The Troll's Trove Ch. 48

Chapter 48 - Gudrun Take You

Turls thrummed the string of the crossbow he'd stolen from a fool horn hunter they'd encountered. The lad now lay cooling in the snow some leagues distant. The string played a strange counterpoint to the symphony of roars, screams and smashes echoing from the tumbled ruin of Gejsern.

Jokul nudged him. Turls's reverie broke. Jokul pointed towards the ruin. A couple of youths fled towards the wood. A lanky lad fell. The slighter one circled back and dragged him to his feet.

Turls scrambled through the brush on an intercept course. He and Jokul ambushed the youths just inside the wood. Turls launched a crossbow bolt into the lanky boy's thigh. He clubbed the boy with the weapon's stock to silence the lad's scream. The boy crumpled. His leg spouted crimson.

Jokul laid out the second youth with his fist. The youngster slid five paces through the wet grass. Turls rounded on the poleaxed lad.

He started. A slow smile stretched across Turls's mangled face as he stepped forward.

Brynis groaned. She tried to push herself up. Turls rammed his foot into her breast. She smashed back into the mud. Water poured into her nose and mouth.

"It's--" She coughed and spat blood and mud. Turls saw her swollen tongue prod her teeth. Several wiggled. A bruise spread over her dextral jaw.

"It's not the right horn!" She pointed at the hunting horn the other youth still clutched even though unconscious. "The others got it first."

Turls wrest the girl to her feet by the front of her tunic. It tore and he caught her throat in order to keep her upright. Jokul ripped her sword from its scabbard.

"What others?" Turls roared.

Brynis gagged. Her wild eyes locked on his face. Recognition flared. Her fingers clawed at her sword sheath. Turls shook her.

"What others!"

Tears streamed down the Brynis' face. "You!" Her face turned red with more than lack of air. She clawed at his face, his good eye. His grip tightened. He lifted her off the ground. Her nails left his face to dig into his arm.

"Who? Gudrun take you! Who?"

"The trapper. The soldier. The soldier said it was the horn. The trapper has the horn!"

Turls shook. He could feel the heat radiating from his face. His good eye hurt. Brynis's head rolled around in his grasp.

"What about the Princess? Where's the Princess?"

Brynis began to sob. Turls fist tightened.

"Where. Is. The. Princess?"

"I don't know!"

"Where!"

Brynis kicked her feet. Tears carved muddy tracks down her face. Her lips turned purple. "North!" she screamed. "Jorn sent them north."

A red mist veiled Turls vision. The grey-eyed, tawny haired bitch-spawn of Wilhelm had evaded him again. He felt the crossbow slip from his fingers. His free hand joined the one already at the unfortunate girl's throat. He pressed.

Brynis' fingernails raked at the back of his hand. Blood burbled from between her lips. A heartbeat later, she went limp.

Sewage surged through Turls soul. Gudrun's tits! His stomach surged. He dropped the broken girl in the mud.

"Tor's balls man, did you have to go an' kill her?"

Turls eyed Brynis. A bubble of blood formed on her lips and popped. A second one grew. She's breathing. She's alive!

Confusion unbalanced Turls. He shook himself. Why the hell did he care? He turned his back and marched north.

Jokul lunged a stride or two to catch up. "I could have used her! What am I supposed to do with a corpse?"

The blood in Turls's veins turned to brackish bilge-water. "That's not the woman we're after. But if you want her she's still warm." Why the hells had he said that? Gudrun's tits, I'm not a monster. I'm not!

Jokul hit Turls hard enough to stagger him. "I ain't spittin' no stiff on my stick. No fun if they don't giggle or scream."

Relief surged. "Good, we've got work to do. The Princess went north. We go north."

The Princess' track was not hard to find. There was only one good trail north of the ruin and the scuff marks in the mud were plenty evident. Turls and Jokul turned uphill in its wake.

"They're not all together." Jokul pointed. "The bloody one came later."

Turls peered closer. There was a distinct difference between tracks. Two sets of prints seemed to lunge and fumble up the slope. One, or both, had frequently fallen in their flight.

The third individual's tread kept a more measured pace. A trail of holes lined the track where the traveler had leaned heavily upon a pole or stick.

Jokul waved a hand at the pink spots that flecked the snow beside that trail. "We'll catch that one first."

They were halfway up the mountain when a storm let loose. The thin air grew heavy with snow. Turls began to cough as flake after flake was sucked down his throat. Ice formed on his lip and around his nose.

"Raum's rank armpits, we're going to lose them!"

Jokul grunted. "We're close." He pointed to the tracks. The older wake had nearly disappeared but the measured tread remained sharp.

Turls strained his senses against the grey white veil that shrouded the world. A crash sounded somewhere in the woods. A whisper of an echo reached out and tickled his ears. "Ae," it seemed to say.

Jokul dropped into a crouch. He nudged Turls and pointed through white eddies. The silhouette of a bent man appeared between flurries. Turls loaded his crossbow. They crept forward.

Another crash sounded in the woods. A shadow loomed. Turls flattened himself against a leafless tree. Jokul dropped prostrate in a drift. Raum lumbered by.

Snow showered from the trees in the troll's wake. A feathery-white cyclone swirled around Turls and scattered. In that moment of clear air Turls broke cover. Not thirty paces distant the soldier that had waylaid him at Whitewall's gates stared back at him. Jorn's eyes widened upon seeing Turls.

Ice frosted the soldier's hair. Blood stained his coat. He leaned heavily upon his spear. Turls chapped lips split in a vile grin.

The soldier lunged at Turls. His leg gave way and he skid to his knees. He struggled back up. He threw himself forward. His spear led the way.

Turls took his time. He aimed his crossbow. He fired. A tornado of snow swept between the two men as the bolt leapt from Turls weapon. The soldier's visage was swallowed in the blizzard's fury. A muffled clatter of wood upon wood sounded in the distance. Turls's smile vanished as he imagined the projectile ricocheting wildly amongst trees.

Frightened Turls fell back. His shoulder wrenched as he ripped the string of his weapon back. He fumbled another bolt. It dropped in the snow. He fell to his knees reaching for the dart.

The flurry cleared. The tip of the soldier's spear was no more than an arm-span distant. It lay in the snow. A red flood spread across the facedown soldier's teal tabard. The bolt had passed clean through the man's armor and flesh. Turls spat.