Page 77 of Lord of Fire and Ice

“Fire!” A voice bellowed from outside the sethus. It was Brandr again, and this time everyone heard him. The whoosh of flames outside made the smoke hole in the roof stop drawing correctly, and a fug of black hovered along the dwelling’s ridgeline.

Tryggr and his companion drew their swords and headed for the door. Before he ducked into the night, he turned and glared at the women, all of whom were awake now and cowering. Then he glowered at Katla while he surreptitiously made the sign against evil with one hand.

“I don’t know how you knew there was a fire, but don’t try any more seid-craft tricks. If any of you tries to leave this sethus, when I catch you, I’ll cut you up and feed you to the pigs. And two of the others with you.”

After he slammed the door behind him, Katla heard the dull thud of a beam being dropped into brackets, locking them in from the outside.

***

Brandr waited in the shadows, sizing up his adversaries while they spilled out of the sethus. One was considerably smaller than he, but he’d learned never to discount a wiry, quick fighter, and this man moved with the slippery grace of a ferret. Such a one might have more tricks up his sleeve than a man who relied on brute strength alone.

The other fellow was easily Brandr’s match for weight and height, but he moved swiftly to the flaming cattle byre, swearing the air blue at his loss. He found his unconscious friend, still tied up, but instead of coming to his aid, he gave him a vicious kick.

Fighting two at once was always a dicey bargain. If one of them was a madman, all bets were off.

“Where are you, son of Ulf?” the big fellow shouted, doing a slow turn. “Show yourself, traveler, and we’ll kill you quickly.”

Brandr narrowed his eyes, trying to strategize the best approach.

“Come for your woman, have you? Too late. She won’t want you after I’ve had her,” the man taunted, grasping his crotch.

Brandr’s eyes burned. That one he’d kill last. Slowly.

“There’s nothing for you here in Hardanger. Son of the jarl, you call yourself. Not for long,” the man said, his eyes flashing feral in the dark. “There’s change on the wind, and death to your kind is riding with it.”

“Ja, once the Bloodaxe comes, he’ll—” the little one began.

“Shut up, fool,” he snarled at his friend. “What are you waiting for, coward?” the big one shouted to Brandr. “Ah, I know. You need a little more encouragement. Bet you thought this is my sethus. No, we’re just borrowing it from the farmer who used to live here. He was nice enough to let us use it when he and his family died…sudden-like.”

The little one laughed at his friend’s wit.

“Who’d want to live his whole life in a hovel like this?” He snatched a burning brand from the cattle byre and tossed it onto the roof of the sethus. “Come and fight us, or watch your woman burn, Ulfson.”

Brandr tried to squelch the blaze on the sethus roof with his mind, but the blood in his veins was the blood of warriors, and its battle song was too loud for him to think over. He couldn’t find the calm center he needed to use his gift.

Fire spread over the dry thatch running along the ridgeline like lemmings headed for a cliff.

Brandr’s lineage was filled with men who’d lived and died by their swords. The urge to brutish violence went clear to his bones. Now the berserkr lust he usually kept under tight control burst into full passion.

A feral cry burst from his lips and head down, he charged.

***

“Katla, get out of there!”

Brandr’s voice sounded in her head again. She leaped to her feet and ran to the barred door.

The other girls clawed at her, pulling her back.

“No,” they shouted. The tallest one continued: “You heard him. If you escape, Tryggr will kill two of us with you.”

“But I’ll take you with me,” Katla said. “We can’t give up. We have to try.”

“Look at Aldis there.” The tall one pointed to the woman with the babe. She sat rocking herself in the corner with her knees tucked under her chin. “There’s no try left in her. If we leave her, she’ll die.”

“Then we must take her too,” Katla said, struggling to shake free of the others’ grasps. “Or we’ll all die.”

A contemptuous snarl lifted one corner of the girl’s mouth. “You shouldn’t cross Tryggr. I’m his favorite. He’ll listen to me. I’ll tell him you tried to run, but we stopped you, and then it’ll be only you who’ll die.”