Page 69 of Storm of Fury
Tormund gave him a flippant gesture, then snatched at the handle of his axe and tossed it in the air. “Yes, Mother.”
Marduk caught Tormund’s wrist as he strode past, his nostrils flaring. “Wait,” he snapped. “I can smell more than that horrible sausage now.”
They all fell still.
Tormund’s hand curled around the hilt of his axe. “What is it?”
“Dreki.” Marduk cocked his head and scented the breeze. “There’s at least ten of them.”
“Tenof them?” Haakon’s sword cleared its sheath with a steely rasp. “Are they friend or foe?”
“I don’t know.” Marduk’s golden brows drew together in a frown. “I don’t recognize their scents.”
According to Sirius, Zorja had sworn not to send her people after them, but she’d warned them the Keepers of Order wouldn’t rest until they had Ishtar in their hands again. “The Keepers?”
“Not unless they’ve found friends,” Marduk replied, the whites of his eyes flaring. “And I don’t think they have friends.”
Tormund’s heart suddenly fell. “Can you smell Bryn?”
“No.”
A piercing whistle filled the air, and then something hissed past Tormund’s nose—
Marduk spun, clearly sensing it before they did, but the shaft of an arrow sank into his upper chest. He staggered backward with a gasp and went to one knee.
Tormund whipped around, his hand firming around his axe. “Haakon!”
“Here.” Haakon stepped to his side, both of them presenting a protective wall for the prince.
Where the fuck was his shield?
“Are you all right?” He didn’t dare look at Marduk.
“Alive,” the prince gasped. “They missed anything vital.”
Nothing moved out there in the fog. But tendrils of mist stirred, and it was becoming very clear that the mist was circling them. Only the space they stood within remained clear.
“Any chance you’re doing that?” he asked the prince.
“No. It’s not my specialty.”
“Definitely foes,” Tormund grunted. Damn it, where was Bryn? Had thesedrekifound her? She could more than handle herself, but—
Damn it.
“Can you fight?” Haakon spared the prince a glance.
“Yes.” There was a hiss of expelled breath, a fleshypop, and then the bloodied arrow landed next to Tormund’s boot. The prince clasped a hand to his bloodied chest. “It will heal shortly.” He drew the knife at his hip. “But I don’t think this is going to be a friendly discussion.”
A dark shape loomed out of the mist.
Someone running.
Tormund turned toward them, hefting the axe, when Bryn suddenly burst through the fog, her face flushed with exertion.
“Jesus,” he hissed, lowering the axe. “Where were you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Bryn held her hands up. “Don’t fight.”
