Chapter Twenty-One Guthnyr #3
Charging towards them, Guthnyr was forced to leap a fallen mount, noting that the iron bridle was jammed deep in its mouth amid a welter of blood and foam.
Passing by the horse that had just fallen, he saw smoke rising from the bit between its teeth, the iron peg glowing red as the beast screamed in distress.
Its rider struggled free of the animal and turned to face Guthnyr, sword raised, and died for it a heartbeat later as Kohrvayl opened his chest from belly to neck.
Guthnyr dodged clear of another horse and sprinted for the cart, leaping to Deyna’s side.
“It worked, then?” she asked, jabbing her spear at a warrior who swept close.
He hung low, sword extended and a grimace of hateful intent upon his features which became a shriek as his sword took on a bright red glow, the weapon falling from a blackened hand.
Looking to Aleida, Guthnyr found her face set in the unblinking stare that bespoke use of her blessing, but it was clearly taking an even greater toll than her labours in the Wehtrova forges.
Her eyes were sunken hollows in a pale mask and her sagging form told of an imminent collapse.
“Enough now,” he told her, grasping her arm as she fixed her gaze on another charging warrior.
Seemingly beset by a battle fury of her own, Aleida tried to pull free, keeping her focus on the horse and rider.
Fortunately, she was spared further exertion when a kelvehr arrow arced down to spit the warrior through the chest. The air thrummed as more shafts descended, felling most of the circling riders.
The half-dozen survivors took the prudent course of abandoning their wrath and steering their mounts towards the hills.
A chorus of cheers, ragged at first but building in volume, drew Guthnyr’s gaze back to the river.
Through the thinning mist, he saw the Travka standing tall among the many bodies littering the ice.
The Tielvik’s menda stabbed the air with their weapons, voices raised in a collective shout of exultation.
“You should be more careful,” Deyna said, Guthnyr turning to find her inspecting a minor wound to his upper arm. At some point in his charge a blade, most probably an axe, had managed to score a cut through the leather pauldron and an inch or two of skin beneath. He hadn’t felt it until now.
“Getting yourself killed will hardly advance our cause, will it?” she went on, casting her spear aside to hop down from the cart.
Approaching a body lying near the front wheel, she drove a hard kick into its head.
“Good commanders stay clear of the fight, like this fecker.” Her coarse accent made itself more evident as she continued to kick the corpse, accompanying each strike with a rhetorical question.
“Didn’t do you much good though, did it? Eh? EH!”
“Are you hurt?” Guthnyr asked Aleida.
Blinking, she shook her head. “Just need to rest a little. Don’t be too hard on her,” she added as Guthnyr began to climb down from the cart. “He said some… unpleasant things.”
Deyna had transferred her attentions to the corpse’s face when Guthnyr came to her side, smashing her heel into an already broken nose and smashed teeth. “No more insights to share, Tuhlvyr?” she enquired. “Please do. I especially enjoyed your speculation on the manner of my execution…”
“That’s enough,” Guthnyr said, pulling her away from the body.
“Get the feck off me!” She twisted her arm free and stalked away for a few paces, hugging herself tight.
“This, I would guess—” he inclined his head at the abused body “—is the Nihlvarian commander.”
Deyna closed her eyes, raising her face to draw in a deep breath.
“Yes,” she sighed, exhaling slowly before extending an arm to the corpse.
“I present Telmyrk Skortayd, Tuhlvyr of the Aegyn Veld. A man greatly, and unjustifiably impressed with his own judgement. Hence his willingness to believe my tale, though he still intended to present me to the Vortigurn for swift and surely merciless judgement, once he’d secured his victory over the rebels, of course.
He had us chained and trussed in this cart all the way here.
Lucky for us he didn’t use rope, I suppose. ”
Deyna approached the Tuhlvyr again. Guthnyr feared she would resume kicking but instead she scraped her gore-spattered shoes on his black enamelled steel breastplate.
“Once it started, Aleida crushed his chest with his own armour,” she said, lips twisting in amusement.
“Cut him off in mid-sentence, actually. He was always overly fond of the sound of his own voice, and given to bemoaning his lot. For example, he had much to say regarding the Vortigurn taking away his best warriors for the war across the sea. Mustering the force needed to crush us will have compelled him to scrape up every warrior left in his geld. Sehlumvek, the capital, has surely been left very poorly defended indeed.” The cruelty in her grin changed to satisfaction as she met Guthnyr’s gaze. “There are many slaves in Sehlumvek.”
Nodding, he looked to the hills rising above the mist to the south as the victorious cries of his warriors echoed ever louder. “Soon, there will be none.”