Even Rey had stopped moping to watch Gunnar and Eyvind jostling to unsaddle and brush Hekla’s horse. “How long will you let this go on?” he’d grumbled.
“Until I grow tired of it,” she replied defensively. “When will you stop sulking about your woman,Galtung?”
When Rey’s jaw hardened and he glared back into the fire, Heklalowered her voice. “You hurt her, Axe Eyes, and you’ll have me to answer to.” Protracting her claws, she held them so they caught the glint of firelight.
To her great surprise, Axe Eyes threw his head back and laughed, leaving Hekla a little disconcerted. She could count the number of times she’d heard the man laugh on her lone remaining hand.
“If I hurt her,” Rey said, “I give you permission to shred my flesh into ribbons.”
“Good,” Hekla replied, studying him. She’d admit, the pair seemed unlikely. And after what Silla had weathered with Jonas, Hekla’s hackles were raised. But when she’d seen how disgustingly adorable they were together—not to mention the tenderness in Rey’s eyes whenever he looked at Silla—Hekla had wondered if there was something to be said about opposites.
Her gelding snorted, drawing Hekla from her reverie. She felt the weight of Gunnar’s gaze from where he rode beside her, but refused to look his way.
I kneel before you now to ask for your hand.
His words rang too loudly in her mind, her guilt burning hotter each day. She needed to find the words to let Gunnar down gently. But each time she looked into his eyes, they brightened with hope, and all she could see was the sullen man who’d been bed-bound for weeks after Ilías’s death. She couldn’t be the one to put him back in that dark place.
Hekla tried to drive all thoughts of Gunnar from her mind and refocus on the job ahead of them. Istré loomed ever nearer. Tonight, they’d bed down in a nearby village, and after a good night’s sleep, they would make the last leg of the journey.
They rounded a bend, and the village’s defensive walls came into view.
“ ’Twill be good to have a fresh pint of ale and a soft straw mattress tonight, eh, Smasher?” asked Thrand Long Sword, Eyvind’s second in command. Though he might have a highly punchable face and a rather ridiculous nickname, Hekla had discovered him to be a good man—a dependable warrior to fight alongside.
“I’ll rest better once this gods damned job is complete,” Hekla answered.
Limping away from the burnt ruins of Istré was not how it was supposed to go. But now she returned with more soldiers at her back and with renewed purpose. Now there would be no village chieftain to keep her from doing her job. They would find the source of the mist and destroy it. And though Hekla had not mentioned it yet to Rey, she had a promise she must fulfill—to a squirrel.
As they neared the village gates, disquiet grew in the pit of Hekla’s stomach. Rey held up a fist, drawing them to a halt. The gate hung wide, yet Hekla could not spot a single warrior atop the defensive walls. She swallowed hard, but followed the group through the gate.
In a matter of moments, the air was thick with the smell of moldered things.
“The mist,” Hekla said softly. “It has been here.” Her mind spun as she tried to guess how far they were from Istré. Two hours? Perhaps three?
Warriors drew their swords, and Hekla readied herself for the sight of the undead. She could still see the draugur Loftur had kept chained in a barn in her mind’s eye—gray skin, sharpened teeth and claws, and eyes that glowed like twin red coals.
But as they rode through the streets, no draugur lunged from the shadows. In fact, there was no movement at all. The timber homes were dark and still. For a moment, hope lifted in Hekla’s chest. Perhaps the people’d had time to evacuate. Perhaps they’d found safety. But as Hekla stared at the weathered door of one home, the smear of a bloodied handprint turned her hope to ash. A moment later, her horse stepped over a severed arm.
There was no question that the mist had struck this village. Which confirmed it truly was growing stronger. Spreading farther. Her stomach burned with anger and regret. This never should have happened.
“Where have the townspeople gone?” asked Gunnar.
It was a good question. The smell alone was enough to confirm that they’d been Turned draugur. But where were they?
They reached the village square, half a dozen ravens watching them from atop the V-shaped pillars on the central dais. For a moment, Hekla thought she saw a red glint in their eyes, but it was only a trick of the light.
The group dismounted, milling about uneasily. Unthinking, Hekla climbed onto the dais and began barking orders. “We search the homes in pairs…” Her gaze found Axe Eyes and her voice trailed off. Hekla shook her head, inwardly chastising herself. “I forgot the Bloodaxe Crew’s leader is back among us.”
“Go on,” said Rey, watching her with an unreadable expression.
Hekla cleared her throat, then launched back into it. “We search for survivors. If any are found, we’ll want to speak to them.”
“I’ll go with Hekla,” said Eyvind, determination in his eye as he moved toward her.
Her chest clenched—she was not ready to be alone with Eyvind.
“Actually,” said Hekla, backing away, “I’ll partner with Sigrún.” She glanced at her old friend, whose mouth was drawn into an amused smile. “You ought to partner with Gunnar, Hakonsson.”
Before either man could protest, Hekla grabbed Sigrún’s arm and pulled her toward the northern quadrant. They kicked down door after door, battle thrill pumping through Hekla’s veins. Any of these homes could conceal a draugur, ready to tear the flesh from their bones. But each home they searched was empty, with nothing to show save for bloodstains and claw marks, if one didn’t count the boot with a foot still inside it. At last, they converged back on the village square with the rest of the group. It seemed no one had found a thing.
