Vandrad shook his head, and his eyes were nested in wrinkles as he smiled. “Grim Ormsson, I come to hold you to your oath. These men witnessed it, and will witness its fulfillment. So I ask if you will step down, or dishonor yourself?”
The hirdmen kept their hands ready. To break his oath would give Vandrad reason to kill him where he stood. Grim’s hand itched to grab his own blade, to put it through Vandrad’s smug face, and then die as he killed as many Vestfolders as he could take, but he had left his sword in his room. Even if it had been at his side, he would die before he could put it to good use. Dropping his head, he let his arms slacken. “I step down,” he mumbled. “Take what you want.”
Vandrad looked at Grim for several seconds, then nodded. His hirdmen relaxed, appearing disappointed. It gave Grim some measure of happiness to think they expected him to fight. They could still kill me, Grim thought. There would be no witnesses, and no one would care. I would do it, were our positions reversed.
But Vandrad only beckoned him down from the high table. “You will remain unarmed from now on, and these men will protect you as you prepare for your journey.”
“Journey?” Grim’s black eyes glittered with surprise. “What do you mean?”
“There’s too much history here,” Vandrad explained, walking to a bench and sitting down. “Besides, do you want to stay?”
Grim had not thought so far ahead. He had spent more time mourning his treasure than considering practicalities like where he would live. It appeared Vandrad had planned that for him as well. “No, I don’t want to stay here. But where are you sending me?”
“You are still sworn to High King Harald. You will go north, to Vestfold, and accompany some men who are too injured for their duties here. You should present yourself to Guthorm, the King’s uncle. You are a fighting man, Grim. That much you’ve shown. They’ll have use for your sword arm, and you look the part of a warrior. Make up a good story for that scar on your face.”
Vandrad and the men laughed.
Grim was lost in thought. Vandrad was giving him another chance. If he distinguished himself in Harald’s service, he could be rewarded with land and title. I might even get something better than this shithole my father so loved. The gods favor me after all. “Very well, I will do as you say, Vandrad.” Grim tried to hide his excitement, but his voice quivered with the anticipation of glorious battles in the king’s service.
“Yes. You will do as I say,” Vandrad said, still laughing but ensuring that a threat was present in his eyes. “I’m glad my decision pleases you. But before we part tonight, we have to discuss payment. Your adventure was costly in both blood price and materials. You will have to provide compensation; your treasure will do nicely.”
Grim had a pinch of hope that Vandrad might overlook that detail. “I will need silver for my journey. I cannot give it all.”
Vandrad shifted on the bench, propping his elbows on both knees as he enunciated. “You can give it all, and you will. You will not need silver on your journey. Provisions and transports are prepared.”
Grim hesitated for effect, and then agreed. “I don’t like it, though.” His hand unconsciously pulled at his tunic, where he had concealed some of the rings.
Vandrad nodded approvingly. “And you will also need to give up what you’ve hidden on yourself,” he added.
“What? I have nothing hidden!” His words were a lie, but his shock was genuine. How did he know I concealed the rings?
“Really, Grim! Do you think this is the first time I’ve had to do this?” Vandrad pointed to his three hirdmen. “They will hold you down and search you. If they find anything, I will force you to walk naked to Vestfold. Or you can shorten our unpleasant evening and give me what you’ve hidden.”
Grim stared at Vandrad as the hirdmen stepped forward to emphasize the threat. Grim recalled the gold he had planned to retrieve from Aud’s hut. With Vandrad forcing an escort on him, obtaining that gold would be impossible. In the silence that hung between them, Grim saw his wealth slipping from his hands into Vandrad’s. He was being forced to start over with nothing, no matter how he struggled. He looked away, staring at the near-dead fire. In its light, Vandrad looked as yellow as the gold he was sucking from Grenner.
Grim reached into his tunic and pulled out one of the gold rings. “All right. I will give you every scrap.”
Vandrad’s smile became a grin. “That’s a good start. Be sure to take them all out. Or you will lose your enthusiasm for your journey. I promise.”
“Aye,” he replied in a whisper. Must the gods require all my wealth to grant their favors? He took out the other rings and placed them on the table.
***
Grim sat on a sledge with two other injured men who both looked about to die. He hoped they would last the journey to Vestfold, since he probably would have to dig their graves otherwise. They were all heaped with furs, and Grim also had mail, a sword, and a few personal items. All this worry and I ended up with a bag of old clothes and a free trip north. He snorted a laugh as he reclined at the back of the sledge, waiting for the driver.
“Guthorm is harsh. But he is King Harald’s uncle and his closest man.” Vandrad came to see him off. “Do well by him and your fortunes may change.”
“No thanks to you.”
“All thanks to me. When you finally become a man, you will understand how generous I’ve been. Go now, and don’t let me see you here again.” Vandrad strolled off to find someone else to irritate.
“Go fuck a goat.” Grim called after him, then looked away. Vandrad merely chuckled. Who is Vandrad to judge whether I am a man?
The driver mounted the sledge and drove them north. Grim watched Grenner slip by, passing his father’s burial mound as they took the track headed for Vestfold. A chill gripped him, and he reached for Lini’s amulet.
“Good riddance to you, Father. Stay in your grave and let me leave this place forever.”
He turned away, his home falling behind the stand of trees and disappearing from view.
Twenty-four
Runa had been imprisoned in the stables since the night she was dragged from Auden’s hall. Although barred in, she could have escaped had she felt inclined, but only death awaited if she fled. At least here, she had warmth and the companionship of the horses. She was comfortable around them. Horses, she believed, were better company than people. A groom came daily with food and water for her and the horses, and then rode the animals out for exercise, which was more than she got. The guard who accompanied the groom glared at Runa whenever she asked for news.
The first night had been horrible: the loss of her newfound freedom, the absence of Ulfrik’s embrace. Even with everything against them, she had felt so much joy and potential. Ulfrik would rebound. They would start a new life together in a new place.
Then Frodi had spoken, and her joy was obliterated. For a few short hours she had tasted liberation again, but now she wished she never had. The rusted collar about her neck abraded her skin; nothing had changed.
The morning after Jarl Frodi had made her his slave, Runa had heard the roar of colliding armies. Who had come to fight, or why, made no difference to her. All that day she had waited for the stable door to burst open and Ulfrik to rescue her, but even when the sounds of battle diffused, he still had not come. She had even hoped Magnus would come. By sunset, no one had.
By the third day, her confinement had grown too much. She wept constantly, huddled in a corner, thinking that Ulfrik and the others must have died in battle. Even the horses shied away from her as she cried. If Frodi was defeated, she thought, the conquerors will come to claim the horses. Yet no one came besides the silent groom and his angry guard.