would be a new king. If he died . . . Saylok was finished. Hiding in Dolphys would not save them.
She tried to give Hod her eyes again, tracing the rune of the blind god throughout the night, but her sight remained and darkness began to fill her chest.
Promise me you will not give up.
I will not give up today.
She persisted, and just before dawn she fed the star on her palm, pressing it to her brow in one last attempt at hope, and she found him.
Alive.
When he woke again, warmth brushed his cheeks and tickled his nose. He was back in the clearing near his mother’s grave, Arwin at his side.
“Baldr’s death was necessary. It marked a new beginning . . . the death of the gods and the rise of man. The rise of . . . woman.”
The sun felt good on his face, and he tipped his chin upward, letting the rays rest on him. Arwin smacked his lips, eating his berries in happy silence.
“You cannot stay here, Hod. When I am gone . . . you must go too. You must save Saylok.”
Hod listened, coming awake to the reality that was the temple mount.
Arwin was dead.
The keepers were dead.
But Banruud was not.
He could hear his heart, pulsing inside the castle walls.
People moved around Hod, and a robe had been shoved beneath his head. He patted the ground for his staff and realized it was still sheathed on his back.
He rolled to his side, thrilled when his limbs obeyed him, groaning when his limbs obeyed him.
The warmth had intensified, and he lifted his face to it, gauging the hour. Morning had broken. He lifted his hand to his brow and located the source of his most pressing pain. His braid was still intact, but his brain was now a throbbing, rotting corpse. The reek of death was all around him, and he welcomed the return of his senses even as he retched.
He scanned the hearts that pulsed and pummeled his head. He’d been left for dead or deemed a lost cause . . . or mayhaps there were simply not enough hands to help all that had fallen. He found his brother, and his chest swelled in grateful adulation.
Bayr lived. He moved. And his loyal band of warriors walked with him.
Hod found Alba, Ghost, and the archer from the wall. Aidan of Adyar moved amid the rubble as well. There were others, and he was thankful.
He turned his attention to the king.
Banruud huddled in the cellars beneath the castle floor. From the galloping chorus that seeped out through the walls, down the steps, and over the bodies that now lined the courtyard, a dozen men were with him.
Hod pushed himself up with his staff.
No one halted his progress or delayed his climb. No one called his name. He took tortured steps to the castle doors, wobbling and weak. But his resolve grew as he went.
The men in the cellar heard him coming and scrambled for swords and shields. He did not descend. Stone steps led down into the dank underground, and he opened the door above them and called down to the king.
“Gudrun is dead, Sire. The Northmen are gone.”
Elbor cried out in sodden relief. Even from Hod’s position at the top of the stairs, he smelled of piss and spirits, but he began to climb the cellar steps as if he’d been pardoned. Hod moved aside to let him pass, but he hovered nearby, waiting for the others.
“And the Temple Boy?” Banruud asked, still uncertain.
“The Temple Boy is no more,” Hod said, unflinching. The Temple Boy was no more. He’d long ago become a man. A chieftain. And soon he would be a king.
“You must come out now, Majesty,” he demanded, using the same quiet, emotionless voice Banruud seemed to expect from him.
He would make Banruud stand in front of his people, those that were left. He would force him to face the chieftains and the warriors who remained. And then he would end him, the way Banruud had insisted Hod end Bayr. If Hod was condemned to die with him, then so be it, but Banruud would die.
The king began to climb the steps.
“You will find Liis of Leok, and you will bring her to me in my chambers,” he insisted.
“The temple is gone, Majesty. And all the keepers with it. Did you not hear it fall?” he murmured.
“But the daughters?” Banruud gasped.
“I know not,” Hod whispered, and he spoke the truth. He knew not.