Sword Brothers (40 page)

He watched the familiar display of Hrolf calculating what this meant to him. His eyes fixed on a distant place and darted side to side. Hrolf might not know of his oath to Vilhjalmer, but the southern jarls would have to be dealt with soon, and with his reputation already strained, having Ulfrik do it for him would be ideal.

"We have a peace and I will agree to your terms. Any harm comes to my son, no matter what the cause, and your grandson dies, then I will destroy you."

"That is always the way of these agreements. I needn't remind you the same fate awaits your son should my grandson be hurt or killed."

"He'll be receiving a good Christian education. No worries for injury there." Hrolf smiled, and Ulfrik did not respond.

"Then we have agreement?"

"I swear to the terms as we have discussed," Hrolf said.

"As I do swear."

A cheer came up from both sides, surprising both Ulfrik and Hrolf. Poppa and Vilhjalmer were led out. Hrolf greeted his wife with respect, and gathered her back with her captured ladies as if recovering a bit of stolen jewelry. For Vilhjalmer, they stood aside and spoke privately.

Brandr wandered forward, not sure who he should see. Ulfrik pulled Gunnar's arm, and he went to his son. After they traded a few short words, Ulfrik knelt beside him. "You have been brave?"

"Yes, Lord."

"That is good. I want you to take something." Ulfrik lifted the silver amulet of Thor from his neck, made certain the priests were not looking, and pressed it into Brandr's hand. "Every time you pray to their god, you also pray to Thor. Do not let the priests find this, but keep it and remember your family. You will return to me a man, and I will reward you for good service. Do you promise to be good?"

"Yes, Lord." Brandr kept his head lowered, but Ulfrik raised it by the chin.

"Look at me. You carry my blood, the blood of jarls. You must look men in the eyes when you make promises. You fear no one, even me. Remember that."

"I will, Lord," he said, and looked Ulfrik in the eye.

With Poppa returned, Hrolf had no more cause to linger. He glanced between Vilhjalmer and Ulfrik and flashed a thin smile, then turned to the assembled jarls.

"Mord Guntherson was a vile schemer. I consider your actions here a service to me in ridding him from my land." He paused to let the murmuring crowd quiet. "But if any of you ever think to challenge me, I will tear you up like a wolf does a fawn."

The jarls lifted their heads, but none defied him. Hrolf now turned and pointed at Ulfrik.

"You and I are done. Your name will never be spoken again, and if I should hear it in song or conversation I will have the speaker's tongue cut out. It will be as if you had never lived, and I shall not remember you again when our dealings are finished."

Hrolf stalked into the setting sun with his hirdman and wife, leaving Vilhjalmer at Ulfrik's side. Ulfrik watched his former lord and friend vanish over a crest and knew he would never see him again.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

For three years a tide of fury and blood rolled from the Seine west to the Contentin Peninsula. Ulfrik and Vilhjalmer rode that crest of violence, but beside them his sons and allies brought spear and shield in support. Einar Snorrason, Ull the Strong, Ragnar Hard-Striker, and more swelled his ranks with bloodthirsty men. The so-called free jarls who had once allied briefly with Ulfrik were swept aside by sword and fire.

Life without battle meant nothing to Ulfrik. Men called him Ulfrik the Old now, but his enemies called him War-Tooth for his insatiable hunger for battle. Vilhjalmer proved a worthy companion, leading men and fighting in the front ranks alongside Ulfrik. He earned the name Vilhjalmer Longsword, for his weapon was ever ready to carve a path through enemy ranks.

The Franks and Hrolf, more commonly called Count Rollo in these days, watched with guarded optimism. As long as Vilhjalmer associated with Ulfrik's victories they did not fear the conquering army rampaging at their borders. They welcomed the fear Ulfrik's armies struck into other Norsemen invaders, and a peace settled over the interior of Frankia.

He never intended to stop, but to fight every day until he died. He laughed at death, dared it to find him, but the more he dared, the less willing anyone was to battle him. With territory to rival Hrolf's, he considered whether to push on to Brittany. With such success he might gain the same recognition from the Frankish king and be named a count himself.

It all changed the final summer of Vilhjalmer's so-called captivity. The engagement was a small, cleanup action. No one expected serious resistance. Ulfrik led it personally, angered at the insolence of the young fool who had challenged him. That battle was sharp and short, and Ulfrik's men crushed their challengers. But Ulfrik was struck a blow that laid him low.

Age had slowed his reactions, and though his reputation frightened men enough that they faltered in combat with him, this young fool knew no fear. He struck beneath the shield, driving his blade deep into Ulfrik's left thigh. He cut the artery, and were it not for Finn's quick aid, Ulfrik would have bled out in three heartbeats. From that day, Ulfrik could not move with any speed. The leg had suffered a terrible break years ago, and now this wound nearly lamed it. He walked with aid from a staff, and though he bragged he would recover, all knew he would not.

The season of Ulfrik War-Tooth had ended.

His men settled their conquered lands, Brittany sent armies to their borders, and the Franks moved to contain him. No one would have guessed he could have forged a kingdom almost equal in size to Hrolf's in such a time. Though he would not be recognized by the Franks nor Hrolf, he did not need their accolades. He had secured himself a place in history even if no one would remember him.

Now the day to return Vilhjalmer to his parents had arrived, and the young man whom he had taken hostage now stood stronger and bolder than ever before. Hrolf had dispatched a guard of fifty men to escort him home and deliver Brandr.

Ulfrik stood with Vilhjalmer, and all his sons had come to send him off. They each embraced him, and when Aren came he had a tear in his eye. The two had grown to be like brothers. Vilhjalmer patted his back. "I will call for you one day. I will have need of your sharp mind when my father hands rule over to me. This is only good-bye for a short time."

Brandr was unrecognizable, taller and golden hair grown darker. Ulfrik saw that he wore a heavy silver cross over his new, white shirt. Brandr smiled as he returned to him, and without a word he lifted the cross from his neck and withdrew the amulet Ulfrik had given him years before. It was tarnished now, but he held it in his upraised palm. "You can have the cross for the silver, but I will keep this."

Ulfrik laughed and sent his grandson to see Gunnar, who waited behind them. At last he slipped his arm about Vilhjalmer's shoulders and walked him to the line of guards. He had to lean on his staff and he cursed the pain. The cold air bit his flesh as he walked.

"Three years were like no time at all," Ulfrik said.

"I will remember them with great fondness," Vilhjalmer said. His voice had grown deeper and more commanding. "You've taught me all your tricks, and showed me how to stop a sword with my thigh."

Ulfrik chuckled. "Don't try that until you're ready to see your whole life pass through your thoughts."

"We will continue to have peace," Vilhjalmer said. "Put down your sword and enjoy what you have wrought from this land. It's better than what any of us imagined."

"I am passing command to Hakon," Ulfrik said. "But I shall always be ready to aid him. It's time I let someone else enjoy the burdens of rule."

Vilhjalmer smiled. "Then we shall one day speak with Hakon and see if he can be enticed to join with me."

Again Ulfrik laughed. "Not while I live, dear friend. This is my kingdom and shall remain with my family."

They grew silent and Vilhjalmer suddenly embraced him. They had shared life and death struggles together for three long years. Parting hurt as much as losing a lover, for they were even closer when their lives depended upon each other's swords.

"Find a woman," Vilhjalmer said. "Have her warm your bed, cook your food, and massage your leg. You've earned this much for yourself. I've seen the light fade from your eyes now that the fighting is over. But life does not end here. You are a hero, and nothing will ever change that."

Ulfrik smiled, returned the embrace. "Go back home to Normandy. May your days forever be filled with glory. You will be a great leader one day."

They parted with a nod, and Ulfrik hobbled back to his hall alone, unwilling to watch a young man embarking on the adventure of his life when his own twilight had fallen.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Ulfrik closed his eyes and ran his hand along the cold stone, feeling the engraved lines of the runes. Birds chirped in the surrounding trees, singing their songs of springtime. From behind he heard his grandson, Leif, laughing as he teased his Uncle Aren. Both had insisted on accompanying him on this walk, but Ulfrik asked they give him this time alone.

"Five years," he said to the stone. "Has it been that long, dear wife?"

He opened his eyes and tears threatened to erupt. Instead he brushed them dry with the back of his hand, and leaned on his staff as he remembered Runa. The stone had already gathered green and white stains of lichen, though he had only raised it a year ago. He read the inscription, filled with red paint to make it bolder. For Runa the Bloody, Wife and Shield Maiden. He could have written much more, though he simply wanted a place to visit her memory. Ulfrik did not know whether from Freya's hall she could see this stone set for her. It only mattered that he and those who traveled through these lands did.

"Leif wants to go the creek and catch a frog," Aren said, approaching from behind. "Will you be all right to find us there when you are done?"

Ulfrik nodded and Aren stood beside him in silence. "Your mother would have liked your wife," he said. "She is a smart woman, ambitious too, but not so much that it wears on you. Some grandchildren would be nice."

"We're working on that," Aren said, his face reddening. Ulfrik laughed.

"I don't remember the exact day, but I will never forget when your mother told me she was having you. I was worried about feeding three boys in winter back then, and wondered if we would even make a home in Frankia. Strange how Fate weaves our threads, is it not?"

"I miss Mother every day," Aren said. They stared longer at the rune stone until Leif ran up and joined them. "All right, we will see about capturing frogs. Come find us when you are finished. It's not far."

"I know where the creek is," Ulfrik said. "It's not far for your two good legs, but for me it's a walk back to Norway. Go on and find a big frog."

Leif hugged Ulfrik's leg and the two departed. Ulfrik rested his palm against Runa's stone and closed his eyes, remembering all her beauty and strength. Many women wanted to sit at his side, and he had allowed a few to share his company, but none would ever mean anything to him. Runa had only ever been the one woman who mattered. He bowed his head and remembered her and their life together until his arm tired.

He heard a swish of grass behind him, but he did not turn. "Decided against frog hunting?"

A sharp point dug into his back, and terror seized his stomach. He wore a dagger and a sax, but found a sword too unbalancing to carry. The point dug deeper when his hand fell toward the hilt of the sax. Raising his hand, he slowly turned, the point dragging across his clothes.

A spear tip now pressed against his stomach. He followed it up to the man gripping it.

He was gaunt, with milky eyes that sat deep in his head. His hair was greasy and graying, and flowed wildly from beneath a leather cap. His clothes were dirty and torn, a gray shirt and faded brown pants beneath a faded brown cloak. He stared at Ulfrik with yellow teeth bared. His face was familiar, like an old friend remembered in a dream. As it came home to Ulfrik, the man began to smile. The moment he spoke, Ulfrik knew who it was.

"Took a moment for those old eyes to recognize me, didn't it?"

"Mord. Gunnar killed you. Am I seeing ghosts?"

Mord's laughter turned to a cough. "I'm returned from the dead. You're not the only one who knows that trick."

The spear tip pushed deeper into Ulfrik's stomach, pinching the skin beneath his shirt.

Ulfrik raised his hands. "Gunnar saw you with an ax in your neck and lying dead in a creek. Was it not you?"

"It was," Mord said, then released one hand from his spear to pull aside his collar. He revealed a horrid, red lump of scarred flesh over his shoulder. Ulfrik noticed now how his body hunched around the old wound. He had been lamed but not killed by the strike.

Ulfrik thought to bat aside the spear while Mord had removed his hand, but he was not fast enough. Mord read his intent and set both hands back on the shaft.

"Gunnar did come to find me, and pissed all over me. That woke me up, but I knew enough to lie still. He had made another mistake too. He let one of my men go, who came back to find me. He also thought I was dead, and only wanted to rob me of my mail and weapons. But I grabbed him when he did. I thought he'd die right there from fright. He carried me to safety and so I lived."

"Have you really lived?" Ulfrik asked. "You seem a ruined and desperate man. What of your wife?" He did not care for the answer, but only delayed in hopes Aren would return to distract Mord. Right now, with a spear point at his gut, his best chances were to keep Mord talking.

"My wife! Ha! Her father got a priest to proclaim the marriage was not real. No children, after all, and I was a ruined man. I guess I got most of her father's men killed too. But that was your doing, wasn't it?"