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Runa's smile was faint. "A proud achievement worth nothing if our children are headless for it. You took your fucking leisure, didn't you?"

The flare of anger in her eyes riled him, but the sudden show of her old fury was welcomed. At least he understood this woman. "Leisure? Do you know what it's like to sneak an army overland and then station them in hiding? There's more than men, but supplies also. I had to dig up the silver, and keep that secret lest bandits try for it. Gods, woman, it's just me, Einar, and a few others doing all of this. We made the best time we could."

"Well, take the silver forward to Clovis. Let's see how well he keeps his word." The fire went out and Runa stepped back into her reserved stance.

Ulfrik arrayed his men and the cart of silver in the center of the field and flew his standard to alert Clovis. He gathered enough men with him to discourage Frankish aggression. The remainder of his force shaped into fighting blocks in front of the camp. Runa accompanied him, and at last Halla dared to insert herself. Aren was left in Konal's care, for his wounds still prevented him from doing much more than holding a child's hand. Ulfrik sounded a horn and waited to the edge of his patience for a sign of activity. At last, a group of mounted men led a column of footmen out of the wooden gates.

"That took long enough," Einar muttered, standing beside Ulfrik beneath the banner.

"It's like they weren't expecting us," Ulfrik said. "Seems like they're taking every man out to visit us. I'm flattered."

He was nothing but impatient and irritated. As the column snaked across the fields of brown grass, disappearing into dips and rising again into sight, he strained to see if any of his own accompanied the Franks. He saw no familiar faces but for Clovis and his handless son. The sight of the boy sent a cold trickle down his back.

Clovis dismounted and swaggered forward, his eyes alighting on the wagon behind Ulfrik. Ten men accompanied him, and Ulfrik gathered ten of his own to meet them.

"You're late," Ulfrik said, folding his arms and squaring his shoulders. His eyes flicked over the Franks, and he noticed Theodoric was missing from their company. "I expected you at dawn."

"Dawn," Clovis repeated the word, sharing a glance with his son and a few others. "We were delayed."

"And I thought you were drooling for the ransom like the dog you are. What were you doing all morning? Fucking your horses?"

"More of that northern bravado." Ulfrik didn't understand the Frankish word, but took it for the intended insult. "Still you dragged your cart through the mud to deliver tribute."

"Ransom," Ulfrik corrected. "The silver is all there. Cost me dear. Now my sons had better be safe."

Clovis's smile brightened the morning shadows crowding his face. "Your sons are quite active. In fact, they were the cause of the delay. Your dear friend Throst Shield-Biter let them out of their cells and provided weapons."

"What? Throst is no friend to me or mine."

"In the end he hated me more than you. Your sons never had a chance, and your brother Toki is old and slow. Completely out of fighting condition. We herded them back into their cells, but they served Throst's purposes well enough."

"And they're unharmed?" Ulfrik squinted at Clovis, and his smile twisted into a sneer.

"Your eldest son enjoyed a bit of luck. He cut out Theodoric's bowels before we subdued him. Quite a mess of guts to clean up."

Pride and dread clashed within Ulfrik, and he dared not look away from Clovis. Killing the man who had captured him was justice, but he had still been overcome.

"With Theodoric dead, I am in command of all his forces." Clovis swept a hand across the men behind him. "At least until word from Paris arrives. Theodoric's brother may assume ultimate control, but I suppose you don't care about that."

"Make your point, or I'll rip out your tongue and spare the world you blather."

"I've claimed Theodoric's hostages as my own. There were a few disputes over their ownership, but I am persuasive. Your son has committed a crime, directly against our beloved King Odo."

"You dare not harm my son," Ulfrik growled.

"And by holy law, it is said that a man must be punished in accordance with his crime."

"I'll dance in your guts." Ulfrik's hand went to his sword, but scores of Franks reached for theirs and gave him pause.

"I've heard that threat quite recently. In fact, as I administered your son's punishment."

He raised his hand and one of his men produced a box. Ulfrik felt himself dizzy, already knowing its contents. He did not want to look as the dark wood cover was lifted back to reveal the gray and bloody mass inside.

"His sword hand, Ulfrik. Just like the one you took from my son. But unlike you, I did it right. I had the wound cauterized and a salve applied. The cut was clean, and he will survive. His crime has been punished. Some would say too lightly."

Ulfrik did not realize he had lunged forward until the arms restraining him yanked back. Men on both sides of the field reached for their weapons and prepared to fight. Einar was hissing in his ear. "Get a hold of yourself. We're not ready for battle. Don't set us on that path."

Clovis laughed, dumping the hand out of the box. It flopped onto the dead grass with a thump. No body part had ever looked so foreign, so cruelly disgusting as that hand. He wished it had been his own. He would have traded both of his hands and his feet to replace Gunnar's loss. Einar finally contained Ulfrik's struggles, and slowly released him. Another man wisely threw his cloak over the dismembered hand.

"Back away from the cart of silver," Clovis barked. "We will need a day to reconcile it, and then we will come for Ravndal. Until that time, your sons and the others remain my prisoners. Any violence from you, and they will all die. Would you rather that be your son's head beneath the cloak?"

"When this is over, I will come for you," Ulfrik said, stabbing his finger at him. "You will eat both of your hands before I cut out your black heart. I promise."

"Be ready to turn over Ravndal tomorrow," he said with no indication he had heard Ulfrik's threat. "I will release all the hostages once my men are inside and yours are marching away."

Ulfrik pointed at Clovis's son, a dark shadow behind his father. "And you, so sad you lost your cock-fondling hand. No one will find all the pieces when I'm done carving you up. You're a corpse I should've made last summer and I won't repeat that mistake."

Einar pulled Ulfrik away, and the Franks stood in confused silence, as if unsure they had won a victory or sealed their defeat.

Chapter 53

The gates of Ravndal all stood open and every resident from hirdmen to craftsmen, women and children to the elderly, milled outside the walls. Carts lined up in a rough column, piled with a lifetime of valuables. Herds of livestock were prodded into groups, dogs barking at stray sheep. The afternoon sun floated between dark clouds that shrouded the scene in periodic darkness. Despite the massive gathering, they made little noise and only muted conversation. Pensive faces were not keen to meet another's gaze, and the ground received careful scrutiny from the folk of Ravndal.

Ulfrik spoke as little as necessary since his meeting with Clovis. Everyone understood their part; all were ready to spring a trap that would destroy their hated enemies. His words were best left in his head, for he only had loathing and anger to offer. He blamed himself for Gunnar's fate. He had placed him in harm's way, then failed to save him in time. The sight of that bloodless hand, frozen into a fist when it had been hacked from Gunnar's limb, was burnt into his memory. He would never forget, nor forgive himself.

Runa's reaction had been mute shock, but the tears followed in the deep night when she curled into herself while lying beside Ulfrik. She had recoiled from his touch as if he were an open flame. He could not fault her, and half expected her to demand a divorce once all was finished. Where he had excelled as a warrior, he failed as a husband and father. She had at least the clarity to burn Gunnar's hand, placing a gold coin into the palm before dropping it into the flame. Ulfrik did not understand the tradition, but it seemed the right thing to do, and Runa had offered no explanation. Like him, she said nothing beyond the barest need.