Chapter 11 #4
“Who are you? Where is my niece?” Daro demanded in Norse. The man, aware he was dying, smiled up at him.
“Join me in Valhalla!” he cried, pulling a knife, and trying to slam it into Daro’s chest.
Daro caught the man’s wrist, deflecting his blow. The man stared at Waryk. “A prize no more, tarnished gold, taken, alas, me laird … Viking’s daughter, Viking’s prize … she’ll not be yours, Scotsman.”
“Where is she?” Waryk demanded, catching the man by his hair and lifting his head by it. “Where—”
The man didn’t reply. He coughed blood, and died.
Waryk rose, swearing in frustration, and fighting the suspicion that Daro just might have killed the man to keep him from talking. “Waryk, there are more horses than there are dead men,” Angus said, and indicated the cliffs.
“Aye!” Warykcried. “The cliffs. The caverns in the cliffs.”
“Shall I start here?” Angus asked.
“I’ll move to the east,” Daro said.
“And I to the west,” Waryk agreed.
“Mellyora!” Daro called, but Waryk caught him suddenly by the arm, and shook his head.
“But we must find—”
“We must find her carefully. There are more men out there. We may need to see them, before they see us. They have Mellyora.”
Daro fell silent, his lips pursed grimly. “Aye, then,” he murmured softly. “We’ll search carefully and quietly, until we find her. And the rest of the traitors within my own camp!”
“And when we find them—” Waryk said with tight anger.
“They are dead men,” Daro swore. “They lived in my camp, they broke bread with my men, and then they betrayed me—and seized my niece!”
“Aye, they are dead men,” Waryk agreed. “But not until we know who they are, and why they have seized Mellyora.”
Mellyora didn’t know now just how far she had moved into the cavern.
There was scarcely any light seeping in, but she moved back as deeply as she dared, wondering what kind of varmint might frequent the area.
Wolves? Could they climb so high? She didn’t know.
What other manner of creature? Bears, possibly? If only she could see …
When daylight came, she would be in a better position.
In this darkness, she couldn’t see her enemy, and neither could her enemy see her.
But daylight might serve her well, since she was nimble and agile in these crags.
She could move swiftly while watching for the man.
He could not move so well as he searched for her.
She sat against the cavern wall, knowing that he walked the cliffs, knowing that he sought her, that he longed to kill her.
Knowing that there were more of them out there.
She barely dared to breathe.
Eventually, she realized that she could dimly see the entrance to the cavern. Moonlight had escaped cloud coverage now, and she could at least see form and shadow at the entrance. She blinked, then stiffened as if she had been pierced through with steel—there was someone there.
She heard nothing. She waited, her heart racing. Had he found her? No, now there was nothing, nothing at all. Had she imagined the bulk of the man at the cave’s entrance. Had it been a trick of the night, of the moon, of the fear she was feeling?
She closed her eyes, listening.
There, just the slightest sound …
Someone …
Moving. Near her. Carefully, furtively, in the darkness. Coming closer and closer …
If she didn’t breathe, didn’t move, would he see her, or know that she was there?
She caught her breath. She strained to see against the darkness. There was a shape …
Yes, there was someone in the dark space with her, she could hear his breathing, his pulse, the pounding of his heart Closer, closer; this time, he’d kill her.
She could make out his shape. A man, hunched just a few feet from her. He was staring at her through the darkness. Could he see her, had his eyes adjusted so quickly? Oh, God, did she still have an advantage?
In seconds he would be upon her. She knew that she had to strike, and strike surely this time.
Fear raced through her like lightning. She had but one chance.
In the darkness, she might aim too wildly with her sword.
She needed her knife. She reached for it, knowing that she had to sail at him with strength and impetus.
If she wounded him, and did not strike surely enough to kill …
He started to move. He had seen her, sensed her, smelled her …
She leapt up with a bloodcurdling cry, her arm raised high for the strike. She flew at him, stabbing downward with all her strength.
He swore, rising opportunely. She missed his throat.
Chest armor deflected her blow. She heard a ripping of fabric, but knew instantly that she had missed flesh.
Swearing, shrieking, insanely panicked and certain she was about to die, she kicked, scratched, pummeled, and fought.
But no matter how powerful and vicious her fight, he managed to battle her down and capture her wrists, and the knife was wrested from her.
She was thrown to the ground, and he was over her, straddling her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe …
“Damn you, be done with it!” she spat out. And she waited for a blade to slice her flesh.