When they looked down toward the bay, she sagged in relief at the sight of the boats bobbing without concern next to the docks. All looked the same as when she’d left, except that they were empty. No one moved about; no children running around, no men hauling in fishing nets, no hammers or conversations around the well. Silence hung like low clouds.
Plintze looked around, antsy and nervous. “It looks as though everyone might have left.”
“They wouldn’t all leave. Where would they go? The ships are all there, even the ones that went to Jorvik.” Except Papa’s. Ingrid felt a gagging sensation in her throat as she remembered tumbling through the rushing waters of the river.
“Only one way to find out what happened.” He nodded to Ingrid, and they both set off down the hillside.
As they slowly made their way between the buildings and headed toward the well, it could have been any ordinary day—if there had been people, that is. Nothing looked broken or burned, and there was no sign that any fighting had taken place. Only the creaking of the wooden boats against the wooden docks suggested there might be life somewhere.
Evening frogs croaked along the shore, and birds twittered in the skies, but there weren’t any chickens, goats, dogs, or any movement on the streets. Briny smelling fishing nets sat ready for the next day, buckets sat empty next to the well, and freshly dyed linen hung on a line. It was as if one moment, all had been normal, and the next, it wasn’t.
They walked up to the longhouse doors and stood in front of them, listening. A scrape of wood against the floor, and a muffled cough finally gave a sign they were not alone. Taking a deep breath, Ingrid pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside.
The hearth fire was cold, and not a single sconce was lit. Pitch-blackness filled the large space, but the smell of furs and warm bodies floated in the air. Something else hit Ingrid’s senses, too: a metallic tingle of magic.
“Well, you finally made it. Everyone has been so anxious about you,” a melodic but dangerous-sounding voice spoke from the dark, as a figure moved toward her.
The hairs on Ingrid’s arms stood high, rubbing against her clothes. A heartbeat later, the hearth sprang to life, and a full fire rose above the charred and cold logs, spreading light throughout the building.
Standing before her was a tall, slender male wearing brown breeches and a deep green sleeveless tunic in the softest-looking fabric Ingrid had ever seen. It shimmered lighter or darker depending on how the light hit. Long, icy blonde hair hung straight over slim but muscled arms, framing alabaster skin so perfect it practically glowed. Light blue eyes stared at her from under white eyebrows and long, curling lashes. A straight nose sat in the middle of perfectly symmetrical, chiseled cheekbones, leading down to a somewhat sharp chin—but it was the ears that made her knees weak, and caused sweat to trickle down her spine. Elongated, pointed elf ears. Not like the soft beauty of Jorg’s, but sharp and pronounced.
“You should come in as well, Plintze. I know you’re out there,” the elf said.
Ingrid didn’t turn, but heard the door open and then Plintze stepped to her side.
Thanks for letting me stand here by myself, friend.
The elf laughed, “Friend? Naive girl, he’s a dwarf. He’ll do whatever brings the most profit, and that is rarely friendship.”
Ingrid felt the thick tar creep within her mind, and smiled. “You are one of Jarrick’s messengers, I suppose?”
“I am Dúngarr. It’s nice to meet you.” He crossed his fist over his heart and nodded his head, but the gesture was a patronizing act of insincerity.
“I can’t offer you the same sentiment—I prefer honesty. Where is everyone? What have you done with my family?”
“They are here, unharmed. We’ve been waiting for you. Though, I must say, we expected you sooner. Did you run into some trouble?”
Ingrid looked to the floor and clenched her teeth together. The darkness in her mind battled against her heart. Her family was here, hidden in the dark at the rear of the room, and she wanted nothing more than to run to them. But the part of her that was stained and dripping with dark magic kept her still, standing ready for whatever this elven coward sent her way.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Right, Plintze?”
“True. Don’t let this dandelion-eater bother you. He has nothing valuable to say.”
Ingrid tried to keep her face neutral, but Dúngarr’s flaring nostrils caused her lips to twitch as she fought a smile. “What do you want? Why are you here, menacing my people? They are nothing to you—this is between you and me.”
“They mean something to you. I’m not here to play games with a child and a misshapen termite. Your presence is required at the court of His Highness, Prince Jarrick, and I am to escort you.”
Ingrid slid her hand in front of Plintze, as he’d tensed and leaned forward at the insult toward him.
“I have no intention of going with you. Jarrick and I came to an understanding when we spoke earlier.”
Dúngarr stared, then sauntered toward her with an elegant ease. Ingrid fought to keep her thoughts blank. There was no way she’d let this elf know she thought him impressive.
“That’s far enough.” A sound of shuffling feet and mumbled words from the back of the room caught her ear. “I want to see my friends and family. I have nothing more to discuss with you until I see they are unharmed.”
Dúngarr stopped and drew in a long breath, releasing it slow and steady. Narrowing his eyes at Ingrid, he tugged the corner of his mouth into a menacing grin, and snapped his fingers.
The hearth fire lifted higher, and every sconce along the walls flared to life, lighting up the space. Cramped along the back wall were Ingrid’s mother, father, and brother—along with Jorg, Selby, Helka, and several others from the village—though not all. Jorg was held on either side by elves who were dressed similarly to Dúngarr and equally impressive in their beauty, and several guards kept everyone wedged against the back wall.
The pressure in Ingrid’s head increased, and the faraway pounding grew louder as she locked eyes with Jorg. His lips were tight and his muscles tense as he stared back at her.
Trust me. Ingrid sent the quick message, but dared nothing else. She knew it would not be a private conversation. She saw Jorg’s jaw muscles twitch, and then he nodded so slightly it was almost unnoticeable.
Dúngarr looked at Jorg and smiled—an evil, twisted smile, like the kind worn by someone who enjoyed plucking the wings off butterflies. Turning back to Ingrid, he stepped closer until she was within reach. Lifting his hand, he slid his knuckles down the side of her cheek. “I suppose you could be seen as pretty, for a human.” He then turned to Jorg, and projected his voice, loud and clear. “What do you think, Halfling? Am I correct that you ignore your elven side to blend in with humans?”
Ingrid closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Defending herself, she’d expected, but standing up to the leader of an elven group of barbarians would take more courage. The darkness filling her thoughts might be useful after all.
“Leave him alone.”
“Are you going to let a little girl fight for you, Halfling? Not very noble, I must say,” Dúngarr sneered.
Jorg tensed and stepped forward, but an arm snaked out and pressed against his chest. Klaus stood by Jorg’s side, his muscles tensed and his chin high, keeping his eyes on Dúngarr.
“Don’t engage with him, Jorg. He’s just taunting you. It’s not the right time.” Klaus then lowered his voice. “Patience, son.”
Startled by the support, Jorg pressed into his heels and stood still. He glanced over at Klaus, who gave a slight nod, and then Jorg relaxed his shoulders, ready for whatever might happen next.
“Interesting. You know what he is, don’t you? Let’s see those disgraceful ears of yours. That is why you keep them hidden, isn’t it?” Dúngarr continued his enjoyment of exposing Jorg.
“I’m not afraid, and I’m not hiding,” Jorg shot back.
“Then pull your
hair back.”
Jorg’s lips were stretched into a tight, white line, and he was staring daggers, but he raised his hands and pulled loose the leather string tying the half-knot atop his head, then swept all of his hair up and secured it in back. He kept his eyes on the smirking elf in front of him the entire time, not flinching when several gasps were heard from the crowd.
Ingrid’s heart squeezed tight, feeling his pain—even if he didn’t show it.
With a roar, Dúngarr laughed at Jorg’s expense, and his companions joined him. “You have been worried to show those? Maybe when you are full grown, they will be more impressive.”
Jorg sneered and made a low noise under his breath that sounded like a growl.
“I’m tiring of this. You are nothing—not human, not elf, and not worth my time.”
“I thought your business here was with me,” Ingrid reminded him.
“Ingrid, you need to leave. We can handle these beasts,” Klaus called to her. “Go!”
“No, Papa. I’m not going anywhere. His idle threats don’t bother me. He’s not in charge; he’s only doing the dirty work of a thrall, sent by his master.”
Dúngarr turned toward her with a scowl. “You would have done better to keep my good humor. I am to escort you to Jarrick, that’s true . . . but he didn’t specify in what condition you need to arrive.”
Ingrid took a step forward. Plintze grunted at her side and stepped with her.
A sound from outside made her stop, and drew the elves’ attention.
Suddenly, Ingrid shoved all her body weight into Plintze, causing the two of them to tumble sideways to the ground as the front doors flew open, and fur-wrapped bodies streamed through with shrieks and raised weapons. They were faces Ingrid recognized, others from the village who must have gotten away and were now back to help.
Commotion erupted throughout the house, with the captives in the back rushing forward to trap the elves between the two groups of Norse warriors. Ingrid and Plintze scrambled to their feet and joined the fray.
The elves were outnumbered, but not outmatched. They slashed with their daggers and spun staffs that had looked like ordinary walking sticks before they were twirled and twisted with speed too fast for the human eye to follow. Backing themselves toward the side wall, the ten elves kept the fighters at bay in a semicircle, picking them off one by one as they rushed forward.
Plintze was holding his ground against two elves, keeping them away from the others. His skills matched theirs in speed and cunning.
Ingrid wanted to join in the fight, but rushed from body to body instead, healing the most severe wounds of her tribesmen as quickly as she could. So far, no one had shown signs of lethal injuries; she suspected that was on purpose.
The elves were toying with them. The smiles on their faces should have betrayed that, but the fighters were too focused on their own rage to notice.
“Stop!” Ingrid cried. “This will not end well, and it is only serving their purposes.” Tired of healing as many wounds as she could while more and more surfaced, she wanted an end to the madness. “Dúngarr, I’m the one you want. I surrender.”
“No, Ingrid, you can’t!” Jorg was standing at the front, locked in single combat with an elf, but he twisted and pushed himself free as he yelled to her.
Rushing forward, she squeezed between the large bodies until she stood in front of Dúngarr. “I will go,” she told him. “But on my terms. Stop this fighting, for one.”
He gave her a satisfied grin. Closing his eyes, he raised one arm and chanted something in a language Ingrid had never heard.
All at once, the human combatants froze in place.
Ingrid looked around, stunned, her eyes wide and heartbeats pounding like waves in her ears. No one moved, bound in place, only above their shoulders left free.
“What have you done?” Klaus asked Dúngarr.
“Only as your daughter has requested, put an end to your dismal display of fighting skills. It was becoming a bore, anyway.” Facing Ingrid, he asked, “What terms do you offer? Make no mistake, however. I’m under no obligation to enter into negotiations with you. Still, I want to hear what power you think you hold.”
Plintze, unaffected by the elven spell, moved to Ingrid’s side, and sneered at Dúngarr.
A movement on Ingrid’s other side caused her to turn. Moving in measured steps, and with a trickle of sweat sliding down the side of his face, Jorg was walking toward her. Soft and grateful, her eyes spoke words she couldn’t say. He smiled at her, then turned to face the other elves.
“I’m not surprised to see the pile of stones make a poor choice, but you must have more elven blood than I thought, Halfling.”
“Enough, Dúngarr,” Ingrid turned to face him. “You will leave and never return, letting my village live in peace. I will travel to Alfheim to see Jarrick on my own, after everyone here is safe, secure, and healed of the injuries you’ve caused.”
Gently taking hold of Ingrid’s arm, Jorg turned her to face him. “Please don’t do this.”
“Yes, Ingrid, we will find another way,” Klaus agreed, still frozen in place by invisible bonds. “Listen to Jorg, and forget this nonsense.”
Ingrid looked toward the sound of his voice, and saw her mother standing near.
She smiled at Ingrid. “I’m proud of you. Your path is clear. You must take it, whether others understand or not.”
“You’ve known all along, haven’t you?” Ingrid nearly whispered.
“Yes.”
“Agnethe, don’t,” Klaus begged.
“We can’t keep it hidden from her any longer. I would think our current situation proves that,” Agnethe argued.
Ingrid turned back to Jorg, who still held her arm, but his eyes were closed. “Jorg, look at me,” she said softly. “I know what I’m doing. Please trust me.”
Opening his eyes, he stared at her unblinking. There was a flush to his cheeks. He leaned down and put his forehead against hers.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Ingrid’s breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes to capture the tears that instantly sprang into them. Her cheeks wobbled as she smiled, and she took a long, deep inhale of the sweet grass and pine smell surrounding her.
“I love you, too.” Surprised by how easy it was to say the words, but not by the feeling. The truth had been in front of her for a long time and she wasn’t going to deny it any longer.
“Isn’t this precious,” Dúngarr interrupted. “But it’s a waste of time. I do not agree to your terms. Under no circumstances will I leave here without you. Look around! No one here can enforce your wishes.”
“I can,” Ingrid said. “You forget, I’ve already spoken with Jarrick—excuse me, Prince Jarrick.” A half-grin curled her lip when she saw the elf bristle at her sarcastic tone toward his leader’s title.
“He would not have agreed to let you come to him unescorted, I’m certain of that. Do better, little witch.”
Growls erupted from either side of her, and she couldn’t help but snort a quick laugh. Plintze and Jorg closed in tighter to her sides. She glanced to the ground with a smile before meeting Dúngarr’s eyes and stepping forward, alone.
“Careful, you don’t know how right you might be about that.”
A sensation was building inside of her, like her blood was about to boil, and it made her skin itch all over. Opening and closing her fingers, she felt the energy pulsing through her, and the only thing stopping her from giving in to the stirrings was her worry for everyone else in the room. Whatever was going to happen was new, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to control it. The darkness oozing through her mind pushed and rolled until she realized that it seemed excited.
Shaking her head, she smiled. “Do you think Jarrick would leave it to chance? What if you’d never found me, what would have happened then? He knows exactly where I am. Before he allowed his lizard to try to kill me, he gave me a gift.” She glanced back at Plintze, who was smiling at
Dúngarr.
Walking forward, she stopped within arm’s reach of the Elf she understood to be Dúngarr’s second-in-command. Smiling at him, she reached out and touched his arm. Pressure built within her, squeezing her lungs tight and making her want to scream—but she had no air.
Then, with a sudden gust, she felt the energy release through her fingertips, and the elf collapsed to the ground. Her chest heaved, and the tang of magic coated her tongue as she stared at the fallen warrior. She slowly lifted her gaze to watch the shock and fury take over Dúngarr’s features.
“I will come when I’m ready. After you release everyone, go home and wait with your prince.”
“Very nice,” he praised, leaning toward her. “I didn’t think you had the guts. Did you think I would leave before confirming Jarrick’s essence had taken hold? You have until the second full moon to arrive. I’m assuming you found the village on your travels that held no value for us? Let that be your reminder of what will happen here if you don’t make it on time.”
Ingrid nodded, the memory of dead bodies and burning buildings flashing behind her eyes.
On his way to the door, Dúngarr stopped and turned to Jorg. “You’ll come too, I hope.” Laughing at Jorg’s glower, he strode through the doors. The other elves followed, and two of them bolstered the collapsed elf between them. He was groggy, but reviving.
Some of the tension eased from Ingrid’s shoulders when everyone else in the room was released from their invisible restraints.
20
Klaus, Agnethe, and Selby surrounded Ingrid within seconds of their freedom. Agnethe reached out and pulled her daughter into a tight hug, letting silent tears drop into Ingrid’s hair. Sagging against her mother, Ingrid allowed the warm embrace to bring her a moment’s peace.
Pulling back, Agnethe brushed the side of Ingrid’s face and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve been through so much. Selby filled us in.”
The Viking Maiden Box Set Page 22
