Shield of Lies

by Jerry Autieri

  They froze, awaiting the alarm they expected. A noise from Hakon's cell drew both their eyes. The door shook, probably as Hakon tried to peek beneath it.

  Toki and Gunnar stared at each other across the darkness. At last, when it seemed there would be no alarm. Gunnar withdrew his blade from the corpse at his feet. The body shifted, but the man was dead. Hot blood leaked beneath Gunnar's feet, and he skipped back from it.

  Nothing moved. Gunnar held his breath. He refused to look toward the stairs leading down, as if to peek at it would summon more guards. Toki stared at him, the whites of his eyes bright in the gloom. No one came, and soon Gunnar let his breath out and Toki relaxed.

  "There must be weapons here and upstairs." Toki began rummaging in the dark, shoving bodies aside like sacks of grain.

  Gunnar wiped his sword off on a blanket, feeling a queasiness he had not anticipated. He had just killed a sleeping man. Even if he had been an enemy and only death could decide their fates, it still stank of murder. He had trained for war and glory, not gutting a man in his sleep. That had been the crime for which Throst's father had hanged. He shuddered at the thought, reminding himself of the circumstances.

  Toki pulled up a sword with a purr of satisfaction. "This'll do fine. And a knife, too. Hey, what are you doing? Grab another weapon and let's move."

  If his uncle's words did not galvanize him, the crowing of roosters did. Their crowing was like the calls of demons from the mist realms of death. Gunnar could think of no better comparison, for they had no hope of escaping in daylight. Toki paused, then strode to the bolted door and lifted it off without hesitation.

  Hakon stumbled out, crashing into Toki's arms. He began to sob, clinging to his uncle with both arms. Toki stroked his head, but gently plied him off.

  "You are well? You can walk? Take this knife and use it if you must."

  Hakon nodded, wiped his nose with the back of his arm, and when Gunnar approached he began to cry again.

  "It will soon be over," Gunnar offered. "We've only got to rescue the others before we escape."

  "Do you trust Throst to have told us the truth of their whereabouts?" Toki asked, and now he started down the stairs first. The darkness was no longer so deep that he needed young eyes to aid his own. Gunnar glanced at the corpses, all but one still appearing as if they were only asleep in their beds.

  "I don't know," Gunnar said, turning from the grisly scene and tugging Hakon along with one hand. "If he wants to get back at Clovis, he'd tell us the truth."

  "And if he wanted us to get lost and die fighting, setting us against the Franks so that both of his enemies kill each other? He might be misdirecting us."

  They reached the bottom floor, where nothing but supply barrels and crates were piled against one wall, and other detritus was stacked under the wooden stairs. A single trapdoor was set into the floor opposite the exit. A rooster crowed again.

  Toki stared at him, a hard and fierce cast to his eyes. At first Gunnar considered Throst's words, but as Toki's silence swelled he began to understand. The realization staggered him.

  "You don't want to look for the others?"

  No answer, just a sharp and cold expression.

  "They are your men. You must protect them. Toki, you can't be thinking of leaving them?"

  "Fifteen of us are not going to sneak out of here in the morning light, and we won't find enough weapons for everyone before we're caught."

  "They don't need weapons," Gunnar said, his voice rising from the careful tone of a moment earlier. "They need a chance to fight. Even if it's to die, they die as men."

  "We've no time to waste. If we go now, we can hide and steal a chance to escape before Clovis locks down his gates. If we search, even if my men are under our feet, we will be caught."

  "I want to go," Hakon whined. "I want to see Ma and Da again. Please, Gunnar."

  All that he had imagined of how men conducted themselves in war vanished. The noble battle, the glorious sacrifice, the proud battle scars, all of it was horseshit. Sworn men were cast aside so that a privileged few might live. Though they were bound to serve their lord in any circumstance, their lord only served them when it was convenient. Such cowardice, and from his own uncle, a man who he had idealized all his life. He could not be part of it.

  "I am in charge. We look for the men." Gunnar stood straighter, and glared at Toki. He shot back his own withering gaze.

  "Gods, I have a family to get back to," Toki said. "Think of your brother."

  "Think of the men you swore to protect. Think of the oath you gave my father."

  Toki's face turned grape-dark and his nostrils flared. Gunnar did not back down, even as Toki's hands flexed as if to strike him. At last, he growled in a low voice, "I am thinking of the oath I gave your father. Now, we waste time. Come with me or I will drag you out by the three whiskers on your chin."

  Blinking in shock, Gunnar watched Toki gather Hakon to his side and pull open the door to the outside. He did not know what to do. The trapdoor pressed on the back of his head, as if he could hear the voices of men imprisoned beyond it. Yet there were not such voices, and Toki was already pulling Hakon out the door into the thin light of morning. He had to make a choice.

  He followed. His stomach sank, his heart cracked, and he meekly obeyed his uncle. He was right about the odds of escape; fewer people stood a far better chance. There was no more true choice in this than there had been in killing guards while they slept. This was truly war, all shit through and through.

  Fresh, bracing morning air was a welcomed taste after the stink of the tower. Toki and Hakon were already sprinting for nearby buildings where the darkness was deepest. A white stain in the clear skies warned of daylight. They had to gain the gates before anyone discovered their absence and then await an opportunity to slip away. It was desperate and inarticulate, but was the only plan Gunnar could keep in his head.

  The plan shattered with a shout.

  Emerging from the darkness between the buildings, directly in their path, appeared a group of Franks.

  The world spun into icy confusion, slow and unreal, replete with terror and fear. There were six men, four of them armored guards and two in bright clothing. Toki and Hakon seemed to stand motionless before them, and the Franks mirrored their reaction. But the shout came again, from high in the tower they had left, a weary voice called out in Frankish, "Alarm!"

  Toki's sword flashed and the lead guard collapsed with his hand at his neck and blood pouring across his chest. The two unarmored men drew long knives that caught the yellow light of the rising sun. Gunnar recognized them now as Clovis and Theodoric.

  He raced to join Toki's side, the three other guards lowering spears and fanning out around them. Clovis had backed away, shouting to his men, "Take them in the legs. I want them alive."

  "Kill the bastards," countered Theodoric, who stepped forward with his knife raised at Hakon. "They're worth nothing."

  The conflicting orders created hesitation and an opening for Gunnar. He leapt into it with a roar. Theodoric, his regal face now a disfigured mass of angry wrinkles and bared teeth, lunged at Hakon who waved his knife like a child. Gunnar intercepted the strike with his sword, knocking the knife up and then turning the stroke down at Theodoric's trunk.

  Striking true, without anything more than fine cloth for protection, Gunnar's blade sliced open Theodoric's belly. It was a keen edge on a well-crafted weapon, and Theodoric's stomach opened and expelled his guts like a shattered barrel of eels. The stink of entrails filled Gunnar's nose and Theodoric crumpled with nothing but a whimper. The amazing strike left Gunnar flat-footed, and he only had time to hear Hakon scream when a spear swept him off his feet.

  The sky above was a cheerful blue, a stark contrast to the roiling madness unfolding beneath it. He tried to snap up, heard Hakon screech again, then the spear shaft slammed into his face. The world swam, and he was struck again, hard across the crown of his head. Another strike pummeled him flat, and more blows rained d
own on him until he could only ball up under the pain. His vision was a scrambled mess of blurry motion and his ears rang with a high-pitched wail. He thought he saw Toki stagger and fall.

  Then pain bloomed over his head, his eyes filled with white, then nothing more than cold blackness.

  Chapter 51

  Gunnar awakened to darkness and the smell of burning charcoal. Cold wetness crawled down his back and flowed down his chest. Raising his head, he realized he had been doused with water, only to have another bucket sloshed into his face.

  "Awake now? It's no good if you're asleep for this."

  Gunnar shook the water out of his hair, and realized his hands were trussed in front of him as he attempted to wipe his face. He blew the sour water out of his mouth, and blinked open his eyes. Everything was a blur and his ears still rang with a distant squeal. A shape stood before him, a man with hands on his hips. He was inside a stone room, gloom pervaded everything and was relieved only by the orange glow of a brazier filled with hot embers. Another fuzzy shape turned a metal rod in it, holding it with a thick leather glove.

  "Where is my brother?" Gunnar asked, his voice cracking and weak.

  "Alive, for now," the man standing before him answered. Gunnar squinted at him, and recognized Clovis. "We'll see if your father pays ransom today. Maybe little Hakon will remain alive after all."

  "He's just a boy. Don't hurt him." Gunnar could think of nothing better to say. His plea drew derisive laughter from Clovis and a few others who remained out of sight. Gunnar sat up straighter, but realized he had been tied to a wooden support post.

  "A noble brother to the end," Clovis said. "I would worry less for him right now. Do you know what you did?"

  "I killed that turd who captured me, just like I promised I would."

  "You did, and I thank you for it. For now at least, I will command his men and you have become my hostage." He stepped closer into Gunnar's fuzzy vision, then knelt down to bring his face level to Gunnar sitting on the floor. "I say God is good to me, little man. He has answered my prayers at last."

  The crazed gleam in Clovis's eyes turned Gunnar's stomach to icy water. His breath was hot and foul upon his face, he leaned in so close. Gunnar tugged on his bindings, but had no slack. A wicked grin crawled across Clovis's features, and filled Gunnar with revulsion. With nothing left, he scrapped together what spit remained in his cotton-dry mouth and shot it into Clovis's face.

  He recoiled in disgust, wiping the spit from himself, then stood. "I'm going to break that spirit of yours. You'll regret that flash of defiance."

  "I regret nothing," Gunnar said, his heart beating so fast he hardly had breath to speak. "You are a coward and a fool. My father will have your head before the day is done."

  "Strong words, but your father has disappeared. Did you not know?" Clovis turned his back to accept something from another man standing out of the edge of light. "Did Throst not tell this when he let you out? Don't look surprised. Toki explained how you escaped. I should've expected treachery from one of your kind."

  He whirled, but faced another to his left. "It was your stupid idea to take him into service. If I had not listened to you, none of this would've happened."

  Gunnar realized Clovis's son was present. His father's ire pushed his head down between his shoulders, and his craven posture disgusted Gunnar. Such a weak-willed man had no use to anyone. The lost of his sword hand was of little consequence to one so timid.

  The thought froze him. An anvil was laid out beside the brazier. Clovis now bore a large ax in his hand. Gunnar felt his right hand tingle in dread.

  As if reading his thoughts, two men grabbed both of his arms while another began to unbind him. He began to struggle, but was weak and dizzy. The dread welled up in him, mixing with the nausea caused from the blows to his head. Watery vomit ejected onto the stone floor with a splash. The men holding him cursed but Clovis laughed.

  "Where's the bravery now." His voice dropped as he commanded his men. "Hold him still and put his arm on the anvil. Have the brand ready."

  "You can't do this. This is madness. My father will kill you."

  "Your father deserves this. He deserves to have his eldest son made into less than a man. He deserves to look at you and see nothing but weakness, a man with no ability to fight or lead. A cripple."

  "No!" Gunnar was swept off his feet as men grabbed his legs. His hands were unbound, though his right hand remained tied. One of the men yanked on the rope and wrestled Gunnar's forearm over the anvil. "That was done in battle. This is wrong. Stop!"

  "Get a good look," Clovis said to his son. "I do this in your name, to take the revenge you will never take on your own."

  Gunnar bucked against the crowd of men restraining him, but their weight held him down. His feet had no leverage being held off the floor, and his left arm was pinioned. He watched Clovis position the ax over his forearm, saw his lusty smile. His son watched dispassionately, cradling the stump of his arm against his body. The brand was lifted out of the brazier, glowing white with heat as smoke rolled off its tip.

  "I will kill you," Gunnar stammered between clenched teeth. "I will dance in your guts."

  No one acknowledged him. Clovis laid the cold edge of the ax across the middle of his forearm. The keen blade stung as it drew a line of blood. Gunnar held his breath. At any moment, his father would burst into the room and cut the heads off all his enemies in one swoop. The Franks would die, and Gunnar would join his father in safety. They would laugh together in the hall at sunset, joking of the frailty of their enemies.

  The ax crashed down and clanged against the anvil. He lurched back, suddenly freed from his binding.

  He saw the stump.

  Just behind his wrist, a clean, slanted cut had severed his hand. Bone jutted from the flesh and blood pumped in bright scarlet jets. He felt nothing. It wasn't even his stump. The arm was someone else's. But how had he come free, and whose arm was it?

  The confusion vanished when the searing iron brand rolled along the stump of his arm. One man used tongs to yank flaps of skin over the bone and another burned it shut. A lightning bolt of pain surged up his arm, overpowering him so that he screamed with all the might of his body. He thrashed and flexed in agony while the men worked on his stump.

  "This is more aid than you deserve." Clovis had retrieved Gunnar's hand, and held it up to him. "I'll send this back to your mother. If I don't have my ransoms today, I'll send along Hakon's head as well."

  The pain consumed him and though he heard the words, he did not understand. He comprehended only fire and fear, and smelled the sweet tang of his own burnt flesh. He coiled and twisted, but was immobilized as the men continued to bind his stump.

  They doused him with water to keep him awake, but in the end he could withstand no more. The last thing he saw before succumbing to blessed darkness was the sorry eyes of Clovis's son studying him as he collapsed.

  Chapter 52

  The wagon of silver rolled behind Ulfrik as he approached his camp. Draft horses plodded through the soft ground and the wagon's weight caused it to sink, necessitating frequent stops. It was one final aggravation amid many Ulfrik had endured all week. People had run to him, each one crowing different versions of the events during his absence. In one, the Franks had decided to shorten the time and killed all the hostages. In another, Toki, Gunnar, and Hakon were seen escaping from Clovis's fortress in the early dawn. He was inclined to believe it, as many repeated similar versions of three figures seen fleeing. Yet they had not arrived in camp, and no one had an explanation as to why. Soon, Ulfrik stopped listening and smiled blithely at the various tales.

  Runa met him at the edge of the camp. Aren held her hand, clinging to her leg. In her other hand, she held a shield and had belted a sword to her waist. Her face wore no expression, though he could feel the pulse of her fury stretching across the grass to him. A dozen men crowded behind her and Snorri and Konal both leaned on spears and bowed their heads. A slight smile came to his li
ps, knowing how thoroughly defeated those men must feel when dealing with Runa's anger. Ulfrik searched for the other women, but found neither Halla nor Bera come to greet them. Likely Runa had frightened them off as well.

  "He's going to kill Hakon first," Runa shouted to him as he closed the distance. Einar, who had led the wagon of silver packed in boxes and sacks, slowed the horses behind him. "Today. The ransom was due at dawn."

  "Dawn tomorrow," Ulfrik corrected. He had counted the days carefully, had pleaded with Gunther One-Eye to hurry, and knew he had barely made time. He had been seven days in constant motion, bringing everything together while the sun shined so that his plans would succeed. He could not have been wrong about the day, but Runa stood shaking her head.

  "He gave me a warning yesterday. If you hadn't sent a messenger, I'd have already been gone to fetch the ransom myself." Runa let go of Aren, who watched them thoughtfully as Runa met him. They did not embrace, but only offered a curt nod and smile to each other. "You are late, and I was ready to bargain for more time."

  He pointed at the shield. "Planning on joining a battle?"

  "Whatever must be done," she said. "I am getting older but I will still fight for my children."

  "So what happened at dawn?" Ulfrik started past her, greeting Snorri and Konal then the other men. He squinted past the rows of tents to the black shape of Clovis's fortress hiding in the sunlight.

  "Nothing, but a horn was sounded. Some of our scouts claim men escaped over the wall, though they did not dare to get closer with the sun rising. Maybe it was Toki and the boys." Runa's voice was disbelieving, and she glided past the idea without allowing more speculation. "Whatever happened, it has delayed Clovis and that frightens me. He was eager for you to break your word, and I expected him at dawn with Hakon's head."

  The image was made more gruesome for the dispassionate delivery. He faced her, brow raised, but she merely frowned into the morning light like he had done. The anger was in her, as well as hate, fear, and hopelessness, but she buried it. Ulfrik had known his wife's tempers better than she did, and after so many years to see her acting out of stride with what he expected frightened him worse than any battle. With only this last piece of the plan to carry out, he hoped she would return to her old self when all was done.