Peaceweaver (18 page)

T
HEY PACKED CAREFULLY THE NEXT MORNING
. T
HE ROCKS
might have dug into Hild’s body all night, chilling her and once again keeping sleep far away, but now they provided cover as Unwen stuffed food into a bag they could grab at a moment’s notice.

Exactly what they took with them would depend on the circumstances of their escape. They would have blankets ready, but if they couldn’t get to them when they needed them, cloaks would serve. As long as they had food, they would be all right, Hild told herself. Food, cloaks, the bag tied to Unwen’s belt—and the sword riding next to Fire-eyes’s saddle.

Her fingers fumbled over the saddle’s straps. She felt as feverish with excitement and cold and lack of sleep as a child at a Midwinter festival. Strange dreams and a feeling
that she was being watched had woken her again, but now the night’s terrors faded into the morning light and the promise of freedom ahead.

The others were moving so slowly that Hild wanted to scream. At the same time, she knew she needed to be calm and methodical, pay close attention, and use the extra time to make sure everything was ready. She made her hands into fists to quiet them, pressing so hard that a fingernail broke. She picked at the jagged edge, trying to smooth it—and her nerves.

When they finally broke camp, the rocks made their path as difficult as Thialfi had predicted, and time and again they had to dismount to lead the horses past treacherous spots or down steep declines. The way was thick with stones, thorny brambles, and leaves, dry and brown. Gnarled trees grew out of fissures in the rocks, and branches curved in weird patterns, blocking their passage. All morning, the land descended gradually. By the time they stopped at midday, Hild had to tilt her head up to see the path they had come from, and look down to see where they were going. Were they nearing the river? She listened for the sound of water but heard only the clattering of bare branches.

As she sat to eat, Thialfi squatted beside her. “We’re past the fens now, my lady, and no harm to us.”

Hild looked a question at him.

“The horses are calmer. Haven’t you noticed?”

She’d been so focused on guiding Fire-eyes through
the treacherous territory that she hadn’t paid attention to the change in atmosphere. Looking at the horses now, she saw that they were standing placidly beside each other, and when she sniffed the air, the dank odor that had trailed them for so long was gone.

Thialfi sat as calmly as the horses, munching an oatcake.

“When will we reach the river?” As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Would he think her interest odd? Would he begin to suspect? No, she told herself, it was a normal question.

He gave the downward slope a glance, then regarded the sky. “Not long now. Before sun-wane, surely. Maybe in time to ford it today.”

Hild’s heart quickened. She busied herself with the strips of dried goat meat she’d been given, to keep Thialfi from seeing her excitement.

She finished eating before the others were ready to ride again. Why was it taking them so long? Unable to contain her fidgeting, she went in search of Unwen. The slave was bent down, a cross expression on her face. Immediately, Hild saw why. A dried blackberry vine had caught in the bottom of her skirts.

“Ow!” Unwen pulled her finger away from a thorn and sucked on it.

“Here, let me,” Hild said, stooping to help her. “Stand still.” She gently pulled one thorn from the wool, then another, careful not to scratch her own fingers, which were
still sore from the brambles she’d battled the previous day. She held the tangled vine aside and the slave stepped free.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Hild glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Today,” she whispered.

Unwen’s narrowed eyes opened a little wider than usual. “Today,” she mouthed.

At that moment, Mord mounted his horse, the signal to the rest of them that it was time to go. As she climbed into her saddle, Hild reached to touch the hidden sword, then pulled her hand back. Had Mord seen her?
Be more careful
, she admonished herself. No unnecessary risks when escape was this close. Subdued, she fell into line behind the Geatish brothers, Unwen behind her, Thialfi and Brynjolf bringing up the rear.

As they descended, loose rocks, prickly bushes, and a path that wound around and through boulders and trees made the going even more difficult than before. Bits of shale tumbled down from the horses behind her, and she knew Fire-eyes was sending it showering onto the men ahead of her. When Wulf dismounted, she did, too. The first time it happened, she almost resisted the hand Wulf offered to help her. But by the third time they had to lead the horses, she was glad of the assistance.

Finally, the path opened out enough that they could ride. Hild could see the sky, although the trees hid the sun. To either side, sere trunks rose like an army of spears,
receding into darkness. Her spirits lifted a little when she heard Brynjolf begin to chant a walking song, one she and Beyla used to sing as little girls when Siri took them berry picking. Recalling the warmth of the sun on her head and the pleasant plink the berries made as they fell into the pail, Hild closed her eyes, the better to savor the memory.

Goat’s breath!
She pulled up short, almost running into Wulf’s horse. She’d thought they were through with having to lead the horses, but the way had narrowed yet again. Brynjolf’s song trailed off. In silence, they led the horses through stones that rose as tall as Hild herself. Would they ever get to the river? She looked at Fire-eyes, who was picking his way delicately over the rocks, and checked her impatience. It would slow them much more if one of the horses was lamed. Besides, Thialfi had said they’d make it to the river today.

It wouldn’t be long now.

A horse whinnied. Brynjolf’s, she thought as she guided Fire-eyes between two standing stones so high they almost met overhead. The horse pulled at his reins, tossing his head. “It’s all right,” Hild whispered to him. “You don’t like these rocks, do you?” He pulled again and whinnied, causing the horses in front of them to respond.

“Control your horse,” Mord called from somewhere ahead.

I’m trying!
Hild thought, but there was no point in saying it aloud. Fire-eyes whinnied again, then reared, and
Hild had to jump out of the way to keep from being kicked. “Whoa, there, steady, boy!” she said, grabbing for the reins, which had pulled loose from her fingers. His eyes rolled back in fear. “It’s just rocks,” she told him soothingly.

“The way widens ahead,” Thialfi said as he came running up to help her, but then the horses ahead of them began whinnying again and someone cried out, “Thialfi!”

As she turned, a movement caught Hild’s eye. She glanced up, but there was nothing to see, just a tree shadow against the stones.

Fire-eyes reared again and Thialfi caught his reins with his good hand. “Get ahead of me,” he said, and led the horse forward.

Hild looked back at Unwen. Her pony, as wide-eyed with fear as Fire-eyes was, struggled against the slave. Ignoring Thialfi, Hild ran back to take the pony’s reins and pulled, crooning to it.

It balked, but with Hild pulling and Brynjolf pushing from behind, it came through the rocks as they widened into a glade. Thialfi handed Fire-eyes back to Hild. The horse had quieted some, but all of the horses were skittish now, prancing and rolling their eyes.

Hild glanced at the trees and standing rocks. The clearing wasn’t natural. Somebody had made it. “What is this place?” she asked, and when nobody answered, she repeated her question.

“We should keep moving,” Thialfi said.

“Just somebody’s old campsite,” Mord said, but he, too, seemed eager to depart.

Hild regarded the leaf-covered ground, the way the trees and stones leaned in, encircling them. She tilted her head back and saw the trees crowding toward each other, bare branches crisscrossed like thatch. She stretched out her senses but smelled only leaf mold, felt only the cold air against her cheeks. Branches clacked together above her, sounding like wooden swords in a practice match. When she glanced at the men, they seemed as nervous as the horses. Brynjolf passed her, Unwen and the pony directly in front of him, and she could tell they were eager to move on.

“Come, my lady,” Thialfi said, and motioned her to mount again. She took another look around, then climbed into the saddle.

She had reached the edge of the clearing when she saw the wooden stave, half her height, planted in the ground. Atop it was a head carved of wood and darkened with age. A woman’s head, hair knotted in back, nose worn away, eyes wide. Hild stared at it, curious. Who was the carved woman? The goddess of some heathen tribe? She moved her horse to have a closer look.

“Please come, my lady,” Thialfi called again, his voice the sharpest she’d heard it.

Reluctantly, she followed, but she couldn’t help taking one last look back at the carved head. As she did, a shadow on a rock caught her eye, making her think for a fleeting
moment that she had seen someone. She squinted at it, but the shadow didn’t move. It was just a tree trunk blocking out the light. She turned, tugged on Fire-eyes’s reins, and caught up with the men.

Past the clearing, the path became easier, allowing them to ride slowly. They were still descending, but the ground wasn’t as steep. The low sun had trouble piercing the thickets of twiggy branches.

When Mord called a halt and dismounted, irritation rippled through Hild. Why stop now when there was still enough light to make it to the river? It seemed as if Mord was deliberately trying to foil her plans.

She rode a few steps forward as the wind rushed in the branches overhead. Then she stopped and looked up. There was no wind; the branches were still. She listened again. It wasn’t wind; it was water. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to see between the trees where something broad and brown blocked their way.

They had reached the river.

Hild’s breath quickened and she slid from Fire-eyes’s back, rushing to meet Unwen as soon as her feet hit the ground. It was exactly as she had hoped. The men would be too busy searching for a place to cross to pay attention to the two of them. Now was their time.

Brynjolf spurred his horse past them, joining the men who stood staring at the river. It was all the signal Hild needed. She handed a blanket and a bag to Unwen, who
took another bag from the pony. Then, with quick, sure movements, Hild reached for the sword, pulled it from Fire-eyes’s back, and slid it under her cloak.

Over the sound of the river, she could hear raised voices—Mord’s, Hadding’s, now Thialfi’s pushing into the fray.
Good
, she thought,
let them argue
.

“Which way?” she whispered. Unwen inclined her head to the left. In the dying light, Hild could see a strange expression on the slave’s face, but she didn’t stop to question it. Instead, she stood for a silent moment, praying,
Goddess, be with us
.

They started walking.

EIGHTEEN

U
NWEN
’
S FEET SNAPPED TWIGS AND STICKS AS SHE RUSTLED
through dry leaves, her movements far too loud. With every second step, the slave’s skirts brushed against Hild’s. Hild didn’t look back but kept her pace steady.
Give the men nothing to suspect
, she told herself. But every muscle in her body screamed at her to
run
.

She wove behind a boulder and started making her way closer to the river, trusting Unwen to follow. Had the men noticed yet? She strained her ears and heard the sounds of sharp words. They were still arguing. Underbrush caught at her skirt. A stick broke with a sharp crack behind her—too far behind her. She stopped and waited for Unwen to catch up, listening for a change in the men’s voices.

“Here, let me have that,” Hild said, reaching for one of the blankets. She rolled it tight, tucked it under her sword
arm, and starting going again, hoping the slave would move more quickly without it.

A bird shrieked. Hild heard Unwen gasp, but she herself barely started, so focused did she feel. Dark was descending and she intended to get as far away from the men as she could while it was still possible to see. Trees came at her in the half-light and she moved around them, swift and sure-footed. A boulder rose before her and she easily skirted it. A sense of exhilaration flooded through her, filling her with strength and confidence. The goddess was with her; she felt sure of it.

Unwen must have felt it, too. Her footsteps were quieter now, but Hild could hear her breathing heavily. Hild turned and, without speaking, took the food bag from the slave. The sword and the blanket were under one arm, and carrying the bag left her with no free hand, but it didn’t matter. She increased the pace. She felt as if she could go forever, as if she could take all the bags in the world and still move faster than Odin’s eight-legged steed.

Birds called to each other from the trees. Behind her, Unwen panted. The steady rushing noise of the river came from her sword-hand side. She could no longer hear the men, nor was there any sign they had been missed.