Beguiled (The Fairest Maidens #2) - Jody Hedlund Page 0,7
weapons, ready to give the newcomers their usual greeting.
Fowler, at the front of the line of prisoners, came to an abrupt halt. Gregor’s face remained expressionless, but Mikkel’s features hardened, and he stiffened his shoulders, evidently surmising the welcome would be anything but pleasant.
Chapter
3
Mikkel
I braced myself for the gauntlet. Outcasts both short and tall lined the trail, wielding an odd assortment of weapons from maces to red-hot irons to knives. Their faces contorted as they yelled out their fury.
If I’d been under any illusion that my capture would be easy, it had vanished. This was no game. It was, in fact, a deadly ritual.
I’d never run through a gauntlet before, but I’d heard about the barbaric practice in my studies. Sometimes prisoners didn’t make it through the blows alive. Most often, they became maimed and scarred for life.
Was that what this was about? Did these outcasts enjoy hurting people the way they themselves had been hurt? Did they hope to make others suffer? Or did they want to disfigure those like me who weren’t deformed enough?
Now wasn’t the time to analyze their motives. I needed to devise a plan to protect not only myself but also Gregor and Fowler.
As one of our captors began to free us from our chains, I stepped closer to my scribe. “If you go directly behind me, I shall be able to shield you from most of the blows.”
“No.” Gregor eyed the menagerie of weapons ahead the same way I had. “I’ll go before you and take the blows first. You stay at my rear.”
I shook my head, refusing to let this man suffer any more than he already had. “I insist.”
“And I insist as well.”
The woman with the veil stepped between us. “As touching as your display for each other is,” she whispered, irritation flashing in her eyes, “I suggest you each attempt to take a weapon from someone at the beginning of the line and fight your way through.”
“Will they allow it?” I asked.
“They will not stop you.” She spun and strode toward the gauntlet.
My fascination with this strangely engaging woman grew with every passing moment. As she took her place at the front of the line, she unsheathed a knife. In the same instant, her attention dropped to her belt riding low on her hip and the sword still within its scabbard.
Was she sending me a message that she wouldn’t prevent me from taking her sword? But what about Gregor? And Fowler? What weapons would aid them during their walk of death?
As if hearing my silent questions, the veiled woman glanced to the heavyset man across from her, to his leather boot. The upper edge of a knife handle poked out the top. Her gaze shifted to the man next to him and the long metal pipe he was twirling around.
Why was this woman giving us these tips on how to survive the gauntlet? What did she have to gain?
A shout from behind us was followed by a shove. We were free of our chains and had to start running. I didn’t wait for Fowler or Gregor. I charged forward without them. The sneering and scorning increased, drowning out my thudding heart along with Gregor’s plea for me to stop.
As my feet picked up speed, I veered toward my first target—the sword. The woman with the veil made a move—albeit a weak one—to slash my arm, but I freed her sword and parried a blow from the person beside her. After doing so, I spun and tossed the weapon to Gregor. Then, I lunged and grabbed the knife from the boot. I jumped to avoid an axe blade swinging at my legs, but I couldn’t dodge the hot iron hitting my upper arm, searing through my shirt and scorching my flesh.
I wanted to roar out my pain but held myself back. That would only feed the frenzy for more destruction. Instead, I swiped a metal cylinder in midair and used it to block a sword coming at me from the left.
Before moving farther into the fray, I passed the knife to Fowler. In that same instant, a mace swung at my head. Thankfully, Gregor deflected the blow with the sword.
He would have slipped past me to lead the charge, but I regained my balance and lurched ahead, swinging the lead pipe back and forth like a scythe, clearing the way and beating down most of the weapons aimed at me.
As the end drew nearer, my hand grew slick with blood, and my