Fate's Needle (12 page)

Runa threw her sword and a fur into the boat and hauled up her ragged shift, exposing a flash of white skin as she dove into the boat alongside them. Curses gurgled in Magnus’s throat as Ulfrik sprang out of the boat to launch it from the shore. Ulfrik pressed all his weight against the boat, but it would not shift. Firmly dug into the sand, the boat resisted any movement.

“Runa, get out and push with me!”

She did not respond. Ulfrik screamed at her again until she, too, threw her light frame against the bulk of the vessel. Magnus’s hand fumbled along the sides. Ulfrik put his back to the side and dug his heels into the earth. Feeling some give, he shoved harder.

The boat broke free and caught the current, popping downstream and leaving Runa and Ulfrik to run alongside. Runa leaped first, and Ulfrik splashed alongside for several strides before jumping in after her. Despite Runa’s smile, Ulfrik’s brow was furrowed in dismay. Yngvar had not showed, and the boat was swiftly carrying them away from the farm. He considered calling for Yngvar, but quickly discarded the thought, afraid of reporting their escape to Grim and his men.

The sounds of battle had vanished, and in the distance a horn sounded—three short bursts signaling that the battle was over. The victor Ulfrik could not tell. The boat edged into a deeper channel of the stream and the strong current carried them on. Ulfrik listened, hoping to hear Yngvar’s voice. He could not be sure if the noises in the woods on either side were the calls of birds, or the laughter of the gods.

Thirteen

Sitting on the lake’s shore, Runa sighed and shivered in the sharp evening air. Her clothes were still wet, and although she had taken the only fur, she had let it drag in the water where it became soaked and useless for the oncoming night. The band of pale yellow at the horizon would soon sag behind the trees, leaving her in the dark, with only the wind and the vast purple expanse of lake for company.

She twisted around when she heard Magnus grunt and flip onto his back. He stared straight upward, arms and legs splayed as if he had fallen from the sky. Magnus had recovered his senses only after traveling too far downstream to do anything about it. He and Ulfrik had growled at each other like angry wolves, and although Magnus was the bigger man, Ulfrik was more ferocious. He had managed to wear Magnus down to silence. From that moment, Magnus had not spoken, and Ulfrik still angry, had stormed off to search for Yngvar. Runa sympathized with Magnus. She had not dared look at what Grim had done to his family, but she knew it was monstrous.

Runa drew her arms tighter around her body as the wind strengthened. She wondered if the lake would freeze; certainly, a frost would ice the shallow surrounding ponds by morning. A few more nights like this and they might all die. Ulfrik had lost his furs and supplies in the chaos of the fight. Magnus also carried nothing but what he wore and his sword. Yngvar might already be dead. Runa’s confidence in their survival sank even lower than the setting sun.

Pushing back the thought, she stood and walked to the trees. It would be warmer among them now that the sun had sunk. She passed Magnus, hoping he might speak or move, or otherwise indicate he wanted to live, but he remained sprawled on the beach, exactly where he had fallen when they made shore.

Ulfrik still had not returned. Runa supposed he had either found Yngvar or been captured in the process of searching. As much as she wanted to feel anxious, she could not. She set about raking together fallen leaves to make her bed and cover her against the cold.
Thinking too far ahead creates more worry
, she told herself. And she had completely overindulged in worry since her capture months ago. There were simply too many bad things awaiting her to consider them all. For all she knew, she could be a feast for wolves before sunrise. Satisfied with the leaf pile, Runa dropped into it and scooped some over her lap.

Despite her affected calmness, she shrieked when a heavy shadow drew up beside her. Runa put her hand to her chest and then forced a laugh. Magnus did not move, just stood as a hulking black shape. She wondered if he had lost his mind. Visions of herself being strangled by Magnus’s giant hands filled her head. Instead, he turned and crunched through the leaves to a tree opposite hers. Leaning against it, he slid down the trunk and slouched, as forlorn as a child’s abandoned doll.

“They cut off his hands so he couldn’t hold a sword.” Magnus let that statement linger.

Runa sucked in her breath, knowing that Grim and his men had denied Magnus’s son a warrior’s death. It was the death of an animal, not a man.

“What was the purpose?” Magnus asked, after a deep sigh. His voice rasped. “What kind of man does this? We were farmers. Just one family. Were we that threatening?”

Runa could not answer his questions, could not fathom the cruelty. There were no answers that could be given, no reasons for Grim to have tormented the boy even in the otherworld. Grim, she knew, acted out of hate and anger. He was the same kind of man who had come to her own homeland, murdering and destroying for no better reason than to take what he thought he deserved. He would plunder and destroy everything, anything he could.

“He would’ve fought bravely. Certainly the gods will not be blind to that.” Runa was surprised at her own words. Through the darkness, she sensed Magnus’s eyes upon her. Now that she had created an opening, she had to fill it with more words, words she feared she could not find.

“I know about loss,” she continued. “My parents were both murdered in their own hall. Only my brother still lives, somewhere out there.” She waved one hand, assuming she was pointing to the sea, but not knowing the true direction. “My sister died after our capture. The future I had expected will never come. My grand husband, whomever he would have been, will not have me now; none but a swineherd would take me for a wife.” Runa stopped, realizing she had said too much. Although she had thought the last of them spent, she found tears upon her cheeks and swiped them away with a small laugh. “I guess I’m not helping much.”

Magnus’s shadow had still not moved. He was inscrutable in the darkness. Runa assumed him to be either angered by a slave’s rambling or lost in his own thoughts. She crunched down into her pile of leaves, feeling stupid and ashamed. Six months or more had passed, yet she still had not accustomed herself to slavery.

“So why do you want your freedom?” Magnus asked. He sat motionless, but his tone was curious. Runa was surprised.

“You have no family to help you, it seems. So why do you care?”

“Because fate has left me but one strand to weave my hope upon,” she found herself replying.

Magnus merely laughed. She did not know if it was from derision or admiration.

“My brother was out with my father’s ship and crew when the Svear came,” she said. “If I can be freed, then I can find him. It is a small hope, but the only one I have.”

“You are a strange girl,” Magnus said with an empty chuckle. “Finding him will convince me fate has a special plan for you. The world is wide, and a homeless man with a ship and crew can become lost within it. I don’t think you will find him.”

“Now you are not helping,” Runa said, thinking she had overstepped her station. But Magnus remained as he had throughout their talk: a rough bulk of shadow seated opposite.

When he spoke, it was thoughtful and calm. “Do you really have such belief in fate?” “Yes.” She composed herself. “I believe my fate is not to die a slave. I have no reason to believe I can escape this, but I am unable to accept that I will not. My father raised me nobly, and I was to be a noble’s wife. As the Fates weave my strand, whatever is woven into it will always be part of my thread.”

This time Magnus laughed genuinely.

Runa raised her eyebrows. “You may laugh, but I believe in what I have said. I will not be a slave. Lord Ulfrik has promised me as much.”

The mention of Ulfrik’s name silenced Magnus’s laugh upon his lips. His last talk with Ulfrik had not been friendly.

He likely blames Ulfrik for his family’s death
, Runa thought. Whatever positive work she had begun with Magnus now crumbled. He folded his arms and shifted away until only the silhouette of his wide shoulders was visible.

Runa leaned back and shored up her leaf blanket. She closed her eyes, hoping sleep would find her soon and half listening for Ulfrik’s footfalls.

“He will give you freedom if it suits him,” Magnus said suddenly.

“He has sworn it!” Runa lurched up, feeling anger flush her face. “I got him his sword and he promised me freedom if I did. As soon as we are safely away, he will remove my collar.”

“I heard about that promise,” Magnus said, still hidden within the shadows. “But he’s not beholden to a promise made to a slave. So what if he breaks it?”

“He would not do that!” Runa yelled, forgetting that they were supposed to be hiding. “Ulfrik would never do that to me. He…”

Runa stopped short, surprised by what she was about to say. Did Ulfrik have feelings for her, or was she merely imagining it? This was a terrible time for her to consider that he might. Her feelings ended whatever it was she had intended to say. Instead, she huffed and fell back to her bed of leaves.

Magnus laughed, but suddenly clamped his laughter off into silence. Runa glimpsed motion to her left. The shadows of two men, intertwined, appeared. Before either Runa or Magnus could react, the men disengaged and one toppled to the ground between them.

Fourteen

A bonfire cracked in front of the hall as Grim approached, throwing orange light out into the moon-bright night. Men patrolled the perimeter in pairs, with one holding a spear and the other a torch. Grim took no chance on his safety.

Returning to the hall had not consoled him as he had hoped. In fact, he dreaded having to take up the high seat. Certainly, he deserved it—after all, he had murdered for it. But now he discovered all of the other nuisances that attended it. For one, the unexpected trouble of pacifying his own men. He had paid some in silver, some in gold, and had given them all the bloodshed a warrior could want, yet they grumbled and murmured the entire march back from Magnus’s farm.

Things had not gone as he had hoped. Grim knew Vandrad would be waiting in the hall, drinking his wine and eating his food, ready with a stupid smirk and an insult about the failure of Grim’s trap. But at least Ulfrik had showed, and Magnus had served as an example to the other men. They had all escaped him, true enough, yet how could he have anticipated a surprise attack from the stragglers of Auden’s forces? How they even found him was unfathomable. Yet, for this, Grim expected nothing less than derision from Vandrad. He could hardly wait for Vandrad to return to High King Harald.

Halting before the bonfire, Grim ordered the bodies of the fallen to be laid beside the hall. Truly, the trap had not gone as well as he had hoped. Fifteen men had followed him to the farm and only nine returned. Grim promised extra pay for their troubles, which seemed to settle most of the men, but now, as he pointed to the side of the hall, the few men he could see were glowering at him, clearly wanting the dead laid out in the hall before they were properly cremated. Tradition be damned! He needed no reminder of his failure laid out in his own hall. “The bodies will be fine there. I’ll have sentries posted, and the fire will keep animals away,” he told them. “Besides, they will be burned with honor soon.”

The men fidgeted and shook their heads, but laid the bodies out as directed. Grim paid no further attention. With a small bow, the guards opened the door to the hall and Grim strode from the bracing night into the bright, rosy light inside. To Grim, the hall seemed abnormally long and wide, seeming to stretch beyond its true size. Grim rubbed his eyes to set them right, yet the place still looked alien to him. The main hearth blazed, projecting a happy glow throughout the vast hall. Fresh rushes were on the floor, and a clean, smoky scent filled his nose.

Vandrad and his two bodyguards sat at the far end, at the high table. Grim felt the wound on his face pulse the moment his eyes met Vandrad’s across the smoky expanse. He detested the easy manner in which Vandrad read him. Pulling his shoulders back in defiance, he strode toward him.

“Lord Grim!” Vandrad hailed him loudly, as if he were standing atop a mountain and looking down on him. “I assume your prey has eluded you.”

Grim stopped before Vandrad and his men, but did not face them. His shoulders slumped as he brought his booted feet together. “They all showed, as I planned, but we were ambushed by stragglers of Auden’s men, whom you were responsible for gathering up. We lost Ulfrik after the fight.” Grim stared at the floor and put one hand to his bandaged face, feeling the throb of pain and anger as he clenched his jaw. He pushed the rage out of his voice, affecting the fierce calm of a seasoned ruler. “If I did not have to complete your work, I would have succeeded. But instead we were taken unaware and lost several men in the fight.”

At last he looked up at Vandrad, who sat between his bodyguards, his hand gripping a silver cup filled with mead. Ignoring Grim’s accusation, Vandrad took a sip from the cup in reply. Then he carefully placed it aside and fixed his neatly trimmed beard, offering nothing more than a smile as an excuse for his failure.

Grim leaped up to the high table, smacking away the cup and slamming his fist on the board. “You were supposed to kill anyone you found! But you left half an army for me to deal with! I should send your head back to Harald for your fucking stupidity!”

Grim had barely ended his torrent before Vandrad’s men were on their feet, hands to their swords. In response, several of Grim’s warriors stepped forward with their hands on their hilts. Vandrad remained seated, a twisted smile playing on his face. Holding Grim’s stare, he wiped the splash of mead from his face. “Everyone stand down. Lord Grim is merely expressing his frustration.”

In the face of Vandrad’s calmness, Grim bit back his fury. He pulled up from the table and looked around. Not all of his men had come to the ready, he realized angrily, and several held sheepishly to the shadows. With a grunt, he waved them off. Somehow, Vandrad was winning, but he couldn’t figure out why.