Page 29 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

“I don’t believe they would betray us, but if it would help you rest easy, we should split up. Some should head north to check on the stronghold, the rest stay behind in case they come back.”

“And which group will you be putting yourself into?”

Malik put up his hands. “I will stay behind if that is your wish.”

“Ah yes, so you can be here when they return and run off with them.” Who knew how many hours head start they had?

“You’ve been stuck in the woods too long, Ragnar. You’re seeing shadows where there are none.”

Could he risk revealing his treasure’s location? What would stop them from killing him when they got there? Loyalty? Ha! But if he went alone, he could not hope to win against the seven he might encounter. He needed these men and their violence in the years ahead if he were to gain enough power and infamy to see his father humbled at his feet. He had to trust them a while longer.

He forced down his rage, his muscles softening as he breathed. “Very well. We ride. Now. All of us.” He marched over to his bedding and started to pack. Some moved, others did not.

“We will not go with you.” Dómarr stood with four other men. “We are leaving the forest.”

Ragnar straightened. The others stopped to watch. “Why?”

“You have failed to protect us. You lost one of our men in the battle yesterday, and the Skogsrå has taken others. We have been warned and it’s time we left.”

“The Skogsrå? Have you lost your mind? Do you believe in children’s stories? What else? The nøkker are plotting against us? I hear no violins.”

He didn’t hear anything but the blood pounding in his ears.

“There is no plot. We watched Ove walk into the forest to search for Åke at your request. We hurried back to where we saw him last and look, we found his hat. He was taken. We will heed this warning.”

Words failed him. Their babbling of horrors roaming the forest trapped them in his throat. Could something have taken them? Nobody moved as they awaited his response. Their fear could not be allowed to triumph. Ove probably dropped the hat in his haste. That explained it. A flick of Ragnar’s hand cast away their miasmic terror.

“Take your warning then and your leave, but you will go with nothing but the clothes on your backs.”

Dómarr reared up. “We demand our share of what we stole yesterday. We fought alongside you. That is fair.”

“Deserters get nothing.” He drew his sword and hoped their intimacy with his prowess would be enough to deter them from an attack.

“Easy, Ragnar. We want no argument.”

“And neither do I. You have shown the yellow of your souls and there shall be no quarrel over the nothing that you are entitled to.” He kept facing the five, but his awareness widened to the rest of his group. “Those of you who remain may travel with me to retrieve their fortunes and after that you will be allowed leave to go as you wish. Those who depart now get nothing and should be thankful I don’t take their lives in payment.” He turned to them. “What say you?”

Doubtful looks cast between them, but most gathered behind his back. He worried he would be run through by some duplicity, but they did not test him. Three, however, joined the five whose foolish fears forbade them from returning their fealty.

“So be it. I’ll allow you to gather your packs.”

Dómarr spat at Ragnar’s feet. “May the Skogsrå take you, though I doubt you’d know what to do with her.”

Ragnar did not rise to the smear and let Dómarr and the others collect their things. They were escorted past the horses to make sure they didn’t steal any. Meanwhile, Ragnar ordered the camp dismantled and the remaining fourteen men onto their horses.

Fourteen men. When I once had thirty. When I once had a thousand.

He pushed them north as hard as was safe to do so. The uneven forest floor made their pursuit treacherous, but no one begged to slow their pace. If they did, they would be left behind. Above the forest the sun hid behind a bank of grey clouds that wouldn’t lift. The air turned damp and the sky threatened rain that did not fall.

Ragnar kept watch for the traitors’ tracks, but however they made their journey to the stronghold, they did not go the same way. He marked off the landmarks as they crossed them, splashing through the river where its path split, passing the tree that looked like a sleeping troll. Again, no sign of them, but that didn’t matter. Ove and Børge knew the way and would not get those turncoats lost. Børge had been close to Jöns; could this be retribution for his death? None could blame him for it; Jöns had been unlucky.

He comforted himself with the knowledge that they would not have traveled far or fast while night lay thick, but a lead was still a lead and one he had to close.

Night fell swift and the way became treacherous. Malik rode up beside him and asked to halt and make camp. He would have kept going, but his backside yelped from a day in the saddle, and his energy had flagged. He could not fight all those ingrates single-handedly, and though he hated to allow a greater interval, he saw sense in stopping. Once they reached the stronghold, he’d have a better idea of which way they had absconded with his treasure. Still, he ignored Malik’s pleas until he chose to stop. When he did, more than a few men swore thanks to God.

One spot was as good as any to make their camp, and the first to dismount struck a fire to ward off the chill, while others tended to the horses. Men took their horses down for water at a nearby stream. A hand took the reins from Ragnar while he oversaw the operations. No doubt they’d return with stories of the young, handsome Strömkarlen playing them a song on his fiddle. Little did they know they had worse things to worry about in these forests, such as wolves that would think nothing of picking off a man or two in the dark night.

The fire light struggled to permeate the gloom. It blanketed him and made him restless for action. Where were those traitors now? How far ahead had they pushed? How much would they steal? And why would Åke leave him?

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