They parted after a brief silence, Ulfrik to rejoin his men in celebration, and Toki to order his thoughts in the dark night.
***
Silver moonlight traced delicate outlines of the men as they rowed in silence. Ulfrik piloted Wave Spear, with Raven’s Talon gliding under Toki’s steady hand only a few oar lengths distant. Six more ships spread out on the water, all following Thor’s high-sided vessel. Two hundred warriors in mail and helmet closed on the bay where Frodi’s three ships bobbed at dock. Only the dip of oars made any sound.
Marching overland to join the attack were two columns of men that would add another one hundred warriors to Thor’s army. Their strike was to be timed to take place at the same times as the main body’s assault, dividing Frodi’s attention between two forces.
Ulfrik’s pulse quickened. He was not worried for his crew, not with the support they had from Kjotve’s veteran forces. He was worried for Runa. He had entreated Thor to tell his men to watch for her, and Thor had mentioned it in his final address before they set out, but Ulfrik doubted anyone would pay heed.
I must find her before anyone else does.
They did not land directly at the docks, choosing a patch of beach further up the fjord and moving in silently, like night spirits. Once everyone assembled, ten men were left to guard the ships while the remaining force organized into columns and marched the remaining distance to the docks.
Frodi’s ships were guarded-to Ulfrik’s surprise. Thor sent three men to deal with the sentries, instructing them to return once the way was clear. There must be two or three times their numbers in guards, Ulfrik worried. I doubt three men are up to the task.
After an agonizing wait, Thor gave a signal to move ahead. There was no sign of violence as Ulfrik passed the docks. He saw a man watching from a ship’s rails and feared a sentry still lived, but then he noticed the man was dead, propped to make it appear he kept watch.
The spring air was cold and cricket song filled the night. The moon winked in the northern sky, beyond the tops of high pines, and painted the world silver and gray. Between the pines, the wide, rutted track crawled away to Frodi’s hall. Thor stood in the center of the track, silently arranging his men into groups. He and his berserkers would lead the main attack, up the center. Rolf and his small band would stay with them. Ulfrik’s men would join a flanking force to loop around from the east. Frodi’s home would be hit from every direction but the north, where only mountains and wolf packs awaited him.
They set off at a jog. Someone drew his sword early and earned a smack against the skull from Yngvar. An errant flash could alert Frodi’s sentries. Ulfrik had divided his forty warriors into groups of ten, taking one himself and giving leadership to each of his veterans: Yngvar, Toki, and Snorri. Each group had drilled together until time had run out. Ulfrik hoped the training paid off as the column of men snaked toward the hall.
In the distance, a horn blasted. Someone had spotted them. Ulfrik was glad it was not his troops that had given away the attack.
“This is it,” he hissed. “We run now. Kill without mercy, for you will be shown none.”
No one shouted, but their blades sighed as they were pulled from their sheaths. Footfalls thudded on the soft ground as the men shot forward. Ahead, lights flared in windows and the main hall brooded on its high mound, only its rooftop visible as they ran. Ulfrik wanted to get there first, not for the glory of killing Frodi or Bard, but to locate Runa. Rolf had claimed she slept there, in the hall.
Ulfrik heard a swish and felt air rush past his face. Then someone behind him screamed and tumbled. Arrows clattered among them, one even caught in his gray cloak. In the dimness, he could see a line of archers forming between buildings and shooting frantically as his group flitted past.
“Shields!” he screamed. Yngvar repeated the order to the men behind him. The group rushed together, unslinging shields from their backs. More arrows flew toward them, shrieks erupting where the shafts found flesh. “Scatter the archers! Forward!”
Ulfrik led the charge. The archers were not prepared, and knew it. They fell back, melting into the shadows between buildings. Already, a blaze had started, illuminating the night. “We have to get to the hall now, before it is burned down!”
He led his men after the archers, spilling into the maze of buildings. He wanted to gain control over the main track and push on to the hall. “Yngvar, lead your men as planned,” he yelled. “I’ve got to get to the hall before it burns.”
Not waiting to acknowledge Yngvar’s response, he burst onto the main road.
Then he stopped.
Frodi had not been surprised. On the same hill where Ulfrik had fought only months ago, warriors stood bristling with spears, held out from locked shields. This time, however, Frodi had twice the men, maybe even more. Flying over their heads was a white banner with a black raven at its center-High King Harald’s standard.
Thor’s main force was already sweeping up the track to charge the hill. Before they had left, Ulfrik had thought it humorous, attacking Frodi after so recently declaring friendship. Now, Ulfrik wondered whether Thor would still laugh.
The berserker lord didn’t hesitate. There was no parley, or chance for surrender. Thor bellowed a war cry and charged. His men thundered up the hill to where the banner flew. The crash of shield on shield filled the night.
“Finish off the archers!” Ulfrik shouted as he started toward the fight. He would have to skirt the battle line to get into the hall. There would be more men inside as well, and his men would have to stand their own.
Ulfrik joined the line on the far right flank. Thor was at the center, hacking with his tremendous ax. The clash of the battle was the loudest sound Ulfrik had ever heard. His ears were filled with screams of pain and rage, with the rasping metal and the shattering of wood. He slammed his shield into the enemy before him, Fate’s Needle slipping beneath it to return slicked with gore.
The battle line tottered back and forth, spilling corpses out as it rolled on until the earth was sopping and dark with blood. Ulfrik and his men pressed into the enemy’s gap, folding up on their flank and wrapping around. It felt like bending a thick iron bar braced in a rock, but slowly they forced the flank.
Then the western flanking group from the woods struck. Their timing was not as planned, but it was perfect. Reinforcements filled the gaps and formed a lap around the enemy. Frodi’s line broke, men scattering like hens from a fox.
The Raven Banner fell. Ulfrik glimpsed Thor raising the banner in one hand and Frodi’s severed head in another.
Now is my chance. The enemy before Ulfrik pushed past him and fled, leaving the way to the hall open.
Ulfrik did not hesitate. “With me, to the hall!”
Men were already battering down the door. Ulfrik threw himself on their backs just as the door splintered and collapsed. The screeches of women and children met them. Hirdmen stood before guarding their weak charges, grim-faced, their spears leveled.
Ulfrik and the men at his back leaped into the fight. The foeman Ulfrik found blocking him stabbed down at Ulfrik’s exposed foot. But he stepped too far. Fate’s Needle slithered into the man’s belly, easily parting the chain links of his mail shirt. He fell forward as Ulfrik, already looking ahead into the bright hall, withdrew his blade.
“Runa! Where are you?” Ulfrik called. All about him, men struggled and died, but Ulfrik just pushed on into the crowd of old men, women and screaming children. He seized a woman by the arm, his bloody hand staining her sleeve. “Where’s Runa? Where are the slaves?”
The woman stared at him with crazed eyes. When she didn’t immediately respond, he jerked her up to his face and repeated his demand. “I don’t know!” she cried. “She went with Bard and Lady Svala to the back rooms!”