Fate's Needle (25 page)

Bard’s grip on her shoulders tightened for a moment. He looked at the ground and then attempted to pull her into a comforting hug as he told her of Magnus’s death. Runa remained stiff, her face slick with dirty tears. The news flashed hot anger through her joints. She shoved Bard back, not caring whether she offended a noble. “You imprisoned me in a stable while my friends fought and died! You wouldn’t even let them see me before you chased them off. How dare you try to comfort me!”

“It’s not like that, Runa,” Bard said. “I was recovering from my wound. And there were still enemies about after the battle. They scattered everywhere. You had to be kept safe. I couldn’t come to you.”

“Keep me safe? By putting me in a stable where any enemy would come to steal a horse?” Runa’s dark eyes glinted in the sunlight. “I am not an ignorant farm girl; I am the daughter of a lord ten times more noble than your father. You kept me here because you thought it a safe place to prevent me from going with them.”

“You’re not thinking clearly. Everything is as I said. It was for your protection.”

Runa snorted, folding her arms across her chest. “No one was attacking the night your guards threw me in here like a bale of hay. You wanted to keep Ulfrik away.”

To Runa’s surprise, Bard had not struck her yet. She was ready for it, her cheek itching where she expected the blow, but he merely shook his head and laughed. “Do you think he cared one whit for you?”

“He loved me, and he gave me my freedom.” Runa turned up her chin defiantly.

“I was ashamed of my father’s actions that night,” Bard said, looking around as if to be certain no one listened. “I told Ulfrik that myself, and I presented a bargain. I offered your freedom in return for his sword. He wouldn’t do it; the weapon was too precious to him. So I offered him an opportunity to rescue you. He said he had already risked too much and could chance no more. You see? I tried to help, but Ulfrik was not willing.”

Runa kept her arms folded as she listened to Bard’s ranting. When he finished, she glared at him, her face stony, before saying, “That was a lot for someone who barely survived a blow to the head.”

Bard stepped back as if he had been struck, and Runa smiled in satisfaction. Slave or not, she would not tolerate being treated like a fool. Not only did the facts not align but neither did Ulfrik’s supposed actions; he would love a daring plan if offered one.

Bard’s face glowed like a red-hot coal, and his hands flexed. Expecting violence, Runa unfolded her arms and stepped back, but Bard gave nothing beyond a prolonged sigh. “He feared my father, and he was right to,” Bard said. “He left and asked that I take care of you. I promised I would.”

Tears began to bead at Runa’s eyes.
Maybe Bard is telling the truth.
Maybe Ulfrik toyed with me
.
He loves his sword beyond understanding, and Frodi is too powerful to challenge.
She found herself shaking her head at the thought, and sniffed back a sob. It was an ugly sound to her, made more so by her desperation. “He gave me my freedom,” she croaked. “I am not a slave. I am not.”

Bard again placed his hands on her shoulder, the redness receding from his face. “You will be well treated, Runa. But while my father’s mood is dark, it is best you remain out of sight. After a time, we can speak again of freedom.”

She looked up into Bard’s eyes at those words; they were clear and blue, as Ulfrik’s had been the day he promised her the same thing. But her freedom had to wait then, as it had to wait now. Runa wiped her nose and face with her sleeve. No man would give her freedom. She knew Bard lied, even as he smiled and made empty promises.

Enfolding her in his arms, Bard began to murmur words of comfort, but she did not return his embrace. She stood weeping as Bard’s hand slid up her back, finding the slave collar, then entwining her hair. His other hand slipped to her waist, then to her hips. Runa stilled, feeling him press against her. He was still whispering, although she did not listen. Slowly, he had led her back into the stable and shut the door with his foot. His hand had gathered up her tattered dress at the back and was working beneath it. Runa could find no strength to resist.
What would be the point?

Bard did not even look at her as he pulled her to the ground. Runa shuddered once before surrendering to him—surrendering hope of ever gaining her freedom.

***

Ulfrik had not been on the open seas for more than a year. Under different circumstances, he would have been exuberant. This day, however, he frowned as he manned the oars of Thor Haklang’s longship, the
War Dragon.
It would take two days of good weather to reach Thor’s home. They hugged the coastline, Thor singing a coarse song as he steered. His men joined in, laughing. Ulfrik, his head held low, remained silent and rowed all the harder. Seated on a chest next to him, Yngvar also maintained a grim silence. Ulfrik could feel the accusations of his men at his back. Paying taxes to a foreign king paled beside actual slavery. Their lives had been destroyed for their loyalty to him.

Night approached, and Thor guided his ship to the shore. Ulfrik heard the splash of men leaping overboard into the shallows to haul the boat onto the shingle. Once they beached the ship, their captors leveled spears and guided Ulfrik and his crew to Thor, who waited up where the beach met the dune grass. He stood with arms folded over his heavy belly, a black bulk in the dying sunlight. All around him, men started making camp.

Ulfrik stood defiantly before Thor.

“Now that we’ve left Frodi behind, we can talk clearly.” The berserker gave a thin smile then unfolded his arms as if to welcome him. “For starters, the lot of you can stop sulking. None of you are slaves any more than I am.”

“What does that mean?” Ulfrik asked. One of Thor’s men approached with a bundle of weapons taken from the ship, dumping them in the grass before returning for another load. Ulfrik recognized his men’s gear.

“Just a bit of acting to save your lives. I like you,
Jarl
Ulfrik. You’ve got guts.” Thor laughed before continuing. “That conniving brat of Frodi’s planned to have you all killed when you reached the border.”

Ulfrik stood amazed.
Why would Bard plot my death?
Then he realized the extent of Bard’s grasping lust. “He wanted Runa, and didn’t want me returning for her.”

“Something like that,” Thor said airily. “I knew about the plan even before the battle started. Figured if you looked a good fighter I’d take in you and your followers. Too bad about the big one. He seemed to have a touch of the bear god in him.”

“And Frodi agreed to this?”

“You might’ve noticed he didn’t like you. He had no trouble seeing you go as slaves. I suppose even his brat was fine with the idea. After all, he just wanted your woman.”

Ulfrik turned to Yngvar, who shrugged. “If it’s not a man’s time, something will save him.”

“Why not just invite us to join you?” As Ulfrik spoke, a man knelt beside him to cut the ropes tied to his ankles.

“Because I have plans for you, Ulfrik. It’s better that Frodi and Bard put you out of their minds for a while. For now, let’s get you and your men out of those bonds.”

Morale immediately lifted and the men began to chatter excitedly. Ulfrik’s ankle came free and the man crab-walked to Yngvar to cut his bindings as well. Thor unhitched Fate’s Needle and presented it to Ulfrik. The emerald in the pommel reflected the last rays of light as Ulfrik took the sword into his hands, its weight reassuring him. His mail and helmet were also in the pile with all the other gear. Ulfrik was about to smile when he realized.

“The families of my men have fled Grenner and are heading for the southern coast. We have to fetch them before Grim does. He will be merciless.”

His men ceased talking, each turning an expectant face toward Thor. The berserker’s expression flattened, the night pooling shadow into the sockets of his eyes. He stroked his beard. “My plans did not include old women and runny-nosed kids.”

“This is not something to negotiate. Their families will be saved.” Ulfrik folded his arms, mirroring Thor’s reaction. The two stared at each other while their men stilled, awaiting Thor’s decision. He grumbled to himself a moment.

“I understand you, Ulfrik. We will see what can be done to save them.”

“You have my gratitude, Lord Thor.” Ulfrik bowed low, feeling the tension drain as he did.

“I’ll have that and a bit more before the night is done.” Thor laughed again and his men returned to their duties. Ulfrik smiled wanly, wondering what terms Thor would press on him in response.
No one does good for the sake of good anymore
, he thought. Ulfrik had learned that much.
Maybe no ever has.

***

Several campfires had been lit and men gathered around them to eat and drink. Ulfrik huddled with his men around their own fire. They had spoken excitedly about the turn of events. Only the more experienced Yngvar and Snorri maintained a cooler attitude.

Across the dark beach, Thor beckoned. Nodding, Ulfrik rose and tapped Yngvar on the shoulder. Together they approached the giant man, who was perched by the fireside on a log dragged from the forest. The night was mild, and Thor had tossed off his heavy furs, revealing arms glinting with coils of gold. His enormous hands glistened with grease as he gestured for Ulfrik to sit on the sand next to him and proffered a skin. Ulfrik accepted it more from courtesy than any desire to drink. He wanted to be clear-headed when dealing with Thor, who was proving more intelligent than Ulfrik had first thought.

“Now it is time to talk about our deal.” Thor took back the skin and held it out to Yngvar, who guzzled the last of the mead. “You’re going to like my plan, Ulfrik. But you’re going to have to swallow that pride of yours.”

“I’m ready to hear it,” Ulfrik said, sitting up straight and ignoring the reference to his pride; ironic, since he had felt nothing but shame for weeks.

“It’s a simple plan. I’m going to let you and your men live on my lands. You will build a ship, fill out your crew, and take them raiding. You can raid anywhere except where I have allies. I’d wager you’ll want to prick at your brother’s lands. There’s plenty of men who will help you with shipbuilding, and many young men who crave adventure. As long as you earn silver and treasure, you’ll attract plenty of followers.”

Thor illustrated his points with elaborate gestures, and Ulfrik learned forward, knowing the catch had yet to be revealed.

“You will have a full raiding crew, and as you are building up men on my lands, you will swear an oath to me and to my father—a binding, lifelong oath, as all oaths are. That oath will require your men to serve in my army if I call them. I will be happy to see you prosper, Ulfrik, because I will own your boat, and one third of all treasure you take with it will belong to me. Eventually, you’ll be able to buy the boat from me for a price we’ll agree upon later. I want there to be no misunderstanding. So what do you say?”

“What about Frodi? You said it’s best he forgets us. Why?”

“Because then he won’t know I’ve added strength to my army. He was just in my lands, counting my spears. Frodi and I are allies of convenience; we’re not family. If I ever need someone to keep him from growing too strong, you would be ready for that work. Am I right? So, I’ll ask you again: what do you say to my offer?”

Ulfrik leaned back on his elbows, his hands in the sand, his eyes focused on the fire. This was the most he had heard Thor say at once, and given how thoroughly Thor had laid out the plan, he suspected Thor had made this offer before. He felt Yngvar nudge him, and realized Thor and others were awaiting his response.

“A generous offer,” Ulfrik said slowly. “I would be a fool not to accept.”

“Yes, a fool,” Thor rumbled. “So, it’s settled. Tomorrow we’ll reach my father’s hall and you will kneel before us. Then you will have a busy winter ahead of you.” Thor gestured for another skin, which his tattooed men passed around the fire to his waiting hand. He took a drink and pressed the skin to Ulfrik.

“To your generosity,” Ulfrik said, raising the skin but speaking as if proclaiming his own death. Thor’s offer was better than anything he could have hoped for, but a sense of loss—of Orm and Auden, of Runa and Magnus—hung over him like a pall. He sipped from the skin and passed it to Yngvar.

“Give up this idea of being a king,” Thor said, misreading his expression. “Look at your friend there. He’s smiling ear to ear, and so should you.”

Yngvar drank deeply and returned the skin to Thor. “I am happy for my lord,” Yngvar explained.

Ulfrik smiled at the comment; never had Yngvar referred to him so respectfully.

“But we have lost friends on the road here,” Yngvar added.

Thor grunted in agreement, gazing thoughtfully into the fire for a moment. Then he shifted on his log and continued. “The girl was a pretty one, too. But too thin to bear good children. There is always another one out there. Geitir has a comely sister—big and strong.” Thor chortled and his men followed.

Geitir glowered at Ulfrik, which only made Thor laugh harder. With a forced smile, Ulfrik concentrated on the shadows dancing on the sand before him. He found nothing funny about losing Runa; a deep guilt washed over him.

Thor and his men carried on, oblivious. “But remember, no raiding our allies, like Frodi,” Thor cautioned. “We need that old fool to keep Harald’s dogs off Agder’s borders.”

“You are not fond of Frodi?” Yngvar asked. “You fought for him, after all.”

“I fought because there was an easy fight to win.” Thor’s pitch lifted in excitement, his expression animated at the mention of a fight. He belched, then continued, “But most importantly, I got the measure of Frodi’s strength, and he got to see how the men of Agder rule the battlefield.” Thor looked to his men, who thumped the sand and growled their approval. Thor beamed at their affirmation. “Frodi is still a good war leader. He organized the defense well, kept the high ground. His archers drove the enemy onto our spears. But he failed to control the battle. When the enemy fled, his men took up the chase and would not heed him. They ran into a trap of archers. If the enemy had more strength, more discipline, they could have turned on Frodi and torn him apart. He won because the enemy was weak and afraid—and they should have been, for the Bear of Agder was among them!”