She was in shock. Why had she not left the mount with the other women?
“It will be better this way,” she whispered, almost as if she answered him. She was praying. “Freya watch over the daughters,” she murmured. “And keep Bayr far from this hill.”
Gudrun was nervous. His pulse whined with adrenaline, and he kept sucking at his teeth. His behavior alone made the hair stand up on Hod’s neck.
As the North King and his men mounted their horses, Banruud and his men exited the temple and climbed the palace steps to oversee the departure. The grating sound of the swinging doors followed on their heels, and the clap of bars being lowered behind the entrance to the temple made Hod shudder. Ghisla had warned the keepers. They’d simply chosen not to go, but they were barring the door.
An old woman was crying, moaning like she was at a wake instead of a wedding.
“I do not want to go,” she wailed. “I’ve not left the mount in fifteen winters. I shan’t leave it now.”
Someone shushed her, impatient. “I’ve not left the mount in thirty, and you don’t see me crying.” This boast became a blubbering wail.
They were most likely servants, chosen to accompany the princess; they weren’t happy about it.
Lothgar of Leok, Aidan of Adyar, and some of their men mounted their horses as well. Apparently the chieftains of the northern clans were riding with the princess as far as the fork. Benjie of Berne was already in the saddle.
He was not nervous. He was drunk. Fumes billowed up around him. He was not the only one. Many of the clanspeople had not stopped drinking since the feast the day before. Few had abandoned their libations since the melee, and the merriment would continue until the people collapsed in drunken piles. It was always thus when the tournament ended.
Hod gripped his bow, shifting behind the ramparts. He was still the only archer on the wall. Odin’s eyes. What a disaster.
The portcullis was raised all the way—the winch squealed and the horses chuffed and danced in anticipation—and the Northmen began to descend the mount.
They were . . . leaving.
When Ghost walked out of the tunnel, squinting against the late-afternoon light, Ghisla and her sisters were waiting for her. But when she stepped forward and clutched their hands, Ghisla knew what she was going to say.
“I’m not going with you,” Ghost said.
Bashti cried out and Juliah gaped, but Ghisla nodded slowly, and Elayne took Ghost’s hand as if she too had expected as much.
“But . . . you cannot stay here,” Dalys cried. “You are in more danger than all of us.”
“No. I can’t stay here,” Ghost agreed.
“You are going with Alba,” Elayne murmured, and Ghost nodded again.
“She is my daughter, and she is alone,” Ghost said, looking at each woman in turn.
“I want to fight,” Juliah insisted suddenly, her impatience billowing around her. “I am staying here.”
“No, Juliah. You are not,” Ghost shot back. “You will fight for them!” She pointed at the women waiting on the hillside. “You will fight for each other.” Ghost pointed at the trees. “Now go.”
Ghisla bit back tears as the others broke down around her.
“Don’t cry,” Ghost begged, her voice shaking. “Please. We must all be strong. If the gods will it, we will see each other again.”
She embraced them fiercely, kissing their cheeks and professing her love before she hastened them toward the Temple Wood, willing them to hurry. Then she set off, cutting across the hillside toward the northern entrance to the mount, the drab brown of her old shepherd’s cloak covering her hair and shielding her face.
Ghisla sang softly, willing the fates to spare her and all the others, and followed her sisters toward the Temple Wood.
Aidan rode on Alba’s right, Lothgar on her left, and Benjie led the way, belching and swaying as though he were already half-asleep. King Gudrun rode at the front, a group of his warriors leading the way, another bringing up the rear.
“Halt!” Aidan of Adyar bellowed suddenly, his voice ringing with tension, but the party continued down the road without him, and a Northman grunted and urged him along. The trumpeters ceased their heraldry, their duties done, and the horses quickened their pace, the downhill pull urging them forward. A handful of clanspeople spilled out the gates behind them, and the portcullis stayed open for the ebb and flow.
They were halfway down the temple mount when Hod heard it. Whoosh. Whoosh.