Shield of Lies

by Jerry Autieri

  Faces turned away to allow them some privacy, only Snorri regarded him from across the room. Ulfrik returned his stare, and the two shared the same unspoken fear. Ransom or not, would Clovis enact his revenge on Gunnar and take his hand? Looking aside, Ulfrik mumbled a prayer to the gods and fought back his own stinging tears.

  Chapter 42

  Snorri and Einar accompanied Ulfrik to the shack which imprisoned Astra. As they arrived at the small building squatting between the south and west barrack houses, Ulfrik mused that Gudmund had been held there before his hanging. It was a foolish connection, as he had nowhere else to hold a prisoner, but still something about it made him shiver. He wondered if the ghost of that cruel man was Astra's informant. He would learn soon enough.

  While he had not rested, the guard outside the shack apparently had an easier time of it. Einar growled as he realized the man sat buried into his cloak, head tucked to his chest and spear balanced between his legs as he snoozed. Once they arrived before him, their shadows falling across his face, Ulfrik heard the man's snoring. Einar cursed him, snatched the spear from his lap and slammed the shaft into the man's gut.

  He tumbled from the chair with a cry as Einar raised the shaft overhead with both hands. "Wake up, you've got visitors," he shouted, then slammed the spear shaft across the prone figure's head. The guard fell back with both hands outstretched, screaming for help.

  "Enough," Ulfrik snapped. "We're all tired." To the guard lying on his back he snapped his fingers. "Get up and open the door. I want to see the bitch."

  Taking a moment to recover, rubbing his head where a lump already started to form, he scrabbled to his feet. Einar continued to glare at the man, who recoiled beneath him. The door was barred with three bolts, which slid easily from the outside but from within made forcing the door impossible. The shed had no windows, and inside the only light came from beneath the door. In summer it stewed men in the humidity and in winter it froze them. Ulfrik had built it to be a sturdy, punishing cell.

  The bolts thudded open and the guard pushed the heavy wooden door into the room. Light framed Astra directly against the wall opposite the entrance.

  She was dead. A dagger pierced her throat and remained protruding from the base of her neck. Bright blood soaked her chest and lap. Her eyes were glassy and wide with shock, staring into the places only the dead could see.

  The four men stood in silent shock, but the muscles in Einar's jaw were already twitching. His voice was a low threat. "How did this happen, you dog? You slept through this fucking butchery?"

  The guard stammered and fell away, both hands raised in protest. Ulfrik regained himself and anger erupted from the depth of his guts. One arm struck out viper-quick, an iron grip seizing the guard by his neck. He slammed his other hand onto the guard's chest and threw him against the wall of the shack. Einar lowered the guard's own spear to his chest.

  "I've had all I can take of stupid men causing me misery," Ulfrik said through gritted teeth. He glared into the guard's terror-widened eyes, trying to remember this man's name. It took a moment, but once recalled he twisted it into a threat. "Listen to me, Ingjald. Tell me what you've done and seen since you've been here. The truth, no matter how bad it makes you look, or you'll be searching for your teeth all over Frankia."

  "I never heard anything or saw anyone," he said, stuttering. His breath smelled of beer and fish, and his eyes were bloodshot. "I swear it before the gods."

  Snorri shook his head in disgust and limped inside the guard shack. Einar jabbed Ingjald with the tip of the spear, making him hiss with pain.

  "And how long were you asleep?" Ulfrik tightened his grip, glancing past Ingjald at Snorri leaning over the corpse. "Did you ever leave your post?"

  Ingjald's eyes fell away and Ulfrik had his answers, still he shook the guard until he spoke the words. "I met friends who returned with you. I was gone no longer than a man needs to share one drink with friends. It was not time at all."

  Releasing him with disgust, Ulfrik would have to prove Ingjald's excuses. For all he knew, the murder could have been his handiwork. Einar never let his spear off Ingjald's chest. His face had deepened to an intense red as he yelled at his guard. "And your friends sent you back with more drink, no doubt. You never checked on your prisoner? Nothing made you suspect?"

  Ulfrik did not remain for the interrogation, knowing full well Ingjald was useless. Inside the cramped shack, he stood beside Snorri and studied the bloodied heap slumped against the wall. Black flies danced in her blood and the heavy scent of death was thick. The knife jutting from her neck was commonplace. She did not seem to have struggled, which told him she was mostly likely killed by her informant.

  "Einar," he called over his shoulder. "I need an accounting and inspection of every man, now. Keep Ingjald under guard until we prove his story."

  Snorri prodded Astra's corpse with his foot. "Whoever did this should have bloody hands," he said. "Look at the blood spray on the floor. Someone has to be marked. Also, the smear here looks like the hem of a cloak dragged through the blood."

  Ulfrik nodded agreement, searched for footprints or anything to indicate who had silenced Astra and finding nothing. Her eyes stared ahead, eternally frozen in shock at her final betrayal. You got all you deserved, he thought, but I don't deserve your silence.

  Stepping back into the bracing, fresh air, Einar was already ordering men and having Ingjald bound. The hapless guard stared at his feet in quiet shame. Ulfrik knew he was a simple but well-liked man. His heart told him Ingjald had been honest, and that the real enemy had exploited his inattention. At the worst, his punishment would be a public shaming with every person of Ravndal pelting him with garbage and other refuse, while all his companions kicked him. He would be sore but hopefully chastened. The real traitor, whenever he was found, would be brutalized before dying in misery.

  Assembling and inspecting the men consumed the morning, and revealed nothing. The worst blood stain revealed was from a nick to a hand that bled overmuch. The man even had witnesses to the accident. Eventually bloody rags were uncovered in a trash heap against the southern wall. It only proved someone had cleaned up. No one had entered or left Ravndal, meaning the person who wanted Astra silenced was still inside. He ordered no man to leave without his direct order, and to do so would equal an admission of guilt punishable by death.

  By evening he had retreated to his hall, his mood fouled and his anger raw. Yet when he saw Runa and she smiled—a thin and ghostly smile, quick to vanish—Ulfrik renewed his heart. The remorse that had overwhelmed him at discovering Gunnar's defeat returned, and Runa's smile galvanized him to make amends. He put aside his foul mood and sat with her, taking her hand into his.

  "I'm glad she died betrayed," Runa said, her voice a whisper. "I only wish we got more out of her. I needed her to prove ..."

  As her voice trailed off, Ulfrik felt a tension flow out of his chest. Of course she was about to name Halla as the culprit. She had been away long enough, though witnesses claimed she had taken her children to the hall where Toki had left his possessions. Right now, he could not brook the ugly fight that would erupt if Runa accused her in public. It would only obscure the real search.

  He squeezed her hand. "You are better than I deserve. Thank you for not speaking your mind on that count."

  They sat together in silence, ate a meal prepared by Einar's wife and served at twilight. Men came to the hall in thoughtful silence, and Ulfrik recognized they all suspected one another of treachery. It was a horrible evening, though to his surprise Konal attempted to lighten the mood with foolish riddles he barely choked out in his weakened condition. At last, he had strength for no more and the hall again became a sullen gathering of suspicious people.

  As the day ended and men returned to their own beds, Ulfrik sat groggy and tired overlooking the smoky gloom. Men presented themselves to him, swore loyalty and promised to uncover the culprit. Ulfrik thanked each man, but knew in the coming days there would be a dozen accusa
tions and a dozen bloody fights over misunderstandings. Inevitably someone would be killed. All the while Ulfrik had to train his mind on the real issue of freeing both his sons and Toki from Clovis and Throst. He rubbed his face and closed his eyes.

  "Ulfrik," a thin voice addressed him. He looked up and Halla and her children were before him. Runa had already taken Aren to bed, and Halla must have waited for her opportunity to approach. "I wanted to apologize for earlier. I am just frightened for Toki."

  He smiled at her and nodded. "No need, we all share your worry. But he is a tough man, and he will hold his own. Do not fear for him. I will not rest until he is free and returned to your hearth. You have my word upon it."

  She inclined her head, then gathered her children to her. "I prefer to stay in the bed you provided to Toki and me. It's better, I think. I feel nearer to him that way."

  "As you wish. A good night to you, Halla." He winked at her children, who clung to her like frightened rabbits.

  Returning his well wishes, she turned to leave.

  It was an errant glimpse, a chance sweep of his gaze, but it made his hands chill. The murky light obscured it, maybe he even imagined it. Of course he only imagined it. It could not be what he had assumed it was.

  As she had turned, her skirt spun and spread around her legs. The back of her skirt hem was darkened with heavy black stains as if dipped into a thick fluid. Though his eyes had seen blood stain and splatter a thousand times over, he had to have been mistaken. Surely she had dragged her skirt unknowingly through something. Not blood.

  She left and he remained sitting straight at the high table. Suddenly he no longer felt groggy, but intensely awake. In the morning, he would have to satisfy himself that it had only been mud on Halla's skirt.

  Chapter 43

  Throst waited in a crowded stone room that smelled of wood smoke and sweat. Rotten straw scattered on the floorboards added a hint of grass to the odors. The only things smelling worse than the room were Dan, Olaf, and himself. His head itched constantly and he realized he hadn't bathed since Ulfrik ejected him from Ravndal. Crates and barrels, mostly empty, competed for space with the rough table where he and the others sat. A broken pair of tongs were propped against the wooden interior wall, laced with cobwebs. The three men tried to appear relaxed in the square of light cast through a single window, though Throst judged his companions poor actors.

  "This is taking too long," Olaf said, rubbing both his shoulders as if cold.

  "You have to be somewhere?" Throst asked, and Olaf turned away with a frown.

  "You shouldn't have surrendered Hakon without taking our ransom first," Olaf said. "It was a stupid thing to do."

  "Weren't stupid," Dan said, his voice deepening with threat. "Do you forget the arrows and spears pointed at us? What was to be done?"

  "Not coming here in the first place would've been better." Olaf continued to rub his shoulders and faced the light slanting in from the window. "More likely we'll be dancing from the end of a rope by day's end."

  "I'll pull your legs if you promise to shut up now," Throst quipped. "You were not bound to follow me, but here you sit. That promise of silver was too much for you to resist after all. Maybe we're not going to be paid anything, and maybe Clovis will bury us in gold. But we've been too useful just to kill us out of hand. How could we have known he already captured Gunnar? That was a nice piece of luck for him, but made our news worthless. Still, delivering it showed him our value. It was not a poor choice to come."

  "That's right. Shut up, Olaf." Dan's pronouncement drew a sneer from Olaf, but Throst chuckled.

  Clovis had held them overlong, and had not even offered a drink. They had retained their weapons, and therefore could not be considered prisoners. Still their treatment did not bode well for the future. Throst would not admit the defeat Olaf was always prepared to embrace. Coming to Clovis was indeed a risky proposition, but Throst now lived in a world brimming with ridiculous risks. There was no choice that would not end with a blade through his guts, so he chose this path. At the least, he had the possibility of a reward.

  Footfalls and murmured voices at the door preceded its opening. Framed in the entrance was regal Clovis, his clean and bright face full of wicked delight. Throst swallowed hard, but forced a smile.

  "Pardon my delay, but your arrival surprised me." Clovis inclined his head slightly. "Hakon is now with his family, and it was actually a touching reunion given their circumstances."

  Clovis did not enter the room, and figures backed him up. Throst did not enjoy the sense of entrapment. He stood carefully, wanting to show respect but not willing to be looked down upon.

  "It was my pleasure to deliver Hakon to you, as well as news of Gunnar's vulnerability."

  "Yes, Gunnar is the prize that makes keeping his runt brother worthwhile. Ulfrik is ruined now, unless I misjudge him."

  "He stakes much pride on his sons," Throst said, daring to step closer. Clovis's eyes flickered with anger and his lip curled, so Throst halted. "He will pay whatever you ask of him, I am sure."

  The men beyond the door stirred and at last Throst glimpsed a gangly young man hovering behind Clovis. The stump of his right arm was clutched against his belly, identifying him as Clovis's son. He was a sadder, more defeated version of his father, like something left submerged so long that its color had drained away. Clovis caught Throst's glance and he smiled, stepping aside to reveal his son and three more guards as well.

  "You see my son's hand, how it has ruined him? Gunnar will return to his father just the same, ransom or no. That is the price for what he did to my family. How can he lead without a sword hand?"

  Throst did not follow the logic, but Clovis's son sagged lower each time his father mentioned him. He would pour through the floor in a moment, and Throst pitied him. Yet, Clovis's battles with Ulfrik were no longer his concern. Unless Astra either killed or kidnapped his third son, their battles were done. He merely wanted his reward and a chance to flee with his small band.

  "You will have justice for such a pitiless crime," he said, and his words drew frowns like he had fouled the air. Moving past his error, he pressed Clovis. "Now, there is the matter of the ransom price."

  Letting the words linger, he watched as Clovis shared glances with his son and men. Then he spread his hands wide. "For such fine service, I grant you the very highest reward I can give. I will spare your miserable life."

  "Are you joking with me?" Throst's vision flashed white with anger and he stepped forward into spears that rushed at him. He swatted one aside, though two more stuck into his ribs and halted him. "You promised a fucking reward. Now you throw me out with nothing more than your thanks?"

  Clovis's face turned red and rather than anger he burst out laughing. The guards held their faces stern a moment, then joined him. Only the son did not share their laughter. "Then you'd rather I take back my offer?" he asked. "It is no matter to me. Your head will be a fine gift to Ulfrik. It will be my token of sincerity when I bargain with him."

  The spear points in his ribs pressed harder and broke through the cloth of his shirt. The hotness of his anger turned to chill fear, and he stepped off the spear points with raised hands. "No, of course I will accept your offer. Forgive my outburst. I had high hopes."

  "A little too high for such a small man," Clovis said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Though your boldness does entertain me and you've proved yourself to be a resourceful little rat. Since you've got nowhere to turn, and I have use for your talent, you may stay on. Not with the regular men, not for a while. But you'd be a freeman, and have a warm hearth with ready food. In time, you might become a regular in my army. How's that for a generous offer?"

  Throst imagined Clovis lying on the floor, both hands on his throat and blood bubbling through his fingers. He imagined stomping his face until nothing but red mush clung to his foot. He imagined this whole fucking stone prison crumbling into a mound of flaming ruins. "We would be overjoyed at your generosity."

  Both
Olaf and Dan exhaled behind him as Throst inclined his head. Clovis again laughed. "Not those two lumps of shit. They've no place here."

  His eyes flicked up to meet Clovis. The arrogant bastard still smirked but his eyes flashed with deadly seriousness. Something cracked in Throst's heart, and at that moment he would rather die than bend one more time to this man's will.

  "Then I go with them. You cannot have me without them. They are loyal men, and deserve better than to send them out alone."

  Clovis stared at him, long and hard. His tongue probed his cheek as he considered, then he shrugged. "As you wish. You all go."

  Throst's gaze did not flinch. Clovis straightened at the challenge and the muscles in his jaw began to work. Throst felt his own palm itch for his weapon, even with spear points a thumb's distance from his torso. He cared not at all for his own life, not if it meant he had to live with a boot on his neck.

  "Wait." The son spoke at last. "Father, we need his talent for spying. He has access to Ulfrik's hall, and we shouldn't let that get away. Keep his men; it's no burden to us. Take their weapons until they've proved their loyalty."

  "Ulfrik is already defeated," Clovis said, not unlocking his eyes from Throst's. "I don't need to know what's happing in that dung heap."

  "Still, until the deals are settled isn't it better to have such tools available if we need them?"

  The silence stretched until it grew uncomfortable, and at last Clovis capitulated. "My son has a good deal of wisdom. If you relinquish your weapons to me, and swear an oath of service, then you may remain for a while. All three of you."

  Without waiting for his companions' responses, Throst bowed his head. "We will agree to that."

  Clovis grunted and waved back his spearmen. They relieved Throst and the others of their weapons while Clovis and his son observed. He met the son's stare, who surprisingly did not turn away. Throst let a weak smile lighten his face and tipped his head. My thanks to you, he thought. I will spare your life when I tear this whole place to the ground and piss on your father's corpse.