Jerry Autieri - Fate's Needle

He wanted to say more: to tell him that he loved him like a brother, that he respected him like no other man. To thank him for saving his life. So much emotion gushed through his mind, seeking an outlet, but all he could do was choke back a sob as Yngvar’s eyes stopped searching and grew dull. A bubbly hiss escaped Yngvar’s perforated throat, and Ulfrik’s friend lay dead.

“You better join the others, they need a strong leader.” Runa leaned over his shoulder, speaking as gently as she could above the din of the fight.

Ulfrik looked up. Hair flew about Runa’s face and a sprinkling of blood spotted her cheek. She held a long dagger in one hand, and her other touched his shoulder. He pulled her hand down, nodded at the wisdom of her words.

Looking up, Ulfrik saw his men fighting to board Harald’s ship. Thor and his berserkers were in front, and Toki was leading Ulfrik’s men. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Then, unable to bring himself to remove Fate’s Needle from Yngvar’s grasp, he took up his friend’s ax. He looked at Runa. “Stay here, and pray we win.”

“We will not win, only escape. Lead your men in glory, and come back to me here. I love you, Ulfrik.”

Ulfrik could not find the words, just brushed her cheek before standing. Then he turned to the fight. Shoving his way to the front, he roared, “With me, men! With me to glory and riches! We eat from Harald’s table tonight”

***

Heedless of death, the wild berserkers threw themselves on Harald’s men, screaming for blood. Grim saw one tattooed man lose his left arm and respond merely by shoving the bloody stump into his attacker’s face. Fortunately, Grim faced only warriors attempting to board from the rails, and was protected by the ship’s higher sides. He had only to keep up his shield and slash beneath it, but with three boatloads of men to their single ship, enough berserkers soon found their way on deck.

“Fall back! Fall back to the forecastle,” Harald called. Grim put up his shield, felt a weak blow glance off it, and backed away to join his king.

He was going through the familiar motions of battle. The ebb and flow, the repositioning and maneuvering, all calmed his jangled nerves. He had done this dozens of times, each time following Harald’s directions to victory. He told himself this battle would be no different.

The attackers flowed over the undefended rails, jostling to be the first to fight the king and his best warriors. Grim searched the faces-some wild, others desperate, all splattered with the bile of battle. Bear pelts, wolf pelts, mail coats, bare chests, plain wooden shields, brilliant silver helmets, blood-caked blades-all rushed forward in an undisciplined throng. Grim stood by the rails at the far end of Harald’s line, waiting to receive the charge. The men who held the line with him seemed patient, certain of victory, but Grim’s certainty vanished as his eyes settled on a man in a mail coat who leaped over the rail behind the others.

Ulfrik landed as easily as a cat. A green shield hung from one arm and he held aloft an ax in the other. An ember burned in Grim’s guts as his brother’s eyes met his from across the forecastle. Time froze; the two brothers locked in one gaze. Ulfrik’s eyes had grown colder, harder than when Grim had last seen them. A blue flame flickered there, and Grim thought he heard distant, hollow laughter. For a moment, Grim saw his father tramping across the deck-a ragged black shape filled with worms and rot-but then the vision vanished and Ulfrik leaped from it instead, crashing through the intervening men to reach him.

Grim threw up his shield but felt his jaw slacken. The ax head caught the sun and Ulfrik’s face contorted with the force of his strike.

The curse had come for him.

***

“You murdered our father,” Ulfrik screamed, as he threw his first wild blow at Grim. The ax slammed on his metal-rimmed shield, cleaving into it. Grim cowered behind the shield like a child as Ulfrik pulled out the ax.

“You poisoned him, gave him a dog’s death! For what?” The anger Ulfrik thought time had buried poured out of him. At last Grim was backed against a wall, literally trapped in the forecastle. One of them would die; Ulfrik was determined it would be Grim.

Grim seemed bewildered, hiding behind his shield and not returning the strike. As Grim threw his shield up, Ulfrik noticed his brother’s amulet, the human bones that swung around Grim’s neck-further proof of the monster his brother had become. Ulfrik slammed his shield into Grim and swept the ax beneath it, at his legs.

Anticipating that blow, Grim stepped back. Ulfrik’s injured leg seeped blood and pain, but he ignored it. “I will avenge all you have murdered. You face justice today!”

Grim shoved back at that, and sliced out with his sword. Over their shields, their eyes met. Ulfrik read fear, determination, and strength. Faster than he thought Grim could move, the blade came back at him, ripping over his arm; only his mail sleeve saved a grievous wound.

For long moments they traded blows, neither gaining an advantage. Grim was strong, and he did not move once he set his feet. Ulfrik had hoped to drive him over the rails, but instead Grim was pushing him back. Only the chaotic fighting behind them kept Ulfrik from being hurled out of the forecastle. He chanced a glimpse around, noticing Thor Haklang clutching a blood-smeared ax and carving a swath of death toward Harald. Then Grim came at him again.

“You killed Magnus,” Ulfrik shouted. “I avenge him, too. You are a murderer. A gutless poisoner!”

But Ulfrik’s posturing did not serve him in the fight. Grim remained silent, his eyes wide and his teeth set. He was working a fighting plan, and Ulfrik saw it too late. Grim’s sword looped up under Ulfrik’s shield. The blade deflected off his mail, but came up under his chin, slicing the flesh and carving up his face, splitting his left nostril and eyebrow. Had he not pulled back, the blade would have pierced his throat.

Pain bloomed across his face and blood hazed his eyes. Ulfrik staggered, blinded, and Grim kicked his shield forcefully, knocking him to the deck. Ulfrik rolled away instinctively, and Grim’s sword thumped the deck where his head had been. Other men continued to fight around them, and someone fell heavily across Ulfrik. The man screamed, and Ulfrik felt a waterfall of hot blood wet his back. A man on the ground was as good as dead, Ulfrik knew. He thrashed to free himself, gripped by an icy panic. The body on him suddenly lifted away. And Grim screamed.

Ulfrik rolled forward into Grim, sending him tumbling. He stood, bumped by other men engaged in their own personal battles, and looked for his ax and shield. He could find neither amid the shoving, flailing men who surrounded him.

Ulfrik’s face throbbed. He could barely keep his eyes open through the stream of blood, but he could tell that Grim had fallen on his face, probably on top of his ax and shield. Ulfrik could not lose the advantage. He leaped on Grim’s back, driving his knee into the small of it. With a scream, Grim flattened out onto the deck. Ulfrik locked his arms about Grim’s thick neck and pulled back on his head, driving his knee further into Grim’s spine.

Grim’s neck would have snapped were it not for his incredible strength. He gagged and struggled, bucking while Ulfrik held fast. Then Grim put his powerful arms beneath him and shoved the two of them up.

Ulfrik hung on as Grim wobbled to his feet, his breath rasping in painful bursts. Then, with surprising energy, he launched them both back, hurling them toward the forecastle. Ulfrik felt himself crash into other warriors as, using all his power, Grim twisted to face his older brother and broke the hold.

Both were weaponless now. Grim smiled, his white scar rippling like a snake. He landed a punch even before Ulfrik could put up his fists. The blow crunched into Ulfrik’s wounded chin, tearing the flesh back and spraying blood down his chest. Ulfrik screamed, his vision a sheet of white-hot agony. He reeled back, and Grim’s thick fingers seized his throat and slammed him against the ship’s rails.