Grunting, Ulfrik searched for a path through the fight. "We've won the battle out here. Inside is where we finish it. Lend me your ax."
Einar handed it over, the wood handle slick with blood.
"Fall back to Toki and my sons. They are out of harm's way, but trouble still might've found them. Watch for your family, too, especially Snorri. Now go while I reopen the gates."
He dashed through the combat, shield out and Einar's ax in hand. Where enemies tangled with him, he bashed them aside with the shield or clumsily struck with the ax. The chaos of battle swallowed them as he pushed forward to his own palisades. The dark walls seemed higher from this side of the embankments, but he had overseen their construction himself. They were higher than a man, but undefended they could be scaled. Flipping his shield to his back, he took a running leap with ax held overhead.
Launching up the wall, he slammed the long-hafted ax over the top of the palisade. His feet caught the rough wood and he pulled himself up the length of the haft until he reached the top. With a shout of success, he flipped over the wall and dangled on the opposite side. He dropped down into the shadows, pulling over his shield and unsheathing his sword.
People ran between buildings, shouting echoed down the alleys, and the clamor of battle filled the streets. He could not decide who was winning this fight, but he rushed along the edges of the wall toward the gates. As he progressed, he gathered two other of Gunther's men. "Are we winning?" he asked over the roar of battle.
"Can't tell. The Franks scattered all over. Count the bodies for yourself." The man who replied had a gash on his brow that bled like a high mountain stream, turning half his face red. His companion was far better; the blood on his face was another's.
The three arrived at the gates, a pleasing heap of Frankish corpses laced with arrows piled before it. "Open these gates," Ulfrik ordered. "The battle outside is done, so let my men in to finish here."
"Right you are," said the bleeding man, his eye blinking in the stream of blood.
Satisfied the gates would be opened, he turned toward the main street. The boards were littered with corpses, broken weapons, and arrow shafts. The battle had moved into the side lanes and alleys, the buildings and halls of Ravndal. Shrieks and dying curses were amplified inside the buildings, but for a scattered few men, the main road seemed abandoned. He could not decide where Runa would have gone in the confusion, but it would have to be with Clovis. He considered his hall, but doubted they made it before Gunther sprang his trap.
He had lost too much already and his family had paid a heavy toll. He would not allow them to suffer another moment. Runa could hold her own, up to a point, and then she would be at the mercy of whoever found her. He had to be the first one to her. Not the enemy.
Chapter 56
Runa squealed when instead of the expected sword thrust into her heart, an iron-gripped hand hauled her off the ground. She opened her eye, her left one watery and fuzzy from where Clovis had struck her. She still felt the sword jabbing at her kidney as Clovis guided her before him.
"You are more useful alive for now. This battle is lost and I need a hostage," he said. "But I swear before God that my hounds will eat your heart one day."
He shoved her toward the hall. All around lay the detritus of a sharp and awful battle: broken swords and spent arrows, puddles of blood covered with shattered shields. Bodies both Norse and Frankish sprawled in the shadows and corners where desperate combats had been waged and lost. Weapons still clanged in the distance, but the fight seemed to have burnt out like a flash fire. Through her gauzy vision, she saw a giant man hulking at the entrance to the hall. A wolfskin flowed over his shoulders, bulking him out like a monster and making the thick sword in his hand seem no more than a splinter. It was Gunther One-Eye.
"Do you know who this is?" Clovis demanded of Gunther, jabbing her with his sword for emphasis. Runa jerked to the side with a yelp, but he reined her in.
"Runa the Bloody," Gunther answered, his voice low and careful. He raised his sword at Clovis. "And you best let her go if you expect any mercy."
"Mercy! From you lying scum? My trust died today with all my good men. I pray God has seen fit to grant me better luck outside of these walls."
Gunther shrugged and lowered his sword. "Your God does not see you today. Too many clouds in the sky."
Runa heard rough voices laughing to the sides and behind. Her face throbbed and her vision had narrowed from the swelling on her left cheek. Gunther looked past her and smiled.
"Clovis! Let go of my wife."
She nearly collapsed at the sound of Ulfrik's voice. She wanted to cry, scream, or jump. Instead, the sword at her side dug deeper as Clovis whirled around with her shielding him.
Ulfrik stood carrying a blood-smeared shield and glittering sword in hand. The faceguard of his helmet concealed his eyes, but the shock in his expression was plain. She wondered how bad the injury to her face had been. Would she be disfigured like Konal? The odd thought made her cringe with shame, but it had come unbidden to her mind. All that mattered was the safety of her children, and no price was too heavy for it.
"What have you done to her?"
"Less than what she deserved. She killed my son."
"That was a favor, and you know it."
Clovis did not answer, but she felt his hand tighten on her arm. He twisted the point of his sword over her kidney but she resolved to give no sign of pain.
"So you have defeated me today," Clovis said, his voice affecting a jaunty tone as if shattering his army had been no more a setback than losing a favorite pair of boots. "Bravo to you, Ulfrik. You baited your trap well, but left me a way out with your beautiful wife. You can have her back once I am safely away."
"No more hostages. I tire of this game. Release my wife. You and I will fight and settle like men."
Clovis laughed loud in Runa's ear, though she felt the tremble in his grip. She began to plot escape, realizing Ulfrik must be waiting for her to give him an opening. The sword at her side dug deeper and Clovis pulled her closer, but it was an awkward position and the length of the blade could be used against him. She only had to deflect it and stay close to him where he could not use a sword. The others would overpower him.
"Fight you? We have fought enough, and while I hold your wife, there is no need for it."
"This is my last offer. A fair fight to the death. I'll get you a shield."
"Piss on your shield! I've seen all your tricks and I'm through with them. Let me go then I'll set your wife free. "
Ulfrik frowned, then carefully placed his sword and shield next to his feet. He unhooked a throwing ax at his hip. "You've not seen this trick."
The plan flashed through Runa's mind. She yanked violently back and to the side. The blade point dragged across her flesh like a hot brand.
Ulfrik lined up his throw as if he had all day to make it. She closed her eyes but heard Clovis's intake of breath, then felt him jerk her back toward his sword.
She opened her eyes.
The ax flew.
A swoosh of air passed her head and a wet crack followed. Hot blood splattered the side of her face, and Clovis stumbled back. She did not turn around, but pushed forward from his dead grasp, content to hear him thud to the dirt. She rushed into Ulfrik's arms.
"No more hostages," he said as he pulled her close. "And no more tricks. The Franks are defeated. Our family will be together again, here in our home."
A wry comment formed then died in her throat. Was the madness finally over? No more fear and worry, no more dreams of dead children. She wanted to laugh but instead buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.
Chapter 57
Throst turned Astra's comb over in his hand. The day was late, the wind cold, and the lone oak tree on the hill had shed its last leaf. It was the dawn of winter and he had to secure a haven now that Ulfrik had defeated the Franks.
What a lucky bastard
, he thought and shoved the comb back into his pack. From the top of this hill he could see Ravndal's smudgy outline. He had been staring at it for days, telling Olaf and Dan that he was hunting without much luck. Only his mother knew the lie, and she had enough sense not to try him. His reasons for staring at Ravndal were unclear even to himself. It squatted atop its perch, hearths chugging smoke into the sky, its black walls defying all enemies. He imagined it collapsing into fire, but it never did. It endured.
The comb had been a promise of a meeting. Someone had left it after he had gone the prior day, carefully laid out on a rock. To deepen his interest, a small wedge of silver rested atop it. Another promise. Whereas Olaf would sensibly tell him silver can't fill a belly, wealth of any sort would see him a long way toward finding passage to safety away from here. So he waited all afternoon, circling the area and biding his time until boredom threatened to overwhelm him.
Then he spotted the figure in the distance. A woman shrouded in a heavy green cloak. She picked her way carefully, but with an artlessness that made Throst wonder how she navigated the unfamiliar paths. He thought of going downhill to spare the woman, but reconsidered. He did not know her or her purpose, and maybe this was all part of Ulfrik's final trick. So he watched the woman stumble up the hill.
He leaned against the tree, feigning nonchalance but keeping a hand on the hilt of his sword. He had filched it from the battlefield outside Ravndal, along with mail coats, helmets, bows, and Frankish surcoats. Those would be handy for crossing Frankish territory. They had even found a horse that had escaped the battle.
"Throst," she said, panting from her effort. "You found the comb, I see. It has been no easy thing to meet you here, but I am glad Fate has put us together at last."
"What's your game, woman? You're too old to warm my bed, if you came all this way for it."
The woman's expression was lost in the shadow of the cowl, but she drew up straighter, a pale white hand touching her chest. He noted the clean nails, fine-boned fingers, and smooth skin. Blue veins stood out, but otherwise these were the hands of a woman who made others work for her. A wooden cross of the Christians hung from a plain cord around her neck.
"I hope I haven't risked so much for a fool. Astra had nothing but praise for you."
"For all a dead girl's praise means to me. Thanks for her comb and the bit of silver, got me interested in meeting you. Want to tell me who you are?"
The pale hand slid up to the edge of her cowl and she pulled it back. "We have never met directly, though your lover may have spoken of me."
She revealed a pretty face marred only by a snub nose. Her hair was nearly white, and might have been beautiful in her youth though now its luster had exhausted.
"My name is Halla Hardasdottir."
He shrugged. "She did not speak much of you. Other things were more important. We had work to do and little time for it."
"Of course. I have had much work myself."
"Hard to believe, with those precious hands of yours."
Halla's eyes flashed, and it was as if she saw right through his bluster to the heart of his failure. "Hands are all anyone talks about these days. Did you know Ulfrik's son lost his hand before he was ransomed?"
"I'd heard something like that."
"Did you? You hear what goes on inside Ravndal since Astra died?"
He stiffened at the confirmation of her death. He had sent her on a suicidal task, but hardly expected her to die in the attempt. The thrill of a woman sacrificing her life for his whim was only a fleeting spark that failed to ignite anything better in him. Considering how everything had turned out, he regretted the decision. Such blind loyalty was irreplaceable, and he sorely needed followers now.
"Time is short," she said. "I assume you found the comb and the silver bit I had delivered to your meeting place?"
"I did, and guessed Astra's informer wanted to meet. I was curious how you were going to get here without being caught. Astra had a talent for it, but you plainly don't."
"The chaos of these last few days has allowed me to move at will, but that will soon end. My husband is still recovering from his captivity. I understand you set him free. That's what cost Gunnar his hand, and nearly cost my husband his life."
"So that's who you are? No wonder Astra knew so much. You're the wife of Ulfrik's brother." He put a hand on his head and laughed. "No wonder she wouldn't tell me where she got her news. I'd have come up with something better than snatching children if I thought I could get at Ulfrik's brother."
"He's Runa's brother," she said, eyes drawing to slits. "Now listen to me, Throst Shield-Biter." She twisted his name as if it were a joke, another mark against her. "I've come with an offer that you would do well to accept."
"Unless you're offering a ship across the sea, I'm not interested."
"Do you know how Astra died?"
"Bleeding."
"Yes, but by Runa's hand. Astra tried to kill her son, no doubt on your foolish orders. Well, they don't call her Runa the Bloody for no reason. She chopped her head off right in the hall, hacked her body till it was mince. I saw it myself, and I'll never forget it." Halla covered her face as if witnessing the horrible scene again. "It was a horrifying death."
"Death by the sword is hardly anything else."
"Don't you want revenge on the woman who did this to your lover?"
"I want revenge on all of the people shitting in that den of bastard dog-fuckers. Ulfrik killed my father, threw me out, humiliated me. Ruined my life."
"Yes," Halla's sympathetic urgency even frightened Throst. He recoiled from her as she leaned closer. "And his wife did the same to me. Now I've got to live out my days under her heel. Imagine all you've endured until now only for the span of years. All the while you've got to bow and scrape before Ulfrik. You've got to care for his children and smile in his presence, listen to his bragging and watch him revel in what he stole from your family. Everyone around you speaks of him as if he were a god. Oh, and he'll remind you every day that your father and mother were his enemies and their deaths were just. That's my life, Throst Shield-Biter, and I want to change it."