Chapter 56
Runa squealed when instead of the expected sword thrust into her heart, an iron-gripped hand hauled her off the ground. She opened her eye, her left one watery and fuzzy from where Clovis had struck her. She still felt the sword jabbing at her kidney as Clovis guided her before him.
"You are more useful alive for now. This battle is lost and I need a hostage," he said. "But I swear before God that my hounds will eat your heart one day."
He shoved her toward the hall. All around lay the detritus of a sharp and awful battle: broken swords and spent arrows, puddles of blood covered with shattered shields. Bodies both Norse and Frankish sprawled in the shadows and corners where desperate combats had been waged and lost. Weapons still clanged in the distance, but the fight seemed to have burnt out like a flash fire. Through her gauzy vision, she saw a giant man hulking at the entrance to the hall. A wolfskin flowed over his shoulders, bulking him out like a monster and making the thick sword in his hand seem no more than a splinter. It was Gunther One-Eye.
"Do you know who this is?" Clovis demanded of Gunther, jabbing her with his sword for emphasis. Runa jerked to the side with a yelp, but he reined her in.
"Runa the Bloody," Gunther answered, his voice low and careful. He raised his sword at Clovis. "And you best let her go if you expect any mercy."
"Mercy! From you lying scum? My trust died today with all my good men. I pray God has seen fit to grant me better luck outside of these walls."
Gunther shrugged and lowered his sword. "Your God does not see you today. Too many clouds in the sky."
Runa heard rough voices laughing to the sides and behind. Her face throbbed and her vision had narrowed from the swelling on her left cheek. Gunther looked past her and smiled.
"Clovis! Let go of my wife."
She nearly collapsed at the sound of Ulfrik's voice. She wanted to cry, scream, or jump. Instead, the sword at her side dug deeper as Clovis whirled around with her shielding him.
Ulfrik stood carrying a blood-smeared shield and glittering sword in hand. The faceguard of his helmet concealed his eyes, but the shock in his expression was plain. She wondered how bad the injury to her face had been. Would she be disfigured like Konal? The odd thought made her cringe with shame, but it had come unbidden to her mind. All that mattered was the safety of her children, and no price was too heavy for it.
"What have you done to her?"
"Less than what she deserved. She killed my son."
"That was a favor, and you know it."
Clovis did not answer, but she felt his hand tighten on her arm. He twisted the point of his sword over her kidney but she resolved to give no sign of pain.
"So you have defeated me today," Clovis said, his voice affecting a jaunty tone as if shattering his army had been no more a setback than losing a favorite pair of boots. "Bravo to you, Ulfrik. You baited your trap well, but left me a way out with your beautiful wife. You can have her back once I am safely away."
"No more hostages. I tire of this game. Release my wife. You and I will fight and settle like men."
Clovis laughed loud in Runa's ear, though she felt the tremble in his grip. She began to plot escape, realizing Ulfrik must be waiting for her to give him an opening. The sword at her side dug deeper and Clovis pulled her closer, but it was an awkward position and the length of the blade could be used against him. She only had to deflect it and stay close to him where he could not use a sword. The others would overpower him.
"Fight you? We have fought enough, and while I hold your wife, there is no need for it."
"This is my last offer. A fair fight to the death. I'll get you a shield."
"Piss on your shield! I've seen all your tricks and I'm through with them. Let me go then I'll set your wife free. "
Ulfrik frowned, then carefully placed his sword and shield next to his feet. He unhooked a throwing ax at his hip. "You've not seen this trick."
The plan flashed through Runa's mind. She yanked violently back and to the side. The blade point dragged across her flesh like a hot brand.
Ulfrik lined up his throw as if he had all day to make it. She closed her eyes but heard Clovis's intake of breath, then felt him jerk her back toward his sword.
She opened her eyes.
The ax flew.
A swoosh of air passed her head and a wet crack followed. Hot blood splattered the side of her face, and Clovis stumbled back. She did not turn around, but pushed forward from his dead grasp, content to hear him thud to the dirt. She rushed into Ulfrik's arms.
"No more hostages," he said as he pulled her close. "And no more tricks. The Franks are defeated. Our family will be together again, here in our home."
A wry comment formed then died in her throat. Was the madness finally over? No more fear and worry, no more dreams of dead children. She wanted to laugh but instead buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.
Chapter 57
Throst turned Astra's comb over in his hand. The day was late, the wind cold, and the lone oak tree on the hill had shed its last leaf. It was the dawn of winter and he had to secure a haven now that Ulfrik had defeated the Franks. What a lucky bastard, he thought and shoved the comb back into his pack. From the top of this hill he could see Ravndal's smudgy outline. He had been staring at it for days, telling Olaf and Dan that he was hunting without much luck. Only his mother knew the lie, and she had enough sense not to try him. His reasons for staring at Ravndal were unclear even to himself. It squatted atop its perch, hearths chugging smoke into the sky, its black walls defying all enemies. He imagined it collapsing into fire, but it never did. It endured.
The comb had been a promise of a meeting. Someone had left it after he had gone the prior day, carefully laid out on a rock. To deepen his interest, a small wedge of silver rested atop it. Another promise. Whereas Olaf would sensibly tell him silver can't fill a belly, wealth of any sort would see him a long way toward finding passage to safety away from here. So he waited all afternoon, circling the area and biding his time until boredom threatened to overwhelm him.
Then he spotted the figure in the distance. A woman shrouded in a heavy green cloak. She picked her way carefully, but with an artlessness that made Throst wonder how she navigated the unfamiliar paths. He thought of going downhill to spare the woman, but reconsidered. He did not know her or her purpose, and maybe this was all part of Ulfrik's final trick. So he watched the woman stumble up the hill.
He leaned against the tree, feigning nonchalance but keeping a hand on the hilt of his sword. He had filched it from the battlefield outside Ravndal, along with mail coats, helmets, bows, and Frankish surcoats. Those would be handy for crossing Frankish territory. They had even found a horse that had escaped the battle.
"Throst," she said, panting from her effort. "You found the comb, I see. It has been no easy thing to meet you here, but I am glad Fate has put us together at last."
"What's your game, woman? You're too old to warm my bed, if you came all this way for it."
The woman's expression was lost in the shadow of the cowl, but she drew up straighter, a pale white hand touching her chest. He noted the clean nails, fine-boned fingers, and smooth skin. Blue veins stood out, but otherwise these were the hands of a woman who made others work for her. A wooden cross of the Christians hung from a plain cord around her neck.
"I hope I haven't risked so much for a fool. Astra had nothing but praise for you."
"For all a dead girl's praise means to me. Thanks for her comb and the bit of silver, got me interested in meeting you. Want to tell me who you are?"