Wiping the snot and slobber from his face with the ripped sleeve of his shirt, he nodded. "Your words are honest counsel. I have only piled shame upon shame trying to decide my next step. This is what I should've done from the beginning. I will find Ulfrik, and accept his judgment. Even if it is death."
"Wisdom at last," the blind man said, rubbing his knees and smiling. "Your tale has moved me, and I believe you will complete this task. Take the sack of rabbits. We will catch plenty more in this forest, now that you will leave."
Thrand sprung to his feet, thanking the blind man who stood and cut the sack from its tether as simply as if he were fully sighted. He placed the bag in Thrand's trembling hands. "Thank you for your kindness and for sparing me when you could've killed me. You are a noble man, the best I have ever met."
Cocking his head, the blind man smiled gently and released the bag. A gnarled finger pointed over Thrand's shoulder. "Travel in that direction and you will come to the Seine before nightfall. Camp on its banks, cook a rabbit, then in the daylight follow the Seine west to where your jarl awaits."
His mouth already salivating at the thought of hot food, Thrand bowed and thanked the blind man repeatedly. He set off straight in the direction the blind man had pointed him. Not until he had walked for a solid hour did he realize he had never learned the blind man's name, nor the name of his sons or his lord. He stopped, turned back on his trail, and called for the blind man. No sound responded, not even the rustle of leaves. His skin tingling with chill, he strode faster for the river bank.
Thrand had quailed at the sight of Paris, recalling the horrid stench and humid blackness of the pit. The city remained unchanged: smoke streamed away from rooftops; men patrolled the battlements, pennants waved in the breeze; and the walls remained defiantly intact. The stone bridge had been chipped and cracked where Sigfrid's rock-throwers had struck, but it too remained unbroken. The tower supporting it had men patrolling the wooden additions on its roof, clusters of black dots whose mail and helmets flashed in the late morning light. Scores of longships leaned on the river banks or floated at anchor in the brown river. Barracks constructed of fresh cut logs clumped on the cleared fields up from the Seine. Thrand's heart leapt when he saw the dozens of men at their chores. His people, however unwelcoming they would be, were near.
The final approach to the trenches felt like an hour's long journey. Thrand knew he counted his life in moments from this point. The knowledge gave a sharpness to his senses that he had long forgotten. Years of drinking had dulled his world, and now he could finally see and taste his surroundings as they were.
"Start talking or die." Two platinum-haired men stood in their trench, arrows laid across bowstrings drawn to their ears. Thrand tumbled back, hands in the air.
"Peace! I am one of you. I am sworn to Ulfrik Ormsson, and have been a prisoner of the Franks. Take me to him."
The men lowered their bows, reluctantly, Thrand thought. One man disappeared into the trench while the other waved Thrand closer. "I'll take you to him. How long you've been prisoner?"
"Longer than I can count." And longer than I need ever have been, he thought.
His escort took him as far as the central field where burnt-out bonfires spread their ashes into the wind. The man pointed at one of the buildings, distinguished only by the banners hanging before their doors. "Jarl Ulfrik's quarters there, though not sure if he's inside. He likes to patrol the trenches. What's your name again?"
"Thrand the Looker." He faced the man, ready to be tackled and beaten, but his escort simply struggled to focus on Thrand's good eye and smiled.
"Welcome back to the shit heap. Ulfrik will probably put you right back into the trenches with the rest of us. We need everyone in the line these days."
Thrand sighed as the obviously new man ambled back to his trench. Summoning his courage with a long breath, Thrand exhaled and approached Ulfrik's barracks. The green standard of Nye Grenner was gone, and Anscharic's cloak hung unmoving in the stiff breeze.
Suddenly his palms began to sweat and his legs trembled. The cloak is right here, he thought. Just grab it and walk off, then join Anscharic in Paris. He promised a fortune, did he not? And the Franks will win this war. I could have all that I dreamed of, all that I killed for!
Standing before the unmoving cloak, its heavy wool hems still full and tight despite the tears and stains throughout, Thrand stretched a hand toward it. His hand lingered a moment, then he snapped it back as if touching fire. Before he could change his mind, he flung open the barracks doors and thrust himself inside.
In the moments it took for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, he heard surprised voices and saw vague shapes of people standing up from the floor. No one reached for a weapon or reacted with violence. Thrand rubbed his eyes and entered deeper. The hall was unadorned, nothing more than a simple enclosure for a hearth and a berth for men to sleep on the dry earth. Across the hearth pit was a tall chair and a table with benches pushed into a corner. Even at this distance, his blurry eyes locked with Ulfrik's cold gaze. At first, he seemed to not recognize him, but in an instant he was on his feet.
"Seize that man! Don't let him escape!"
Now men grasped at him, each one vying to be the man to fulfill the jarl's orders. Thrand recognized no one, each one a foreign face. Two men threatened to tear Thrand in half as they wrestled him forward. He flopped like a rag, surrendering fully to his fate. To do otherwise would not achieve the redemption he desired. He crashed into the dirt at Ulfrik's feet, and one of the men kicked him in his side. Ulfrik shouted them away, and his familiar hand gripped Thrand by the arm and hauled him to his knees.
"Look at you," he said, lips curled in disgust. "Death has already claimed you, but you still walk."
"I have returned to face your judgment." He raised his face to Ulfrik's, but found he could not hold his eyes. He dropped his head. "I am an oath-breaker and murderer. I deserve death. I have fallen as low as a man can fall, and now land before you to seek redemption."
Thrand stared at the earth, listening to the scandalized murmurs circulating behind him. He could feel the strange men pressing closer to him. Ulfrik stood over him, unmoving and silent. Thrand resolved to say no more, for he could think of nothing worth his breath. Life would come to a sudden end, he expected, and he wanted to savor every breath.
"You planned to kill me once," Ulfrik said. "But you instead protected me."
"No, lord, I feared you could not be defeated, and I killed Kolbyr to buy myself more time. I was not motivated by good intentions."
Several onlookers cursed him, others gasped, but Ulfrik grunted. Thrand closed his eyes, expecting a blow that did not fall.
"You aided Humbert in his escape, and sought to defy me. We both know what motivated you." Thrand nodded, realizing Ulfrik still held his secret of Anscharic's treasure. Even though it was a ruse to bring them to Paris, Ulfrik still apparently believed it existed. "You voluntarily entered the Franks' tower. Why have you been released, if not for more treachery?"
Thrand squeezed his eyes tighter and bowed lower. "My treachery is done. The Franks used me to help slip messengers through your lines. I know not where they went, but it was to seek aid. After this service, I was released to do one final act for Anscharic. He wanted me to capture your standard and return it to him."
"I will wrap his corpse in it. He can have it back in the grave," Ulfrik said. "Now stand up, Thrand. Look at me."
He did as commanded, and Ulfrik's face was no longer disgusted. Instead, he studied Thrand with a strange mixture of curiosity, anger, and pity. Thrand had earned all of it and more, and he did not flinch from it. For his part, Ulfrik appeared more tired and haggard than he had ever known him to be. Yet gold armbands and rings glittered where none had before, showing he had earned the respect of his lord and grown in power.