Fate's Needle (9 page)

His punch landed square on Snorri’s jaw, throwing him backward. Even wounded, Grim maintained his strength. “I had to find out from another that Ulfrik has turned two of my men, and that I was robbed! Why did you not report to me?”

The men in the hall stood, reaching for their spears to defend their lord. Grim felt immense satisfaction at that, which dulled the edge of his anger.

Snorri recovered, holding his jaw and righting himself. “Aud sent me away. She said that your wounds were too serious for you to be disturbed, Lord Grim.” Snorri spoke carefully.

“I don’t need men who take orders from old hags,” Grim bellowed. “I need men who take orders from me! Who was the traitor? Why is his family not begging for mercy at my feet? Don’t stand there with your mouth open. Answer!”

“His name is Magnus,” Snorri said in a near whisper. He looked past Grim, at a point behind him.

“Magnus means nothing to me!” Grim pointed to the man beside Snorri. “What’s your name?”

“Konrad, Lord Grim,” he said with a slight bow. Grim liked the man’s gesture of deference.

“Konrad, you lead the search now. You bring me Ulfrik and his traitor friends and I will put a gold band on your arm.” Grim turned back to Snorri, who continued to stare past him. Snorri had always been a favorite of his father’s; Grim should have known gold would not buy him. “Snorri, you listen to Konrad. I bet
he
won’t be put off by an old hag. Redeem yourself and find me Magnus.”

When Snorri did not reply, Grim found himself smiling. This was the way to lead. Konrad smiled faintly as well. Grim knew this was right, was what men respected. The situation improved his mood, so much that he wanted an extra show of lordliness, just to stick it in Snorri’s face. “Konrad, to show you the kind of lord I am, I will present you with something. Wait a moment.”

Grim strode to the far end of the hall, dripping blood as he walked. His wound bloomed red across the bandages; he could feel hot wetness there. The pain was not as troublesome as the poultice, which had mostly fallen out anyway. When he came to the space where his brother had slept, he snatched up Ulfrik’s beloved sword from where it rested against the wall and marched back to Konrad.

“This is Ulfrik’s sword,” he said cheerfully, extending it. “Keep it. Use it to take Ulfrik alive. He loved this weapon. Just seeing you with it will probably drive him mad and make it easier for you to capture him. Anyway, I think it looks better on you.”

Konrad knelt and accepted the sword. Snorri did not even turn to face them. At the end of the hall, Vandrad stood, arms folded, his face wooden. Grim dismissed the men to their duties.

“You are a strong leader,” Vandrad said, a flat look still upon his face. “Snorri will undoubtedly work twice as hard for you now.”

Grim smiled through the pain of his wound, ready to congratulate himself. Then he realized the compliment was backhanded. “My brother, and anyone aiding him, intentionally or otherwise, will find no mercy in me.”

“If you had dealt with him as I originally advised, you would not be dripping blood down your shirt this morning.” Vandrad finally pushed himself off the doorjamb and stepped back into the hall. “Get your face bandaged again, Lord Grim. Then get your men assembled and be ready for a hard march north. If you can manage to keep on plan, we will burn Auden in his hall tonight. The surrounding lands will fall or surrender. All you have to do is point your men’s feet north.”

“Hell take you!” Grim cursed. “I will lead my men and do my part. And when our deal is done, you will get out of my sight.”

Vandrad did not look back as he strode through the hall to the main door, two of his hirdmen falling in behind. Grim had not even noticed their presence.

Over his shoulder, Vandrad said, “Remember your oath, Lord Grim. You came seeking our aid. Now you have it, and all that comes with it.”

A rectangle of light winked as Vandrad pulled the door shut behind him. Grim stood at the far end of the hall, atop the platform at the high table. He grabbed a chair, his knuckles whitening. The men in the hall stared at him, but when his eyes met theirs they snapped them away, suddenly busy with work. Only Aud sat looking at him, like an ancient toad upon its log. Grim feared that her witch’s magic could see the weakness in his heart. With a mumbled curse, he retreated to his room.

Vandrad had been right, and that rankled worse than any ax cut. He should have poisoned Ulfrik, as he had his father. But he had feared the men would suspect him and rebel. To use poison was to surrender your honor and manliness, or so the men would think. Besides, his father had been popular, else he couldn’t be their leader.
Ulfrik is popular too
, Grim thought, scowling.
But Grenner is mine, not his.

He sat on his bed, mustering the courage to call Aud, knowing he relied on the witch too much. He would have to find a way to dispose of her, especially since she knew his secret. Vandrad was the only other person to know, and he was above attack. But Aud had no honor to lose; she could control him too easily with what she knew. Grim cursed himself for rushing into this den of wolves. He now had the land, the gold, the men, and a sled of worries to accompany them.

Orm, still lying on his funeral bed, flashed into his mind, and Grim realized that he had yet to deal with his father’s corpse. Men like Snorri were likely upset with the delay. There would be no time for a proper burning at sea. Instead, Grim planned to bury him in sight of the hall with his war gear, some gold, and his slave girls. Then he could march north. It would be far from glorious, but he had to keep his agreement with Vandrad. One did not break faith with Harald and expect to survive long afterward.

Still, Grim remained positive about his plans. Auden was more a threat than Ulfrik, and Vandrad was right to prioritize Auden’s elimination. Ulfrik had a claim to Grenner, a claim far better than his own, but currently he lacked the military power to enforce that claim. Grim could deal with him later. He touched his bandages and scowled at the wound his brother had dealt him.
One last insult
, he thought.
But you’re out of allies, Brother. Now you’re the one who has to hide in the woods. And I own the woods and everything around it.

Grim smiled, felt the pain flash, and then summoned Aud again. She said nothing, simply started undoing the bloodied bandages that moments ago had been fresh and white. Grim stared at her, searching for a sign that she suspected he would kill her. As always, Aud’s blank expression gave him nothing.

Ten

Runa hunkered in a corner of the slave hut. Another slave, Cara, lay sleeping on the dirt floor. The hut was hot with the stench of filth. For the two days Runa had spent locked inside, Cara mostly slept. There was nothing else for them, except to wait for death. Cara claimed she had not been freed since the day Runa fled.

The poison Aud fed Runa had not been strong, Runa had vomited most of it out the first night. Her head ached and her vision sometimes blurred, but she was otherwise unharmed. The lack of food kept her weak, but the plan for escape lent some strength to her pulse. Runa never stopped thinking about escape.

She had tried to tell Cara her plan, but the other girl was like a starved rat in a cage—more interested in snatching Runa’s moldy cheese than in escaping. In the days since Orm had died, Cara had grown skeletal. Runa never imagined anyone could waste away so fast. She knew she had also withered, but hope kept her flesh clinging to her bones.

This morning, Runa could hear Aud’s voice beyond the walls. Soon, a man unlocked the door and shoved in a tray. Runa regarded it with a raised brow. Nothing but bowls of murky water and hard wedges of cheese, and no doubt both poisoned to make her more compliant when the men came. Then they’d twist her neck and throw her on Orm’s funeral pyre or into his grave.

Runa crawled to the tray, poured out the water, and buried the cheese in the corner. Cara might dig it out, but Runa guessed that the men would come soon. She planned to act drugged, since they would expect it, and when she had deceived them she would run. The plan was simple—likely doomed to failure—but she could not devise anything more sophisticated. She wished she had more strength, despite trusting fear to give her legs for the escape.

Runa waited and watched. Beside her, Cara flinched and mumbled in her sleep. Runa tried to rouse her, but Cara just swatted at her and turned over. The hours passed. Soon, Runa heard voices approaching.

“Are you sure about this, Konrad?” asked a young man. There was a jingle of keys and the clank of the lock. On cue, Runa sprawled out as if in a stupor. She hoped they would not feel her throbbing heart when they picked her up.

“Just shut up and do what you’re told. Lord Grim put me in charge,” said the other voice, the man called Konrad. The lock ground open and white light peeled inside. “It smells like a dog’s ass in here! I just want the pretty one. Where is she?”

Runa dared not open her eyes. She could feel the two men encroaching on the cramped space, filling it to capacity. Rough, sweaty hands grabbed her leg. Reflexively, she pulled away. “Ho! Here she is, and still with some fight! The other is a hag. Leave her. Anyone looking?”

“No, sir,” said the young man. “I hope we don’t get caught.”

“No one’s going to care anyway,” Konrad said. The hands climbed up her back and hauled her over one of the man’s shoulders. Runa let her head flail and her limbs slacken. She faked a drugged smile and dared a peek. All Runa could see was the door to the slave hut as he carried her outside.

Konrad ran a short distance with the other man in the lead, seemingly headed for the barracks. Her body stiffened in fear. She had known Konrad’s mind the moment his lascivious hands grasped her legs, but had hoped it was not so.

Inside the dim barracks, Konrad threw her on a pallet. Her head thumped against the wall and she became nearly as dazed as she was pretending to be. Desperate, Runa spread her legs and laughed, holding her arms out, beckoning Konrad to come her. She knew this was her final chance at escape; success depended on her acting.

She squinted at her rapist as he dropped his sword to the floor with a clunk and grappled with his pants. All she could see was his yellow hair and wicked smile, and beyond, in her peripheral vision, the blurry shadow of a figure in the doorway.

Konrad, his breath and beard rank with the stench of mead and fish, wasted no time. Pushing up her skirt, he exposed her to his over-eager flesh. Runa had experienced this horror repeatedly from her Svear captors. She recoiled when Konrad shoved himself into her, and when she cried out, he laughed. “Feels good, don’t it, Princess?”

She thrashed her head as he pressed himself on her.

It was time.

As Konrad’s leering face lifted up momentarily mid-thrust, Runa snapped her head forward, flattening his nose with her forehead. Dazed as she was, she heard the sharp crack of bone followed by the spluttering of snot and blood. Konrad did not cry out. Rolling off her, both hands cupping his face, he hopped to his feet. Then he staggered and collapsed, screaming out a curse.

Runa dropped back onto the pallet.
Now to get his sword
, she thought. The other man rushed to Konrad’s aid, sparing no glance for her. He was frantic, asking repeatedly what had happened. While he did, Runa reached to the floor and grapsed the hilt of Konrad’s sword. She yanked it, drawing it out half way.

Then Konrad was on his feet again. Blood and spit smeared his beard and his eyes were black. “That whore headbutted me! I’ll strangle her!”

Runa did not fear the threat. She pulled out the sword to its full length as he lunged for her.

“Don’t do it, Konrad! The other man tried to stop him. “Lord Grim will be furious. You’ll get us both hanged.”

Shoving him away, Konrad jumped at her again. But he was careless. Faster than he could react, Runa braced the sword in front of herself. This time, his screech filled the barracks and he slithered to the floor. He was on his back, blood flooding from his gut where he had impaled himself.

“You killed him!” the other man screamed, standing over Konrad’s half-naked body and heaving as if he had run a mile. Leaping up, Runa scrambled for the door as the man tore his sword from its sheath. He was faster, pulling Runa up short, the sword’s point at her throat.

“You killed him!” The young man’s eyes relayed his terror. As he raised his sword to strike, Runa screamed.

“Stop!” Another, older warrior appeared in the doorway and Runa’s assailant froze, his sword still raised overhead. Runa crawled back onto the pallet, pulling her rags down over her hips. The two men blocked the only exit.

Practiced in his motions and confident in his stride, in one step the older man disarmed the younger.

“K … Konrad made me do it,” the younger stammered. “He was in charge. He told me to be his lookout.”

“Well, Konrad’s dead,” the man said flatly. “So you will be listening to me now.” He jerked the sword out of Konrad’s stomach, and wiped the blood on Konrad’s cloak before draping it over the man’s corpse. Then he seized Runa’s leg. She squealed and thrashed, but he yanked her flat with force enough to quiet her.

“Go get someone from the hall,” he commanded the other man, never taking his eyes off her.

She would be raped again, and then tortured, Runa knew. Tears leaked from her eyes; her gambit had failed. The other man did not linger, seemingly eager to escape the scene.

“You killed a freeman, slave,” the man said as he dropped her leg. He sheathed Konrad’s blade. “I’ll give you credit. It was done like a true Dane. But you’re going to pay now.”

“I’m going to die anyway,” Runa cried. The man yanked her up by the arm, tugging her off the pallet. She crumpled to the floor, dissolving in sobs, but he did not let go, nor did he release the sword in his other hand.

“Stand up or I’ll make it worse on you,” he threatened.

What use was fighting? She would never return to Denmark, never see her brother again. Everything her parents had planned for her had been shattered when the Svear came. Runa complied, and he led her from the barracks, heading for the slave hut. She had achieved nothing at all.
I should have fought harder. Maybe they would have killed me then, instead.