Chapter Fifty-One Guthnyr
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Guthnyr
He swung Kohrvayl as he leaped clear of the toppling statue, hoping sheer ferocity would ward off the mob.
For a brief time, he succeeded in creating a gap between the ravening townsfolk and his companions, enabling them to scramble free of the bronze goddess.
Two of Halvor’s outlaws were not so fortunate, dragged into the throng and torn to shreds in a matter of seconds.
Soon Guthnyr was forced back, finding himself fighting alongside Deyna and Aleida.
He couldn’t see Sygurn and hoped the smith had at least received a quick death.
Hearing a cry from Aleida, he saw several hands latched onto her wrists, pulling her into the crowd.
Guthnyr swung Kohrvayl high then low, slicing heads and feet to carve a path to Aleida’s side where he hacked away the limbs ensnaring her.
The action unbalanced him, enabling a cluster of townsfolk to plough into his unguarded side, sending him sprawling.
He continued to slash as the mob closed in, but there were too many.
Then he heard the thrum of a great many arrows launched at once and, with shocking instancy, the attackers looming above vanished.
More arrows cut the air as he scrambled to his feet, crouching low to avoid the many shafts arcing down from the surrounding rooftops.
Glancing up, Guthnyr saw Morvek of the Vehlkasa and Teyrak clans atop the houses, all working their stout bows with feverish energy.
The deranged townsfolk fell by the dozen, corpses piling up on street corners.
Soon, more Morvek came streaming into the junction from the northward street, wielding their war clubs and kelvehr hatchets to deadly effect until there were no more maddened souls to kill.
“Can someone get this fecking thing off me?”
Guthnyr looked down to find Sygurn pinned under the statue.
It required all of them to lift the bronze goddess the bare few inches needed to allow the smith to crawl free.
As he straightened, Guthnyr was struck by the haggard, fear-riven state of Sygurn’s face.
Before today, he had never seemed truly afraid.
“This isn’t war,” Sygurn told Guthnyr, voice thin and ragged. “Don’t know what the feck it is, but it’s not war.”
Even the hardiest, bravest soul will one day have their fill of war, Guthnyr thought. Resting a hand on Sygurn’s shoulder, he said, “Go. You’ve done enough here. Find Behsla. The children will need guarding more than ever if any of these… creatures escape the city.”
“You know I can’t do that.” There was no anger or shame in Sygurn’s gaze, just tired acceptance of an inevitable fate.
Reaching for the flask on his belt, he took a deep swallow, crimson rivulets of wine escaping his lips as he gulped.
Once drained, he cast it aside and forced a grin. “Haven’t found Ruhlin yet, have we?”
“You could’ve saved some of that for me,” Guthnyr chided.
“Where is he?” The demand came from Velkar, striding across the corpse-strewn junction flanked by her wolves. All had maws darkened with blood. “Where is the Telchak?”
Guthnyr opened his hand as Golden trotted towards him, nuzzling his palm with her reddened snout.
“There, we think,” he said, nodding to the tower.
It loomed above like a great spear pointed to the heart of the swirling vortex.
Feeling rain spot his skin, Guthnyr saw dark beads of moisture beading Kohrvayl’s blade.
“This is…” Velkar’s voice diminished to a frightened murmur as she wiped frantically at the raindrops.
Her wolves began to whine in distress, snapping their jaws and shaking to banish the droplets.
“This is wrong.” The elder raised her gaze to the storm, gaping in horrified realisation. “So very wrong. What has he done?”
“You know what that thing is?” Guthnyr asked.
“I know what it portends.” She stared at him in blank terror.
“Our end. And so much more. This must be stopped.” She turned and ran for the east-facing street, her wolves running alongside.
The Morvek crowding the surrounding rooftops were quick to follow, leaping to the cobbles and pelting towards the Vortigurn’s hall.
“I had hoped to kill the bastard myself,” Deyna commented, flicking blood from her knife. “I doubt I’ll get the chance now.”
“The day is not yet done,” Guthnyr told her. Inclining his head at the tower, he said, “Shall we?”
A gap a hundred paces wide separated the central district of the Citadel from the hill where the Vortigurn’s hall rested.
The sprawling collection of discordant architecture was ringed by a wall some twenty feet high.
Guthnyr took heart at the absence of defenders on its battlements, and the fact that its gates were standing open.
Less heartening was the sight of at least a thousand townsfolk thronging the divide between street and wall, with more streaming in from the northern and southern quarters.
Off to his left, the Travka were already engaged in a fierce struggle with the deranged locals.
With the arrival of the Morvek, the scene quickly transformed into a general melee.
Everywhere Guthnyr looked, people fought.
Mostly unarmed townsfolk died in droves as the Morvek took fulsome opportunity to vent many lifetimes worth of vengeful fury upon the hated Rulchakin.
But the insane savagery of their opponents also took a toll, slowing the advance of the Tielvik’s menda to a crawl.
“We can’t be dragged into this,” Deyna said, still preoccupied by the tower.
The black rain was falling more thickly now, leaving them spattered in grey, gritty water possessed of a stench that put Guthnyr in mind of a rotting corpse.
Heedless of danger, Velkar had already plunged headlong into the fray, her wolves carving a path towards the nearest gate.
“Follow her,” Guthnyr said, starting in the elder’s wake, then pausing when something flickered in the corner of his eye.
It was a dim flare of blue light he might have missed if not for the increasing gloom caused by the black rain.
Turning, he saw a band of warriors emerging from the narrow streets of the southern quarter.
At their head walked a tall man bearing a glowing sword.
As its light played over the man’s features, Guthnyr stumbled to a complete halt.
“We can’t stop!” Deyna said, shoving hard at his back. Guthnyr barely felt it. Noting the shock on his face, she followed his gaze to the man with the glowing sword. “You know him?”
“Yes,” Guthnyr said in a whisper before starting towards the sword bearer at a run. “Yes, I do.”