“Well, you said ‘plan,’” Yngvar said the last word as if it were bitter on his lips. “I had no plan, other than to escape my problems. Running into your father was the work of the Fates. I wanted to keep my oath to him, since he had readily accepted it from an outlaw. You are your father’s true successor, so I would transfer my oath from him to you. Besides, without my help you would never have returned from the woods that day. I had some pity for you, too.”
Both men reclined again, considering the ceiling, as if the answers to their troubles were hidden in the rafters. “Why did you break the oath to your first lord?” Ulfrik asked.
“I’ll tell you what I told your father, but then you must ask no more of it. My explanation was good enough for him and should be good enough for you.”
“Agreed. I’ll judge your words for myself.”
“My family is from Vingulmark. When I was thirteen, I joined the felag of the hersir my father served. He gave me my nickname, Bright Tooth. He was a good man and taught me all about war, and there was plenty of it in that troubled land. I became his hirdman, fighting with him against one king or another. But there was one king who set himself above all others, Harald. Harald and his uncle Guthorm had claims to Vingulmark, and they rolled across our lands and killed anyone who resisted. My family resisted Harald, but my lord swore fealty to him. I loved both.”
Ulfrik swallowed, dreading what he knew Yngvar would reveal.
“Harald’s men butchered my family. My mother and grandmother, my three little sisters, even our dog. My father died defending his home. I don’t know if Harald massacred them himself, or if it was one of his men, but no matter. It happened because of him. The news reached me only after my lord had us all swear an oath to the murderer of my family.”
“Thank you for your honesty, and your oath. I will do my best to live up to the honor you do me.” Ulfrik bowed his head, humbled by Yngvar’s candor.
Yngvar cleared his throat. “There’s more to tell-the most important part, in fact.” He sat up and then climbed to his feet. “It hasn’t mattered until now. I was never sure we would make it this far alive.”
Still lying down, Ulfrik looked up at Yngvar, now illuminated by the light of the hearth. The short pause was filled by the laughter of the dice players. “Don’t keep secrets from me, Yngvar. We have too few allies for that,” Ulfrik said.
“That’s why I’m telling you.” Yngvar dusted down his pant legs, then raked his beard with his fingers. “Harald sent his cousin, Vandrad, along with men from his levies to assist Grim in destroying Auden.”
“What?” Ulfrik tried to stand, his leg toppling the block of ash.
Yngvar put his foot to Ulfrik’s chest to keep him down. “Mind your leg, Ulfrik. You’ll interfere with the healing magic. Let’s get the rest of this spoken. Your brother has sworn an oath to Harald in return for the kingship of Grenner. If you fight Grim, you fight Harald and Gutthrom. If you fight them, you better have more men then we had in Vingulmark.”
The words settled on Ulfrik, pushing him flat on his back. He looked up, but he saw nothing, his vision consumed with the images in his head-images of his defeat.
“I had no better way to say it,” Yngvar said gruffly. “Your brother bargained off your lands so he can play king. While Harald claims Grenner for himself as High King, you will never take it back by force. Not without an army equal to his own. You needed to know that before speaking to Jarl Frodi. I’m sorry, Ulfrik. I am.”
***
Ulfrik’s leg healed quickly and soon he could stand and walk. But his thoughts continued to limp in confusion. Yngvar’s revelations had dissolved plans of reclaiming Grenner. His brother had betrayed their family and his people when he surrendered power to Vestfold. Ulfrik cursed himself for having not seen it coming. He had always found excuses for Grim’s excesses: their father bullied the boy; Auden and his family ridiculed him; he was just a child. But no more. Whatever Grim thought he was doing, Ulfrik could find no fit excuse.
Ulfrik’s bitter mood kept everyone away. He longed for a walk in the woods of his youth-impossible of course. But at least the weather had cleared, even warmed. He decided to chance a walk outside.
Runa hovered in the shadows by the door. “Lord Ulfrik, we must speak,” she said formally, probably for the benefit of anyone listening. “May I accompany you?”
Ulfrik agreed and she smiled. She let him pass through the door and then followed. He had wanted time alone, but Runa appeared anxious and he had neglected her since they arrived at Frodi’s hall. They walked along the track leading from the hall, in silence. Then Ulfrik turned north, past the main dwellings to a cleared field of tree stumps and knee-high grass that was brown and dead from the cold. Runa stepped up beside him.
“Lord Ulfrik.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not a lord of anything, although I’ll try to convince Frodi otherwise. Call me Ulfrik when we are alone.” He glanced at her as they walked, and she smiled at his reply.
Runa had blossomed into a rare beauty since their arrival at Frodi’s hall. Better food, clean, well-fitting clothes, and a place to bathe had driven away the ravages of her face and body. Washed and brushed, her hair sprang around her face as she walked, in ringlets more beautiful than he had imagined. Even her movements were more confident, more beguiling.
“Ulfrik, you promised me freedom if I delivered your sword.” She stopped, her smile gone, and her hands were gripped together at her waist. “Are you going to keep your promise? I know we’ve been through much since that day. But I have to know.”
Ulfrik turned to her. That issue had been hovering in his thoughts, although he had not let it surface. He smiled, but Runa’s expression remained flat, maybe even unfriendly. He knew what had to be done, but hesitated. She was a slave, and easy to keep as slave. If she had her freedom, she could leave him. So beautiful, he thought, gazing at her. Surely leaving me would be her best choice. I have nothing to offer her, and many rich men would welcome her to their halls. He sighed.
“You are right, Runa.”
“I know I am. I’m not stupid, even if I have been starting to feel that way.”
Definitely unfriendly, he thought. Why can I say nothing right to this woman? He shrugged and resumed his walk. She remained behind, as if daring him to turn back, but he ambled on until she caught up to him again.
“I am sorry. Forgive me for being so bold.” Formality slipped back into her tone.
“Don’t be so damn proper,” he snapped. “I want it to be different between us.”
“Formality is necessary between a master and his slave.”
Ulfrik wheeled around to her. A smirk of defiance drew a slight curve at the corner of her pink lips. He found it irresistible, and irritating. As her eyes flashed defiance, Ulfrik found himself even more drawn to her. Only the slave collar at her neck marred her beauty-and yet it kept her bound to him. If I can’t have her on my own merits, keeping her as a slave will be a sham. He knew that was beneath him, even in his impoverished state. But like Runa, he had questions that burned for answers.
“If I remove that collar, what will you do? Will you go looking for your brother?”
Her eyes widened and her wry smile vanished. Her hand absently touched the rusty collar. “I will stay with you, Ulfrik. I would have only freedom, nothing more.”
“Then you would leave me, once you had something more than just freedom?” He stepped closer to her, his body trembling. He feared her answer more than anything he had ever feared before. Such a rare beauty and a rare spirit, so close but so distant.
“I would not repay kindness with such callousness,” she said gently, her defiance dissolving. “Not if you remained the man you are, and become the man you could be.” Her voice was hushed, as if the wind might carry her words to prying ears