"Is there a point to this, Father?" Aren's eyes were small behind swollen flesh, but glittered with hatred.
"Tell me everything you know about Ulfrik. Where is he now?"
Aren recoiled as if struck and turned his head aside. Konal waited. He had to know the details surrounding Ulfrik's return and what he planned. Whatever Aren knew had to be told. "I'll get it out of you one way or another. Besides, you've already told me the most important thing, so what is it to tell me more?"
"I don't know much," Aren said, his shoulders dropping. "But here is what I know."
Konal then listened to the most fascinating account of survival he had ever heard. That Ulfrik could survive a fall from a high tower then imprisonment in Iceland was proof of his hardiness. Konal had grown to despise a great many things about Ulfrik over the years, but he had nothing but respect for his stamina.
"So he left for the Franks right away. Never met with Einar?"
"Not that I know. Neither Einar nor Hakon ever spoke to me about the return of my father."
Konal's fist clenched at Aren's use of the word "father" for Ulfrik, but he had to dig deeper. "And your mother? She has been called to visit Snorri upon his deathbed. Do you think it means Ulfrik has returned?"
"You now know as much as I do. May I leave?"
"No," Konal slammed his fist on the table, causing Aren to flinch. Beneath the table Konal's other hand touched the bag of jewels at his side. "Did Ulfrik say what his intentions were in returning? You said he planned to kill me. Why?"
Aren's swollen face blanked and he stared as if he did not understand the question. "That was just my anger at you. He said he only wanted to fulfill Hrolf's task and take his reward in gold, then leave."
"He would not ask anything of me or his former wife?"
"Nothing he told me."
The lie was plain to Konal. Aren was the smartest boy he had ever known, but was still a boy who did not understand guile as well as a man. He was a perfect copy of Konal's father, right down to the habit of rubbing his nose when lying. Aren dragged the back of his hand under his nose as he repeated his lie.
"Ulfrik will not come for you. He said to appear to Mother would be too disturbing and that returning was a mistake."
"And those threats to my life were your own words and not his?" Aren nodded. "Besides Hrolf, no one but you and Snorri know Ulfrik has returned?"
"Those are all who know." Aren did not touch his nose.
Konal sat back and waved Aren away. "Go back to standing in the rain, if that's your wish. You've told me what I need to know."
"You will not say anything about this?"
"Of course not." Konal resisted his own temptation to touch his nose. "I've no desire to bring more pain to your mother."
Aren left, his sopping cloak dragging up days old straw from the floor as he went. The hall doors opened to hissing rain and Aren disappeared into it. Konal sat still, waiting until Aren put distance from the hall.
Then he exploded with anger, flipping the table and sending his dish of uneaten food crashing to the floor. The slave cowered in the corner while Konal flung mugs, plates, jugs, anything that came to hand. He raged until he was out of breath, then collapsed onto a bench.
Ulfrik had defied death. If he was back in Frankia then it meant he had already taken his revenge on Throst.
And if Ulfrik had killed Throst, without a doubt he would have discovered Konal's hand in the plot to kill him.
It felt as if ages had passed since he set those plans in motion. Throst was eager for revenge, and Konal was tired of being left to guard Ulfrik's family and treasures while he played at being a hero to his people. Now he realized Ulfrik had him guarding the jewels he now had at his hip, a new insult after so many years. Ulfrik understood how he tormented Konal, forcing him to guard his wife, a woman he had never stopped loving, and then returning long enough to make love to her before his next adventure. His own son called Ulfrik father before Konal's eyes. The shame and humiliation had burned him worse than the flames that had marred his face.
When the opportunity to betray Ulfrik to Throst arose, he could not resist. Ulfrik would die and Konal could assume the life he had stolen from him. For the love of the gods, he had seen Ulfrik's head and heard Einar's account! How could Ulfrik be alive today?
Of course Ulfrik knew the truth, and the only thing preventing him from killing Konal was Hrolf's task. Konal had not fought a real battle in more than a decade. Despite the Franks being only a short distance downriver, he had managed to avoid combat of any sort. Ulfrik, however, had evidently kept his skills sharp over the years. A fight between the two of them would fare poorly for Konal, and he could not allow it come to that.
Only three people knew of Ulfrik's return: Hrolf who he could not influence, Aren who he controlled, and Snorri who would help Ulfrik fulfill his revenge.
Snorri had to be handled. If Runa was with him on his deathbed, then he might confess what he knows. It could be played off as the ramblings of a dying man, but Konal had to be sure he did not repeat the story to Einar and Hakon.
After Snorri, he had to ensure Ulfrik failed in his task. That would be more dangerous to Konal, but to let Ulfrik return would be even more ruinous. He would visit Count Amand and inform him of the spy in his midst. He just had to keep his motions secret from Hrolf, which would be made easier by disguising his travels as a visit to Eyrafell.
From there, Ulfrik would at last truly die once exposed to the Franks. He would remain blameless, and Runa would be none the wiser. He had to act now and ensure Ulfrik did not live another day.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Two days after Ulfrik's grilling at the hands of his fellow hirdmen, rain drenched the camp. Standing in the door frame of Grimnr's hall, he listened to the rain slashing into the well-churned mud. The continual splashing of the puddles obscured the ground. Though it was summer, the rain had cooled the air and he pinned a dark green cloak over his shoulder.
"Glad you did not pull guard duty?" One of the hirdmen appeared behind his shoulder to stare outside with him. Ulfrik glanced back at the man.
"Of course, but I've got work at the blacksmith's today."
"In this rain? Raynor won't be banging iron in weather like this. He'll be in bed and on top of that young wife of his."
The man chuckled as did a few others nearby. Ulfrik smiled and rubbed his face. "I promised to help him with heavy lifting today. When has rain ever been a reason to not honor your word?"
The hirdman patted his shoulder. "You should learn to give your word less often, Ulfar. I suppose you must at least allow Raynor the chance to send you away."
He placed all his weapons and anything that would rust by the trunk given to him when he joined Grimnr's hird. He had the honor of serving Grimnr in his hall, and so had a place in the front room to sleep and store his belongings. Nine other men shared the space with him, and so he feared nothing but rolling over onto one of them in his sleep. None would touch his gold, war gear, or anything else. As he had been told, only women were shared among the hirdmen, but all other property was private. On this rainy day, only Grimnr had the luxury of women for his bed.
Taking the ragged sealskin cloak Gytha, Finn's mother, had bestowed on him years ago, he stepped out into the rain. He had to find Eskil today, and set solid plans for rescuing Vilhjalmer. The rain pounded on the cloak, rolling off with ease. He needed sealskin boots to match, but had not be so fortunate in his travels, therefore water sloshed into his feet as he splashed through the puddles.
He had learned Eskil was well placed with Count Amand, on par with Grimnr in his status, though nowhere near him in terms of command. Count Amand prized him for his tactical advice and insight into the finer aspects of the Northman culture. Ulfrik had been loath to inquire too deeply for fear of eliciting attention, but in recent days he had heard rumors among Grimnr's hirdmen that spies were uncovered in Eskil's command. He had to begin his dialog with Eskil before Count Amand turned his attent
ion to him.
Across the muddy drilling grounds he crossed into camp territory he had yet to visit. These tents and buildings were closer to Count Amand's walled fortress, and Eskil was said to keep his hall here. Fortunately, Raynor's forge was on the way, and so if anyone watched him they would see Ulfrik headed to where he claimed to be going. As expected, the forge was dark, so he detoured around it and passed into the tents and buildings.
Only fools and people with no choice were out in this rain, so he had no one to ask for Eskil's location. Farther up between two buildings he saw what appeared to be a guard huddled against a wall. He approached the man directly, calling him as he closed. The man peeked up from behind a brown cloak that shielded him from the rain.
"Hail, friend," Ulfrik said as the guard stared at him. "I am from Grimnr's camp and looking for Eskil's crew. I hear they are based over here."
The guard stared at him under a furrowed brow. "Who did you say you were?"
"I didn't say. I'm looking for Eskil's crew." The guard shoved off the wall and Ulfrik saw his hand slide beneath his cloak for his sword hilt. Apparently the rumors about Eskil had some men on edge, and he had to calm the situation before it got worse. He dropped his voice, barely audible over the hiss of the rain. "Is it true what they say about them? Do you think there are spies among them?"
The guard's expression did not change. Ulfrik glanced around, and saw no one coming to the guard's aid.
"There might be some truth to that," the guard said. Emerging from the shelter of the wall, rain pounded the guard that wreathed him in a white spray. He peered at Ulfrik. "I asked for your name."
"What are you guarding?" Ulfrik countered, searching about and finding nothing worth posting a guard.
"Eskil and his crew."
The two of them stared at each other without expression. The guard flicked his eyes to the left then Ulfrik saw it. A row of spears had been set up around a hall and heads were thrust atop them. In the distance they were scraggly black and gray globs with matted hair. Ulfrik swallowed, not knowing which head was Eskil's but certain all of Hrolf's spies were represented. He turned back to the guard.
"I don't think they'll be escaping any time soon," Ulfrik said. "Unless you expect the heads to float away."
"Grimnr is interested to see who comes asking for Eskil or catch anyone wanting to take down those heads."
They locked eyes.
The guard jerked his hand to draw the sword, but Ulfrik saw it first. He slammed into the guard, thumping him into the wall and pinning his sword arm against it. The guard began to scream but Ulfrik wrapped his hands around the guard's throat and dragged him from the wall and splashed down into a puddle. He drove his thumbs into the guard's windpipe and his eyes popped in terror. However, the rain had made everything slick and his hands slipped enough to let the guard gasp a breath, prolonging the kill.
A warm feeling spread on his thigh, then realization struck. Without releasing his choke hold, he looked down to see the guard had pulled a dagger and cut his leg. With his one hand he shoved the guard's face into the puddle while his other hand sought the blade. Once he had it, he held it firm while pressing the guard's head into the water. The guard bucked and struggled but his face was completely in the water, and the moment he dropped his dagger Ulfrik pressed his head deep into the mud.
The guard drowned in the muck, kicking out with a last bubbling breath. Ulfrik held the head longer to ensure death, then pulled the body out of the sucking mud and rolled it next to the wall. He pressed against it, hands trembling both from the effort and fear. Their struggle had lasted a moment, and the roar of the downpour had obscured most of the commotion. He most feared the crash against the building, but no one came to investigate.
His own leg had not been cut badly, but his pants were torn and blood mingled with rain to flow freely into the mud. Explaining how he cut himself without any weapons was going to take a bit of storytelling. The guard next to him had a head full of tan mud and his eyes stared horrified into the falling rain. Ulfrik closed them and put the guard's hand upon his sword, then whispered beside his ear. "You died fulfilling your duty. Go on to the feasting hall, and await me there. It is a sad day when a loyal man must die alone in the mud."
The scene had to appear like a robbery, something Gunnvald's crew would commit. He flipped the body over and stabbed the dagger into the guard's kidney. The wound was a certain kill that did not produce much blood, which he did not want splashed on him. He did not trust the rain to wash it away. He then took all the valuables from the guard: his rings, a silver armband, a small pouch of hack silver, and three gold coins. These he concealed in his cloak and would dispose of later.
He then dashed away, mud splattering his pants as he ran. The blood from his cut leg spread in a dark stain. Once out of sight, he altered his path back toward Raynor's forge, and from there retraced his path to Grimnr's hall. His heart pounded, more from knowing Eskil had been executed than for fear of killing the guard. Despite the setback, he had garnered useful information. Count Amand was on alert for spies, which meant he had to be more cautious than he had been since arriving at camp. Also, he counted himself lucky to have not located Eskil earlier, or his own head would be on a spear as well. Without help, however, freeing Vilhjalmer would be all the more difficult. If only he could send word back to Hrolf, he might have a chance. A distracting attack on the Franks would cover a breakout, though the timing would have to be perfect.
As he closed the final distance to the hall, he snorted at his hubris. He was planning as if Vilhjalmer had already been contacted. The location of Hrolf's son still remained unknown. Amand's fort was the logical place, but getting inside to investigate would be challenging. Ulfrik had never been much for sly infiltrations, having left those tasks to younger and more talented men.
Entering into the dry warmth of the hall, men paused to stare at him. Vigrid, who was now his best friend in this crew, laughed. "Did a horse drag you back? And what happened to your leg?"
Ulfrik rolled his eyes as he stripped off the sealskin cloak, which had done nothing to keep him dry after he had fallen in his fight with the guard. "Raynor was in his house and I don't think he wanted to be disturbed. I decided to do some of the work I had promised on my own. I bumped into a blade and cut my legs for my troubles, then I took a spill outside the forge. The god of the forge did not want me around without Raynor there, so I returned."
Vigrid slapped his back. "You look like a rat. Get out of these clothes and warm up next to the hearth."
Stripping away his clothing, he tossed them into a pile. As he set his boots beside the hearth, Vigrid began to help lay out his other soaked clothes. Ulfrik's heart came to his throat when he found Vigrid staring at the guard's stolen wealth that had fallen out of the pile.
"What's this?" he asked, and stared expectantly at Ulfrik.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ulfrik awakened the next day after a fitful night's sleep. His clothes were still by the fire, stiff and caked with mud that flaked off on the hearthstones. Few of the men were awake, as most had passed a dull night of rain with heavy drinking. Vigrid stood in the door, staring outside at the clear dawn. Water still dripped from the frame, but the rain had ceased in the deep of the night. Ulfrik was still awake when it had stopped.
Vigrid had accepted Ulfrik's excuses for the wealth he had hidden on himself. After confronting him with an armband and ring, Ulfrik kept his reactions cool. "The armband is too tight, so I take it off when I work. The ring belonged to my wife when she was still alive. Too valuable to wear it."
"She had fat fingers?" Vigrid asked, holding the ring up to the light.
"You fool. It was a man's ring I got on raid and gave to her. She wore it on a chain."
Ulfrik collected the belongings from Vigrid then tossed them back on the pile of clothes as if nothing mattered. Today, he would be certain to lose the ring rather than risk someone identifying it. The armband was plain enough to keep, but the ring
had delicate snake patterns engraved into it.
"Who has the morning watch?" Vigrid asked. "Is it you, Ulfar?"
Lost in his thoughts, Ulfrik did not answer to his false name until Vigrid called him again. "I think I've got drills today, but I still need to see Raynor about yesterday. I should probably visit him before the day gets started. Will you cover for me?"
Vigrid shook his head. "I don't owe you anything. If Grimnr asks, I'll tell him your shirking your duty to plow a Frankish girl. I bet that's what you're after. Raynor's an excuse."
The idea was useful, so rather than deny Vigrid, he smiled as if he had been unmasked. "I won't be long, but that depends on what I find at the forge."
"Miss the drills and you'll not be seeing that forge for a good while." Vigrid winked at Ulfrik as he dressed.
Without the rain to worry about, he strapped on his swords and daggers. His confidence increased feeling the weight of sharp iron. He was going to hunt for Vilhjalmer today, and had to be prepared to exploit any opportunity. At this point, his only plan was to find a plan and run with it. He hated to operate blind, but with Eskil's death, he was without eyes.
Halfway to Raynor's forge he turned for the river. He squatted down with other men along the bank and washed the mud out of his hair. While he combed it, he used the moment to toss the ring into the water. He followed it up with a few rocks to make it seem he had only been idly skipping stones. Then he walked up the banks toward Count Amand's fortress.
No one challenged him from the river approach. He had no direct access to the walled fortress from this side. However, ships were unloading cargoes of crates and barrels and placing them onto carts. Watching the crew at work, he carefully approached the carts and pretended to admire the horses. Never much for animals, his pats on their flanks made them snort and sidestep. He drew a curse from a man standing in the other cart.
"Don't scare the horses, man! You want them to run off?" The man had a belly that filled out a white shirt, and beneath a floppy red cap gray hair flowed into a braid tied at the back of his head. A pink scar sat diagonally across his face.
Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) Page 15