Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6)

by Jerry Autieri

  "If this is only a part of your treasure, I can't imagine what the rest of it is like."

  Ulfrik raised a brow at Finn. "You really have not seen much gold in your day?"

  "Never until we joined the merchants, and never so much as this piece. It's the most gold in one spot I've ever seen."

  "Then you're in for some pleasant surprises once we get our affairs in order." He draped the chain over Finn's neck. Though a strong youth, he did not possess the same mass as Ulfrik, and the chain appeared huge around his neck. "You dug it up, so you enjoy wearing it until we need it, and if we don't need it you keep it."

  As Finn gawked at his award, Ulfrik combed through his options. He was not returning to his family without at least enough gold to provide for his own care and Finn's. Reasonably, the necklace he had just found would allow that much for a short time. But he needed mail coats, better helmets, and shields if others were to seriously consider him a warrior, much less a returning jarl. All of this required gold far in excess of one chain.

  "If I go back to my family without gold, they will have to support me." Ulfrik said. Finn stopped petting the gold chain to look up at him.

  "Shouldn't family do that for their own?"

  "Not the family of a jarl. I don't know what has become of my wife and sons and stepdaughter. What if they need my aid, and I am unable to help them because I lack resources?"

  "They've been without you all these years already."

  "All right, but think on this. I've been dead to them all these years. What then is the legal status of my gold? What if it has been divided among my sons and men? What if my former oath-hold Hrolf the Strider laid claim to it? I need to secure what is mine before I tell the world I yet live. To do otherwise might risk me remaining in poverty."

  Finn nodded, but Ulfrik had learned to recognize the difference between Finn's nod of agreement and his nod of patronization.

  "You don't understand the world you are about to enter. Even if I were fine to stay as I am, others would not be so gracious. Men who once might have called me friend because of my gold and power would be just as glad to drive me under their boots when I am poor. And if you think it's all my pride, then consider the shame and sorrow my family would feel to see me a beggar not fit to lurk outside their hall. It's better I remain a rich ghost than a poor burden."

  He also remembered Throst's lasts words to him, that Runa had sent him to his death. While he did not believe it, a fear lingered at the back of his mind and warned not to return home helpless. Such fears did not bear imparting to Finn, so he rubbed his mouth and kept silent.

  Finn's posture relaxed and he nodded again, this time in agreement. "I understand. But what do we do?"

  "There remains one place yet where my treasure should be intact. It's a long distance from here, and will be difficult to get. Yet it's our best choice." Finn gave him a puzzled look. "Remember, I was proclaimed dead and my head sent home. If I know my wife, she'd have burned that head and buried the ashes along with my treasures in sight of my hall. We're going to rob my own grave."

  CHAPTER THREE

  The burial mounds were gone.

  Ulfrik crouched behind a tree at the edge of the clearing, the rough pine bark cool against his hand. Old stumps littered the expanse of field that led to the burial mound he had created for his wife's brother and dearest friend, Toki. He remembered clearing those trees to build Ravndal atop its craggy perch and to deny enemies cover in an attack. Now he stared out of the forest where once Franks spied on his fortress and envied his power. The fortress Ravndal still remained, but yellow and blue pennants of the Franks fluttered above its black walls.

  Two scars of earth jutted where Toki's mound and what he guessed had been his own stood. Grass like a young man's beard flecked the displaced ground, and the sun broke through the clouds as if to accent the insult.

  "The farmer told the truth. Everything is gone," Finn said. He squatted beside Ulfrik, hugging another tree and scanning the wide field. "Is that Ravndal where you trapped the Franks?"

  He nodded, words stuck in his throat. All the long trek north he had heard news from fellow travelers that the Franks had pushed the Northmen west toward the sea. Ravndal now went by its Frankish name of Randal and housed Frankish troops. The land had once been theirs, Ulfrik had seized it from them, and they had reclaimed. How much blood had watered these fields, he wondered, and to what end? The Northmen would reclaim it again and more Franks would die.

  "There's people coming down from Ravndal," Finn said, tapping Ulfrik's leg. "We better pull back."

  A thin line of black shapes ambled downslope, a wagon between them. They were safe at this distance, but Finn was right. There was nothing worth remaining to see. "Let's go back to the farm."

  Though the Franks had reclaimed their lands, many farms still belonged to Northman families that agreed to pay the Frank's taxes. Some of the younger families, though Norse, had no memories of their ancestral homes and were forgetting the ways of their fathers. One such family managed a farm nearby, and though they claimed to have liked Jarl Ulfrik Ormsson well enough, they cared more about the land than who ruled in Ravndal. When asked about Ulfrik's family, they did not have much information. They only knew Runa the Bloody had taken her family west to join Hrolf the Strider and that the Franks occupied Ravndal thereafter. The eldest son, Gunnar the Black, was said to have disappeared.

  "Do you think there's a chance the Franks left something behind?" Finn asked. They tramped through the pine forest, retracing their path back to the farm. The air was cool in the shade of the trees, and birds chirped in the branches above.

  "They know what heroes carry into death and they would not leave a stone unturned. Those bastards piss themselves if a Northman even sets foot on one of their graves, but they don't fuss when digging up one of ours. I bet they scattered the bones." Ulfrik scowled at the thought of his brother Toki's bones being tossed out for wolves and dogs to gnaw, but he did not expect the Franks to respect the nobility of a fallen warrior.

  After a long, brooding walk, they escaped the woods and found the farmhouse. It was a typical A-frame home, gray with age and stained black with rain. New thatch glowed in the summer sun and a pleasant white smoke waved from the smoke-hole to spread the sweet scent of firewood. Outside, one of the farmer's sons split logs while a stout brown dog began barking at Ulfrik and Finn. The son continued the work, but the doors of the barn opened in response and the white-haired old farmer peered out. In their first meeting he had introduced himself as Gils.

  Ulfrik waved in greeting and Gils stepped out, setting aside a pitchfork and wiping his hands on his pants. The son continued to chop wood, the logs splitting and falling to either side of the stump. The dog's tail began to wag, though he continued to bark.

  "Saw what you wanted?" Gils asked as he approached, his white hair bright in the sun. The son stopped chopping to collect the logs.

  "It was all true," Ulfrik said. "I should have saved myself the trouble."

  Gils spit and shrugged. "You thinking of joining the Franks then?"

  "We haven't decided." Ulfrik peered off into the distance. "The old jarl really has no more power here?"

  "Gone for good, he is. This is Frank land now, and they're good enough if you give them what they ask. Don't really need the old jarl, do we?"

  It was Ulfrik's turn to spit and shrug. "Mind if we camp on your farm tonight? Tomorrow we'll move on."

  "Where to?"

  Ulfrik shook his head and Gils frowned, but he turned to his son. "Tell your Ma Ulfar the White and Finn Langson will be our guests tonight."

  Though no one would expect Ulfrik to be alive, he used a false name to ensure his memory was not raised, particularly on lands he once ruled.

  Gils's son left without a word, pausing only to steal a glance at Ulfrik before he disappeared into the house. Gils pointed at the barn. "The house is full, but you can sleep in the barn tonight."

  They passed the rest of the day settling
into a brooding silence while Ulfrik worked through his next steps. True to his word, Gils fed them a meal of chicken, onions, and beer. His two sons acted as if mute, sharing dark glances that Ulfrik did not trust. The wife and her two daughters chattered until Ulfrik's eardrums throbbed. When he and Finn settled into the barn for the night, he was glad for the silence.

  They shared an empty stall, but the cow occupied the largest stall. "Even the cows live better than me," Ulfrik said, then laughed.

  "Do you want me on first watch?" Finn asked as he spread his cloak out.

  "Gils seems fine enough, but his two sons are strange. Keep watch for trouble. Wake me at midnight or when you feel sleepy."

  In the darkness, Ulfrik listened to crickets and the breathing of the cow. Silvery moonlight shined behind the cracks in the barn door planks. Before long he was drifting into sleep, visions of the defiled burial mounds filling his young dreams.

  He jolted awake, cold and rough hands on his ankles and wrists.

  There was no silvery moonlight now, but a harsh torchlight flooding the barn with heat. Strange men pinned him to the ground while others wrestled with Finn. A third man stuffed a rag into his mouth, while he felt cords tighten around his legs.

  Wasting no time, he wrested a hand free and punched one of his assailants in the head. The man staggered back with a growl. Another man grabbed his free hand and forced it to his chest, then his two hands were wrapped in cord. In moments he was tied like a hog for the slaughter and lying face down on his cloak. Finn was similarly tied beside him, eyes wide with terror.

  "Two swords, helmets, knives." One of the assailants counted off their valuables. Ulfrik guessed a half dozen men filled the barn. The cow lowed in the stall beside him as someone invaded its space.

  "Ah but look at this chain." Ulfrik heard their bags being dumped out and the clink of their meager treasures. "What's on them?"

  Rough hands flipped Ulfrik over, and he was looking into the smirking face of Gils's son, the one who had been chopping wood. He frisked Ulfrik's body, finding the gold armband hidden under his shirt. He worked it off, then grabbed the silver Thor's hammer that Finn's mother and his lover, Gytha, had given him. It snapped off the cord and disappeared into the son's shirt.

  "We've got everything. Let's get rid of them."

  Ulfrik's heart beat against the base of his neck. Gils's sons worked with four other men to heave him off the ground and into the night. The man holding the torch aloft was Gils himself.

  "Don't kill them," he warned the young thieves. "Drop them at the stream and cut them free."

  "You worry too much, old man," said one of the strangers. "No one knows they were here but us."

  The young men laughed and Gils repeated his admonition. A cart had been backed up to the barn with a horse ready to pull it. They tossed Ulfrik onto it like he was nothing more than a bale of hay. Finn followed on, crashing into Ulfrik's legs.

  "Be back after dawn," said Gils's son as he took up the driver's seat with his brother. The four other strangers flanked the cart as it jerked to motion.

  As the cart pulled forward, Gils, his wife, and his daughters turned to the inside of the barn. Ulfrik grunted and pulled at his bindings, but there was no slack. Knowing he had to conserve strength for the fight to come, he relaxed. Finn continued to wrestle as the cart trundled away from the farm, earning derisive laughter from their captor walking behind the cart.

  Finn's eyes were bright with terror, and when he stopped resisting he stared at Ulfrik. There was nothing either could do, but he offered him a slow nod of reassurance. Whatever lay ahead of them, panic and fear would not serve.

  He closed his eyes and waited for the ride to end.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Runa sat at the edge of her bed and plucked at the wool blanket crumpled at its foot. Dark dreams fled from the sounds of morning and left her empty and tired. She rubbed her cold hand against her cheek to work away the vestiges of sleep. The space next to where she had slept had long been empty. As usual, Konal had risen before her and was off with his so-called hirdmen. He would not waste the morning with sleep when fresh summer mead was in stock. He and his men would start on those casks before the first meal of the day.

  The walls of her room were tightly fitted oak planks that allowed no light to seep inside. Still, she heard the voices in the main hall and the bustle outside the walls. Only a candle burned halfway to its iron holder cast any light, and the tallow imparted a stale scent to the air. If she opened the door, the light from the main hall would flood her room, but she did not feel like greeting the surly folk this early in the day. Like Konal loved his mead, she loved her solitude.

  Today was especially difficult for her. It was about this time when Ulfrik left her for the final journey. She remembered that day six years ago standing on the banks of the Seine, him preparing to sail south along some river to a place she never heard of before or since, and his solemn promise to return before Yule. He had kept the promise, but only his head had returned.

  Runa fought the memories of that horrible day. Why had she insisted upon viewing the head? Why had they even sent it back, crushed as it was? Now that terrifying image was in her mind like a bloodstain that would never wash out.

  Voices from the hall rose in laughter then died back to a murmur. She could not hide here all day. It would only sicken her. With a heavy sigh, she shoved off the bed again and exchanged her wool sleeping clothes for a plain green dress and white overdress. She combed her hair, but still refused to wear a head cover like other women. It was her last act of rebellion to leave her hair free, though now the tight ringlets of her hair were woven with gray.

  On a whim she knelt on the floor and pulled a small chest out from beneath the bed. She held the key to its lock on her belt along with the other keys that symbolized her so-called authority of the household. In truth, Konal had allowed her nothing since marrying her. She twisted the key into the lock and was satisfied at the pop of the shank. Setting it aside, she raised the lid and stared at the contents.

  She had not looked into this chest for years, at least since Gunnar's disappearance. Today she longed to touch something that took her to the past. Inside the chest were her final connections to Ulfrik. She realized it was foolish to hide them here, but sleeping over them each night lent her small satisfaction.

  The first item she withdrew was her sax, a short sword that warriors wore at their laps and used for close quarters fighting. The old leather handle melded to her hand, and to touch it sent her back through the years to the days when Ulfrik trained her in swordplay. She lifted away the loop holding it in the wood scabbard and pulled up the blade. Rust had claimed it and she regretted not caring for it properly. She had killed men with this weapon, and now it was rusted and useless, a mere relic of a forgotten time.

  Just like me, she thought, then snapped it shut in the scabbard. She laid it aside, then dipped back into the chest.

  In both hands she lifted out a faded red cloak. There was nothing special about this beyond the expense of the dye used to color it. A smile bloomed on her face as she felt along its hems. Sewn into the edges was a fortune in jewels, the treasure that had led Ulfrik to Frankia. So much fate was woven into the cloak, it had to have come from the hands of the Norns themselves. Konal and his now dead brother Kell had been searching for this treasure when Konal was shipwrecked on Runa's land.

  As Fate decided, Ulfrik found the treasure and kept it secret from Konal. This was to be their safety, a vast fortune to be called upon when all other reserves failed. Though now Runa might have need, she could never allow Konal to discover she possessed this treasure. To her great sorrow, he was no longer the man she had admired and even loved for a short time. His discovering the truth of these gems would invite violence.

  "What are you doing?"

  Runa yelped with shock, dropping the cloak into the chest. She whirled on her knees, hand on her throat. "Konal!"

  "And what other man would dare enter this
room with you alone?" Konal's voice was raspy thin, like a man choked in smoke. He leaned against the door, which she had not even realized had opened. The terrible scars that marred his face and neck were white and red, as if a fiery finger had stirred the flesh. She had once looked past those scars, but now it was all she could see.

  "I asked what you were doing." Konal stepped closer, his soft boots sliding across the packed dirt floor. "What's this?"

  Runa's stomach burned and she shoved the cloak back into the chest, but Konal was more interested in the sword. He reached down and snatched it from her. She caught the scent of mead.

  "A sword? What are you doing with this bit of junk?" He yanked it out of the scabbard and clicked his tongue at the rust. "Gods, woman, cut yourself with this and you'll die of the bending sickness."

  She stood and with her foot pushed the chest beneath the bed, hoping to distract him from it. Now placing the cloak so openly made her blush with shame at her foolishness. "That is my sword. Give it back."

  He raised a brow at her, tugging the blade completely free. The rust had crawled down its edges, ruining it for all but sentimental purposes. "This should be destroyed before it cuts someone. I'll take it to the blacksmith--"

  "No you won't," Runa said, then grabbed for Konal's arm. "I'll keep it in the sheath, just return it now."

  Pulling his arm away, he started to complain then paused. He examined the scabbard, and his mead-fogged mind seemed to assemble the true picture. He stiffened, slamming the blade back into the scabbard.

  "You don't need a weapon to protect you. You've got me now."

  "Please, just allow me to keep it. I never meant for you to see it. You won't be bothered by it again."

  "Of course you didn't want me to see it. You think I don't know why you're looking at it today? Think I don't know what day this is? If you could see your sad face, you'd not ask me why I drink so much."