Read Online Freya the Huntress (Europa #2: A Dark Fantasy) by Joseph Robert Lewis - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joseph Robert Lewis
Ads: Link
wheels spun in the stream. “Is there anyone here? We’re travelers from Logarven. We mean you no harm. We’re just looking for some food.”
A dry scrape echoed from inside the mill, the sound of a boot on earth or stone. Freya rested her hand on her favorite knife. A gift from Erik, it had a serrated edge and a sculpted handle that fit her thin fingers perfectly. Holding it tightly reminded her of home.
There were a few more soft scuffling sounds inside the mill, and Freya began to wonder if she had been mistaken, if there was no man inside at all but some lost sheep or goat. Erik lowered his spear and nodded at the doorway, and Freya pulled back the leather curtain.
Inside it was pitch black, save for the rectangle of light from the doorway that revealed nothing except for a smooth earthen floor. The scuffling sound came again, louder and faster, as though some animal was struggling to stand or to run, but couldn’t.
Wren screamed and Freya spun around, crashed across the freezing stream, and scrambled up the steep bank toward the sound. She reached the top of the slope with Erik half a step behind her. Just a stone’s throw away there stood a man in a filthy wool cloak with one arm wrapped around Wren to pin her arms down, and his other arm wrapped around her neck with a steel knife in his hand. He had a scraggly blonde beard and his grimace revealed several missing teeth between his cracked lips.
“Who are you?” His voice broke and shook, choked with phlegm. He spat in the grass.
“Let her go. Now!” Freya pointed her long spear at the man.
He tightened his grip on Wren, and the girl thrashed about, kicking at his legs and trying to smack her skull back into his face. He lifted her up off the ground and gave her a hard shake, and she fell limp, her eyes blinking and head lolling as she gasped for breath.
The man shifted his arm around her neck to press the edge of his knife to the girl’s throat. “What do you want? Where’d you come from?”
“We saw the mill and thought there might be food.” Freya edged forward as Erik moved sideways to flank the man. “Now let her go. We don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll kill you before I let you kill her.”
“Food?” The man jerked his head at the mound of white fluff on the ground beside him. “I got food. I’ll trade you the sheep for the girl.”
“No deals until you let her go.” Freya took another step closer, tilting up her spear toward the man’s face above Wren’s shoulder.
The man’s eyes darted over to Arfast, who stood serenely a short distance away. “What about that girl there, the sleeping one?”
“We don’t deal in folk. No one deals in folk, not since the old days, and even then never for Yslanders.”
The man spat in the grass again. “Yeah, well, times change.”
“Last chance! Let the girl go!” Freya moved closer still and placed one hand on the butt of her spear, readying for a side-arm thrust.
It will have to be perfect, over Wren’s shoulder and straight through his eye.
She’d have preferred Erik to do it, but Erik was standing in the wrong place. From his position he could keep the man from running, and he could keep the man turned toward Freya, but he couldn’t run him through without hitting Wren. A pity. He’d always been better with the spear, and she with the knife. Nothing to be done about that now.
A queer look came over the man’s eyes as he stared at Katja’s motionless figure on the back of the elk. “She’s bitten, isn’t she?”
“That’s right,” Freya said.
Instantly the man let Wren go, shoving the girl hard so she stumbled several steps away before she caught her balance. The man stared at them one by one. “What in the nine hells are you doing with her? Why’d you bring her here? Are you crazy? They’ll smell her. They’ll come for her, they could be coming now.” He spun about, his wild eyes scanning the horizon. He grabbed up his dead sheep and started toward the mill.
A dry scrape echoed from inside the mill, the sound of a boot on earth or stone. Freya rested her hand on her favorite knife. A gift from Erik, it had a serrated edge and a sculpted handle that fit her thin fingers perfectly. Holding it tightly reminded her of home.
There were a few more soft scuffling sounds inside the mill, and Freya began to wonder if she had been mistaken, if there was no man inside at all but some lost sheep or goat. Erik lowered his spear and nodded at the doorway, and Freya pulled back the leather curtain.
Inside it was pitch black, save for the rectangle of light from the doorway that revealed nothing except for a smooth earthen floor. The scuffling sound came again, louder and faster, as though some animal was struggling to stand or to run, but couldn’t.
Wren screamed and Freya spun around, crashed across the freezing stream, and scrambled up the steep bank toward the sound. She reached the top of the slope with Erik half a step behind her. Just a stone’s throw away there stood a man in a filthy wool cloak with one arm wrapped around Wren to pin her arms down, and his other arm wrapped around her neck with a steel knife in his hand. He had a scraggly blonde beard and his grimace revealed several missing teeth between his cracked lips.
“Who are you?” His voice broke and shook, choked with phlegm. He spat in the grass.
“Let her go. Now!” Freya pointed her long spear at the man.
He tightened his grip on Wren, and the girl thrashed about, kicking at his legs and trying to smack her skull back into his face. He lifted her up off the ground and gave her a hard shake, and she fell limp, her eyes blinking and head lolling as she gasped for breath.
The man shifted his arm around her neck to press the edge of his knife to the girl’s throat. “What do you want? Where’d you come from?”
“We saw the mill and thought there might be food.” Freya edged forward as Erik moved sideways to flank the man. “Now let her go. We don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll kill you before I let you kill her.”
“Food?” The man jerked his head at the mound of white fluff on the ground beside him. “I got food. I’ll trade you the sheep for the girl.”
“No deals until you let her go.” Freya took another step closer, tilting up her spear toward the man’s face above Wren’s shoulder.
The man’s eyes darted over to Arfast, who stood serenely a short distance away. “What about that girl there, the sleeping one?”
“We don’t deal in folk. No one deals in folk, not since the old days, and even then never for Yslanders.”
The man spat in the grass again. “Yeah, well, times change.”
“Last chance! Let the girl go!” Freya moved closer still and placed one hand on the butt of her spear, readying for a side-arm thrust.
It will have to be perfect, over Wren’s shoulder and straight through his eye.
She’d have preferred Erik to do it, but Erik was standing in the wrong place. From his position he could keep the man from running, and he could keep the man turned toward Freya, but he couldn’t run him through without hitting Wren. A pity. He’d always been better with the spear, and she with the knife. Nothing to be done about that now.
A queer look came over the man’s eyes as he stared at Katja’s motionless figure on the back of the elk. “She’s bitten, isn’t she?”
“That’s right,” Freya said.
Instantly the man let Wren go, shoving the girl hard so she stumbled several steps away before she caught her balance. The man stared at them one by one. “What in the nine hells are you doing with her? Why’d you bring her here? Are you crazy? They’ll smell her. They’ll come for her, they could be coming now.” He spun about, his wild eyes scanning the horizon. He grabbed up his dead sheep and started toward the mill.
Similar Books
