With that, Alfred turned and stalked away, while Byrne’s rough hands dragged Ella bodily up over his horse, and pinned her like a sack of potatoes over its back. Her head hanging down one side, her feet desperately kicking against the other — until Byrne gave her arse a hard shove, and then an actualslapof his hand against it, squeezing tight.
“Stay still, wench,” Byrne’s awful voice snapped over her. “Else I’ll pull up your skirts, and we’ll have a bit of fun while we ride.”
This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t be happening, not before fifteen watching men — but the horse beneath Ella was moving, suddenly, kicking up to a trot, and then a canter. Taking her away from the mountain, away from Natt, and Alfred was using her to try to kill Natt, and start his war anyway, he couldn’t, this was not why Ella had done this, truth, love, Natt, run, run,RUN—
Ella gulped in breath, squeezed her eyes shut, said a fervent prayer to Akva — and then she wrenched herself to the side, and dropped. Landing with shattering force on the earth beneath, her body rolling painful and uncontrolled beneath the horse’s hooves — but somehow she’d avoided being kicked, and though Byrne’s horse was already rearing up, Ella was here. On the earth. In the forest, on her feet.
She kicked off, and ran. Sprinting with surging, breathless force, not down the road, but straight into the trees. Leaping over rocks and roots, ducking and dodging under branches, spraying up dirt under her booted feet. Running up and down and sideways, leaping over a rushing brook, clambering up a rocky hill, go go GO —
Her heart was screaming, her legs screaming, and she was wearing a cursed uselessdress, which kept catching on rocks and brambles. But she’d already grown stronger and faster, these past days, and she was still making good distance and good time, and had even somehow managed to yank her hands free of the leather binding them. And though there was noise behind her, crunching feet and snapping branches, it was far enough that she might just escape them, if she could just keep running, keep going, please, please —
But then, sharp and clear, a bark. More barks. Thedogs. The dogs, who were trained to follow Natt’s scent — the dogs were followingher.
Fuck,fuck, and though Ella only sprinted faster, her fool dress kept catching, brush and branches scraping, her legs bloody and aching. And already there was a dog, here, racing close behind her, nipping at her heels — and even when Ella tried climbing a steep, rocky wall the dog only ran around, and was waiting for her at the top. Barking so loud it hurt her ears, while the crashing noises of the men came closer, from both the south, and the west.
Ella abruptly changed course again, hurtling down and to the east, her feet sliding in muck and water, rapidly becoming deeper — and here was the horrible, miserable realization that they’d chased her into a gods-damnedswamp.
Another one of the dogs had caught up to her, madly barking with the first, and when Ella made to double back, she reeled up before one of the men, blocking her path. And then more men, one of themAlfred, panting heavily, stalking straight toward her, with his unsheathed sword in his hand.
Ella was trapped. And these men were going tokillher, and leave her body out to find, with the proof of Natt’s taking all over her. They would use her to break the treaty, and launch anotherwar.
They couldn’t, theycouldn’t, and Ella frantically backed deeper into the cold slippery muck. Gulping for air and courage, quaking all over with every screaming beat of her heart.
“Please, Akva,” she choked, between her ragged, hitching breaths. “Please, see me. Help me. You were supposed to bless me.”
Alfred had reached the edge of the swamp, eyeing both it and Ella with clear distaste, and he jerked a hand over his shoulder, toward Byrne. Clearly about to make him brave the muck instead, and Byrne immediately ran over, wading toward Ella, while she backed away, deeper, deeper.
No. She would drown herself in this swamp before she let them kill her. And at least then her body would never be found, there would be no more war, she was Ella of Clan Grisk and she wouldnot allow it—
When suddenly, in the treetops behind the men, there was a quiver, and a crack. And then a huge, grey-green shadow, soaring through the air toward them, and landing in a smooth, graceful roll before rising to its clawed feet.
And with one swift, breathtaking movement, the shadow lunged straight for Alfred’s staring, struck-still form — and hurled him with furious force to the ground below.
It was —Natt.
36
Natt. Washere.
Ella couldn’t follow, suddenly, could only gulp and stare, while the truth flashed and shuddered before her eyes. Natt was here, his huge body pinning Alfred flat to the muddy ground, his knee dug deep into his chest. And Natt’s sword was gripped in his fist, the steel blade flashing in the light — and then the blade snapped down, and thrust hard against Alfred’s exposed neck.
“You foul piddlingwarmonger,” Natt growled, his deep voice carrying through the trees. “Who seeks to kidnap andkillmy blameless, brave mate. Should you now beg her forgiveness, I shall have mercy upon you, and only cut your throat. Should you not” — the flash of Natt’s blade streaked downwards, the sharpened tip suddenly digging hard into Alfred’s belly — “we shall start here, and I shalllaughwhilst youscream.”
Alfred was kicking and flailing and cursing under Natt, shouting wildly for the rest of his men, for help — but Natt’s head jerked up toward the men, his eyes blazing, a bloodcurdling growl roaring from his throat. “One more step,” he snarled, “and he forever loses this choice. Andyouforever lose yourheads!”
His sword-point was digging harder into Alfred’s gut, already pooling a spot of bright blood onto Alfred’s tunic, while Alfred writhed and shouted — but the band of men weren’t moving, their wide eyes darting between Natt’s face, and that growing spot of blood.
“You shallbeg,” Natt growled at Alfred, deep and threatening. “Now.”
Alfred’s body under Natt was visibly trembling, and his mouth opened, almost as if to speak, to agree — but wait, he still had his ownswordin his hand, and suddenly he flailed up, swinging the sword straight for Natt’s head —
But the movement of Natt’s huge body was impossibly fast, ducking and twisting — and somehow he’d caught Alfred’s sword-blade with his bare hand. And with another blurry flare of movement, the sword spun in mid-air and came back again, the hilt now grasped tight in Natt’s clawed grip, the shining blade-edge flashing down to press powerful and deadly against Alfred’s neck.
It left Alfred unarmed and shivering, with a massive, snarling, bloodthirsty orc kneeling over him, pressing two blades against his skin at once. And every muscle in Natt’s body was coiled and rigid and ready to strike, his long black tongue coming out to lick his lips — and then helaughed, the sound hard and cruel and devastating. And his sword at Alfred’s waist was making a smooth, eager circle, taunting, seeking, about to drive deep —
No.No. And suddenly, somehow, Ella was running. Not away, not to safety — but pelting straight toward this. TowardNatt.
“NO!” a voice screamed, Ella’s voice, and thank the gods Natt heard it, his head rearing up, his eyes flashing with rage. But the blade hadn’t sunk home yet, even as it kept drawing circles on Alfred’s waist, eager, mocking, hungry for blood.
