Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“I know I can try.”
“There’s no trying when you’re dead.”
And with that, Rolf began to lunge, sword thrust out. But Erik knew Rolf too well, and the unpredictable could be predicted. He had already gotten into position before Rolf uttered those last words, and he flung the axe at him. It spun in the air, one rotation of swirling steel, before the blade landed right on Rolf’s moving arm. It cut it off just above the elbow, and Rolf’s arm—and sword—fell to the ground in a loud and messy clump.
Rolf’s scream, the agony, the frustration, the complete and utter doom of it all, was loud enough to fill the entire manor. It lived on for a long time after, in Erik’s head, just as the sight of Rolf’s blackened, bloodshot eyes, full of shock and betrayal, would.
He would always see those eyes, the ones of his oldest friend.
He didn’t have time to waste. He left the axe by Rolf’s side, who had now fallen to his knees, staring at his severed arm in horror as he ran off and out of the dining hall. There wasn’t time to grab his chest of possessions, the one that had made the journey from Norway with him, but he knew he at least had Cherine, and that possession was worth them all.
He ran through the manor and out the back door into the butcher’s area. As they had planned, the cart was outside, though it was loaded only with half the items they had planned for the journey. Cherine was sitting on her horse, holding the reins of Erik’s while Knut and Karst drove the cart.
“Erik,” she cried out as soon as she saw him.
He tried to smile, relief spreading over him like a cloak, but he could only grimace over what he had just done.
“We need to leave now,” Erik told them and quickly mounted his horse. “It’s only a matter of time before they come after us.”
Knut nodded and quickly flicked the reins, clucking loudly to the horses until the cart was lurched away at a trot. Erik and Cherine followed behind, the horseshoes muffled by the snow as the four of them rode out of the village of Saint-Martin and through the main gates. Erik kept a vigilant eye on the village walls, looking for any signs of ambush, and didn’t breathe until they were over the moat and heading back down the lane toward the sea.
“You’ll catch cold,” Cherine said, twisting in her seat for her saddle bag. She pulled out a heavy coat and passed it to him, no small feat when their horses were at a trot.
“Thank you,” he said, quickly shrugging it on.
“No,” she said, her voice dipping low. “Thank you. Thank you.”
It took one look at her angelic face for him to realize all the bloodshed had been worth it. He’d lost his old life.
And gained a new one.
They urged their horses to a gallop and left Saint Martin behind in a cloud of snow.
Chapter 22
Cherine
Our party had ridden for twelve hours straight, all the way until the next day, when we finally had to stop. We chose an empty barn for shelter and much-needed sleep while our horses rested, their bodies steaming into the damp air. There was no snow where we were now, closer to the coast, but the air was sharp, and winter was definitely still on its way.
Because of the long ride, we all collapsed into a pile of mildewed hay, covering ourselves with the animal skins and blankets before falling into a deep sleep.
My sleep was restless. I dreamt of Erik’s face being slashed open, of hands on me, of heads flying off. When I awoke late the next morning, I wasn’t surprised to see Erik up as well. He was perched on the edge of a hay bale, blankets wrapped around his broad shoulders, staring out at the grey meadow and the grazing horses before him.
In profile, he looked like a Nordic king until he turned, catching my eye as I sat on the ground beside him. The slash down the other side of his face was ugly, though it looked like his eye would be all right in the end. It would probably heal ugly too, with the lack of treatment they had for it, but I still thought he could be the most beautiful man in the world.
Something had happened to Erik back at the manor. I wasn’t sure if it was the indulgence of violence as he took on all those men, or if it was something else, but he was quiet, even for him, and when I thought he’d be happy about escaping his old life, he only seemed torn up inside.
He had saved me. I could only hope I could save him.
When Knut had carried me out of the manor that night and plopped me onto the cart, I immediately knew what was happening. He didn’t need to explain the boxes of jewels and gold, the crates of food, or the copious amount of blankets, animal skins, and clothing. Knut had said we were going home, and it looked like they’d been planning it for quite some time.