Fate's Needle (8 page)

“Search that shed,” one called to the other.

“A waste of time,” the other shouted over the rain. “It’s locked.”

They hurried to the corner of the shed, the light from their torches casting a yellow ring that almost illuminated her feet. She heard one of them try the door. Locked. Runa held her breath.

“So is Lord Grim dead? Will we still get paid?” one of them asked.

“I didn’t see if he died. They dragged him into the barracks too fast. But he was screaming and cursing. So—”

“Hey, there they go!” the other voice interrupted.

Runa heard them splash off through the rain, calling to other men. She smiled. Ulfrik had escaped, and Yngvar was still with him. It seemed that Grim might even be dying.
The gods are certainly involved
, she thought.

Runa knew where Ulfrik’s room was in the hall. She merely had to grab the sword and escape to the northern track. From there, she could meet up with them and travel to Ulfrik’s uncle’s hall, where he would restore her freedom. If she recovered his precious sword, Ulfrik would have to honor his promise. After all, warriors valued their oaths, even if made to slaves. And Runa was certain Ulfrik was better than most. He reminded her of her brother—the same proud gait, the same stubborn resolve. He had even thanked her when she served him stew a few nights ago. He would grant her freedom, as he had promised.

Yet still Runa stood rooted to the spot, listening to the men shout through the darkness. A blind run would end in her crashing into one of them. Tentative steps led her away from the shed, toward a lone pine. She shivered as she scuttled beneath it. The main hall was ten paces away, bathed in pale light from behind shuttered windows. Thin smoke fought the gusts as it rose from the smoke hole.

Crouching as low as she could manage, Runa hurried toward the hall. She pitched against the darkest shadow of its walls, slumped, and caught her breath. The slave pen squatted in the darkness opposite. It was a low, windowless building, huddled against the night like the slaves within it. The door bore a heavy lock and the key always remained with the guard who herded the slaves in at the end of the night. Just last night, she had been locked in with them.

When Runa had fled earlier, she had simply seized an opportunity—every girl for herself. But now, she could remedy that. She could free them. The hall was in confusion. Even without the key, there had to be a way to free the slaves.

Runa’s family had owned but one slave. Her father had treated him well, so well that at times Runa thought he was her father’s friend. Only when she became a slave had she realized the horror of slavery. The Svear raped her, barely kept her alive, and sold her like an animal. Orm had found her at market and treated her marginally better than his livestock. None of Orm’s slaves would be mistaken for his friends.

She shook her head, scattering the memories. First, she had to get inside the hall. Slipping her fingers beneath the unfastened shutters, she cracked one open enough to see within. She saw no movement. Trusting that Ulfrik’s commotion had drained the hall of occupants, she opened the shutters and hauled herself through the window.

Runa had always been small, but in slavery she had withered further. She flopped through the window easily, if not gracefully, landing on her rump. The thud of her descent was like a peal of thunder to her, but there was no one to hear it. The hall was empty, but for curling smoke, quavering shadows, and the dead jarl’s corpse. Orm lay stretched out on a table in the center of the hall, lit by amber light from a low fire in the hearth. Runa stood and studied his corpse. He was dressed in mail, with a sword over his chest. She half feared he might rise up as she walked around his body, until her nostrils were met with the rank scent of death and she drew a hand to her face to block it.

Dripping water across the dirt floor as she moved, she headed for the far end of the hall, where Ulfrik had slept in a side room reserved for honored guests. His sword would be there.

She had reached the doorway when an old woman stepped out. With a scream, Runa fell back, a myriad thoughts in mind. Should she attack? Should she flee? Should she try to beguile the woman?

The old woman released a startled croak and Runa recognized her as Orm’s healer, Aud.

“Oh, you frightened me, child! I wondered who could be in here,” said Aud, putting her palm to her chest. “And look at you, sopping wet!”

“I … I returned too late,” Runa stuttered, choosing guile.

Aud had never been Runa’s friend, shouting at her and often striking her for being slow, but at least she was not hostile. She peered at Runa through baggy, squinting eyes, holding the look for a long while before remarking, “Why you would return is a mystery, child.” Aud went to Orm’s corpse and adjusted the pall that covered his face. “With your master dead, you should be burned with him.”

Runa’s eyes snapped to Aud, but the old woman merely continued to prepare Orm’s corpse, seeming uninterested.

Runa drew a breath before speaking. “I didn’t know he was dead. When I came back it was raining, and all the guards were running about. I feared raiders.”

Aud only nodded, and then took another peek beneath the shroud, as if ensuring the corpse was not eavesdropping. Then she sat next to the fire and let her hands collapse in her lap.

“We should gather at the hall if raiders come, right?” Runa said in a rush. She felt her face flush hotter every moment she was under Aud’s rheumy-eyed gaze.

“Of course, the best way to enter the hall is by throwing yourself through the window,” Aud noted, a smile bisecting the sagging folds of her face.

Runa opened her mouth but could not speak. Her hands began to tremble.

“You are a slave.” Aud gestured that she should sit by the fire. “And I’ve no mind for slaves, but you are different from the others. You’re quite a beauty; that’s why this one bought you.” Aud jabbed a thumb toward Orm’s corpse. “But you are also a Dane, and from a good family. I’ve seen it in your manners, child. You are too well bred to be a slave. Now, will you sit here a moment? I think no one will be coming along soon.”

Runa smiled and sat, relishing the fire’s heat. Now that Aud had casually brushed aside the excuse she had offered, she knew her best hope was in making Aud an ally. She glanced at the old woman, who guarded her thoughts behind crinkled eyelids. For an instant, Runa felt her hands itch. Her brother would have told her to throttle the crone and escape. Now was the time. But Runa doubted herself—doubted she could be so ruthless.

“So you know the truth,” Runa whispered. “I came back when I heard the commotion. I thought I could steal something of value, something to help buy my freedom.” She did not trust Aud enough to speak the truth.

Aud merely nodded. “There is little here, child,” she said. “Lord Grim has taken everything of any value. The old jarl will be buried with very little of his wealth.”

Runa shifted in her seat to face Aud directly. “Then will you let me go? I will take just some food, maybe a cloak. Will you allow me that much? If I ever get back to my family, I can repay you.”

Again, Aud nodded. Then she struggled up from her chair.

Runa’s heart pounded. It seemed Aud had assured her freedom. She had not yet retrieved Ulfrik’s belongings, but she would find another way.

Aud hobbled a few steps, and then began to walk more steadily. Waddling to one of the tables at the side of the hall, she gathered two cups and filled them in silence as Runa sat.

“It’s a cold night. You’ll need something to keep you. Here is some mead, and a bit of cheese. It’s not much, but better than what you’ll be eating in the future.” Aud held a wedge of cheese in one shriveled hand and a wooden cup of mead in the other.

Runa had not eaten since the night before. The scent of cheese stoked her appetite. Only after she drained the mug and stuffed the cheese in her mouth, did embarrassment overcome her. Aud laughed, and Runa’s shame deepened.

“Thank you, for your kindness.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I did not expect it.”

Aud laughed again, only harder, her laughter rising to a wicked timbre, and her smile warping into a leer. Immediately, Runa knew she had been duped: either the cheese or mead had been poisoned.

Now, she would throttle Aud. Her hands shot out, seeking the old woman’s scraggly neck. But she found that her fingers curled before her like a hag’s claw, her sight blurred, and Aud’s laughter became a ringing bell in her head. Somehow she found herself crashing face down toward the dirt floor.

“You’ll send me a reward, will you?” Aud cackled. “You stupid, bitch! You’ll burn with your master, like the slave you are. Your beautiful face will be ruined, you whore!”

So this is death
, Runa thought,
cold and black, and filled with the echoing laughter of a crazed hag.
Then, even those sensations fled and she floated in a field of utter numbness.

Nine

Grim’s head throbbed and his face burned where the ax had cut. A day had passed since Ulfrik had given him the wound. The cut was not deep, except where the blade had cleft his bottom teeth, but one tooth had been dislodged in the blow and another fell out later. Grim’s tongue groped the bloody space continually, tasting raw flesh.

He was at rest in his room in the hall, which until yesterday had been his father’s. Soon, dawn would break and Aud would come with fresh bandages and a bitter poultice to stick into the gap of teeth. For now, he listened to the sound of warriors readying for battle: the clack of spear shafts and the crunch of mail, and all around the grumble of stern voices. Grim would have to stand before the men today, no matter how his wounds grieved him. The attack on Auden had already been delayed a day.

He heard Aud’s murmurs beyond the door, coupled with Vandrad’s sonorous voice. Grim dropped his bandaged head to the side. Would Vandrad give a moment’s respite? The answer was clear enough; Vandrad forced his way into the room ahead of Aud’s protests.

“Grim, we will be ready to march by noon. King Harald’s men have arrived.”

Grim stared up at the gauzy darkness.

With a muttered curse, Aud came to his side, placing a lit candle beside the bed while she removed his bandages. Grim tried to read her reaction to the sight of his wounds. Not a single wrinkle or fold twitched or tightened in her face.

“Your men are confused,” Vandrad continued, glancing over Aud as she worked.

Grim noted that his face registered nothing but concern for his damn plans.

“You must address your warriors, let them know you are ready.”

“Do not give orders to me!” Grim jerked to his elbows, knocking Aud away. Pain flamed in his jaw, only angering him more. “I know what I have to do.”

Vandrad did not balk at Grim’s outburst, but smiled. He was a tall man, broad shouldered and handsome with tawny hair that was oiled in place and a carefully attended beard—the embodiment of High King Harald’s court. “Then, Lord Grim, act on what you know. And I will remind you that I am King Harald’s agent and his cousin. Save your shouts for the battlefield.”

The pain vanished, and Grim felt anger rise in its place. He was still treated as a child, even now that his father was dead and he was the new jarl of Grenner.
Why does everyone consider me so incapable? Why must every ally become a thorn underfoot?

But Vandrad had duly impressed his logic, and Grim had to surrender to it—for now.

“I will address my men at sunrise,” Grim said, lying down again so Aud could resume fussing with his bandages. “I’m going to sound like a drunk with this poultice of shit in my mouth, but I will get them to march.”

Yet Grim doubted he could motivate Orm’s men. He had changed their world in the space of days. He gave them gold from his father’s hoard in return for their oaths, gold that he wanted for himself. Then the bungled assassination of his brother ushered in contention. Some of the men were grumbling; he could hear as much through the walls.

“Your King commands the attack,” Vandrad explained with a smile. “And he will reward it. You’ve already tasted the wealth and power of his court. Your lands will double in size when Auden is crushed. King Harald has provided the men you will need to hold the land. But what is your plan for your father’s hirdmen? They must have kinsmen there?”‘

“They don’t know the plan and will stay behind. They think we go to reinforce Auden,” Grim explained. “A few have kin there, I suppose. If I suspect anyone, they will die.”

“Very well, but they will have to know the truth sooner or later.” Vandrad walked out of Grim’s line of vision. “Anyway, without a successful attack, you will not have the worry of an expanded domain. Provided Ulfrik has not reached Auden, we should strike with total surprise by nightfall.”

Aud completed her re-bandaging with a nod, and Grim brushed her aside as he sat up. She looked at him with disdain as she snatched up the rust-colored bandages and waddled from the room. Remembering the hag’s command of poisons, Grim reminded himself not to mistreat her. “Ulfrik has not reached Auden,” he spat, his brother’s name tasting more bitter than any poison. “He and that swill-bellied traitor are hiding in the woods. Snorri is leading the search.”

Vandrad did not face Grim, but stood inspecting a mounted bear head set upon the wall. “When did Snorri report last? Has he not told you that one of your sentries disappeared and stole his companion’s gear?”

Grim sat motionless for several seconds. Then, ignoring the pain in his face, he shot to his feet and charged into the hall screaming, “Someone fetch that bitch-born dwarf!”

Grim paced the hall as he waited. It felt like an age. His mind was a jumbled mess, bristling with thoughts of tearing Ulfrik to bits. Snorri entered, along with another man Grim did not recognize. Pink light from the rising sun streamed in behind them. Grim’s yelling had reopened his wound, and he tasted coppery blood on the bandage that wrapped his mouth and part of his head, concealing his right eye. Snorri and the other man looked at his mouth, and not at his eyes. Grim felt his head tighten in anger.