Page 85 of Blood of Wolves

Bjorn swore. “Black powder. Bollocks, they’re trying to blast their way into the tunnels.”

“Theywhat?” But what else could that smoke mean? That tremble of stone and timber beneath his feet. “No one knows about those – no one save those of us who live here! How could the Sels know?”

“There’s a rat in our midst,” Bjorn growled. “Stay here.”

He moved to stride away, and Rune clutched at his sleeve. “What? No. I’ll go with you.”

Bjorn jerked himself loose and turned a ferocious glare on Rune – one undercut by something akin to panic. “Stay here. Have the scorpions fire on the men pushing the siege engines. Firebomb them. Whatever happens, they can’t reach the wall. I’m taking men out the sally port and around the long way. Hold the wall, Rune. That’s your job.”

If the Sels had breached the tunnels, then they were inside the palace. They’d left only a skeleton crew in the hall, with the women and children. His mother was down there. Tessa was down there.

He swallowed, and managed a nod.

Bjorn took off at a run.

Rune turned back to the wall, snagged the arm of the lieutenant waiting there, and said, “Send a dozen men back inside. I want the tunnels blocked from the inside. Use whatever’s available.”

“Yes, your grace.”

On the field, the siege engines heaved another fraction forward, creaking and groaning, their wooden frames swaying.

“Scorpions!”

~*~

Leif’s whole midsection was on fire. The pain was a sharp, hot knife beneath his ribs. It spread farther with each beat of his heart, like molten metal crawling across his nerves and muscles. He’d given up on riding upright some time ago, and slumped now in the saddle, eyes threatening to shut. He forced them open and gripped the pommel of his saddle with fingers beginning to go numb.

This wasn’t infection.

He didn’t know what it was – and didn’t much care, at this point, as his horse took a long stride and the resultant bump left him groaning through his teeth. He was sweating, could smell the acrid stink of it wafting up through the collar of his tunic. His skin buzzed, and hummed, and felt like something was trying to push through it; like it no longer fit, and each time he shrugged or fidgeted to ease the itch, fresh stabs of agony moved through his torso. Histeethhurt, and his joints hurt, even in his legs and feet.

Something was very, very wrong.

But the sun was high, and they were making good time. He dropped back to ride with the guardsmen, who kept shooting him fearful looks, but who didn’t speak up.

All that mattered was getting home. If they could arrive before Erik, Birger, Magnus or Lars saw him like this, he could safely collapse, then.

What happens if you run up against Ragnar’s party again and you’re in this shape?He’d asked himself that hours earlier, when he’d still been able to mask the pain. Now, it was so severe he couldn’t be bothered to care. If wolves ate him, so be it.

Some sort of commotion sounded up ahead, but Leif couldn’t lift his head to seek it out.

“…tracks here,” someone said.

“Pawprints.” That was Erik’s unhappy growl. “None of their party is traveling as a human.”

Ragnar, then. A fragment of memory flitted across his mind – glowing blue eyes, and dripping ivory fangs – before the next step sent a fresh shock of pain through him. He failed to bite back another groan, and this time, the guardsmen didn’t hold their tongues.

“Your grace, are you well?”

Before Leif could stutter a weak response, another called, “Your majesty! Something’s wrong with the prince.”

Damn.

“What?” Erik barked.

Leif tried to straighten – really, he did – but had managed only to lift his head halfway by the time Erik reined up beside him with a spray of snow and a curvetting mount trying to evade his too-harsh yanks on the reins. He was an excellent horseman; it was only worry that made him impatient with his steed, Leif knew.

Just like Leif knew he must make a pathetic picture, listing to the side, gasping for breath, sweat dripping off the end of his nose.

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