CHAPTER FIVE BIÓRR

CHAPTER FIVE

BIóRR

B iórr grunted as he lifted Ilmur's corpse under the shoulders, a long-armed skraeling named Skaga hefting Ilmur's ankles. They strode through the carnage of last night, bodies strewn on the ground, burned-out tents and wagons smashed to kindling in Rotta's agony and rage, and made their way to the pile of the dead, close to where Rotta had been venting his pain and fury on a bound and frost-spider-poisoned Orka.

I hate that woman , Biórr thought, eyes on Orka as he laid Ilmur's corpse beside Storolf. He looked down at his dead friends, felt the weight of grief in his chest, a constriction in his throat, a burning in his eyes. Felt a measure of responsibility and guilt, as well. I almost let Breca go, almost let Orka and the boy leave. Perhaps I should have. Ilmur and Storolf would still be alive. It was self-preservation, that strongest of instincts that he had inherited from his rat-god blood that had guided him, made him shout out a warning and draw his weapon. Made him attack Orka and her Bloodsworn companions. He had been tasked with guarding the Tainted children and knew that there were already those within the warband who viewed him with suspicion after Kráka the Seier-witch's attempted escape with Bjarn.

I had no choice.

He heard Myrk's sharp voice and saw her standing over Orka, holding a weapons belt with two sheathed seaxes upon it. Then her head turned to look to the wooded slopes of the valley.

Brák Trolls-Bane was emerging from the trees, draped in a wolf pelt, a whip in one hand, his troll-tusk necklace glinting in the pale sun. He led a handful of children, all bound at the wrist, a dozen of Brák's hunters spread around them, Tainted humans, skraeling, a few tennúr whirring in the air above.

"Get on," Brák snarled as he cracked his whip. Children whimpered.

Brák led them to stand before Rotta. He looked down at Orka, hawked and spat on her.

"Found some of the little runts," Brák grunted at Rotta.

"Breca?" Rotta asked, eyes scouring the line of children.

"No," Brák said. "There's no trace of that goat turd. No tracks, no scent past where she was caught," he said, nudging Orka with his toe.

Biórr saw the relief flicker across Orka's face.

"Think he must have jumped into the river." Brák shrugged. "Most likely drowned, or frozen."

"I want his body, dead or alive," Rotta said. "Find him."

Brák nodded. "What about these," he said, gesturing to the captured children behind him. "I could nail them to a tree, make an example of them to any others thinking about making a run for it. I've a bag of nails I made just for the job." He patted a pouch at his belt.

"No," Rotta frowned. "They have god-blood in their veins. They are best living and fighting for us."

"Aye," Brák said, the twist of his face suggesting he didn't agree.

"Put them in a wagon and leave them bound, for now," Rotta said. "Biórr will guard them, won't you, Biórr?"

"Yes, lord," Biórr called out. "Skaga," he said to the skraeling, "take them."

"Aye," Skaga grunted and loped over to Brák.

Biórr squatted down beside Red Fain. The white-haired warrior was sitting propped up against the shattered wheel of a wagon. One side of his face was bound with cloth, where Orka had bitten him. She had torn and ripped his cheek and jaw to bloodied strips. Fresh blood was seeping through the bandage and Fain was shivering with the first touches of a fever.

"My Storolf," Fain wheezed as he reached out and took his dead son's hand. He looked at Biórr. "The cost of this war," he said through his tears, "I fear it is more than I can bear. Fear I cannot go on."

"We must bear it," Biórr said, "or else the world stays as it is, our kind thralled, beaten, killed. We are the hard edge that will change the world." He sighed, puffed his cheeks, looking at Storolf and Ilmur, a fresh wave of emotion building in his chest. "To stop now, to walk away now, would mean they died in vain. Their deaths, their sacrifice, it must count . It must mean something ." Biórr reached out and laid his hand upon Fain's and Storolf's, squeezed them as he held Fain's gaze. "Heal, old man, and then we will change the world." He glanced at Orka on the ground before Rotta. "And we will have our vengeance."

Fain's face twitched, blood and froth seeping through the bandage of his torn cheek, emotions at war within him. Eventually he nodded.

"Biórr," Rotta called out, gesturing and Biórr stood and strode over to the god.

"I'm going to go and find your wolf cub," Brák was saying to Orka. "This is what I do to wolves," he added, spreading his wolf pelt wide. "Perhaps there'll be enough skin on your Breca to make a decent belt."

Orka pulled her lips back, snarling.

Brák walked away chuckling. "With me," he called out and his hunting crew drew in about him, all of them disappearing into the treeline.

"Biórr, I want you to guard our new guests," Rotta said, nodding down at Orka, then gesturing to the bound prisoners Myrk had led out of Svelgarth.

"Yes, lord," Biórr said, nodding a greeting to Myrk.

"Lover," she said to him, a smile twitching her lips.

He blushed. Myrk always made him blush.

I don't want to guard Orka, I want to kill her , he thought, trying to keep his emotions from his face, though his eyes were drawn to Orka. Bloodied and bound as she was, violence still radiated from her like a heat haze. And why am I always the one guarding children and prisoners. This age will be sung of by skálds, and when will I be mentioned?

"This is no small task," Rotta said, seeming to read his mind. "It is important. Orka has spoken with my arseling, bite-first-and-talk-later brother; she could help us end this war if we find him before he has time to consolidate his power. And the Tainted children, they must be won over to us, else they will end up fighting against us. I am trusting you with this task as I need someone with a clear head. A thinker," he tapped his head and glanced at Myrk.

Yes, well Myrk tends to act first and think … not much at all.

"Yes, lord," he repeated.

"Good man," Rotta said, clapping a huge hand on Biórr's shoulder. "Make ready to leave," he bellowed, his god-voice filling the valley and shaking the tree-shrouded slopes.

The camp burst into motion, people, trolls, skraeling, frost-spiders, spertus all moving, tennúr taking to the air in a flurry of wings.

"Where are we going, lord?" Biórr asked Rotta.

"South-west, to Darl," Rotta said. "To rally with my sister." He looked at Orka and smirked. "She's going to love meeting you."