Page 55 of A Curse Carved in Bone
Empty.
No, not empty. Freya’s sword and seax rested in the mud next to the vessel. I picked them up, fear boiling in my stomach, because if she’d been disarmed here, it meant they’d incapacitated her in some way.
Skoll yipped at me, then ran several paces into the woods before stopping.
“Is she alive?” I demanded, but the wolf only stared at me. Hati exploded out of the water, pausing to shake it from his black fur.
“Find her!” I commanded them and, ignoring Harald’s shout from the drakkar, I followed the wolves into the blackness of the forest.
My mind spun through strange dreams. Darkness and flame. The stink of male sweat and voices full of fear.
“Wake up,” a voice twisted with agony whispered.
I reached for consciousness, but it eluded me, and I descended once more into blackness. Only for the scent of burning flesh to fill my nose.
“Wake up!”
My eyes snapped open to find the specter’s green eyes staring into mine, her face a ruin of charred flesh.
“Your name was born in fire.” Embers drifted behind the specter. “Skaland will be united beneath the rule of the one who controls your fate.” Then she exploded into ash.
I blinked, uncertain if I was dreaming or awake. My body was bouncing up and down, the impact against my stomach painful. My mouth tasted foul, and with a violent heave, my stomach emptied its contents. Vomit burned in my mouth and nose, sharp coughs wracking me. Whoever had hold of me tossed me sideways with a muttered curse.
I yelped in pain as I landed on my side in some brush and the branches scratched my face.
“She’s awake,” one of them hissed, the accent that of a Skalander. “Silence her! Silence her!”
Terror pulsed through my veins, and I rolled away in a tangle of my skirts. Managed to get onto my hands and knees, though nausea still roiled in my guts. The darkness spun around me and I grasped for my sword, only to find the scabbard empty.
“Hlin,” I croaked, and magic coated my fingers, illuminating the darkness.
As well as the faces of my kidnappers.
I immediately recognized the man who’d feigned the limp, but his three companions were strangers to me. All were muscular and heavily armed, warriors through and through.
But so wasI.
Climbing to my feet, I said, “You’ve made a significant mistake.”
In the light of my magic, their fear was obvious but the men held their ground. “You are to be returned to your king,” the one who’d tricked me said. “Show your loyalty to your nation and come without quarrel.”
Final confirmation that Snorri had sent them. Any hope that lingered in my heart vanished. The future Saga had foreseen was arriving faster than any of us had believed possible.
I shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. My allegiance is to Skaland but Snorri is not my king. Leave now, and I’ll let you live.”
A seemingly empty threat given I was unarmed.
But not all weapons were steel. It was not lost on me how swiftly I questioned my own vows not to use my magic when put to threat. Hel’s name and her power were already climbing my throat on the back of my fear.
I could smell their sweat. See the way their throats moved as they swallowed. Yet instead of running, they exchanged glances and then began to circle me. I bent and fumbled in the brush until my hands closed around a stick. It was so thin that on its own it would have snapped on a single blow, but I covered it with my magic.
Unarmed no longer, and I had the advantage in that they’d no doubt been ordered not to harmme.
I wouldn’t hesitate.
It was their souls I had no wish to condemn, but I had no compunctions against killing them and allowing the gods to decide their final fate.
Swaying on my feet so they’d believe me still incapacitated by whatever they’d dosed me with, I struck without warning. My glowing stick descended to crack against one man’s neck.
