The Blood Debt: Wolf of the North Book 3

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  ‘She’s right, my lord,’ Grenville said. ‘We should pack up what we can carry and get as far away from here as we can.’

  Rodulf sighed. ‘You’re right. You’re both right. There are things to do first, though. I have some interesting news for you, Adalhaid.’

  She frowned, but was only half paying attention. Finding a way out of that room was a priority, even if it meant taking the window.

  ‘Did you know our friend Ulfyr comes from the same village as Adalhaid and I, Grenville?’

  Adalhaid’s eyes widened, her attention now fully on him. Who could he be?

  ‘I didn’t, my lord, but I really don’t think there’s—’

  ‘This is important,’ Rodulf said, ‘so there is time. Of course, he wasn’t called Ulfyr then. His real name is Wulfric.’

  Were it not for what Aethelman had already told her, Adalhaid would have laughed in his face. Now it made her sick. Could Ulfyr and Wulfric really be one and the same? She couldn’t give away the fact that she knew he hadn’t died in the forest. Rodulf might be trying to call her bluff.

  ‘You’re a pathetic liar,’ she said, forcing bravado.

  ‘Not at all.’ He turned to face Grenville. ‘Adalhaid here and Wulfric were lovers. Childhood sweethearts, then were due to be married. Didn’t quite get there though. So sad. They each thought the other was dead. Wulfric still does think she’s dead. We’ll make sure to tell him the truth before we kill him.’ He laughed and turned back to Adalhaid. ‘It’s almost like one of those crappy old Northlander epics the warriors in Leondorf were so fond of. Still, he’s made quite a name for himself. Have to give him credit for that. I’d thought him dead in a ditch somewhere, long since. To think, all the time you’ve been separated, and for the last day you’ve both been in the same building without knowing it. Now he’s locked up in the dungeon, waiting for me to decide what to do with him.’

  Adalhaid tried to hide the anguish and pain on her face, but knew that she had failed.

  ‘My lord,’ Grenville said. ‘We really must hurry.’

  ‘Fine,’ Rodulf said. ‘Make sure to tell Wulfric, before you kill him, that his sweetheart Adalhaid is in my power. That she’s alive and well. For the moment. Be sure to tell him that all this time, he could have been with her, but will die without ever laying eyes on her again. Take two of the Blood Blades down to the dungeon and kill him. You know what he’s capable of, so don’t take any chances. Just make him dead, and do it quick. Come back here once you have.’

  Adalhaid wanted to cry out, to beg him not to do it, but she knew it would be useless. It was all she could do not to weep.

  Grenville nodded, but he looked far from happy at the delay his new task would cause. He gestured for the two Blood Blades who had arrived with him to follow, and then left at a run.

  WULFRIC OPENED his eyes when he heard the dungeon door open, but remained deathly still. He had not found any weakness in his cell, and had come to the disappointing conclusion that if the door was going to open, it would have to happen from the outside. Playing dead was the best way he could think of to draw his gaoler into coming in. If that didn’t work, he had no idea what to do next.

  ‘Are you going to lie there sleeping all day?’ Jagovere said.

  Wulfric sat up, wincing at the pain in his ribs. Thankfully the throbbing in his head had subsided.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ Wulfric said.

  ‘All hell is breaking loose in the city,’ Jagovere said. ‘The confusion in the palace allowed us to get down here, and Varada sweet-talked the guard into letting us in to see you.’

  Wulfric looked over at Varada, whose hands were covered in blood.

  ‘Sweet-talked?’ Wulfric said.

  ‘Indeed,’ Jagovere said. ‘Really is quite something to see. Now, we don’t have time for a chat.’ He tried two keys from a large ring on the gate’s lock before finding the correct one and opened it. ‘Shall we?’

  Wulfric did not need to be asked twice, and jumped to his feet. Varada tossed him a sword, which he could see was not his own. He reckoned Rodulf had claimed his Godsteel blade, like a magpie with a shiny gewgaw.

  ‘What’s going on outside?’ Wulfric said.

  ‘Looks like the city’s being attacked,’ Jagovere said. ‘As best I could tell before we came down here, royal troops are already inside the walls.’

  ‘Where’s Enderlain?’

  ‘With Emissary Tuller. I suggest we find him and stay close until all this has reached its conclusion. I’d rather we weren’t mistaken for rebels.’

  Wulfric nodded, when there was a sound of approaching people. Grenville appeared at the doorway, flanked by two dark men as big as Wulfric. Grenville’s mouth opened when he saw Wulfric standing in the meagre lamplight, sword in hand, and most definitely not in his cell.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ Wulfric said.

  ‘I could say the same,’ Grenville said, ‘although these aren’t the circumstances I was hoping for.’

  ‘They’re fine with me,’ Wulfric said, lifting his sabre. ‘You aren’t first on my list, but it’s no trouble to bump you up it.’

  ‘While I appreciate the gesture, you’ll have to get past these gentlemen first,’ Grenville said, indicating two dark-skinned giants in scarlet robes. ‘Kill all three of them.’

  The two men with Grenville drew short, curved swords and pushed past Grenville. One of them came at Wulfric straight away, slashing at him with far more speed than Wulfric had expected. He jumped back and fired in a probing thrust.

  The Blood Blade didn’t even bother to parry Wulfric’s strike. Instead he fluidly stepped to the side, and came forward again, not missing a step. He slashed at Wulfric, which Wulfric dodged rather than parry, fearful that his blade would break on contact with the heavier one the Blood Blade used. Wulfric could hear the sound of Jagovere fighting the other Blood Blade, and hoped he would be able to hold his own—he didn’t like the idea of having to fight two of the monsters all by himself. Of Varada, he could see no sign.

  Wulfric retreated back quickly, and as soon as the Blood Blade started to follow, he lunged. The Blood Blade swiped down viciously with his short sword, and with a loud snap, Wulfric’s cheap sabre broke. Blades broke, and as inconvenient and potentially fatal as it could be, it was not the first time it had happened to him. Without wasting a moment, Wulfric charged forward and grabbed the Blood Blade—who had paused in anticipation of a victory that was now a foregone conclusion—by the wrist of his sword arm. He pushed on, driving the Blood Blade back toward the wall.

  Wulfric made to smash the hilt of his broken sabre into the Blood Blade’s face, but with his free hand, the man grabbed Wulfric’s wrist, arresting the blow and locking them together as they slammed against the wall. Wulfric struggled to pull his sword hand free of the Blood Blade, while retaining the grip with his other hand and keeping the wicked curved sword from doing what it was intended for. The Blood Blade’s grip was like a vice, and Wulfric couldn’t break free. They jostled for position, but Wulfric realised he couldn’t win on strength alone.

  He took a deep breath and willed whatever it was that gave him his Gift to come to him. He had no idea what it really was, or where it was, but when he looked inside his mind, he found it. His struggle grew distant, the sensation of his mind and body parting company now a familiar one. A glowing blue mist seemed to swirl around his mind and vision, separating him from his body like a haze on a summer’s day. His body felt strong, though. So strong. Wulfric pulled away harder from the Blood Blade, but his grip remained firm.

  Wulfric tried again, and could not understand how a normal man could best him for strength, as still the Blood Blade held his wrist in a locked grip. Wulfric stared at him to try and make sense of it. Strange, glowing blue lines flashed bright around the Blood Blade’s eyes. It took a moment for Wulfric to realise that they were the black tattoos that had previously been barely noticeable against the Blood Blade’s dark skin. So he has magic in him too, Wul
fric thought. Was his gift the same? Might Jorundyr choose warriors from all lands, and not just the North? Perhaps this man’s gods granted gifts in the same way.

  Wulfric blinked his eyes to focus—it was not the time to speculate. He continued to pull with all his strength, but the Blood Blade’s face broke into a wry smile and his grip did not falter. He started to press back with his sword hand, and Wulfric felt himself start to give way. Wulfric could smell the Blood Blade’s sour breath, and could feel his own grip grow slick with sweat. He knew that soon the Blood Blade would break free.

  Wulfric acted as soon as the realisation struck him. Instead of trying to pull his sword hand free, still clutching the hilt of his shattered sabre, he gave way completely, and pushed. The change of direction was too fast for the Blood Blade to react. Before he had time to drop his smile, the quillion drove through his eye and into his brain. He let out a short grunt, then slid to the ground, the wry grin still on his face. Wulfric prised the Blood Blade’s fingers from his arm, then turned to see how Jagovere was faring.

  He bore several cuts, and the Blood Blade had driven him back against the iron cells, but he was still managing to defend himself. It was only a matter of time before the Blood Blade wore him down, however. Grenville still stood by the door, sword in hand, and was eyeing Wulfric warily. Wulfric could see he was weighing up whether to fight or to run, but to deal with him first might mean Jagovere’s death. He rushed over to Jagovere, and drove the broken stump of blade still attached to his sword into the back of the Blood Blade’s head. The Blood Blade stood straight and his arms dropped to his sides. Wulfric let go of the hilt as the Blood Blade turned to face him. He fought to cling onto life as he slowly raised his curved blade again. There was stubborn determination in his eyes, as if he refused to die until he had finished his task. The tattoos around his eyes glowed a faint blue, and Wulfric began to wonder if he might actually manage to stave off death long enough. Wulfric looked around for another weapon when Jagovere stepped forward and stabbed him through the heart.

  ‘Tough bastards,’ he said, between gasps.

  Wulfric picked up the Blood Blade’s short sword, hefted it, then turned to face Grenville. He still stood at the door, sword in hand, only now Wulfric could see the cause of his hesitation. Varada had a stiletto tip pressed against the base of his skull.

  ‘Ulfyr wants to talk with you,’ she said, as she pushed on the stiletto and forced him back into the room.

  ‘I’m just a jobbing banneret,’ Grenville said. ‘You’ve no reason to kill me. I was only carrying out my orders, just as you are carrying out the princess’s orders.’

  ‘Rodulf’s orders?’ Wulfric said.

  Grenville nodded.

  ‘You tried to have me killed. Twice.’

  ‘It was just business.’

  Wulfric hefted the Blood Blade’s sword in his hand again, then made to raise it.

  ‘Wait!’ Grenville said. ‘The girl. Rodulf has the girl. I can take you to her.’

  ‘What girl?’ Wulfric said.

  ‘Abi—Abig—Adalhaid. Adalhaid! She’s important to you, isn’t she?’

  ‘You’re lying,’ Wulfric said. ‘She was killed a long time ago, and your master is going to die for it.’

  ‘No! No, she wasn’t,’ Grenville said. ‘It was all a ruse. Before my time working for him, so I don’t know the details, but she’s alive. She’s here. I can tell you where if you let me go.’

  Wulfric stepped closer and glared at him. He didn’t believe him for a second, but still, it was too tempting a possibility to turn his back on.

  ‘You’ll show me,’ Wulfric said. ‘And if she’s not there, I’ll gut you.’

  Grenville nodded. ‘Follow me.’

  WULFRIC HAD SEEN TOO MUCH of the world to believe what Grenville had said. A man trying to save his skin would say anything, but the fact that he knew about Adalhaid at all, and her connection to him, suggested that there might be something to it. It seemed too much to hope for, and the potential for disappointment twisted in his gut. The thought of seeing her, holding her again, made him feel giddy. His heart felt as though it would burst with joy. He tried to restrain himself, knowing that it would likely lead to miserable disappointment. If Grenville was lying, it wouldn’t go well for him.

  Wulfric had expected to have to fight their way to the apartment where Adalhaid was, but the citadel was all but deserted. It seemed all the soldiers were out on the walls, or in the city, fighting. Anyone else, anyone with sense, was hiding, or had already fled. They moved quickly, but Wulfric made sure to keep Grenville within arm’s reach at all times. Letting him live a moment longer was galling, but if he could really lead Wulfric back to Adalhaid, he would send the mercenary on his way with a pat on the back and a bag of silver for his trouble.

  CHAPTER 48

  Rodulf picked a sabre up from the stand, which even Adalhaid’s untrained eye could recognise as Godsteel, or Telastrian steel, as the southerners called it. It was magnificent, and she thought it a shame that so fine a thing belonged to a piece of scum like Rodulf.

  ‘This is his sword,’ Rodulf said. ‘I took it from him when I had him thrown in the dungeon. I have to say, it’s perhaps the finest blade I’ve ever seen. He seems to have developed taste somewhere over the years. It really is a thing of beauty. Terrible beauty.’ He turned his attention from the sword back to Adalhaid.

  ‘You’ve ruined everything for me, you interfering little bitch. I wanted you to know you were so close to him again, because I know that will cause you more pain than anything else I can do.’

  If his punishment was to let her live with the grief of having been so close, and losing him again, then there was hope—perhaps Wulfric could fight his way free. So long as they both drew breath, there was a chance. She wondered if she should break down in tears, wail like a woman whose mind has been broken by grief, anything that might hurry Rodulf on his way. If he left now, perhaps she could get a warning to Wulfric in time.

  ‘With the Stone, I could have ridden out under a flag of truce and convinced that army’s commander to turn around and march home. I could have convinced my mercenary commanders to fight to the death for me. Now I’m going to have to pack up as much silver as I can and run like a whipped dog.’

  ‘The facts that are forcing you to run are of your own making,’ Adalhaid said, unable to hide her loathing and defiance. ‘You can’t blame me for any of this.’

  ‘But I can,’ Rodulf said. ‘And I do.’

  He thrust Wulfric’s sabre through her stomach, so quickly that at first she didn’t realise it had hit her. Then the cold discomfort reached her, and she felt dizzy. When he twisted the blade she thought she would be sick.

  ‘Put her down on the floor,’ Rodulf said.

  The Blood Blades dropped her. She landed with a thud and a wave of pain so intense she thought she would pass out.

  ‘Wulfric gets a quick death only because I don’t have the time to risk dragging it out,’ Rodulf said. ‘The same can’t be said for you. That wound might take as long as an hour to kill you. It’ll be agony for every minute of it.’

  ‘There are bags of silver in the strongbox in the other room,’ Rodulf said. ‘Gather up as many as you can carry. I’ll go down to the stables and get some horses ready. We’ll leave by the north gate.’ He looked back to Adalhaid. ‘Well, Adalhaid, I don’t expect we’ll be seeing each other again.’

  ‘Thank the gods for small mercies,’ she said, spluttering blood over her lips as she did.

  ‘Indeed,’ Rodulf said. ‘You might have taken the Stone from me, but I’ve taken your life from you. I’ve taken Wulfric from you. I’ll live to see another day. I’d say that’s a victory for me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I’m tired of your voice,’ Adalhaid said. ‘Why don’t you go and see to your horses.’

  Rodulf smiled with satisfaction and leaned down over her. ‘I hope it hurts, whore. I only wish I’d killed you sooner.’ With that, he left.

 
The Blood Blades went to the other room to start packing the silver, leaving Adalhaid alone, listening to the noise made by their efforts. She was lying on her back, partly propped up on one elbow. She looked down at her stomach and sobbed. Rodulf had not pulled the sword free, and it was still buried in her gut. So long as it was there, she could not even attempt to heal herself. The pain was so excruciating that she could not concentrate. Waves of nausea alternated with waves of faintness and panic. It was agony to breathe, and the pain forced her to take short, rapid breaths so as to move as little as possible. Her eyes streamed with tears as the pain and fear threatened to overwhelm her.

  GRENVILLE EVENTUALLY LED Wulfric and the others through the palace to an open doorway.

  ‘She’s through here,’ he said, gesturing for Wulfric and the others to go in.

  ‘You first,’ Wulfric said.

  Grenville sighed. ‘And then you’ll let me go?’

  ‘If she’s there, and unharmed.’

  Grenville nodded, and walked in ahead of them. He stopped at the doorway to another room, and Wulfric pushed past him. Wulfric’s first feeling was disbelief. Adalhaid was sitting on the floor, against the wall by a large window.

  ‘Adalhaid?’ he said, scarcely able to believe that it was her. There could be no mistake, however, he would know her face anywhere.

  She looked up, her eyes widening when she saw him and her face broke into a smile. ‘Wulfric? It’s really you?’

  Her voice was weak, and Wulfric felt confused. It was only then that he saw the hilt of a sword sticking out of her stomach. His sword. He rushed to her and knelt by her side.

  ‘Gods, no,’ he said. ‘This can’t be happening.’ He looked to Jagovere. ‘Get help. Find help. There must be a surgeon.’

  Jagovere’s face was strained, but he nodded and left. Wulfric knew it would be all but impossible to find anyone to help her with the city under attack. Varada took hold of the back of Grenville’s tunic and pressed her dagger to his neck again.