Fate's Needle (21 page)

“You talk as though Frodi knows we are coming already,” he said.

“He’s no fool. By now he knows what happened here, and he’ll be expecting us at the first sign of lasting good weather.”

“So we go during bad weather. It’s not so far to march. And if he is not expecting us, his levies will be at their farms and his hirdmen will die burning in their hall. I’ve given the gods a generous sacrifice. They are on my side!”

Vandrad’s hand idly thrummed the table. He gave no sign of his thoughts, his face flat and dark. Even his own hirdmen began to give him sidelong glances, searching for how they should react.

Grim just held his breath. He felt the gods telling him to be still. Wind bucked the shutters and Vandrad’s thrumming matched the rhythm. He looked right through Grim for a long moment before he spoke again. “The gods favor you, you say? Would you wager on that?” Vandrad suddenly clenched his fingers, as though snatching up coins from the table.

“I would wager. They have shown me signs. The bird in the sky—we all saw it. It was a raven.” Grim smiled. The gods were speaking through him, he knew it.

“The bird was too far off to tell. But let’s talk about my wager. I will lead the levy with you to Frodi’s hall. If we succeed in capturing it, then you will have the first pick of the spoils, as well as your brother’s head. However, if there is any serious resistance or things turn bad, I will call the retreat. And, if you survive such a failure, I will end your rule of Grenner and exile you from these lands.”

Grim stepped back, holding up his hands. It was an absurd wager. Why should he have to stake his rightfully inherited land for assisting in an effort that was to the High King’s advantage? Vandrad smiled coyly, awaiting his answer.

But Grim wanted this. There would be enough men to bring Ulfrik to heel and prevent his escape. Grim wouldn’t even have to face him, and if he did, well, Lini was making a charm against the curse.

“I agree,” he said without thinking further. “We leave at once, and we will catch Frodi unaware, asleep in his hall. It will burn to the ground, you’ll see.”

“You swear it, with these men as witnesses?” Vandrad gestured to his hirdmen. All four men looked down on Grim with slit eyes and twisted grins. Seeing them all at the high table of his hall suddenly made Grim reconsider.
Maybe they will be seated there permanently after this raid.
He thrashed his head, rejecting his own thoughts. “I do swear it,” he said, louder than he meant to. “You lead the levies as you described. If we fail, I forfeit my right to rule here.”

“To rule anywhere,” Vandrad added.

“To rule anywhere,” Grim agreed.

Vandrad laughed again, jubilantly this time. One of the hirdmen poured mead for all of them, handing a cup down to Grim. They all drank on the wager. Grim wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The mead tasted like revenge to him: warm and sweet.?

Twenty-one

Ulfrik awoke to someone kicking him. He rolled onto his back and squinted up at the black rafters of Frodi’s hall. Things melted into focus and he became aware that men were rushing around him while others shouted orders. As sleep drained away, he was kicked again. One of Frodi’s warriors hunched over him, cradling Fate’s Needle. “Get up. Invaders are coming.” He dropped the sword at Ulfrik’s side. “Find a shield and form up outside. Jarl Frodi is leading the defense.”

All around, men were roused from their dull slumber. Women, children, and the elderly filed into the hall, their eyes bright with panic.

He found Yngvar shaking Magnus awake.

“Who’s attacking?” Ulfrik asked the man who woke him.

“Frodi will tell you. Just get yourself ready.” The man left to wake others.

“It’s Harald’s man,” Yngvar told him. “I was awake when scouts came with reports.”

Magnus leaped to his feet, pulling Yngvar by the shoulder. “Then Grim is with him. Time to gut that pig once and for all.”

Ulfrik had nothing to say; Magnus had said it all. The Fates have strange plans for men, of that much he was certain. He was less certain of how Grim knew where to find him. Was his brother coming here because of him, or for some other plan?

“Come on, Ulfrik,” Magnus roared, his breath stinking of ale and sleep. “The gods will grant us revenge today. Look, we’ve got our weapons and armor back.”

Yngvar snatched some plain shields from the wall. They were sturdy, rimmed with leather and with an iron boss. He handed them out and they shoved through the stream of commoners crowding the hall.

The morning sun was just staining the sky, creating a yellow stripe on the horizon, and the cold breeze carried a taste of the sea. A few paces from the hall, Frodi and Thor were conversing with their closest hirdmen. Around them, men in leathers and mail checked their shields and spears, laughing as if still at a feast. Here were men who relished war; a battle after a night of drinking was a gift to them.

Bard appeared between the men. His eyes met Ulfrik’s and he had no choice but to acknowledge him with a slow nod. Bard looked pale and frightened, although girded for war in shining mail and leather. A sword with a silver inlaid hilt was strapped at his waist and an iron-rimmed shield, painted yellow and black, was slung on his arm. Ulfrik stalked straight to him.

“Where have you taken Runa?” He seized Bard’s free arm.

Bard pulled it away, and several men gave Ulfrik a warning look. But Ulfrik didn’t care. “What have you done with her?”

“It is not my choice.” Bard refused to meet Ulfrik’s gaze. “But she is safe.”

Ulfrik was about to reply when Frodi stepped up to them. Standing beside his son, he stared Ulfrik in the eye. His mail gleamed brighter than any other, and he wore an iron helm with a face guard. It made him look like an eagle.

“So, your brother is even more stupid than you, if that is possible. After years of peace, with no provocation your family brings war to my land. Had you left a day earlier, I’d have taken you for a spy come to count my spears. But you are here, and your brother is bumbling through the woods, not even sure of where he is. You must not be working together, eh?”

“My brother deserves death,” Ulfrik said, coldly. “He murdered my father and burned my uncle.” Ulfrik met Frodi’s pale eyes. “Let me stand in your shield wall, and I will show you that I mean to avenge my family.”

“I love a good family fight,” Frodi said and laughed. “You may stand in my shield wall, but it changes nothing. Do not think it will.”

“Grim’s death is enough for me.” Ulfrik looked back to Bard, who recoiled at the statement. Frodi held Ulfrik’s gaze until he turned away to rejoin his men, taking Bard with him.

“Bard is a weakling, don’t you think?” Yngvar suddenly appeared at his shoulder. He was bright-eyed and limber, as though he had not been staggering with drink the night before. “He’s going to stain that fine mail coat yellow with piss.”

Ulfrik glanced quickly at Yngvar, then focused on the distant tree line. There was no sign of an attacking party yet, but he knew Grim would be marching from that direction. The only other approach was from the sea, and Grim didn’t possess enough ships for that.
No
, he thought,
the attackers will emerge from the trees and form up before marching the final distance
.
Grim will likely be at the center of the line.
Ulfrik was grinding his teeth in anticipation. He would not get Grenner back, but he would avenge his father, Auden, and his honor.
No more running now.

Frodi shouted orders to his men, telling them where to stand and where to fall back. He had a fighting core of sixty men in good armor and weapons, along with a group of farmers with bows. Fortunately, all the men had all been present for the feast or gathering them would have been impossible at such short notice. Added to Frodi’s men were Thor Haklang’s twenty guards. Thor was apparently ready for a fight. Although it was not his land to defend, he had an alliance to consider. He and his men stood apart, shouting and growling like beasts. Thor wore heavy bear skins that would serve him as well as any mail. His men passed about a bowl, from which each drank. Thor took it last and drained it before throwing it down with a howl. He thrashed his head like an angry bull.

“A berserker,” Yngvar noted. “He and his men are worth three of every one of Frodi’s. We’ll be lucky to get to Grim before he’s hacked to ribbons.”

“He’s mine,” Ulfrik said, watching Thor striking out and screaming at unseen foes.

“He’s mine.” Magnus echoed Ulfrik’s words.

Ulfrik and Yngvar both swung their heads towards their own bear warrior. His eyes were bloodshot with drink, and his face taut with hate. He wore his furs around the shoulders and his plain shield on his back. “My family will be avenged in blood.”

Ulfrik turned back to the tree line. The sun was climbing the eastern horizon, throwing the edge of the woods into shadow.
Soon, men will emerge there
, Ulfrik thought,
and only the gods will know who will have vengeance.

***

The attack did not come with dawn. Despite all the men arranged for battle, there was hardly a sound. Only Thor Haklang roared and cursed, and his men shielded him in their midst to prevent him from fighting Frodi’s men. They all stood loosely arrayed on the hill before Frodi’s hall. Ulfrik appreciated its strategic location. From this vantage point, every approach to the hall could be observed. Leather and metal creaked and clanked as they waited. When no invaders appeared, Frodi had sent scouts, and one was running back now.

When he reached Frodi, there was a ripple of activity. Then Frodi’s yellow and black banner raised above the men. “The rats are wary,” Frodi called out to his line. “They saw us ready for them and thought about running back to their holes.” Laughter flowed from the men. “But they’re moving again.”

Frodi drew his short blade and pointed it at the tree line. The dawn sun illuminated the trees, pointing to the shapes of men shambling from the forest and forming a block of warriors bristling with spears. Into the light came the banner of Ulfrik’s father—black elk antlers on a flag of green. Ulfrik winced at the sight of it being carried into battle against him, but this was Fate’s decree. Bobbing even higher than it was King Harald’s banner, white with a huge raven dominating the center. As it came into view, Thor Haklang screamed as though impaled.

With the enemy in sight, all of the men began to jeer and call out. They banged their weapons on shields, stomped the earth, screamed curses. Ulfrik joined in as well, shouting for Grim to come and find his death. He could not see Grim, but he knew his brother must be close to the green banner.

The invaders marched halfway up the road to where squat barracks huddled to the left, but otherwise Grim and his men would have to approach without cover. Archers were moving behind the building, apparently unnoticed by Grim’s men.

Frodi’s forces raised such a clamor that Ulfrik’s ears were already ringing. Next to him, Magnus was screaming himself hoarse. Yngvar had lost his smile, but made no sound at all.

Soon, Grim and two other men separated from the group and came forward for the customary parley before a battle. Frodi, Bard and another warrior stepped out to meet them. Thor was too delirious to be of any use. Ulfrik ran out as well, but Frodi rounded on him. “Get back in line. You’ve no business speaking for me on my land.”

“Let me count the enemy for you,” Ulfrik suggested, though he only wanted a better look at Grim. Suddenly, the prospect of killing his brother felt repugnant. Grim had committed indefensible crimes, and Ulfrik was honor-bound to extract justice, but looking at his younger brother’s dark shape opposite, he felt weak.
Will I be able to do this when my moment comes?

“Get back in line,” Frodi commanded, moving forward again.

Ulfrik obeyed, but pointed his sword at Grim before going. The black shape of his brother was inscrutable.

The parley was brief. Grim appeared to yell immediately, only being restrained by another man Ulfrik guessed was Harald’s man, Vandrad. Frodi was shaking his head while Vandrad gesticulated. Grim pointed to Ulfrik, and for a moment Ulfrik thought Frodi might surrender him, but instead the parley ended with both sides stalking back to their lines.

“Probably told Frodi they would go if he surrendered us,” Yngvar yelled above the roar of the men. “If it were just Grim, Frodi might’ve considered it. But Harald’s man would make a fine prisoner. Imagine the ransom.”

Ulfrik knew it was true. Grim and Vandrad had probably anticipated a smaller force and the benefit of surprise. Now they faced a superior, sizable and better-equipped foe, and Frodi knew he stood a good chance of capturing a wealthy hostage. Grim had marched too close to turn back without the risk of being overrun. Besides, the loss of honor would be so staggering he would lose the support of his men.

Now came the waiting game. Frodi would not leave the advantage the high ground afforded, and Grim would not want to attack uphill. Both sides called curses and insults across the fifty yards of open ground. Grim had no archers, but Frodi’s were moving around the back of the barracks house to reappear behind Grim’s line and drive the enemy forward. Slaughter awaited Grim.

Maybe I won’t even have to fight him
, Ulfrik thought.
But Fate has not been so kind to me yet
.

He could see the sturdy, muscular form of his brother dressed in mail, black furs and a new helm with a metal visor like Frodi’s. Ulfrik imagined he could see whites of Grim’s eyes behind the visor, and he laughed at the fear he saw there. His peal of laughter started the battle.

On Grim’s left flank, men began to detach from the line. Eight or ten men, some hirdmen by the looks of their armor, rushed forward with their arms held up. The largest one, at the front, called out, “Lord Ulfrik! We fight for Lord Ulfrik!”

Ulfrik lowered both shield and blade as the men ran forward, calling his name. It was Snorri, and the men he had promised. Ulfrik felt his eyes grow hot at the sight of them.

Realizing the betrayal, Grim screamed to the ranks behind him. “Kill them! Don’t let the traitors go!”