Fate's Needle (13 page)

“Now, if Lord Grim would like to know the details of my operation, I’d be happy to explain.” Vandrad, still smiling, appeared to be restraining a perverse glee. “We found several men who had been away during our raid. We eliminated them, along with any farmsteads that did not immediately pledge fealty and offer hostages. I cannot believe we missed half of an army, though I will admit a determined group could have avoided our search.”

“You’re calling me a liar!” Again Grim raged. He threw both arms in the air and spun away from Vandrad’s smirk. “You insult a king in his own hall!”

Behind him, Grim heard Vandrad rise. He turned to find the tall Vestfolder already grasping the back of his arm. His jovial demeanor vanished. Vandrad’s voice was little more than a hiss in Grim’s ear. “If you call yourself a king, behave like one. Honor your dead and let the living know they fought for a man worth their lives. Or soon there will be a new king of Grenner.”

Vandrad released his grip and backed away. With his usual practiced smile and bright voice, he added, “Such is my advice, Lord Grim. Please find some value in it.”

Grim stood dumbfounded, feeling anger beat in his head and throat. But he realized the worth of Vandrad’s advice. The man was a cousin and advisor of High King Harald, and he was assumed instrumental to Harald’s rise to power. Grim had forgotten this, in his rage. He softened his stance and let his voice drop to a normal tone. “You two,” he indicated men at the far end of the hall. “Bring the dead inside and make preparations for their funerals. If they had family, send runners to tell them they can see me for their gold.”

He dispensed his orders petulantly, like a child forced to his chores, but it was enough to make Vandrad smile and nod his agreement. Grim looked away, the exhaustion of the day finally weighing him down. With a wave of his hand, he indicated he would be in his room. For now, it felt the only safe place for him to forget what a fool he had made of himself.

***

Once inside his room, Grim unstrapped his sword and let it thud to the floor and then pulled off his armor and collapsed on the bed. The bandage on his face was old and dirty, but he hesitated to remove it. The wound was healing better than expected, but the hole created by his missing teeth still festered and hurt. Aud’s poultice worked if kept in his mouth, but the foul thing would not stay in place when he had so much to say. He had not expected to have to explain every detail to everyone. His father had never seemed to do anything but drink, eat, and take his share of plunder and whores. Grim had expected as much, too.
Not this
, he thought morosely.
Not this.

Sometime later, he lay half-sleep atop his furs when he noticed his lone candle was ready to flutter out. He was feeling the night’s cold or he would have slumbered by now. Stiff and sore from fighting and marching, he rose and hobbled over to the plate of dried fish and cheese that someone had set out. Eating was both slow and painful, but if he mashed up the food it went down easier.

Grim lingered at the table, the events of the last days playing over in his head.
I’ve really done it
, he thought.
Auden is crushed. All of Grenner is mine. I thought this would feel better than it does
. But he knew what nagged him; he had been avoiding the thought for a while.

Aud. She had to be eliminated. The witch could easily betray him, just as she had done to his father. Killing her was not as simple as putting an ax through her head. If she saw the blow coming, she could curse him. Grim feared nothing more than a witch’s curse. Men you could fight with sword and shield. But magic? Only other magic was proof against it.

In the dying light of the candle, Grim decided how he would rid himself of her. The same poison she had fed Orm could be fed to her. One big dose ought to do it. He only had to secure the poison from her. Of course, she wouldn’t just hand it over, but he had seen her stash it in a sack amid the pile of junk gathered in the hall where she slept. Every morning, he had noticed, Aud went for a walk. During that time, he would exchange the poison in the sack with sand. The poison, she had told him, was tasteless and odorless; getting her to imbibe it would be the least difficult part of his plan. The old hag would die without ever seeing the blow coming, unable to curse him, or his hall.

Grim shoved his plate away and returned to his bed. He felt better already.?

Fifteen

Ulfrik threaded his way back to Yngvar, confident he could return to Magnus and Runa. The cold of evening rattled the trees and painted the woods dull gray and yellow. Evidence of a chaotic fight abounded. Arrows hung from trees. Branches were broken and underbrush trampled. The crimson of blood and the glint of lost weapons caught Ulfrik’s eye wherever he looked. He slowed, concerned enemies might still remain. Only the flutter of woodland birds returning to their nests reached him. He circled the woods, wanting to call Yngvar’s name, but not yet ready to risk announcing himself.

Eventually, Yngvar found him.

From the gloom, Ulfrik heard his name—weak and distant at first, but distinctly his name. He turned to the source, dropped to a crouch, and glided through the underbrush. Yngvar’s silhouette appeared from the surrounding trees. He held up a hand, and then Ulfrik saw his brilliant smile gleam from the twilight. Ulfrik crouched beside him, asking if he had been hurt.

“One of those goat turds got a lucky hit to my head.” He pointed to a trickle of blood on his face. “The ax handle, not the blade. Bastard wasn’t so lucky, though. Someone ran him through.”

Yngvar was strong enough to stand and walk, but was unstable and dizzy, so Ulfrik slung his friend over his shoulder, grabbed Yngvar’s sword, and began to pick a path back to others.

Now confident that no enemy dwelt nearby, they detailed the events since they had parted. Ulfrik warned of Magnus’s mood.

“His family was murdered with as much cruelty as Grim could muster. All to set an example and to bait him. Give him time to recover, at least.” Yngvar sympathized.

Ulfrik grunted in agreement and then listened to Yngvar’s account. Yngvar had found himself in the center of an attacking force—Auden’s men who had survived the hall burning. They screamed Auden’s name as they attacked, and Yngvar had been mistaken for one of Grim’s men. His protests made no impression, and he ended up fighting everyone until the melee ended and he staggered under the blow of an ax haft. Yngvar had fallen, but one of Auden’s men had killed his assailant in that lucky moment. He decided to remain hidden, since Auden’s man had thought him dead. Eventually, Grim’s horn sounded three times.

“Later, when I struggled to my feet to look for you, I fell down and heaved until I came up dry. I hoped you’d come for me eventually. Grim’s men almost found me while searching for their own dead.”

As the light faded, their progress slowed, but soon both could hear the low rumble of Magnus’s voice not far off. Ulfrik increased his pace, still cautious of his footing. Yngvar was heavy, and Ulfrik was ready to drop him. When he came to where Runa and Magnus were huddled, he let Yngvar fall between them.

The concussed man crawled to a tree and propped himself up, assuring the others he had suffered only a minor blow. “Really, being dropped like that was worse than the knock to my head,” he said with a chuckle.

Relieved to be free of his burden, Ulfrik dropped Yngvar’s weapon next to him and sat on the cold ground to rest, as Magnus and Runa hurried to Yngvar’s side. While the three clustered together, speaking in hushed, excited voices, Ulfrik took a moment to finally consider the situation.

He immediately panicked.

As he reviewed the events of recent days, his stomach fluttered and his breath grew short.
We are doomed,
he thought, trying to stop his thoughts from registering on his face. The appearance of Auden’s surviving men had been fortuitous, saving Ulfrik from the trap Grim had set for him. But their allies were now scattered and destroyed. In the chaos of the fight, they had lost the furs and other vital supplies salvaged from Auden’s village. As if to remind him of the horror to come, a cold wind rushed between the trees. An early, murderous winter was coming. Fat clouds squatted low on the horizon; they would deliver rain again soon, and if the cold worsened, they would bring snow and ice.

Yngvar was retelling his adventures for the entertainment of the others, delighting Magnus with every death he reported. Runa was fussing over Yngvar’s head, even as he repeatedly waved her off.

How can I provide food and shelter for all of them?
Ulfrik thought. The gods gave him no sign. Even as his stomach rumbled, he knew tomorrow they must hunt, gather nuts, and find food, although probably not enough for four people, before moving off. Grim would surely return, or at least send men to scout the woods. His lips trembled at the thought of his brother.
How did I let Grim destroy our home?

Yngvar finished his tale and everyone fell to their own thoughts. Ulfrik knew each must worry as he did, but he was their lord. As Auden and Orm had shown him, he must be strong for them. No doubts. No fears. Only certainty of victory. He sat among them, still and silent, hoping he looked braver and more certain than he felt.

***

Dawn slipped in barely recognized behind a pall of sullen clouds, and Ulfrik awoke from a cold and fitful sleep. Magnus and Yngvar still snored beneath their beds of leaves, although Runa had been up a while and was returning with hazelnuts carried in a fold of her tattered skirt. Ulfrik smiled at the sword strapped around her waist. He doubted she could draw it in a fight, but the belt cinched in her waist, revealing the curve of her hips that defied her time in slavery. “There are still fallen nuts that the pigs have not eaten.” She smiled as she approached and then poured the nuts to the ground in the center of their camp. “I saw a rabbit, too. But I couldn’t do much about it. These will have to carry us until we can get to safety.”

Ulfrik laughed at Runa’s simple assessment of their plight, but he was glad for her work. She beamed when he thanked her, and flushed pink as she lifted a rock to shell the nuts. Ulfrik knelt beside her and helped, the two working in a companionable silence. When half of the hazelnuts were shelled, Runa said, “Is there something you want to ask? You keep looking at me.”

Ulfrik felt his face burn, only then realizing he had been sneaking glances. He could see enough flesh beneath her ill-fitting clothing to know he would enjoy seeing more. He mumbled an explanation and focused on shelling the last of the nuts. This was the first quiet moment the two had shared alone, and he still couldn’t understand why he had mistaken her for a boy on that first day. She was delicate and thin, but she had a woman’s shape. Only the rusted collar that chafed her neck marred her beauty.

“Thank you for saving my life, Lord Ulfrik,” Runa said, giving him a gentle smile. “You could have left me to die yesterday.”

“You are of my household,” Ulfrik said, and then winced at his poorly chosen words. “I had to take care of you.”

Runa’s hand hovered over a nut and Ulfrik anticipated a reprimand, but instead she focused on her work as she spoke, mashing the nut and ruining it. “Well, once you lead us to safety and return my freedom, I will ensure you are repaid for your sense of duty. When I find my brother, I will tell him how well you treated me.”

Ulfrik put down his stone and straightened his back. By Odin’s one eye, the girl had pluck! Whatever she was before, she was now a slave, but her pride was noble.

She cracked the remaining nuts, studying each one with exaggerated care. Ulfrik admired the way her curly hair, although now matted and greasy, fell across her face. Once washed, he imagined it would smell beautiful and form exquisite ringlets in his hands. She was his slave, his possession. He could take her and make that happen, but he wanted her to want him, and not just for the freedom that she desired, for himself, as a man. That—he decided while she separated shells from nuts, as if unaware of his stare—was what he wanted from her.

“You’re so confident you will find your brother, but the ocean is wide, and he’s probably gone roving in other lands. You shouldn’t waste your time searching.”

“As you say, Lord Ulfrik.” She gathered the shells and threw them into the underbrush. Then, before leaving, she stood and bowed, something she had never done before.

Ulfrik remained seated, watching her return to the woods. The heat on his face doubled. To his horror, he turned to see Yngvar reclining against a tree trunk and watching. Their eyes met. His enigmatic friend smiled, but then turned away to study the skies.

Ulfrik took some hazelnuts in hand and stood. Popping one into his mouth, he walked to Yngvar and dropped the others in his friend’s lap. “Eat. I hope you can keep some down. I’m not sure how well we’re going to be eating on the run. Magnus is still asleep?” He trusted Yngvar to get the hint and not to comment on his blundered exchange with Runa.

Yngvar did not disappoint. “Yeah, like a hibernating bear.” He picked up the hazelnuts and held out an arm out for a hoist, which Ulfrik provided. Yngvar swayed, then controlled himself and stood. “The sky promises snow. The rain a few days ago was wicked. Had that been snow…”

The words died between them. Only the rustle of empty branches and dead leaves filled the space.

“Rouse Magnus and call Runa. We have to get moving before my brother regains his senses and comes for us.”

Yngvar did not move to the task. “No.” He shook his head. “With those clouds, if your brother had sense he would stay away. Let us die, then come find our frozen corpses. We need to get moving, but we’re running from that, not from Grim.” Yngvar stabbed a finger to the sky.

Ulfrik saw blustery clouds beyond the claws of branches. A lone flake landed on his cheek, melted, and chilled him more thoroughly than any winter gale. Their furs were lost or ruined, only a few nuts between them, and enemy territory from the ocean to the steep hills on the western horizon.

“We could stay at Magnus’s farm,” Ulfrik suggested. “At least until the storm blows over.” He expected Yngvar’s rebuttal, but his friend just rubbed his chin like it ached. “I know it would be hard on Magnus,” Ulfrik continued. “But the other choice is to find shelter in the woods, and we don’t have furs.”