Ulfrik raised his head to see the apple-cheeked man turn his bow to Magnus, who was weeping as he dug graves for his loved ones. Before the man had drawn back the bowstring, an arrow thumped deep into his exposed armpit and brilliant blood poured out as he screamed. Yngvar, still unseen by the enemy, had saved Magnus.
Confusion reigned on both sides as Ulfrik stood and fled, ducking a scatter of arrows. Falling back, he grabbed Runa, seizing her so hard she cried out. “Stay in the trees and go to the stream up ahead,” he said. “Do you know the way?”
She shook her head, her eyes wide and dark with fear. Ulfrik snorted in frustration, knowing well that she was a stranger here. He let her go, hoping she would follow.
The deep stream they had passed earlier ran north of the farm, and he was certain Magnus would have a fishing boat there. If he could get everyone to the boat, the current rushing down from the hills would ferry them to safety-to a nearby lake where local farmers supplemented their income with fishing. The difficulty was the open field between himself and Magnus, who continued to dig and sob, despite the shouts from the trees.
Yngvar patiently lined up another shot at the confused sentries. A second man fell, clutching his throat. But the shot also revealed their location, and one sentry alerted the others. Hasty shots were wasted among the trees and they dropped their bows to draw swords.
“Split up again,” Ulfrik said.
With a nod, Yngvar leapt away.
“Get to the stream north of here.” Ulfrik called after him, and then turned his attention to shouting challenges. Two men took after him while Yngvar drew away another group. Both Ulfrik and Yngvar had the advantage of knowing the terrain; the foreign warriors from Vestfold likely had no idea where Ulfrik was headed. Foreign they may have been, but the men were experienced. They did not lose sight of Ulfrik as he danced away, and soon seemed to realize the ploy. Soon, Ulfrik had lost sight of them, and he slowed to take stock.
A spear flew instantly out from an unexpected angle; the tip crunched against his mail, but although it hurt, Ulfrik was unharmed. Had it been better placed, it would have pierced his unarmored leg. The thought galvanized him into a run, but another man halted his escape by leaping at him, brandishing a blade.
Ulfrik tripped, guided by Fate, and spared death a second time. The man stumbled, then recovered. The fight lasted for a few brutal clashes of their weapons, and then the metallic clank and hiss died along with Ulfrik’s attacker. How he made the strike true, Ulfrik did not know. But his assailant now lay at his feet with both hands pressed to the slash that bled his throat dry.
Runa appeared behind him, clutching his sword, still in the sheath. Her lips quavered, as if she might speak or cry. Ulfrik, though, had no time to listen. Shouts rang through the woods, and a horn sounded from the opposite side of the farmhouse. Figures wove between the trees, and where the yellow sun struck them, metal flashed. Some collided-swords raised to meet axes-and he realized some other force was attacking Grim’s men.
Ulfrik had no time to count his fortune, only time to seize the advantage it afforded him. Grabbing Runa’s arm, he yanked her to a run, heading for Magnus. The burly man, still racked by convulsive sobs and oblivious to the mayhem encircling his farm, was shoveling the last dirt over the grave he had made for his family. Ulfrik’s sudden appearance did nothing to rouse him from his grief.
“We must get away, Magnus,” he said, dropping Runa’s arm to put a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. His gaze did not follow Magnus’s down to the occupants of the grave; he did not want to look upon any more death or loss. “We’re in danger here,” he continued. “The farm is surrounded.”
Magnus stared blankly at Ulfrik, and the emptiness of his expression amid the unfurling chaos and violence stole Ulfrik’s words. Over Magnus’s shoulder, he saw flitting tableaus of men fighting between the trees. Once all combatants had found each other, the fight would resolve quickly, and any advantage Ulfrik had would die with the last warrior. Magnus was his responsibility. He had to get him safely away, but grief had stolen the man’s reason and his sense of urgency. Then it occurred to him how to jolt Magnus into action.
“Grim is this way.” He pointed north, toward the stream. “Yngvar spotted him moving north. We can catch him if we hurry.”
“I’ll rip out his guts!” Fury reddened Magnus’s face, and he threw down his shovel and wrenched his sword from its scabbard. “I’ll dance in his blood. I swear it!”
Ulfrik grabbed Runa. Her face was etched with disgust, but she gave no voice to it and let Ulfrik drag her to action. They fled from the clangor of battle just as another horn sounded. Before them, a stretch of cleared land led to woods that would shelter them from arrow fire. Magnus outpaced them, bellowing, his sword winking the sun back at them as he ran.
Ulfrik prayed Yngvar was making his way north as well. He had lost him in the confusion of battle. Every scream worried him that Yngvar’s blood might be seeping into the grass behind them. Yet he had the feeling Yngvar would not die easily; like a fox he would slip any trap set for him.
Upon bounding into the tree line, tugging Runa along behind him, Ulfrik adjusted his direction and headed for the open land to his right. The slope of the land showed him where the water would run, and he urged Magnus in that direction. “This way, I think I see him making for your boat!”
Magnus howled and crashed onward, taking them directly to his fishing boat, which was beached in the white sunlight ahead of them. Magnus slid to a halt. Looking about for his enemy, his sword held before him, he ran to the small boat and peered in. Although the boat was gnarled and scoured, Ulfrik judged it large enough to bear them down the current to the lake. As Magnus leaned into it, cursing Grim to the gods, Ulfrik let go of Runa and took his chance.
Magnus did not react to Ulfrik’s thudding footfalls. Reversing his sword, so the pommel impacted squarely into the back furrow of Magnus’s neck, Ulfrik threw all his weight into the strike. A smaller man’s neck might have snapped with the force, but Magnus simply fell forward into the boat with little more than a grunt. Ulfrik tumbled over the side with him, landing atop Magnus and pinning him to the floor between the benches. Although dazed, Ulfrik grinned at the quick wit of his work.
Runa threw her sword and a fur into the boat and hauled up her ragged shift, exposing a flash of white skin as she dove into the boat alongside them. Curses gurgled in Magnus’s throat as Ulfrik sprang out of the boat to launch it from the shore. Ulfrik pressed all his weight against the boat, but it would not shift. Firmly dug into the sand, the boat resisted any movement.
“Runa, get out and push with me!”
She did not respond. Ulfrik screamed at her again until she, too, threw her light frame against the bulk of the vessel. Magnus’s hand fumbled along the sides. Ulfrik put his back to the side and dug his heels into the earth. Feeling some give, he shoved harder.
The boat broke free and caught the current, popping downstream and leaving Runa and Ulfrik to run alongside. Runa leaped first, and Ulfrik splashed alongside for several strides before jumping in after her. Despite Runa’s smile, Ulfrik’s brow was furrowed in dismay. Yngvar had not showed, and the boat was swiftly carrying them away from the farm. He considered calling for Yngvar, but quickly discarded the thought, afraid of reporting their escape to Grim and his men.
The sounds of battle had vanished, and in the distance a horn sounded-three short bursts signaling that the battle was over. The victor Ulfrik could not tell. The boat edged into a deeper channel of the stream and the strong current carried them on. Ulfrik listened, hoping to hear Yngvar’s voice. He could not be sure if the noises in the woods on either side were the calls of birds, or the laughter of the gods.