"My wife will not be your possession," Ulfrik shouted.
Runa took his hand into her own, pressed it to her lips, then guided it down to her side. She stepped in to whisper gently, "I am a woman, and pose no threat to him. Let him learn otherwise."
She pushed his hand against her skirt, pressing the back of it into the hard sheath of the long knife strapped to her leg. His eyes widened with realization, and she looked into them with solemn resolve. She planned to use Clovis's expectations against him. Women did not fight, did not hide weapons in their skirts, and could never best a man in arms. Yet she had not earned the title of the Bloody by weaving at her loom all day.
"This is a dangerous game, wife."
"No more than the games you have played. Besides, I've a thirst for this fool's blood."
Ulfrik fought back a smile, and frowned instead. He let Runa go as if abandoning her forever. "Only for my sons. Send them forward and you take my wife. Release her to me after my people are gone from your sight."
"A fair agreement," Clovis said, hands on his hips. He waved at his men and ordered the hostages freed. "Your wife will be under my personal protection. You have my word she will be at my side at all times."
Runa gave Ulfrik a knowing glance. He looked past her to Clovis. "Ensure that she is."
Chapter 54
Runa had dwelt so long in a twilight of despair that she had numbed to the listlessness shrouding her. Now as Clovis gently guided her by the arm to his side, tender as a lover, her heart beat with purpose and drive. Death and vengeance rode on her shoulders, twin demons that lifted away her despair and filled her with strength. Her palm itched to grasp the long knife at her hip. Drawing it would bring release like nothing else.
Death to her enemies. Freedom for herself. Vengeance for Gunnar.
"A strange thing to be returning home while all your people leave," Clovis mused in his fractured Norse, scanning the slow column trundling downslope and around the wall. Runa watched as they departed, faces turning back hopefully to the walls. She feared their expectant looks would give away the ruse. Of course, what seemed plain to her did not raise any concern among the Franks. They had broken their formations, dismounted their horses, and clapped each other on their backs in congratulations. All appeared relieved to not have drawn their weapons.
Runa did not answer Clovis's inane observation. Up close he seemed far less grand than he had in her imagination. For all the fierce battles, the streams of dead and wounded made by his hand, he was not much to behold. He was soft, smelled foul, and smiled more than a leader should. Maybe he was proud of his victory, but to Runa's mind he acted a fool. How had such a man defied her husband for so long?
Her palm continued to itch. He would not defy her.
Two young men trotted up to Clovis, spoke in bubbling, scrambled Frankish she only half understood. Clovis nodded and dismissed them, both snatching a glance at Runa before skittering away. The whole army acted like boys, with their effusive laughter and silly fascination with her. Dozens had come to gawk at the prized wife of their enemy. She even caught Clovis stealing a peek at her, and had she not expected to kill him shortly she would have worried for his intentions.
"My men say Ravndal is truly empty." Clovis's eyebrow cocked as he spoke.
"You needed men to tell you that? The homeless departing before your eyes are not proof enough?"
His laugh was fake, the kind made to please a child who had spoken a simple riddle. "We are still at war, my lady. Better to be certain no surprises lay ahead."
Runa swallowed. By all the gods, how had the Franks failed to uncover Gunther's army? She searched for the two lads who had given him the report, found them leaning into a group of other young men. They were all laughter and boasts, standing tall among their peers while the others pandered to their vanity. None of them wore beards and their jawlines were soft. Her pulse settled, realizing Clovis had sent children to do men's work.
He plucked at her shoulder, indicating she should follow. The two guards assigned to her allowed her to pass before them, one hatchet-faced man stealing a lustful glance at her chest as she did. He crowded her, forcing Runa to keep pace with Clovis or otherwise bump into him. She would stick him right after dealing with Clovis.
Ravndal's gates hung open and groups of men flanked the doors to await Clovis's entrance. He joined with his son, placing his arm around him as the two walked to the gates. He blathered in Frankish, but Runa guessed from the sweeping gestures he was promising Ravndal to his boy. That soggy, defeated child would never make a leader even with both hands.
Glancing a final time at her back, she saw Ulfrik and her sons watching from a distance. She had been allowed no time to greet her children. While her heart broke at the sight of Gunnar, he at least seemed only partly aware of the world around him. Hakon had hurt more, being led off before he could reach her. She had heard him wailing when the guards took her, and she could not bear to look back. She consoled herself knowing soon they would be rejoined.
"Do the honor of escorting me into Ravndal," Clovis said, stepping forward with arm held out.
She stared at it, thought of slicing his arm into a match for his son's, but chose to have a grip on his sword arm once the trap was sprung. She inclined her head, and laced her arm into his.
Her mouth became tacky and her neck pulsed. They passed beneath the gate, and she scanned the black boards of the tracks leading into the town. No one leaned on fences, no chickens wandered in the roads, no hearth smoke curled above thatched roofs. The silence was perfect, yet an army was packed into the buildings. Ulfrik had warned her they were along the walls and in the main hall. They would recapture the gates and split the Franks for an easy fight. "Get away and hide," Ulfrik had warned her. "Don't try to carry the battle. And leave a piece of Clovis for me."
The Franks were strolling inside, and Runa wondered how much longer before Gunther emerged. Clovis prattled in his hideous language, laughing and pointing as if weather-worn buildings in need of new thatch were a vision rarely beheld. She rested her right hand across her lap, slipping into the folds of her skirt. Grasping the long knife would be awkward, but she was poised for a lightning draw.
"Take me to the hall," Clovis said. "Your people make such a fuss of them, and I've never been inside one before."
Runa smiled. "You can see it from here."
"Not quite as big as I expected."
Horns blared and mad howls burst from all around. The Franks halted like frightened cats, backs arched and eyes wide. Northmen appeared from the periphery, spilling out of buildings, crashing through fences, and busting open gates. Men tumbled out of hay stacks piled on abandoned carts, no doubt left behind for this purpose. She even spotted a short man fumbling out of a barrel. Everywhere a roar went up, and the Franks were leaden in shock.
Men gained the palisades and arrows began to stream down. Screams followed and it galvanized the Franks.
Clovis was as shocked as any, maybe worse. He clutched her arm as his head cocked sided-to-side like a chicken searching for a fox, only there were hundreds of foxes and his beady eyes couldn't fix on any one.
Her blade was in hand, drawn with the precision imbued of daily practice. The bright iron flashed, as long as a man's forearm, and its point quivered with the desire for flesh.
Runa twisted Clovis's arm forward, jerking him toward her blade with a grunt.
"Die, you pig," she hissed into his ear as she thrust the blade up at the soft flesh of his armpit.
Only she did not connect.
She slammed to the hard wood boards of the path. Her teeth clamped on her tongue and coppery blood squirted in her mouth. Clovis's son loomed over her, his stump arm flailing uselessly, but his left arm cocked back with a sword flashing in the sun. He was blathering in Frankish and he glanced back at his father for a moment.
Her long knife shot up, driving under the links of mail into the base of his belly. A pink loop of entrails slid out with a cascade of blood, bu
t he slashed down nonetheless. Had she not shifted to strike, the sword would have cleaved her head. Instead the blade shaved away a lock of her hair. He collapsed atop her with a gurgling hiss, his stump arm batting at her has he died. She was pinned beneath him, hot lifeblood washing over her legs.
Struggling to free herself, suddenly the body lifted aside. Clovis had flipped his son over, his face chalky and taut with shock. He screamed as his son's corpse flopped to the side like a gutted fish.
Runa flipped away. Many years had passed since she had last fought in a battle, and she had forgotten the hellish roar of it. All around blades and shields clanged together and screams and curses traded between combatants. In his eagerness to claim Ravndal, Clovis had outpaced the range of his men to aid him. The two guards watching her were now entangled with a pair of yellow-haired men in black furs who were chopping at them like trying to fell a tree. Only his son had been close enough, and had traded his life for his father's. Runa now had to escape while Clovis was numb.
She got to her feet, staggered a few steps, then something heavy collided with her head. She sprawled forward, her knife falling away as she plowed into the ground.
Warm, rough hands grabbed her shoulders and flipped her over. She looked up into Clovis's red, hate-filled face framed against the blue of the sky.
"You killed my son, you fucking bitch!"
He picked up his helmet, which Runa realized he had thrown to knock her down. He slammed it across her face and she felt a bone in her cheek crumple. Her vision turned white. When it returned, he had his sword drawn.
"I'll feed your heart to the dogs, you whore!"
The point of his blade rested on her chest and Clovis's frown deepened.
She closed her eyes and braced for death.
Chapter 55
Ulfrik yanked his sword from the belly of a Frank, blood slushing out of the cut as the man crumbled, and he raised his shield to deflect a spear thrust. All around him men writhed in grass that had been churned to bloody mud in the space of moments. He glided under the spear thrust, a foolish strike that left the attacker exposed, and stabbed into the Frank's leg. He staggered and Ulfrik shoved him over with his shield, sprawling him into the twirling chaos of combat. He flopped down, and Ulfrik paid him no further mind. A man on the ground was as good as dead.
Horses screamed and reared, catching Ulfrik's attention. Over the jostling heads of the combatants he saw the Frankish horses shot by his archers. The death of such useful animals was a great loss, but he did not want the Franks to remount and turn the battle, which had strongly favored Ulfrik from the opening blows. His instructions had been clear: kill the riders first and their horses second. The dying horses indicated the dismounted cavalry had already been destroyed.
"A fine day for killing," Einar shouted at him across the din. The giant man had gore up to his elbows and his hands firmly wrapped on the haft of his war ax. His smile shined out from a blood-smeared face.
"Finest day in years," Ulfrik said. The two stood inside a pocket of calm. Men struggled in pairs and groups, tight as lovers in a dance. A tidemark of corpses, all in bright Frankish colors, walled them off from the melee.
"Gunther One-Eye's men closed the gates." Einar pointed with his ax, a string of blood hanging from its head.
"I need to find Runa, and I don't trust Gunther's men to know who she is."
"Should be the only woman inside." Einar stared at Ulfrik, and his face softened after a moment. "But I guess that might be a problem, too."
Grunting, Ulfrik searched for a path through the fight. "We've won the battle out here. Inside is where we finish it. Lend me your ax."
Einar handed it over, the wood handle slick with blood.
"Fall back to Toki and my sons. They are out of harm's way, but trouble still might've found them. Watch for your family, too, especially Snorri. Now go while I reopen the gates."
He dashed through the combat, shield out and Einar's ax in hand. Where enemies tangled with him, he bashed them aside with the shield or clumsily struck with the ax. The chaos of battle swallowed them as he pushed forward to his own palisades. The dark walls seemed higher from this side of the embankments, but he had overseen their construction himself. They were higher than a man, but undefended they could be scaled. Flipping his shield to his back, he took a running leap with ax held overhead.
Launching up the wall, he slammed the long-hafted ax over the top of the palisade. His feet caught the rough wood and he pulled himself up the length of the haft until he reached the top. With a shout of success, he flipped over the wall and dangled on the opposite side. He dropped down into the shadows, pulling over his shield and unsheathing his sword.
People ran between buildings, shouting echoed down the alleys, and the clamor of battle filled the streets. He could not decide who was winning this fight, but he rushed along the edges of the wall toward the gates. As he progressed, he gathered two other of Gunther's men. "Are we winning?" he asked over the roar of battle.
"Can't tell. The Franks scattered all over. Count the bodies for yourself." The man who replied had a gash on his brow that bled like a high mountain stream, turning half his face red. His companion was far better; the blood on his face was another's.
The three arrived at the gates, a pleasing heap of Frankish corpses laced with arrows piled before it. "Open these gates," Ulfrik ordered. "The battle outside is done, so let my men in to finish here."
"Right you are," said the bleeding man, his eye blinking in the stream of blood.
Satisfied the gates would be opened, he turned toward the main street. The boards were littered with corpses, broken weapons, and arrow shafts. The battle had moved into the side lanes and alleys, the buildings and halls of Ravndal. Shrieks and dying curses were amplified inside the buildings, but for a scattered few men, the main road seemed abandoned. He could not decide where Runa would have gone in the confusion, but it would have to be with Clovis. He considered his hall, but doubted they made it before Gunther sprang his trap.
He had lost too much already and his family had paid a heavy toll. He would not allow them to suffer another moment. Runa could hold her own, up to a point, and then she would be at the mercy of whoever found her. He had to be the first one to her. Not the enemy.
Chapter 56
Runa squealed when instead of the expected sword thrust into her heart, an iron-gripped hand hauled her off the ground. She opened her eye, her left one watery and fuzzy from where Clovis had struck her. She still felt the sword jabbing at her kidney as Clovis guided her before him.
"You are more useful alive for now. This battle is lost and I need a hostage," he said. "But I swear before God that my hounds will eat your heart one day."
He shoved her toward the hall. All around lay the detritus of a sharp and awful battle: broken swords and spent arrows, puddles of blood covered with shattered shields. Bodies both Norse and Frankish sprawled in the shadows and corners where desperate combats had been waged and lost. Weapons still clanged in the distance, but the fight seemed to have burnt out like a flash fire. Through her gauzy vision, she saw a giant man hulking at the entrance to the hall. A wolfskin flowed over his shoulders, bulking him out like a monster and making the thick sword in his hand seem no more than a splinter. It was Gunther One-Eye.
"Do you know who this is?" Clovis demanded of Gunther, jabbing her with his sword for emphasis. Runa jerked to the side with a yelp, but he reined her in.
"Runa the Bloody," Gunther answered, his voice low and careful. He raised his sword at Clovis. "And you best let her go if you expect any mercy."
"Mercy! From you lying scum? My trust died today with all my good men. I pray God has seen fit to grant me better luck outside of these walls."
Gunther shrugged and lowered his sword. "Your God does not see you today. Too many clouds in the sky."
Runa heard rough voices laughing to the sides and behind. Her face throbbed and her vision had narrowed from the swelling on her left cheek. Gun
ther looked past her and smiled.
"Clovis! Let go of my wife."
She nearly collapsed at the sound of Ulfrik's voice. She wanted to cry, scream, or jump. Instead, the sword at her side dug deeper as Clovis whirled around with her shielding him.
Ulfrik stood carrying a blood-smeared shield and glittering sword in hand. The faceguard of his helmet concealed his eyes, but the shock in his expression was plain. She wondered how bad the injury to her face had been. Would she be disfigured like Konal? The odd thought made her cringe with shame, but it had come unbidden to her mind. All that mattered was the safety of her children, and no price was too heavy for it.
"What have you done to her?"
"Less than what she deserved. She killed my son."
"That was a favor, and you know it."
Clovis did not answer, but she felt his hand tighten on her arm. He twisted the point of his sword over her kidney but she resolved to give no sign of pain.
"So you have defeated me today," Clovis said, his voice affecting a jaunty tone as if shattering his army had been no more a setback than losing a favorite pair of boots. "Bravo to you, Ulfrik. You baited your trap well, but left me a way out with your beautiful wife. You can have her back once I am safely away."
"No more hostages. I tire of this game. Release my wife. You and I will fight and settle like men."
Clovis laughed loud in Runa's ear, though she felt the tremble in his grip. She began to plot escape, realizing Ulfrik must be waiting for her to give him an opening. The sword at her side dug deeper and Clovis pulled her closer, but it was an awkward position and the length of the blade could be used against him. She only had to deflect it and stay close to him where he could not use a sword. The others would overpower him.
"Fight you? We have fought enough, and while I hold your wife, there is no need for it."
"This is my last offer. A fair fight to the death. I'll get you a shield."
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