I jump on Dire’s back, noticing the snow is already starting to stick to the ground. It means this storm shall be bad, which will only make traveling worse. Perhaps delay us.
I don’t wait for the Lord’s order to go. I kick my steed in the ribs and bolt forward. Dire’s hooves tear up the ground, and he neighs when he gets let loose, nearly flying with speed.
My eyes water from the cold stinging them, and thunder rolls into the sky. Thundersnow. The worst storm possible, and it is the only thing standing between me and Grant. I know that if I don’t get there in time, I won’t be coming back to the kingdom. My reality is broken. My fantasies are just that. There isn’t anything waiting for me.
Not anymore.
Chapter Thirteen
Beowulf
Two days into the trip, and we are nowhere near where we need to be. I know in my heart of hearts we won’t get there in time, not unless a miracle happens, and this storm subsides. The horses are tired from working their way through the snow. It’s come up to their bellies, and with every step, every time they push their legs through that thick, cold powder, they struggle hard against it.
I don’t want to admit it. I don’t want to say it, but we must stop before we kill our horses. For the second time in my life, I feel loss. A deep, painful, agonizing loss. One that shall change my life forever.
I yank on the reins. Dire stops on top of a high hill, giving me a chance to scan our surroundings. We are in the middle of a field right now, which isn’t a great place to stop for the night, especially with all this snow. We need cover. About a mile up ahead, I can make out the outline of tall trees through the thick blizzard pouring down around us. My cloth over my mouth has a good few inches of ice on it, and my hands are numb from holding the reins for too long without a break—it’s time to stop. It’s time for me to make the realization if the Jackals are dead ahead of us, they are there already, slaughtering all the adults and taking the children.
I squeeze my eyes shut when a piercing pain stabs my heart—Rian. He’s just a wee boy, barely four years young. He is probably frightened out of his mind right now. If only my brother stayed with us. He’d be protected now, but Rian may not exist, and as much as I want to be mad at my brother for making a decision that made him happy, I can’t. I love my nephew too damn much for that.
He chose love in his life. I understand now why he chose that. I thought one day I might have the chance to choose that too. With Lilith.
But maybe that chance is already over.
“Wulf?” Lord Grimkael trots up on Beast, stopping next to me.
“I think we should lay low for the rest of the night in the woods, warm up, let the horses rest.”
“Stopping—”
“It’s too late, Lord Grimkael. You know that.” I kick my heel on Dire’s ribs again and click my tongue to tell him to start walking again. Dire drags his hooves, going in the direction of the forest, and the closer we get, the realization dawns on me that when we do finally make it to Thurston, there may not be a body for me to bury. I want to give him a warrior’s funeral because I know he fought tooth and nail to the fucking end.
When Dire breaks the treeline, a ton of snow falls onto the forest floor from his hooves digging up the white powder and bringing it forward as he walks. There is hardly any snow on the ground, just as I suspected. The trees are the perfect canopy, giving us the perfect coverage, and protection we need from the cold. I shake my head, letting my hair fan over my shoulders to get the ice and snow out of the strands. The rest of me, on the other hand, I’ll need to warm up next to a fire to completely thaw out.
“Are you sure about this?” Trident asks, low, not wanting the others to hear. Hank, his horse, seems to be dragging, too.
“No, this is the last thing I’m sure about, but I know it must be done.” I grab a hold of the saddle horn and lift my leg, dismounting off the tall beast. My legs tingle when the blood rushes through them. I crack my neck and stretch my back, trying to get the miles we just rode out of my stiff muscles. I give Trident my back and work the saddle off Dire. I toss an animal skin on him to keep him warm and tie him to a tree.
Feet thud against the ground behind me, and I know it’s Trident. Lord Grimkael and Warlord Einarr are across from me, doing to the same to their horses.
“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth, about your brother.”
I don’t say anything. What is there to say? I keep my head down and look for any dry pieces of wood or kindling, trying not to think about my brother and the awful way he may have died. I clear my throat from the emotion threatening to grip me like a vice.
I’m so angry. I want to kill all the Jackals. Every single last one of them. They are bastards. Why would a group of people be so cruel? For what? Power? What I don’t understand is what they think they are getting from it. And if they spilled my brother’s blood, they have no idea just what kind of monster they will have created in me.
“Me too.”
The words seem loud in the silence of the forest. A snowflake falls in front of me, and I watch as it twirls in the wind, swaying back and forth. It’s beautiful. It’s magical that something so unique can come from the cold. I pick up one more log, forgetting about the snow, and turn around to head back to where the camp is.
Trident has a few logs in his arms, but I can tell he is just picking up things, so it doesn’t seem like he is following me around.
“So…”
Again, I don’t say anything. I use my big body to push branches out of the way that are heavy with snow. The cold flakes grab onto my ice-ridden beard, making me wish the sun was back out. I fucking hate being cold.
“How is Lilith?”
The clearing comes to view quick, where Warlord Einarr and Lord Grimkael have started a fire. Dire, Beast, Jasmine, and Hank are lying down around it to stay warm. I drop the pile of wood next to the fire and sit down near my horse, leaning my back against his stomach. Dire neighs and nibbles my ear, then lays his chin on my shoulder. Reaching my hand over my shoulder, I lay it flat against his long snout and rub it. He blows out a hot breath and shakes his head before settling again.
“I don’t want to talk about Lilith,” I mutter, watching the fire get higher in the air as it builds strength. “I especially don’t want to talk about her with you.”
And I do not want to think about her. It hurts too fucking much. I want to concentrate on getting my brother or retrieving his body. I must figure out a way to get Rian back. Goddess, I hope my nephew is okay. A slight pound knocks against my skull, bringing a sigh out of my mouth as I lean my head back against Dire.
“Come on, Wulf. I’m sorry. I am. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”
“I’m fine,” I placate him, giving him want he wants to hear.
“Liar.”
“Arsehole,” I get the last word in and cross my arms over my chest, settling against Dire. I shut my eyes, hoping tomorrow can bring some type of miracle.
* * *
It’s still dark by the time we wake. I kick snow over the dying fire. It’s smoking now, but it is better to be safe than sorry. I hop on Dire and dig into a saddlebag to get a piece of jerky. I tear it off with my teeth. It’s smoky, chewy, and filling. I’m glad I killed that deer the other day to replace my stock in jerky for the winter. It’s a great way to eat and travel without starving.
“Ready, Wulf?”
I turn my head over my shoulder to see Lord Grimkael staring at me, his extravagant fur extending from his shoulder, laying over Beast’s backside.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I try not to let my fear be heard, but it’s impossible.
No one says anything to one another as we travel for another day and a half. The tension is thick in the air, emotions are high, and dread fills my bones. No one is giving me hope, words of encouragement, nothing. It would be a lie. My men are better than to give false promises. As painful as it is, I’m grateful for it.
The further south we go, the snow g
ets lighter, and eventually we are riding through mud and grass. Black smoke hangs over the tops of the trees ahead, and I yank the reins tight, bringing Dire to a halt.
“They were here already,” I whisper. “We are too late.”
I knew we were going to be too late, but there was a part of me, a foolish, naïve part of me, that believed I’d get here in time to save my family. I kick Dire’s sides and squeeze my thighs together as he rears up on his hind legs, screaming out his own war cry before dropping to his feet and taking off down the road that leads to Thurston—my brother’s village.
“Wulf! Wulf, stop! You don’t know what is waiting. It could be a trap,” Trident shouts after me, but I ignore him, not caring what lies ahead. The heavy pounding of hooves is behind me, trying to catch up, but no horse is as fast as Dire.
The smell of smoke becomes stronger and thicker. It isn’t the only scent in the air. My stomach turns when I realize what it is. Flesh. Burning bodies. I slap the reins on Dire’s neck. He picks up speed, and that is when I notice that the large wooden gate is open with arrows lodged all over it. When I finally enter the town, I yank on the reins and Dire skids to a stop.
“Oh goddess,” I mumble, taking the destruction in. There is a large pile of bodies in the middle, burning in the thin air. The rancid scent makes me cover my nose with my hand and gag.
We take our time exploring the debris that’s left. What were buildings are now piles of ash, nothing left but embers burning in their places. What used to be a happy, bustling town is a ghost town. It’s a whirlwind. Time seems to slow. All around me is nothing but the smoking remnants of what used to be Thurston.
Suddenly, I realize something else. There isn’t one person alive or screaming for help. I take out my sword and kick Dire in the sides again, rushing down the dirt road to where Grant’s small home is.
“Wulf! Damn it. Einarr, follow him!”
“—I have it, Lord Grimkael,” Trident says to him, and soon the hooves of his horse are right behind mine, but I refuse to stop.
We ride for a few minutes until I come to a heavily wooded area. I pull the reins to the left side and Dire skids, almost overcorrecting us, which would have sent us tumbling to the ground. I click my tongue, slapping the reins on Dire’s arse to get him to go faster. The harsh wind stings my face, but it isn’t enough pain to make me stop. Someone would have to run a blade through my body, but even then, I’d crawl to where I’m needed.
“No,” I whisper in disbelief, seeing my brother’s home up in high flames still. It is as if it just happened. Everything else is smoking and has been burnt for hours now. Why is his house still blazing?
“No!” I roar, jumping off Dire’s back as he runs full speed. I hit the ground with a grunt, flip, and roll until my head almost hits the steps of the house.
“You fool bastard!” Trident is red-faced as he and Hank come to a stop. His hooves dig chunks of dirt, slinging them back against a nearby tree.
I shake my head to clear the haze. The smoke is heavy, burning my eyes and throat. I miss the rail when I first reach for it from the dizziness controlling my body. I lift my leg to take the first step but stumble.
“Grant!” I yell, but I know he can’t hear me through the roar of the blaze. “Grant!” I shout to the sky, releasing his name on a long mournful yell.
I cover my mouth with my arm and finally make my way up the steps, but before I can get inside, Trident wraps his arms around me and throws us backward. I land against the ground again with a hard thud, but it doesn’t take my breath away as much as when the front door explodes, sending shattered shards of hot, flaming wood at us.
“Grant. Rian!” I cry for them, but all I can hear and see are the orange tendrils flicking against the side of the house and out the windows.
Trident holds me back as I claw my hands into the ground to get closer. I need to get inside. “Wulf! Stop. We must go. The house is going to fall soon.”
“I’m not leaving without my brother! I’m not leaving without my nephew! Alive or dead. They deserve a proper burial.”
I do the one thing I never thought I’d do. I rear my fist back and slug Trident in the face. His head snaps back, and it gives me the perfect opportunity to get out of his hold. I run up the steps and ignore the licks of the hot flames against my arms.
I disappear through the door, and I can’t see a thing. It’s fogged with thick black clouds, and the smell itself is enough to kill anyone who breathes it in.
“Rian,” I cough and take a step, the floorboards threatening to give under my weight. My boots trip over something in my path, and when I hit the ground, I bring myself closer to the object blocking me. “Grant?”
I can’t see anything. The smoke gets too be too much, and my lids become heavy. It makes sense for me to die right here with my family.
“I’m here. I’m not leaving you,” I rasp through a dry, scorched throat.
I’m not leaving.
Chapter Fourteen
Lilith
It’s been eight days since Beowulf has been gone, and there has been no sign of his return. No one has told me anything, but the Warlord and the Lord left with Beowulf and Trident. The de facto leader is Lord Troy, Lady Thyra’s father. If anything were to happen and we were to go into battle, it would be up to him to lead the army.
I sigh, thinking about my last interaction with Beowulf. If anything happened to him while he is away, and that is how we left things, I shall never forgive myself. He has been nothing but good to me, and I’ve been nothing but frightened and angry. I haven’t meant to take it out on him. I’m angry with myself, and with Beowulf being gone, it only reminds me how much I miss him. It’s colder here without him, and it isn’t just because the first snow has fallen.
I grab the door that he threw in the woods and chuckle. The past few days I’ve been sleeping at the castle because his cabin didn’t have a door. The damn brute took it right off its hinges, but I want to stay there again. It’s important that I’m there when he gets home because I have a feeling when he does, something shall be different. The air is charged. There is a heaviness surrounding me that I can’t explain.
Grabbing the door by the edge, I drag it back to the front to see if maybe I can fix it. I don’t know how to fix anything, but I can try.
“Lilith?” a young, strapping voice says from behind me, gaining my attention.
“Yes?” I ask, dropping the piece of wood on the ground and wipe my hands against my skirt.
“My name is Abram Hohlt. I’m Warlord Einarr’s son. I’m here to help you with your door. My mother told me what happened. I would be glad to fix it for you.”
I give him a tight smile, feeling a bit guilty because his mother must only be one woman. “Lady Thyra is very kind,” I tell him. She’s proven to be a good, loyal woman, but I can’t lie and say it doesn’t scare me that she shares the same blood as that evil tyrant she has had the misfortune of calling her mother.
“She is the best. I know how you feel about her, but I want you to know, she hates her mother just as much as you do. It kills her how you see her.”
Wonderful. As if that doesn’t make me feel worse…
“I’ll be sure to talk to her.”
He gives me a bright, genuine smile. He is a handsome young fellow, with dark hair and crisp green eyes. Two small dimples show on his cheeks, making him look a little younger than he already is. A lady shall be very lucky one of these days to have such a kind man by her side. “I shall make you a new door. That may as well be used for firewood,” he says, walking a bit closer.
“Yes, probably. I didn’t think about that at the time.”
“Just as well. I need to chop wood for the castle anyway. I can do some here.”
“Would you like some tea or water? I’m afraid that’s all I have. No mead here.”
“Tea would be great, thank you.” He gives me another dazzling smile, and I take the steps into Beowulf’s house.
It hurts being here
without him. Every corner, every cranny, even the furs on the floor smell of him, and it makes me yearn for him even more. I realize I need to open up more, be more accepting of my situation, and be thankful that I’m with someone who used to know me. I don’t even know myself, and I’m not sure where that makes me belong. I clear my throat and boil some water, making tea for Abram outside. I realize he may know what’s going on and why Beowulf isn’t here. I’m quick, and in just a few minutes, I’m back outside, but he is nowhere to be found.
“Huh,” I muse, looking right and left. I’m about to go back inside thinking he up and left, but the bushes rustle when he comes out of the treeline, holding a bunch of wood.
“Sorry. I had to find the right size branches.”
“It’s not a problem. Here you go,” I hand him his warm cup, and he takes a sip before setting it on a step.
“Thank you.”
I watch him work a bit. I’m impressed. He is great with his hands. It’s like he has done this a hundred times before.
“Is this what you do for money?” I ask. It’s probably a little personal, but I want to get to know people here. If I want to stay, I have to put in an effort.
He shakes his head with a laugh while tying a few small logs together. “Oh, no. I have been chopping down all the castle firewood for days. Wulf ordered me to do it before he trains me.”
“That’s a big responsibility.”
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t agree. That’s when I see the huge scar on the side of his neck. I never noticed it until he rubbed it like it was out of habit. “Aye. But I must do it. I will be a warrior like Einarr or Wulf. I want to kill every Jackal there is.”
“You are familiar with them too?” I ask.
“Familiar isn’t the word I’d use. I used to be one. They like taking young kids from their home, but I ran. I ran, and I found Lord Grimkael. It’s what this scar is,” he taps the side of his neck. “I wanted the symbol to be removed. I’d rather have ugly, puckered skin and marred flesh than anything having to do with them.”
Beowulf's Claim (Viking Warriors Book 3) Page 10
