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slithering along its length. The circling continued. Karn was behind Ulf. He sliced down across the back of Ulf's legs and spun to face him again. Ulf cried out and leaned over, hands on his knees. Blood dripped from the slashed leather across the back of his thighs where Karn's sword had struck deep. "Equal footing now," Karn gasped. Ulf's groan became a shriek of rage as he straightened up and limped into the fray. He slashed this way and that, spending strength without heed. Karn knew Ulf would weaken fast. As he waned, Karn began to plumb his own small reserve of energy. Now it was Karn who gritted his teeth and swung his sword, ignoring his slashed shoulder. He could see fear in his enemy's eyes. He let the revelation of Ulf's fear fuel him. Ulf fell back as blood streamed from his thighs. Muscle was cut. As Karn watched, Ulf became increasingly hobbled. Good; he had cut at least some tendon, too. A backhanded blow to Ulf's off shoulder drove him to his knees. Ulf thrust upward, straight for Karn's belly, but Karn met steel with steel. He pressed his parry, just as Ulf had done, then again he pushed Ulf's sword out and around in a swinging circle. This time Ulf's sword catapulted from his weakened grip to land on the ground ten feet away. Silence fell over the crowd. Karn stood back, chest heaving, and hefted Walther's sword. He could deal the killing blow. Triumph coursed through him, then soured. Would he allow Ulf to die in combat? Send him to the Valkyrie for his treachery? He searched Ulf's expectant face. Ulf waited for death with Norse courage, looking Karn in the eyes. Karn felt his burning intensity sigh away. His knees almost buckled. He used Walther's sword to prop himself up as his breath rasped in the silence. "Finish him," Dag hissed. "No," Karn panted. "He refused to fight me once. Now I refuse to finish him." He leaned against his sword and looked around at the Danir. "Let him pay as I do for his treachery." Karn let his voice rise. "Let him limp himself back to manhood if he can." "You cannot shame me thus," Ulf screeched. He tried to get to his feet, but one leg gave way and he fell heavily into the mud. Ulf's supporters grumbled. Karn looked at Dag. "My victory proves my words." Dag looked around the circle, challenging. "The gods declare the truth today." Karn did not wait to see if any would try to avenge Ulf. He staggered back to Thorn and shoved himself up into the saddle with trembling legs. "Are we ready to move?" he asked. Already the wagons rolled down the muddy road toward the north. Troops were strung out across the hills and riding hard. "Make haste or miss our glory," Dag shouted. Karn spurred ahead. "You cannot do this to me," Ulf cried from where he lay in the mud. Men around the circle turned and scrambled for their horses. Gamall freed Fenris and leapt into his own saddle. One by one, Danir turned their horses toward the northwest. Even Ulf's supporters made their choice. Not one looked at Ulf as he began to gibber after them. "Traitors, all of you!" Ulf's shrieks echoing after him, Karn turned Thorn's head toward Thetford and Britta. Chapter Twenty ^ Britta poured the last drops of her valerian tea into a goblet. This was the third day she had been feeding Edmund her potion. He would wake soon, groggy, and she might buy one final day. After that, who knew? She set down the cup and stared out at the camp, beginning to stir. She needed more time. She felt it. Perhaps escape was possible, or there was some deed to do before she died. She didn't know what the feeling meant and there were no visions, hard as she had stared into the fire in Edmund's room these last days. Dejected, she took her goblet past the two guards outside Edmund's door. They had grown used to her, but she was not allowed to leave. That was Dean at work. Edmund's pinched and sour features floated on his pillows. Even sleep was unable to soften them to kindness. Was this her king? It did not take wise eyes to see he was a bad leader. A thought flitted though her: Edmund was in her power. Was she meant to kill him? She pushed the impulse away. She could not kill in cold blood. Leaving Wydda to die had been close enough. Besides, after Edmund, who would rule? Gods protect the land from Offa! Was Dean a better leader? She paced uneasily beside the bed, waiting for Edmund to wake. Of all those she knew, only a Viking with bright blue eyes and a limp was made of the stuff to lead a people. Courage and generosity together, an iron will and a large heart. That was what it took. A noise outside stopped her in midstride, and she whirled to see Dean standing in the doorway, his face contorted in a scowl. "Enough of treating Edmund's dreams, Witch." It was what she had feared. "His case is difficult. You know how unsettled he is." "This treatment bodes not well for Edmund," Dean insisted. "Did he not drink eagerly?" Britta's calm was feigned. Edmund stirred behind her. "Aye, and that has stayed my hand too long," Dean growled. "The men now wonder where he is. And that enflames rebellious curs like Offa." Britta turned to offer Edmund the goblet. Would Dean stop her if Edmund reached for it? Dean jerked her around, and the goblet clattered to the floor. The last of the tea was sucked up by the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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