Throst hefted the ax, ran for the wall and jumped. The ax head bit into the wood just short of the top, and he let out a stifled shout of success. Working quickly, he pulled up and straddled the wall, then dropped the rope down to his men. As he waited for Olaf to grip it, he surveyed Clovis's fortress, noting a few orange lights wink into life.
"I hope Gunnar drives that sword into your smirking face, Clovis," he said to himself. "I only wish I could stay to see it."
Chapter 50
Gunnar ranged the sword in the gloom before him. Throst may have left a weapon, but he left no light, and they could not afford to wait for dawn. A dozen misshapen plans crowded his thoughts, and none made any sense. He had prayed often enough for a rescue, but never planned to have to conduct it himself. Shame fought with fear as he stepped onto the barest outline of the stairs leading down. Toki had his hand upon his shoulder, having declared Gunnar's eyes better than his own. He wanted to remind Toki that youth did not grant the ability to see in the dark.
The stair creaked, and once he found the rhythm of the steps, he guided them to the floor below. Now what? The layout of this floor was the same as the one above: a living area for guards and a cell with a bolt across the wooden door. He could guess a path through the room by the faint light that filtered down from a single window. The snores of the guards were the only other clues. The killing had to be swift and confident, or the alarm would destroy the tenuous plans Gunnar managed to hold together in his excited mind.
Toki still gripped his shoulder, and his fingers were like iron nails digging into his flesh. In his other hand he held the wooden door bolt. It was the best weapon they had until they could find another. He tugged Gunnar toward the beds in the dark. The blue-gray outlines of breathing lumps under covers were the targets, though he could not tell legs from heads. If he stabbed a foot, their surprise would be nullified.
Raising his blade, he stopped short as Toki yanked his shoulder. He could hardly see his uncle in the dark, but his head shake was clear. Gunnar's heart thundered such that he feared it could wake the guards. One of them turned on his side, and his snoring ceased. Gunnar worried the man may have awakened, yet Toki had him remain still. At last he released Gunnar's shoulder and began to move carefully toward their victims. Toki's raised bolt was outlined in white light above his head.
Gunnar focused on what appeared to be a man's head, lining up his sword with it as he drew nearer.
Then his hip caught a table, and the sound of it dragging sounded like thunder.
A jug toppled and crashed with a splash on the wooden floor.
The head turned, and for a moment Gunnar did not understand a face was looking directly at him. It seemed an eternity that the sleepy, confused eyes shined out in the darkness.
Another rose up, and Toki's door bolt slammed down across the head with a wet crack. The body slumped with a groan.
A third man stirred, mumbling Frankish nonsense.
Another strike from Toki's bolt landed across his chest. He gasped but his breath vacated from his lungs, and Toki smashed him again. This time his face caught the blow and he snapped back onto his bed and lay still.
Gunnar's man was already rising, finally comprehending. Gunnar lunged and the sword caught the side of his face.
The scream was ghastly, and the man thrashed in agony as blood splashed between his fingers and over the blanket. Toki swung from the side, as if striking at a ball, connecting with the man's head and sending him crashing out of bed. He whimpered, and Gunnar wasted no time in plunging his blade into the dark mass beneath him. He did not see where he had struck, but it was deep and he felt the man's pulse thrumming in the blade, weakening until it stopped.
They froze, awaiting the alarm they expected. A noise from Hakon's cell drew both their eyes. The door shook, probably as Hakon tried to peek beneath it.
Toki and Gunnar stared at each other across the darkness. At last, when it seemed there would be no alarm. Gunnar withdrew his blade from the corpse at his feet. The body shifted, but the man was dead. Hot blood leaked beneath Gunnar's feet, and he skipped back from it.
Nothing moved. Gunnar held his breath. He refused to look toward the stairs leading down, as if to peek at it would summon more guards. Toki stared at him, the whites of his eyes bright in the gloom. No one came, and soon Gunnar let his breath out and Toki relaxed.
"There must be weapons here and upstairs." Toki began rummaging in the dark, shoving bodies aside like sacks of grain.
Gunnar wiped his sword off on a blanket, feeling a queasiness he had not anticipated. He had just killed a sleeping man. Even if he had been an enemy and only death could decide their fates, it still stank of murder. He had trained for war and glory, not gutting a man in his sleep. That had been the crime for which Throst's father had hanged. He shuddered at the thought, reminding himself of the circumstances.
Toki pulled up a sword with a purr of satisfaction. "This'll do fine. And a knife, too. Hey, what are you doing? Grab another weapon and let's move."
If his uncle's words did not galvanize him, the crowing of roosters did. Their crowing was like the calls of demons from the mist realms of death. Gunnar could think of no better comparison, for they had no hope of escaping in daylight. Toki paused, then strode to the bolted door and lifted it off without hesitation.
Hakon stumbled out, crashing into Toki's arms. He began to sob, clinging to his uncle with both arms. Toki stroked his head, but gently plied him off.
"You are well? You can walk? Take this knife and use it if you must."
Hakon nodded, wiped his nose with the back of his arm, and when Gunnar approached he began to cry again.
"It will soon be over," Gunnar offered. "We've only got to rescue the others before we escape."
"Do you trust Throst to have told us the truth of their whereabouts?" Toki asked, and now he started down the stairs first. The darkness was no longer so deep that he needed young eyes to aid his own. Gunnar glanced at the corpses, all but one still appearing as if they were only asleep in their beds.
"I don't know," Gunnar said, turning from the grisly scene and tugging Hakon along with one hand. "If he wants to get back at Clovis, he'd tell us the truth."
"And if he wanted us to get lost and die fighting, setting us against the Franks so that both of his enemies kill each other? He might be misdirecting us."
They reached the bottom floor, where nothing but supply barrels and crates were piled against one wall, and other detritus was stacked under the wooden stairs. A single trapdoor was set into the floor opposite the exit. A rooster crowed again.
Toki stared at him, a hard and fierce cast to his eyes. At first Gunnar considered Throst's words, but as Toki's silence swelled he began to understand. The realization staggered him.
"You don't want to look for the others?"
No answer, just a sharp and cold expression.
"They are your men. You must protect them. Toki, you can't be thinking of leaving them?"
"Fifteen of us are not going to sneak out of here in the morning light, and we won't find enough weapons for everyone before we're caught."
"They don't need weapons," Gunnar said, his voice rising from the careful tone of a moment earlier. "They need a chance to fight. Even if it's to die, they die as men."
"We've no time to waste. If we go now, we can hide and steal a chance to escape before Clovis locks down his gates. If we search, even if my men are under our feet, we will be caught."
"I want to go," Hakon whined. "I want to see Ma and Da again. Please, Gunnar."
All that he had imagined of how men conducted themselves in war vanished. The noble battle, the glorious sacrifice, the proud battle scars, all of it was horseshit. Sworn men were cast aside so that a privileged few might live. Though they were bound to serve their lord in any circumstance, their lord only served them when it was convenient. Such cowardice, and from his own uncle, a man who he had idealized all his life. He could not be part of it.