Ensnared (Knights of Brethren #3)(45)

“I own to wanting the chalice for the king. But I wouldn’t save one life—the queen’s—only to forfeit another.” I nodded at Frans.

In the ever-darkening shadows, Sven studied me, as though searching for the truth. Though his face was dirty and disfigured, I saw in him the man he’d once been—a good man who’d been sorely rejected by his kin.

At a shout in the distance, Sven resumed his tugging against Frans with more effort. “We must make haste.”

I bent and did likewise, and this time we managed to lift Frans an inch or so. The movement jarred him awake. His eyes flew open, and he moaned.

“Hold still now.” I spoke quietly to Frans, hoping he wouldn’t scream out his pain and draw the jotunn our way more rapidly.

Frans turned startled eyes upon me. “You’re free?” His voice was weak and breathless.

“Yes. Now it’s your turn.” I nodded at Sven, and we both hauled upward again. The exertion must have been enough to free Frans’s foot from the pike, because we drew him up and out of the hole in one swift move. In the process, Frans released an agonized cry, and then passed out again.

As we laid him flat, the darkness mostly hid the mangled condition of his foot as well as the broken bone in his opposite leg. But I saw enough to know I had to tend to both before I could move him any further.

I sliced a strip from my tunic. But Sven intervened before I could wrap it around Frans’s foot. “I’ll do the doctoring. You find two sturdy branches and tie your cloak them. You’ll need a litter to carry him out.”

I didn’t hesitate. I handed over the strip and cut another. Then I began sawing the nearest limb.

Another shout rent the air, this one nearer. Sven didn’t pause in his wrapping of Frans’s foot. I guessed he was accustomed to the jotunn’s rage, a rage I would soon experience.

But I sliced faster, until at last, I snapped the branch free. I wasted no time in reaching for a second limb and sawing it. My leg ached, but in comparison to Frans’s injuries, I couldn’t complain. Even so, I prayed I would be able to move swiftly through the forest and outrun the jotunn.

“Why didn’t the jotunn set you free in exchange for the chalice?” The question tumbled out as I broke the second limb and began tying my cloak to it.

Sven had finished binding Frans’s foot and was now working at strapping a thick piece of branch to Frans’s other leg, likely to keep the broken bone from doing more damage during the transport out of the forest. For a moment, I didn’t think he would answer me. But then his response came, low and raspy. “It did not provide the healing he sought for his pain.”

I finished tying one end of my cloak and used my teeth to tighten the knot. The sacred chalice had been used by Christ himself during the Last Supper. Even though Maxim had found evidence pointing toward its healing capabilities, none of us knew for certain if it truly could work miracles.

If it hadn’t brought the jotunn healing, maybe we were on a useless mission.

“Regardless of the outcome,” I said, “the jotunn should have kept his part of the bargain and set you free.”

Sven released a mirthless laugh. “The jotunn is a liar and a thief and has no honor.”

“So, he kept the chalice?”

“Yes, he has hidden it away so deeply in the earth, no man will be able to retrieve it.”

At a roaring call and the crashing of brush drawing nigh, Sven hefted Frans and dragged him onto the makeshift litter. “You must go. Now.”

I helped to situate Frans. “What else will the jotunn accept as an exchange for your freedom?”

Sven attempted to shove me forward. “Do not worry about me. I am an old man now. And I shall live out my days here.”

I didn’t budge. “Tell me what he will accept.”

“No. Now go.”

“I won’t leave until you speak of it.”

We stood now, face to face. Sven was taller than me by several inches. His features, though scarred and deformed, contained a kindness I’d overlooked when I’d first seen him. Perhaps that was how it always was—we tended to focus upon the outward appearances of people and miss the true beauty of their character as a result.

Sven’s gaze darted in the direction of the approaching jotunn. Then with a frustrated growl, he spoke. “If a person cannot give him something of great worth, then he will accept one life in exchange for another.”

“Someone can take your place?”

“Yes, but I will never allow it.”





Chapter

20





Mikaela


The sounds grew louder, and as I turned a bend and held up my light, it fell upon Gunnar.

At the sight of him standing in the path, a cry of relief escaped, and I nearly crumpled to the ground.

The torch I’d lit several moments ago revealed him to be safe and solid, except for a strip of linen around his lower leg. He was holding the ends of two limbs, his cloak tied across them forming a stretcher. A person’s head was barely visible above the edge of the cloak, but I could see enough to know it was Frans.

My relief swelled, and this time I sank to my knees.

“Mikaela?” Gunnar took me in, his beautiful face filling with surprise. “What in the name of the holy saints are you doing here?”