Page 39 of Storm of Fury
Ishtar didn’t bother telling her foster mother that she wouldn’t be here. Instead, she closed her eyes as she sank into the magic.Soon.
“Make sure you eat,” Zorja called. “Illarion will stay with you while you do.”
* * *
Tormund creptalong the dark tunnel, guided by the magical compass Bryn had provided. The needle quivered, jerking sharply to the right as they reached an intersection. Only the faintest glow surrounded it.
“This way,” he breathed, gesturing with two fingers as he felt the faint stir of wind on his face.Thank god. It was hot as blazes in here, and sweat crept down his spine.
“Are you sure?” Bryn whispered, her body almost pressing against his.
“It’s your magical compass.”
“This seems too easy,” she admitted. A firefly flicker of light glowed at the tip of the sword. “Where are the guards?”
I don’t know.
The thought had been plaguing him too. “Maybe the gods guard our journey.”
“The gods give little thought to mortal men,” she muttered. “Something about this entire mountain bothers me.”
An enormous pit gaped before him, the darkness plunging into nothingness.
Tormund glanced over the railing from a respectful distance, resting his hand on the spine of a stonedrekithat leered into the darkness. He couldn’t see the bottom of the cavern. Just… darkness. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard. Life could have been so much pleasanter if he’d just stayed home instead of following Haakon. He might be married with a dozen children by now. He could have thirteen cows. Maybe a goat or two.
Instead, he was facing the Staircase of Doom, which seemed to lead directly to his death.
“Are you all right?” Bryn whispered.
“He doesn’t like heights,” Haakon replied, giving him a prod in the middle of the back. “Or stairs.”
Bastard. “Stairs are the ultimate evil. Going up them is just a curse against your ass and thighs. And going down is like, ‘Welcome to Hel, foolish mortal.’”
Bryn arched a brow. “Scared? Of heights? You?”
“Not scared, so much as… respectful. You lead the way. And I will follow at a nice, safe distance.”
“You don’t seem bothered when you’re on Sirius’s back.”
“You didn’t hear him scream the first time we took off,” Haakon muttered.
“I didn’t scream. I said, ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ very loudly. And Sirius isn’t going to let me die,” Tormund ground out. “His mate likes me. Malin will ask questions if I am nothing more than a smear on some rocks somewhere.”
“Is that what you believe?” Bryn asked with a snort.
“It’s what I tell myself every second we’re in the air.”
Down, and down, and down they went.
Every now and then a torch hung in a sconce, but the light was meagre, and every time he looked over the edge of those stairs, the world dropped away into a nothingness so absolute, his balls tried to climb into his throat.
Just think, you could be sitting in your bed at home, with your arm curled around a buxom—
His brain stalled.
And his gaze shot unerringly toward the red-gold braid dancing in front of him, as Bryn loped down the stairs like a hungry wolf, her sword held low.
Fuck.
