Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) (9 page)

He returned to the cart and pulled off the branch he had just placed. Finn remained stripped to the waist, glistening with sweat, and resting on his stomach in the back of the cart. The bandages around his trunk showed brown spotting even though he had just changed them. The infection had been a violent red and even to brush the flesh made Finn moan. Ulfrik feared a critical line had been crossed and Finn could no longer be saved.

"I'll only be gone this night, and by tomorrow morning you'll be in Hrolf the Strider's hall or I'll be dead." Ulfrik patted Finn's calf. "In that case, we'll meet in the feasting hall where all heroes await Ragnarok."

"Who's Ragnar?" Finn's fever had rendered him senseless most of the time, though at least he still understood the gist of his condition, which Ulfrik took for a positive sign.

"All the water and ale is an arm's reach away. Just sleep tonight." Ulfrik placed his sword next to Finn's side. "If you think you're dying, hold this when you do. You're a brave man, Finn the Red."

Ulfrik was surprised that Finn chuckled at his joke. His fever had turned his freckled face scarlet and Ulfrik had been calling him Red for several days with no reaction. For a brief moment, he seemed to be his old self again.

"I'll be fine. Go on and be a hero," Finn said, stirring one arm dismissively. "Gods know I need one."

Ulfrik pulled himself up on the horse, inelegantly sliding over its back and nearly falling from it. The horse was a patient beast, and though he snorted and stepped, he also calmed as Ulfrik patted his neck. Then he wound his hands into its mane and started for Hrolf's town. Approaching from the south gate this time, he wore his cloak with the hood drawn. As he hoped, other travelers were also headed for the gate. No one wanted to camp outside overnight, not if they had anything of value in their possession. With the sun low in west, only a few hours remained.

The guards here were less brutish and more akin to the professionals Ulfrik remembered. They questioned each person, searched their bags, and took their weapons before allowing access for a small fee. On Ulfrik's turn, he kept his head down and allowed them to search his few packs and then held his cloak aside to reveal he had no weapons hidden. He pressed a silver coin into the guard's hand and he was waved through.

"How much easier was that?" he muttered to himself. "I'll have those four by their balls soon enough."

In truth, his current profile as an unarmed traveler was far less threatening than two armed men and a wagon. Desperation had caused him to forget that he might not appear as innocent to everyone as he actually was. A gray-haired man on horseback was nothing to fear, and so he passed beneath the gate without issue and emerged into the familiar roads of Hrolf's estate.

The horse knew to follow the road, which snaked uphill to Hrolf's magnificent hall. Now that he was inside, the issue of presenting himself to Hrolf was a new challenge. Despite the long, dull years he had to plan this moment, now that he was within reach of it he found all his plans lacking. Announcing himself outright might result in a challenge to his claims without ever seeing Hrolf. Who would believe a long-dead man returned to life? To sneak upon him could appear as if he were an enemy spy, which would be an even more disastrous outcome.

People hurried about in the last light of the day. Mothers stood in doorways calling their children home. Others rushed about their business, eager to arrive wherever they went. Ulfrik located a stable where the stable master accepted a handful of silver bits to care for the horse. Ulfrik took his pack while the stable master had his son take the horse. They exchanged pleasantries and Ulfrik shared news from the border. "Could I share a stall with my horse tonight?" Ulfrik asked.

The man thought about it. "Just this night, then be on your way in the morning."

Business concluded, the man and son left. An orange line now filled the western horizon and Ulfrik had only a half hour's worth of light to use. He tipped his pack over to reveal the few items he had taken with him for tonight's mission: a filthy cloak, old rune sticks from the bandits, and the same blindfold he had used to deceive Throst. A broken rake leaned against the wall, and Ulfrik snapped away the rake to use the handle as his walking stick. He only needed to hide his identity long enough to earn an audience with Hrolf. He gathered these together and made for the hall while enough light still allowed for travel on the paths.

The grand hall sat atop a large hill and any hiding place had been cleared from it, save a large oak tree that towered over it like a protective hand. Ulfrik waited a safe distance behind a cooper's workshop, studying the men filing in for their evening meal. Hrolf would be inside with his family, along with his trusted men like Gunther One-Eye. After all had passed inside, the guards surrounding the hall lit torches and settled in for their watches. From inside, the faint sounds of song and laughter reached his ears. Ulfrik tied his blindfold, pulled up his hood, and took his stick, then stepped out toward the hall.

As expected, the guards challenged him as he approached the doors. He could see out the bottom of his blindfold, and two feet in leather boots came into view.

"Hold, old man," said the closest guard. "You can't come this close to the hall."

"So this is the hall?" Ulfrik said, straining his voice to add age to it. "Then my visions have guided me correctly."

He heard the closest guard sigh, then he grabbed the walking stick. "You are blind? Then let me help your visions. Turn back and keep walking until you crash into the walls. Come morning someone will see you out the gates."

"No," Ulfrik protested. "The gods were clear, I have a message for a man inside this hall. His name is Balki Hard-Fighter."

Both guards grew quiet, and Ulfrik fought his smile as he waited for their response. At last the other guard stepped forward. "What do you want with Balki?"

"I don't know," Ulfrik said, turning up his free palm as if completely innocent. "The gods put that name into my head and said I should read him my rune sticks. When the gods make such commandments, I cannot disobey. I have to meet him."

Again more silence, but the other guard released his walking stick. "Well, I'm Balki. So what do you want to say to me?"

Iron scraped as both guards loosened their swords. Ulfrik held up his hands. "Peace. Let me throw these runes and I will tell you what I see. That is all I want."

"You're not looking for silver, old man? I'm not paying for anything," Balki said.

Ulfrik shook his head and tossed his sticks. Feigning blindness, he had to touch the layout carefully, noting the positions of the sticks, then he stroked the carved runes to "read" them. He made faces and sucked his breath at points, and he felt Balki and his companion draw closer. At last he struggled to his feet, and now both men assisted him. "This is a strange message. You have three daughters but no sons." He heard Balki inhale with surprise. He did not remember much about Balki other than he was a renowned fighter and had three girls as beautiful as they were clever. "Your youngest daughter--is she eleven?"

"Thirteen. What of her?"

"I believe there is a boy that she keeps secret from you. She does not want to wed the man you've arranged for her, and tonight she and her secret boy, well, I'm not sure what they plan, but you need to stop it before it goes too far."

"By the gods," Balki said. "She's been a difficult girl these days. I just knew something like this was going on under my own nose. What else do you see?"

"That is all. I've come to say what the gods wanted you to know. I'm going back to the stables now. I'm much relieved."

Ulfrik turned to go, but the hand he expected grabbed his staff again. "Wait. If it's as you say, I need to go home right now. I'd like you to stay near, though. There is plenty to eat and drink inside, and Hrolf is a generous man. If you'll surrender your walking stick you can enter and enjoy a hot meal."

"That seems like too much trouble for you," Ulfrik said. "Besides, I'm a poor grub beside great men. I'd shame the jarl's hall."

"You'll be seated by the door. No one will notice you. Besides, I insist. Thorir here will see you inside while I go."

"If you insist, then I will comply." Ulfrik bowed and Throrir removed his walking stick, checked him for weapons, then guided him inside.

Scents of savory meats and smoke assailed him, along with a blast of warmth and raucous conversations. He acted intimidated, but Thorir just pulled him along to a table.

"What's your name, old man?" Thorir asked.

"Ulfar the White."

Thorir introduced him to his table mates, helped him to a seat, then returned outside. The men around him had only a few polite questions to ask, but soon were absorbed in their own conversations. Ulfrik sat patiently, hearing Hrolf's familiar laughter booming at the far end of the hall. He ate a stew of onions, spices, and lamb, then washed it down with the smoothest ale he had tasted in years. By now Balki would be returning to reveal Ulfrik's lie, so he had to act fast.

He stood up and made as if he were going to the corner to urinate. His companions waved him off, not even realizing he was supposedly blind. Two other men were relieving themselves against the wall, and Ulfrik fit in between them. Using their bulk as cover, he removed his blindfold. As they moved off, he removed his gray outer cloak and revealed a second, cleaner one beneath. He pulled his hair back into a ponytail and tied it quickly with a bit of string. The men at their meals did not pay much attention, and those who noticed him assumed he belonged in the hall and their eyes slid past him.

Now he was a new man, and even if Balki returned he would not find a blind man in a gray cloak. He worked slowly toward Hrolf, leaning into the drunkest of conversations to laugh and joke with these men, who either were too drunk to notice him or simply shrugged him off. The high table was filled with familiar faces: the giant Gunther One-Eye sat at his right and a dozen other hirdmen surrounded him. His Frankish wife, Poppa, was like a lily wilting at his left hand, and she ate with precision and delicacy. Her eyes were averted from all, but Hrolf often leaned to speak to her and her face brightened.

From the last table length he walked purposefully toward Hrolf. The men here were more alert, better trained, and were veterans. They noted Ulfrik's stride and his focus, and these men rose to intercept him. Ulfrik did not want violence. Only Hrolf's attention.

"Who the fuck are you?" The first man to stand in his way was not tall but broad-shouldered and packed with muscle. He butted right up against Ulfrik, and others closed down on him.

"Stand aside, Torfi," Ulfrik said. The man's heavy brows rose at the use of his name. "I've got business with Hrolf."

Now more men crowded him, and rough hands grabbed his sword arm. Ulfrik did not resist, but stared past all of them at Hrolf who was draining a silver-rimmed mug. When he finished, he noticed the knot of men forming below his table and he leaned forward with a frown.

"What's going on there?"

The broad man, Torfi, faced Hrolf. "A stranger got in the hall and says he has business with you. He doesn't seem armed."

Hrolf and the rest of his table looked down. Gunther One-Eye stood, the scar tissue in his left eye twisting like a worm, and prepared to draw his sword.

"Do you recognize me, Hrolf?" Ulfrik's voice was clear and commanding, no longer the feigned voice of an old man. "It has been many years, but I've returned."

The front of the hall went still and silent while Hrolf studied him. Then his face turned white and his eyes widened. He shot to his feet and pointed.

"Seize him! Don't let him escape!"

Before he could say another word, Ulfrik was facedown on the floor with a boot on the back of his head and a sword-point between his shoulder blades.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

All Ulfrik could see were dozens of feet crowding him, and all he could hear was shouting. His arms were forced behind his back while the boot on his head drove his face into the hard-packed dirt of the floor. Straw pushed into his eyes and the scent of the ground filled his nose. Hands on his shoulders hauled him up, and another man pulled his head straight by yanking on his ponytail.

Hirdmen were rushing Hrolf's wife, Poppa, to safety and both he and Gunther had drawn their swords. No others were allowed weapons but for Hrolf and his personal guard, but it was enough that the entire high table was brandishing sharpened iron. Hrolf stood a head taller than Gunther, and both were intimidating enough that Ulfrik doubted any single man could challenge them both. They stared down at him, Gunther's brow deeply furrowed in confusion but Hrolf's tight with revulsion. He bared his teeth then shoved the table aside.

"Bring that man to me." He held his sword low with both hands on the grip. In one strong flick he could cut Ulfrik's guts out.

Torfi cleared a path through the men while the one holding Ulfrik's arms shoved him forward. He stumbled up the high stage, but his captor held him up. Now he stood before Hrolf, and he smiled.

"Either you don't recognize me, or Throst lied and you really did arrange to kill me." Ulfrik met Hrolf's clear, blue eyes and did not waver from them. He saw Gunther One-Eye lower his sword and stagger back. Hrolf's reaction was not as dramatic.