by Quinn Loftis
Still, my unpleasant task couldn’t be avoided any longer. I would have to give the order, and he would have to follow it. That was the way of the clan, and Brant would respect that. And his sparring partners would probably thank me for saving them from today’s beating.
“Brant,” I called, drawing his attention as I approached. “Let’s take a walk.” I beckoned him away from his destination.
Rolling his eyes, he grunted. “Where am I going this time?” Tossing the huge war hammer over one of his shoulders, he fell into step beside me. “I’m in no mood for your games, Torben.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“Where are you sending me? Out with it.”
“What makes you think I’m sending you anywhere. I could simply want to talk about the weather or maybe, uh, new fishing techniques, offshore. Perhaps I merely want some advice concerning the…uh…marriage bed. Yeah, that could be it. You are certainly the most accomplished conqueror of the clan in that area.”
Brant paused. I took a few steps before spinning toward him. He stared at me, brow lowered. Brant and I had been friends our whole lives. I knew him better than I knew myself. Still, at that moment, I couldn’t gauge his expression. Then his face brightened and he chuckled, a rumbling sound like rough stones tumbling down a rocky incline. “I’m sure I could give you a few pointers. And I’m sure you need all the help you can get. I’d be doing Allete a favor, come to think of it. Poor girl. She’s plucked out of the hands of those puny, pasty English lordlings, only to be stuck with the likes of you. Unfair, that is,” he said as he continued walking.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man’s trademark smirk as he teased me, a sight that has been growing ever rarer over the past weeks. “Yes, well, we can’t all have as many notches on our bedpost as the mighty Brant of Clan Hakon.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Maybe your bedpost isn’t quite long enough,” he roared, quite amused at his own joke. I couldn’t help but chuckle myself.
“Maybe, maybe.” I held up my hands in surrender as I walked, the village retreating behind us in the distance. “But I couldn’t help but notice that’s a mighty big war hammer you have there, Brant.”
“That’s what the lasses say!” He let out another deep belly laugh. We came to a clearing, a field not far from the river.
“I’m sure they do. But I’ve always heard a man who carries a weapon too big for him to wield into battle is compensating for shortcomings in other areas. Maybe that’s why you insist on fighting with a giant hammer, instead of a more reasonable sword or mace.”
Brant spluttered. “Too big? Too big! Too big for me to wield? I’ll show you how to properly wield a weapon this large!” He bellowed and leaped at a giant boulder, swinging his hammer down from overhead in a two-handed grip, striking the great stone squarely on its face. There was a tremendous crack as the boulder split down the middle and the two halves fell away from each other. “Let’s see your puny little longsword do that, Jarl.”
I nodded. “Impressive, very impressive,” I said, surveying the damage. “But sometimes, my overeager captain, pure strength isn’t enough to get the job done.” My longsword hissed as I drew it from its scabbard. I leaped at a nearby hazel tree, then began severing its branches. My sword arm was a blur while I surgically removed the limbs, leaving it nothing but a smooth, pointy obelisk in a matter of seconds. Pausing, I cocked an eyebrow at my second in command. “Occasionally, finesse is required. It’s the same in the bedroom…so I hear. Some men apparently never master the finer points of subtly required to properly please the fairer sex. But I’m sure that’s not the case with you, mighty Brant of Clan Hakon.”
Brant stroked his beard, admiring the bare tree and ignoring my comment. “All this talk of weapons,” he said, starting forward again. “I think it distracts from the bigger picture.”
“What’s that?” I asked, taking a few quick steps to catch up.
“That real men fight bare-handed!” In the blink of an eye, Brant dropped his war hammer and lunged at me, his shoulder connecting with my stomach. Letting out an ‘oomph,’ I fell backward. I dropped my sword and rolled, bringing my knees into Brant’s midsection and kicking my legs upward as hard as I could. The hefty man somersaulted over me, his eyes wide. I hadn’t expected his attack, but he hadn’t expected me to react so quickly. He landed in a somersault and came up in a crouch, a surprisingly agile maneuver for a man of Brant’s size.
“Ah, see,” I said. “Better to be nimble in bed. That way, you can best react to your woman’s changing needs.”
Brant wore a wolfish grin as he began to circle me, and I matched his movements. “Better to be strong. That way, no matter what she needs, you will always find yourself adequate.” Roaring, he charged. I mirrored his actions. We met with a force of thunder, the sound of thickly muscled bodies slapping against one another. I tried to go low and take Brant out at the knees. He anticipated the attack, flinging his legs out behind him and dropping his center of gravity as he wrapped his bulky arms around my head and neck. No surprise there. A strike at the knees was always my first go-to maneuver when fighting the bigger man. I’d have been disappointed if he didn’t expect it.
Quickly, I twisted away, my head popping out of his grip. I jumped on him, trying to get behind him to clasp my arms and legs together so as to control his back. I was only partially successful. I’d gotten my hands together, but not my legs. He jumped up and came crashing down, landing on the only soft spot around—me. I grunted as the breath was forced from my lungs. Still, I didn’t release my grip. We rolled around on the ground, both trying and failing to pin the other.
This went on for the better part of an hour, a flurry feints, throws, sweeps, headlocks, and suplexes. As we grappled, I couldn’t help but be transported back to my childhood. How many times had Brant and I squared off like this as children? Fighting, struggling, proving ourselves to one another, and becoming stronger and fiercer young men in the process? Hundreds, no doubt. Maybe thousands. And how long had it been since our last wrestling match? How long since we enjoyed the pure thrill of single, unarmed combat without the constant, never-ending drive by our former—now deceased—crazed jarl to raid and pillage defenseless, unsuspecting villages. Far too long.
As the match went on, my limbs began to feel like lead. Both of our movements were coming slower and with less enthusiasm. I didn’t know how many more times I could escape the huge man’s attempts to pin me. I hoped he didn’t have a reserve of energy he was holding on to for one final, frenzied attack. If so, he’d probably best me this time. Not that it would be surprising. We never kept a tally, but I was sure he beat me as often as I beat him. Brant and I continued to struggle. Just when I was about to yield, Brant tumbled off me and onto his back. “Enough,” he said, gasping for air. “I yield.”
I followed suit, rolling to my own back and staring at the sky. As I sucked in much-needed oxygen, neither of us spoke for a long time. My clothes and hair were soaked with sweat. I continued to gaze up at the bright blue sky, watching the billowy clouds roll along above me. Soon, my breathing became even again. I could hear Brant’s doing the same, half expecting to hear the man snoring in a few more minutes. Instead, he spoke.
“You never did answer my question.”
“What question?”
“Where are you sending me?”
Laughing, I rose to a sitting position. “I’m sending you to King Albric. He already knows you, and he will trust you because of who you are to me.”
Brant grunted and sat up, peering through narrowed eyes. “Why?” he asked. “And please don’t give me the political excuse. What’s the real reason you’re sending me?”
“You always were too perceptive for your own good,” I muttered. “You need something productive to do. This wrestling match was a welcome distraction. But that distraction will only last so long. I can see the longing in your eyes. You want to go after Dayna. I get that. I do. But if we ma
ke any rash decisions now, we could end up losing the whole clan. Cathal and Calder are both dangerous enemies. We have to respect them. Not to mention, according to Allete, Calder has a dark witch at his beck and call.”
“Rash decisions?” he snapped. “It’s been two weeks since she’s been gone. I’m fairly sure I haven’t made any rash decisions. I feel like we’re wasting time. Who knows what those evil pricks could be doing to her?” he said. I watched as the anger slowly drained from his face. Despair took its place.
“The faster we gather allies to help, the faster we can get her back.”
“And how am I supposed to get to England? We have no boats. And horseback is too slow.”
“Give me a day to get that worked out. Meanwhile, gather your supplies and make ready. That’s an order, Brant, from your jarl. As your friend, I sympathize with your situation. As your king, I have to consider the whole situation, not just what you need.”
“I know. But that doesn’t make it any less of a burr in my arse.”
I took his arm in a respectful clasp, one only warriors had the right to give, and patted him on the shoulder. “Hang in there a little longer. We will get Dayna back.”
He merely grunted in response.
“C’mon, let’s get back to the clan before they send out a search party.” I stood and extended an arm, helping Brant to his feet. We retrieved our weapons, then began slowly marching to the village.
“Don’t ever complain about your life being boring. You might just wake up one day and be in the clutches of a dark witch with an even darker sense of humor.”
* * *
~Dayna Auvray
I sat on the mattress, my back against the wall of the hut. My mind was numb, hazy, as I tried to process what had happened. After the incident with the frog, I thought my brain retreated into a fugue state out of self-defense. I couldn’t believe what had happened, what was happening. It was only a few days ago that I was a well-kept princess, eating the finest of foods, sleeping on the highest quality linens, sneaking off to the stables to undertake forbidden swordplay lessons, and dreaming of adventure. I wished I’d have known adventure was going to hurt this much. My attention was pulled out of my thoughts when I heard Gisele curse and throw something that shattered against the wall.
“Damn that filthy witch,” Gisele yelled as she stared down at a tome that appeared to be older than dirt. I was surprised the book didn’t turn to dust when she began frantically flipping through the worn pages.
“Are you talking about yourself in the third person?” I asked.
“I am talking about my sister,” she replied without facing me. “At every turn, she thwarts my efforts, and I am beginning to regret not strangling her in the womb.”
“You have a twin? There are two of you in this godsforsaken world?” Surely the gods couldn’t be that cruel. Wait, didn’t you hatch from an egg?”
“Why on earth would you think I hatched from an egg?” She jerked her head, her eyes flashing dangerously.
“I thought all snakes were born from eggs.”
Her arm flew out, and I ducked just in time. A vial of something blue smashed into the wall behind me. I scurried away from it as quickly as my aching body would allow. I had no idea what kind of damage that fluid could do, and I didn’t want to find out.
“You would be wise to learn to keep your mouth shut. I have plenty of spells that require a human tongue, and I don’t mind the mess it will cause when I cut yours out.”
I wonder what kind of spell requires a human tongue? That was my first thought. Perhaps I should have been concerned it was my tongue being threatened, but that didn’t even cross my mind. Allete would’ve expected such from me. She understood how my twisted mind worked. She’d had to deal with me for almost seventeen years. The thought of my sister made me ache. Where was she? Was she alive? Unharmed? I wish I had some way of knowing. And what about Brant, my family back in England, Torben, Magnus, Cathal? Regardless, any and all hope of rescue from the clutches of this witch was nonexistent. If I were going to get free, I’d have to do it on my own. That returned my thoughts to the frog, and I shuddered.
Another thought occurred to me, and it only bolstered my desire—frog or no—to figure out a way to escape. What if no one even knew I was alive? What if when Allete was taken, she’d thought I was dead, just like Hilda? After all, the last anyone saw of me, I was motionless on the forest floor. They surely thought I was dead. This notion filled me with a sense of emptiness that almost turned to despair. Almost. Instead, I held on to the thought and allowed it to spark a fire, however small, within me. I held on to the faces of my loved ones. To the expressions on their faces I would see there when I came striding out of the woods toward them, alive and whole, against all odds. One face, in particular, came to the fore—the face of a muscular, handsome Northman.
“I have to go out,” Gisele said suddenly. “I won’t be gone long. Do not go outside. If you do, I’ll know it. Step outside the door and you’ll wish for death.”
Where was I going to go? If I left, I’ll just get lost in the woods and probably wind up starving to death or being eaten by a bear or something.”
“Don’t drink anything in any of the jars,” she said, completely ignoring my comment.
“It’s a good thing you told me that,” I said. “I was getting a bit parched. I tend to drink strange, unknown liquids that might cause my brain to ooze out of my ears when I’m left alone. It’s one of my few addictions, actually. Hard to control myself.”
Gisele regarded me with an expression I couldn’t read, then mused, “It’s too bad you’re you or I’d actually like you.”
“Uh, thanks, I guess.”
The witch left the cottage without another glance.
I immediately tried to stand, pushing up with my hands. “Holy mother of lizard balls,” I gasped as my ribs screamed. I released the pressure on my arms and sat right back down, not that I’d made it more than an inch off the mattress. How in the gods’ names was I supposed to escape if I couldn’t even stand?
I scooted on my bum until my back was pressed against the wall, and I was now on the opposite side of the spilled liquid and shattered glass. Glaring at the vile substance, I groused, “She could have at least cleaned up her mess.” Knowing my luck, the fumes alone would kill me.
Leaning my head against the wall, I closed my eyes. Again, Brant’s face came to my mind.
How was he? I wondered. Had he thought about me at all? Was he worried about me? And what was all this sudden fascination about myself? I chuckled. Allete would politely point out I’d always been a bit self-centered.
“Ugh,” I moaned, running my fingers through my hair. It was a tangled mess, and no doubt resembled more of a bird’s nest on my head than locks of hair. My throat burned from the vomit earlier, and my dry mouth tasted like a horse’s rear end—at least what I imagined a horse’s rear end might taste like. I sniffed myself, then scrunched up my nose. “And to top it all off, I stink.” Hilda wouldn’t have said that was a bad thing. In fact, the oracle probably would have said that being stinky was a good way to annoy a captor, and, in a captivity situation, a person needed every advantage they could get. I felt a deep-rooted ache settle inside of me at knowing I’d never hear a sharp remark from the old woman again, nor glean a grain of knowledge from her stores of wisdom. I hadn’t known her long, but she’d become a trusted ally and friend.
Briefly, I considered simply walking out the front door and fleeing into the woods. I dismissed the idea for several reasons. First, what I said to Giselle was true. I had no idea where I was, and I probably wouldn’t last long alone in the woods. I’d received plenty of training on statecraft and court etiquette in England, but nary a lesson on fieldcraft. Such a thing wasn’t a subject one generally studied in the castle, even though my father employed several rangers and scouts who would’ve been more than capable of instructing me. What a waste. Not to mention the fact I could barely move. I wasn’t sure if any of
my injuries were serious or life-threatening, but they were certainly painful, and the long walk Giselle and I took to get here had sapped all of my energy. The extra jolt of magic she’d zapped me with upon arrival probably didn’t help my failing strength, either. All in all, I was in no position for a cross-country trek, even if I did know where to go.
Second, though I hated to admit it, I was scared of Giselle. Despite my smart mouth toward the woman, after having borne the brunt of her wrath a handful of times, I had absolutely no desire to do it again. She was powerful, there was no doubt. The witch could have easily enchanted the door to shock me or kill me or do gods knew what when I touched it. Or maybe such a spell wasn’t easy. I really had no idea how dark magic worked. But I was sure it was possible. I had a healthy respect for Giselle’s power now, and I wasn’t going to push my luck.
Finally, and most importantly, I believed the witch when she’d said she’d torture Allete if I tried to escape. I’d never known anyone or anything as evil as Giselle. When—not if but when—I escaped, it would have to be only after I knew the witch couldn’t hurt Allete. There were only a couple of ways that could happen. If Allete was surrounded by a host of warriors ready to defend her, or if the witch bitch was dead. I knew which one I preferred.
So, instead of vainly attempting to escape, I rested and plotted. I tried to keep from falling asleep. I really did. Not only did I want to explore my surroundings and attempt to find something—anything—that I might use against the witch, but I also didn’t want Gisele or anyone else to find me asleep and defenseless. No such luck. My body needed rest, and my mind wasn’t strong enough to deny it. My limbs felt like lead. Soon, my muscles began shutting down. I couldn’t keep myself upright on the mattress. In moments, the oblivion of sleep dragged me under. I only wished my dreams would have been of Brant instead of Hilda’s unblinking lifeless eyes.