For his part, Bast also seems to enjoy himself. He’s lonely too, even if he tries not to show it, and Wren is the closest girl to his age he’s spoken to in a while. The pair are so caught up in conversation I worry he’ll miss his cue. As they draw nearer to the Commoner’s Market, Bast casually casts a look at Duke and the others—who linger in an alley behind sentries too busy to take note—and checks to make sure Arlo and the carriage are in place before glancing back in my direction. Then he leans closer to Wren and whispers something in her ear, and her brow arches in alarm. When her head turns toward me, I make a show of reaching for my sword to frighten her. Bast presumably tells Wren and her attendant to stay calm, and they quicken their pace.
Just before the reach the carriage, Wren comes to an abrupt stop, and her brow furrows. Bast reaches out to her, but she disregards his hand and stares at his sleeve with growing realization. “There’s blood on your sleeve.” Their eyes meet, and the look of betrayal is written on her face. When Wren tries to pull away, Bast grabs her wrist and pulls her toward the carriage. Wren slaps him across the face and breaks free. “Someone, help!”
I’m already pushing my way through the crowd when everything happens at once.
Wren’s attendant lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and one of the sentries shouts out for me to stop. He pitches forward suddenly, and Duke stands behind him, knives drawn. Søren gleefully cuts down the man’s companion while Talon and Kade come sprinting toward us. I seize Wren, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her back to the carriage by force. Bast’s expression becomes one of horror, and I look back to see Kade lose his cool and stab a pedestrian in his way. Talon joins in and slashes the man’s son across his face. More screams come from the crowd, which scatters in a blind panic, impeding my path to the carriage. Duke and Søren cut a route through the fleeing masses as the gang falls in together.
“What are you doing?” Bast looks as if he can hardly believe his eyes at the bloodshed, and for a good reason. It’s a slaughter. Duke told Bast we would defend the helpless, but the others—Duke included—butcher defenseless men and women in their way without a second look. “This is wrong.”
There’s no time to worry about that now. A horn resounds as three guards come running our way. While Wren fights me with desperate energy, I wrench my sword loose with one hand, fight my way to the carriage, and pass Wren to Bast. “Get her out of here. Now!”
Bast regards the unfolding massacre one last time and pulls Wren into the carriage. When I shut the door behind them, Arlo takes the reins and spurs the carriage into motion. Faolán barks behind me, and I glance over my shoulder and see Duke cleave part of a woman’s skull away with his blade without batting an eye. He hops onto the carriage and sits next to Arlo, and I grab onto the back of the carriage and whistle to Faolán as it pulls onto the road. Søren, Talon, and Kade, now on horseback, pull alongside us. The screams quickly fade behind, but the damage is done. We don’t have long to make our escape before the exits are barred.
An arrow lands perilously close to my head, and mounted guards chase us through the busy street.
“Hold on!” Arlo takes a sharp turn that threatens to tip the carriage over. The turn leads to an even more crowded street, where men and women scramble away from us in a mad dash. One older man trips and falls in front of the carriage. Arlo can’t stop in time, and the carriage crushes the man underneath, leaving his mangled corpse behind.
More arrows from our pursuers fly as we pick up speed. Talon and Kade shepherd the carriage and cut through any guards who get close while Bast pokes his head out from the carriage window and returns fire with his bow. Søren—the mad bastard—actually doubles back and charges the enemy with a joyful battle cry. Miraculously, he emerges unscathed, which is more than can be said for the guards.
Arlo steers the carriage across a narrow bridge on the city’s outskirts. I pull myself up in time to see the Traveler’s Gate drawing closer. It’s about time, too. Bells toll from the city square to sound the alarm. The carriage passes through the gate, and Siren’s Reach fades behind us in a cloud of dust.
It’s not hard to lose any remaining pursuers once we enter Hollowfall. The forest covers a vast amount of territory, and our hideaway is well hidden. Still, despite the removal of the more immediate threat, no one speaks on the return journey. Even Wren has stopped banging on the carriage walls and demanding to be let out. Her abduction didn’t go according to plan, and everyone knows it.
The tension persists when we arrive at camp. Arlo continues clutching the reins long after the carriage comes to a stop. He’s ashen faced from shock. Kade, Talon, and Søren, unaffected by the carnage left in our wake, laugh and trade stories about their kills, as if they had bravely slain noteworthy foes and not unarmed civilians. Duke, seemingly impervious to it all, marches to the carriage and throws open the door. At first, Wren resists, but when she sees our hideaway, all the fight drains out of her. To her credit, she doesn’t go to pieces. She knows what this is. We hold her fate in our hands.
“What the hell was that, Duke?” Bast hurls one of his gauntlets to the ground. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s seething. Most of the time he goes out of his way to fit in.
Duke’s gaze narrows at Bast. He doesn’t like being questioned. “We have her. That’s all that matters.”
“What about the mess we left behind?” Bast looks to me for support. “Tell him, Berengar.”
“The lad’s right.” Decidedly unimpressed, I fold my arms across my chest. I can’t imagine this girl was worth it. “You killed a woman back there.”
“You’re one to talk, after Redmyre.” Duke glances at the others. Apart from Alro, they don’t seem bothered by the slaughter in the least. “It had to be done.” He almost sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself rather than the rest of us.
The remark about Princess Elyssa stings, but I don’t shirk from his gaze. “It was sloppy. When word gets out, the Sheriff of Widow’s Vale will tear the east apart looking for us.”
“Let me think.” Duke cuts Bast off before he can interject. “Let me think!” Even Bast takes a step back at the uncharacteristic display of anger. “Safety is our most important concern. We keep our heads down for now. When things cool off, I’ll get a message to Shane and arrange the ransom.”
“Someone needs to watch out for the girl.” Talon eyes Wren with sinister intent. “I’ll take good care of her.”
Duke grits his teeth. “I’d be a fool to trust you around women after Stonecrest. That goes for Kade too. And Søren…”
“I’m as gentle as a lamb.” Søren flashes a toothy smile that makes Wren jump.
“Berengar and Bast will make sure she stays put.” Duke looks Bast over. “Think you can handle that?”
Bast nods.
“Good. We need her unspoiled. Understand?”
The others grumble in ascent. Even Talon appears reluctant to find himself staring down my axe.
Bast turns to Wren. “Let me show you around camp. You can have my tent for now.”
“I don’t want anything from you. You’re a liar and a murderer.” Wren stalks away. She barely reaches the camp’s outskirts before she’s cornered by Faolán.
“Sorry.” Bast speaks so softly no one else notices. He’s taken her rebuke hard. He’s a lot of things, but he’s the only one in the group who’s never killed anyone in cold blood. Still, it’s obvious what happened in Siren’s Reach weighs on his conscience.
Bast mostly keeps his distance from Wren for the rest of the night while I stand guard over her.
“I’m cold.” She sits a good distance from the fire to keep away from the others. “And hungry.”
“I don’t care.”
Her eyes rake down my scars. “You’re a heartless one, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “If you want food and warmth, the fire’s right over there.”
Wren doesn’t budge. She puts on a brave face, but I recognize fear when I see it. I can’t blame her for that.
It’s a good thing Duke has me guarding her, because the others are more depraved than she can possibly fathom.
Bast, who’s been casting furtive glances in our direction all evening, approaches from the campfire and hands her a bowl of stew. “Here.” Wren scowls at him but nevertheless accepts the offering, and Bast settles on a log across from her. He struggles to speak, and it takes him a while to settle on the right words. “I’m sorry about earlier. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. We’re not murderers.”
“Tell that to your friends.”
Bast looks over his shoulder, and his expression hardens. “They’re not my friends.”
Wren has no sympathy for him. “So, you draw the line at murder, but you didn’t have a problem abducting me?”
Bast has no answer for her.
“You’re wasting your time with her,” I tell him.
“You were a lot of help back there,” he mutters.
“Save it.” I push myself up. “You right about one thing. I’m not your friend.” With that, I head to the campfire, leaving Bast and Wren to share an uncomfortable silence. I ignore Talon and the others, pour myself some stew, and retreat to eat in peace.
“You’re angry.” Arlo sips whiskey beside me. His words are slurred, but only a little.
“You drink more than you used to.”
“Aye.” He stares at the fire with a nearly empty expression. “That kind of anger doesn’t last forever. Sooner or later it’ll burn out—like those flames—and you’ll only be left with regret.”
“This is about today, isn’t it?”
“Aye. No. Perhaps.” Arlo sighs. “I don’t know anymore, Berengar. I’ve been with Duke a long time. We killed those people today, and he didn’t care. He’s changed, or maybe it’s just me. Killing guards never bothered me, but…” He trails off.
I take the flask from him and raise it to my lips. “I know.”
Wren begins to sing. It’s a sad, lonely song that stirs something in Bast, who buries his head in his hands and begins to shake.
Days pass by uneventfully, and life at camp resumes a somewhat normal tenor. Wren’s presence complicates things. We’re not used to having a woman among us. Bast does his best to make life as easy as possible for her, as if it will somehow atone for his mistakes, but her attitude toward him remains contemptuous at best. The way my relationship with Duke is strained, I’m almost grateful to spend most of my time standing watch over someone who hardly spares me more than two words at the most.
There are goblins in the area. Søren saw a few on a hunt. The news has us all on edge. Although Søren swears up and down that they didn’t see him, the bloody Dane stomps around like a giant. Goblins are greedy creatures, and if they’ve heard about Wren’s abduction, they’ll want such a valuable prize for themselves.
Wren continues singing every night. Bast always listens at a distance, and it’s hard to tell if he’s entranced or haunted—maybe both. Wren holds herself together well. She hasn’t lost her composure once, though she’s clearly intelligent enough to know this probably doesn’t have a happy ending for her.
The way Arlo keeps on drinking, it’s a wonder there’s any liquor left in camp. He’s the only one of us Wren tolerates. He never married, but there’s something fatherly about the way he treats her, and he always saves an extra portion to make sure she doesn’t go hungry.
“Remember Milltown?” he asks Duke one night when we’re all gathered around the campfire. When Duke, who’s been quiet of late, doesn’t answer, Arlo continues. “The people couldn’t pay their taxes, so the sheriff decided to make an example of them. We chased those bastards back to Redmyre with their tails between their legs and set the villagers free. The people treated us like heroes.”
“They threw us a feast fit for kings!” Søren grins and slaps his leg. “Harald got so drunk he nearly wed one of them.”
Arlo laughs, takes another swig of his drink, and spills a portion of ale in Harald’s honor. Wren catches Bast staring at her and shoots daggers at him with her eyes.
Embarrassed, Bast looks away. “I remember that. The next day, Harald couldn’t recall her at all.” His expression grows distant. “The villagers were too poor to pay us, so we moved on. We helped them without reward—just because we could. I miss those days.”
My gaze lingers on Duke throughout.
When Duke leaves to meet with Shane at a prearranged location in Hollowfall the next day, he takes Talon, Kade, and Søren with him in case they encounter trouble. Just after dusk, I hear a shout, and Faolán’s ears perk up in alarm.
“Don’t come any closer.” Wren holds a knife clutched in her bound hands.
Bast holds up his hands to show he means her no harm. “Put the knife down. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“How’d she get the knife?” I demand.
“Don’t look at me. She must have stolen it during dinner.” Bast casts a sideways glance at Arlo, who’s nearly drunk already.
“It was your job to watch her,” I practically growl at Bast before turning my attention to Wren. “There’s nowhere to run. Besides, where would you go?”
Wren points the knife in my direction. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
“Last warning. I’m not as gentle as Bast.” At that moment, Faolán begins to growl. Something’s not right. “What is it, girl?” I spot a glimpse of movement in the forest. We’re not alone. Shadowy figures approach in the encroaching darkness.
Bast peers over the camp’s edge and goes utterly still. “Goblins.”
That idiot Søren must have led them right to us. There’s a dozen at least. Unlike their green-skinned cousins, their skin is a musty gray, and their eyes are a menacing black. Their ears, fangs, and claws have pronounced points. Thye crawl along the trees or scale the hill underneath us and converge on our hideaway.
“Fall back.” I reach for my axe. At the rate they’re moving, they’ll be on us in minutes. We retreat to the heart of camp and stand back to back. “Sober up, Arlo. We have a fight on our hands.”
Bast regards Wren. “What about her? We can’t leave her bound.”
“Let me help. I can fight.” Whatever else we may be, we’re human. There’s no telling what the goblins will do to her if they get hold of her.
Bast frees Wren from the ropes binding her, hands her his sword, and nocks an arrow. Wren nods to him and grips the sword tightly. She may be a noble and a girl, but she is of the north. She’ll defend herself or die trying.
A black arrow sails from the trees and nearly nicks Arlo’s arm. Another careens past me and vanishes into the unfurling night. Torches burn as goblins spill into our camp. I behead the first to meet us, and the battle begins. The archers keep a safe distance while others with swords and spears press us on all sides.
Surrendering myself to my rage, I leave the archers to Bast and charge into their ranks with Faolán at my side. I let out a roar and swing my axe again and again. Blood and body parts fly each time. Everything I’ve carried with me since Redmyre comes pouring out. Faolán, as large as many of our enemies, matches my savage pace. Unlike the ragged goblins I fought in the wars, these are better armored and equipped. They’re fast and agile, but I’ve been killing goblins since I was young, and I’m very good at it.
I’ve never seen Bast fire arrows so quickly. Archers fall from trees right and left. Although Arlo’s not at his best, even drunk, he’s been doing this long enough that instinct takes over. He wrenches a spear loose from an attacker and casts it at an archer who has Bast in his sights. Bast, preoccupied with Wren’s safety, hardly notices. Wren tries to hold her own but lands a few kills at most. Tough as she is, she’s no warrior.
Fire from fallen torches spreads through camp, and the hideaway glows in the night amid the flames. More goblins appear to replace the ones we’ve slain. I bash a goblin’s face in with my axe’s handle and cut another down the middle as Faolán rips out an archer’s throat. Arlo blows his horn while fending off attackers with one ha
nd. He’s tiring, and so is Wren. When a goblin cleaves Arlo’s horn in two and launches himself at him, Arlo hits his head hard on a log and tries and fails to rise.
I close the distance between us and remove his attacker’s arm before the creature can finish him. “Get up. You’ve taken worse hits than this before.”
Arlo merely moans. He’ll live, but he’s down for the count. I defend him against another wave of attackers. We can’t keep this up all night. The devils just keep coming.
A scream comes from Wren, who loses her grip on her sword and lands on her back. Bast puts an arrow through the attacking goblin’s eye, nocks another, and puts himself in front of her. Then a black arrow hits him in the shoulder, and he drops to his knees. There’s nothing I can do for him—Faolán and I hardly manage to keep the creatures off Arlo as it is.
Bast doesn’t waver. Even with an arrow in him, he puts himself in front of Wren and stands his ground. Arrow after arrow flies until his quiver is empty. Then he picks up his fallen sword and cuts down goblin after goblin until he can barely stay on his feet. He’s covered in green blood, and his hair is matted with dirt and sweat, but he refuses to yield.
A second horn blares below, and in the firelight, I spot Duke and the others approaching. Once they join the battle, the tide turns decisively in our favor. The goblins sound the retreat, but not before one swings his sword at Wren. Bast shields her with his body, and the blade cuts through him instead. He falls back and lands in Wren’s arms. Søren carves out the goblin’s heart, and with that, our enemies are all dead or gone. I help Arlo to his feet and come running, but there’s nothing I can do.
Wren breaks the silence. “Get him on a flat surface and remove his shirt. I need a needle and some thread if you’ve got it.”
The Price of Hate Page 5