“The rivers,” said Vig. “They prefer the water.” He rubbed his forehead. “We’ll send word across the north. The beasts prefer to travel by waterway and might be lured with sheep carcasses.”
Rey exhaled, clasping Vig’s arm. “Be safe, Twig Arms,” he said.
Vig nodded, gaze falling on Silla. “Take care of her.”
Rey swallowed the burn of emotion, thankful that Vig turned quickly to the Galdra. He barked out orders to fashion sledges to carry the corpses, and Nefi’s unconscious form. And it wasn’t long before they were charging down the mountain, eager to spread word of the hatchlings across the north.
Rey’s attention was focused solely on Silla. After dressing her in his over-tunic and Mýr’s leg wraps, Rey enfolded her in fur cloaks and lifted her into his arms.
She tried to protest. “This is forme,” Rey told her. Thankfully, with her pride protected, Silla relented.
Once they hit the trail down Jökull, they made quick work of it. Less than an hour later, he was climbing into Horse’s saddle behind Silla. His body curved protectively around her. “You scared me,” he whispered. Silently, she patted his hand.
He forced himself to exhale. She was safe. She would recover.
And Rey had the chance to make things right.
Chapter Sixty-Five
KOPA
The sound of clashing steel was like music to Jonas’s ears. His breath misted the cold air, feet planted wide on the blackened earth behind Kopa’s eastern garrison hall. Ducking the slashing sword, he kicked out at Hagbard, felling the large Klaernar warrior like a tree.
Jeers and the thump of shields rattled through the yard, exhilaration pumping through Jonas’s blood as he offered the man a hand up. Gods, but he missed this. The battle thrill; moving his body; the strategy in besting his opponent. On the sparring grounds, Jonas was back in his element.
Had this been what he’d chased, brawling in Kopa’s mead halls? The thought was confounding. Trading his blades for quiet nights in his family’s reclaimed longhouse had been his goal for so long. He’d convinced himself his life with the Bloodaxe Crew was a temporary thing.
What if our past is not our future?Ilías had asked. But these were the words of a younger brother. One who’d never looked into the eyes of his dying grandfather and sworn on a talisman to uphold the Svik family values.
Jonas’s hand found the talisman hanging from his neck and clasped it tightly.
Family, respect, duty.
It didn’t matter what Jonas wanted. He’d sworn to his grandfather he’d uphold these values. He’d sworn vengeance on Ilías’s grave. And with half the Klaernar’s payment buried in a nearby cache, Jonas was halfway to reaching his goal. Once Silla and Rey were locked in the Klaernar’s dungeons, he wouldcollect the other half of his reward. Would have enough to buy back his family’s lands. He could put this all behind him and move on with his life.
Now, there was only the task at hand.
“The man you know as the Slátrari,” said Jonas, turning to the contingent of Klaernar, “is a master in combat.”
These warriors had just arrived from Kunafjord after taking a ship from the south of Íseldur.The queen’s Chosen, Kaptein Ulfar had called them.Elite.These were no green boys. They were battle-hardened men. And now, they were underhiscommand.
“He does not rely on one specific tactic when fighting,” continued Jonas. “He uses his whole body. A slew of different weapons. He is cunning and brutal, and that was before I knew he was the gods damned Slátrari. Now we must also account for this…fire magic of his.”
The warriors grumbled. “Is this meant to enliven us?”
Jonas’s gaze snapped to the man’s claw-tattooed face. “No,” he replied. “It is meant to dispel any illusions you might have. He is one man, yes, but he fights like ten combined.”
“Sounds as though you admire him!” challenged one of the Chosen from the back of the group.
Jonas scowled at the man. “I did, once,” he admitted.
The men began complaining amongst themselves. “Why should we trust you when you’ve fought shoulder to shoulder with the man?” one called out. “What’s to say you won’t change your mind?”
“He took an arrow to the left thigh, and it still pains him when it’s cold. He has five daggers sheathed in his belt and one in his boot. He can handle a sword as easily with his left hand as his right.” Jonas watched the group, hoping they got his message. “He’s a protector. Makes poor decisions when others are in danger.”
Ilías had paid the price for Rey’s hot-headed decision to protect Silla on the Road of Bones. Jonas’s stomach burned, but he ignored it. There was only forward. Only vengeance. “He uses the terrain to his benefit.”
“Nothing we can do about that,” muttered one of the Klaernar warriors.
