and then another, and another, and another. He listened, and hope sparked in his chest. Dred, Dakin, Dystel, and the insufferable Daniel hunkered—the smell of a small campfire tickled Hod’s nose—on a shelf about fifty feet from the bottom of the east slope. He’d missed them behind the wall of Northmen.
He began to pick his way toward them. He couldn’t run; he would fall flat on his face. They would see him coming, and they would think the king had sent him. Again. But there was no help for that.
He heard the moment they saw him, and he felt their eyes throughout the rest of his climb. They did not cry out or warn him off as he approached, but they shuffled and stood, wary, withdrawing their swords with a whispering snick.
“There are Northmen in the woods,” Hod said as he neared. There was no time for greetings or reassurances.
Dystel swore.
“I have followed Bayr all night and kept watch all day,” Hod continued. “He has seen them. He knows. And he’s circled around to the entrance to the mount. I cannot protect him, and I cannot protect you.”
“Son of Frigg,” Dystel swore again.
“There are Bernians with them. They led the Northmen in. I don’t know who to trust, and I don’t know what to do,” Hod confessed. He was not interested in excuses.
“You knew,” Dred said. His voice was not an accusation but a grim statement.
“I have known this was coming, and I did not seek to prevent it. I wanted only for Banruud to be overthrown.”
“Bloody hell,” Dakin said, but his voice trembled with excitement, not fear.
“You plot against the king?” Dystel gasped, but Dred followed his question up with another.
“And who will take Banruud’s place if he falls, Hod? The North King?” Dred asked, quiet.
“My hope was that Gudrun and Banruud would destroy each other,” Hod answered.
“And who will sit on the throne?” Dred pressed. “You?”
“No. I am a blind man. Not a king. But I see some things clearly. Bayr must sit on the throne.”
“Bloody hell,” Dakin said again, and he was practically vibrating with anticipation.
“Praise Odin,” Dred growled. “Long live the Dolphys, future king of Saylok. Now tell us where to go, blind man.”
No matter what, they had to protect Bayr. And if Hod was going to save anyone, he had to get on the wall. With his bow, he could thin the numbers of the Northmen as they climbed.
“I am going up on the wall where I can be of use,” Hod explained. “I need you to protect your chieftain. Bayr cannot fall.”
29
DEEP
He heard the moment Ghisla reached the wood. At least thirty women—hearts thrumming—were with her. A wash of relief followed by a rush of anger flooded him. No keepers walked among them. Even now, they huddled in the temple, clustered in the sanctum, but Master Ivo was not among them. Hod searched for his signature sound, for the hitch and hollow drumming of his ancient heart, but it was not there.
No one had questioned Hod when he returned to the mount. The bridge had been lowered for much of the tournament. It was lowered now. The portcullis was at half-staff, and he easily rolled beneath it. Someone greeted him—a young sentry who sometimes stood at the temple door—and Hod waved him over.
“Where are the archers who should be on the wall?” he asked.
“I don’t know, sir. I’m stationed at the gate today. But half the hill is sozzled. The melee was a bit of a bust, and weddings aren’t as entertaining as wine.”
He’d insisted that the sentry—Edward from Ebba—send archers to the wall immediately.
“As many as you can find. On the king’s orders.”
“Y-y-yessir,” Edward stammered. “I’ll do my best. Elijah is here. He’s my brother. He won the archery contest. He wants to meet you. I’ll get him!”
“Have him bring his bow,” Hod grunted.
Hod climbed the stairs to the top of the ramparts and found a spot where he could hear the traffic from the entrance road and the goings-on in the courtyard equally well.
There was no panic on the temple grounds. No urgency at all. The mood was celebratory but with a sleepy edge, like the clanspeople were ready to be done with it all. Then the temple doors opened, and Northmen and warriors streamed out.
The bells began their clangor again.
Alba was escorted into the courtyard, Gudrun beside her. She cried out in distress as he lifted her into the saddle with a careless toss. Her horse whinnied in sympathy, and she