Ensnared (Knights of Brethren #3)(40)

So far, I’d managed to stay on Frans’s trail, which appeared to be an old deer path. Since he was such a big man, I’d been able to track him fairly easily. A time or two, he’d veered in a direction I hadn’t expected, but I always picked back up the clues—the crushed leaves, a boot print, a broken twig, bent branches.

“Where are you, Frans?” I scanned the landscape, which was more overgrowth of trees, shrubs, vines, lichen, and windfall. The shadows were growing with the passing of the day.

Erelong, I would need to stop, clear an area, and make camp.

Although I wanted to keep going, traveling was already difficult enough by daylight, and I couldn’t take any chances in the dark.

Not only were all sizes of snares buried beneath the leaves and dirt of the forest floor, but several skeletons were caught in foothold traps. ’Twas likely the clamp jaws had been laced with poison, killing the person before they could pull themselves free.

If that wasn’t bad enough, there were also pits with human remains in them. Some trapped the person in such tight quarters that they couldn’t move. Others were wider but too deep to climb out of. And still another pit had been lined with tree limbs that were shaven into dangerous points, no doubt impaling anyone who fell inside.

It was clear that each step I took was perilous. It was also clear the jotunn had spent countless days and hours working on the traps, as though he had no better way to occupy his time.

Had he created the maze of traps to protect the chalice? Was that the real reason for the difficulty? If nothing else, he’d scared people from venturing in and had been left mostly undisturbed these many years.

What did he think of the men who’d come in recently? And now Frans? If the jotunn had any wits about him—and with the complexity of the traps, he seemed smart enough—then he would soon realize something had changed the status quo. Perhaps he’d believe he was in jeopardy and would create more havoc in the forest to deter this new influx.

I skimmed the blades of grass in front of me and traced a finger along Frans’s bootstep in the soft earth beneath the growth. I hadn’t seen any other prints save those of animals. And I guessed the jotunn used his traps not only to keep out unwanted people but also to trap wild creatures to provide sustenance for himself.

Using my knife, I cut back more branches and twigs. Frans was taking some care as he wound through the forest. But with how cleverly the jotunn had disguised the traps, I could only pray Frans wouldn’t get caught. If he had, I hoped I would find him in time and could free him.

At the very least, I’d stopped Mikaela from coming into the forest after Frans. I shuddered to think of her navigating the woodland by herself.

She was safe for now. But for how long? How long would I be able to hide my love for her from Bernhard? How long before he figured out I cared about her above anyone else?

I feared the day when that would happen. And a sense of urgency had prodded me all day since seeing her—an urgency to work quickly in coming up with a plan to protect both her and her kin.

A strange, strangled cry stopped me. I paused in my cutting and strained to listen. Was it Frans? From what I’d gathered, a total of four men, including Frans, had been sent out. It was possible—although not likely—that one or more of the first three were still alive somewhere.

For a long moment, I held myself motionless. But nothing moved around me, not even a breeze.

I continued forward, surveying each inch, testing each step. I had to work faster and get farther before darkness fell. I sawed off another branch, my muscles tense, my body ready to spring at the least threat.

My thoughts returned to my conversation with Eggum, as they had oft since I’d visited with him in the early morning hours. Was the old servant right in insinuating the jotunn was my grandfather’s brother, my great uncle Sven? If so, had Sven gone mad from his injuries and being rejected by his family?

If the priest and other castle staff had sought him out and hoped he would take control of Romsdal, perhaps he’d been an honorable man. And yet, if he’d once been decent, he no longer was. No decent man could trap innocent men and leave them to die dangling from tree limbs or suffering in deep pits.

Another agonized cry resounded, this time louder.

I froze, my knife in the middle of slicing a stalk. Someone was nearby. He was in pain, that much was clear. But at least he was still alive.

What direction had the sound come from? Cautiously I straightened. “Who’s there?”

Again, silence settled over the dense woodland.

“Is anyone there?” I raised my voice. I didn’t care if the jotunn knew I was in the forest. Maybe I could even draw him out of hiding to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Yes, I’d heard he was vicious. The legends spoke of his strength. But I would fare better fighting him than dodging his traps.

“Frans?” I waited several heartbeats. Hearing nothing in response, I resumed cutting my way through the brush.

“Help.” The call came more distinctly. “Help.”

Though I hadn’t spoken to Frans oft during my childhood or my visits home, I recognized his voice.

“Frans? It’s me. Gunnar.”

“Gunnar?” The voice was hollow, as if he was stuck in a barrel. “What are you doing here?”

“Mikaela wanted to come after you. But I wouldn’t let her and came in her stead.” That was partially true. He didn’t need to know I’d been planning to explore the forest anyway. No one needed to know what I suspected about the chalice.