"I am in charge. We look for the men." Gunnar stood straighter, and glared at Toki. He shot back his own withering gaze.
"Gods, I have a family to get back to," Toki said. "Think of your brother."
"Think of the men you swore to protect. Think of the oath you gave my father."
Toki's face turned grape-dark and his nostrils flared. Gunnar did not back down, even as Toki's hands flexed as if to strike him. At last, he growled in a low voice, "I am thinking of the oath I gave your father. Now, we waste time. Come with me or I will drag you out by the three whiskers on your chin."
Blinking in shock, Gunnar watched Toki gather Hakon to his side and pull open the door to the outside. He did not know what to do. The trapdoor pressed on the back of his head, as if he could hear the voices of men imprisoned beyond it. Yet there were not such voices, and Toki was already pulling Hakon out the door into the thin light of morning. He had to make a choice.
He followed. His stomach sank, his heart cracked, and he meekly obeyed his uncle. He was right about the odds of escape; fewer people stood a far better chance. There was no more true choice in this than there had been in killing guards while they slept. This was truly war, all shit through and through.
Fresh, bracing morning air was a welcomed taste after the stink of the tower. Toki and Hakon were already sprinting for nearby buildings where the darkness was deepest. A white stain in the clear skies warned of daylight. They had to gain the gates before anyone discovered their absence and then await an opportunity to slip away. It was desperate and inarticulate, but was the only plan Gunnar could keep in his head.
The plan shattered with a shout.
Emerging from the darkness between the buildings, directly in their path, appeared a group of Franks.
The world spun into icy confusion, slow and unreal, replete with terror and fear. There were six men, four of them armored guards and two in bright clothing. Toki and Hakon seemed to stand motionless before them, and the Franks mirrored their reaction. But the shout came again, from high in the tower they had left, a weary voice called out in Frankish, "Alarm!"
Toki's sword flashed and the lead guard collapsed with his hand at his neck and blood pouring across his chest. The two unarmored men drew long knives that caught the yellow light of the rising sun. Gunnar recognized them now as Clovis and Theodoric.
He raced to join Toki's side, the three other guards lowering spears and fanning out around them. Clovis had backed away, shouting to his men, "Take them in the legs. I want them alive."
"Kill the bastards," countered Theodoric, who stepped forward with his knife raised at Hakon. "They're worth nothing."
The conflicting orders created hesitation and an opening for Gunnar. He leapt into it with a roar. Theodoric, his regal face now a disfigured mass of angry wrinkles and bared teeth, lunged at Hakon who waved his knife like a child. Gunnar intercepted the strike with his sword, knocking the knife up and then turning the stroke down at Theodoric's trunk.
Striking true, without anything more than fine cloth for protection, Gunnar's blade sliced open Theodoric's belly. It was a keen edge on a well-crafted weapon, and Theodoric's stomach opened and expelled his guts like a shattered barrel of eels. The stink of entrails filled Gunnar's nose and Theodoric crumpled with nothing but a whimper. The amazing strike left Gunnar flat-footed, and he only had time to hear Hakon scream when a spear swept him off his feet.
The sky above was a cheerful blue, a stark contrast to the roiling madness unfolding beneath it. He tried to snap up, heard Hakon screech again, then the spear shaft slammed into his face. The world swam, and he was struck again, hard across the crown of his head. Another strike pummeled him flat, and more blows rained down on him until he could only ball up under the pain. His vision was a scrambled mess of blurry motion and his ears rang with a high-pitched wail. He thought he saw Toki stagger and fall.
Then pain bloomed over his head, his eyes filled with white, then nothing more than cold blackness.
Chapter 51
Gunnar awakened to darkness and the smell of burning charcoal. Cold wetness crawled down his back and flowed down his chest. Raising his head, he realized he had been doused with water, only to have another bucket sloshed into his face.
"Awake now? It's no good if you're asleep for this."
Gunnar shook the water out of his hair, and realized his hands were trussed in front of him as he attempted to wipe his face. He blew the sour water out of his mouth, and blinked open his eyes. Everything was a blur and his ears still rang with a distant squeal. A shape stood before him, a man with hands on his hips. He was inside a stone room, gloom pervaded everything and was relieved only by the orange glow of a brazier filled with hot embers. Another fuzzy shape turned a metal rod in it, holding it with a thick leather glove.
"Where is my brother?" Gunnar asked, his voice cracking and weak.
"Alive, for now," the man standing before him answered. Gunnar squinted at him, and recognized Clovis. "We'll see if your father pays ransom today. Maybe little Hakon will remain alive after all."
"He's just a boy. Don't hurt him." Gunnar could think of nothing better to say. His plea drew derisive laughter from Clovis and a few others who remained out of sight. Gunnar sat up straighter, but realized he had been tied to a wooden support post.
"A noble brother to the end," Clovis said. "I would worry less for him right now. Do you know what you did?"
"I killed that turd who captured me, just like I promised I would."
"You did, and I thank you for it. For now at least, I will command his men and you have become my hostage." He stepped closer into Gunnar's fuzzy vision, then knelt down to bring his face level to Gunnar sitting on the floor. "I say God is good to me, little man. He has answered my prayers at last."
The crazed gleam in Clovis's eyes turned Gunnar's stomach to icy water. His breath was hot and foul upon his face, he leaned in so close. Gunnar tugged on his bindings, but had no slack. A wicked grin crawled across Clovis's features, and filled Gunnar with revulsion. With nothing left, he scrapped together what spit remained in his cotton-dry mouth and shot it into Clovis's face.
He recoiled in disgust, wiping the spit from himself, then stood. "I'm going to break that spirit of yours. You'll regret that flash of defiance."
"I regret nothing," Gunnar said, his heart beating so fast he hardly had breath to speak. "You are a coward and a fool. My father will have your head before the day is done."
"Strong words, but your father has disappeared. Did you not know?" Clovis turned his back to accept something from another man standing out of the edge of light. "Did Throst not tell this when he let you out? Don't look surprised. Toki explained how you escaped. I should've expected treachery from one of your kind."
He whirled, but faced another to his left. "It was your stupid idea to take him into service. If I had not listened to you, none of this would've happened."
Gunnar realized Clovis's son was present. His father's ire pushed his head down between his shoulders, and his craven posture disgusted Gunnar. Such a weak-willed man had no use to anyone. The lost of his sword hand was of little consequence to one so timid.
The thought froze him. An anvil was laid out beside the brazier. Clovis now bore a large ax in his hand. Gunnar felt his right hand tingle in dread.
As if reading his thoughts, two men grabbed both of his arms while another began to unbind him. He began to struggle, but was weak and dizzy. The dread welled up in him, mixing with the nausea caused from the blows to his head. Watery vomit ejected onto the stone floor with a splash. The men holding him cursed but Clovis laughed.