"Please," she whimpered again, but he didn't even register the plea.
He leant over her with the knife, and began scratching at her skin. She felt the blade dig in and slice through her chest. The pain burned, and stung wildly as the blue gel seeped into the cuts. He kept slicing with a steady hand, it felt as though he were writing a letter. When he lifted himself back up, she could see by the polished mirror above that he had engraved runes across her chest like tattoos. He then moved down and began new incisions between her hip bones and below her stomach. The pain made her head light but he was quick and agile and done quickly.
His wide eyes looked her up and down, and he smiled at his own skill. He put his knife back and left her alone in the room, with the click of the lock being the only thing to break the silence.
Isolde looked at herself through the black mirror and sobbed. She was blue from head to foot with bloody runes running across her body. What did they say? Her shoulder throbbed and tensed and she could see the black bile oozing down her side.
A cold wind blew in from the window-slit and flickered the candles. Her naked body shuddered in the chill and she closed her eyes in dread for what was to come.
CHAPTER XI
Harald followed Wulfric into the squared opening. It was low and tight, and they had to stoop low with arched backs to fit. It ran upward at a dizzying angle, and the green ooze and foul black wash kept their feet from finding any real grip on the stone. They had to clamp their arms against the walls and shimmy their feet up in a slow shuffle.
Up and up they climbed with slipping feet and burning arms. The smell of waste stung Harald's eyes, and he kept his lips tight in fear of tasting the noxious sewerage. The slope gave way to a flat chamber with low barrel ceilings. It was dark, but they could see it led to the left and right, and that both paths seemed to lose themselves in a circuit that no doubt ran a ring under the keep. They followed one way around, their feet splashing through shallow pools of black bile.
Wulfric held his arm up and signalled for silence. Harald strained his ears, and he could hear it too. Muffled speech drifted down the tunnel, but it was too distorted to hear clearly. They slowly followed the talking, doing their best to keep silent, and found themselves below another tunnel that led up at the same angle as the last.
They squeezed in and found it was tighter than the last. The walls rubbed against Harald's shoulders, and he saw Wulfric had to shimmy up sideways to fit. The conversation above them began to clear, and Wulfric looked back at Harald with glaring eyes as the voice of Erik became clearer.
"All I had to do, was get her away from the others, Elda, and the rest was easy," Erik said.
"Don't know if I could do it," a deep, rounded voice said, that must have been Elda.
"For two hundred coins, you could do anything, trust me."
"Sell out a friend? Not for me," Elda said.
"She wasn't a friend," Erik said, "more like a chore."
Harald flexed his hand into a fist. He pushed Wulfric on, and the big man squeezed himself further and further up. They could see a light above them, it was filtering down into the tunnel through a grill. Wulfric stopped suddenly as a flood of green slop came sloshing down over him.
"Cold soup..." he whispered and wiped his face. "When we get up there, don't do a thing. Watch and listen."
Harald nodded back, and they shimmied up until they were just below the opening. The fresh air was welcome, and Harald could smell the thick odour of boiling broth and sweet meat. They had found the kitchen.
"Take this down to that beggar, would you?" Elda said.
Harald heard footsteps walk away, a latch from a door, and in an instant, Wulfric thrust up the grill and burst out of the hole. Harald was right behind him, and the tight world of the tunnel gave way to the well-lit kitchen of the keep.
The deep-voiced Elda stood wide-eyed by a wooden table laden with chopped vegetables. He was a barrel of a man with a white apron and a clean face. His hand twitched to a knife next to the carrots, and Wulfric cracked his axe down into the wood with a shuddering thud.
"Don't try it," he growled.
Elda stepped back shaking, his double chins wobbling by his neck.
"Please," he stuttered, "I'm just the cook."
Wulfric wrenched the axe back out the wood, and took a step closer to Elda.
"Where's that lad gone?" he asked.
"What lad?" Elda replied.
"Don't play stupid. Erik, where did you send him?"
Elda's eyes widened until they looked like dinner plates in his fat face.
"To the dungeons," he said, "down the stairs."
Like lightning, Wulfric struck the man square in the jaw. Harald watched Elda fall back and hit the stone floor like a stunned fish. His eyes were still wide but he was as lifeless as a corpse.
"Come on," Wulfric said to Harald, "we've got to move."
The kitchen opened up to winding stone steps, and they flew downward. Wulfric took two steps at once, and Harald was quick behind him. Round and round they went past dark openings and closed doors, until they reached the landing at the bottom. A single torch flickered next to a heavy oak door, and Harald pulled his war-axe off his back. He gripped it with white knuckles, and held his breath as Wulfric pushed the door in.
***
Isolde shuddered on the cold table when she heard the heavy lock turn with a metallic click, and the door creaked back open. She craned her neck to see who had come, and whimpered when she saw her tall torturer walk through the door, straight-backed and head high. Two women followed him, they were slim but nervous, with downcast eyes. Both had dark hair, and white cotton aprons, they looked only a little older than Isolde.
"Clean her," the torturer said, "make her beautiful for our High-King."
The girls set to work with rough sponges and hot water. They scrubbed the blue gel off of Isolde's skin, and she winced as they ran the sponges across her fresh cuts. The hot water stung, but it was cleansing, it felt like the grime of the world was being scraped off of her, and by the time they were done, Isolde felt a sense of refreshment.
The girls worked silently, scrubbing her clean and combing out her hair. They began to unlatch the straps from her wrists and ankles when the grey skinned stranger appeared above her.
"You cannot escape," he said raising a closed fist like a claw, "so do not try."
They sat Isolde up and anointed her with sweet smelling perfumes that reminded her of spring flowers. A flowing silk gown that felt like sweet-water was pulled over her head and tight against her skin. Her shoulder throbbed under the garments as one girl began to braid her golden hair. The other girl latched a thin silver necklace with a slim emerald pendant around her neck. When her hair was done, a long, thin, silver hairpin was slipped into the top of the ornate braids, to keep them from slipping. They stood back from Isolde with silent pride on their faces.
Isolde looked up into the black mirror and her heart fluttered. She looked like a princess, but felt like she was dying.
"Will that be all, Valarth?" one of the girls asked.
The grey torturer nodded and the girls left the room as quickly as they had entered. He looked back at Isolde with a smile, and her stomach dropped.
"The time has come," he said, "tonight is your night, Isolde."
***
Harald and Wulfric burst through the door to find an empty stone room. Solid oak doors ran along its sides with one open at the end. They heard the laughter of Erik, and flew toward it. They found him standing over the calm body of Skaldi, with a hot bowl of soup in his hand.
"Erik!" Wulfric bellowed.
The blonde haired youth dropped the bowl, and span around with trembling eyes. Harald pushed past Wulfric with his axe raised high, and brought it down with all his might. But Erik darted out the way, and the axe found the hard stone floor. Erik dashed for the door, but it was no use. Wulfric caught him with one hand, and hurled him back into the wall.
"Don't kill him," Sk
aldi said, and the old man found his way to his feet.
"Why not?" Harald growled, inching closer to Erik.
Erik's hand flickered down to his side and Harald watched as his fingers groped for the sword there. Rage swelled within him as he saw the citrine and vermillion swirls in the pommel's jewel. It was Isolde's sword. Skaldi slapped Erik's hand away and pulled the blade away, scabbard and all.
"If you want to live," Skaldi said to Erik, "then don't move."
The old man passed the sword to Harald. "Look at the boy through this, Harald. Tell me what you see."
Harald looked at Skaldi. "Why?"
"To see things a little clearer," Skaldi said.
Harald closed his mouth with tight lips, and held the crystal pommel up to his eye. He could feel the warm heat emanating from it, and the world before him dissolved away.
The stone walls pulsed black as green ooze dripped from the corners. Skaldi was draped in pure white light, and Wulfric held a similar hue, but its radiance had faded. When Harald looked at Erik, he saw the white light throbbing from his heart, but black shadows swirled around him. He studied Erik's face, and saw sunken cheeks and raw eyes. His blonde hair was a mess, and his full lips frowned and quivered. Harald looked harder and could feel sadness, those sorrowful eyes begged for help.
Harald lowered the sword and looked at Skaldi who was studying his face.
"None of us are innocent," the old man said, "pain only begets pain."
Harald looked back at Erik, and could see his forlorn face. His eyes were darting from Harald to Wulfric like a trapped animal searching for an escape.
"We can't let him go," Harald said to Skaldi.
Wulfric nodded and pushed Erik back harder into the wall.
"No, we cannot," Skaldi agreed.
The old man turned to Erik, and watched him tremble against the wall.
"Do you want to live?" he asked.
Erik nodded quickly.
"Then where is Isolde?"
Harald watched tears spring from Erik's eyes, and the youth quickly wiped them away.
"It's too late," he said with a shaking voice, "the new moon rises tonight, and she is already with Hrothgar."
Skaldi's eyes widened with shock, he turned to Harald and Wulfric.
"The new moon!" he said, "I am a fool. The witch wishes to enter her tonight."
"I don't understand," Harald said.
"There's no time," Skaldi replied, "lock him here, we have to find her before it is too late."
Wulfric hurled Erik to the ground, and the three of them left the room and bolted the door shut. They flew out the dungeons, and up the stairs, Skaldi taking the lead and vaulting up the steps two and free at a time. Harald kept up, his heart racing and he knew Wulfric wasn't far behind.
"Where is she?" Harald cried out through forced breaths.
"Under the black moon, atop the highest tower," Skaldi replied, "in the claw of the Raven's talon."
CHAPTER XII
Isolde followed her torturer, Valarth, down the cold stone steps, and through a doorway. It led out to a catwalk that connected one tower to another. The night air was chilled and blew straight through her silks, she shivered as she looked down at the dark waters of the river Thurso below.
Valarth walked with an air of confident grace, straight-backed and head held high, never turning to see if she was following. She looked up at the tower they were heading into and saw its black stone work rise high into, the sky like a lone sentinel soaring above the city.
They climbed a new set of spiralling stairs with slitted windows at every half turn. She saw the world grow smaller beneath her, and spied campfires on both sides of the river. They came to the top of the stairs and Valarth opened a door to the wide night sky and held it for her to pass through. She could feel her heartbeat and her short breaths, but she had no strength left to fight. She passed the slender grey torturer and stepped out onto the top of the tower.
Fire-pits flickered around the edges of the great round-tower. They threw light on the stone ravens that hunched over the edges and watched over the city below. A stone claw stood out before Isolde, it was shaped as a bird's talon, and its palm was as broad as a royal bed, with its claws open to the sky. She looked around and spied the shadowy faces of guardsmen, who were as still as statues by the sides of the wall. One of the men came forward, and she gasped at the realisation that it was Hrothgar. The aged king walked over to her with stern eyes and tight lips.
"I want you to know," he said through his coarse grey beard, "that there is no pleasure in this."
She took a hesitant step backwards as he offered her his hand.
"Don't be shy," he said. "I have something to show you."
He took her to the south side of the wall and she looked over the edge to hundreds of small campfires in the streets of the city, and saw that every house and building was glowing softly from fireplaces that let smoke waft into the night air. Even from this far up, and across the river, she could hear the distant sound of bellowing laughter and idle chatter.
"Two-thousand strong warriors, the best of Ravenscar," Hrothgar said.
Isolde said nothing but looked on with wide eyes. She knew her father's guard in Eyndale numbered something closer to a hundred, maybe two hundred if they levied the farmers.
"That's not all," Hrothgar said, and he took her back past the stone claw to the north side of the wall.
She gasped in horror at the trail of lights that streamed toward the city from the north-west and east like two great flaming snakes. The tails of the line stretched out for as far as she could see.
"How many?" she managed to whisper.
"Thousands of warriors from the northern mountains," he said pointing his hand out to the west, "with countless corsairs and raiders plying the waves from Skalloway."
He turned to the eastern branch of the flaming trail and smiled wickedly.
"This column marches from Vrouka, they are the beasts of the frozen north, heeding my battle-call. Goblins and orcs, trolls and wolves; such a host that man has not seen since the great war."
"You can't," Isolde said, "they will destroy everything."
"Yes!" his voice rolled like thunder, "and I will rebuild it all. It will be a new world, a new order, a new reign, under my dynasty!"
He spun on his heels and grabbed Isolde by the shoulders. Her wound burned as his thumb dug into the black hole and he forced her backwards.
"And you, Isolde," he said barring his teeth, "will be the mother of that dynasty."
He thrust her back and she stumbled over the stone raven's claw, and she felt her head crack into its palm.
"No!" she screamed, but it was no use.
He ripped her legs apart and forced his hands against his face.
"You will give me a son," he cried.
She swiped up at him with her hands and caught his face. She saw his red eyes enraged, and a closed fist came down and cracked her nose open. She felt the warm blood trickle down her face, and in that stunned moment felt the fine silk tear by her thighs. She choked as he entered her, and tears rolled down her eyes. Isolde swiped up again but all the strength had fled from her.
"There is no pleasure here," he grunted as he drove himself into her forcefully.
She clawed at her face, and ripped at her hair, as tears flowed from her eyes. That was when she felt it, thin and sharp between the braids of her hair - the silver pin. She slid it out of her hair, and grasped it tight in her hand. Hrothgar thrust one last time, and filled her with his seed. In that moment, when his mind was blank, she thrust the long pin, as hard as she could, up into his jaw.
The silver needle slid through the thin skin under his chin, and Isolde drove it straight through the roof of his mouth, until it poked out the socket of his eye. She jammed it harder, and sealed his mouth as he let out a muffled moan, and black blood began to ooze from his pierced green eye. Hrothgar tumbled backwards clawing at the pin and she saw the shock on the faces of the guards.
>
She slid off the stone and back to her feet, but nearly collapsed from her shaking legs. Her heart was racing... there was no time for weakness. She flew toward the door, and the guards leapt to their fallen king.
Isolde didn't dare look back, she threw herself through the oak door, and stumbled on top of Harald. Harald!?... He and Wulfric were behind Skaldi, who had the grey torturer, Valarth, in his hands. The old man looked at Isolde with wide eyes of shock, and in that instant, Valarth disappeared with a flash of black smoke.
"Go!" Skaldi commanded, and the four flew down the tightly wound stairs.
Their feet slipped and stumbled on the thin steps, but down and down they went with Wulfric in the lead. They heard great horns of war bellow above them and reverberate right through the tower. Lesser horns replied throughout the city around them.
Guards rushed up the stairs, and Wulfric hacked them down, one by one, without breaking stride. They scurried back across the open walkway, and Isolde saw the city's guard-towers come to life with watch fires and silhouetted guards. Down the tower they went, with the sounds of hasty feet and calls to order behind them. Isolde's insides burned with searing pain, and slick blood had caked itself to the inside of her legs and nose. Skaldi jabbed her onwards as they kept their flight at full speed.
"You'll need this," he said and thrust her mother's sword back into her hands.
She took the sword and panicked when she realised they were heading back to the dreaded dungeons. Wulfric hurled his shoulder into a wooden door to the right, and the warmth of the kitchen hit them like an open hug. Isolde's heart sank as she recognised the stranger within. It was Erik, he looked up at her with deep eyes.
"You bastard!" she shrieked and lunged at the blonde youth.
Her fist came crashing down on his face, and he made no motion for defence. She ripped the sword from its scabbard and gripped it, like a spring ready for release. A soft hand placed itself on her shoulder, and she looked back at Harald's frowning eyes.
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