Shield of Lies (13 page)

Ulfrik had Throst by the throat before anyone could react. He crushed down on his neck as he pulled him closer. "Still that tongue or I'll string you up beside your father's rotten corpse."

The three men started forward but halted; Ulfrik did not need to see his archers to know their arrows aimed at the three.

"Your boy is dead," Throst managed to gasp as he squirmed helplessly in Ulfrik's grip. His haughty face now twisted in a deep red mask of desperation.

"Ten pounds of silver for the return of my son; that's more than enough for you and your mangy friends." Ulfrik shook Throst to emphasize his words. "And not one scratch or bruise upon him. If you keep those terms, I'll allow a half day's start to flee before I come for you. If Hakon is harmed or you kill him, you'd do well to hang yourself before I find you."

He cast aside Throst as if discarding a small fish back to its lake. Shaking and choking, Throst glanced at his men who now regarded him with a skeptical eye. Ulfrik smiled, knowing he had saved his son. He had shaken Throst's men, who now would want to get their silver and run rather than follow a fool of boy who would lead them to death.

"You underestimate me," Throst managed to wheeze, his face still red. "You'll soon learn who the real fool is."

"Tomorrow at dawn, I will bring your silver," Ulfrik said, unheeding of the empty threats. "Return my son and treat him well in the meantime. Then be ready to flee, for I will have your skull for a drinking mug not long after you take your silver."

He turned without care for Throst's reply and stalked back up the hill toward the archers. They kept arrows knocked as he strode across the yellow grass. Like his father, Throst could not resist a final word. He shouted from a safe distance, "Your pain is only just beginning. You will learn, Ulfrik, and I will be the one to teach you."

Chapter 19

At dawn of the following day, Ulfrik arrived at the base of the hill bearing ten pounds of silver in a deerskin sack. Pink light seeped into the clouds, and the frosted grass crunched beneath his feet. Arrayed behind him were thirty handpicked men, along with his closest family. Even Snorri fought the pain in his leg to witness Hakon's ransom. Ulfrik's breath curled into the air before his face, and he drew his cloak tighter around his neck.

Throst was not present, only a wiry Frank whose dark-circled eyes darted warily among the converging bulk of armed men. He huddled beneath a gray wool cloak too clean and fresh to be his own. His toes poked from holes in his boots and his pants had patches over patches.

Ulfrik's lip curled and his eyes drew to slits. "My son?"

"The place for the exchange has changed," the man said in heavily accented Norse. "I will lead you to it now."

His sword hummed as Ulfrik tore it from its sheath and pressed the point on the unarmed man's chest. "If it's a trap, you die; you know this, of course."

The lanky-haired Frank paled and flinched, but nodded slowly before turning to lead them to the north. Ulfrik kept him close and all thirty men followed with weapons drawn and eyes searching every direction for signs of a trap. Runa walked close behind, carrying Aren who fussed and complained about the cold wind. "Where's he taking us?" she asked as she caught up to him.

"Unless we're going to march half a day, he's not taking us farther than the edge of the woods or more likely one of the wider streams. He probably thinks a stream will delay our capturing him after he releases Hakon."

"Will it?" Runa asked.

He did not answer but began to consider the point of the relocation, which was obviously to shift advantage to Throst. Unless Throst had raised an army in the short time he had been gone, Ulfrik could not understand what threat he presented. As they traveled, Ulfrik tried to extract information from their guide, who refused to say more than he already had.

They turned west into hilly land that had long been cleared and now sprouted stumps and rocks in equal measure and the occasional crooked tree. The ground here was terrible for fighting, and Ulfrik had not considered it until their guide led them into a shallow valley between the hills. A smile came to his face as he guessed Throst's plan.

"So he thinks to use the land against us," he announced to the guide. "I'd already promised him half a day to flee before I pursued him. He doubts my word?"

The Frank stopped and regarded him with the wide eyes of a man who feared the next moment. Others noticed and swords hissed as the hirdmen unsheathed them. "Lord Ulfrik is to hang the sack on the lowest branch of that tree." He pointed to the lone beech tree that crowned a low hill, its sparse golden foliage clinging to its branches in the final days of autumn. "When Throst sees it, he will release your son."

"I don't like this," Snorri muttered beside Ulfrik. "What's this boy's game?"

"He wants to make a target of me for his hidden archers. I'd make a fine target against the morning sun, wouldn't you think?"

Snorri chuckled and Ulfrik raised the sack of silver to their guide. "You will fix it on the branch, and ten archers will have their arrows at your back the long walk up that hill. If you even stumble, I'll have you killed. String up my son's ransom and return directly to me, or I'll also have you killed. Do you understand?"

The Frank's mouth moved but no words formed. Ulfrik shoved the sack into the man's chest, knocking him back. He pressed it against him until the Frank folded it into his arms and started for the tree. Archers stepped to the fore and strung their bows. As soon as he departed, Ulfrik ordered ten men to follow close. "Keep in striking distance of the silver, in case Throst is stupid enough to try to grab the sack and run."

"He carries that sack as if it weighed a hundred pounds," said Toki, who stood with Snorri and Einar.

"It's because he sees his death coming," Ulfrik said, watching the Frank trudge uphill. "Throst sent him to die, either at my hands or his. To what end, we shall see."

They waited silently as the Frank wormed his way up the tree and struggled to balance the silver on the branch. The weight of it made for ungainly work and he nearly fell from the branch, but soon he had it secured and began trotting back down the hill, passing the group of hirdmen positioned beneath the crest of the hill.

A horn sounded from the opposite hill, and Ulfrik turned to see six ragged shapes emerge on the crest. They were black shadows against the sky. The giant among them identified them as Throst's group. Two more men crested the hill and held a struggling boy between them.

Throst's bright voice carried well across the distance. "You have my silver, Ulfrik?"

He pointed with his sword at the tree. Runa drew a sharp breath and grabbed his arm as Hakon struggled between his captors. Throst's laughter carried even across the distance. "I'm going to trust your word on this, Ulfrik. How do I know it's not a bag of rocks?"

"If you didn't have me hang it on a tree you could've seen it first, you fool," Ulfrik shouted back. "Of course I honor my word. Now bring me my son!"

More laughter echoed off the hills and Ulfrik felt his face grow hot. Runa's arm tightened around his as she strained to see Hakon, who continued to struggle. The Frank guide returned as instructed and stared at him for direction, but remained ignored.

"Stand down your men and lower your bows. Back them down hill and I'll send Hakon to you." Hakon's shadowed form grew still and Throst's shadow melded with it as he spoke to him.

Ulfrik waved down his archers and his men sidled down the hill until they were at the base, only then did Throst guide Hakon forward.

"You are an honorable man, Ulfrik. So here's your son." Throst punctuated his shouted words by shoving Hakon forward. His son's small body stumbled and he struggled to get to his feet, as his hands remained bound behind his back. "Remember your promise to give me a lead in eluding you."

The next instant, the rope snapped and the sack of silver plummeted to the ground where the small shadow of a man sprung up to catch it. Ulfrik wanted to order his men to capture Throst's henchman, but Hakon had not cleared Throst's reach.

Now Hakon staggered into the light, and Ulfrik noted a cloth sack was tied over his head. He did not seem to know which way to go to escape Throst. Ulfrik and his men began calling his name, even the Frankish guide began to yell. Hakon faced the noise and began to charge forward.

"That's not my son," Runa said softly. Ulfrik turned to her, saw the frown on her face and her shaking head. "That's not Hakon."

"How can you tell from here?" But Ulfrik watched the boy’s awkward gait and constant stumbling and suddenly shared his wife's suspicion. He broke from her grip and ran toward the boy. He did not understand why he had delayed, and cursed himself for letting Throst lull him into inaction.

Tripping and stumbling over rocks and dead branches, he met Hakon in the middle of the shallow valley. He was already shaking his head, hands trembling in frustration and rage when he unbound the sack from the boy's head and tore it away.

A boy of Hakon's age stared through swollen and blackened eyes at him. His mouth was crusted with dried blood and his lips were split. Ulfrik shoved the boy aside, and lurched forward. "After Throst! Move!"

Throst had chosen the ground with care and Ulfrik and his men struggled to mount the hills and once over the crest there was only a short sprint to the forest and eventually the Frankish border. Winded, he paused to study the tracks Throst had left, which peeled down the hill and would doubtlessly lead to the forest and then fade into the underbrush.

Within moments, others concluded the same and slowed their pursuit, gathering on Ulfrik who stood watching the forest. Throst could be tracked, but it would have to be a patient thing and not a rushed pursuit. Deadfalls and traps could await the unwary, and such a plan did not seem beyond Throst's cunning. He had already twice demonstrated the depth of his plotting. At the least, he had likely fled toward his hiding place and so gave Ulfrik a direction for this search.

The boy who had posed as Hakon now clasped to the Frankish guide's side, and the two were herded before Ulfrik. The man's face was streaked with tears as he enfolded the boy in his thin, dirty arms. Ulfrik's gaze darted between them, and he immediately understood the deceit.

"He is your son, not mine."

"Yes, Lord," the man said, his voice quivering with emotion. "He snatched us from our farm. My wife and daughters ..." his voice trailed off and the man looked away as he searched for words.

"Killed?" Ulfrik offered, and the man shook his head. "Can you return to them?"

"Yes, but I don't know where we are. We are Franks from over the border. Look what he did to my son!" The man pressed open the boy's mouth, and Ulfrik saw the black stub of a tongue along with several broken teeth.

"So he can't tell us where Throst hides. And what of you? If you want revenge, tell me where Throst is."

The man babbled about how both had their heads covered and were only snatched a few days ago. "And I never heard another boy's voice the whole time."

"You and your son may recover in our home, and you will be free to return to your family." He dismissed them and met Runa's hard, worried stare. She looked at him as if Hakon had been found dead, and he drew her close and stroked her hair. She remained frozen and stiff, and like her, Ulfrik worried for the life of their son.

Chapter 20

Gunnar placed his feet on the bench and stripped away his boots. Cool air flowed over the red and hot flesh, and he wiggled his toes enjoying the refreshing cold. Ravndal's hall stood emptied of all but a few men and now in the afternoon only servants remained to tend to their chores. Gunnar sat by the entrance, eschewing the high table where his mother lingered with Uncle Toki's and Einar's daughters, telling them of the fruitless search for Hakon. Each girl held their pale hands either over their mouth or their chest as they listened. Gunnar focused on rubbing his feet, sore and bruised from kicking through rough forest terrain. He did not want to see any more sad faces or hear any more speculation on Hakon's fate. It hurt too much to think upon it.

The sweet scent of fresh wood on the hearth fire reminded him of how Hakon enjoyed stoking the flames and throwing dried twigs into it. Every young boy was fascinated with fire, and his brother was no exception. Gunnar sat back on the bench and sighed. He had vowed not to dwell on his brother's memory every moment, but he found it impossible to prevent. This debacle was his doing, and though no one blamed him, he knew it was so. His father, whenever he could spare a glance for him, accused Gunnar with his eyes. His father's every word, no matter how trivial, held an icy accusation within it. Nothing had to be spoken for Gunnar to clearly hear what should have been said aloud: "Your brother was in your care and you failed in your duty. Now look at what has become of him."

His mother's update with the girls ended in a flurry of waving hands and sighs, and he was certain his cousins glanced his way. Runa left Aren with them and retired to her room, and his brother immediately peeled off to sit alone and stare at Gunnar across the hall. He was the strangest child Gunnar knew. His eyes were intelligent but cold; he too often guessed a man's thoughts; and did not play with anyone. In fact, he did not seem capable of playing but only of hitting and biting, and more recently manipulating. Were he not a jarl's son, Gunnar figured Aren would be mercilessly teased. Knowing some of the children of this hall, Gunnar expected Aren would nevertheless be tested in secret. Yet another duty to protect that fell on Gunnar's shoulders. He returned to massaging his feet, shaking his head at the thought.

"So it is true. You've returned before the others." The bright and soothing voice of his love, Astra, came from over his shoulder.

He whirled on the bench to face her standing in the hall door with a basket of fresh leeks laced over her arm. Her smile was clear and white, her face wide and pale and without a blemish. She filled him with immediate joy merely standing before him.