Fate's Needle (20 page)

No one understood this more than Vandrad. He summoned a man from his ranks who claimed the ability to ward off evil magic. Twisted in old age and bone thin, the man, Lini, was of Vandrad’s personal household.

“Sever the witch’s head before burning the body with ash wood until there is nothing but soot,” he instructed Grim, pointing at Aud’s corpse. “Bring me her hand and something of your brother’s. I’ll make a charm against the curse. Then bury her ashes in an open field and pile it with twenty stones to keep her spirit in the grave.”

Grim hung on Lini’s words, nodding incessantly as he spoke. The hall was cleared of everyone but Vandrad and his two bodyguards, who sat at the benches, a few feet from where Aud’s corpse lay covered in a gray sheet.

“Why would you do this, Grim?” Vandrad had asked the question at least seven times. Grim had stopped answering him. “The men are ready to revolt, even my own. Of all the stupid things. Bah, there’s nothing to do but to repair the damage.”

Grim felt as it was his father, Orm, berating him again, but he dared not speak up. Vandrad had every excuse to kill him. If it were not for his usefulness as a puppet jarl of Grenner, Grim expected Vandrad would have done so already.
Maybe I killed he wrong person
, he thought as he watched Vandrad thinking.

“Lord Grim must show his men that he is not affected by the curse, and that the gods favor him.” Lini mopped his sweat-beaded forehead with a cloth, even though cold night air invaded the hall through unclosed windows.

Grim wondered if Lini feared him, or feared the spirit of the dead witch. It made him shudder to think Aud’s ghost might be hovering over him. His hands closed around his amulet of Thor’s Hammer. “How can I do that?”

“Killing your brother would be the best,” Lini offered. “But if you lie with a woman, it will prove the curse is untrue. When I make my amulet, it should allow you to take a woman to your bed.”

“We need more than that,” Vandrad said, throwing his hands into the air. “That could all be faked. You must make things right with the gods. The men need to see you do it. Sacrifice your slaves and a tenth of your wealth to the gods. Nothing is more powerful than human sacrifice and gold.”

“A tenth of my wealth,” Grim repeated, not thinking at all about the slaves. “Why so much?”

“Because the men need to see you do it!” Vandrad sprang up from the table. “You made this mess, and you will fix it. King Harald’s orders are that I keep you here as jarl as long as I see fit. And I’d rather you rule this dung heap so I can leave and rejoin my king. But test me once more, and I will put another in your place. Understood?”

Grim let go of his amulet, and rose to face Vandrad. He tried to prevent his lips from snarling, but the menace in his reply was clear. “I understand, Vandrad. I’ve earned my title, and I won’t let it go so easily.”

Vandrad smiled. “Then I’ll leave you with Lini. I expect you to do as he instructs.”

Vandrad’s gaze swept across Lini and Grim to Aud’s corpse. He frowned and spat at the body, a ward against evil. Then he spun around and left the hall.

***

Grim owned only four slaves, and at dawn the next day he hanged them all, getting them drunk on ale before taking them to their deaths. Even in their condition, they panicked, screamed and struggled when they saw the noose. Grim’s favorite slave girl vomited on him when he hauled her up, so he let her dangle and kick. But he pulled the legs of the other three to hasten their end. Grim implored Odin to see the sacrifices given in his name, and the men in attendance, including Vandrad, nodded approvingly at his prayers.

When it was finished, the shadow of a bird, gliding high in the flat winter sky, passed over them. All agreed it was a positive omen, and that Odin had seen the work Grim had done. As they turned to leave, the slaves’ corpses swayed on ropes behind them; they would remain there until they rotted.

Sacrificing his gold to Frigg took place in the evening, and was much harder. Grim invited Vandrad and only his closest men, not wanting lesser men to estimate his wealth, lest they demand more of it. His father’s treasures were kept in a secret compartment in his room at the hall. Grim spent hours selecting the pieces for sacrifice. He pulled out a silver chain and dropped it into the bag, only to replace it with a gold ring. Moments later, the gold ring would be replaced by another trinket. The treasure was beautiful; he cringed to part with any of it, but he had to buy Frigg’s favor. Eventually, he filled the leather bag with gold and silver tribute.

At the lake, Grim stood on a rocky outcrop surrounded by hirdmen holding torches. Vandrad carried the treasure and handed it to Grim when his prayers to Frigg were completed. The weighty bag of precious metals swayed in Grim’s grasp. He hesitated. One tenth of his wealth was about to be dragged to the bottom of the lake by the spirits within and whisked away to Asgard. After another moment’s hesitation, he spun the bag out over the lake. A dull plop reported that the sacrifice was made. Grim waited for some sign, but received none. He hoped his reluctance had not undermined his efforts. But Vandrad and his hirdmen seemed pleased.

“Well done, Grim.” Vandrad clapped him on the shoulder. “The gods will favor you now. I am sure.”

Grim had a feast prepared to celebrate, but with the slaves gone, his hirdmen’s women had to cook. If it displeased anyone, he did not notice. With his hall bright again and filled with boasting, laughing men, Grim guzzled mead happily. The aroma of roasting meat and fish hid the stench of death and sulfur Aud had left behind. By the end of night, warm with drink and food, even Grim had forgotten what everyone was celebrating. And when the fires died and the men returned to their beds, Grim returned to his and slept a drunken, dreamless sleep.

***

You are absolutely certain of this? You followed their tracks and saw Ulfrik yourself? You swear to this?” Through a bitter wind, Grim strode to the edge of a clearing before the woods. Above him, blue and gray clouds promised a storm. He was swathed in heavy furs, so the cold did not touch him; in fact, his brow was damp with sweat. What had begun as a walk to clear away the fog of feasting had become something far more exciting. The scout he had sent to Magnus’s farm had returned.

“I swear it, Lord Grim.” The man was breathing hard.

“This is incredible,” Grim said, as he turned and bounded over the muddy ground toward the hall. “They left a path to follow—how stupid!”

Grim laughed all the way back to the hall. It was midday, and Vandrad would either be there eating with his hirdmen or with the levies camped nearby. He planned to get Vandrad and his men onto Ulfrik’s trail immediately, to put those idle, wealth-sucking pigs to work on something other than his nerves. He crashed into the hall, throwing wide the doors, not seeing anything as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The tracker plodded in behind, panting.

“I have found Ulfrik,” he shouted to the few shapes he saw in the murk. The shutters were closed against the wind and only dull hearth light illuminated the forms of Vandrad and his hirdmen at the high table. Grim stomped across to them. “Not only has he been found, but he has been injured. The gods are truly with me now!”

He halted before Vandrad, looking up at his own high table as if he were a guest. Vandrad sat with three of his closest hirdmen—strong, vigorous men clad in winter clothing lined with fox fur. Gold glinted on Vandrad’s hand when he raised it to stroke his beard. “The gods certainly do seem more inclined to you now. But tell me the story. Is this the man who found him?” He beckoned to the tracker. “Come forward, man. Tell me your name and your tale.”

Grim’s brow furrowed. It was
his
hall and
his
man, but Vandrad was sitting above him, giving orders. For once, Grim did not complain, wanting to get the tracker’s story out so they could get on with hunting Ulfrik. “Go on. Tell them what you told me.”

The tracker came forward, removing a fur cap and unslinging his pack of traveling gear. “My name is Orlyg, Jarl Vandrad.”

Grim noted the man’s name, committing it to memory, since this man had done some good. Despite having lived in Grenner all his life, Grim knew few of his men’s names. Most of his few friends were now gone, dead, or no longer talking to him. The few he had trusted proved useless, like Snorri and Konrad.

So Grim listened as Orlyg described finding clear tracks in the snow that led southwest. Ulfrik had made no effort to conceal his passing, leaving tracks, campfires, and other debris.

“I knew they were moving with purpose,” Orlyg said. “I could see where they noted the landmarks and I guessed they were making for the border of Jarl Frodi’s territory.”

Vandrad leaned forward at that. “And was that where they went?”

“Yes,” Orlyg removed his bowstave and leaned on it as he continued. “I followed for a few days, to be certain of their destination. They were not prepared for winter travel and I thought they would die before crossing Frodi’s border.”

He went on to describe the wolf attacks and how Ulfrik’s leg was torn. Grim chortled again at the news, but Vandrad waved him to silence. Orlyg told them about Frodi’s scouts disarming them, although he was too far away to hear what was said. When asked how he avoided the wolves, Orlyg smiled. “The forest spirits have always favored me. It is why I am a tracker and hunter, Jarl Vandrad. But I was far enough behind Ulfrik’s group to avoid the wolf pack, and I stayed up in the trees.”

Grim stepped in front of Orlyg to speak, and the tracker stepped back in surprise.

“So now we take your levies and march to Frodi’s hall. Ulfrik will not be ready for us, and he is weakened.”

Vandrad’s nose wrinkled with distaste, as if Grim had just shit his pants in the hall. The other hirdmen seemed equally repulsed. Grim wheeled around, expecting to see someone behind him, but found only a few women fussing by the hearth. Ignoring Grim, Vandrad spoke past him to Orlyg. “You’ve done a fine job of tracking. It is brave work to be the eyes of your masters in places where they cannot go. Take this for your service.” He twisted a silver band off his finger and tossed it down to Orlyg.

Grim watched in annoyance.
Does such a simple task as following a straight track in the snow require a reward?

Orlyg bowed low enough to make Grim hope he might hit his head on the corner of the high table. After hearty thanks to Vandrad, he nodded curtly to Grim as he shouldered his bag and left. Silence followed his exit.

Grim turned back to Vandrad. “As I said, Ulfrik is at his weakest now. So we strike…”

“We do nothing of the sort, Grim.” Vandrad and his hirdmen looked down on him, and shadows etched furrows in their hard faces as they refused Grim’s commands in his own hall.

“Your adventure with Ulfrik is over. He is a broken, homeless man. He has fled and is no longer a threat. It’s likely Frodi will enslave him and sell him back to you.”

Grim stood dumbfounded, as if someone had pulled away his cup just as he was about to tip it to his mouth. His stomach burned, his face grew taut, and a scowl pulled at the still-healing wound on his cheek. “I do not need your say, Vandrad. Ulfrik is my sworn enemy. Your man Lini even said that killing Ulfrik would secure the men’s loyalty. Now is the chance to catch him before he disappears forever.”

“Well, start chasing him.” Vandrad waved his hand in the air dismissively, and then leaned back and laughed with this hirdmen. “He’s out there somewhere. I’m sure you can march all around the world looking for him. Good luck paying for
that
journey.”

They laughed again, and continued laughing as Grim shouted back at them, “There’s no search! Frodi has him. We will march in and take him, or Frodi will hand him over. Why are you laughing?”

“Because you are humorous, Grim. Would we laugh otherwise?” Vandrad slapped the table. His sycophantic companions joined him, making Grim’s head pound with the racket.

“I have my own men,” Grim continued. “They will follow me. We will tear down Frodi’s hall with Ulfrik inside if we have to.”

Vandrad shot to his feet, ending the effusive laughter. “I am your better, Grim. You have sworn oaths to High King Harald and I am his law in this land. Now understand this: you will not waste any more scant resources pursuing this argument with your brother. King Harald sent me with men from his levy to pacify this shitheap and the over-proud farmers who wallow here. I’ve done that. Now you have one simple task: keep this place quiet while Harald consolidates in the north. That’s it. That’s all you do. No marching around like warriors. No threatening your neighbors. Nothing! Sit here and play king for a while. The true king will arrive soon enough.”

“Then give the true king more than what he expects to find. Give him Frodi’s lands too.” The plan came to Grim’s mind and exited his mouth before he understood it himself. He was surprised at his words. Vandrad apparently felt the same. His expression softened.

Figuring the gods were providing his words, Grim pressed his advantage. “Those are rich lands that will yield many gifts for High King Harald.”

Vandrad sat down again, considering Grim’s suggestion. Then he smiled. “It is a worthy idea. But do you suppose I had not already considered it? Let us face reality, Grim. I know you have spent little time with reality, but it is necessary for successful rulership. The levies are men culled from the farms of our territories. Some are seasoned fighting men, but most are exactly what they are: farmers with old weapons and rusted armor. Many of your best men were expended fighting off the rebels in your own lands, and the rest are inexperienced recruits like my levies. Jarl Frodi, however, is a rich man with a vital core of raiding men. He can put to sea three full ships of well-armed hirdmen this very night. While you are marching to his lands, he will be sailing up your backside and tearing this place to the ground. Then he’d march back and put you and your men into early graves.”

Vandrad thumped the table again to emphasis the point, and then fell quiet. His hirdmen stroked their beards and nodded in agreement. But Grim was sick of these fools. The gods were on his side. Now was his time to act.