Chapter Thirty-One Guthnyr #4
The woman’s gaze slipped to Halvor, smooth brows hardening in irritation, whereupon the youth instantly convulsed as if he had suffered a stab wound to the gut.
Doubling over, he collapsed, bile issuing from his gaping mouth in a torrent.
Although the woman had thrown no weapon, Guthnyr knew instinctively that Halvor’s plight was her doing.
“Ventra!” he grunted, drawing Kohrvayl back for a thrust. The woman’s gaze caught him before he could deliver the blow.
It was as if an unseen torch lit a fire in his innards.
Searing pain joined with raging nausea to send him to his knees, his sword falling from a spasming hand.
From behind him came the hard snap of a bowstring, but the woman was too quick.
Ducking low to avoid Tirohk’s arrow, she pressed herself against Guthnyr’s kneeling form, peering over his shoulder to cast her gaze at the surrounding trees.
A chorus of strangled groans sounded, followed by the rustle and thump of falling bodies.
Able to turn his head only a few inches, Guthnyr saw Tirohk stumble into the clearing.
The war chief moved with agonised slowness, his entire body trembling as he made one faltering step after another.
His bow was gone but he had managed to take hold of his kelvehr hatchet.
Drool cascaded from between gritted teeth as he tottered towards the woman.
“Strong,” the woman muttered with a note of surprise. She stood, moving away from Guthnyr. “I hope you’re not fond of him,” she added, drawing a dagger from her belt.
Guthnyr let out a strangled roar as she approached Tirohk.
Despite the inferno raging in his core, he managed to reach a flailing arm towards Kohrvayl.
The bright, untarnished blade lay well within reach, but his fingers barely brushed the pommel before the woman slashed her dagger across Tirohk’s throat.
For an instant, rage overcame pain and Guthnyr was able to fully grasp the sword’s handle.
Surging upright, he lunged at the Ventra, but it was little more than the stumbling lurch of a clumsy child.
Sidestepping his flailing blade with ease, the woman sent Guthnyr sprawling with a deft kick to his ankles.
“Careful now, Tielvik,” she chided. “I’ve been told to deliver you unharmed, but it won’t prevent me making a cut or two if need be. ”
Once again wracked with agony, Guthnyr could only lie with his cheek pressed into the soil, staring into Tirohk’s half-closed, empty eyes only a few feet away.
“Ending you may seem petty,” the woman said, moving towards Halvor who lay huddled and shuddering at his father’s side, “but I took severe exception to your tone.”
“No!” Torfyn said, face hard with warning as he stepped into her path. “My son is not part of this. My agreement with the Kurgynrahk—”
“Ends here,” the woman interrupted, her arm moving with viper-like swiftness to lance her dagger neatly into the hollow of Torfyn’s neck.
Sputtering red froth, he collapsed to his knees, hands vainly attempting to stem the gush of blood.
“Always the way with turncoats, don’t you find?
” the woman enquired of Guthnyr, glancing up from the outlaw’s death throes.
“Having spent a lifetime mired in betrayal, they have the gall to be surprised when it’s visited upon them.
Now then, young man.” She turned back to Halvor, crouching with dagger raised, then pausing when he let out a plaintive string of garbled pleas.
“Oh, stop whining. Your kind should be grateful for a quick de—”
A large grey blur flickered across Guthnyr’s vision, accompanied by a brief snarl and the snap of jaws.
The woman’s pose barely changed, except she now stared in shocked regard of the jetting stump of her wrist. “Oh,” she said in a small, curious voice before the grey blur descended on her once again, powerful limbs pinning her down as snapping jaws and long sharp teeth ravaged her chest. Guthnyr felt his pain recede while the woman’s blood and bone flew in a grisly fountain, then, when the beast bit deeper, it vanished completely.
Its work complete, the wolf sat, tongue lapping over its reddened snout.
The sight of its eyes, green in a mask of dark fur brought a rush of recognition.
Hearing the sound of weeping, Guthnyr sat up, finding a familiar figure crouched beside Tirohk’s body.
Gently, Iyaka cradled the war chief’s head in her lap, trembling fingers tracing over his sagging features.
“What was she?”
The question came from a second figure, also familiar.
As Velkar strode from the trees, the wolf trotted to her side.
More followed her into the clearing, a pack at least double the size she had led back to the Morvek dominion.
Going to the mauled body of the woman, she squinted at her face in evident distaste before turning an expectant glance on Guthnyr.
“A Ventra, I believe,” he said, getting to his feet.
“A servant of the Vortigurn, possessed of a power best reserved to the gods.” He rubbed his gut, fighting a wave of nausea at the memory of the pain he had just experienced.
Nearby, Halvor crawled to his father’s body, his sobs far louder than Iyaka’s.
“How did you find us?” Guthnyr asked Velkar.
“My wolves never forget a scent.” She prodded a toe to the Ventra’s corpse. “Does the Vortigurn have more like this one?”
“Yes,” Guthnyr said, finding to his surprise that he retained the capacity to form a savage grin. “But that may not matter, for we have Ventra of our own.”