Fate's Needle Page 16

  When it was finished, the shadow of a bird, gliding high in the flat winter sky, passed over them. All agreed it was a positive omen, and that Odin had seen the work Grim had done. As they turned to leave, the slaves’ corpses swayed on ropes behind them; they would remain there until they rotted.

  Sacrificing his gold to Frigg took place in the evening, and was much harder. Grim invited Vandrad and only his closest men, not wanting lesser men to estimate his wealth, lest they demand more of it. His father’s treasures were kept in a secret compartment in his room at the hall. Grim spent hours selecting the pieces for sacrifice. He pulled out a silver chain and dropped it into the bag, only to replace it with a gold ring. Moments later, the gold ring would be replaced by another trinket. The treasure was beautiful; he cringed to part with any of it, but he had to buy Frigg’s favor. Eventually, he filled the leather bag with gold and silver tribute.

  At the lake, Grim stood on a rocky outcrop surrounded by hirdmen holding torches. Vandrad carried the treasure and handed it to Grim when his prayers to Frigg were completed. The weighty bag of precious metals swayed in Grim’s grasp. He hesitated. One tenth of his wealth was about to be dragged to the bottom of the lake by the spirits within and whisked away to Asgard. After another moment’s hesitation, he spun the bag out over the lake. A dull plop reported that the sacrifice was made. Grim waited for some sign, but received none. He hoped his reluctance had not undermined his efforts. But Vandrad and his hirdmen seemed pleased.

  “Well done, Grim.” Vandrad clapped him on the shoulder. “The gods will favor you now. I am sure.”

  Grim had a feast prepared to celebrate, but with the slaves gone, his hirdmen’s women had to cook. If it displeased anyone, he did not notice. With his hall bright again and filled with boasting, laughing men, Grim guzzled mead happily. The aroma of roasting meat and fish hid the stench of death and sulfur Aud had left behind. By the end of night, warm with drink and food, even Grim had forgotten what everyone was celebrating. And when the fires died and the men returned to their beds, Grim returned to his and slept a drunken, dreamless sleep.

  ***

  You are absolutely certain of this? You followed their tracks and saw Ulfrik yourself? You swear to this?” Through a bitter wind, Grim strode to the edge of a clearing before the woods. Above him, blue and gray clouds promised a storm. He was swathed in heavy furs, so the cold did not touch him; in fact, his brow was damp with sweat. What had begun as a walk to clear away the fog of feasting had become something far more exciting. The scout he had sent to Magnus’s farm had returned.

  “I swear it, Lord Grim.” The man was breathing hard.

  “This is incredible,” Grim said, as he turned and bounded over the muddy ground toward the hall. “They left a path to follow—how stupid!”

  Grim laughed all the way back to the hall. It was midday, and Vandrad would either be there eating with his hirdmen or with the levies camped nearby. He planned to get Vandrad and his men onto Ulfrik’s trail immediately, to put those idle, wealth-sucking pigs to work on something other than his nerves. He crashed into the hall, throwing wide the doors, not seeing anything as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The tracker plodded in behind, panting.

  “I have found Ulfrik,” he shouted to the few shapes he saw in the murk. The shutters were closed against the wind and only dull hearth light illuminated the forms of Vandrad and his hirdmen at the high table. Grim stomped across to them. “Not only has he been found, but he has been injured. The gods are truly with me now!”

  He halted before Vandrad, looking up at his own high table as if he were a guest. Vandrad sat with three of his closest hirdmen—strong, vigorous men clad in winter clothing lined with fox fur. Gold glinted on Vandrad’s hand when he raised it to stroke his beard. “The gods certainly do seem more inclined to you now. But tell me the story. Is this the man who found him?” He beckoned to the tracker. “Come forward, man. Tell me your name and your tale.”

  Grim’s brow furrowed. It was his hall and his man, but Vandrad was sitting above him, giving orders. For once, Grim did not complain, wanting to get the tracker’s story out so they could get on with hunting Ulfrik. “Go on. Tell them what you told me.”

  The tracker came forward, removing a fur cap and unslinging his pack of traveling gear. “My name is Orlyg, Jarl Vandrad.”

  Grim noted the man’s name, committing it to memory, since this man had done some good. Despite having lived in Grenner all his life, Grim knew few of his men’s names. Most of his few friends were now gone, dead, or no longer talking to him. The few he had trusted proved useless, like Snorri and Konrad.

  So Grim listened as Orlyg described finding clear tracks in the snow that led southwest. Ulfrik had made no effort to conceal his passing, leaving tracks, campfires, and other debris.

  “I knew they were moving with purpose,” Orlyg said. “I could see where they noted the landmarks and I guessed they were making for the border of Jarl Frodi’s territory.”

  Vandrad leaned forward at that. “And was that where they went?”

  “Yes,” Orlyg removed his bowstave and leaned on it as he continued. “I followed for a few days, to be certain of their destination. They were not prepared for winter travel and I thought they would die before crossing Frodi’s border.”

  He went on to describe the wolf attacks and how Ulfrik’s leg was torn. Grim chortled again at the news, but Vandrad waved him to silence. Orlyg told them about Frodi’s scouts disarming them, although he was too far away to hear what was said. When asked how he avoided the wolves, Orlyg smiled. “The forest spirits have always favored me. It is why I am a tracker and hunter, Jarl Vandrad. But I was far enough behind Ulfrik’s group to avoid the wolf pack, and I stayed up in the trees.”

  Grim stepped in front of Orlyg to speak, and the tracker stepped back in surprise.

  “So now we take your levies and march to Frodi’s hall. Ulfrik will not be ready for us, and he is weakened.”

  Vandrad’s nose wrinkled with distaste, as if Grim had just shit his pants in the hall. The other hirdmen seemed equally repulsed. Grim wheeled around, expecting to see someone behind him, but found only a few women fussing by the hearth. Ignoring Grim, Vandrad spoke past him to Orlyg. “You’ve done a fine job of tracking. It is brave work to be the eyes of your masters in places where they cannot go. Take this for your service.” He twisted a silver band off his finger and tossed it down to Orlyg.

  Grim watched in annoyance. Does such a simple task as following a straight track in the snow require a reward?

  Orlyg bowed low enough to make Grim hope he might hit his head on the corner of the high table. After hearty thanks to Vandrad, he nodded curtly to Grim as he shouldered his bag and left. Silence followed his exit.

  Grim turned back to Vandrad. “As I said, Ulfrik is at his weakest now. So we strike…”

  “We do nothing of the sort, Grim.” Vandrad and his hirdmen looked down on him, and shadows etched furrows in their hard faces as they refused Grim’s commands in his own hall.

  “Your adventure with Ulfrik is over. He is a broken, homeless man. He has fled and is no longer a threat. It’s likely Frodi will enslave him and sell him back to you.”

  Grim stood dumbfounded, as if someone had pulled away his cup just as he was about to tip it to his mouth. His stomach burned, his face grew taut, and a scowl pulled at the still-healing wound on his cheek. “I do not need your say, Vandrad. Ulfrik is my sworn enemy. Your man Lini even said that killing Ulfrik would secure the men’s loyalty. Now is the chance to catch him before he disappears forever.”

  “Well, start chasing him.” Vandrad waved his hand in the air dismissively, and then leaned back and laughed with this hirdmen. “He’s out there somewhere. I’m sure you can march all around the world looking for him. Good luck paying for that journey.”

  They laughed again, and continued laughing as Grim shouted back at them, “There’s no search! Frodi has him. We will march in and take him, or Frodi will hand him o
ver. Why are you laughing?”

  “Because you are humorous, Grim. Would we laugh otherwise?” Vandrad slapped the table. His sycophantic companions joined him, making Grim’s head pound with the racket.

  “I have my own men,” Grim continued. “They will follow me. We will tear down Frodi’s hall with Ulfrik inside if we have to.”

  Vandrad shot to his feet, ending the effusive laughter. “I am your better, Grim. You have sworn oaths to High King Harald and I am his law in this land. Now understand this: you will not waste any more scant resources pursuing this argument with your brother. King Harald sent me with men from his levy to pacify this shitheap and the over-proud farmers who wallow here. I’ve done that. Now you have one simple task: keep this place quiet while Harald consolidates in the north. That’s it. That’s all you do. No marching around like warriors. No threatening your neighbors. Nothing! Sit here and play king for a while. The true king will arrive soon enough.”

  “Then give the true king more than what he expects to find. Give him Frodi’s lands too.” The plan came to Grim’s mind and exited his mouth before he understood it himself. He was surprised at his words. Vandrad apparently felt the same. His expression softened.

  Figuring the gods were providing his words, Grim pressed his advantage. “Those are rich lands that will yield many gifts for High King Harald.”

  Vandrad sat down again, considering Grim’s suggestion. Then he smiled. “It is a worthy idea. But do you suppose I had not already considered it? Let us face reality, Grim. I know you have spent little time with reality, but it is necessary for successful rulership. The levies are men culled from the farms of our territories. Some are seasoned fighting men, but most are exactly what they are: farmers with old weapons and rusted armor. Many of your best men were expended fighting off the rebels in your own lands, and the rest are inexperienced recruits like my levies. Jarl Frodi, however, is a rich man with a vital core of raiding men. He can put to sea three full ships of well-armed hirdmen this very night. While you are marching to his lands, he will be sailing up your backside and tearing this place to the ground. Then he’d march back and put you and your men into early graves.”

  Vandrad thumped the table again to emphasis the point, and then fell quiet. His hirdmen stroked their beards and nodded in agreement. But Grim was sick of these fools. The gods were on his side. Now was his time to act.

  “You talk as though Frodi knows we are coming already,” he said.

  “He’s no fool. By now he knows what happened here, and he’ll be expecting us at the first sign of lasting good weather.”

  “So we go during bad weather. It’s not so far to march. And if he is not expecting us, his levies will be at their farms and his hirdmen will die burning in their hall. I’ve given the gods a generous sacrifice. They are on my side!”

  Vandrad’s hand idly thrummed the table. He gave no sign of his thoughts, his face flat and dark. Even his own hirdmen began to give him sidelong glances, searching for how they should react.

  Grim just held his breath. He felt the gods telling him to be still. Wind bucked the shutters and Vandrad’s thrumming matched the rhythm. He looked right through Grim for a long moment before he spoke again. “The gods favor you, you say? Would you wager on that?” Vandrad suddenly clenched his fingers, as though snatching up coins from the table.

  “I would wager. They have shown me signs. The bird in the sky—we all saw it. It was a raven.” Grim smiled. The gods were speaking through him, he knew it.

  “The bird was too far off to tell. But let’s talk about my wager. I will lead the levy with you to Frodi’s hall. If we succeed in capturing it, then you will have the first pick of the spoils, as well as your brother’s head. However, if there is any serious resistance or things turn bad, I will call the retreat. And, if you survive such a failure, I will end your rule of Grenner and exile you from these lands.”

  Grim stepped back, holding up his hands. It was an absurd wager. Why should he have to stake his rightfully inherited land for assisting in an effort that was to the High King’s advantage? Vandrad smiled coyly, awaiting his answer.

  But Grim wanted this. There would be enough men to bring Ulfrik to heel and prevent his escape. Grim wouldn’t even have to face him, and if he did, well, Lini was making a charm against the curse.

  “I agree,” he said without thinking further. “We leave at once, and we will catch Frodi unaware, asleep in his hall. It will burn to the ground, you’ll see.”

  “You swear it, with these men as witnesses?” Vandrad gestured to his hirdmen. All four men looked down on Grim with slit eyes and twisted grins. Seeing them all at the high table of his hall suddenly made Grim reconsider. Maybe they will be seated there permanently after this raid. He thrashed his head, rejecting his own thoughts. “I do swear it,” he said, louder than he meant to. “You lead the levies as you described. If we fail, I forfeit my right to rule here.”

  “To rule anywhere,” Vandrad added.

  “To rule anywhere,” Grim agreed.

  Vandrad laughed again, jubilantly this time. One of the hirdmen poured mead for all of them, handing a cup down to Grim. They all drank on the wager. Grim wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The mead tasted like revenge to him: warm and sweet.?

  Twenty-one

  Ulfrik awoke to someone kicking him. He rolled onto his back and squinted up at the black rafters of Frodi’s hall. Things melted into focus and he became aware that men were rushing around him while others shouted orders. As sleep drained away, he was kicked again. One of Frodi’s warriors hunched over him, cradling Fate’s Needle. “Get up. Invaders are coming.” He dropped the sword at Ulfrik’s side. “Find a shield and form up outside. Jarl Frodi is leading the defense.”

  All around, men were roused from their dull slumber. Women, children, and the elderly filed into the hall, their eyes bright with panic.

  He found Yngvar shaking Magnus awake.

  “Who’s attacking?” Ulfrik asked the man who woke him.

  “Frodi will tell you. Just get yourself ready.” The man left to wake others.

  “It’s Harald’s man,” Yngvar told him. “I was awake when scouts came with reports.”

  Magnus leaped to his feet, pulling Yngvar by the shoulder. “Then Grim is with him. Time to gut that pig once and for all.”

  Ulfrik had nothing to say; Magnus had said it all. The Fates have strange plans for men, of that much he was certain. He was less certain of how Grim knew where to find him. Was his brother coming here because of him, or for some other plan?

  “Come on, Ulfrik,” Magnus roared, his breath stinking of ale and sleep. “The gods will grant us revenge today. Look, we’ve got our weapons and armor back.”

  Yngvar snatched some plain shields from the wall. They were sturdy, rimmed with leather and with an iron boss. He handed them out and they shoved through the stream of commoners crowding the hall.

  The morning sun was just staining the sky, creating a yellow stripe on the horizon, and the cold breeze carried a taste of the sea. A few paces from the hall, Frodi and Thor were conversing with their closest hirdmen. Around them, men in leathers and mail checked their shields and spears, laughing as if still at a feast. Here were men who relished war; a battle after a night of drinking was a gift to them.

  Bard appeared between the men. His eyes met Ulfrik’s and he had no choice but to acknowledge him with a slow nod. Bard looked pale and frightened, although girded for war in shining mail and leather. A sword with a silver inlaid hilt was strapped at his waist and an iron-rimmed shield, painted yellow and black, was slung on his arm. Ulfrik stalked straight to him.

  “Where have you taken Runa?” He seized Bard’s free arm.

  Bard pulled it away, and several men gave Ulfrik a warning look. But Ulfrik didn’t care. “What have you done with her?”

  “It is not my choice.” Bard refused to meet Ulfrik’s gaze. “But she is safe.”

  Ulfrik was about to reply when Frodi stepped up to them. Sta
nding beside his son, he stared Ulfrik in the eye. His mail gleamed brighter than any other, and he wore an iron helm with a face guard. It made him look like an eagle.

  “So, your brother is even more stupid than you, if that is possible. After years of peace, with no provocation your family brings war to my land. Had you left a day earlier, I’d have taken you for a spy come to count my spears. But you are here, and your brother is bumbling through the woods, not even sure of where he is. You must not be working together, eh?”

  “My brother deserves death,” Ulfrik said, coldly. “He murdered my father and burned my uncle.” Ulfrik met Frodi’s pale eyes. “Let me stand in your shield wall, and I will show you that I mean to avenge my family.”

  “I love a good family fight,” Frodi said and laughed. “You may stand in my shield wall, but it changes nothing. Do not think it will.”

  “Grim’s death is enough for me.” Ulfrik looked back to Bard, who recoiled at the statement. Frodi held Ulfrik’s gaze until he turned away to rejoin his men, taking Bard with him.

  “Bard is a weakling, don’t you think?” Yngvar suddenly appeared at his shoulder. He was bright-eyed and limber, as though he had not been staggering with drink the night before. “He’s going to stain that fine mail coat yellow with piss.”

  Ulfrik glanced quickly at Yngvar, then focused on the distant tree line. There was no sign of an attacking party yet, but he knew Grim would be marching from that direction. The only other approach was from the sea, and Grim didn’t possess enough ships for that. No, he thought, the attackers will emerge from the trees and form up before marching the final distance. Grim will likely be at the center of the line. Ulfrik was grinding his teeth in anticipation. He would not get Grenner back, but he would avenge his father, Auden, and his honor. No more running now.