Read Online Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) by Timandra Whitecastle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Timandra Whitecastle
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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
“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
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