Sword Brothers (35 page)

The two Franks lashed at him together, and one point crunched against his mail shirt. A link snapped with a metallic ping, and hot pain bloomed beneath it, yet Gunnar again hooked the attacker's arm and yanked him forward. The startled Frank flew past Gunnar, who used the man's momentum against him while catching the other attack on his shield. With only one man for the moment, Gunnar now stood a chance. He hooked his ax over the rim of the Frank's shield and pulled down. This revealed an angry, blond man with a stream of blood flowing from his scalp. Gunnar barely heard the foeman's curse before he slammed the iron rim of his shield into the exposed attacker's face. He collapsed and Gunnar pummeled him flat with his shield edge until he lay still. He whirled for the return attack, but none came. The Frank had either died or been consumed into another struggle.

Gunnar strained to see across the madness of the tiny world of his own combat. Spears, swords, and axes swam through a sea of helmets and horses and Gunnar saw nothing of Mord. His banner, however, rocked and shook as if in battle high above the fray. He screamed out, "He's mine! This is my revenge."

Trying to shove through the combat, he met thick resistance. Bodies littered the ground, friend and foe intertwined like firewood stacked for winter. Blood slicked the grass and he skidded as he sought the edge of battle. More horns blared, but their notes remained distant and Gunnar was no longer certain of their direction through all the grinding noise of battle. A man with his face cut open from chin to eye fell on him, screaming and spraying blood over his chest. Gunnar shoved him back into a press of enemy, then forced through the opening to the edge of the battle. Horses galloped around the field, some with spears hanging from their bloodied flanks. Fleeing men from both sides ran off into the surrounding woods. The other jarls had not arrived as Aren had promised.

He was trapped in a churning combat with Franks while Oskar and his men shoved against Mord's warriors. The back of Oskar's lines was breaking off and fleeing, like a honeycomb dissolving in a running stream. At first the edges broke, but soon all of it would wash away.

The grunt behind him warned Gunnar to jump forward, and he felt the wind of a sword strike that would have lopped off his head. He turned to face a lithe Frank, his beautiful surcoat of blue and white now torn and splattered with blood. He carried no shield and wielded his blade with both hands.

Gunnar dove into battle with him, realizing Aren's help was not coming and he would die unfulfilled on fields that had been stolen from his family. Fate had indeed planned a cruel end to his life.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

"Who is it I am to see?" Finn asked Aren for the third time since leaving the jetty and joining the flow of traffic heading into Rouen.

"Fulbert is his name," Aren said. "I cannot guarantee his loyalty, but if you arrive with Elke and a bribe he should be wise enough to fetch Vilhjalmer."

Aren's chest beat so hard he felt unable to breathe. The Rouen docks were as alive with trade as ever. The formerly bare-backed dock laborers of summer now wore drab woolen shirts, but they hauled what seemed the same crates and barrels and shouted the same uninspired curses at those in their paths. Dockside hawkers laid out their catches of stinking fish and wilting vegetables, but women still picked these over with discerning eyes and frowning expressions. Guards slumped into their cloaks, half awake on duty in a city that had brooked no threat in the decades since Hrolf arrived in Frankia.

"Every city stinks like this," Ulfrik said, wrinkling his nose. Only his gray hair and the tip of his wagging beard hung out from the drawn hood of his green cloak. Aren thought his father had dressed plain enough to avoid notice, but he still stood with pride uncommon for the low-born he was mimicking, and his movements were too confident. His father could never truly bend his back in shame. Such towering pride was what had made him great, but now also made him difficult to hide.

"Father, you should stoop more and keep your head bowed. More like this." Aren demonstrated the look he wanted and received a thin smile from Elke and an outright laugh from Brandr. His face burned but he kept everyone moving through the crowds.

"I'm doing well enough," Ulfrik announced. "Elke and Finn have all the hard work to do. We just get to sit and drink until Vilhjalmer shows himself."

They filtered past the three guards who were clustered in conversation with a skinny woman. One saw Elke and immediately Aren saw the oncoming storm. The guard's face lit up and he was stumbling over himself to catch them.

"Trouble has found us," he whispered. "I told Elke to cover up."

The childish woman had insisted she had to be appealing to Vilhjalmer, and Aren had wondered if she was truly interested in helping them or more interested in impressing royalty. Now they were about to pay for her vanity.

"Hold on," called the guard. "Where are you going?" Aren could not determine who the guard addressed, for he was fixated on Elke's form-hugging dress.

"We are on business," Aren said, and held out a wood chip inscribed with Hrolf's mark. "And we've paid our dock fees. Here's our pass if you need to see it."

The guard glanced at it but smiled at Elke, who returned a dumb smile. "I wasn't asking for the pass. What's your business here, and who is this fine lass?"

"My wife," Ulfrik said, interposing himself between the guard and Elke. "So you'd do well to cease undressing her with your eyes."

Aren's knees weakened when the guard broke into a gap-filled, yellow-toothed smile. "Well, old man, I was just asking a question, and you're a bit defensive. Maybe I need to take a closer look at you."

Aren nearly fainted when Ulfrik pulled down his hood and got into the guard's face. "Is this close enough? Do you want to know who I really am?"

By all the gods, his father was going to announce himself. Aren's heart raced so hard he became faint. This was just the sort of madness that always filled his father's stories. He would probably grab the guard's sword and gut him with it. Aren searched for escape routes.

"In fact, I do. Who are you to stand in my face?"

"I am Jarl Ulfar the White, and I am here with a gift for Hrolf the Strider, one that you are despoiling in your thoughts."

"Never heard of you."

Now the two other guards joined their companion, forming a rough triangle around them. Ulfrik lifted his cloak to reveal his gold armbands. Aren's eyes felt ready to burst out of his skull.

"Know I've been awarded these by Hrolf himself. I stood with him beneath the walls of Paris back when you fools were sucking your mother's tits. I'm not surprised you've never heard of me, since Hrolf would only put his stupidest men to guarding the docks."

The guard bristled but seemed to hesitate. Aren saw how they began to doubt themselves, the way they touched their beards and noses, and pointed their bodies away from his father. "If you are so grand, then why only two guards and a child?"

"Use what brains of yours that aren't soaked with ale to think it through." Ulfrik grabbed the guard by his arm, and for a moment Aren believed they would all draw weapons. But Aren recognized how this gesture transferred control to his father. "Look at this beautiful woman. Hrolf is married to a Frank, is he not? Should this gift be given to him openly or more discreetly?"

The first guard shifted uneasily in his father's grip, but the second one had his own questions. "Why were we not warned of your coming? Anyone seeking an audience with Hrolf has to notify the guard."

Ulfrik shook his head. "Lad, you are only trying to do your duty. I understand that, but just think for a moment on all I just said. This beautiful woman is not my wife, but in fact destined to serve our jarl. First he would appreciate some time with her, but I'm certain his shrew of a wife will have much to say. So instead we must do this quietly and with care. Since you fools have now involved yourself in this, you may as well come with us to the palace."

Aren's pounding heart subsided as the guards stared at each other and slowly nodded. Only one chose to accompany them. His father gave Aren a wink and their new escort began clearing a way for all of them. Once they were halfway to the palace, Aren whispered to his father, "Are you going to change any more of our plans today?"

Ulfrik smiled and shook his head. "Only when the gods throw obstacles in our path."

Now Aren pulled his hood over his head as the guard took them to Fulbert, who sat at his traditional post at the servant's entrance. He stumbled over himself to appear more alert than he had been, but their dock guard took no notice. He explained their need and waited for Fulbert's answer.

Fulbert examined Elke like a hen for sale at market, then nodded. "I know what to do from here."

Finally rid of their dock guard escort, Aren breathed easier. He averted his face from Fulbert, who had once given him away to Gunther One-Eye's men. He had probably never realized what he had done, but Aren could not chance the guard's loyalty. His father spoke the words Aren had taught him. "A visitor for the young master. I've brought this one to his door. Saves him some time, eh? You'll be kind enough to tell him Ulfar the White sends his regards. Here's payment for your troubles."

Fulbert hissed at him. "Don't flash your gold, you oaf. Just set the pouch on my stool. I'll have to check her for hidden weapons."

Elke stepped back and put her delicate hand to her neck, but Fulbert just waved it down. "It's a precaution. Your man knows the right words, but I've not seen him before. Just roll up your sleeves and show me your boots."

Satisfied, he guided Elke toward the door. "All right, be gone with the rest of you."

Elke disappeared inside, and Aren thought she seemed too wide-eyed and excited. "You are certain she can be trusted to remember the message?" he asked as they walked out of Fulbert's hearing.

"She is just young and excited to be able to repay me for rescuing her. She will remember my message to Vilhjalmer. It is simple enough."

Aren shrugged. "Hakon seems quite taken with her. Do you think they will marry? He is long overdue to find a wife."

"As are you. Your mother would've liked more grandchildren."

His father's quip embarrassed him, and they walked in silence to the tavern where he and Vilhjalmer traditionally met. Inside they ordered ale and began their long wait. Ulfrik searched the dark room, nodding appreciatively. The sweet scent of burning wood mixed with the stale scents of spilled drink. "So this is where you two got up to mischief?"

"It was Vilhjalmer's idea, of course. I have no imagination for getting into trouble."

Ulfrik barked a laugh, then grew quiet and thoughtful. Finn sipped at his drink, swirling the liquid and humming a quiet tune. Brandr sat quietly staring at his hands. They had ordered a third ale by the time two guards entered the room, hands on sword hilts and their mail jingling. They stared at Ulfrik, and Aren's heart again leapt to his throat, but then they exited and Vilhjalmer swept inside. The tavern owner and the handful of other patrons fled the room like rats leaving a sinking ship.

Aren stood along with everyone else. Vilhjalmer's smile was wide and happy. He threw his arms wide and embraced Ulfrik first, patting him on the back. He then did the same for Finn and Aren. "Old friend, we've not seen each other since that misunderstanding with the guards. I see you've done well."

"I have survived, if that is what you call well."

Vilhjalmer laughed. "In these times, I certainly do call it so. Ah, but you selected a rare woman for me today. You always knew what I like best. This one I may keep close by."

"She's to be wed to my son, Hakon," Ulfrik said flatly. Aren detected the slight twitch in Vilhjalmer's otherwise unchanged demeanor.

"Ah, well, there are many beautiful women in the world, and I am sure to find another. But such a Frisian beauty! You mock me, then, with your choice of messenger. She will be well protected while we speak." Vilhjalmer now frowned and pointed at Brandr. "Who is this?"

"Gunnar's bastard son," Ulfrik said. "He's here to help me with what I've come to ask of you."

Now Vilhjalmer faced Ulfrik with narrowed eyes. "Coming here was bold, but I should have expected it. What would you ask of me that you risk so much? Have you remembered your oath to me?"

"I do not forget my oaths," Ulfrik said. "And I do not take risks lightly. You know what happened to my wife?"

Vilhjalmer's expression softened and he lowered his head. "She was a beautiful woman and a rare spirit. I was saddened to learn of her death."

"And you know how she died and who killed her?"

"I would make a poor count one day if I did not know all that happened in my lands. It was the plotting of Gunther One-Eye and Mord Guntherson that did this to you. Gunther has ever been jealous of your success and the lack of his son's. He thinks you've overstepped yourself."

"Maybe I have," Ulfrik said. "But that is not for Gunther to judge, but for the gods alone. My wife drowned in the open air, dead from a poisoned blade meant for my back. He maneuvered the Church into my path, and made certain I would lose everything. But it is not the first time he has tried this, is it? He was the silent hand that moved all the pieces against me, and sent me to meet death at the hands of Throst Shield-Biter."

"I was too young to remember," Vilhjalmer said, looking away. "But I have surmised as much."

"So I am here today to ask one thing of you, my oath-holder. Give me Gunther One-Eye."

Vilhjalmer raised his head and set his jaw. "That is too great a request. My father would never forgive me. He might even disown me or worse. Gunther is like a father to him."

Ulfrik smiled. "He's like a father to us all. Let me tell you how we will do this thing, and how you shall benefit. Sit and listen."