go and get you—me and four men. He told us all kinds of tall tales about how you’d poisoned Harald, how you’d seduced Lilia with rune magic, that you were evil. They were to strong-arm you, I was to be . . . bait.”
“And he gave you the powder,” Ulfar added.
“Yes—the powder. He made it himself; he said it’d knock you out, make you look ill, make you easy to drag home. I don’t understand. I always thought he was very good with herbs and that stuff.”
Ulfar thought for a while. “He is,” he concluded. “He really is.” Inga looked at him. “Sometimes things just go a bit wrong.” There was no doubt—of course Valgard had meant to kill him. It would have been absolute proof of his immortality.
“The thing is,” Inga said, “I don’t think . . .”
Ulfar turned back to her. She looked worried.
“I don’t think we were the only ones he sent out to get you.”
The next thing Ulfar heard was a whistling sound—and then Heidrek slammed forward, coughing up blood. The arrow was buried deep in his back. The next arrow took him in the shoulder, spinning him off the panicking horse.
With speed belied by his bulk, Arnar spurred his mount around to face the attacker. He dropped to hide most of himself behind his horse just as the third arrow took it in the neck. It whinnied in a panic, but he had a good hold on the reins and pulled for all he was worth.
Only a couple of moments had passed.
“Goran!” Ulfar called.
In between the trees, Ulfar saw a flash of white. There was a bone-crunching snap and a scream of pain, and Arnar’s horse went down. The bearded man leapt from the saddle just in time and ran to grab the reins of Heidrek’s panicked animal.
“You fucking . . . ,” Ulfar muttered. To Inga he hissed, “Stay there! Make yourself small. We’re being hunted.”
He leapt off his horse and ran to cover behind the nearest tree.
“Karle!” he shouted. “Fight like a man, you skinny little bitch! I’ll break your arm again, if I need to!”
An arrow thudded into the tree next to him, setting it vibrating with the force of the impact. A voice rang out, some way away. “I’d fight a man, but you’re less than that, Ulfar Thormodsson. Animals get hunted. I’m going to enjoy this. Alfgeir Bjorne is not here to send you into hiding.”
Ulfar felt the air move as another arrow whistled past the trunk of the tree. “Fine. If that’s the way you want to play,” he muttered, “then that’s how we’ll play.” He touched the sword at his belt and looked up, then down. Bending his knee and taking care not to reveal any part of his body, he fumbled in the undergrowth until he found what he was looking for. Then he reached up, trying to make himself as tall and narrow as possible—there. A knothole. Just big enough for two fingers. And another, just above.
Ulfar hauled himself up as fast as he could. He was soon within reach of thick branches on both sides.
Left—no. Right. He swung toward his right and sure enough, a flash of white sable in the distance, circling away from them. Having had his sport, Karle would no doubt be looking for the perfect shot, something that would start counting.
Ulfar climbed higher still. Now he was up above the height of two men. Down on the ground, Arnar was busy keeping the horses calm. Goran had made Inga crouch behind a fallen tree for cover, and now they were all scouting the perimeter nervously. Ulfar had to lever himself up half again a man’s height again, until he found a thick enough branch, stretching over to the next tree.
His plan wasn’t perfect—in fact, it couldn’t really be called a plan at all. But it was better than cowering down on the ground, waiting to be shot. He just had to hope the bastard didn’t look up.
Even wearing almost glowing white, Prince Karle still did a damn good job of hiding in the undergrowth. Ulfar scanned the ground below—there! The prince was close—too close. Well within range.
Working quickly, Ulfar leaned against the trunk and freed both hands. He pulled a piece of string off his belt and used it to lash together the three pine cones he’d found on the ground.
He’d have only one shot at this.
In his mind he charted the leap and winced. It was going to hurt like