Fate's Needle (7 page)

More men closed on them. Ulfrik and Yngvar fell back, between the buildings, into the dark. It was the wrong direction, heading toward the open farmland, but it was their only path.

As they fled, a spear hissed between them, but the blackness enfolded them. Within moments, they were away. Grim’s screaming must have delayed some of the arriving warriors. Through the thumping rain, Ulfrik could hear horns blasting and men shouting. They ran on, through the dark and the rain.

Seven

As fast as was safe, they sprinted on through the night until, after what seemed like hours, a breathless Yngvar suggested they circle back toward the woods. Ulfrik huffed his agreement. Behind them, yellow points of light bobbed and gathered, coming together then separating. Some clustered and began to weave toward them.

The woods were black as pitch against the night sky and Ulfrik’s side ached as they ran into the forest. At least the rain struck them with less intensity beneath the trees, but the darkness was absolute and tree roots tripped them, forcing them to slow. Ulfrik, soaked with equal parts rain and sweat, slumped against a tree. Beside him, Yngvar wheezed and fell against a log.

“A bloody business,” Yngvar moaned. “Five men dead, four by our hand. All for your damn brother’s ambition.”

Ulfrik did not reply; he was too winded. He knew it was true, and yet he could muster little concern. The men they had killed had all been given a warrior’s death—a place at Odin’s table in Valhalla. It was more than they had planned for him.

“I don’t think I killed him,” Ulfrik said as he rolled over in the mud, his chest heaving. “He’ll have a scar. Maybe lose some teeth. It’s not enough.”

They saw the bobbing torches before they heard the men. The enemy must have guessed their hiding place. Silently, they hunkered into the underbrush. Their few pursuers likely feared forest spirits, elves in particular. Had necessity not overwhelmed his hesitation, Ulfrik might also have worried. Instead, he and Yngvar remained where they were. No one approached, neither elf nor man. All Ulfrik could see was an errant gleam from Yngvar’s mail-covered shoulder. Soon, the rain ceased, lingering only in the drips that plopped from branch to branch. The mud and leaves beneath him warmed, even began to feel comfortable. Ulfrik nodded, and then, eventually, slept. He did not dream.

***

He woke to birdcalls in the trees above him. Light slipped between the pines, touching him with vague warmth. The scent of moist earth against his face made him wonder what had happened to his bed, but when he stirred and the leaves above spilled their load of rainwater on him, he remembered.

Fighting the instinct to leap up, Ulfrik lay still, listening to the woods: the erratic drips falling from high branches, the rustle of underbrush in the breeze, the birdsong all around.
No sound of men,
he thought. But that did not mean men were not watching.

Yngvar still lay where he had the night before. Ulfrik prodded him, generating a snort as Yngvar rolled over onto to his other side. Assured, Ulfrik extracted himself from the muck and underbrush. He was wet, chilled, and sore, but he ignored it. One of Grim’s men could be within arm’s length, waiting for him to make a mistake.

He scouted the surrounding area. Since his youth, he was seldom without a weapon, even if only a knife. He had the ridiculous sensation that being unarmed would make him easily spotted. But his scouting revealed no one, only boot prints that led away from his hiding spot. The men had come close, but not close enough.

“They’ve probably caught the girl by now.”

Ulfrik jumped at Yngvar’s whisper, and stumbled among the branches.

Yngvar laughed. “Calm yourself, Ulfrik. We’re probably not far from a lookout.”

The thought quickly sobered him. Ulfrik brushed down his legs to divert attention from the heat that flushed his face. “They probably know we’re in the forest. We must’ve left good tracks in the mud last night.” He pointed to the tracks he had just found.

The woods in autumn were stitched with empty branches and littered with leaves and fallen hazelnuts. Farmers would soon be driving pigs in to graze on them. Coupled with the likelihood that the woods were being searched, Ulfrik knew they had to find a better hideout.

“Let’s follow them,” he said. They stalked the trail of footprints, which was easy to follow: whoever left them had been blundering in the night. It seemed an aimless path until other trails converged, and then one large trail plowed to where Ulfrik was ambushed. As they approached, Ulfrik waved Yngvar to a stop. A man was guarding the area—Grim’s man, Ulfrik noted. The two fell to a crouch. Already covered with mud and forest debris, they blended into the brush. The man was dressed for war and carried a spear and shield. He was posted where Ulfrik had killed the second ambusher last night, but appeared bored, scratching his nose and wandering in a circle among the sunbeams. Ulfrik saw a second man propped against a tree nearby, and then Yngvar pointed to a third man beyond.

Quietly, they retraced their path, doubly on guard for their pursuers. Grim, or whoever was in charge now, had evidently concluded they were hiding in the forest. They picked their way into the heart of the trees and up the main hill until there was no evidence of human trespass. Only then did Ulfrik feel at ease to speak.

“Even if Runa has been caught and has told them we plan to seek Auden’s help, it is no matter. Grim would guess it himself. The way north is closed now.”

Ulfrik squatted on his haunches and Yngvar sat on a moss-stained rock and scratched roughly at his head. “You’re right about that. But Grim probably can’t speak with that ax you put in his mouth.”

The two laughed as Yngvar drew a circle in the dirt with his index finger. “Grim doesn’t have a force large enough to surround the forest. We could escape by night through the far side, but we’ve got to get to Auden. It’s an early snow this year, too many nuts on the ground so soon. It always means a hard winter.”

“The track north will be blocked.” Ulfrik did not want to speak his thoughts, fearing it would make them real. “I think Grim will try to ambush Auden. You say he has more Vestfolders joining him—they’ve always been after Auden’s land. Grim’s plans will be served if we stay trapped here. You said it yourself: hard winter coming and all we have are rain-soaked clothes and mail. We’ve nothing for the overland journey, especially going the long way around.”

“We can fix that,” Yngvar said. “I think we have a friend among those two other sentries. You saw the third one I pointed out? That was Magnus; you should know him.”

“I knew there was a man there, but I didn’t recognize him.” Ulfrik sprang to his feet. “Magnus farms the Eastland, right? I think I remember him from years ago. What’s he doing here?”

“Your brother called up all the freemen before you arrived. Your father was dying anyway, so it made sense,” Yngvar explained. “Magnus beat me in a wrestling match, the cheating bastard. We were friends from then on. He spoke highly of you. He’s the one who convinced me you would be a better leader than Grim.”

Ulfrik’s thoughts jumped to the plan Yngvar had not yet laid out. “So Magnus will smuggle us the supplies we need and get us out of here. I’ll go down and set it straight with him.”

“I’ll go,” Yngvar said, standing. “You will stay here. This is a risk without glory, Ulfrik. Let your sworn men handle things like this. If I’m caught, you will know soon enough. I won’t leave a trail back here, and you can get away without me.”

Ulfrik raised his hands to disagree.

“All of your army agrees with me, Ulfrik.”

Ulfrik could only drop his arms and chuckle. “The men win this time, then. I already owe you too much, Yngvar. Why should you risk so much for me when you hardly know me?”

Ulfrik anticipated a witty rejoinder, but Yngvar’s smile faded. “I will be gone a good while. I’ll have to catch Magnus’s attention. Planning with the others around will be tricky. If I’m not back by dusk, assume I was caught. In the meantime, gather something edible, and find clean water.”

He said nothing more, just threw his hood over his head. Ulfrik watched him dissolve into the green and brown patchwork of the woods. When Yngvar had vanished, Ulfrik kicked out the circle he had drawn in the ground.

***

By twilight, Ulfrik had returned to the spot after gathering nuts and locating a nearby creek. The nuts were laid out on the ground, his cloak spread beneath them. If he had a spear or a bow, he might have caught a squirrel or a rabbit, but now only one sword remained with Yngvar.
A fire would be nice,
he thought, though smoke would betray him. So he waited as the evening settled into darkness. Soon, even the birds singing from the branches would fall silent, and only owls would patrol the woods.

“I spoke with Magnus.” Yngvar appeared like a spirit out of the forest, making Ulfrik leap in surprise. Yngvar spoke as if it had been as easy as sharing a drink at the hall. “Grim survived,” he continued, “but apparently something else is going on. It’s all confusion with your father’s death. Magnus knows nothing more than that Grim is watching the north road, and that they guessed we are hiding here. They’re to search the woods for the next few days until more men can be spared.”

“So,” Ulfrik began as he stood. “Is Magnus going to help us?”

Yngvar nodded. “He has agreed to get his companions drunk tonight, steal their gear, and hand it over to us. The other men are young, and new, and he thinks he can out-drink them. I think he can, too.”

Ulfrik clasped Yngvar’s shoulder. “Then we can be away by dawn. Even the long way around should still leave us time to get ahead of Grim.”

Their course now decided, they ate the gathered nuts and Yngvar cleaned his face at the creek, as Ulfrik had done earlier. They both took a deep drink before seeking out Magnus.

It took longer to find their way back in the twilight, but Yngvar was a sure-footed woodsman, navigating the trees without stumbling. Ulfrik let him lead, and his thoughts wandered to Runa. He hoped the girl had not been caught. If she had, she’d probably be raped until her mind was broken and then thrown on his father’s funeral pyre. His father’s pyre—he had not even thought of that! If Grim intended to act the victim, he’d have to give their father a proper funeral. Ulfrik felt his chest tighten at the thought that he would not be there to witness it.

Distracted, he tripped, bucking Yngvar as he did.

“Odin’s balls!” Yngvar cursed in a low voice. “Keep your mind on your footing. You’re like a man walking through a dream.”

Ulfrik apologized, feeling his face grow warm with shame. He shook his head to refocus. Motioning for Ulfrik to stay, Yngvar crawled forward and gave a convincing owl hoot. In reply, a large shadow rose up and began to move toward them. It was Magnus, carrying a cloak full of supplies over his shoulder.

He was older than Ulfrik remembered, his curly black beard now shot with gray. But at nearly a head taller than Ulfrik, and with heavy shoulders and a face full of furrows, he still resembled a bear. His eyes glittered in the dark, and he smiled.

“Yngvar and Lord Ulfrik,” Magnus whispered. “There wasn’t enough mead to get them all drunk, but I took the first watch and they’re sleeping now. Here’s everything we will need.”

Ulfrik thought he misheard. “You are coming with us?”

“I can think of no reason to stay with these two fools. Besides, I don’t like Vestfolders. Your brother brought Vestfolders in and then Lord Orm dies conveniently, I won’t be part of that evil.”

“But your family,” Ulfrik put in. “What are you going to do with them?”

“My son is good with a sword and a bow.” His smile revealed his few remaining teeth. “They are out east. Grim won’t look for them so soon, not now that his face is wrecked. Besides, he’s looking for you two, not me.”

“We are headed north, to Auden,” Ulfrik said, glad of Magnus’s help. “We cannot go directly, so the trip will take longer.”

Magnus shrugged. “I’ve already done this much. My family will hold up until I can send for them.”

Ulfrik nodded. As they slipped back into the trees, Magnus glanced back just once. Then he handed them two swords and two skins of water from his makeshift sack.

Ulfrik smiled. All they needed to do now was get to Auden. With Magnus’s help they could make the journey without delay.
Maybe,
he thought,
the Fates have spun me a better strand than I imagined.

Somewhere an owl called in reply.

Eight

Runa shivered, remembering the clang of metal as Yngvar had drawn his sword. Every time she heard that sound, it meant disaster. It meant: run. So she had run—first to the shadows between the buildings, and then onward as the rain became fiercer. As she ran, she heard a horn blast and the shouting of men, and then Yngvar’s roar and the collision of swords. She did not look back, instead fleeing to a storage shed that was close enough to allow her to see. Through the rain and wind, a shriek reached her. Her stomach boiled with shame, hoping it was not Ulfrik. Her disguise now useless, Runa wriggled out of the bulky mail and sloughed off the sodden cloak. She fingered the slave collar that chaffed at her neck and a rusty tang filled her nostrils.
So close to having it removed
, she thought wistfully.

Pressed up against the shed wall, Runa closed her eyes to the rain that streamed into her face, having half a mind to add to it with tears. She had nearly escaped, and now she was back. She cursed herself for trusting such a foolish plan.
Why did I let Ulfrik dazzle me?
He probably never intended to honor his promise.
No doubt he would have just raped me and given me to Yngvar as a reward. That’s all I am now: property to be handed out. Booty.

Horns blasted again and Runa saw torches blooming in clusters around the barracks. She folded herself against the wall and begged the gods to keep her hidden. Men fanned out in all directions, some toward her.

Her heart thumped and her breath was short, but she knew running would only expose her. The torchlight jogged closer. Two men were approaching.