"Now you go to sing songs with your dead god." Ulfrik drew back his sword for the killing thrust. Clovis crawled forward, a pitiful yelp escaping as he clawed through the wreckage of the forest floor.
Then men swarmed him, knocking him aside. His sword fell from his grip and he lay atop his shield as someone wrestled with him. His left arm was pinned, but his right hand was free to search for a weapon. The man atop him was too close to see, but he felt the cold knife blade press into his throat in preparation for the slice. In the same instant, Ulfrik laid his hand on the hilt of his boot dagger.
Freedom. The man lifted from him and Ulfrik reacted as fast as a cat. He ripped out his sax, the short blade warriors hung from belts across their laps, and turned on his opponent. Konal had pulled the attacker from Ulfrik, and now hovered over him with sword ready to plunge into the Frank's throat.
Clovis scrabbled to his feet and raised a horn to sound the retreat. He blew three short notes; Konal rammed his blade into his enemy's throat with a wet crack; and Ulfrik shouted as he charged Clovis. But men were fleeing in both directions. Everyone had broken, the danger and death too thick to withstand. The Franks fled to the open field, running for their distant fortress and Ulfrik's men running back through the paths they had cleared. The fight was done, and Clovis darted off like a deer before woodsmen.
Finding his sword in the dirt, Ulfrik picked it up and looked for Konal, who was calmly rummaging through the fallen's possessions even as men fled all around him. Einar stood beneath the banner, face covered in blood, and looked to Ulfrik for orders.
"Sound the retreat, at least to save pride for the men already running." Ulfrik scanned the scene, bodies and parts of bodies littered this patch of woods, and he saw many of his own lying among them. "We will be hard pressed to call this victory."
Chapter 10
Night fell early on the battered men. They marched in ragged groups towards Ravndal where dark shapes of men gathered on the walls showed against the purple twilight. Heads were bowed in shame and defeat as they trudged across the last stretch of field before the sharp rise of the hill. They were less grand than when they had set out in the morning, helmets lost, shields broken, swords bent, and mail rent. They carried some of the dead they had found in the scramble to escape, though most had been left where they had fallen. The injured either hobbled behind the main group or were carried on the backs of their companions. Ulfrik bore one man on his back, a young warrior named Gert, who had his left thigh hacked to the bone. Gert moaned with every step, and Ulfrik sweated and strained under the weight, but his step quickened as Ravndal drew closer.
The gates opened as they approached, no cheering or bragging men greeted them, only worried faces of kin searching for their loved one in the weary group. Despite their own condition, Ulfrik knew his army had done enough harm to Clovis that he would be silenced for a while. The destruction of his cavalry was a rare victory, though the cost had been heavy. Whatever the true situation, for the men and for those who had died under his leadership, he would declare this a valiant triumph worthy of a song. Gert moaned again, as if reading his thoughts, and Ulfrik spoke over his shoulder. "Hold on, we're at the gates now. You'll get that leg stitched and be dancing on tables before you know it."
People crowded him as he led his men inside. A dozen questions assailed him at once, and he spun around looking for someone to relieve him of Gert so he could address them. Ornolf, a fat man who was nearly as old as Snorri, came forward and took Gert. Ornolf was his best surgeon, skilled at extracting arrows, stitching cuts, and amputating what could not be saved. "Be careful with him," Ulfrik said. Gert was only a few years older than Gunnar and the similarity tugged at him. "You've got a busy day ahead."
As more straggled through the gates, questions turned from Ulfrik to the new arrivals. The mood was solemn but still laughter sprouted up where an uninjured man returned to his kin. More painful to hear were the names of men he already knew to be slain. As the dead were carried in, wives and daughters cried and young sons stood trembling with balled fists.
Runa burst out of a crowd of women straining to find their own. She dragged Aren by his hand like a doll flying behind her. "Where is Gunnar and Hakon?"
"They're with you," Ulfrik said, and Runa froze. Her mouth made half-formed words and Ulfrik's blood turned to ice.
She shook her head slowly, then she punched him on his mail hard enough for her knuckles to come away bloodied. "They've been missing since you set out. Gunnar followed you!"
"With Hakon?" Ulfrik could see Gunnar disobeying him, but not Hakon. "He's only a child; Gunnar wouldn't ..."
"You've got to find them," Runa hissed, her face contorted with anger. "Look at this mess. If they went after you, I don't want to think of it."
"You're getting ahead of yourself." Ulfrik grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. She calmed as he spoke evenly to her. "We don't know exactly what happened. What has Snorri said?"
"Ask me yourself, lad." Snorri followed on Runa, his lame leg stiff and ungainly. "Gunnar said he would keep watch on the eastern wall for you, and Hakon didn't tell me anything. He took his toy sword, and I assumed he was going to play. We didn't know they were gone until you were spotted coming from the trees."
Ulfrik thought of Gunnar, as headstrong as his mother and as eager for battle as he had been at Gunnar's age. In many ways, he had half expected him to follow, but never with Hakon. Visions of the carnage in the woods replayed in his mind's eye, and he had to push the thoughts aside. He had only one choice.
"You are both certain they are not here? Gunnar didn't go find his girl?" Runa shook her head and Snorri rubbed his face.
"Lad, I've had men tearing up every corner of this place. There's a few good hiding spots, but not that many. They're gone."
Einar, smiling with both his daughters clinging to his legs, joined them. Konal also approached. Ulfrik informed them of Gunnar and Hakon's disappearance. Konal smiled without mirth at the news.
"He begged me to take him along," Konal said. "Claimed that he'd not let you find out."
"What did you tell him?" Runa snapped, nearly lunging at him. "I hope it was sensible."
"Is telling him to obey his father sensible?" Konal's ruined face rippled with his strained smile. "He was saddened, but I told him to wait for his time and to heed his father's words. He left me with a promise he would, but I see desire got the better of him."
Runa began cursing and Ulfrik felt his own anger rise. "I'll go to search the woods. Einar, organize whoever is still able and bring torches."
"I'll go as well," Snorri added. "My eyes are not what they were, but you need help."
Ulfrik did not deny the need for help. After the battle, wolves would descend on the bodies left behind and they would not be averse to attacking two boys in the wood. Runa and Konal volunteered and soon Ulfrik led a half dozen search parties armed with torches back to the woods. Many were as weary as he, having fought and labored with heavy mail armor all day. His shoulders slumped and his back ached with the weight, but his sons were lost in these woods and the urgency to find them drove his feet forward. The dark trees echoed with calls of his boys' names, and nothing but a thick blackness remained when voices fell silent.
By midnight he was staggering and had fallen too many times to count. Runa pushed on with her group, but he had to rest as did many of the others. Exhaustion claimed the searchers one by one, and the search succumbed to it in the cold hours of the morning. Ulfrik insisted Einar take Runa and Snorri back to Ravndal, and he would sleep in the forest to resume the search the next morning.
His stomach growled, arms trembled, and feet throbbed as he slipped into the bole of a tree with only his cloak to protect him from the cold night. He drew his sword and laid it across his legs, and promised himself he would only sleep a few hours. As he drifted into sleep, he imagined he heard both his boys speaking to him, but it was merely the taunt of his imagination and he finally slept knowing his sons were lost in t
he forest.
Chapter 11
Throst's belly grumbled and his arms trembled, but purpose drove him forward. He had eaten nothing better than stale bread in days. He had tried to catch fish or wild game, and realized it was much harder to do than it seemed. The constant whining from his mother and sister had grown from a distraction to a consuming fixation for him. Even one complaint from them drew his ire.
The three of them stumbled along the trail in the woods, rocks and roots battering their feet as they went. Leaves and debris hid depressions and his mother fell on her face at least seven times since setting out that morning. Throst did not wait for her. She was a burden more than anything else, and her only use was in keeping his young sister in conformity with Throst's plans. He heard her curse as she again crunch down into the dry leaves. This time he stopped and turned, dropping a hand to his sword. His mother was on her face, and his sister dragging her up by the arm. Her head cover had long been lost, and her tousled gray hair caught a rim of yellow light falling through the autumn canopy above.
"All right, you two are stopping here. No more following me." Throst glared at his sister, expecting her to release his mother back to the ground, but she continued to pull her up. She staggered to her feet, and brushed down her tattered skirt.
"I'm not born for living in the forests. I was always a village girl. And I'm starving. Will these men have food?" She gave Throst the same pathetic pout she used to give to his father, which aggravated him in the same way.
"Now you belong to no one," Throst said. "Thanks to the great Lord Ulfrik Ormsson, you are a widowed outlaw. So get used to starving."
"I asked about food. You said you could hunt and that's a lie. What am I going to eat?" She folded her arm and lined up with his sister, as if the ten-year-old girl were an enforcer in her employ.
"Listen, Mother," he spit the words like chewed gristle, "I'm the man of this family now that Father is gone. You'll eat after I eat, unless you can get your own food and then you owe me a share."
"I want to eat too," his sister said, sliding closer to their mother as she did.
Throst rubbed his face, trying to force patience he did not feel. "I've got a plan, and I'm going to make it work. After this morning, I will have us a home and men to serve me. But not if you two fools drive me mad first. Just shut up."
His mother drew herself up straight, puffing out her chest and cheeks like she always did when she presumed to have authority over Throst. "How dare you threaten your mother like that!"
Throst's slap sent her reeling back and she tripped over a root, sprawling on the ground. He would have laughed were he not about to risk his life. His sister rushed to their mother's side, but she recoiled when he yelled at her to stay away. He hovered over his mother. "I'll speak to you anyway I like. Father always said you needed a few hits before you understood anything. Remember who will protect you with him gone? Me, I'm all you can depend on, so do what I tell you."
His mother rubbed her face and glowered at him, but she did not move. His sister knelt on the dead leaves with her head down. Throst lingered over them a moment before continuing. "Lord Ulfrik thinks he has seen the last of me, but I've got plans he can't even understand. When I'm done, he'll regret killing my father and making me an outlaw. You want to see Lord Ulfrik cry like a baby, don't you?"
His mother nodded and slowly righted herself, a lock of gray hair hanging over her face.
"I will make him cry until he has only blood for tears, I promise you this. But before I can do that, before anything else, I've got to succeed today. To do that, I need you two fucking fools to stay here and remain out of my way. Can you manage to do that one simple thing?"
His mother glared at him and his sister picked at the dead leaves before her. Satisfied he would not have any more interference from them, he continued to follow the tracks through the woods. His belly tightened in anticipation, knowing his plan would either glorify his name or end his life. Death mattered little; with his father gone and Ulfrik outlawing him, he had no life. No Northmen would associate with him and no Frank would take in a stranger. Ulfrik had sentenced him to death, all while pretending to be merciful. Throst was unwilling to die and more unwilling to suffer humiliation and defeat before all of Ravndal. Avenging his father was secondary to proving that Ulfrik had tangled with the wrong man. Throst had been underestimated and that was an advantage he would fully exploit, but first he had to succeed today.
He came to the end of the path. Sliding behind a tree, he studied the collection of burned-out homes. One had completely collapsed into black ash with only a few columns sticking out at the sky. Three other homes were in stages of collapse, but the main hall had fresh thatch. Throst drew a deep breath, then strode confidently into the clearing, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other tucked into his belt by the thumb.
"Come out, you fools! Meet your new leader." Throst's shouting drew instant response from the hall, the doors flying open and eight men who lived in it spilling outside with drawn weapons. "That's a proper greeting. Hurry, who leads this sorry group?"
Throst knew the names of the men and their leader. He had been watching them since locating their hideout in this abandoned Frankish hamlet. These eight were either lord-less Northmen or Franks who preyed on both sides of the border, all united under a Frank named Pepin. He purposely avoided Pepin and looked to the other ugly and angry faces arrayed against him, not wanting to indicate he knew anything at all of them.
"Look where the bird shit landed, right outside my door," Pepin said in fluid but accented Norse. He broke from the semicircle of men closing on him. His sword was rusty and dull in the light as he used it to point at Throst. "What's this you squawking about, bird shit?"
"Then you must be the leader of these men? I'm here to offer them a better choice, one who will lead them to more than living in a burned down village."
Laughter erupted, just as Throst expected. He laughed with them, which stopped several of them, notably Pepin who angered at the insolence.
"You're going to the slave markets, is all you're doing. Take him alive; he'll fetch us a good price if he's in one piece."
"I challenge you to single combat, Pepin." Throst drew his sword and leveled it at the stunned Pepin. His jaundiced eyes bulged in shock at hearing a stranger call him by name. "That's right. You have grown famous enough to attract challengers, Pepin. Fight me alone, and if I win I will take your place as leader."
"And when you lose, if your head is still on your shoulders, you're gone to a slave market." Pepin drew his sword, and one of his men who had been alert enough to grab a shield handed it to him.
"A shield? This is not a fair fight." Throst withheld his smile. A fair fight was never in his plan.
"Deal with it, bird shit."
The semicircle pulled back as Pepin leapt forward with a wild shout and his sword high. Throst skittered to the right and avoided the undisciplined blow, his blade licking Pepin's arm as he carried past. His men began to shout and cheer, encouraging Pepin to kill Throst and be done. As Pepin regained his balance, he smiled at his companions and laughed with them, as if he had only toyed and would now become serious. Throst smiled as well, jumping his sword in the palm of his hand.
Both men went into a crouch, Pepin behind his shield with his sword held against its edge. Throst considered grappling Pepin, but his size gave him a slight advantage and might encourage one of the onlookers to strike him. The worried look in Pepin's eye betrayed all the swagger and curses hurled from the others ringing them. They circled each other, and Throst easily led him to the position he wanted. He planted himself in the grass when he aligned the sun to his polished blade. Now he only needed Pepin to launch his attack to pull off his tricks.
"You're afraid to come out from behind your shield? You're worried I'll cut your handsome face? It'll be an improvement."
Pepin growled but did not jump at the taunt. Throst had patience and knew Pepin's friends would cajole him into action.
The strike came suddenly, but Throst saw it in Pepin's stance before it launched. Pepin counted on his shield to pin Throst's sword arm, and he would follow through with a slash at his leg. It was what Throst wanted. He had the rare ability of equal skill with either hand.
As Pepin charged, Throst flashed sunlight in his eyes. The charge stumbled but did not stop, giving him the delay to toss his sword into his left hand as Pepin's shield rose up to pin his arm. In that instant, Throst hacked down and chopped the back of Pepin's thigh to the bone. The meat of his leg split and blood gushed. Pepin screamed and careened forward with the momentum of his spoiled attack.
Throst whirled and followed up, stamping on Pepin's sword hand. Blood pumped from the gaping wound and his companions cried out at the sight of it.
"I yield," Pepin shouted and cried, releasing his sword. Throst kicked it away.
"Have I defeated you?"
Pepin nodded, his face twisted with suffering as he turned on his back. "Who are you?"
"None of your concern."
Throst rammed his sword into Pepin's throat, nearly decapitating him in a single blow. The others fell silent at once, and Throst faced them with his gory blade ranging before him. Now was the key moment. Men would either accept him as their leader or another would challenge him.
"Pepin was a weak turd, not worthy of you. That's why I came here. Do you only dream of stealing food from the Franks and picking the crumbs the Northmen leave you? Did Pepin tell you that you were doing better with him than alone? Did he constantly remind you of how good life was without a lord to follow? Yet, what have you got? Look at you. You're living in a hall crumbling on your heads."
"But our bellies are full," one of the men challenged him, and nodded at a few for encouragement.
"Eating is all you want? Listen to me. Eating is good. I am hungry, for food but also for more. I want power and wealth just like all of you. Will you find it hiding here between the Northmen and the Franks?"
Shield of Lies Page 6