“You don’t sound convincing.” Ulfrik looked away as Yngvar tied off the wound to staunch the blood. He bit back a scream as his friend packed the wound with snow to clean it and deaden the pain.
“We’ll have to make a stretcher for him,” Magnus said, inspecting the bite. Ulfrik’s arm throbbed as well, but it was nothing compared to his leg. “
“No, I’ll walk. It’s not serious, like Yngvar said. I’ll just need some help, that’s all.” Despite his talk, he made no effort to move.
Runa appeared above him. Her hair fell about her face, casting it into shadow, but Ulfrik did not need to see her expression to understand the worry she felt. He just hoped her frown was for him, and not for the loss of her freedom. As soon as that thought arose, he pushed it away. Why do I doubt her?
She floated there for a moment and placed a trembling hand to his cheek. His scream sent her falling backward, startled. Yngvar had begun stitching the wound, and Ulfrik had not braced for it.
“Where in Thor’s name did that come from?” Ulfrik asked.
“Magnus took his wife’s kit. There was a bone needle and thread there. Lucky for you.”
Better prepared, Ulfrik lay back to endure the sutures in silence. They had been weakened; the wolves would know that, too. No doubt the beasts would return to try to finish him. He mused that the animals must be as desperate as he was. Is this, too, a sign from the gods? he wondered. Are they showing me the desperation of the land, warning me to flee?
Hot pain gripped his leg and cold took the rest of him, but he suppressed his discomfort as best as he could. He had to lead these people to safety-on one leg if he must.
Seventeen
Grim took the snowfall as an evil sign. He stood in the door of his hall, watching the snow pile up around the barracks. Snow was infrequent in the south, unlike in the north and west. He had never traveled there, but some of his new men came from those parts and said that winter meant death for the old and weak. No doubt, this winter would mean death for someone. His hall smelled like death, even with the bodies of his slain warriors recently removed for burial. Only one was a local man. His family had arrived through the snow that morning to collect his wergild. Men were always reaching for his gold, now that he had some to give.
Grim held aside his bloodied bandage to spit into the snow, as much to curse it as to rid his mouth of the flavor of the poultice. Winter had come earlier and fiercer than expected; yet another challenge to his plan. This rankled him, since his plan was brilliantly simple: eliminate his father and brother, neutralize Auden’s threat, enjoy Grenner’s wealth, and kiss the ass of some far-off king. How had it become so complex? Grim wondered. Don’t the gods love a bold plan?
He scanned the woods in the distance, a black gash below a gray sky. The falling snow intensified as he lingered in the doorway. Maybe the snow will finish Ulfrik where I couldn’t, he thought. He had sent a scout back to Magnus’s farm to search for signs of Ulfrik’s fate. Now the storm threatened to foil even that simple plan. At least the snowfall had been light enough this morning for Aud to take her walk.
His hand moved to the pouch of poison in his tunic pocket. He fingered the plump deerskin that brimmed with instant death. All he needed was the nerve to slip it into Aud’s food. What’s one more death after all I’ve done? Better to tie off these loose ends right away.
Grim turned back inside his hall, snow-blind for the first few strides. Sheep had been herded indoors for the storm, and they bleated and nudged each other as they chewed the floor rushes. Women were preparing a breakfast of eggs and cheese at the central hearth. The hall reeked of smoke, shit, ale, and sheep. The household guards were settled at long benches, their spears placed up along the walls and their helms parked astride. His men nodded as he passed. More out of duty than anything else, Grim surmised. But he didn’t care, as long as they nodded.
Taking his seat at the high table, he beckoned a slave girl to his side. She came slowly, a dull-witted smile on her face. Probably hit on the head too many times, Grim thought. But he wanted her for warmth. Too bad Snorri let the pretty one escape. Grim had been looking forward to bedding her until he got an ax in the face; he hadn’t felt much like rutting after that. But with the warmth of the slave girl pressed to his side, he was beginning to feel those stirrings again. That was a good sign, and it encouraged him enough to work his hand down the front of her dress and squeeze her breast. She flinched and squeaked, then gave him a wan smile, which Grim returned, even though it pained him to do so.
A serving girl placed his meal before him and he gulped down the soft eggs. The slave girl ate nothing, just looked expectantly at him. Or was she looking at his wound, which he had exposed in order to eat? He didn’t care anymore. A jarl does not need to look handsome, after all.
From her accustomed spot along the bench to his right, Aud watched him with pale, inscrutable eyes. It was a good spot, between two windows where a deep shadow concealed her. She would sit there, her elbow leaning on her leg, for hours watching him intently, as she had watched his father before him. Did she suspect? Grim wondered if her magic allowed her to hear his thoughts.
On finishing his meal, Grim shoved away his plate, belched, and forced his dim-witted companion away. The men had returned to talking. The sheep wandered around them, bleating, and one even chewed at the hem of a man’s jerkin. Grim took all this in while still trying to observe Aud where she hovered in the shadows.
He saw her rise with some effort, resembling a swaddled babe in her wraps and blankets. She paused after standing, then stepped into the yellow light and began to hobble toward him, warding off a ewe that refused to move out of her path. Grim’s poultice had already been changed at sunrise. She had no business with him, and usually stayed away unless it was time to change his bandages.
When she had waddled too close to ignore, Grim gave a feeble smile. It appeared to stop her, and Grim realized he had probably never smiled in her presence. He tried to act more surly. “What? Is it time to fill my mouth with shit so soon? If I wasn’t feeling better, I’d swear you were letting this take too long.”
“No, Lord,” Aud wheezed, as she resumed her arduous journey to his table. “In fact, this morning I was considering discontinuing the treatment. You’re healing quickly enough. Watching you eat breakfast and fondle the girl made me think I was right.”
She arrived at his side and put her cold, shriveled hand to his face to inspect his wound. Her small eyes told him nothing, as usual. She twisted his face to one side and then the other, and then let it go. She picked up the bandage he had left on the table. “It’s dry,” she said, throwing it back down. “I thought as much this morning. You don’t need the treatments anymore. Does it hurt?”
“Only if I smile or scream,” he said. So the treatment worked, he thought. For a moment, he felt like abandoning his intention to kill the hag.
“It hurts only half as much as it could,” Aud said, sitting down at the table. “You’ll have a scar, but that suits you anyway. Just keep it protected and clean. If you can manage that, my lord.”
“I can manage that! By all the gods, if it means no more bandages, or that bag of shit in my mouth, I can manage.” The wound stung as he smiled.
For once, Aud smiled back, revealing two brown teeth remaining in livid gums.
Does she suspect the plan in my mind? Grim wondered. His left hand fell to the pouch in his pocket. Now would be the most natural time to slip her the poison. He stood up, palming the pouch and holding it to his leg. “Aud, you have worked great healing magic.”