Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (8 page)

“No is not an option!” he yelled and grabbed a strand of Becca’s hair with his fist, forcing her to the ground.

Becca screamed.

Nora stabbed down hard.

The man gasped and twisted around to see her. She’d missed the heart. Nora’s hand nearly slipped off the hilt in fright. She yanked the knife out, staring at the man’s face. He looked at her in surprise, mouth open wide. His eyes were a dark blue, and the stubble on his chin was light as straw. He dropped to one knee before Nora, a gargling sound coming out of his mouth. With a deft stroke, Nora sliced down with her knife and slit half of his throat open. He fell and died at her feet, twitching. She stared down at the wet leaves, black with his blood.

He stopped twitching after a while.

Blood covered her right hand. It grew cold. She wiped the back of her hand against her trousers.

“Noraya?” Becca sat on the ground, arms around her knees, head on her arms.

“I’m fine,” Nora said.
I’m fine?

“Is he dead?”

“Think so.”

Becca started to rock back and forth. “What about the others?”

What about the others?
The question rang throughout Nora’s whole body. Her legs gave way under her, and Nora shuddered and sat down. She was gulping air like a fish on land. Her head was reeling. This was not good.

“Don’t know,” she said.

Nora waited for the elated feeling of surviving, or a feeling of guilt over the life taken. She waited for the earth to open under her and Lara herself to drag her down to the silent road. Or maybe Tuil would strike her down with lightning or blow courage into her nostrils. A battle rage to take her into a killing spree. But nothing came.

She sat on the ground with her friend and a dead man. After a moment, Nora pushed the body toward the edge of the ridge. He was heavy. She placed her feet on both of his shoulders and shoved her weight against his. Slowly he budged, until the weight of his dangling legs pulled him over the rock shelf. There was a thud and a rustle of leaves below them. Nora sat sweating at the effort and then reached for Becca’s hand.

She was just one girl with one knife. If they caught her—one more rape, one more death—would it really matter to them? But as much as her legs were ready to run into the dark and off to the Vale, her heart wouldn’t let her. Because if she ran, what then? She’d be safe, yes. Becca would be safe with her. And maybe the trained men of the Vale would applaud the brave girls who fought back. But she knew if she left with Becca now, there would be no turning back. The Ridge was not her home anymore. Her home was dead, just like the body in the forge, and those men had taken it from her. Now all that was left was the possibility of a new home with Wolfe, looming over her head like the black clouds of the autumn skies. But that was what she had been running away from to start with.

She sighed. Marry Wolfe, and maybe the talk would stop. Stay, and she might die. But at least she’d have tried to do what was right. And if you didn’t do what your heart told you was right, what was the point? You didn’t let others suffer to save yourself. She couldn’t live with that and the knowledge that she’d probably never see Owen again. Her empty stomach heaved with the thought.

Either way, it all seemed to boil down to never seeing Owen again. She should have stayed with him. Stayed with Prince Bashan, the jerk, and his company of scumbags. At least she’d have Owen close by. Even if he thought…Nora clenched her teeth as rage flooded her thinking. The anger swept an idea along with it, one Owen would have berated as stupid. But Owen wasn’t here. She grinned in the dark and clutched her knife. The knife was always there. Touch of iron. Touch of home.

“C
an you walk?” Nora stood
up and held out her hand.

“I think so.” Becca nodded and grasped Nora’s hand hard. She bent double, one arm pressed around her stomach, but gave her a faint smile. Becca’s eyes were blue slits. She seemed as close to her former self as she could get tonight.

“At the inn, are there still horses in the stable?” Nora asked.

“I, I think so. Why?”

“How many men did you count?”

“What?”

“How many men were there, Becca?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think, please.”

Becca took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“Him and four in the common room.”

“He’s dead, though. Two guards at the door makes six.”

“And their chief’s in the suite upstairs. There’s a guard there too, I think.”

“Eight. Doesn’t seem enough to overthrow the Ridge.”

Becca shook her head. “No, there were more at first. A lot more.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Some left the same day, took a few women with them. Most left after that. Only those few stayed. That’s all I know.”

So. One girl. One knife. Eight men. It was stupid.

“One of them has a bow,” Becca continued. “I saw…when Widow Harris tried to escape, she was shot in the thigh. They pulled her back into the inn by her ankle. There was a blood mark on the floor where they dragged her in. She was still alive then. She’s not anymore.”

Nora squeezed both of Becca’s hands.

“Who is this chief of theirs?”

“He calls himself Ubba Bearkiller. I believe it. He’s huge. With bits of bone in his hair. Poor Ethelwyn. She was taken up to him earlier.”

“Who of the women are still with you?”

“We were about twenty after they were finished butchering the men. Not many are left here, though. Ethelwyn. Sallima, the baker’s wife.” Nora groaned. “Malla the chambermaid, and two of the Forester’s daughters. They kept us in my father’s root cellar under the kitchen. Took us up one by one whenever they…needed someone.”

Nora shuddered. Becca managed a faint smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, and her lips were pressed thin. She squeezed Nora’s hands back and swallowed. Gods, poor Becca! Her lower lip trembled a little, but she held back the tears. Nora felt ashamed. She hadn’t thought Becca so strong before, the spoiled, rich only child of a well-connected family. They could have been sisters. And now that girl was gone. Before Nora stood a young woman, pale and gaunt. Her eyes were red and swollen, her hands shaking. But she was strong.

“What are you going to do now?”

Nora didn’t immediately reply. The answer was madness. It was cruel death served on a platter. If there was an afterlife and the gods watched from there, surely they favored those who took risks.

“We need to get to the stable. Are there guards there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on.” Nora took Becca by the hand and led her through the trees around the smithy.

They went parallel to the main street, crouching among the shadows until they reached a burned cottage they edged by. Nora peered around the burned-down wall. They were now three houses down from the inn. The two guards were still there, though one was now leaning against the stone wall of the inn, cupping a match in his hands, lighting a pipe. They had to cross the road to get behind the inn to the stable.

Nora looked up at the sky. The moon was submerged by clouds, but it was still light enough that Becca’s white shift would stand out. The hilt of Nora’s knife was moist with sweat. She switched it into her left hand and wiped her right dry on her trousers. Blood dried in flakes on the back of her hand. Maybe not just sweat.

The men talked. One of the guards moved, stretching. He said something to the one with the pipe and strolled behind the inn. Nora tugged at Becca’s hand and they ran across the street, hiding in the shadows of another derelict cottage. Nora waited. She put her finger to her lips and snuck a look. The lone man’s face was dimly lit by a red glow. He was smoking his pipe, leaning against the wall, leisurely blowing circles into the night sky. Nora motioned to Becca to come along.

The stable was warm, though dark, and smelled of horse. Nora lifted the bar on the door and they were in. She closed the door behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark, knife still in her hand. The horses could smell them, and they recognized Becca’s scent. In the semi-darkness, Nora saw the white shift step over to the boxes, and she sensed the animals’ delight as Becca stroked one of the two horses, muttering comforting sounds under her breath.

“Kitchen door seems unguarded. You stay here. I’ll risk a quick look through there.”

“The kitchen door is bolted from the inside,” Becca said, nuzzling one of the steeds. “A couple of days ago, some boys in hiding came back to get us out. Tried to break in through the kitchen door. We heard the commotion from underneath. Since then, the door’s been locked, and they stand guard when we’re hauled up to cook them their meals.”

Nora hid her face in her hands for a moment. As if in prayer, she held her hands against her lips. Five young women in the inn, the two of them out here, made seven. Seven couldn’t ride off on two horses. But a fast rider could be at the Vale in hours, raise the alarm, get help. If the Vale wasn’t similarly troubled. But they had strong palisades and trained riders.

“Which one’s faster?”

“What?”

“Which horse is faster?”

“Neena.”

“Can you saddle her in the dark?”

“I, I think so. Why?”

Nora didn’t answer. This was it, then. The decision was made. She pulled the long silver chain from under her tunic and laid it into the cup of Becca’s hand. Even without holding it, Nora felt the heavy weight of the silver wolf’s head dangling from the chain. The guilt for taking it off was a needle prick. So easy to ignore.

“Nora?”

“You’ll ride to Green Vale.”

“We both will.” Becca’s lower lip started to wobble, but her jaw was set. Nora shook her head.

“Show the chain to Wolfe and Elderman Eol, and they will send horses and men.”

“You show it to them yourself.” Becca shoved the necklace back at Nora.

“No.”

“Nora, if they find you! You don’t know the horrible things—”

“No. These men don’t even know I’m here. I can hide and be safe until the riders of the Vale come tomorrow. And you’ll be faster riding there on your own.”

“It’s a half-day’s ride to the Green Vale. Even if Elderman Eol were to come immediately, they wouldn’t be here until tomorrow evening.”

“I know.”

Becca gasped for air and threw herself at Nora, weeping.

“I can’t leave you. I don’t want to.”

Nora held her friend tight. She had never had many friends and even fewer the last couple of years. But now and here, the straw under her feet, the gentle sound of the horses, the lavender-scented strands of pale gold between her fingers, and the salty tears on Becca’s face—this was good. Only it couldn’t last. She was on her own. She held Becca at arm’s length.

“You’re the better rider.”

“But they’ll kill you if they find you.”

“They won’t find me.”

“Promise?” Becca sniffed. Her sobbing had stopped. Nora stroked her thumb over her friend’s grimy, soft face.

“I promise.” It was easy to lie in the dark.

Their foreheads touched. She pulled away and swallowed hard. Becca busied herself saddling the horse. Nora sat down in the hay. Her bones ached, her stomach was churning; she tasted bile on her tongue, and all she wanted to do was lie down. Lie down and never have to get up again. She grabbed a handful of oats from a sack by the door and chewed them carefully. It wasn’t much of a meal. Bits of straw and tiny pebbles among the oats ground like sand between her teeth.

She woke up with a start as Becca gently shook her shoulder.

“I’m ready,” she said.

Nora’s hand left the hilt of her knife. She nodded and rose.

“Good. Do you know how to ride to the Green Vale?”

“In the dark?” Becca asked. “Follow the road, I guess. You sure you’re not coming?”

“I’m sure. Here, take my cloak.”

“I already have your necklace.”

“You’re in your shift, Becca. It’s a cold night. It’ll be colder riding. Just take it.”

“Thank you.”

Nora gave her the thick cloak. Becca squeezed her hand before taking it. Opening the door, Nora listened into the dark outside for the guard who had left his post earlier. It was all clear, so she signaled Becca to come with the horse. It neighed softly as Becca sat up in the saddle, her naked legs poking out under Nora’s short cloak. Well, there was nothing Nora could do about that. Her boots were the only thing of value left to her. Her boots and her knife. She’d need both. Becca tugged at the reins and the horse moved to the side. Nora looked up at her.

“Go slow until you reach the pine tree at the baker’s,” she whispered. “Then ride as hard as you can.”

Becca nodded. “Stay safe.”

“Just go, now. All right?”

Nora stood in the shadows under the stable’s thatched roof, watching Becca vanish into the night. Her coal-black cloak helped mute the shine of white in the darkness. Her friend was a silver ghost light hovering along the path. Nora readied her blade. But the guard in front of the inn didn’t come running. His partner didn’t come running. No one shouted a warning. The well-trodden dirt in the back lane muffled the hoofbeats. And then the horse and its rider were gone.