“You’ve heard how he sent that rat-turd Aki Geirson to his death,” his father continued. “But you hear it now from me. Ulfrik slew two men today-equal to the head count of any of you. I watched him at work. Not a moment’s hesitation in his thrust. Aki thought Ulfrik was our weakest link, but he is fierce and strong. He is one of us!”
The hall swelled with cheers and roars. All of the mugs were raised to him and Orm snatched up his own.
“Stand up, boy.” Auden smiled and raised his own mug. “Take glory when it shines on you. Hurry!”
So Ulfrik stood, wobbling and taking up his mug. Orm guzzled his mead, and everyone followed. Ulfrik slugged his back, too, although the taste was beginning to make him nauseous. As he sat again, he noticed Orm whisper to Snorri. Something passed between them: an object Orm kept hidden behind his back. Snorri winked and stepped away.
“All men who fight in a battle are entitled to part of the spoils,” Orm said. “Ulfrik was in such a hurry to tell his cousins about his day, he forgot to grab his share.” Laughter rippled through the hall and Ulfrik smiled in embarrassment. He hadn’t thought of looting, even though he had been assigned the task of carrying the goods.
“I have picked the finest of spoils,” Orm said, “and I give it to you now.”
From behind his back, Orm produced Aki’s blade. The green gem inlaid in the pommel glittered and winked in the light of the hall. Orm turned it around and tipped the hilt at Ulfrik. “Take this, Ulfrik,” Orm said softly, and with more feeling than Ulfrik had ever heard from him. “Slay many foes with it. Gather glory with it. You made me proud today, and you have my thanks.”
Ulfrik carefully took the blade into his hands, as if it were an infant. The hilt welcomed him, fitting his hand as if made for him. A sharkskin wrap kept the hilt rough and tight in his grip. The weight felt perfect. He wanted to draw it, but there was no space. Instead, Ulfrik turned to the men and held it out over them. They cheered and clapped. Ulfrik felt his eyes become wet.
Then he saw Grim.
His brother was there after all, huddled in a dark corner. Amid the cheers, Grim stepped out of the shadows, his face taut with jealousy and his fists clenched in anger. Ulfrik felt his guts twist, an immediate reaction to his brother’s petty jealousy, but when he lowered his sword and looked back, Grim was gone. Auden slapped Ulfrik’s back in congratulations, and Ulfrik soon forgot about his brother.
The feasting and drinking continued. Ulfrik tried to keep up with the men, but soon the room began to spin and he slumped forward, his foggy head resting on the table. The laughter of the hall rang in his ears.
***
The next morning, he awoke on the floor beneath the table, surrounded by vomit, urine, and spilled food and drink. Everyone else had passed out in the hall too, including Orm and Auden. He put out a hand for his sword, groping through the mess on the floor, only to find it missing. Frantic, he shook his father and uncle awake.
“Master Ulfrik, I believe this is yours.” Before Orm or Auden understood what was happening, one of the few sober guards bore Ulfrik’s sword inside.
The scabbard was missing. The blade had been snapped. Images of Grim breaking it flashed into Ulfrik’s mind.
Orm appeared to have had the same thought. “Grim!” he growled, as soon as he saw the blade.
Ulfrik’s vision reddened. He wanted to gut his brother with the snapped shard left in the hilt.
“You will stay here and not leave this hall.” His father stayed his hand. “Do you understand?”
“I’m going to kill him!” Ulfrik roared back, but Orm yanked down hard on his arm, nearly throwing him to the floor.
“You will stay here, and I will deal with your brother. Obey me in this.”
So Ulfrik waited with Auden, who did not seem to understand what had happened, even after seeing the shattered blade. Ulfrik slumped at the high table, gazing mournfully at the broken sword on his lap. At least the hilt was still intact.
Next to him, Auden leaned over and stared at the hilt. For a long while neither spoke.
“That boy is a wild one,” Auden eventually said, shaking his head. “Every bit his mother’s temperament. She would’ve done something just like this.”
Ulfrik shook his head. His mother had died when he was just a child, but he didn’t remember any cruelty or spite in her. From Ulfrik’s earliest memories, Grim had been trouble: mean, petty, and jealous.
“I will have a new sword made for you, finer than this one,” Auden said, his voice weak from the night of drinking. “We can probably reuse the hilt. I’ll have the blacksmith look at it. Don’t worry, lad.”
Ulfrik sighed, accepting it was all that could be done. He never got to wield the entire blade, but the hilt, with its dazzling gem, was still a prize. He would treasure whatever Auden could do for him.
Auden took the broken hilt and left Ulfrik alone with his thoughts. Hours passed. He paced the hall as he waited, stepping over men still lost in drunken stupor, wishing his cousins and aunt might return to listen to his complaints. When he felt he could take no more, the hall door opened and Grim appeared. Flanking him on either side were Orm and Auden. Grim’s face was red, puffy as if he had been crying. Ulfrik wanted to pound it into the filth of the floor, but his father must have read that intent and held up his hand.
“Your brother has admitted to stealing and breaking your sword.” Orm nudged Grim forward. With his head bowed, Grim stopped just inside the door. He said nothing, simply wiped the snot from his nose and gazed at the floor.
“He stole a man’s property; worse yet, he stole and destroyed a man’s sword.” Orm turned back to Grim. “I’ve told Grim what that means, how that crime is handled in my lands.”
Orm’s expression was hard. Inscrutable. “But since it was your property, and you are a man now, I will let you decide how to punish your brother.”
Ulfrik sucked in his breath. He hadn’t expected a chance to dole out punishment. His first instinct was to beat Grim’s face in with the hilt of his ruined sword, but despite all of Grim’s trouble, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He looked at his sniveling brother, who hung his head in shame. The redness of Grim’s face deepened the longer Ulfrik scrutinized him. Three years younger than myself, Ulfrik thought, and he looks a pathetic child. He hesitated.
Grim stole a look under his brow, snapping his eyes away when Ulfrik’s eyes met his.
“Out with it, Ulfrik.” Orm strode up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “What do we do with your brother?”
“He needs to apologize,” Ulfrik said, surprising himself and apparently everyone else who heard.
Grim looked up now, a furious expression twisting his red and swollen face.
“That’s all I want from him, Father.”
A disapproving scowl bloomed in the crags of his father’s face. Ulfrik expected a rebuke, but none came. Instead, Orm faced Grim, hollering in a voice he reserved for chasing dogs out of his path. “You heard it, boy. Apologize!”
Grim hesitated, the words trembling on his lips. He snarled like a wolf with its leg in a trap. When Orm drew breath to order again, Grim let the words rush out: “I apologize.”
“For what?” Orm snapped.
“For stealing Ulfrik’s sword and breaking it. I am sorry.”
Ulfrik had never heard a more insincere apology. He immediately regretted not taking sterner action, but he merely nodded his acceptance.
“And to make sure you remember your words, you will take three lashes across your back. You’ll get them from me,” Orm said.
Grim’s flush faded to white fear. Even Ulfrik wanted to protest, but the words caught in his throat. Ulfrik had seen his father lash men who had broken the law. He had even seen his father hang a man for something terrible; he could still remember the wails of the man’s family.