Thrain unsheaths the dagger at his hip. “You think you can send Mother and that urchin away, and I cannot hurt you? You are wrong!”
Thrain knots his hand in Helga’s raven locks, tugging her head backward to expose her neck. “Look at your Commander, Helga. Tell me, is he worth it? You could have beenmymistress, bear my bastards. But, no.” He slices her gag, the leather belt clunks on the floor.
“Please, stop the madness!” Her eyes brim with tears.
Sigvid lurches to defend Helga with his axes drawn and his face contorted in a dangerous fury. “Listen to her, Thrain! You leave her alone and deal with me!”
A Salt soldier edges too close, and Sigvid cuts him down without breaking eye contact with his brother. He lunges, yet a set of hands restrain his left arm. Another warrior knocks his axes out of his grip so they clatter across the floor.
Sigvid snarls like a deranged animal as more hands and blades fall over his body. One man is just close enough, and he seizes his neck, squeezing the life out of him.
“Fight me yourself, you fucking coward!” His voice shakes the walls.
He loses count of the sheer number of his fucking warriors, grabbing his arms, neck, and waist. All to subdue their Lord Commander. The unfortunate man who finds his life clutched in Sigvid’s right hand flaps his arms while his face turns blue.
“Keep him under control,” Thrain smirks before returning toHelga. “Your allegiance is misplaced, sweetheart.” Thrain raises the dagger.
“Briny God of Strength, my soul is yours to take to the hall of the Depths and fight at your side for all eternity.” Helga remains firm even as her last words and prayer fill the room.
The blade swipes across her neck, leaving a trench of crimson from ear to ear. The light vanishes from her eyes, and her body collapses to the floor.
“You have fucking everything! You are the King of Salt! Why is this not enough for you?” Sigvid fights against the mini-army, which detains him from ripping his brother limb from limb.
Helga, I am sorry. This is my fault. You did not deserve this! You have fulfilled your oath. May we meet again at The Depths.
All of the remaining soldiers inside point swords at him. A sniffle above their heads reminds Sigvid that he must allow them to apprehend him. Avina can still escape if he can draw Thrain’s forces back to Toftlund.
He throws the dead warrior at his brother's feet, eliciting a gleam of triumph from Ceowald.
“Clap him in irons, boys.” Thrain orders, slipping his hands in his pockets.
Iron cuffs are attached to Sigvid’s wrists and ankles. He feels the ironic familiarity of the situation of Ridge soldiers cuffing him because of Avina.
“Try anything, and you will find that I armed all of my Ridge men with Azure Blooms, boy.” Ceowald taunts him.
“Do you honestly believe I am stupid enough to try that, you pretentious prick?” Sigvid growls back. “Get close to me again, and I will bite off your fucking nose.”
Ceowald’s laugh is full of all the nerves he should have when confronting the fucking beast.
While they lead him toward Toftlund, Sigvid manages one final glance over his shoulder at Blackwood and sees a dark figure slip out into the night of the open front doors unnoticed by Thrain or Ceowald’s troops.
51
SIGVID
December 23rd, Year 100, 9th Era
Toftlund City Jail, Salt Province
The Toftlund City jail has two branches. The first set of ten cells is at the foot of the steps leading to the underground space. Only skeletons and empty shackles fill the cages.
The soldiers drag Sigvid down a dark corridor that reeks of death and decay to find three larger locked cells. Torture implements litter a long table in the center of the room, and two giant cages hang from the ceiling.
One of the three cells contains a skeleton still wearing its tattered clothes. The second is almost entirely straw, with a giant rat scurrying under the lone bench. The third and final enclosure is vacant and relatively mucked out.
“In you go!”
The soldiers dump him inside the third cage, quickly locking the door behind them in case Sigvid suddenly attacks.
