I go from person to person in hopes of finding someone who’s seen her. “I’m searching for a young woman with a birthmark over her left eye. She might have a young man with her.”
“I saw someone like that in here earlier,” one woman finally says. “The man too.”
“Did they say where they were going?”
“No, but they were in quite a hurry. I think the man mentioned something about booking passage on a ship.”
Of course. I remember their conversation at the fire. Wren wanted to leave this life behind, and that’s exactly what they’re doing.
I start to go when someone speaks my name. “Esben.”
My blood runs cold, and I stop dead in my tracks. I know that voice.
I turn around slowly, and there he is, among the sick. Old Ben, the man I was named after. He knew me from another life, when I was a different man. Ben laughed with my wife. He played with my daughter. I’ve never had many friends, but he was one.
“Is it really you?” At the sight of me, he struggles to rise, only to collapse against the bed where he lies.
“It’s me, Ben.” I hover over his bed.
Ben shirks away. “Don’t come any closer.”
He looks as if he’s aged ten years since I last saw him. His hair has turned white, and his skin is a sickly pale color. Violent spasms wrack his body as he begins to cough, until at last he spits out a mouthful of blood and slumps back on his pillow with labored, shallow breaths.
He’s dying.
Ignoring his warning, I take a cloth, submerge it in a nearby washbowl, and hold it to his sweaty forehead.
“I’m sorry, Esben.” Ben grabs my hand and squeezes it. It’s a simple physical gesture of friendship that sends cracks in the wall of stone I’ve built around my heart. “I loved that little girl.”
Ben and I haven’t seen each other since my daughter’s death. “I hunted the men who did it and made them pay. Then I tracked down Ahearn and did the same.”
“I’ve heard the stories.”
“Killing Ahearn wasn’t enough. The prince gave the order.”
“And now that the prince is dead?”
“Queen Scathach has to answer for what her son took from me. I won’t stop until she’s dead or I am.”
Ben regards me without judgment. “And when the queen is dead, what then? Do you really think that will be the end of it?”
I don’t answer.
“Hate has a price, Esben. If you let it, it will consume you, until there’s nothing left in you but darkness.” Ben stares at me with eyes full of compassion, and it’s hard to hold his gaze. “I know you. You’re not a bad man. Leave this life behind—start over somewhere else.”
I shake my head. “It’s too late for me. Hate is the only thing I have left.”
“You’re wrong. Do you think this is the life Rhona and Aileen would want for you?”
I finally look away. “I killed a woman, Ben. Cracked her head against the wall and watched her brains come out. The man you knew is gone.”
“You’re wrong.” Despite Ben’s frailty, he clings to my hand with desperate strength. “I don’t have long, but you still have time. It’s never too late to do something good. One good thing.”
“Ben…”
Another violent coughing fit leaves him unconscious.
I’ve tried my best to leave the past behind me, but as I stare at Ben, at last it finally comes rushing back. When I remember the love I had for Rhona, I think again of Bast and Wren. I would have done anything to save Rhona. That’s what he’s doing for her.
I can’t let go of my hate for Scathach. It’s too late for me, but maybe it’s not too late for Bast. He doesn’t have to follow my path. He still has a chance at a better life.
I spare Ben one final glance, and as I go, his words echo in my thoughts.
One good thing.
Faolán picks up Bast’s scent outside the almshouse. There’s no time to wait for Arlo. I can’t let the trail run cold. If the sheriff doesn’t find Bast and Wren first, Duke and the others will.
The trail leads me away from the more populous areas to a lonely road overlooking the river. They’re headed for the docks. A scream breaks the relative quiet as I pass through a secluded tunnel under a stone arch.
Wren.
I observe, hidden in shadows, as the guards surround Bast and Wren. I recognize Angus among them. These are the sheriff’s men.
Bast tells Wren to stay behind him and goes for his sword. He’s not fast enough. Two guards hold him in place while a third attempts to interrogate him. Bast spits in his face, and the man hits him across jaw. When Wren tries to intervene, another guard restrains her, and all she can do is watch.
Bast goes down hard. His satchel lands beside him, and the silver spills out. If he’s lucky, the sheriff will keep him alive long enough to learn Duke’s whereabouts. If not…
Anyone else would leave Bast to his fate. There are too many guards to fight them all.
“You there!” A guard sees me approaching and calls out for me to turn back while the others occupy themselves with Bast.
I pull my sword and run him through. His arms go limp, and he looks at me with a confused expression before dropping to the ground. Shouts ring out, and an arrow flies over my head. I break into a sprint, gripping my short sword in one hand and my axe in the other. Faolán mauls an archer and moves onto the next as I charge headfirst into the guards. One swing of my axe shatters a guard’s collarbone and sends blood spurting. My sword severs a man’s windpipe.
A spear grazes my shoulder, and a blade cuts my forearm. I can’t keep this up forever. I’m tough but not invincible. If it weren’t for Faolán, who more than holds her own, I’d be dead already. Panting for breath, I draw myself up and face down the remaining guards.
Suddenly, Arlo charges into the guards’ ranks on horseback. He must have followed me here. I use the resulting surprise to my advantage, surge forward, and cleave a man’s head clean from his body with my axe. Angus and the remaining guards scatter, presumably for reinforcements.
As Arlo dismounts to inspect the area, I hurry to Bast and pull him to his feet. The guards did a number on him. One eye is already swollen shut. His nose is broken, and one of his ribs is probably cracked.
“Berengar?” Bast’s eyes widen in alarm. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to help you, idiot.” I put a hand on Bast to steady him. “We can’t stay here. There’ll be more of them soon.”
He casts a glance at Wren and forces himself to stand on his own. “We booked passage on a boat to Caledonia. It leaves at sunset.”
I swear. It’s not long before sunset. “We don’t have much time.”
“What are you doing?” Arlo blocks my path, sword in hand.
“What I should have done in the first place. I’m getting them out of here.” I keep my hold on the axe, and Bast and Wren exchange nervous glances.
“Duke and the others are here in the city. I heard it from the guards.”
“It’s too late for them and you know it, but you can still walk away from this.”
After a tense standoff, Arlo lowers his blade. “That’s it then. This is the end of everything.” He gives us a sad look, nods to himself, and leaves.
Bast lets out a relieved sigh. He didn’t want to fight Arlo any more than I did.
Bells thunder across the city as we mount up and ride side-by-side through Siren’s Reach. Dark clouds swallow most of the light, and frigid winds howl and rush down from above.
“There it is.” Bast spots a boat at the dock below, and we bring our horses to a halt near a long staircase at the end of a stone bridge.
“Look,” Wren says.
Duke and the others approach on horseback. They’ll be here in moments. Bast reaches for his sword, but I shake my head. He can’t fight, not in the shape he’s in.
“Berengar, we have to go.”
Wren regards me with a knowing look. “He’s not coming wi
th us.”
Bast’s brow arches in surprise. “Berengar?”
“She’s right.” I hand him my coin pouch to replace the silver he lost. “Take it. It’s not much, but it’ll pay the boatman. Use the rest to start a new life somewhere far from here.”
Bast goes quiet. He understands what this means. “You are my friend.”
“Make it count.” I take hold of my axe and turn away. “I’ll keep them busy long enough for you to reach the boat.”
Wren takes his hand, and they run down the staircase together. The others bring their horses to a stop at the bridge when they see me standing in their way.
Duke looks past me, and his jaw tightens at the sight of Bast and Wren nearing the boat. He knows what this is. “Get out of the way, Berengar.”
I don’t budge. “No.”
“I knew it!” Talon snarls at me. “I told you he’d turn traitor, Duke. They were in this together from the start.”
“Quiet.” Duke doesn’t spare Talon a passing glance. He’s preoccupied with me.
I tighten my grip on the axe. “It’s over, Duke. Hear those bells? The sheriff’s men are on their way.”
He dismounts and reaches for his blade, and the others do the same. Each man sizes me up, looking for weakness. There’s no remorse in their eyes. They won’t hesitate to kill if they get the chance, and neither will I.
I stand my ground. It’s four against one. I’ve faced worse odds, but these men are among the hardest killers in the north, and I’ve got to fight them all at the same time.
“Kill him.” Duke points his sword in my direction, and the others attack as one.
Søren, the first to reach me, brings his axe down with all his might. I counter with my axe’s handle and hit him in the mouth. Talon and Kade attack in tandem before I can press my advantage. Søren spits out a tooth, laughs, and comes sprinting toward us. The bloody Dane is actually enjoying this.
When I bring my axe around in time to meet Duke’s sword, he nicks my neck with a hidden knife. I press my hand to the wound and see the blood. Any closer and the blade would have opened an artery. A single misstep could cost me my life. I take a step back and draw the others onto the bridge to prevent them from surrounding me at once. Kade takes the bait. When he gets too close, I punch him in the throat with enough force to break his trachea. Faolán rips his face to shreds, and his arm hangs limply over the bridge.
The moment of victory is short-lived. Duke scores a hit with his blade, then another. The knife slips between the gaps in my armor with ease. I stagger forward and blunt a mad charge from Søren. The impact sends my axe careening off the bridge. Søren flashes his teeth and raises his axe, but before he can strike, Faolán leaps on him and begins viciously mauling him.
I wrench my short sword free in time to meet Talon’s blade and overpower him. Duke rushes me before I can finish Talon. I’m no match for Duke with the sword. Fast as I am, he’s faster, and despite my size, I lose ground with each exchange. Driving forward, I seize his wrist and pry the sword free. Even as the blade clatters to the ground, Duke uses his other hand to plunge the knife into my side. I let out a pained growl and fling him away, though he quickly recovers and fingers his other knife.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I spit out blood and sputum. Blood streaks down the hole in my armor. My vision wavers.
Talon picks himself up and joins Duke. They have me cornered, and we both know it. The Bloody Red Bear, I’m called. A wounded, cornered bear is at its most dangerous, and I have nothing left to lose.
Talon thinks he has the advantage because he’s the one with the weapon, but I don’t need my sword or my axe to kill him. My body is my weapon.
Surprise briefly registers on his face before I meet him head on and lift him off his feet. Talon lands hard on his back, and I’m on him before he can recover. My fingers dig into his eye sockets as I increase the pressure to his skull. Talon claws at me in frantic desperation, but even wounded, I’m stronger by far. He dies screaming. It’s still better than he deserves.
I let Talon’s fractured skull fall from my bloody hands and stagger off him. It’s just me and Duke now.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse the boat carrying Bast and Wren sail away, and my mouth folds into a half-smile. “You’re too late, Duke. They’re gone.”
He’ll never see that gold. Not now. He’ll be lucky to escape with his life. It can’t be long before the sheriff’s men arrive. “Just look what you’ve done. You’ve destroyed everything.”
“You did that yourself. You used us, Duke. You never cared about any of the others. It was always about the gold, wasn’t it?”
“I took you in—gave you a home—and after all we’ve been through, this is how you repay me?” My words sting him. Maybe at some level he’d even deceived himself. “I could have fixed it, Berengar. I could have made it like it was.”
I shake my head. “We’re killers, Duke. Maybe we’re not worth saving.”
We regard each other for a long moment. Then Duke springs forward with the knife, and I lower my shoulder and rush to meet him. We collide in a violent clash, and the impact carries us both over the bridge.
Time slows as my feet leave the stony surface and find only air. I’m not sure how far I fall. It’s at least fifteen feet—maybe more. I land on my side, and the world slides out of place. I try to move and wince. I’ve bruised or cracked a few ribs.
A cough comes from Duke, who landed beside me. He’s in better shape than me, but not by much. He groans and reaches for his knife, which landed nearby, but I roll over and pin him underneath me. While his free hand grasps at the knife, I wrap my hands around his neck. As his strength starts to leave him, he abandons the futile effort to reach the blade and instead twists the knife protruding from my armor. My grip loosens, and Dule manages to roll out from under me.
My axe lies a short space away. I crawl toward it and take the handle as Duke gasps for breath.
Voices carry from above. The sheriff’s men. I cough and push myself up.
“We’re not done.” Strained from near strangulation, Duke’s voice is barely audible.
I glance at him over my shoulder. “You’re not worth it.”
“Get back here, Berengar.”
“I would have given my life for yours.” I shake my head. “I never fought for you, Duke. I fought with you.” With that, I limp away.
Guards approach, swords raised, as I lurch up the stairs. I bring my axe’s handle up to counter a blade and use all the strength I can muster to send my attacker over the edge. Another guard nearly takes my ear off before I split his face in half. Blood streaks down my neck. It’s getting harder and harder to swing the axe, but I’m a fighter, and I’ll never give up while I draw breath.
Faolán comes sprinting toward me. She gives me enough breathing room to get a second wind, and we fight our way up the staircase that leads to the bridge. Søren’s gone. Bastard must have survived. I can’t worry about him now. If he’s smart, he’ll be long gone. Siren’s Reach is about to become a nightmare. I need to get out of here, now.
The Sheriff of Widow’s Vale waits for me above. Although Angus is with him, my attention goes to a second, towering figure at his side.
The sheriff brought the bloody giant with him from Redmyre.
The ground shakes as the great brute lumbers forward. I’ve killed giants before. They’re strong, but unlike trolls, they bleed just as easily as the rest of us. Unfortunately, I’m not at my best. My fight with Duke and the others has taken its toll.
I raise my axe and ready myself for impact. “Come on, you bastard.”
The giant slams into me. I manage to bash his face with my axe’s blade before I’m tossed around like a ragdoll. It just makes him angrier. When the giant comes for me again, Faolán attacks from the side, and I dive under his legs and swing my axe at his leg with everything I’ve got. The giant shrieks and drops to one knee with a loud crash. I try to back out of his reach, but he seizes me
and pulls me to him.
I briefly black out. Faolán must have intervened, because I’m lying on my stomach. She rests beside me, barely conscious. My axe lies out of reach. A growl comes from the giant, who crawls toward me to kill me with his hands. I fumble with my boot for the silver dagger and shove it into one of the bastard’s eyes.
Angus whistles at the giant’s corpse as he approaches. “He’s as good as the stories say. Look at all the men he’s killed already.” He kicks the dagger from my hand, grabs me by the hair, and jerks my head back.
“Good work, Angus.” The sheriff looms over me. “When Queen Scathach learns I’ve killed the man who murdered her son, she’ll forget all about Redmyre.”
“The Ice Queen doesn’t forget.” I spit blood at his feet and look up at Angus. “Once I’m gone, he’ll let you take the fall for Elyssa’s death to save himself.”
The seed of discord is all it takes, and a flicker of doubt etches itself on Angus’ face. “Is that true?”
The sheriff flashes his teeth. “Of course not. Now stop wasting time and cut his throat. Do it now, fool, or I’ll have you in stocks.”
My gaze remains fixed on Angus, but my hand wanders to Duke’s knife, still lodged in my armor. “You can stay his dog, if you like it so much. Or we could kill him together. I’d take the blame. No one would ever know.” The distraction is all I need. Duke’s knife slides free with a tug, and I shirk free of Angus’ grip, lunge at the sheriff, and stab him with the blade. “That’s for Harald and Doyle.” With a bark, Faolán sprints to my side, and suddenly my odds are looking better.
The sheriff’s trembling hands go to his bloodstained cloak as he slinks away. “Angus, help me.”
Angus looks from me to the sheriff and back again. “No. I don’t think I will.”
I stoop to retrieve my axe and dagger before more guards arrive. Even if the sheriff survives, when Scathach learns her executioner allowed us to escape, it’ll be his head she takes next. I leave the sheriff to Angus and flee as the sun sets at my back.
The Price of Hate Page 7
