Return of the Ravens (Ulfrik Ormsson's Saga Book 6) by Jerry Autieri Read Free Book Online Page A

little bodies falling over in exaggerated death throes or little men dancing in victory. She smiled at them as she considered her next step. Einar would have to help her. Hakon fostered with him, learning the ways of leadership and battle. A visit to her son would be a good excuse to talk to Einar and determine where he stood.
    The children scampered off and the wind gusted again, the scent of rain in the air. Like the children at play, Runa hoped to just disappear.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER NINE
     
    Runa had spent her day lost in idle thought, doing nothing more than wandering the confines of the hold. Women traded news and gossip freely with her, some staring intently at her bruised face while others strained to ignore it. Runa found their reactions interesting if pointless distractions from what bothered her. As the day closed she had to return to the hall and at least oversee the evening meal. She had avoided it all day, no doubt doubling the weaving that Groa and the other women would have to do without her. Now that people tottered off to their homes and hearth light shined from open doors, she had to return to Konal.
    The clouds had broken up, never delivering the promised rain, and a balmy wind pushed her along the path as if shooing her home. Two men in dark cloaks and faceplated helmets waited at the hall doors, more attentive than usual. In fact, Runa paused at the way the two stared at her. She could see the whites of one man's eyes.
    "I assure you it's me," she said with a small laugh. "Is something wrong?"
    The two exchanged glances and Runa felt her stomach tighten at it. Her first thought was something had happened to Aren on his trip to Einar's hold, but then realized he had already been gone a week and ill news would have reached her already. Shaking her head to chase away the doubts, she proceeded up the path and between the guards. They let her pass, but as she entered they stopped another man approaching behind her and told him the hall was closed.
    Inside the front room, she removed her cloak and hung it on a peg. The doors to the main hall hung open and a fire crackled in the hearth. The cooking pot was not on its trestle, and no servants were preparing the evening meal. Looking to either side of the door, the benches and tables were still against the walls, and no one was present.
    "I've been waiting for you. Come inside." Konal's voice was strained and thin as he tried to force it across the short hall. He sat at the high table, rigid and with both hands folded before him. He wore a clean red cloak, one Runa had not seen him wear before, and his clothes were fresh as opposed to his habit of wearing the same things for days on end.
    "What's going on? Where is everyone? The evening meal?"
    "I'm not hungry. I sent everyone away. You and I have some things to discuss. Come here."
    Runa had known Konal for many years, and even with the changes age and alcohol had wrought upon him, she had never seen a mood like this. He did not move as she approached, but yet seemed on the verge of an explosion. His terrible red and white scars stood out on his face and neck against the dancing hearth light, but more striking were his pale eyes sparking like flint. They never wavered from hers as she came to the table before him. He nodded toward the bench, and she sat as if she were lowering herself onto a trap.
    "What is this, Konal? Are you trying to frighten me?"
    "Why would time alone with me frighten you?"
    "You almost knocked out my teeth when we were alone this morning. Maybe you want to finish the job." Runa put more bravado into her statement than she felt. He did not respond, but kept a serene yet arrogant smile like one of those Christian saints in a church tapestry.
    "I did some thinking about this morning. Believe it or not, I do think about how we have come to be at each other's necks. I like it even less than you, and for all your self-pity you cannot see that I have