Chapter 39
Njall
Ax in hand, I walked the opposite way Elva had gone, hoping that we’d picked the correct directions.
I’d grabbed a strip of fabric from one bag, and every twenty steps, I tied a piece to the end of a branch.
This would help us find our way back to the horses in a hurry, if we had to.
Sticking close to the tree line, I couldn't hear much coming from the camp, which gave me hope I was in the right place.
As I walked, the scent of burning wood and roasting meat filled the air, accompanied by the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel; the telltale signs of a working camp.
Stepping out of the trees, I found myself behind a group of small tents.
I couldn’t believe my luck; between the last two was a pile of uniform shirts.
The putrid stench told me it was the laundry pile, but I couldn’t let that stop me.
I rummaged through it until I found a set in my size and slinked back into the trees to change.
This time, I emerged from the trees with a newfound confidence and an armful of wood.
I barely made it into the open area past the tents when a knight barked at me to deliver the wood to the large firepit with the spit on it.
I dropped my head and hurried along, depositing the wood where I’d been instructed before I glanced around quickly.
With everyone preoccupied with their tasks, no one seemed to notice me, so I hooked my ax on my belt and set off to find the prisoners.
As I made my rounds, I overheard several guards talking about their plans.
“Do you think the sirens will find the prince?” A young soldier asked his older companion.
“Sirens can find anything if it has a dick,” the older man replied. “The real question is whether the captain will share them with us after he gets what he wants.”
The memory of Talia and River’s hands and lips on me flooded my mind, but I held back the gag.
I’d used women for sex before, and I'd been used to make other men jealous, but the idea of those sirens touching me again was revolting. There was only one siren I wanted, and while I understood their nature, that Elva would be with other men, even if it was to protect us, filled me with a rage I wasn’t used to.
I hurried on to the next group, where I found what I was looking for.
“Why do we always have to watch the captives?” a guard who looked maybe fifteen whined. “I want to go hunting too.”
His friend chuckled. “It’s going to be a while before they give you a bow again.”
“Shooting the hunting dog keeper in the foot was an accident. I wouldn’t do it again.”
“Tell him that,” his friend said, laughing even louder now.
I stalked the two as they made their way across the camp. We reached a large, windowless wagon parked beside a brown tent when they turned around and noticed me.
I held up my ax and rolled my eyes. “Anyone want to trade wood collecting for guard duty?”
The young men shook their heads. “Who’d you piss off?” The first one asked.
“Apparently, everyone,” I replied nonchalantly and kept going.
Out of their line of sight, I crept behind the tent to eavesdrop.
The current guards briefed the new ones, forbidding them from talking to the prisoners or engaging with them in any way.
They were extremely dangerous, even if they didn’t look it.
The younger guards seemed only half-interested, having likely received this same warning every time they got stuck with this job.
After a few minutes of silence, I dared to glance around the tent wall and saw a pair of older guards emerge and walk toward the wagon. I watched them go up the stairs and fiddle with what could only be a lock before throwing open the door.
“Don’t get any bright ideas, you mutts,” the taller man bellowed.
“If you give those boys a hard time tonight, you’ll deal with us in the morning,” the second man chimed in before he slammed the door shut and they departed from the wagon.
I wanted to run up the stairs and look just to be sure it was them, but I knew that would be stupid.
Instead, I slipped back into the woods and took a quick walk around, seeing what else was in this part of the camp.
My lucky streak had ended. There was no armory, no food stores, and nothing else of excitement here.
The only thing I found was the horses, and while not what I hoped for, I was glad to know they were here in case things went bad and I needed to make a quick getaway.
On my way back to the wagon, I stumbled upon a lad sprawled out on the grass.
Inspiration struck, and I snatched his bottle of ale before heading to the tent where the young guards were.
I waited. The first time they left the tent to check the wagon, I managed to find a loose flap in the tent and slipped the bottle inside, far enough out of sight that they could have overlooked it, but easy enough to spot when they came back in.
My plan worked. In no time, the young guards were laughing and slurring their words, and I darted up the steps of the wagon. My ax made quick work of the lock, and I stepped inside.
The room was only as dark as the streets of Tyndorf when the last lanterns were still glowing, but the smell was worse than the brothel in the middle of summer.
Everything stank of piss and rotten food.
As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could make out Leifur and Sindri on the ground.
Their clothes were filthy, and both were sitting on the wooden floor.
It was strewn with food, feces, and what looked like a dead rat.
Massive chains tethered them by the ankles to the rear wall.
Leifur was the first to spot me and sat up as quickly as if he'd been stung. “Njall?”
“What?” Sindri joined him, and they were on their feet coming toward me until the chain stopped them a few paces away.
“What are you doing here?” Leifur asked, his voice filled with hope that made my heart ache.
Sindri cut in, his eyes searching for his twin. “Where’s Elva?” he demanded.
“Your sister is busy creating a diversion while I free you.”
Sindri sighed, and his shoulders dropped in clear relief, before Leifur patted them. “How are you planning to get us out of this?” Sindri asked, pulling on the chain.
I handed my ax to Leifur, who stared at me for a moment before glancing from the ax to the chains on the ground.
Any blacksmith should have been able to break the chain with that axe. “What do you need?” I asked.
“Can you help hold Sindri’s chain?” He grabbed the part closest to the siren’s ankle.
“I can, if you promise not to cut my hand off.”
“If I found out you did anything to Elva while we were in here, I’ll do more than that,” he said, as I kneeled to pull the chain tight for him.
“Sorry, love,” Leifur said to Sindri. “You’ll have to live with the ankle bracelet for a little longer. This isn’t the right tool for getting it off.”
Sindri nodded, and Leifur swung the ax.