"I will make him cry until he has only blood for tears, I promise you this. But before I can do that, before anything else, I've got to succeed today. To do that, I need you two fucking fools to stay here and remain out of my way. Can you manage to do that one simple thing?"
His mother glared at him and his sister picked at the dead leaves before her. Satisfied he would not have any more interference from them, he continued to follow the tracks through the woods. His belly tightened in anticipation, knowing his plan would either glorify his name or end his life. Death mattered little; with his father gone and Ulfrik outlawing him, he had no life. No Northmen would associate with him and no Frank would take in a stranger. Ulfrik had sentenced him to death, all while pretending to be merciful. Throst was unwilling to die and more unwilling to suffer humiliation and defeat before all of Ravndal. Avenging his father was secondary to proving that Ulfrik had tangled with the wrong man. Throst had been underestimated and that was an advantage he would fully exploit, but first he had to succeed today.
He came to the end of the path. Sliding behind a tree, he studied the collection of burned-out homes. One had completely collapsed into black ash with only a few columns sticking out at the sky. Three other homes were in stages of collapse, but the main hall had fresh thatch. Throst drew a deep breath, then strode confidently into the clearing, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other tucked into his belt by the thumb.
"Come out, you fools! Meet your new leader." Throst's shouting drew instant response from the hall, the doors flying open and eight men who lived in it spilling outside with drawn weapons. "That's a proper greeting. Hurry, who leads this sorry group?"
Throst knew the names of the men and their leader. He had been watching them since locating their hideout in this abandoned Frankish hamlet. These eight were either lord-less Northmen or Franks who preyed on both sides of the border, all united under a Frank named Pepin. He purposely avoided Pepin and looked to the other ugly and angry faces arrayed against him, not wanting to indicate he knew anything at all of them.
"Look where the bird shit landed, right outside my door," Pepin said in fluid but accented Norse. He broke from the semicircle of men closing on him. His sword was rusty and dull in the light as he used it to point at Throst. "What's this you squawking about, bird shit?"
"Then you must be the leader of these men? I'm here to offer them a better choice, one who will lead them to more than living in a burned down village."
Laughter erupted, just as Throst expected. He laughed with them, which stopped several of them, notably Pepin who angered at the insolence.
"You're going to the slave markets, is all you're doing. Take him alive; he'll fetch us a good price if he's in one piece."
"I challenge you to single combat, Pepin." Throst drew his sword and leveled it at the stunned Pepin. His jaundiced eyes bulged in shock at hearing a stranger call him by name. "That's right. You have grown famous enough to attract challengers, Pepin. Fight me alone, and if I win I will take your place as leader."
"And when you lose, if your head is still on your shoulders, you're gone to a slave market." Pepin drew his sword, and one of his men who had been alert enough to grab a shield handed it to him.
"A shield? This is not a fair fight." Throst withheld his smile. A fair fight was never in his plan.
"Deal with it, bird shit."
The semicircle pulled back as Pepin leapt forward with a wild shout and his sword high. Throst skittered to the right and avoided the undisciplined blow, his blade licking Pepin's arm as he carried past. His men began to shout and cheer, encouraging Pepin to kill Throst and be done. As Pepin regained his balance, he smiled at his companions and laughed with them, as if he had only toyed and would now become serious. Throst smiled as well, jumping his sword in the palm of his hand.
Both men went into a crouch, Pepin behind his shield with his sword held against its edge. Throst considered grappling Pepin, but his size gave him a slight advantage and might encourage one of the onlookers to strike him. The worried look in Pepin's eye betrayed all the swagger and curses hurled from the others ringing them. They circled each other, and Throst easily led him to the position he wanted. He planted himself in the grass when he aligned the sun to his polished blade. Now he only needed Pepin to launch his attack to pull off his tricks.
"You're afraid to come out from behind your shield? You're worried I'll cut your handsome face? It'll be an improvement."
Pepin growled but did not jump at the taunt. Throst had patience and knew Pepin's friends would cajole him into action. The strike came suddenly, but Throst saw it in Pepin's stance before it launched. Pepin counted on his shield to pin Throst's sword arm, and he would follow through with a slash at his leg. It was what Throst wanted. He had the rare ability of equal skill with either hand.
As Pepin charged, Throst flashed sunlight in his eyes. The charge stumbled but did not stop, giving him the delay to toss his sword into his left hand as Pepin's shield rose up to pin his arm. In that instant, Throst hacked down and chopped the back of Pepin's thigh to the bone. The meat of his leg split and blood gushed. Pepin screamed and careened forward with the momentum of his spoiled attack.
Throst whirled and followed up, stamping on Pepin's sword hand. Blood pumped from the gaping wound and his companions cried out at the sight of it.
"I yield," Pepin shouted and cried, releasing his sword. Throst kicked it away.
"Have I defeated you?"
Pepin nodded, his face twisted with suffering as he turned on his back. "Who are you?"
"None of your concern."
Throst rammed his sword into Pepin's throat, nearly decapitating him in a single blow. The others fell silent at once, and Throst faced them with his gory blade ranging before him. Now was the key moment. Men would either accept him as their leader or another would challenge him.
"Pepin was a weak turd, not worthy of you. That's why I came here. Do you only dream of stealing food from the Franks and picking the crumbs the Northmen leave you? Did Pepin tell you that you were doing better with him than alone? Did he constantly remind you of how good life was without a lord to follow? Yet, what have you got? Look at you. You're living in a hall crumbling on your heads."
"But our bellies are full," one of the men challenged him, and nodded at a few for encouragement.
"Eating is all you want? Listen to me. Eating is good. I am hungry, for food but also for more. I want power and wealth just like all of you. Will you find it hiding here between the Northmen and the Franks?"
"You don't have anything to give us," said another man. "You're full of golden words, but have no real gold to put on my arm."
"You all know Jarl Ulfrik Ormsson. What if I told you we could have his treasures?" Throst smiled and let his offer take hold, the men sharing skeptical glances. "That's how big my plans are, and how much more you can ever get than following Pepin. Who is with me in this?"
The largest man, his head and beard forming a frizzy circle of red hair around his head, went to his knee before Throst. "If your promises are true, I will give you my oath. Ulfrik is no friend of mine, but neither is he so easy to defeat. What can you offer me to prove you are true?"
"Give me six days and you will have proof that I will be able to defeat Ulfrik. Then you can swear loyalty to me."
The men considered his offer and soon all of them agreed to his terms. Throst grinned and imagined the horror Ulfrik would experience once he realized what Throst had done to him.
Chapter 12
Ulfrik slouched in his chair, his joints throbbing and body burning in a dozen places where cuts and bruises reminded him of his battle of the day before. His feet were studded with blisters, and swaddled in leather boots they felt as if they were on fire. Discomfort only added to his foul mood as he sat in his hall with his two sons kneeling before him. The hall had been cleared of all but family and those who were witnesses to Gunnar's lies. The late morning light splashed from the high windows at the left, a silvery color that emphasized the bruises and cuts on their skin. Hakon sniveled while Gunnar held his silence. Runa sat in her chair at his right, her face a tight mask of hot anger.