Free Shield of Lies by Jerry Autieri Page A

said you needed a few hits before you understood anything. Remember who will protect you with him gone? Me, I'm all you can depend on, so do what I tell you."
    His mother rubbed her face and glowered at him, but she did not move. His sister knelt on the dead leaves with her head down. Throst lingered over them a moment before continuing. "Lord Ulfrik thinks he has seen the last of me, but I've got plans he can't even understand. When I'm done, he'll regret killing my father and making me an outlaw. You want to see Lord Ulfrik cry like a baby, don't you?"
    His mother nodded and slowly righted herself, a lock of gray hair hanging over her face.
    "I will make him cry until he has only blood for tears, I promise you this. But before I can do that, before anything else, I've got to succeed today. To do that, I need you two fucking fools to stay here and remain out of my way. Can you manage to do that one simple thing?"
    His mother glared at him and his sister picked at the dead leaves before her. Satisfied he would not have any more interference from them, he continued to follow the tracks through the woods. His belly tightened in anticipation, knowing his plan would either glorify his name or end his life. Death mattered little; with his father gone and Ulfrik outlawing him, he had no life. No Northmen would associate with him and no Frank would take in a stranger. Ulfrik had sentenced him to death, all while pretending to be merciful. Throst was unwilling to die and more unwilling to suffer humiliation and defeat before all of Ravndal. Avenging his father was secondary to proving that Ulfrik had tangled with the wrong man. Throst had been underestimated and that was an advantage he would fully exploit, but first he had to succeed today.
    He came to the end of the path. Sliding behind a tree, he studied the collection of burned-out homes. One had completely collapsed into black ash with only a few columns sticking out at the sky. Three other homes were in stages of collapse, but the main hall had fresh thatch. Throst drew a deep breath, then strode confidently into the clearing, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other tucked into his belt by the thumb.
    "Come out, you fools! Meet your new leader." Throst's shouting drew instant response from the hall, the doors flying open and eight men who lived in it spilling outside with drawn weapons. "That's a proper greeting. Hurry, who leads this sorry group?"
    Throst knew the names of the men and their leader. He had been watching them since locating their hideout in this abandoned Frankish hamlet. These eight were either lord-less Northmen or Franks who preyed on both sides of the border, all united under a Frank named Pepin. He purposely avoided Pepin and looked to the other ugly and angry faces arrayed against him, not wanting to indicate he knew anything at all of them.
    "Look where the bird shit landed, right outside my door," Pepin said in fluid but accented Norse. He broke from the semicircle of men closing on him. His sword was rusty and dull in the light as he used it to point at Throst. "What's this you squawking about, bird shit?"
    "Then you must be the leader of these men? I'm here to offer them a better choice, one who will lead them to more than living in a burned down village."
    Laughter erupted, just as Throst expected. He laughed with them, which stopped several of them, notably Pepin who angered at the insolence.
    "You're going to the slave markets, is all you're doing. Take him alive; he'll fetch us a good price if he's in one piece."
    "I challenge you to single combat, Pepin." Throst drew his sword and leveled it at the stunned Pepin. His jaundiced eyes bulged in shock at hearing a stranger call him by name. "That's right. You have grown famous enough to attract challengers, Pepin. Fight me alone, and if I win I will take your place as leader."
    "And when you lose, if your head is still on your shoulders, you're gone to a slave market." Pepin drew his sword, and