Magnus grabbed Yngvar’s arm. “You don’t think they would leave without taking everything from here?”
“If I knew the place was in hand and thought my mortal enemies were prodding around my hall, I’d head straight back.”
Ulfrik felt his guts tighten at the thought of Yngvar’s words. Of course, the man was right. All around the cold ash attested to what Grim could do and the speed at which he could move. Though Magnus’s farm was to the east, a detour from Grim’s direct march, the mounted men Runa had observed could easily have reached it by now. Ulfrik did not doubt Grim would extract revenge for Magnus’s defection. And a son come of age would be no defense against warriors. Yet it would take them nearly two days to reach the farm on foot, and it would require them to pass directly through Grim’s hall.
“I must go,” Magnus said. It seemed he had already made the calculations himself. Staring at all of them, but appearing to see no one, he added, “If that dogshit has harmed my family, I’ll have his heart on a slab.”
Ulfrik gestured to Yngvar and Runa to help him gather the furs and spears, but Magnus was already stalking down the road. The cool breeze lifted ash into the air, bringing a bitter taste to the tongue. Ulfrik watched Magnus charge through eddies of debris. They would have to catch him up, tame him enough to maintain a degree of stealth. For now, they gathered what they could, with Ulfrik shouldering Magnus’ load. In the coming days, he feared he would have to shoulder more than just spare furs.
Twelve
Magnus quickly outstripped Ulfrik and the others. They caught up once, but he brushed aside their attempts to coax him off the path and into the cover of the woods. Realizing he would not yield, Ulfrik let Magnus choose the course. He crashed down the path as they followed in the trees, trying to flush out potential ambushers. When afternoon dimmed to evening, their steps turned to stumbles and Ulfrik called a halt, surrendering the notion of keeping up with Magnus. Runa collapsed immediately, and Yngvar looked not much better. Hot blisters stung Ulfrik’s feet, and he longed to stick them into a cool stream.
No one spoke as they made camp off the path, choosing to bed in the boles and black folds of trees. Had they been able to continue at their previous pace for another hour, they would have arrived at Grim’s hall. Ulfrik no longer thought of the hall as anything other than the den of his treacherous brother. Rather than ever own it, he planned to burn it with Grim inside.
They dared not strike a cooking fire, so ate hard cheese and nuts instead. Streams, ponds, and lakes cross-hatched the region and Yngvar located a nearby creek for drinking water. Had they a longboat, they could have made excellent time down one of the deeper streams.
Ulfrik suppressed useless hopes, thinking instead of the next step. If they saved Magnus’s family, there would be even greater responsibility for him. Where would they winter? He had lost count of the days, but the night air felt like early November. An untimely snowstorm would be punishing, and would most likely mean the death of them. He sat apart, on a patch of dry ground with his back to a tree, thinking. Yngvar was strangely quiet, sitting in the gathering night with his head bowed. Probably wondering the same things, Ulfrik thought. A hard wind had blown away the fair weather of the day. The forest whined and rustled with it, sighing in resignation at the onset of winter.
Runa had bundled herself in furs and curled into the knotted roots of a tree. Ulfrik watched sleep overtake her before the night hid the forest in shadows. She must come from a hard family, to keep her wits and spirits with all she has experienced in recent days, Ulfrik thought, watching her admiringly.
Eventually, Yngvar stood and threw a fur toward Ulfrik. He wrapped the fur around himself, planning to watch over the others for a while. But in moments he was buried in dreams deep as snow.
***
They were all awake before dawn and resumed their journey. Looping north around Grim’s hall to reach Magnus’s farm would only add more time, but Yngvar thought he knew the way and they assumed Magnus had not stopped for the night. By now, he must have reached his home. Fate’s work would have been complete.
Following Yngvar’s directions, they soon came to a deep stream close to the farm. As they made to ford it, Ulfrik had a horrible realization. Pulling up short, he turned to Yngvar. “This is a trap. Grim must know we would come to protect Magnus’s family. Yngvar, you said it yourself. Grim would head straight back if he knew we would be around.”
Considering that, Yngvar stood speechless and Runa put a small hand to her mouth.
“We are leaping right into his damn trap!” Ulfrik kicked the ground in frustration
“He’s probably got men encircling that farm,” Yngvar agreed, recovering from his surprise. “We converge on the house and he pulls the noose tight around us.”
Ulfrik ran through the scenario in his mind, concluding that Yngvar was right. But with knowledge comes choice-his father and uncle had often said so. Now he could choose to reverse the situation.
“We scout the area. If we find Grim’s men first, we can strike with surprise. All I need is to get close enough to my brother to finish what I failed to do last time.”
“Lord Ulfrik.” Runa hesitated. “What if they have more men? Won’t we all die there even if you can get to Grim?”
Yngvar snorted. “We’re all going to die somewhere, girl. Don’t follow us if you are afraid of dying in battle.” With a more serious tone, he told Ulfrik, “She is right about their numbers. I doubt Grim will give a fair fight. It’d be easier for him to pelt us with arrows and then toss our corpses in the lake. Let’s be sane. If you can isolate him and kill him first, his men might surrender, especially if any of Snorri’s number are with them.”
Ulfrik nodded his assent, and they doubled their marching speed but kept their swords loose in the sheaths.
Soon, Magnus’s farm was before them. In the thin morning light, it looked squat and quiet. There was no sign of damage, but neither was hearth smoke rising from the main house. No bleat of sheep nor crowing of roosters sounded. In fact, nothing moved but branches swaying in the breeze. Ulfrik glanced about, stringing his bow. Yngvar did the same. Behind them, Runa gripped her sheathed sword like a stick.
Ulfrik spotted the enemy first.
As expected, green-cloaked men with strung bows and slender throwing spears crouched in the shadows of the trees. Ulfrik counted three, but Yngvar alerted him to at least two others. The sentries were dividing their attention between the farm and the woods.
A cry came from the direction of the farmhouse. Ulfrik glimpsed Magnus not far away, bent over and digging in his field. His hulking body quivered with sobs. Ulfrik immediately understood what had happened, and his anger seethed. The sentries lazily turned back to watching the woods.
Yngvar signaled that they should split up and take their shots. Archery in the woods was difficult, but with a few good shots they could whittle down the opposition.
Wordlessly, Ulfrik guided Runa behind a tree, placing a finger over her lips. She nodded, her eyes wide, her face pale. He could spare no more care for her; she must watch out for herself. Yngvar shifted left, and Ulfrik, right. After finding a good spot, he knelt to steady himself, drawing an arrow to his chin. A stout, apple-cheeked man-one of the Vestfolder thugs-lined up for him.
A swoosh of air behind his head and the thunk of an arrow striking a tree caught him off guard. An unseen sentry had found him. He loosed his own arrow, but the shot was ruined. Dropping the bow, he sprang forward, anticipating the next arrow as it sliced past him.
A call went out, but Ulfrik still had not spotted the attacker. He was flat on his stomach for what felt like minutes, his mind a scramble of disconnected thoughts. Shouts echoed through the woods. Then the attacker revealed himself and pointed out Ulfrik’s location to the others. “One in the grass here! Get Magnus!”