Ensnared (Knights of Brethren #3)(43)

With a final heft, I pulled myself to a sitting position on the limb. It was thicker than I’d realized, and if I needed to saw through it, my task would be difficult. Nevertheless, I was one step closer to freeing myself.

I had a sweeping view of the forest below. Though the fading light and dense vegetation made the view difficult, I could see the outlines of several more dangling skeletons.

This forest truly was deadly. I’d been as foolish as Frans to believe I could navigate it alone. Once I freed Frans, I’d take him out to safety and then wait for Torvald before coming in again after the chalice. Surely together, we’d be able to plot a strategy to outwit the jotunn and his traps.

I scooted down the limb until I reached the length of the chain. I dragged it up along with my leg. Even in the dimness, I glimpsed the oozing blood and the mangled flesh where the snare circled my calf.

Taking stock of the type of slip knot, I jostled the links, trying to loosen them. Each movement chafed my already raw skin. But I plied at the chain, needing to free myself.

In my periphery, I caught a movement on the ground. I halted my efforts and held myself stationary, scanning the undergrowth for anyone or anything that might prove a new threat. Only eerie silence and stillness met me. Even so, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I sensed Frans and I were no longer alone.





Chapter

19





Gunnar


I waited, knife poised and ready to throw.

Frans remained unconscious and quiet. And this time, I wanted him to stay that way until I could determine who—or what—was lurking nearby.

After long minutes and a final survey of the forest, I resumed my efforts to remove the snare from my leg. As much as I needed to remain stealthy to hide my position in the tree, I also had to liberate myself so that in turn, I could free Frans. His life depended upon my skill and speed.

I tried to minimize the noise. But the chain was rusty and clanked with the slightest movement. All the while I loosened the links, I pulled away pieces of my clothing and bits of my skin. Blood coated my fingers, making them slick and cumbersome.

Even so, I managed to release the snare’s hold little by little, until at last I had enough leeway to slip it down my leg and ankle then over my boot. I used my knife to slice off part of my tunic, then wrapped the linen around my calf and tied it tight. It would have to suffice as a bandage for now.

Sheathing my sword and knife, I began to climb down. I couldn’t bear weight upon my injured leg and had to go slow. Halfway down, the same strange feeling came over me. We were being watched.

I stopped and glanced around. At a rustle in the bushes ahead, I tensed. Without taking my attention from the spot, I lowered myself the rest of the distance.

A branch shifted, and I caught the glow of what appeared to be eyes.

Was it a wild creature? Or was it the jotunn? More importantly, what kind of threat did it pose?

I crawled away from the tree toward the hole where Frans was trapped, dragging the loose chain with me. With each inch forward, I used my sword to clear a path and make sure I didn’t find myself caught in another snare.

“Frans?” I whispered as I reached the edge of the hole. “Can you hear me?”

Only silence came from within.

I prayed he wasn’t dead and was still merely unconscious. Either way, I wouldn’t leave him behind.

Carefully I lowered the chain, not wanting to jar him and cause him to slip farther down. Before I could secure Frans, the branches ahead parted and a grizzled creature stepped through. Stoop-shouldered, with a long beard and stringy gray hair, he was bare save for tattered leggings. Even his feet were unclad and dirty. He reminded me of the beggar Eggum—weak and thin and unkempt.

Was this the jotunn that had been terrorizing the forest all these years?

I climbed unsteadily to my feet, unsheathing my sword.

At the sight of my weapon, the creature took a step back.

My attention lifted to his face, which was misshapen with a patchwork of taut scars. The scars, while dirty, were a splotchy red, the same color I’d witnessed on a fellow knight who’d once burned his arm.

Was this my grandfather’s brother after all? Had Eggum speculated correctly?

This man—if he was a man—certainly looked old enough.

The only thing I could do was ask. “Sven? Sven Likness?”

He didn’t respond. But something changed in his expression, telling me I’d guessed right.

“I’m Gunnar Likness, grandson of Jorg, your brother.”

He watched me warily.

Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned my relation to Jorg, especially since he’d taken the earldom away from Sven. No doubt Sven loathed Jorg and any of his relatives. Perhaps he’d charge at me and push me into another hidden trap nearby.

“Why are you here?” The man’s voice was raspy, as though from disuse.

I glanced down to Frans. “I came to rescue this man. If you’ll let me free him, I’ll be on my way.”

Sven tilted his head as though examining me. Was he planning how best to attack me?

“Why save him? Why not save yourself?”

“I would save both of us.”

“He is dying.” The threaded voice was hardly a whisper.

“But he’s not dead yet.” Frans’s bare head hung forward, his hat nowhere in sight.