Islands in the Fog (36 page)

Ulfrik walked across the field toward Hardar, wary of traps, but Hardar merely came straight forward with his giant round shield in front and sword out to the side. At nearly a dozen paces, Ulfrik saw the smirk behind the cheek plates of Hardar's helmet. He gave no smile of his own, though felt the satisfaction of knowing Hardar considered him an easy mark.

He charged. The gap closed. He feinted a strike at Hardar's sword arm. Then he broke hard to the opposite side, gliding past. He ducked, feeling the swish of Hardar's blade over his head. Ulfrik spun around, nearly slipping in the boggy ground, and thrust at Hardar's back.

The point of the blade pierced the mail, and struck flesh. But he had only hit Hardar's shoulder. He grunted and twisted, pulling the blade out. Ulfrik had only scratched him. Hardar slammed forward with this shield, causing him to skitter backward. He slashed with a roar, but the blow clanged off the iron boss of Ulfrik's shield.

They both regained their footing, circling at arm's length. Hardar's smile had vanished. He pulled his shield tighter to his body. Ulfrik heard sporadic cheering and laughter. He screened the voices from his mind, looking for the next feint. He planned to tire Hardar, keeping him moving and circling in his heavy mail until he faltered and created a gap for the killing blow.

He stepped forward and Hardar charged with his shield out. His sword flashed as Ulfrik danced away, parrying the strike. He felt the crash of weapons shiver up his arm, and the blades screeched as they dragged apart. Ulfrik shuffled right, and Hardar swiped again.

He continued sliding right, Hardar chasing him with a flurry of pointless blows. He heard someone jeering Hardar, who pulled back breathing heavy and sweat blowing off his mustache.

"You are old and fat," Ulfrik said, baiting him. Hardar simply hunched behind his shield, protecting himself while he recovered. "Ingrid was a fine lay. She was glad for it, since you never satisfied her."

Hardar charged again, and Ulfrik barely pulled his shield in front. The collision of shields sounded like ships ramming each other. Ulfrik had hit the tender spot he had sought. "She's waiting for me to return. Her legs ..."

Ulfrik found himself stumbling back and slipping to the ground. Hardar had pummeled him with his shield. He screamed his rage and drew back for a killing strike. Men on both sides of the field cried out in surprise.

Ulfrik flipped aside and sprang to his feet. Without mail to weigh him down, he was nimble enough to recover. Hardar's sword thudded to the dirt, though Ulfrik was out of position and unable to take advantage. He swiftly righted himself, dropped into a crouch behind his shield and kept his sword low. He expected to strike a lethal blow.

Hardar rolled his injured shoulder then cracked his neck. He huffed and blinked, but remained still. Not wanting him to recover, Ulfrik pressed the attack. He sprang forward as if to bowl him over. Hardar braced, and then Ulfrik fell to his knees. He stabbed up under the shield, and his blade sank into Hardar's arm. Ulfrik was rewarded with a splutter of blood and a screech.

He twisted the blade, but Hardar tore back. More blood splashed to the ground, and Ulfrik jumped upright. Despite the injury, Hardar managed to thrust down. He caught Ulfrik's shirt, slashed it along his arm and nicked his thigh. Ulfrik grunted at the burning pain, but the wounds were superficial.

As the two staggered away from each other, Hardar's shield arm drooped. He shook his head like a bull, tossing the shield to the side. Ulfrik saw his handiwork. His thrust had traveled beneath the cuff of Hardar's mail sleeve and the blade had impaled the meat of his forearm. His hand was slick with blood, fat drops pattering on his boot. He pulled the wounded arm close to his side.

"Do you yield, Hardar?"

"Not if I'm still talking, maggot."

Ulfrik lunged, screening himself with his shield and striking for Hardar's undefended side. Mid-stride he saw Hardar slip his foot forward. Ulfrik jinked left to avoid the trip. He looked up, and Hardar smiled.

His bloody hand shot forward, and a cloud of glittering dust exploded in Ulfrik's face. Reflexively he pulled up his shield, but the dust was mixed with iron filings. The heavier filings washed across the shield into Ulfrik's face. Without cheek plates and nose guard to deflect them, the filings shot into his eyes. Pain and terror from sudden blindness ruled him. He staggered away, dropping his sword and shield, clawing at his face and rubbing his watering eyes.

Something hard pounded his head, dazing and toppling him into the mud. Though both eyes were still tightly shut, he saw white flashes. Sounds became muffled. Time slowed.

His heart beat wild and strong, a dull thud in his ears. He searched for the reason he lay on his back in the grass. He could think of nothing. Then he felt the tears, the rush of snot from his nose, and the fire in his eyes.

He remembered. Fighting the impulse to shut his eyes against the gritty junk filling them, he looked up.

Hardar held his sword over head in both hands. One of his arms drained blood over Ulfrik's body. Hardar's fierce eyes were wide behind his helmet.

"Now you die, Ulfrik," he roared.

He pulled back and then began to swing down. Ulfrik, still addled from the head blow he had been dealt, could not react in time.

A throwing ax spun across his vision, sinking with a meaty chop into Hardar's chest. He pitched back, the ax blade protruding from beneath his left shoulder. He screamed, dropped his sword and grasped the ax handle. Then he turned and collapsed.

Battle cries filled the air. Still on the ground, Ulfrik heard the thud of footfalls from both sides. He felt the ground shudder as the two forces charged, the duel having ended in dishonor.

His head still swam; the sides of his vision were crusted white as if he looked through ice on a frozen lake. He knew he had to stand. A man on the ground during battle was as good as dead. He would be hacked and stabbed before he could rise again. So he climbed to his feet, fell around in a circle rubbing his eyes desperate for relief. Forcing them wide open, he saw Snorri and Gunther leading the charge. He whirled around and found the opposition closing the distance.

Galvanized by the impending clash, he snatched his shield and drew his long knife. Hardar lay in the grass with arms splayed out, his chest heaving and his breath a labored sucking noise. Ulfrik stumbled forward, then dropped to one knee beside Hardar. He put his blade to Hardar's neck.

"Yield and you might yet live." He watched the ax rise and fall with Hardar's breath. Blood poured out from the mail, running back over his neck and staining his hair red. Hardar's eyes met his.

Pain bloomed in Ulfrik's hip. He snapped his head down. Hardar had driven a knife deep into his flesh. Seeing the wound increased the pain. Hardar then drove his elbow into Ulfrik's chin. He bit his tongue, coppery blood springing into his mouth, and he fell astride Hardar.

Snorri and Gunther had arrived, and formed a screen around the two. But the attacking enemy clashed with them, and the horrid cacophony of battle filled the air. Ulfrik could count on no other help from them. He flipped over and threw himself atop Hardar. He held down Hardar's good arm and raised his knife to finish him.

Hardar's free hand gripped the knife still in Ulfrik's hip and yanked. A streak of fire flashed through his leg and side. Ulfrik's strike faltered and Hardar rolled away. Tears streamed down Ulfrik's face, from the pain and from the grit in his eyes. Through the mess of his vision, he saw Hardar sit up and pull out the throwing ax.

They struck together. Hardar, his face a rictus of pain, chopped down at Ulfrik's exposed head. Ulfrik, teeth clenched and face smeared with blood and tears, stabbed for Hardar's throat.

Coming together, Ulfrik ducked beneath the blow. His knife plowed into the soft flesh under Hardar's jaw. He felt the ax drop across his back. He continued forward, landing atop Hardar. The two embraced like lovers.

Ulfrik scurried back. Hardar clawed at his neck. Blood gurgled from his mouth, bubbled like a spring from the gaping, torn wound on his chest. He gripped the knife wagging from his neck. Ulfrik crawled back to kneel over him, looking into Hardar's eyes which desperately searched an invisible landscape. Ulfrik imagined Hardar was seeing the other world now. His hand hesitated over Hardar's, thinking to pull it from the knife and deny him Valhalla. Warriors who died without weapons in hand had no chance to feast and fight for eternity.

He laid his hand atop Hardar's. The touch seemed to bring his vision back to this world. He looked into Ulfrik's eyes. Regret, sadness, defeat all glittered within. Then the light of life dimmed and died.

Men struggled in a circle around Ulfrik. Blades clanged on shields, spears crunched into mail shirts. Men fell screaming, holding shut gaping wounds or clawing at the blade that impaled them. Those who collapsed were chopped and hacked until blood and flesh leapt into the air. Such was death on the battlefield. Ulfrik, his leg already growing numb and stiff, flopped onto the grass. Gunther's men prevailed, driving foemen to their knees and reaping them like hay. Some surrendered while others fled. Everywhere men shouted or wailed. Ulfrik no longer cared what else happened.

Snorri found him, his face blood splattered and sweaty. "You live?"

"I do, but will I walk again?" He pointed at the knife in his hip.

Snorri grimaced, scurried to Ulfrik's side and touched the handle. He shook his head, and looked plaintively at Ulfrik. He sunk back on the grass and watched the sky. Tears still leaked and his eyes felt like rocks had been stuffed beneath his lids. Without Runa and Gunnar, it mattered little what happened now. He had claimed his victory over Hardar, and it tasted like blood and dust.

Ulfrik lay on his bed, feeling hot beneath the stack of blankets and furs Runa had piled atop him. Beads of sweat formed upon his head. A rooster cried and he realized it had awakened him. Runa had slipped from the bed, leaving a warm emptiness at his side.

Boosting the heat beneath the blankets was Gunnar pressed to his side. Ulfrik smiled at him now. Only months ago he would have cursed the boy for being so weak. But having come through the empty death of believing him lost, Ulfrik could not suffer to let his son from his sight. He would never forget the moment Gunnar and Runa entered his bedroom. Ragnvald had been true to his word, delivering them immediately to Ulfrik's hall. Though Ragnvald stayed only long enough to wish Ulfrik a good recovery, it mattered little to him. His family had rejoined him and tears and joy flowed in a torrent unlike anything he had ever experienced. Any concern, any thought, any other feeling flooded away in that reunion.

The morning darkness lingered now that summer had fled. A lone candle guttered on a small table, freshly lit. From the hall beyond he heard Runa's murmuring. It grew louder as she returned to the door. Stepping inside, she placed a second candle on the table along with a bowl of water and pile of bandages. The room bloomed with an orange globe of light from the dual flames.

"Every time I look at you, I remember why I'm alive." His voice filled the room, and Runa started at the suddenness.

"Get well so I can kill you for all you've put me through." She moved to the bed, perching on the edge and careful not to disturb Gunnar. He snored lightly, seeming tiny next to Ulfrik. Runa stroked her son's dark hair. "He was brave, Ulfrik. For a child, he never cried or fussed. He wanted to be strong for me."

"He's my true blood." They both admired the sleeping boy for a few moments. "Who were you speaking with?"

"Gerdie. She is worried about Einar taking so long to return."

Ulfrik yawned, rubbed his still swollen face. "He has a full crew with Gunther's men. He'll be back with Toki and Halla today, I expect. Tell her not to worry."

"She only tells her worries to me. Doesn't she have a husband for that?"

"Snorri doesn't listen to worries." Ulfrik and Runa laughed, and drew together over their son. They kissed, and Ulfrik's skin tingled. Her scent was as intoxicating as the strongest drink. Gunnar grew fitful and Ulfrik pulled back. "I had never hoped to kiss you again."

Runa's expression became serious. Her eyes flashed in the low light. "Never again, Ulfrik. We will not part again. I would rather fight and die next to you than be parted."

Ulfrik laughed, but Runa held his gaze. He recognized her resolve, and he felt a pang of shame for the terror he had bought to her. He leaned forward to kiss her again, but the pain in his leg flared and he cried out.

"Let's have a look at that wound. I have to change bandages. But Gerdie should be here for this." Runa stepped around the bed to work on his leg.

After the battle, Gunther had men with the tools to remove the knife and stitch the wound. Were it not for his swift work, Hardar's knife would have remained stuck. Ulfrik had known men to die from bits of iron left in their wounds, or from the lockjaw that followed the cuts of some blades. He originally feared the blade had ruined the bones of his leg. But astoundingly he was able to move it and stand, for a short time, following the treatment. Now Runa and Gerdie tended his wounds and were far more gentle and skilled in it than Gunther's man.

As she unwound the bandages, the cool air felt wonderful on his hot skin. He spoke to keep his mind off the pain as she washed injury. "Gunther took good care of my leg."

Runa grunted as she patted down the wound with a damp cloth. A cloud passed over her face, and he understood what it represented. He voiced her concern.

"He also took every bit of silver we had. I'm not sure what is worse, being unable to walk or being poor."

Ulfrik flinched as Runa pushed too hard on his wound, closing his eyes and laying flat.

"Don't be foolish," she chided. "You can make silver anytime, but you can't get your leg back."

"True. But a poor lord attracts no men."

"Well, it seems like Gunther is happy to remain longer than anyone would like. You have no worries with men."

Ulfrik groaned. It had only been a week, but Gunther was already an issue with Runa. His men consumed food and drink Nye Grenner could hardly supply. "Without his aid, Hardar would be lying here instead of me."