Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) (25 page)

"What happens if I succeed? What if Hrolf finds out I ruined his son's escape?"

"His son will be freed, no fear. We've handled Hrolf for you before, and can do it again. Now don't wait. We take Aren today and you leave on this task at the same time. We will cover your tracks."

Konal and Magnus stared at each other as the rest of the fort inhabitants went about their business. Konal broke first. "I was thinking of doing this myself, anyway. Now I know I have support, it makes it easier."

"Do whatever needs to be done to ensure Ulfrik never returns," Magnus said. He leaned in closer. "If Grimnr won't believe you, then put a knife in Ulfrik's back. Just don't let him return alive, and everyone wins."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Four days after returning to the Frankish camp, Ulfrik left his guard post at the side of Grimnr's hall. A half moon painted the camp with silvery light, enough to navigate the path to Count Amand's stronghold. His mail shirt weighed on his shoulders as he slipped from shadow to shadow, sword slapping on his hip as he moved. Being freshly scoured mail, he feared a gleam from it would betray him, yet to blacken it would condemn him if caught by others. He had to look natural while so many Franks were suspicious of their Northman mercenaries. Being his most valued possession, he could not leave it behind.

He paused at a building, standing behind a buttress that leaned against the outer wall, and two Franks in their blue and white surcoats passed him. It was early evening yet, when most had settled for the night, but not all. He had chosen the earlier part of the night for his plan, needing most of the darkness to make his escape. When the Franks passed, he slipped out again at a quick but confident pace. He had a field to cross and running would only attract attention.

Vilhjalmer was leaving with him this night, even if he had to fight his way out of the camp with only his sword and shield.

After the disaster with Mord, he had expected Grimnr to be furious with him, but instead he had been pleased. "Good job showing those whelps who they are up against," he had said, emphasizing it with a slap on the back. Grimnr had been more upset with Count Amand failing to bring the hostage, which apparently Grimnr had advised him to do.

The breakdown in negotiations had been skillfully done. He gave credit to Mord's quick thinking, rejecting the deal but still leaving the possibility open and therefore keeping Count Amand's interest in his hostage's value. Combined with the muddy conditions from the heavy rains, an attack was not probable in the near term. After recovering from the shock of his failure, Ulfrik understood he had one chance to get Vilhjalmer out, and he took it this night.

Arriving at the walls of Count Amand's fort, he paused to study side walls where a wooden tower monitored that section. Hiding in the deep shadows of a tree, he closed his gray cloak tight on his throat. The rope hung over the side wall, as he had instructed the girl. Days ago, he returned to the fortress to find the Frank servant who had been so eager to know him. At first he thought she was dumb, for she never spoke, then she displayed her severed tongue. He promised to deliver her from the Franks and give her a place of honor in his hall if she would help with Vilhjalmer's escape. The rope dangling before him was either a sign of her complicity or treachery.

Ready to learn which it was, he hauled on the rope and found it strong enough to support him. His mail coat dragged at him, but he mounted the wall, dangled from the other side, and dropped into shadow. His legs sparked with pain and he grunted, but when he stood nothing moved. The outer court was empty, but the door to the storeroom hung open, a deeper black against the gray and silver colors of night. Straightening with a wince, he walked confidently through the door, hand beside his sword.

The Frank girl waited inside, leaping up like a child ready for her gift. Her white head cover was gone and her thick, shining hair flowed around sparkling green eyes. In the gloom her flesh appeared as clear and white as milk. Despite the tension, he felt a rush of heat to his face when she slid into his arms. He whispered to her in his halting Frankish. "You did well. Take me to the boy now. You will be rewarded like a queen."

She grabbed his cloak and threaded him through the halls without any light. Ulfrik focused on his breathing and keeping pace with the girl. She stopped him at a room, then motioned he should wait outside the door. She slipped into the room, and he waited in darkness until he feared his thudding heart would alert the entire building. Yet she returned with a smile and held the door open. Dazzling yellow light from lamps hit her, and they flitted through the room that smelled of sweat. Popping out the opposite door, they then emerged closer to the tower entrance she had shown him before. She pointed at the door, and tugged him forward.

"You want me to go first?" Ulfrik glanced between her and the door, and she nodded then tapped his sword.

Loosening the blade in its sheath, he clung to the shadow as he made for the tower. The door was unlocked, and inside two men sat at a table with mugs in their hands. They looked at him without surprise, one raising his eyebrow.

"I'm here to bring the boy his meal," he said. The guards frowned.

"What are you doing?" one asked as he rose from his seat. Ulfrik chose his dagger for its quick draw and the cramped size of the room. Tearing it from its sheath at his hip, he drove it into the standing guard's throat. Hot blood flooded over his hand and he shoved the body to the floor. The other man remained stunned, a spot of his companion's blood hanging from his nose. The moment of hesitation cost the other guard his life. Ulfrik planted the dagger into the base of his neck while clamping his bloodied hand over the guard's mouth. The guard struggled, kicking a leg out and knocking the mugs from the table. Ulfrik felt the pulse ebb as the man slouched forward, and he guided the dead guard's head to the table. Cleaning his hand and dagger on the seated guard's shirt, he found the stairs up.

Leading with his dagger he climbed through an empty room to reach the third floor of the tower. At the landing, a bar hung across a door confronted him, and a guard sat slouched over a small table, head buried in his arm. A candle dwindled to a nub beside his arm. Ulfrik got behind him and steadied his hands, then snatched up the guard's head by the hair and cut his throat with a quick slash. The man died without a sound, blowing out breath that smelled like blood. Ulfrik put him back into position, then lifted the bar from the door.

"Vilhjalmer?" he said into the darkness. "I've been sent by your father. I'm here to get you out."

The boy sprang from the darkness, eyes wide and eager. "You know my real name? How do I know you are from my father?"

"I just killed everyone in this tower, which should tell you enough." He reached out with his bloodied hand, and then hesitated to frighten Vilhjalmer. To his credit, he did not flinch at the gore.

"The priest was making me pray every day. I'm ready to leave." He stepped out into the shallow ring of light from the wavering candle.

Ulfrik had not seen him since he was a babe, but he had his mother's strong nose and jaw. In his eyes and bearing he was all his father. No more time remained for comparisons, and Ulfrik knelt beside him. "Stay quiet and close to me. We're leaving with a Frank girl who wants to help us. By dawn we will be safely away, now come on and do as I say."

Leading the way down the steep stairs, the floor moaned as if trying to rouse itself from sleep and warn the fortress. At the bottom, the blood of the dead guards had spread into glittering pools of deep scarlet and the room flooded with the coppery tang of blood. He checked the door, peering outside for anyone approaching. Satisfied they had an opening, he grabbed Vilhjalmer's wrist and dashed across the short courtyard to the door where the mute girl waited. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of blood.

"Was there going to be another way to do this? Show us the way out, and we'll be gone by dawn."

She led them deeper into the fortress's lower levels. Twice they had to jump into rooms to let a servant pass, but otherwise the fortress was asleep. Exiting out of the rear fortress, they came to a smaller gate that had only a single guard posted. He paced in a circle, arms folded into his cloak and his spear and shield leaning against the wall. The Frank girl motioned them to wait, and she walked openly to the guard. Initial surprise changed to delight when he saw the girl approach. She went up to him, lifted onto her toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. He grabbed her close and his hands began sliding down her back.

"You're getting an education tonight," Ulfrik whispered to Vilhjalmer.

"My father does that to our servants," he replied, clinging close to Ulfrik's side.

"Not what I need to think of right now. Stay here. She's giving us an opening."

The girl had already faced the man's back to Ulfrik and was leaning against the wall as the guard fumbled with his belt. The fourth man tonight died as Ulfrik clamped one had to the guard's mouth and drove the dagger into his kidney. He caught his fall, then dragged the body into the shadows by the wall. The girl looked on with no expression and Ulfrik felt a chill. She had no love for her own people. Maybe they had cut out her tongue and earned her hatred. For a moment he saw a spark of cold fire in her eye, but he had no patience to consider it.

"Looks like you're no stranger to the guards back here," Ulfrik said. "Get the gate open and I'll get the boy. Outside the gate, we're going to walk very calmly to the edge of camp and then we'll slip away. Just don't act like you're running and we should not attract attention.

She gave him a nod then he fetched Vilhjalmer. "Don't worry about stabbing the man in the back," he said to Ulfrik. "My uncle Gunther One-Eye says sometimes a man has to be killed any way he can be and it's not dishonorable."

"Your uncle just likes killing. Now let's go. Stay close and you'll be seeing him by tomorrow."

The gate swung open to the camp. At the heart of two armies of Franks and Northmen, Amand did not waste resources on extra guards. They walked calmly into the night across the short open field toward the first line of tents that showed gray in the moonlight. He put his clean hand on the girl's shoulder and squeezed it. "Almost home. You'll have a place of honor in my hall, trust me."

At the line of tents two men appeared out of the darkness. Both first looked to the Frank girl, the lead man's smile failing. "You've already got company for tonight? We were hoping for some private time."

Ice poured through Ulfrik's heart. In the moonlight he recognized the pox-scarred face of the speaking man as Gunnvald Hrethelson, and standing beside him was the pot-bellied, fish-lipped bruiser Erp. Despite his dull wits, Erp's dark eyes widened in recognition, flitting between him, Vilhjalmer, and the girl.

Ulfrik reached for his sword. Gunnvald and Erp did the same. The blades hummed in the night and moonlight flashed from Gunnvald's sword.

"Ulfar the White and a young boy coming from the fortress. How wonderful, Erp. We've found the last of Eskil's spies."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

"Vilhjalmer, run for the edge of camp then for the trees. Climb one and wait for me there." Ulfrik guided Hrolf's son to his side, then gave him a gentle push to begin running. Watching both Gunnvald and Erp spreading out, he hoped Vilhjalmer could slip them. Their blades trembled with moonlight and their eyes displayed their hesitation. The Frank girl quavered at the edge of his vision.

"If you think we're going to fight you to the death," Gunnvald said, "you're mistaken. We've seen your work and don't like our chances. Besides, you're wearing mail."

"Maybe I'm not offering you a choice," Ulfrik said, gripping the sword with both hands and holding it low. He felt a tug at his side and glanced down to see Vilhjalmer had pulled out his dagger.

"In the name of my father, High King Hrolf the Strider, put down your swords." Vilhjalmer leveled the dagger still stained with blood.

"Is that who you are?" Gunnvald asked, face bright with delight. "Erp, get us some help to take the brat captive. I smell a reward in the air."

Ulfrik leapt forward, blade low for a gut strike on Erp, but Gunnvald struck the sword aside and Erp scrambled back to begin shouting. His voice was booming and strong. He cupped one hand to his mouth and called to the tents around him. "Help! Prisoner's escaping. Hurry!"

The Frank girl screamed then darted away. As Ulfrik recovered his balance, he raised his blade to strike Gunnvald, but then another shape intervened. Vilhjalmer charged Gunnvald with his dagger overhead, screaming with all the rage of an eight-year-old boy. Ulfrik pulled his strike, and Gunnvald did likewise, yet Vilhjalmer slashed with unskilled fury. Gunnvald backed up and left himself open.

Ulfrik pierced Gunnvald's side and spun him back. He cursed the poor strike, as now Gunnvald screamed with agony and put a hand over the bleeding wound. Before he could finish him, Ulfrik again had to pull back his strike as Vilhjalmer leapt in with his dagger. The blade plunged into Gunnvald's thigh.

"Run, Vilhjalmer! Or kill him! Just don't let him scream more!"