Shield of Lies

by Jerry Autieri

"Of course," Ulfrik said in a voice that indicated he would never have the conversation. Snorri spluttered a laugh, but Runa did not think it humorous. She began to crane her neck to find Gunnar herself, but instead she spotted something else that arrested her search.

  Amid the laughing and drinking hirdmen sat eight men who were as hard and somber as black rocks in the frozen snow. They sat at the edge of a table, one man astride his bench so he faced Ulfrik, legs sprawled out before him and one hand gripping his mug. He glared with hard and sharp eyes, his ruined face made more horrible for the hate written in the folds of his ravaged skin. The man was Konal.

  He dragged himself from the bench, his silent men bowing their heads deeper as he stood. He staggered past others at their drink and blundered up to the high table, where he braced himself on Einar and Snorri.

  Ulfrik looked up with a bemused smile. "Konal, you have been quiet tonight. Come sit with us and drink."

  "From the smell of him, I'd say he's not going to hold more," Snorri said while fanning his face. Ulfrik and the others laughed, but Runa saw the threat in Konal's eyes.

  "It's more than drink that I want from you." His voice was thick and hissing. Runa felt her stomach burn and her heart pound as he punctuated his statement with a deep belch.

  "Well, tell me what you want," Ulfrik said, the smile dropping from his face. "I will see what I can do for you."

  "You have something that belongs to me, something you stole. I want it back."

  Runa's hand felt for the knife strapped to her leg. Had he discovered the treasure that Ulfrik kept hidden for so long? It had once belonged to Konal, though Ulfrik claimed he had lost it and no longer had a claim. In his destitute state, Runa feared he would demand it from them.

  A hush overcame the high table and some of the men close to it, though the hall still hummed with happier sounds. Ulfrik's eyes did not flinch from Konal's and he did not reply immediately. The two men faced down each other, until Konal sneered and turned aside to spit on the floor.

  "What have I stolen from you, my friend?" Ulfrik's question was deliberate and clear, free of threat but unyielding. "Your drink has surely clouded your memory, for you have nothing I would take."

  "Nothing to take? And you call my memory clouded!" Konal pulled himself straight, and to Runa's horror he twisted to her, his fire-ravaged hand stabbing an accusing finger at her.

  "I want my son. Aren is my son."

  Had she not already been seated Runa would have fallen. As it was, the next moments were nothing but swooning confusion. Silence gripped the hall and Konal's words crashed like swords falling on flagstones. Her vision faded and her head buzzed. She gathered Aren to her as if protecting him from a hailstorm. Had he really done this? Had he named Aren as his own son before Ulfrik and the entire hall? Yes, she had feared such a confrontation, but never expected it to unfold before the whole community. Only blood could follow now.

  Ulfrik rose carefully, head bent and watching Konal from beneath his brows. Snorri and Einar stood aside, faces aghast. Runa's vision had shrunk as if she watched through a hole in a black cloth, her hands frozen around Aren.

  "You are drunk," Ulfrik said. "Get some air outside. The cold will help clear your thinking."

  "I may be drunk, but I've never been clearer." He wavered at the edge of the platform, flexing back as if to fall then pitching forward to balance himself. His finger jabbed again at Aren. "That boy's my son. He's the living image of my father."

  The silence hurt Runa's head. Dark and red fury began to coil beneath Ulfrik's skin. Already on edge, he was likely to explode into deadly violence. To Runa's amazement, he still maintained an even voice though it crackled with threat.

  "You slander my wife and dishonor me in my own hall. You are my bondsman, Konal Ketilsson, and a valued one at that. But don't think to try me further. Take back your words and I'll allow you to step away with your dignity."

  "I did not journey so far to only gaze at my son from afar. All my kin are dead, but my son is alive and here before me. You don't deserve him. He belongs with me."

  "You persist," Ulfrik said with a laugh. "Aren is my son and none other. Whatever face you see in him, it is because you wish to see it. One last time, for all the years of good service you rendered before we parted as friends, take back your words."

  Konal wavered, then leapt for Runa. "Aren, look at me! Let me see my son!"

  His sudden movement ignited the violence Runa had expected. Konal only succeeded in crashing into the table and falling atop it. Ulfrik lunged for him. In the same instant, Einar and Snorri grappled with him, and Konal's men stood to defend their master.

  Angry shouts banished the shocked silence. Konal cried out for Aren and his men shouted as other hirdmen seized them before they could join the scrum unfolding at the high table. Benches overturned and plates clattered to the floor as Einar with his giant strength lifted Konal from the table, then he locked Konal's arms behind his back, ending the commotion.

  Runa, for all her training and confidence in her fighting skills, had sat dumbfounded throughout. She remained sheltering Aren, who squirmed and demanded to be let go. Smothered beneath her enfolding arms, she refused to release him and crushed him tighter. She watched Konal struggle against Einar's hold, then slump with a low moan.

  "You dare raise your hand to my wife, and at a time like this?" Ulfrik stood with both hands on his hips, his face twisted in a snarl.

  "What better time? You've already lost one son, and I don't want you to lose mine. He's my only kin left in this world."

  Many drew a shocked breath at Konal's audacity. Runa did not immediately understand his insult, but Ulfrik had clearly grasped it. He shoved the table aside, sending its contents crashing to the floor as he pressed his face to Konal's.

  "Your insults and disregard for my family have no place in my hall or my service. Take yourself from my lands and never show yourself again. You and your men, be gone!"

  Konal stared hard at him, and seemed to sober. He nodded and turned his head aside to address his men being restrained behind Einar. "Hear that? We are no longer welcomed here, and for what? Speaking the truth is all I've done. I will have my kin at my side, Ulfrik. I've no need of you or this foul place. I curse you and your family for fools."

  Another gasp rushed from the crowd and Ulfrik waved him away. Einar snapped Konal around and shouted for hirdmen to lead Konal's other men out. Runa watched Konal go, not resisting and head bowed. As he and his men were dragged into the press of onlookers, Gunnar appeared before him with fresh tears on his cheeks. She feared her son would shame himself with pleading and begging, but instead his quivering mouth bent into a frown and he backhanded Konal across his face with a meaty slap.

  Aren broke free and called out for Konal, who did not look back as Einar and the other hirdmen shoved him and his men out of the hall. The remaining hirdmen kept an embarrassed silence, their eyes averted to their feet. Ulfrik stood amid the ruined table, scanning his men and the horrified faces of the young girls who had sat at the high table. Runa avoided Halla, but saw Toki staring at her husband. He seemed caught between wanting to act and fearing to move. Finally, Ulfrik stirred.

  "You and the boy, get to our room," he ordered. "I will see to it Konal is ejected this very night."

  Runa no longer resisted the idea, but instead welcomed the chance to flee the heavy shame Konal had inflicted upon her and her family.

  Chapter 27

  Throst's heart soared with joy. The woods around him may have been sinking into the decay of winter with bare branches waving above cold and muddy earth, but he moved through them with a light step. The morning was bitter cold and his nose and cheeks were raw and red, but his heart was warm with promise. Dan strode alongside him, matching Throst's amiable pace, and the two led five others of his band. They bundled in mud-spattered, gray cloaks of wool and beneath fur-lined hats, and did not match the positive gait of their leader.

  At the edge of the clearing, not more than a
few hours walking from their base, Throst came to what he had sought. He paused, stopping Dan with an outstretched hand. The others drew in closer, rubbing hands together against the cold. "Are we really going to take on more men to feed? My stomach is hurting enough already," one of the men grumbled.

  "Then learn to be a better hunter," Throst quipped without looking back to see who had complained. Dan would undoubtedly silence any more dissent with a withering glare. "These men are sent from the gods, right in time for our need of them."

  Throst heard more back talk but paid it no mind. He hid behind a tree and watched the encampment for signs of movement. Four tents of dirty yellow cloth billowed in a clearing. The campfire smoldered, and no one tended it. He could not keep the smile from his face, for inside those tents were eight men fresh from Ulfrik's hall who would share his grudge against that arrogant jarl and double the size of his force. He had lurked at the edge of their encampment and heard their complaints and knew their hearts. They were not bright men, setting a campfire for all to see, but they were well armed and armored. He only needed their fighting strength.

  His band did not possess the same fieldcraft skills as he did, and Throst cringed at their undisciplined noises as they stumbled in the woods. He could not trust them to scout, which is why he did it himself. For now, he needed a show of force in case Ulfrik's former men had other ideas. As Throst watched from the edge of the woods, men emerged from their tents. Some wore mail, all had sturdy shields and fine swords. In fact, they appeared wealthy, and Throst suddenly felt poor.

  "They look powerful," Dan said, his voice small.

  "Don't mind that," Throst said. "They share a common enemy with us, and you know what they say about that."

  "What is said about that?"

  Throst disregarded Dan's slow wits, and addressed all of his men. "Follow my lead and let me do the talking. You're here to demonstrate our strength and nothing more. These men will join us before we are done, mark my words."

  Drawing a deep breath, he straightened himself and stepped from his hiding place. After a few paces, his men fell in behind him. He approached the camp, his arms relaxed at his side and a smile on his face. No one appeared to notice him, and he hailed the group with a wave of his hand.

  "Good morning to you, wanderers. May we join your fire on this cold morning?"

  The men spun to face him, and swords were freed of their scabbards within moments. The air filled with the song of iron blades that gleamed in the diffuse sunlight, each newly honed tip pointed at him. One man caught him short, their leader who Throst had heard protesting his fate in the darkness. His face had been badly burned and the red and white flesh appeared loose and melting on a once handsome head.

  Throst stopped and raised his hands, and his men did the same. "Peace, we did not mean to startle you."

  The leader scowled at him and his blade did not lower. Other men spilled out of the tents, creating a semicircle of stern faces and bright blades. "Yet you did, and you would do well to stand still."

  "If we intended an ambush, you would have all been stuck with arrows by now. Please, lower your weapons. You see we have not drawn ours. I want only to share your fire and conversation."

  The scar-faced man smiled without humor. "Such fine manners for so ragged a bandit. You bring many men to your conversation, and I can't help but wonder why."

  "Look to yourself, then," Throst said. "I see eight blades pointed at my heart. But let's not dwell on what sets us apart. Allow me to approach and my men will stay behind."

  The scar-faced leader lowered his blade and the rest followed, though all remained alert for trouble. Throst respected their wariness and reminded himself to refrain from provoking them. When the leader stood to the side to allow him to join his group, Throst moved with exaggerated care. He nodded Dan and the others to step back, which they did all too easily. The cowardice made him wince, and reminded him again why adding these new men to his force was so vital. These were hard-bitten warriors and not homeless criminals.

  "Do you have a name?" asked the leader as Throst came to the dying embers of the campfire. A low warmth pulsed around this feet and legs as he stood by it.

  "I am called Throst the Shield-Biter, and not long ago I assume you were hunting these woods for me."

  He spoke casually and seated himself on a dry log that his hosts had dragged to the fireside when they had established their camp. Carelessly flipping his cloak aside as he sat, he did not look at the others, as if his name meant nothing. Despite his show of indifference, his hands went cold and his heart raced. These men might consider capturing him to earn Ulfrik's forgiveness, but he had heard enough the prior night to believe they would not. Once he settled upon the log, he glanced up at the leader with a bright smile.

  All the men had drawn closer, their lips pressed tight and swords tipped up. The leader was a standing stone, a breeze tousling his hair across the good side of his face and leaving only his ravaged side exposed. The two stared at each other, but the leader finally relented with a snort.

  "Would that we had this meeting a week ago, maybe my fate would have been much different. So you are Throst? You are smaller than I imagined. From the way Ulfrik cursed your name, I expected a giant." He returned his sword to its sheath then laid it on another log as he sat. The other men relaxed and Throst released breath he had not realized he had held.

  "You compliment me, but I am no larger than any other man. But I do know how to inflict hurt, and so I have taught Ulfrik. Now, honor me with your name, friend, for I believe you and I may have common cause against Ulfrik."

  The leader coughed a dry laugh and shook his head. "My name is Konal Ketilsson and I lead these men, who have followed me into banishment and disgrace. I do not deserve their love, but never have there been better companions."

  A few of the men nodded as if embarrassed, though most others folded their arms and set their legs wide in challenge. Throst grunted agreement at Konal's sentiments. "That kind of loyalty is something Ulfrik does not understand, would you say?"

  "That I would. Curse that man to a dog's death. He has my son, held from me just as surely as you hold Hakon from him. Did that help him understand why I must be reunited with my only kin? Of course not! Instead, he shamed and banished me. Years ago I served him, risked my life for him. I once saved his eldest son's life, and do you know that meant nothing to him? One drunken night and a few loose words and now I am a bandit as low as you."

  The frown passed from Throst's face in an instant, but the jab rankled him. Two of the men laughed at Konal's derision, and Throst noted who they were. If he ever got control of these men they would learn better respect, but for now he looked to the sky as if checking for rain and hopefully conceal the flush that heated his face.

  "So do you have Hakon still, or is he dead?" Konal continued, picking up a stick to stir the embers of the fire.

  "He is alive and well, and in fact I have plans for him that will make me and my men quite wealthy."

  Konal paused in stirring the fire and shared glances with his men before turning to Throst. "So you're not satisfied with the silver you nabbed the first time. You plan on taking more than that?"

  "Far more, and I am certain he will pay me all I ask. He will have no choice. But I speak overmuch, for while you have been a fair host, you are no ally of mine. At least, you are not yet." Throst smiled and leaned closer. "For what I plan, I will need more fighting strength than I currently possess. Finding you camped here, so obviously abandoned like many who have served that arrogant lord of Ravndal, is a great boon. If you were to join with me, I could offer you a part in my plan and the riches that will follow. But best of all, I could reunite you with your son. As I have shown, I have a way to get at his children."

  Konal shot to his feet with such suddenness that Throst fell back and reflexively grabbed the hilt of his sword. The other men crouched as if to spring into action. Yet Konal did nothing more than stand with both fists balled until his knuckles tu
rned white. His fierce face glowed with hate and rage and his yellow teeth were bared.

  "Aren is my son and none other. If you promise me my boy, then you will have my sword and the swords of my men at your service."

  Throst laughed, a nervous thing he detested for its show of weakness, but his heart pounded at the base of his neck. Konal had exploded like a lightning bolt and could have easily killed him in one stroke. Such explosive power had to be managed carefully, and for a brief moment he wondered whether to enlist this man. Yet Konal's rabid hatred and desire would make him pliable, and Throst needed his men.

  "Consider your son as good as restored to your side." Throst did not know why Konal believed Ulfrik's child was his own. He did not know Ulfrik's history and knew nothing of Konal other than his usefulness. Perhaps he was mad. He would learn Konal's details soon enough, but for now securing his oath was paramount.

  "Then I will give you my word to serve until that day. But Konal Ketilsson will never again be a bondsman to anyone. We will split the riches and I will have my son, then you and I will part ways."

  "It is a fair deal," Throst said as he stood. "Once I hear your oath, then I will take you to where Hakon is kept and you will see that I have the power to grant what you most desire."

  Konal smiled wickedly, deep lines forming in the thin flesh of his burned face. "I desire justice, and a good measure of revenge."

  Both men laughed and Throst again felt his heart race, this time with the thrill of knowing he had concluded one more step on his path to greatness.

  Chapter 28

  The thin crescent of the moon did not throw much light and Throst's torch guttered in the night breeze that tore at his face. Winter would be harsh this year, and he vowed to live in a proper hall before it began. On the low hill with the single, thick oak tree, he saw the ball of orange light from a brand. Though certain of being unseen, he still searched over his shoulder for followers. He had made sure no one observed him slipping away, but caution was always necessary. No one could be completely trusted.