Fate's Needle (11 page)

Magnus grabbed Yngvar’s arm. “You don’t think they would leave without taking everything from here?”

“If I knew the place was in hand and thought my mortal enemies were prodding around my hall, I’d head straight back.”

Ulfrik felt his guts tighten at the thought of Yngvar’s words. Of course, the man was right. All around the cold ash attested to what Grim could do and the speed at which he could move. Though Magnus’s farm was to the east, a detour from Grim’s direct march, the mounted men Runa had observed could easily have reached it by now. Ulfrik did not doubt Grim would extract revenge for Magnus’s defection. And a son come of age would be no defense against warriors. Yet it would take them nearly two days to reach the farm on foot, and it would require them to pass directly through Grim’s hall.

“I must go,” Magnus said. It seemed he had already made the calculations himself. Staring at all of them, but appearing to see no one, he added, “If that dogshit has harmed my family, I’ll have his heart on a slab.”

Ulfrik gestured to Yngvar and Runa to help him gather the furs and spears, but Magnus was already stalking down the road. The cool breeze lifted ash into the air, bringing a bitter taste to the tongue. Ulfrik watched Magnus charge through eddies of debris. They would have to catch him up, tame him enough to maintain a degree of stealth. For now, they gathered what they could, with Ulfrik shouldering Magnus’ load. In the coming days, he feared he would have to shoulder more than just spare furs.

Twelve

Magnus quickly outstripped Ulfrik and the others. They caught up once, but he brushed aside their attempts to coax him off the path and into the cover of the woods. Realizing he would not yield, Ulfrik let Magnus choose the course. He crashed down the path as they followed in the trees, trying to flush out potential ambushers. When afternoon dimmed to evening, their steps turned to stumbles and Ulfrik called a halt, surrendering the notion of keeping up with Magnus. Runa collapsed immediately, and Yngvar looked not much better. Hot blisters stung Ulfrik’s feet, and he longed to stick them into a cool stream.

No one spoke as they made camp off the path, choosing to bed in the boles and black folds of trees. Had they been able to continue at their previous pace for another hour, they would have arrived at Grim’s hall. Ulfrik no longer thought of the hall as anything other than the den of his treacherous brother. Rather than ever own it, he planned to burn it with Grim inside.

They dared not strike a cooking fire, so ate hard cheese and nuts instead. Streams, ponds, and lakes cross-hatched the region and Yngvar located a nearby creek for drinking water. Had they a longboat, they could have made excellent time down one of the deeper streams.

Ulfrik suppressed useless hopes, thinking instead of the next step. If they saved Magnus’s family, there would be even greater responsibility for him. Where would they winter? He had lost count of the days, but the night air felt like early November. An untimely snowstorm would be punishing, and would most likely mean the death of them. He sat apart, on a patch of dry ground with his back to a tree, thinking. Yngvar was strangely quiet, sitting in the gathering night with his head bowed.
Probably wondering the same things
, Ulfrik thought. A hard wind had blown away the fair weather of the day. The forest whined and rustled with it, sighing in resignation at the onset of winter.

Runa had bundled herself in furs and curled into the knotted roots of a tree. Ulfrik watched sleep overtake her before the night hid the forest in shadows.
She must come from a hard family, to keep her wits and spirits with all she has experienced in recent days
, Ulfrik thought, watching her admiringly.

Eventually, Yngvar stood and threw a fur toward Ulfrik. He wrapped the fur around himself, planning to watch over the others for a while. But in moments he was buried in dreams deep as snow.

***

They were all awake before dawn and resumed their journey. Looping north around Grim’s hall to reach Magnus’s farm would only add more time, but Yngvar thought he knew the way and they assumed Magnus had not stopped for the night. By now, he must have reached his home. Fate’s work would have been complete.

Following Yngvar’s directions, they soon came to a deep stream close to the farm. As they made to ford it, Ulfrik had a horrible realization. Pulling up short, he turned to Yngvar. “This is a trap. Grim must know we would come to protect Magnus’s family. Yngvar, you said it yourself. Grim would head straight back if he knew we would be around.”

Considering that, Yngvar stood speechless and Runa put a small hand to her mouth.

“We are leaping right into his damn trap!” Ulfrik kicked the ground in frustration

“He’s probably got men encircling that farm,” Yngvar agreed, recovering from his surprise. “We converge on the house and he pulls the noose tight around us.”

Ulfrik ran through the scenario in his mind, concluding that Yngvar was right. But with knowledge comes choice—his father and uncle had often said so. Now he could choose to reverse the situation.

“We scout the area. If we find Grim’s men first, we can strike with surprise. All I need is to get close enough to my brother to finish what I failed to do last time.”

“Lord Ulfrik.” Runa hesitated. “What if they have more men? Won’t we all die there even if you can get to Grim?”

Yngvar snorted. “We’re all going to die somewhere, girl. Don’t follow us if you are afraid of dying in battle.” With a more serious tone, he told Ulfrik, “She is right about their numbers. I doubt Grim will give a fair fight. It’d be easier for him to pelt us with arrows and then toss our corpses in the lake. Let’s be sane. If you can isolate him and kill him first, his men might surrender, especially if any of Snorri’s number are with them.”

Ulfrik nodded his assent, and they doubled their marching speed but kept their swords loose in the sheaths.

Soon, Magnus’s farm was before them. In the thin morning light, it looked squat and quiet. There was no sign of damage, but neither was hearth smoke rising from the main house. No bleat of sheep nor crowing of roosters sounded. In fact, nothing moved but branches swaying in the breeze. Ulfrik glanced about, stringing his bow. Yngvar did the same. Behind them, Runa gripped her sheathed sword like a stick.

Ulfrik spotted the enemy first.

As expected, green-cloaked men with strung bows and slender throwing spears crouched in the shadows of the trees. Ulfrik counted three, but Yngvar alerted him to at least two others. The sentries were dividing their attention between the farm and the woods.

A cry came from the direction of the farmhouse. Ulfrik glimpsed Magnus not far away, bent over and digging in his field. His hulking body quivered with sobs. Ulfrik immediately understood what had happened, and his anger seethed. The sentries lazily turned back to watching the woods.

Yngvar signaled that they should split up and take their shots. Archery in the woods was difficult, but with a few good shots they could whittle down the opposition.

Wordlessly, Ulfrik guided Runa behind a tree, placing a finger over her lips. She nodded, her eyes wide, her face pale. He could spare no more care for her; she must watch out for herself. Yngvar shifted left, and Ulfrik, right. After finding a good spot, he knelt to steady himself, drawing an arrow to his chin. A stout, apple-cheeked man—one of the Vestfolder thugs—lined up for him.

A swoosh of air behind his head and the
thunk
of an arrow striking a tree caught him off guard. An unseen sentry had found him. He loosed his own arrow, but the shot was ruined. Dropping the bow, he sprang forward, anticipating the next arrow as it sliced past him.

A call went out, but Ulfrik still had not spotted the attacker. He was flat on his stomach for what felt like minutes, his mind a scramble of disconnected thoughts. Shouts echoed through the woods. Then the attacker revealed himself and pointed out Ulfrik’s location to the others. “One in the grass here! Get Magnus!”

Ulfrik raised his head to see the apple-cheeked man turn his bow to Magnus, who was weeping as he dug graves for his loved ones. Before the man had drawn back the bowstring, an arrow thumped deep into his exposed armpit and brilliant blood poured out as he screamed. Yngvar, still unseen by the enemy, had saved Magnus.

Confusion reigned on both sides as Ulfrik stood and fled, ducking a scatter of arrows. Falling back, he grabbed Runa, seizing her so hard she cried out. “Stay in the trees and go to the stream up ahead,” he said. “Do you know the way?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide and dark with fear. Ulfrik snorted in frustration, knowing well that she was a stranger here. He let her go, hoping she would follow.

The deep stream they had passed earlier ran north of the farm, and he was certain Magnus would have a fishing boat there. If he could get everyone to the boat, the current rushing down from the hills would ferry them to safety—to a nearby lake where local farmers supplemented their income with fishing. The difficulty was the open field between himself and Magnus, who continued to dig and sob, despite the shouts from the trees.

Yngvar patiently lined up another shot at the confused sentries. A second man fell, clutching his throat. But the shot also revealed their location, and one sentry alerted the others. Hasty shots were wasted among the trees and they dropped their bows to draw swords.

“Split up again,” Ulfrik said.

With a nod, Yngvar leapt away.

“Get to the stream north of here.” Ulfrik called after him, and then turned his attention to shouting challenges. Two men took after him while Yngvar drew away another group. Both Ulfrik and Yngvar had the advantage of knowing the terrain; the foreign warriors from Vestfold likely had no idea where Ulfrik was headed. Foreign they may have been, but the men were experienced. They did not lose sight of Ulfrik as he danced away, and soon seemed to realize the ploy. Soon, Ulfrik had lost sight of them, and he slowed to take stock.

A spear flew instantly out from an unexpected angle; the tip crunched against his mail, but although it hurt, Ulfrik was unharmed. Had it been better placed, it would have pierced his unarmored leg. The thought galvanized him into a run, but another man halted his escape by leaping at him, brandishing a blade.

Ulfrik tripped, guided by Fate, and spared death a second time. The man stumbled, then recovered. The fight lasted for a few brutal clashes of their weapons, and then the metallic clank and hiss died along with Ulfrik’s attacker. How he made the strike true, Ulfrik did not know. But his assailant now lay at his feet with both hands pressed to the slash that bled his throat dry.

Runa appeared behind him, clutching his sword, still in the sheath. Her lips quavered, as if she might speak or cry. Ulfrik, though, had no time to listen. Shouts rang through the woods, and a horn sounded from the opposite side of the farmhouse. Figures wove between the trees, and where the yellow sun struck them, metal flashed. Some collided—swords raised to meet axes—and he realized some other force was attacking Grim’s men.

Ulfrik had no time to count his fortune, only time to seize the advantage it afforded him. Grabbing Runa’s arm, he yanked her to a run, heading for Magnus. The burly man, still racked by convulsive sobs and oblivious to the mayhem encircling his farm, was shoveling the last dirt over the grave he had made for his family. Ulfrik’s sudden appearance did nothing to rouse him from his grief.

“We must get away, Magnus,” he said, dropping Runa’s arm to put a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. His gaze did not follow Magnus’s down to the occupants of the grave; he did not want to look upon any more death or loss. “We’re in danger here,” he continued. “The farm is surrounded.”

Magnus stared blankly at Ulfrik, and the emptiness of his expression amid the unfurling chaos and violence stole Ulfrik’s words. Over Magnus’s shoulder, he saw flitting tableaus of men fighting between the trees. Once all combatants had found each other, the fight would resolve quickly, and any advantage Ulfrik had would die with the last warrior. Magnus was his responsibility. He had to get him safely away, but grief had stolen the man’s reason and his sense of urgency. Then it occurred to him how to jolt Magnus into action.

“Grim is this way.” He pointed north, toward the stream. “Yngvar spotted him moving north. We can catch him if we hurry.”

“I’ll rip out his guts!” Fury reddened Magnus’s face, and he threw down his shovel and wrenched his sword from its scabbard. “I’ll dance in his blood. I swear it!”

Ulfrik grabbed Runa. Her face was etched with disgust, but she gave no voice to it and let Ulfrik drag her to action. They fled from the clangor of battle just as another horn sounded. Before them, a stretch of cleared land led to woods that would shelter them from arrow fire. Magnus outpaced them, bellowing, his sword winking the sun back at them as he ran.

Ulfrik prayed Yngvar was making his way north as well. He had lost him in the confusion of battle. Every scream worried him that Yngvar’s blood might be seeping into the grass behind them. Yet he had the feeling Yngvar would not die easily; like a fox he would slip any trap set for him.

Upon bounding into the tree line, tugging Runa along behind him, Ulfrik adjusted his direction and headed for the open land to his right. The slope of the land showed him where the water would run, and he urged Magnus in that direction. “This way, I think I see him making for your boat!”

Magnus howled and crashed onward, taking them directly to his fishing boat, which was beached in the white sunlight ahead of them. Magnus slid to a halt. Looking about for his enemy, his sword held before him, he ran to the small boat and peered in. Although the boat was gnarled and scoured, Ulfrik judged it large enough to bear them down the current to the lake. As Magnus leaned into it, cursing Grim to the gods, Ulfrik let go of Runa and took his chance.

Magnus did not react to Ulfrik’s thudding footfalls. Reversing his sword, so the pommel impacted squarely into the back furrow of Magnus’s neck, Ulfrik threw all his weight into the strike. A smaller man’s neck might have snapped with the force, but Magnus simply fell forward into the boat with little more than a grunt. Ulfrik tumbled over the side with him, landing atop Magnus and pinning him to the floor between the benches. Although dazed, Ulfrik grinned at the quick wit of his work.