Chapter 68
For a stunned, staring instant, Raye was sure it was a dream. It had to be a dream. Kalfr and Gaelfr were here? Here?
But the approaching men’s shouts faltered, and several of them reeled backwards, as if they could see this, too. And strongest of all was the firm, familiar touch of a hand to Raye’s back. Gaelfr’s hand.
“Get down, saeta,” he growled, through what appeared to be a thick mask, covering his nose and mouth. “Now.”
Raye jolted and lurched backwards, toward the open trapdoor, but she couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t seem to make herself go further — and oh, Kalfr’s familiar beautiful eyes glanced back toward her above his own mask, his hand snapping out to gently squeeze her arm.
“Go, saeta,” he breathed. “You are safe now.”
Safe. Safe. The smoky room dipped and swirled around Raye, but finally her limbs obeyed again, and she staggered backwards, halfway down into the hole, finding her footing beneath.
While her eyes stayed frozen on the sight of Kalfr and Gaelfr sweeping forward as one, their swords flashing up in unison toward the rushing men — and then striking down in a single sharp, devastating stroke, while the men staggered and screamed.
“Get her down here!” came a distant familiar voice, followed by hands yanking at Raye’s arms — and though she didn’t fight it, she couldn’t help another last look toward where her mates were now charging and weaving together, spinning and parrying beneath their attackers’ blades, moving with astonishing speed and grace.
Kalfr ducking and sweeping his sword out below, while Gaelfr’s huge axe swung over his head, and the men toppled and fell around them —
But then they were knocked away, replaced by a dark earthen wall, and then by — orcs.
Multiple shadowy orcs, here in Svein’s tunnel, and one of them was tugging Raye further down the tunnel, away from the light and smoke up above.
While another orc let out a sharp, exasperated growl as a pair of cool hands settled against her chest.
“Fokk, woman,” snapped a familiar voice, and when Raye blinked toward it, it was — Rurik.
Rurik, glowering not at Raye, but down toward his hands on her chest. “I know you longed to cheer the carnage like a good little Bautul, but not whilst you are inhaling smoke the whole time. And bleeding, also. Now stay.”
Raye’s breath exhaled in something like a laugh, or maybe a sob, as she glanced downwards — she’d entirely forgotten about her new wound, which had now bled out all over the front of her dress — but it didn’t matter, and her eyes snapped up again, away, frantically sweeping over the dim tunnel.
“But — Svein,” she gasped, over her thundering heartbeat. “Where is he? Is he safe?”
Rurik nodded, as one of his cool hands slid around to Raye’s back, his eyes focused on her sternum. “Svein is further down the tunnel, safe with Julian and Eyolf and Iyolf,” he said. “We did not wish him to witness the carnage, at least.”
The relief surged through Raye’s body, strong enough that she swayed on her feet, and Rurik hissed as his strong hands clutched against her, and he jerked his head toward someone nearby. “Come, hold her still,” he snapped. “And breathe, woman. Slow, and deep.”
Raye fought to obey, and vaguely registered Othan’s tall body easing up beside them, his strong hands gently gripping her shoulders. “This was good work, woman,” he told her, with an approving grin. “Well done.”
Raye might have swayed again, but for his hands holding her steady, and she shook her head, tried to reel in her still-shouting thoughts. “But — Kalfr and Gaelfr,” she choked. “They’re still up there! The men could still hurt them, or the fire —”
But Egil had slipped up beside them too, his nostrils flaring, his eyes briefly distant, and he shook his head.
“Naught to fear,” he told her. “Only six men broke in, and the others have given up any hunting, and are keeping well away. Kalfr and Gaelfr are already done, I ken, and only cleaning up now.”
Cleaning up? Raye blinked blankly at Egil, and he shrugged, gave a sheepish smile. “Would not wish the men to find too many wounds on the bodies after, ach?” he asked. “Or notice some are missing? Must make sure they burn well.”
Right. Raye’s thundering heartbeat had begun to slow, her breaths deepening, and her eyes swept over the tunnel again.
Olarr and Joarr were both waiting near the trapdoor, both with their weapons in hand, clearly waiting on call if they were needed above.
Close behind them, Soren and William were working on the tunnel, Soren barking orders through the slits in the quilt he was still wearing, while a sweaty William heaved out huge shovelfuls of dirt.
And even as Raye opened her mouth to ask what the hell they were doing, her eyes caught on a squirming form, further away down the tunnel. Sybil.
She’d been bound to the jagged wall of earth and stone behind her, and her forearms were still tied together with Raye’s belt, too — and though her burned hands looked less alarming than before, they were still reddened and blistered, oozing pus from the palms. There was also a deep red mark on her sweaty cheek, and — Raye winced — her previously lovely hair was utterly ruined, cut short and jagged and sticking out all over her head.
A sight that might have been comical, if not for the way Sybil was glaring at Raye with pure hatred burning through her eyes, while her mouth rapidly spat words Raye couldn’t hear through the hubbub all around them.
“Rurik inflamed her throat, apparently,” Fengr informed Raye, from where he was also standing nearby, watching Sybil with deep distaste. “So” — his eyes narrowed toward her — “no more screeching for you, you nasty little pain in the rump. Whispering only.”
Sybil rasped what appeared to be a series of curses back toward Fengr, while also fighting to wrench away from the wall.
But Fengr coolly smiled back, and gave a cheery little finger-wave down the corridor toward where Skirvir had appeared, loping up the corridor carrying a tangle of heavy, muddy steel chains.
“You were right, dancer,” Skirvir told Fengr, his deep voice almost admiring. “They were beneath that tall pine. Must have been caught there by some fool human, and left.”
Fengr looked mildly gratified as he gripped for the chain, and began yanking the tangled lengths apart.
While Sybil stared down at the chain, and then gaped between Fengr and Skirvir with disbelieving eyes.
“You’re not putting those on me,” she rasped, her voice barely audible to Raye’s ears.
“They’re filthy! And likely poisonous! You’ll kill me, you stupid hideous brutes! ”
Rurik had moved around behind Raye, and Othan and Egil had jogged off to wait with Olarr and Joarr, thereby giving Raye an unobstructed view as Skirvir frowned at Sybil, and began helping Fengr with the chains, slinging an untangled length over his bulky arm.
“She is not near as sweet as she was in the portrait,” he told Fengr, in tones of deep disappointment. “Nor as pretty, either.”
Fengr’s eyes stayed focused on his chain-detangling, though his mouth betrayed an almost imperceptible smile, while Sybil scoffed and stared between them. “Wait,” she hissed toward Skirvir. “Do you mean — do you mean you saw that portrait? I sent that to Kalfr!”
Skirvir’s glower toward her deepened, while Fengr huffed a chilly laugh.
“What, did you dream Kalfr would scent you upon it, and rush off to open it away from the rest of us, with his hand down his trousers?” he blandly inquired.
“When in truth, just the night before this portrait came, he had a real live woman stuck and screaming upon his prick, begging for his son, whilst half their band watched?”
His eyes angled meaningfully toward Raye, and Sybil’s narrow gaze followed, her head whipping back and forth. “No, he didn’t,” she snapped back. “Because she just said Kalfr dumped her! And he’s still in love with me!”
The triumph flashed through her eyes, rang through her rasping voice — and Raye stared back at her, nonplussed.
“I was lying,” she said, her voice flat with disbelief.
“I made it up, so the men would think it was just me. So they wouldn’t cast any blame on the orcs for your death, and we wouldn’t risk starting another war. ”
Sybil stared back at Raye, her mouth fallen open, while Fengr gave a light, tinkling laugh.
“Aw, too bad, pet,” he said, as he pulled a length of the now-untangled chain off Skirvir’s arm, and began binding it around Sybil’s wrists, while also tugging Raye’s belt free.
“You’ll have to settle for the likes of him, instead. ”
He jerked his head toward Skirvir, who cast him a narrow look, while Sybil snorted, and bared her teeth. “You only wish,” she spat toward Skirvir. “As if I would ever touch the likes of you, you fat hideous troll.”
Skirvir’s big body stiffened, as unmistakable hurt flared through his eyes. A look that Fengr hadn’t missed, flicking a sidelong glance toward him — and once he’d knelt to bind Sybil’s ankles, too, he helped Raye tie her belt back around her waist, and then gave Sybil another cool, vicious smile.
“Your loss, then, pet,” he told her, as he slipped his arm around Skirvir’s back, and aimed his smile up toward Skirvir’s face. “More for me, ach, you big brute?”
For an instant, Skirvir blinked back toward Fengr, looking as though he’d just been struck across the face. While Fengr kept smiling at him, easing closer into his side — and then he slipped his hand straight down Skirvir’s front, and gripped at the visible bulge in his trousers.
Skirvir’s breath hitched, his eyes goggling toward Fengr with blank disbelief. But the bulge in his trousers was clearly enjoying the attention, vibrating and stretching against the increasingly tight fabric, straining into Fengr’s touch.