She banished it along with her other worries and motioned to Sten to head towards the back of the nearest house.
Thankfully there were no guards posted at the rear entrances, so they went one by one, silently breaking into each house.
He was supposedly a rather small man, with thick blond hair and a matching beard which covered the majority of his face. Solveig was irritated with this lax description. At the very least, the man could have been considerate enough to sport some sort of tattoo or scar that would make him easier to identify.
It was as though he didn’t want to be taken prisoner.
Hours went by as they continued without success. With each house they searched, Sten grew fidgety and careless, making more noise than he should, constantly looking over his shoulder.
Solveig put a hand on his shoulder as they neared their next house, about to give a word of encouragement when a loud crash sounded from the southern end of the village, close to where Maddock waited with their horses.
Careful to stay out of sight, they left the street as quietly as possible and raced to where the sounds continued to escalate. Lights inside homes flashed on, and the guards posted at the front doors hurried towards the commotion, abandoning their posts.
Solveig quickened her pace, but just before they reached the street where a fight was breaking out, Sten grabbed her arm, his grip tight and a little shaky.
Confusion marred his young face. She waited for him to say something, but he only stared, eyes wide, face pale, and breathing heavy. He was likely terrified of being taken. She pitied him but had no time to waste. Giving him what she hoped was a bolstering glare, she wrenched her arm from his grasp.
Racing forward, drawing her swords, and entering the fray, she breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Gerrie with her spear in hand, fending off mortals with ease. Solveig tried to keep her focus on the fight, but her attention was split between her current opponent and attempting to count the heads of her people.
Distracted by the sudden current of dread snaking its way through her veins, she nearly missed the swing of a sword arcing towards her head, only ducking at the last second. One of her blades was knocked out of her hand.
The woman was too close for Solveig to use her other sword, so she dove and tackled her to the ground, taking the woman by surprise anddisarming her. Solveig swiftly got to her feet and kicked the woman’s head, knocking her unconscious.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a mane of blond hair dashing into the fight.
A laugh escaped her—she’d have to apologize to the scouts she tore into after receiving their description. This was indeed a small man with an enormous amount of blond hair and a beard that covered most of his face, resembling a lion.
Her eyes locked onto her target, humour all but forgotten, and started making her way to him. She was only a few feet away when a loud cry to her left gave her pause.
“Solveig!” Gerrie’s voice boomed over the commotion catching Solveig’s attention. She was pointing to the treeline.
Maddock was riding off on one of the horses, but that wasn’t what had caught Gerrie’s attention. Latham was there. Realization crashed into her—this was the presence she’d sensed on their journey to the village. He must have snuck out and followed them.
Stupid, reckless, dishonourable motherfucker.
He caught her eye a second before a black-gloved hand clasped around his throat and another around his mouth. There were two of them, barely visible in their black clothing, overpowering him with ease. Before Solveig realized she’d made a decision, she was racing away from the lion and towards Latham.
All she could think wasNot him not him not him not him.
Her feet flew to cover the distance between them, her body charged with energy as she fought through the chaos. She reached him just as the assailants were about to mount their horses. Solveig slashed her sword in one hand and pulled a dagger from her boot in the other, taking out two with lethal precision. They dropped Latham to the ground, and he sputtered, gasping for air.
“Get out of here,” he rasped. He was weak.
“Not without you, you fool.”
He struggled to stand as Solveig yanked his body. When she looked to see why he wasn’t getting to his feet, she gaped at the dark stain leaking through his tunic. She hadn’t made it in time. Two more black figures emerged from the shadows and advanced.
Latham moaned in pain, slumping to the ground. She tried to cushion his fall, but it was more imperative she fight off his would-be captors.
They were strong and relentless, but Solveig was determined. She would not waste her first chance to find who was behind the kidnapping of her soldiers. Preferably she’d capture them alive, to gain information, but she would settle for dead if need be.
Two against one was no issue for her—she’d dealt with worse odds. Solveig parried left, blocking the blows sent her way. Just as she was about to deliver another killing strike, her body coursed with electricity and awareness.
A sharp pain pierced her neck and all went black.
Asshecameto,her head throbbed with the beats of a thousand war drums. She waited to open her eyes until she was sure this return to consciousness would last. She vaguely remembered waking twice before, and both times her body had been alight with that strange humming, so painful she couldn’t make any sense of her surroundings and had welcomed the darkness when it took her again.
Though her head ached, the steadiness in her mind told her she was fully awake. She carefully opened her eyes, blinking a few times to adjust. The pain was gone when she took a deep breath, a musky scent filling her nose and mouth.
