over his body. Ulfrik spasmed, fearing a killing strike in his helpless position as both friend and enemy converged around him. He shoved the man aside, a shattered spear shaft impaled through the man's thigh and black blood flooding into the dirt beneath him. Over the man's body, a white-eyed Frank was already charging with sword drawn.
Renewed rage strengthened Ulfrik's resolve. He took the Frank's wild blow on his shield, then plunged his sax into the man's groin. The Frank slid to the ground with a howl and Ulfrik left him to writhe in slow death.
The battle churned as the Franks rallied around their trapped leader. Without another thought, Ulfrik dashed for Henry's beast standard that rocked and swayed amid a press of Danes.
"Henry is mine," he shouted. "Move aside."
Henry had already taken several wounds, one hideous gash in his arm glowed brilliant red amid the iron gray surrounding him. He slumped against his bodyguards, and Ulfrik snorted. "You're already dead. Grip your weapon, and go the hall where your god praises his heroes."
Lightning fast, Ulfrik slipped between the bodyguards, deflecting one with his shield and letting another Dane distract the other. Henry's face was old and bruised, defiant and proud, as Ulfrik plunged his sax into Henry's gut. The mail links broke and blood gushed, along with a rush of air from Henry's mouth. His standard bearer fought on, but men clambered over each other to drag him down. Henry fell flat at Ulfrik's feet. The battle was won and he howled victory.
As the standard plummeted to the dirt, Ulfrik's men cheered and the Franks that could not escape pleaded for mercy. As swiftly as the chaos had begun, it had ended.
Mord bore Ulfrik's standard to his side, dirt and blood mingled on his face. "Victory, Lord Ulfrik! Let me plant your standard over Henry's body."
Out of breath, dizzy from the battle and the blows he sustained, Ulfrik nodded. He knelt beside Henry, and tucked the gray-haired warrior's hand over the hilt of his sword. It was all he could think of to honor an enemy leader.
His warriors clamored around him, shouting victory and congratulations. He accepted their adulation, but his thoughts were for the man who had saved his life. He pushed his way through them, back toward the edge of the forest where men lay broken and suffering in scattered heaps. He saw Einar's massive form kneeling in the road, one hand resting on his ax and the other placed atop a body lying before him.
Ulfrik dashed to his side, then leaned down to view the man twitching in the churned earth.
"Thrand!" Ulfrik's heart leapt in his chest. "How did you get here?"
His old hirdman turned traitor was a battered wreck. Blood soaked his pants black and his shirt had ridden up to his neck, revealing bruises and cuts the length of his torso. The spear shaft in his right thigh had stemmed the blood loss, but it leaked from the wound in a steady stream. He would die instantly if the shaft were extracted.
"Lord Ulfrik," Thrand's voice was the hoarse whisper of a man straddling the threshold of death. "You are victorious."
"You saved my life today." Ulfrik glanced at Einar, who stared into Thrand's eyes. "I don't know how you got here, but I am grateful to the gods for sending you."
"Forgiveness, lord?" Thrand's hand pawed for Ulfrik's sleeve, having no strength to grab it. Ulfrik took the hand and placed his own sax beneath it, then laid both over Thrand's chest.
"Yes, Thrand. You've earned it with your blood."
A smile broke on Thrand's face, his teeth stained red. He closed both eyes, and tightened his grip on the sword. "Thank you."
Ulfrik and Einar lingered over him as his heart pumped its final beats. He sucked his breath, then feebly whispered, "Njal, brother. They have come."
Thrand's last breath exhaled a stillness onto the battlefield. Ulfrik bowed his head and sat back. Thrand's passing stirred so many conflicting emotions: frustration at Thrand's senseless life; anger at not preventing his slide into evil; relief for his redemption; justice for his treachery. He had to force aside all of this else he be swept away.
"What did he mean?" Einar asked, wiping his eye with the back of his hand. "Who has come?"
"The Valkyries," Ulfrik replied, as he struggled to his feet. "We shall see him again. In Valhalla."
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
September 10, 886 CE
Runa awoke with a start, a nightmare vanishing back into the dream world as reality asserted itself. Chill air flowed over her shoulders in the dimness of her bedroom, and she drew the wool blanket to her neck. The place beside her was cold. Konal had already arisen, and the low tones of his voice vibrated through the walls from the hall outside. Sounds of muffled conversation, clacking wood plates, and benches sliding on the floor mingled with Konal's voice. She had overslept, a terrible habit of hers since Konal had begun sharing her bed and Gunnar and Hakon had moved to another room.
Rubbing her face, she tried to recall the dream and was relieved to fail. She slid to the edge of the bed with a sigh and lingered with her injured foot hanging over the side. Even without recollecting the dream, she knew it was of the battle. Ever since that day, the gods sent terrorizing visions of bloodshed and death: her sons decapitated; Ulfrik impaled on a spear, clutching her leg as he bled into the grass; her own legs chopped to stumps as she desperately stemmed the blood pumping from them. She knew the nightmares well. They had all been scenes she had witnessed in the battle with Skard, only the faces were replaced with her loved ones.
Her foot throbbed as she drew her boot over it. She had been lucky not to have broken it. Thor had been with her that day. Not only had Skard's army been killed to a man and her foot spared, but her life as well. In the final moments of battle, a spearman had tried to run her through, but her wolf pelt had protected her. More proof of the gods' favor was that the spear point had caught in the strap buckle that held her sword sheath. In the chaos it had flipped to her back and saved her life.
Each morning she had to ease into standing, but as long as she let her foot accept the stress slowly, she adjusted. In moments, she was able to dress herself, comb her hair, then limp to the hall.
Bright morning light filled the main room. The women were busy preparing breakfast, and Konal sat with Gunnar at the high table. Hakon ran with other children between and around the women's feet. Behind them, she remained unnoticed in the shadowed corner. A smile flickered as she watched Konal leaning into Gunnar's ear to impart some wry observation that set both of them laughing. Ulfrik would have approved, she felt, if he were alive to see this. The thought bought a wince and the threat of tears.
She had cried enough already. Ulfrik had been gone a year with no news and no survivors returned. His final adventure had led him away forever, to Valhalla where he would enjoy the glory and honor he had sought in life. The living remained behind, and had to make their way until Fate cut the threads of their lives.
Konal had been willing to remain with her, and his men we
re happy to find a land of widows and unwed daughters. Kell had resumed his pursuit of their escaped slave, and had not pressed his brother to join the search.
"At last you've awakened," Konal said, having turned about on his bench. "Come, before I eat your breakfast."
Limping to the table, Gunnar rose and helped her sit. Since the battle, he doted on her. His boyhood had been slain in the battle with Skard. He was no longer carefree, running with the other children. He stayed apart, practiced with his weapons, and frowned often.
"I'm fine," she said as he guided her to the bench. "If you are finished, why not go out and play?"
He shrugged, his dark eyes dodging hers. "I don't feel like it. Those games are not fun anymore."
The silence stretched and Runa studied him as he gazed at the ground. Children squealed outside, and Gunnar twitched at the noise. She shook her head. "All right, but there is work to do. The trading ships will pass here soon. You should play while you have the time."
"We'll practice later today," Konal offered, his mouth full. "I'll show you how to fight spears. How's that?"
Gunnar nodded, then smiled. "It's good. I have to know how to fight everything."
"Yeah," Konal agreed, lifting his bowl to his mouth. "A good spear fighter is a deadly opponent."
Gunnar left them, wandering down to the tables where several of his friends stopped to watch him pass. He ignored them, leaving the hall with hands folded behind his back.
"Looks like he carries the burdens of a jarl." Konal belched and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"He will be jarl here one day." Runa raised a brow at Konal. "And before that, I rule here."
"You mention that every day." Konal belched a second time, then banged his bowl on the table for a refill of the porridge. Elin nodded and sent a girl to collect the bowl.
His dismissive response irked Runa, but she declined to push. Months ago she had realized Konal truly ruled here. The men were his, the ships, the weapons, and the gold. No one could prevent him from claiming every flock and field. To worsen matters, the villagers loved him. He had fed them, brought men for their widows and daughters, restored their honor and defeated their enemies. Some of the more superstitious folk claimed he had walked out of the sea and then summoned his ships with magic.
Whether she wanted it or not, Konal was the new jarl of Nye Grenner.
He smacked his lips as the second bowl slipped onto the table. He grabbed the girl's hand, startling her, then he stroked it and released her. The girl blushed at him, and he winked as she returned to the hearth. Runa's bowl sat cooling beneath her.
"She is only thirteen," Runa said, attempting to keep the edge out of her voice.
"Then she should be married soon. Better she learn how to handle a man now. Her husband will be grateful."
Runa turned away before he could see her grimace. He was becoming the man she had suspected he was. Heat grew on her face, and she bit her lip. She stood to leave, feeling stupid and embarrassed. As she rose, he snared her arm.
"Come now, it was only play. Sit. Eat your breakfast."
Runa hovered, his strong grip tugging at her. Yanking her arm free, she returned to the bench. Konal continued devouring his porridge as if he had not noticed Runa's anger. Ulfrik would have read her in an instant, but then Ulfrik would never have flirted so brazenly with a freeman's daughter. A rumbling stomach forced a surrender of her icy stand-off.
Over the top of the bowl, she glimpsed Halla sneering at her from across the room. Since becoming her hostage, she had spoken only when commanded, otherwise she prayed and glared at everyone around her. Runa regretted not killing her when she had the bloodlust for it. Now, even with Toki dead, she could not bring herself to harm Halla for no reason. Instead, she waited for Halla to give her cause, and suspected that day would be soon.
"Winter is not far off," Runa said, turning to face Konal. "I must know if you intend to stay or return to your family."
Konal's face fell, and he slowly shoved away his bowl. He leaned on his elbows, and studied the few people finishing their meals in the hall.
"You have been gone from your family over a year now. It's time you return to them."
"Don't tell me when it's time for me to do anything." His face pulled into a frown, and his raised voice drew shy glances. "That family is my father's doing, not mine. I've no love for them."
"Your own children?"
"Brats, I've told you. Mad like their mother and grandfather. Kell and I have always been happier at sea than trapped with those madmen."
Runa drank from her bowl again, using the pause to consider Konal's words. Was she a distraction for him, a reason not to return home? Did Kell seek the same excuse, chasing after an escaped slave they had no chance of locating?
"And if you stay with me, will you be satisfied as a farmer? Locked into another winter of darkness on a rock of an island that no willing person visits?"
"You make it sound horrible."
"Isn't it? All my enemies are defeated. Ingrid is old and mute. Skard and Thorod are slain. My riches lie in hay and wool, nothing to bring raiders this far north. What does the great war leader Konal do here besides tend flocks and settle arguments over grazing lands?"
Konal folded his arms, his face collapsing into a thoughtful frown. Runa snorted a laugh, a derisive puff filled with her anger. Taking him to her bed had been a mistake. No man would ever replace Ulfrik. Konal was clearly inferior to him in every regard, and she had contrived to overlook it all.
"I must help Elin and do some good for this hall." She wobbled to her feet, and Konal let her go.
She busied herself with gathering dishes and collecting scraps into a bucket. Elin kept silent but her expression spoke her exasperation. Elin had been a vocal opponent of Konal's men lingering after their need was gone. She called them leeches, and Runa had begun to agree.
After an hour of work, Konal had departed and Runa remained with Elin and the women. As she wiped down the high table, sweeping crumbs into her cupped hand, Konal returned.
"The trading ships have arrived. I thought you said they wouldn't come for another month."
Runa stood straighter, sharing a worried glance with Elin. "You're sure they're traders? They are too early."
Konal nodded. "They're not hostile ships. No beast heads on the prow and shields still on the rack. They're approaching the docks now."
"Thora, keep the children in the hall," Runa said. Dropping her cloth to the table, she and Elin joined Konal. Halla even roused from her murmuring prayers to follow them. From the top of the slope, Runa saw two ships gliding to the docks. A man from the lead ship leapt the rails to land on the dock with a rope to tie off the small boat.
Runa's vision hazed and she nearly fainted. Konal caught her.
"What is it, Runa?"
Halla answered for her as her pale hand pointed at the ship. "It's Raven's Talon. That is Toki in the prow."
Konal steadied Runa, but she spared him not even a glance. She limped after the others who had already began running for the arriving ships. Gunnar was in the front, squealing with delight. Men were jumping into the surf, equally delighted at the homecoming. A thin, older man in a ragged gray shirt stood apart from the others, wading ashore on his own. Gunnar charged straight for him, and the old man crouched and threw his arms wide.
Runa also began to run, sharp needles of pain lancing her foot, but she did not care. The old man was swinging Gunnar around in his arms. He was crying and laughing. Gunnar laughed, a sound so sweet and so long unheard that Runa's eyes teared.
She stumbled the final distance, and the old man let Gunnar down, though he remained clutched to his side. Runa stood facing them, the ocean sparkling behind the old man.
"Snorri!"
Collapsing into his arms, he clamped her tight. In that moment, worry and fear flowed out with her tears. She repeated his name, and Gunnar forced his way into their embrace.
"Aye, girl, we're finally home."
Nye Grenner's hall had emptied and only Toki and Snorri remained with Runa at the high table. A bonfire outside flickered yellow light between the gaps of covered windows, and low voices of guards seeped through every wall. The night was cold, and many of the guards clustered at the fire burning in the field behind the hall. Runa waited as Toki and Snorri completed their meals. Even after three days, all the returning men still ate as if they would not eat again for weeks. All of them were thinner and more haggard than Runa remembered, especially Toki.
"More ale," Toki said, pushing his mug out without lifting his head from his bowl.
Runa hefted a jug and poured ale until it ran over the sides. She stared at Toki, who hardly acknowledged her since his return. He had become someone else during his time away, more confident and aloof. Even Gunnar, who had spent his childhood at Toki's heels, was held at a distance. Whatever had happened in his time in Frankia had changed him. She knew nothing of the story, but would find out all she desired this night.
"And why are we three sitting here in this dark hall alone and silent?" Runa poured more ale for Snorri, anticipating his need. "If you've nothing to say, Brother, then I will be leaving."
"Stay." Toki still did not pause in devouring his meal, lifting out a lamb bone and gnawing the meat from it. Once he had filled his mouth, he dropped the bone and leaned back. He stared at Runa, who felt as if Toki were looking at her for the first time. Grease glistened on his beard and his dark eyes sparkled with the low hearth light. At last he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm before speaking. "We have family matters to discuss, as well as issues of rulership."
Distant laughter broke into the silence, as if mocking Toki. Within the hall, no one smiled. Snorri armed his bowl aside and looked at Runa with bleary eyes.
"When do you think Konal's brother will return?" Snorri asked. She shrugged her shoulders. Kell had been gone for weeks, claiming to search for their escaped slave but more likely raiding or trading.
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