Sword Brothers (21 page)

"Ulfrik! Behind you!"

The warning exploded away the silence, and Ulfrik instinctively stepped forward and whirled, his hand already reaching for the dagger at his hip. The room was too small for a sword.

The bald slave faced him now, a long, shimmering dagger in his hand. His face was slack with surprise, and though he was only an arm's length distant, he remained rooted to the spot. In an instant, Ulfrik's own dagger flashed. The would-be assassin leapt back, his reactions snake-swift, and he scowled as he ran for the door.

Runa blocked it. Rather than crumble like a frightened woman, she raised the iron tripod from the cooking pot overhead and tried to club the assassin. Again he dodged, the heavy iron bars barely clipping his shoulder.

His blade flashed and he slashed in a wide arc, slicing Runa's ribs beneath her right breast. She screamed and fell aside with her hand pressed to the wound.

The assassin shoved past her out of the room. Ulfrik ran to his wife's side, but she was already batting him away. "Catch him before he escapes!"

He crashed through the doors and the slave was already to the hearth. Ulfrik gave his loudest battle cry, a fierce bellow that boomed through the hall. Then he launched himself off the stage of the high table and sprinted after the man.

To his shock, the slave spun and hurled the knife at him. The metal spun through the white light of the hall, end over end, an expert throw that sped toward his neck. Heedless of the danger, Ulfrik dove for the assassin's legs.

The knife swished past his face and Ulfrik roared with success as he collided with the assassin's legs. They both crumpled into a ball, rolling into the benches at the side of the hall.

Another blade appeared in the assassin's hand. Ulfrik did not recognize all his slaves as some never came to his hall, but this man could not be anyone's slave. He was strong and prepared. He did not cry out or struggle uselessly. He knew how to fight on the ground and had the strength for it. Ulfrik read cold calculation in the face only inches from his own. He saw the white flesh around the mouth and chin where the man had shaved his beard to affect his disguise.

Ulfrik climbed up on the man, grabbing his knife hand before he could strike. He pulled his head back, expecting a head-butt, and instead he got a knee to his in his crotch.

The pain rolled through his stomach, but the assassin could not get enough force into the knee to cripple Ulfrik. He had lost his own dagger in the dive and scramble to catch the assassin. He now pinned the man with his weight, but the would-be slave was slippery. He already wormed his way free and now they both struggled for the dagger in hand.

The assassin punched with his left hand, but Ulfrik blocked it. He threw a head-butt, but only succeeded in striking the assassin's cheek. He shoved at the assassin, as if to try to pin him down again. Yet when he pushed back to resist, Ulfrik surprised him by yanking him forward. Now carried by his own momentum, he came up to Ulfrik's face.

Ulfrik rolled back with the man atop him, but then flipped him over. He pinned the dagger beneath both of them, so that the assassin's arm was set to break if he struggled.

"You're done for," Ulfrik growled. "Give up or I'll make it worse on you."

The hall doors burst open. Hakon and three other hirdmen paused at the scene.

"Help me," Ulfrik shouted. "This one's a slippery bastard."

Iron hissed as they drew swords, and at last Ulfrik felt the assassin beneath him slacken. Now four sword points touched the assassin's body, and Ulfrik released him. Hakon lent a hand to help hoist him to his feet.

"Hold him steady," Ulfrik said. "Your mother was hurt."

He turned to the back of the hall, but Runa had staggered out of the doors. Her hands were clasped to her wounds, and her face was smeared with blood. Her skin shined with sweat and dark circles had formed beneath her eyes. Still she smiled as she leaned against the wall. "It's not a deep cut. I'll be fine."

Then she collapsed to the floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Ulfrik rushed to Runa, who had crumpled into a pile at the door to their private rooms. Hakon joined him while the other men held the assassin at sword point. Her gray dress hung open like a leering mouth and dark blood splotched beneath it. Ulfrik held her head, and she gave him a weak smile.

"I'm too old for this," she said. "It burns like fire."

She winced and sucked her breath as he tested the wound. "It's not a deep cut, but a slash. Nothing worse than a bad scar will come of it. Here, put pressure on it and Hakon will get you patched up until we can sew it closed."

"That's right," Hakon said as he knelt beside her. His face was creased with worry. "You'll be fine, Mother. What were you doing to get yourself cut like this?"

Runa's skin looked pale and sweaty as if resisting agony, but she smiled blithely at Hakon's question. "I did not recognize that slave. He seemed familiar, but I thought he might've tended sheep and so I did not know him well. Something just felt wrong about him. And why was he struggling with the cooking pot all alone? When I left, I asked the hirdman at the door why he wasn't helping, but he didn't understand. I knew something was wrong. Back inside I found that man sneaking toward our rooms, so I grabbed the heaviest thing I could find. If you let me carry a sword, I'd have probably killed him."

Ulfrik kissed the top of her head. "You saved my life."

"Will I get a gold armband for it?"

"As many as I can fit on your pretty arms." Ulfrik stood and smiled. "If you can joke like this, then I'm not worried. Now let me ask our friend a few questions."

Gunnar had entered the hall, bringing more men. Two hirdmen were conferring with him in whispers while the bald assassin sat on a table with three swords touching his neck. He stared ahead as if he were bored and waiting for the fun to begin. Ulfrik picked his dagger off the floor, weighing it in his hand as he approached the man. Gunnar broke away and joined him.

"A professional, yes?" The man stared through him. "Let me be clear, you're going to die. So here's my offer. Tell me who hired you and it will be quick. Resist and I'm going to pour forty years experience with giving pain all over your scrawny body. Do you really want to know what it's like to have your balls nailed to a table?"

"They're right about you," the man said, finally shifting his predatory gaze to Ulfrik. "You're a lucky bastard when it comes to slipping death."

"I've been standing in front of enemy spearmen most of my life and death hasn't found me yet. The gods aren't done with me, but they are with you. Who sent you?"

"You know I can't tell you."

Ulfrik smiled. "What I know is you think you're tough enough to outlast me. That I'll be too pressed for time and just carry you along to question later. Maybe you could escape during the chaos. How's that for a guess?" The man's expression blanked but Ulfrik noticed his brow twitch. He had guessed correctly.

"Gunnar, Hakon, let me show you boys the fastest way I've found to make a man speak. And here's a hint, it's not nailing his balls to a table. Pain alone is not enough. You have to mix in panic as well. Blinding a man does both."

The assassin looked up wide-eyed. Ulfrik brandished his dagger. "Hold this fucking bastard down, and keep his head still."

A struggle broke out, with his hirdmen forcing the assassin onto his back while he tried to break away. He cursed and bit, but he was overwhelmed and pinned. Ulfrik forced his way through and put the dagger to the man's face.

"All right, I'll tell you the truth. Please, just put down your blade. Please!"

"Too late. I have to be sure you're serious and you need to know I'm serious."

Ulfrik slid his dagger into the soft flesh beneath the assassin's left eyeball. The man's scream was horrifying, but Ulfrik worked as if cutting the eye from a goat's head. He sawed around the socket as the man writhed and screamed and blood bubbled out over his face. When the eyeball loosened, he pried it free with his blade, fluid and blood splattering with a gentle pop.

"You tried to kill me and mutilated my wife. You don't think I'd just allow that to go unavenged." Ulfrik dangled the eyeball by a sinew over the assassin's head. "Did the man who hired you also lack one of these?"

"Mord Guntherson," the man said through his sobbing. His face was now slick with blood and his eye socket was raw red.

"Mord!" Ulfrik shouted. "I should've guessed. But how did he know where I'd be? Tell me how he knew, or I'll cut the other eye."

"A spy in Hrolf's hall. A servant. Gods, just kill me."

Ulfrik stared up a Gunnar, who had a splash of gore on his cheek. "That did work as well as you claimed, Father."

"Someone slit this dog-fucker's throat." Ulfrik tossed his dagger aside and stepped away. He heard the assassin grunt as one of his men cut the life from Mord's hired killer.

"Why would Mord want to kill you?" Gunnar asked. "We're leaving and he can be free to make a fool of himself in front of Hrolf as often as he wishes."

"Because he knows I'll be back if I live. Vilhjalmer suspected Gunther One-Eye as being part of this, too. I didn't want to believe him, but Mord could not have done so much without his father knowing." Ulfrik joined Hakon, who now had two of Runa's women helping to wrap her in clean bandages. A bowl of water with a bloody rag floating in it sat next to them. "Gunther knows everything that goes on in and around Hrolf's court."

"But why Gunther?" Gunnar asked, crouching next to his mother and brushing her hair from her face. She smiled at him, her eyes half closed as if about to fall asleep.

"Only he can say, but it must be connected to my rise over his son's. Mord had plenty of hope as a young man, but somewhere along the way he began to make mistakes. A lucky man can survive one or two missteps, but Mord made big ones. I think Gunther resents both me and his son for being who we are. No matter now, we have to flee before Hrolf is forced to search for us. So let's get your mother on a wagon and go. I'll plan my revenge on both Mord and Gunther later."

Once the women finished wrapping Runa's injury, a girl fetched her a new dress. The men turned away to allow her to change, and when she was ready to leave she appeared normal again. When Runa announced she was ready, she stood supported between her women.

"You can walk without pain?" he asked.

"I didn't say that. I can make it to the cart without screaming, I think. This burns like fire, though cleaning it helped." She stared at the assassin's corpse leaking blood all over the table. The dagger that had cut his throat stuck out of his empty eye socket like a knife left in a pear. "We just leave him here?"

"A gift for the new jarl. Let him know how much death this accursed hall has witnessed. Even when I return, I will not live again in this unhappy place. Evil spirits haunt it."

Runa agreed, then gritted her teeth as her sons and women helped her from the hall.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The sun hung low in the western sky, fighting to shoot its final red rays over the tops of dark pines and oak trees lining the horizon. Birds of all kinds settled in the distant trees, singing their evening songs. Ulfrik leaned on the last cart and studied the land. No sign of any attackers from across the Seine, though at this distance he might not see them. In the cart, Finn grunted as he handed down the casks to the men lined up to receive them.

"Good thing we didn't miss this cart," he said. "An army runs on ale. Can you imagine if we overlooked this? Whoever found it would've been one happy bastard."

Ulfrik glanced down the rows of empty carts. He could not take them onto his ships, for they were already overcrowded. Crossing the channel to Northumbria was dangerous enough without an overloaded ship, but he had no choice. The majority of his hirdmen and bondi were accompanying him, though some had chosen to remain behind. Those were the men with deep roots in Frankia and he understood their choices. Some were cowards, but those were not worth taking.

He had seven ships, three fewer than a year ago when he sold them to expand his hall. Two of his sleek raiding ships had already launched into the Seine and were waiting for his high-sided, fat-bellied ships, the knarrs, to be stocked with ale. Ulfrik marveled at the precision of his men and the organizational powers of his sons in organizing this retreat. It was not panicked even after the attempt on his life, and everything of value was loaded on ships or traded off. He wished Aren could have left with him, but Ulfrik was confident they would find him again.

"Do your young eyes see anything worth worrying about?" Ulfrik asked. Finn handed off a cask then stood straight and scanned the horizon. "A single ship in the distance, not a war vessel. No glints of iron hiding in the trees. I think Vilhjalmer was true to his word and Hrolf will let us flee."

"Only if we make haste, or he'll be forced to confront us. The Church might be taking its own steps to catch us, too. Are we prepared to leave?"

"Here's the last cargo to load." Finn handed off the final cask, then stared at his hands. He rubbed them on his pants, checked again, and shrugged.

Ulfrik was about to ask him what was wrong, but then heard his name called from the lead ship. A man stood on the rails, oblivious to its rocking at dock, and cupped his hands to his mouth as he shouted Ulfrik's name.

"Go," Finn said. "I'll finish up here."

He dashed the short distance to the dock and clattered down the loose boards to where the man extended his arm to help him aboard. His bright blue eyes were wide with panic. "It's your wife," he said. "She's vomiting."

"What?" Ulfrik forced through the crowd of crewmen and their families to where Runa leaned over the rails at the prow. He touched her back with a questioning hand as she dry-heaved. "What's this about?"