Page 31 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

It came out barely more than a whisper, but in his heart, he knew it for truth and recoiled. Absolon with his almost-white hair, sharp chin, long and thick arms, his brutish build. His mouth twisted in the sneer that he wore in battle. Hate and malice filled his eyes…

Absolon the Berserker.

There was no doubt who’d killed those men and yet he was unarmed.

Malik roared and charged with sword raised to strike, fear spurning him into recklessness. He leapt over Tordur’s funeral pyre, swinging his sword down clumsily and exposing his side to attack. Absolon ducked as he landed, and faster than Ragnar’s eye could track, grabbed Malik’s sword arm and broke it in his grasp. Malik dropped his weapon with a cry, and Absolon splayed his hand through the ties of Malik’s shirt to press his palm against his chest.

Malik twitched, like Absolon had plunged his hand through his ribcage and seized his heart, and within seconds, stopped and died. Absolon dropped his body to the floor.

How had Absolon done that with the barest touch? On the battlefield he had beaten men into unconsciousness with one blow of his fist and hacked his way through a score of men, but this deathly touch filled Ragnar with a palpable dread. He held his sword with both hands as Absolon advanced but sweat slicked his palms and his grip was not as sure as usual.

“Absolon? Why are you doing this?”

Absolon did not answer, but the muscle in his jaw spasmed and his nostrils flared with the air forced through them. He stood on the other side of the fire, his fingers curling into claws and the light illuminating his face’s fury. Absolon had come for his revenge.

Ragnar stepped back but he would not run. He had had his reasons for leaving Absolon behind. Good reasons. He had provided food and water. He had left him alive. Surely, he could not hold a grudge. It had been better that way.

But quick as lightning Absolon appeared by his side. Ragnar’s heart launched into his throat, which Absolon gripped with a strength he’d never known he had.

I’m going to die, and no one will care.

Absolon’s grip tightened. Ragnar dropped his sword and clawed at Absolon’s vice-like hold but to no avail. Absolon’s sapphire eyes blazed with hate, the only thing illuminating the unconsciousness amassing at the edges of Ragnar’s vision. Absolon was going to break his neck. He wanted to say something but couldn’t get his words out. Pressure increased until, with a roar, Absolon threw Ragnar to the ground.

He coughed and spluttered, gathering onto all fours and trying to speak. He looked up at Absolon to beg for—

Absolon smashed a rock into his head.

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