Tossing aside my cloak, I strode toward the doors, but Ylva’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “On your life, you do not allow her to leave.”
The two men she’d been speaking to shifted in front of the doors, their arms crossed, weapons in hand. Seasoned fighters from the look of them, but if I took up one of the many shields decorating the hall and called my magic, there was a chance I could get past them.
Except what if I hurt them in the process?
Injuring warriors, and potentially myself, when there was a battle raging outside and dozens of innocents inside needing protection, was a stupid plan.
A better plan would be to find another way out.
“Fine.” I lowered my sword, but as though sensing my thoughts, Ylva said, “The room is locked, Freya. Sit down, pour yourself a drink, and stay out of trouble.”
Gods, but I was beginning to loathe this woman. Gritting my teeth, I took a seat at a table near the edge of the room, sword rested across my thighs.
Screams and shouts filtered through the walls. Clansmen and women who hadn’t been at the feast and who were fleeing Gnut’s warriors, and part of me started to worry that I didn’t need to leave to find the fight.
Because it would find me.
Drumming my fingers on the table, I considered my options. Either fight the men barring my path or try to get through the locked doors to Snorri’s quarters, then out through the escape tunnel. Neither guaranteed success.
The screams outside clawed at my insides. Every muscle in my body tensed, needing to move. Children wept in their mothers’ arms, all of them knowing what would come if the hall was breached. All of them knowing it would be our bodies that burned, the smoke rising like that which escaped through the—
Opening above.
I flicked my gaze to the hole in the roof of the great hall, not even visible in the shadows, though I knew it was there. Big enough for me to fit through if only I could climb into the rafters without anyone noticing.
Except what could I do from the rooftop?
The answer lay in a bow and quiver someone had left behind, likely in favor of a shield and blade. Getting to my feet, I strode to the table the weapons leaned against, slinging them over my shoulder before heading to a ladder leading to the upper level.
“What are you doing?” Ylva snapped.
“If they get in,” I answered, “I’ll kill as many as I can.”
The lady of Halsar eyed me warily, wisely concerned that I might put an arrow in her back, but there was little she could say with everyone else looking on.
I climbed up to the narrow space filled with cots and personal belongings. I leaned against the railing, waiting for Ylva to stop checking that I wasn’t trying to escape. Which didn’t take long.
Fists pounded against the doors, the people outside screaming to be let in. I half expected Ylva to deny them, but she gave the warriors at the doors a tight nod and they lifted the beam, a tide of bloodied and terrified people flowing inside.
This was my chance.
Eyeing the beams and rafters while I tucked my skirts into my belt, I took one final look to ensure no one was watching, then climbed. I’d spent my youth chasing after my brother, which meant climbing many trees, and I put the skills to good use as I heaved myself up, doing my best to remain silent. This high, the smoke was chokingly thick and a cough slipped from my throat.
“She’s in the rafters!”
Shit.
Not bothering to look down, I reached for the opening and hauled myself onto the roof of the great hall. Blinking and coughing, I crawled down the broad center beam, my tears finally clearing away in the thinning smoke so that I could see.
Part of me wished I’d remained blinded.
All through Halsar, homes burned, and in the streets, battle raged. Small groups of warriors fought against one another, men and women falling on both sides. It was too dark to make out faces, but there was one whose identity there was no mistaking.
Bjorn fought alone against a group of warriors, his axe a glowing blur as it arced through the air, a shield in his other hand. I watched in stunned silence as he sent a warrior’s weapon spinning away, then reversed his momentum, axe cutting deep into the man’s neck. Stepping over the body, he blocked a blow from another warrior with his shield, then swung his axe. The man caught the blow with his own axe, the weapons locking. The haft of the man’s weapon caught flame, but before he could retreat, Bjorn slammed his shield into the man’s face. He dropped with a scream, trying to crawl away while clutching his ruined face, but Bjorn’s axe sliced into his chest, the fiery blade cutting through metal and flesh with ease even as he lifted his other arm to block another attack.
His shield shattered.
Rather than falling back, Bjorn threw a broken piece at the attacker’s face, then swung, his axe cutting through the man’s sword like a hot knife through butter. The warrior twisted and broke into a run. He only made it a few paces before Bjorn threw his axe, the weapon embedding in the warrior’s back. As the man fell, the flaming axe disappeared, only to reappear in Bjorn’s hand, already swinging at the next opponent.
I realized then why Snorri had accused him of holding back when he’d fought against me, because this…this was not the warrior I’d battled. This seemed as though Tyr himself had stepped onto the mortal plane.
The skin on the back of my neck prickled and I turned.
Shadows approached the great hall from the south, moving silently and without torchlight, but there was no mistaking the way the moon glinted off metal. The attack from the water had only been a distraction while the bulk of Gnut’s men came at Halsar from behind. Their goal, the great hall itself.
No. Not the great hall.
Me.
I was their goal, and they’d kill everyone in their path in order to achieve it.
Anger chased away my fear, and I knelt next to the opening in the roof to shout, “Ylva, another force approaches from the south! Send someone to warn Snorri!”
Not waiting for a response, I scuttled down the length of the great hall to the north end. “Bjorn!” I screamed, trying to get his attention. “They are attacking from the rear! Bjorn!”
But he couldn’t hear me over the din, his attention wholly fixed on the danger before him. As was the attention of everyone else, none of Snorri’s warriors aware of the threat approaching from the rear.
Below, one of Ylva’s guards sprinted toward the battle. But before he’d gone a dozen paces, he dropped, an arrow sticking out of his leg. He crawled on hands and knees, and another arrow shot from the dark, scarcely missing him.
Extracting an arrow from my quiver, I searched the darkness for the archer and caught sight of a shadow. My arm quivered as I drew the bowstring, for the weapon was designed for someone much taller and stronger. Then I loosed the arrow.
It shot through the night, and the shadow I’d aimed at screamed.
But my efforts were in vain.
Another warrior raced out of the shadows between buildings. He lifted his axe high, and before I could nock another arrow, he sliced off the crawling man’s head. I gasped as blood splattered, the man’s corpse slumping to the muddy earth.
The warrior who’d killed him went still, then looked up, his eyes fixing on me.
Instinctively I crouched, but he only grinned and pointed at me. Blood dripped from his axe as he took up a torch, walking toward the great hall. If he set it ablaze, everyone inside would either burn or be forced out the doors to face the rapidly approaching wall of warriors coming from the rear.
It would be slaughter.
Pulling out another arrow, I ground my teeth and drew the bowstring, cursing my weakness as my arm shuddered. The arrow flew, striking the ground at the warrior’s feet, and though I couldn’t hear him, his shoulders shook with laughter.