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

by Jerry Autieri

  "My sympathy to Hrethel for the tragedy of his son's life. I'll respect whoever earns it, and right now you've done nothing for it. Now either allow me through or draw that sword of yours and let's have a go."

  Gunnvald's smile widened, flattening his pox scars, and he brushed aside a lock of straw-like hair. "All right, you've made your insults, and I like them. I'd be willing to consider you for my crew."

  Ulfrik had remained as still as a stone, careful to keep any expression of concern from his face, but his brows raised at Gunnvald's statement. "I came to promise my sword to Count Amand. I heard he's the power here."

  "We Northmen don't kneel to him, you oaf. We are sworn to Grimnr the Mountain, and he's paid by Count Amand for his loyalty. Don't you know anything?"

  "So show me to Grimnr."

  "You'll serve on my crew. That'll be good enough."

  Ulfrik stared at Gunnvald and wished he had been warned of this structure in advance. Gunnvald might not be a fool, but he was certainly unimportant and likely not close enough to Vilhjalmer to make serving him worthwhile. Still, he had only to find Eskil, and Gunnvald's low status might actually benefit that effort. With nothing important to do, no one would miss Ulfrik while searching for Eskil.

  "All right," Ulfrik said. "But I expect an equal share in spoils and whatever this Grimnr the Mountain is handing out."

  "Not so fast," Gunnvald said. "Before I take you on, I want to know what I'm getting. You look a little too old for fighting, and you have to pay for those insults, too."

  Smiling shyly, Ulfrik rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, those were some of my better ones. Glad they hit you hard. Like this."

  He slammed his elbow into Gunnvald's face, then followed up with a kick to his shins that toppled him. He charged over Gunnvald's sprawled out body and slammed into the man behind him. He was a head shorter than Ulfrik but wide and swarthy like an old mooring post set into a muddy bank. He broke as easily as one, falling onto his back with a shout of surprise.

  The first man to react grabbed Ulfrik's cloak, which had flown up behind him. Having expected some form of trouble, Ulfrik had fastened it with a simple antler pin that broke away when pulled. He whirled on the man standing flat-footed with a handful of green cloak. Ulfrik's fist plowed into his jaw, snapping the man's head around and knocking spit out of his mouth. Following up with a sharp jab to the man's gut to expel the breath from his lungs, he collapsed.

  Gunnvald was recovering, castling on hands and knees while cursing. Ulfrik whirled on two men who both sought to grapple him, but he leapt back out of their awkward grasping. He was laughing now. Even without his sword in hand, the battle lust he enjoyed in younger days was building in him again. Seven men to one were impossible odds, and he expected to be caught and beaten at any moment. Yet while it lasted his heart thrummed with battle song and he ached to draw his sword.

  Another man got behind him and now Ulfrik was caught in a triangle of opponents closing on him. He bounced on the balls of his feet, raw-knuckled fists up. "All of you against me, is it? Need seven men to take on one old man?"

  "Wait!"

  The voice was deep and thick, and came from behind. When the two in front of him backed down, Ulfrik felt safe enough to turn. The man stood equal to Ulfrik in height but was nearly twice as wide. He had a protruding belly, a bald head fringed with long fly-away black hair, and fat, flat lips like a fish. He cracked the knuckles of his right hand.

  "You had something to say about breaking my hand? I think you need to take back your words, or I'll stuff them back down your throat along with your teeth."

  Ulfrik smiled. "All right, Fish Face, let's settle up, and then I can get on with kicking the rest of your friends back into the Seine."

  The two squared off, and began to circle each other in a fighter's crouch. Gunnvald and his crew ringed them and chanted for their friend's victory. "Come on, Erp! Break the old man's back!" shouted one. "Break his arms like that last one you fought," cried another.

  "Sounds like you've got a reputation, Fish Face."

  "Stop calling me that."

  They searched each other for openings, but while Erp stared at Ulfrik's eyes, he watched Erp's middle. When Ulfrik tipped his head right as if preparing to lunge in that direction, he saw Erp shift with him. Instead he plunged in straight, swooping in with an upper cut to Erp's jaw. He had hoped to knock him out, but Erp's thick neck did not snap back hard enough. Instead he tumbled away with a roar.

  Wasting no time, he pushed at Erp to get him on the ground, but he braced his legs and grappled Ulfrik's waist. Crushed together, the two wrestled amid the cheering men. The grass dug up at their heels and Erp's hand worked down to Ulfrik's waist and threatened to pull down his pants. Ulfrik drove his knee into Erp's crotch, but missed the vitals and so their stalemate continued.

  In a fight to the death they would have drawn knives to break the lock, but Ulfrik deemed he had wasted enough time and fell back on the next best move. He bit Erp's shoulder. Blood welled up in his mouth but Erp only grunted, punching Ulfrik's ribs now that he had shifted to bite him. Ulfrik tore at him like a dog until Erp began to shout and struggled free.

  That was the break he needed. Once apart, he punched Erp in the face, then hammered left and right until he stumbled onto his back. Ulfrik followed him down and continued to punch. Gunnvald and his crew moaned and tried to cheer on Erp, but he had given up under the flurry of punches and now guarded his face.

  Pulled off by his shoulders, Gunnvald got between him and Erp. "All right. You can fight! I see it now. Let's not kill each other."

  Ulfrik wrestled out of the hold, then relaxed. He straightened his shirt and pulled up his pants. "You satisfied?"

  Gunnvald's fist crashed into his left eye and his vision turned white. He staggered back, but no other blow followed.

  "Now I'm satisfied." Gunnvald grabbed Ulfrik's cloak from the dirt and handed it back to him. "Welcome to my crew, Ulfar the White."

  They grasped forearms and both smiled. In the background Ulfrik watched a man try to help Erp to his feet, but then be shoved away. Erp stood, and his bloodied, swollen face met Ulfrik's. He drew a finger across his neck and pointed at him while Gunnvald's back was turned.

  "You're going to be a great addition," Gunnvald said. "We could use fighter like you."

  "I can't wait to start," Ulfrik said, all the while watching Erp storm away with his friends.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ulfrik sank the cooking pot into the river, hauled up gritty water, then sloshed it in a circle. He rubbed the grit along the sides then dumped it back into the water. He repeated this twice more then skimmed the water to fill the pot with clear water and rinse it out. Setting it on the grass, he pulled out a linen towel and rubbed it dry, careful to get into the lip where rust had taken hold. The food cooked in this pot carried a metallic flavor that he attributed to poor maintenance. A crew's cooking pot was as important as their swords and mail, but Gunnvald and his men thought it a task beneath them. Ulfrik had been happy to take over the chore, if only to have an hour of peace.

  The midmorning sun hid behind clouds, creating a pallid light that flattened distances and lowered his mood even lower. A black and white magpie hopped along the bank of the Seine, titling its head right and left as it studied Ulfrik.

  "No scraps today," he said to the bird. "Maybe the Franks are feeling more generous in their fort. Go see them."

  Shooing away the bird, it hopped a short distance then burst into flight. It actually winged to the northeast for Count Amand's fortress, and Ulfrik chuckled then returned to drying off the pot. After burnishing it and rubbing out the last bit of damp, he sat in the grass up from the riverbank. The river water smell was thick in his nose as he watched men up the shore pulling up their eel traps. He had eaten eel for seven out of the eight days he had been on Gunnvald's crew and the thought of eating it again made his stomach ache.

  He had to return the cooking pot and treat it with fish oil befo
re rust set in despite his care. He mumbled to himself, "I feel like I'm here to care for this cooking pot. It's all I do."

  Springing to his feet, he stared down at the pot. He imagined flinging it into the river, dashing for Amand's castle, then fighting inside to save Vilhjalmer. This long waiting combined with treatment little better than a servant from Gunnvald frustrated him. He was not sleeping at night, his mind churning plans to penetrate deeper into the territory. During the day he was busy with some aspect of camp life. He kicked a rock toward the river, then retrieved the pot and headed for camp. Gunnvald called his men a crew, but in truth they had no ship. He was little more than a bandit leader come to loaf on the front lines and avoid any real conflict.

  At camp, he set the pot down and one of the men, Burr, was sitting by the remains of the campfire.

  "Finish oiling this pot. I've got to go shit."

  "You finish it. Ain't my job."

  Ulfrik slapped Burr's head as he left him. "If I taste rust tonight I'm going to crown you with that pot."

  While Gunnvald held the band together, Ulfrik could not help but take command naturally. Many of the men responded to his orders as if he had been leading them all along. This had chaffed Gunnvald, and Ulfrik was learning to subdue his tendency to give orders. So much of this life felt familiar, he struggled to remind himself he was fighting for the Franks now.

  Once away from camp, he threaded his way toward the hall where Grimnr the Mountain made his residence. It sat outside the vast wooden walls of Count Amand's fortress, but close enough that he could retreat into it if threatened. No one challenged him as he moved between camps. Many Northmen lived out of tents, though some had built crude homes. Those with ships stayed on them, meaning the impressive gathering of Northmen were scattered. Ulfrik noted this fact, for in an attack these forces would not mobilize together and would lose the advantage of their numbers.

  When he and Hrolf planned this rescue, both agreed that a methodical approach would serve best. Count Amand was satisfied to think he now had leverage over Mord and Gunther One-Eye, so Vilhjalmer was not in immediate danger. Yet the frustrating pace of trying to find Eskil increased his worry for the time he had to do this task. The risk someone would reveal Vilhjalmer or Amand would decide to trade his leverage increased with every day that expired. He had to connect with Eskil, but nothing was more likely to expose him as a spy than a newcomer asking everyone he met where Eskil could be found.

  His wanderings took him to Grimnr's hall, and at last he did encounter resistance in the form of a brawny guard with a missing front tooth. "Hey, friend, out for a walk?"

  This man was unlike Gunnvald and the dozens of other crews of opportunists. He carried himself with confidence, wore well-maintained mail, and wore a dull iron helmet with a decorated faceplate. He was the kind of man Ulfrik would consider for his own guard.

  "I'm new here and was hoping to see Grimnr the Mountain."

  "Well, you were walking straight for his hall. Thing is, it doesn't work like that, friend. Times being what they are, the hall is closed to you."

  Ulfrik smiled and stroked his beard. "Oh, I understand how that works. I hoped Grimnr would consider taking me on. Does he accept newcomers?"

  The guard gave Ulfrik a quick look-over and tucked his head back as if discovering Ulfrik had been wearing no pants. "He's more about professionals, not men who went a-viking but washed up ashore instead."

  "I'm professional, but I take your meaning. I know I don't look my best. Honestly, I've got stuck with Gunnvald Hrethelson when I showed up here. Do you know him?" The guard shook his head. "Why doesn't that surprise me? He's really just a bandit leader looking for easy loot. Grimnr is more likely to earn me gold and glory, where I think Gunnvald will see me on a hanging tree before long."

  The guard was looking past Ulfrik and switching his weight from leg to leg. "Well, good luck with everything. Now get out of this area."

  At that moment the doors of the hall opened and the man stepping into the dull light had to be Grimnr the Mountain. He was a giant man, at least as tall as his old friend Einar had been, with thick golden hair braided down to his waist. His full beard was interrupted by a crisscross of scars that lined his face. Grimnr wore a wolf-pelt across his shoulders and his arms glittered with golden bands. Two lesser man followed along, hanging on his orders as he strode away.

  "That's Grimnr?" Ulfrik asked.

  "That's him."

  "Does he rule all the Northmen in these camps? Is he the law-maker and gold-giver?"

  "And he's Odin's third raven, too. Yes, he's our highest power after Count Amand. So now stop wasting my time and move along. You can't linger here unless you've been summoned."

  Nodding his thanks, Ulfrik turned back toward camp, weaving between buildings and tents. Now he knew what had to be done. As law-maker, Grimnr would hear disputes and settle all legal issues. While Gunnvald would oppose it, Ulfrik knew he had to get out from under him and into Grimnr's direct service. From there, Eskil and Vilhjalmer were only a short stretch away.

  And from there he could reunite with Runa and settle matters with Konal.

  A chicken wandered into his path and cried as he kicked past it. Someone cursed at him as he went, but he was not paying attention. He knew how to shake Gunnvald and get closer to Grimnr.

  For that to happen, he had a busy day still ahead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  After the evening meal, Ulfrik tipped out the fish bones from his bowl into the midden pit at the edge of camp. The sunset was brilliant scarlet, a strange counterpoint to the weak light of the day. Clouds of rose-colored fire rolled away over black treetops and a gentle breeze stirred the grass. All around him, orange lights of campfires flickered like candles. The sprawling Northmen camps were settling in for the evening, but Ulfrik's was only just beginning.

  He crossed paths with Burr on his way back. "No rust in the broth tonight. Good job."

  "Go fuck a pig, Ulfar."

  Ulfrik laughed, picking his teeth for a fish bone caught there. At least catfish was a relief from the steady diet of river eels.

  Back at camp he approached Gunnvald. "A word alone?"

  Gunnvald stood from his log seat, glanced at Erp whose swollen face looked even fatter in the odd shadows cast by the campfire. He led Ulfrik to the edge of the camp, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Still in plain view of the others, their hushed voices would not be heard. He raised his brows expectantly at Ulfrik.

  "I know you've been good to me," Ulfrik said. "And I appreciate your letting me in. But this isn't the life I was expecting. Grimnr the Mountain's hirdmen have the duties I want. No disrespect, but just watching these fences for Northmen deserters is boring work."

  "So you're hoping for something more likely to get you killed?" Gunnvald's pox scars were even deeper in the twilight shadows. He snorted a laugh and shook his head. "I never understood your kind, always ready to run out in front of an enemy spear for a moment of glory. All the skalds will tell you the greatest heroes are dead. That's you, Ulfar?"

  "I'm afraid it is. I should've died with my oath-holder, but I lived and came here. We were not particular about which side of this conflict we fought for, just that we fought hard and for glory. Hrolf and his jarls want to sit behind their walls, and the Franks want to fight. So here I am, but I'm still sitting behind walls."

  Gunnvald nodded as if he understood, but Ulfrik doubted the man had ever risked more than a nick for the sake of honor or glory. "I see how it is. You think if you get yourself killed in battle you're somehow honoring your old chief. Ulfar, if he's dead, then he's gone to Valhalla and the Valkyries are pouring him mead and showing him their tits. He's not worried if you're dead or alive."

  "I want to serve Grimnr the Mountain, and I want you to speak for me when I ask to give my oath."

  "Ah, well, that's complicated." Gunnvald sighed and folded his hands behind his back. "See, I consider you to be my man. You've been eating my food, drinking my ale,
sleeping in my tent."

  "I brought that tent myself."

  "And I let you keep it. You see, I think you owe me something before you leave. Plus, you beat up my best friend, and you owe him for those injuries. I just can't let you go without considering these facts."

  "What are you asking of me?"

  "A payment of gold to release you from my service. Now, unless I'm mistaken, you should have something like that on you. Am I right?" Gunnvald extended his hand and smiled.

  "This should pay for all." Ulfrik slipped off the gold armband he had concealed beneath his shirt. He placed it in Gunnvald's hand, checking that Gunnvald's men witnessed it. He snatched it away into the shadows of his cloak.

  "That'll pay for Erp's wounds and some of the food you've eaten. I'll have to consider the rest of the payment, and what buying out your oath should cost."

  "What?" Ulfrik acted out indignation, though he had expected nothing less. "You promised I'd be released for a payment of gold."

  He grabbed Gunnvald's shirt and hauled him close, but Erp and others leapt up and drew their swords.

  "I never said this band was payment for releasing you."

  "And I never swore an oath to you! I should beat you senseless."

  "But you won't, because Erp will cut off your head." Ulfrik looked up to find himself surrounded by armed men, Erp's swollen face practically in his own.

  "Let go of him." Erp sounded like he had wool in his mouth.

  Shoving Gunnvald away, Ulfrik pointed at him. "This isn't finished."

  "Be careful of your words, Ulfar. Do not threaten me, or you will regret it."

  Ulfrik pushed aside one of Gunnvald's crew and stormed off. Having expected just such a betrayal, he already had the next step in his plan prepared. He waited until the camp disappeared behind him, then circled back to the camp. Between the midden pit and the tents, a small rise provided a place for him to lay flat and observe.

  As expected, Gunnvald was coming out of his tent to speak with the others. Obviously he was filling them with lies about what had just transpired, but Ulfrik did not care. With the sun now set and darkness only relieved by campfires, he jogged hunched low toward the back of Gunnvald's tent. He listened at it, placing his hands on the dirty cloth to feel for heat or motions of anyone inside. With little time to spare, he pulled up one of the rear stakes and shimmied under the tent. Inside was a mess of furs, broken weapons, a rack for his mail, and his bedding. Despite being the largest of all the tents in his camp, he had managed to crowd it with enough junk for it to feel small. The front flap waved in the breeze, and Gunnvald and his crew were standing outside in conversation. They were too far off for the words to be more than mutterings, but Ulfrik froze when he thought one of the crew was looking at him.