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

by Jerry Autieri

  He was still half outside the tent, looking like a turtle popping out of shell, while he searched for the location of his armband. Gunnvald's bedding was close to the rear wall of the tent by Ulfrik's left arm, and he noted how one corner of the blanket was folded back. He pushed it aside and discovered a small board under the bed. Smiling at his success, he flipped up the board to find his armband sitting atop a bag. Ulfrik lifted out the bag which sagged with the weight of its contents, then pulled out the sheathed dagger he had hidden at his back.

  The jewels on the sheath winked with reflections of the campfire outside. He had spent all day following one of Grimnr's guards waiting for his chance to lift this from him. He had paid a servant to spill Frankish wine on the guard, which was so poorly done it seemed more as if he had poured it on the guard's head. He hoped the servant appreciated the silver, for he would take a beating for his actions. Yet it had the intended effect. A man could bathe in ale and think nothing of it, but the foreign stench of Frankish wine was an insult. The guard went to the river and washed off the strange scent of wine. Ulfrik had plucked the dagger from his discarded clothes and now slipped it into Gunnvald's secret cache.

  The board replaced and the bedding fixed as it had been, Ulfrik then slipped from the tent and set the stake back in place. As he glided away from the camp, he considered that he was turning out to be as good a thief as he was a warrior. Wouldn't that just make my family proud, he thought. A bit like proclaiming myself the best cheat in the land.

  He stayed away until the campfire began to wink out, and then he returned. The few men still awake regarded him coolly, but Gunnvald and Erp simply watched him retire to his tent. He lay awake, confident Gunnvald wouldn't discover the dagger but still worried for the success of his plan. At some point he did fall asleep, for roosters were crowing and a dim light shined through the thin fabric of his tent. He rose quickly, still dressed in his clothes of the prior day, and shot out from his tent. As usual, no one in Gunnvald's crew was keen on early rising, and Ulfrik used it to his advantage.

  The camp was coming alive, and sleepy men tired from a night of standing watch paid him no heed as he sought the guard house. As expected, he was stopped before he could reach the front doors by a guard whose hair was nearly as white as snow with eyes to match. He barred Ulfrik with his arm, wearily addressing him.

  "Hold on, where are you going in such haste?"

  "I've got to speak to Vigrid, who is quartered in that building. I know who took his valuables."

  The guard perked up, squinted at Ulfrik, then nodded. "Wait here."

  Within moments six bleary-eyed men emerged from the barracks with the white-haired man pointing at Ulfrik. Vigrid was a slender man, with a fuzzy beard which made his head seem oversized for his body. He might topple over from the weight of it. Yet all Ulfrik saw this morning was a hateful scowl that burned through Ulfrik as he charged straight for him.

  "How do you know I've been robbed?" he snapped.

  "Because I stole it from you."

  The six men recoiled at the sudden honesty. Vigrid's shock wore off the fastest, and he grabbed Ulfrik by the shirt and cocked his fist. "So you're here to return it?"

  "In a way," Ulfrik said, holding up his hands to show he intended no fight. "I was ordered to steal it from you. I'm new here, and Gunnvald Hrethelson took me on. Ever heard of him?"

  "No," Vigrid said, still keeping his fist cocked.

  "No wonder, since he's a gutless bandit living on the edge of the camps. He had me steal something of value to prove my worth to him. He also stripped me of a gold armband when he said your dagger was worthless."

  "Worthless?" Vigrid's oversized head reddened and appeared about to pop off his shoulders. "That was given to me by Grimnr himself. It's worth more than that piss-pot would earn in a whole year."

  "Look, I agree, and I am no thief. I haven't slept since I took the dagger. I want you to have it back, and to accept my regrets for what I've done."

  Vigrid held him, glaring into his eyes, but Ulfrik saw the corners soften. "Did you arrange to have that wine spilled on me?"

  "So you'd go to the river to bathe. I know I couldn't stand the scent of Frankish wine in my hair and guessed the same was true for any man. I needed a way to get the dagger while you were not looking."

  He let Ulfrik go and patted his shoulder. "All right, then, take us to Gunnvald."

  All of them barreled through the camp and arrived as Gunnvald was seating himself at his log by the expired campfire. His straw hair fell over his face as he snapped up at the sudden arrival of hirdmen. "What's this?"

  "You've got my dagger," Vigrid said. "Had your lap dog steal it from me."

  Gunnvald stared at Ulfrik and they locked eyes. He saw the realization dawn in Gunnvald's eyes, and he grew still and cold. "It wasn't orders from me."

  "But you have it," Vigrid said. "Is it in your tent?"

  "I don't know." He never wavered from watching Ulfrik. "I suppose you're going to check."

  Vigrid entered the tent and began throwing items out the flap, skins and bags followed by a shield and other junk. All of his crew came to watch, standing like children whose parents had just spoiled their games. Within moments Vigrid shouted and emerged with the dagger, Ulfrik's armband, and the heavy pouch.

  "Look here! Want to tell me how this came into your possession?"

  "Obviously it was planted. I never saw it before in my life."

  Vigrid slammed his fist into Gunnvald's stomach, and he doubled over with a moan. Erp and a few others reached for their weapons, but Vigrid's friends had spears, alarm horns, and were also Grimnr the Mountain's hirdmen. Erp and the others checked themselves when the spear points lowered.

  "Well, you slept on the fucking thing all night. Should've had time to get to know it. Listen, I don't know what sort of games are being played here. The whole thing smells like a whale carcass. Here's how it will be. I take my knife and whatever is in this bag, this armband goes back to your new recruit." Vigrid tossed Ulfrik the armband. "If I ever see you or your men within bow shot of the barracks, you'll all be rounded up for thieving and hanged the next morning."

  "I think we should bring this to Grimnr for judgment," Ulfrik said. "I want him to rule on my service to this band of thieves. They're claiming I owe gold to leave them."

  "No need for that," Gunnvald said, raising his hands. "I don't want you about. Leave if that's your wish."

  With everything settled, Ulfrik asked Vigrid to guarantee his safety while he collected his gear and broke down his tent. When all was ready, Ulfrik hefted his travel pack and nodded at his former companions.

  "You're in charge of the cooking pot now," he said to Burr, who stared wide-eyed at him.

  Gunnvald scowled, and Erp muttered through his fat lips, "You'll get yours soon enough, dead man."

  Ulfrik smiled and waved at him as he left. Catching up to Vigrid, he tapped his shoulder. "I've nowhere to go now, and was wondering if you might recommend me to Grimnr's service?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Count Amand stroked his swooping mustache as he stood before the broken body of the Northman. The dungeon was his least favorite place in all of his property and he hated time spent in its dark and musty confines. Yet it was the place where God's work was often accomplished, and today was not different. His captain-at-arms, Remi, stood at attention beside him. The guard who had tortured the confession was a swarthy man with a jagged scar running from cheek to ear. He prodded the Northman on the table, eliciting a low moan from his bloodied mouth.

  "This is terrible news," Count Amand said, more to himself than the others. No one could appreciate the weight of his position, particularly not after recent news.

  "He's confessed to all of it, my lord," said the guard. "Captain Remi was the witness."

  "It's true, Lord," Remi said. "I've had a detail of spies watching the traitors for weeks and we know they are passing information back to their Northmen kin. This exercise was to make sure
we had all the names we expected, and none more."

  Amand nodded and touched the heavy gold cross at his chest. The Northman on the table was unfamiliar, but his face had been so ruined by his tortures that no one would recognize him again. On a bench beside the traitor sat pliers and a pile of bloodied and crushed teeth.

  "And you are certain this betrayal is confined and not gone any higher?"

  "Grimnr was not named, Lord," Remi answered. "We've watched him far more carefully than anyone, as he's quite popular with his kind. I believe his loyalty is solid."

  Amand cleared his throat and his nostrils flared. "At least as long as we are paying him. His kind are like wolves that need a constant supply of fodder lest they turn on you."

  "The Northmen are barbarians, Lord. Not much else can be expected of their kind." Captain Remi took a poker from the brazier and examined the orange glowing tip. Amand could feel the heat of it from where he stood. "I can ask this traitor to confirm for you."

  "Heavens, put that away. I don't want to have to breathe in the stink of burned flesh." Amand waved aside the brand, and Remi stuck it back in the brazier with a petulant sigh. "You've no love of Grimnr, so if you say he is loyal then it must be so. I expect you'd want to see him hanged with his kin more than anyone."

  "It would do my soul good, Lord. But unfortunately Grimnr appears completely unconnected to the spies. We'll continue to watch him, of course."

  "Do that." Amand locked his hands behind his back and circled the table. The Northman stared up through his swollen face, attempting a glare but looking no more threatening than a beached porpoise. He waved his hand at the traitor. "Have the others missed this one?"

  "We caught him returning from his meeting with Hrolf the Strider's men, and his companions were not expecting him until tonight. No one saw us bring him down here." Remi moved the guard aside with the back of his hand and stood next to the traitor. "I believe we've got all that we can from this one. He broke far more readily than expected. Not so much of the Northman bravery in him."

  "They're all like that," Amand said. "Together they are brave, but alone they're no bolder than children. You've recorded the names of the traitors?"

  Remi nodded.

  "Then finish this one, and round up the others."

  Smiling, Remi drew his dagger and let the point hang over the Northman's eye. "Our Lord has promised an eye for an eye, you filth. Have you heard?"

  The traitor tried to spit, but only succeeded in blowing a bloody glob onto his own beard. Amand watched Remi hold the man's head steady then slowly lower the dagger into the Northman's eye. The blade slid in with cruel deliberation and the Northman bucked and screamed. Remi did not increase his pace, but steadily pushed the blade deeper into the man's skull. Blood flowed out of the ruined hole and poured onto the floor. The other guard began to throw hay on the puddle of gore.

  At last the Northman ceased bucking, but Remi twisted the blade to elicit a final cry from his victim. He hovered over the corpse for a moment, then pulled out the dagger and tossed it on the table with the Northman's teeth. Amand pitied Remi's hatred. Northmen had captured and raped his wife, costing her left eye in the violence of the act. She had been a beautiful and vibrant woman, probably a prospect for the courts of Paris, but the Northmen stole that from her, and Remi seized every chance to enact revenge.

  Amand cleared his throat, and Remi and the guard both straightened up. "Take as many men as you need. This will be a delicate matter for the Northmen. They will have to be given a trial to satisfy their sense of justice."

  "I think--"

  "I appreciate that a trial is not a strict necessity, Remi. But we have to massage our allies. They are good fighters, and I'd rather spend their lives fighting Hrolf than decent Franks. Remember we are not dealing with common criminals. Those names you collected are highly regarded by their fellows."

  "Do you think the jarl's child, Halfdan, is in jeopardy?" Remi asked the question, and Amand guessed his captain was suggesting a change of plans for the boy.

  "You said the spies were sharing information on troop strength, plans, and whatnot. It's possible they had thought to free the boy. I know what you are suggesting, and right now I needn't do more than ensure the hostage remains under my own guards in my fortress."

  Amand paused and stared at the corpse dripping out its lifeblood onto the floor. "Grimnr will have to be rewarded for his loyalty or else this may go poorly. I will increase his pay and provide him some gold from my personal belongings. Those Northmen put great pride in a gold ring or armband."

  "I will get the men together and arrest the traitors."

  "Be careful to make it quiet. I don't want to incite the Northmen to violence. I'll give them a trial by tonight and all of them will be hanged by morning."

  Remi bowed and turned to leave. The guard waited for Count Amand.

  "I honestly would have thought Grimnr would be the traitor," he said to the guard.

  "He's a hard man, but true to his word. I'll give him that much, Lord." The guard began to clean up his torture instruments with no more concern than a servant cleaning up after a feast.

  "Good to know. I thought as much for Eskil. It will be a shame to hang him, but since he leads the traitors, he has left me no choice. His corpse will be on display tomorrow morning as a warning against treachery."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Runa and Aren ate alone in the hall. It was late morning, and Konal was still passed out in bed from a raucous night of drinking. The hall still had tables overturned and a bench smashed from the drunken brawl that had ensued with the patrol's return. The place smelled like smoke, ale, and urine, and even with the front doors thrown open, the breeze did nothing to relieve the stench.

  All morning men woke up from their stupor and staggered out of the hall. Servants tried to repair what they could, but Runa had sent them away until later. Even Groa and her other women went elsewhere to complete their spinning for the day. Only she and Aren had any reason to be in this miserable hall, eating reheated mutton from the night before.

  "Are you nervous?" Aren asked her without taking his eyes off his food.

  "What do you think?"

  "That you are expecting to die. What happened with Konal before you left?"

  "He is your father, Aren. Use the proper respect when speaking of him."

  She put her bowl down and faced him. One hand held his bowl up to his mouth, but the other was balled into a white-knuckled fist on the table. He slurped the final broth then set the wooden bowl down with care. His wide face was red with anger, and she turned aside. They continued to eat in silence, only the sounds of people about their chores outside the hall filling the space between them.

  "I know how much you loved your stepfather. No one knows better than me." Runa paused to steady her voice. She found just mentioning his name under these circumstances brought tears to her eyes. "But in truth, Konal is your father, no matter how much we both wished otherwise. Disrespecting your own father only brings you shame."

  Aren held his characteristic silence. It was a trait of his that caused her a pang of fear. She never knew what he was thinking when he closed off others. Unlike herself or Konal, he did not spill his anger openly, but kept it locked away. She wondered if one day all that he dammed inside his heart would burst out in a flurry of untamed violence. For all his cool exterior, she knew a seething fire burned under Aren's skin.

  "You never answered my question," he said at last, the flush retreating from his face. He continued to swirl the residue in his bowl.

  "I cannot tell you. Not now, at least."

  "Well, I can understand that problem."

  She bit her lip and stood to collect their bowls. Had Konal been awake he would have chastised her for not acting like a jarl's wife, but the chore gave her a sense of purpose, however feeble. Stacking their bowls, she carried them down from the high table to the bucket by the hearth. Aren had been back for three days now and refused to say what had happened
at Eyrafell. Either Einar or Snorri had told him something that put him on edge, but she could not guess what it could be. She was grateful for something else to think about besides being caught returning the jewels and Konal's reaction. He still had to even act as if he knew what she had done, and maybe he did not. He and his men proceeded straight to a drunken feast.

  The door to their room opened, and Konal stood in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a mess. He wore no shirt and his terrible red and white burn scars showed down to his chest and stomach. He smacked his lips and yawned.

  "Gods, but I am thirsty. Water!"

  The mention of water made Runa tense, and Aren stared at her with a raised brow. His keen, intelligent eyes seemed to read her thoughts, something he had been able to do since he was an infant. She instead focused on Konal, but he only staggered to the bench and sat with Aren. He threw his arm around him and hugged him close. It was Aren's moment to tense, and he nearly fell over under his father's clumsy pawing.

  "Where's everyone?" he said, peering around as if looking into the sun.

  "I sent them home. Others are still probably asleep under the tables."

  Konal laughed, a thin and wispy sound that lacked any joy. She fetched him a jug of water and a mug, then went to the pot where the meat still simmered. As she ladled meat and broth into a bowl, the hall doors flung open and five men swept into the hall.