Blood of the Red

Chapter 27 - Sindri

Chapter 27 – Sindri

Sindri fell. He fell like a stone, sickeningly fast. Somewhere in the darkness below, the ground waited for him. I've been falling all my life. But I don't remember tripping.

The ground rushed him, wide and hard, and he screamed.

The shock of freezing water woke Sindri. He bit back on his scream and shook his head to get the hair from his eyes. He could shake nothing else. Daylight!

He'd come to the wood in hopes of a fire, and one crackled before him. Close enough that the heat of the blaze took the edge off his cold awakening. A large pot hung over the fire, dwarfing the man who stirred it. Other men huddled about the fire in the morning mist. Sindri turned his head, men were rising all around him, among the trees. He could smell bacon frying. Birdsong reached him, sweet and clear, above the sounds of camp being broken. A horse snorted to his left.

"Still alive then?" The shrill voice seemed familiar.

Sindri's neck hurt. He turn to look at the speaker. A thin man, not tall even among Conault men. He held an empty leather bucket. Sindri lunged for him.

"Shit on you!" The agony in his arm and leg tore the oath from him.

Sindri shook his head again, this time to clear the mist from his brain. Many turns of rope bound him to a tree. The tree divided just behind his neck and his arms were tied, one to each branch of the fork.

"I don't normally allow dirty-bearded mountain-men to insult me." The man set the bucket down.

He looked to be between thirty and forty summers, his short dark hair touched with grey at the temples. The tight black moustache etched across his lip did little to alleviate the girlish cast of his features. A long white scar ran from above the right eyebrow and down across his cheek to the jaw-line, making something sinister of his face.

Other Conault men came from the fire and fires nearby. They expected something, some exchanged smiles or nudges.

"Cap'n Yekrin's woke the prisoner!" a man at the back called out.

Sindri closed his teeth on a proper insult. Something in Yekrin's pretty blue eyes scared him.

"They call me 'Yekrin the Nail' in the southlands." Yekrin's tone was conversational. His disconcerting gaze fixed Sindri but his words were for the growing audience.

"Do you want to know why?" His smile revealed perfect white teeth.

Sindri really didn't want to know why. His bladder felt full, he ached in every limb and no face around him held any hint of sympathy. In the sagas a raiding party would rescue me about now. Or I'd make a mockery of this girl-captain. My mouth's too dry. . . I'd give anything for a drink.

Behind the captain a tall archer lifted the saddlebags from Yekrin's mount. Yekrin held his hand out and the archer gave him the bags. He hefted them up. A brief shake produced metallic clanks, theatre for his men.

Sindri found himself trying to look small. Hoping if he stayed quiet they'd forget about him. You're the main act, stupid.

With a snarl he threw himself against the ropes, bunching his fists. The tree creaked ever so slightly and the closest soldiers took a step back. The captain didn't flinch.

In a flourish, Yekrin produced a six-inch spike from his saddlebag, broad-headed and made of iron.

"Now you know how I earned my name." A low chuckle ran through the ranks. "Four should do it."

He drew forth three more long nails and handed the bags to his aide. "Hammer."

This isn't happening! "Give me my axe you girl-faced bastard!"

Yekrin paused. "Girl-faced?" He looked at the nails in his hand. "You think I should face you man to man? Show you what I'm made of."

"You're afraid to! Pretty boy!" Sindri spat the words from a dry mouth.

Yekrin fixed him with mad eyes and smiled. "Well they don't call me Yekrin the Dueller now do they?" He motioned to someone out of Sindri's sight. "Roll that barrel over here, I've a northern giant to pin."

Sindri howled curses at them as they positioned the barrel. Yekrin climbed up, a grin on his face, and Sindri fell silent. He closed his eyes. Father, see me.

The nail felt cold against Sindri's fingers, bunched in a bloodless fist. Yekrin tapped it in. Five blows to reach the wood. Four more to pound the nail deep into the tree. At each blow, a howl ripped from Sindri's throat, but he didn't beg until Yekrin began to tap the last nail through his left foot.

"There you go. That wasn't so bad now was it?" Yekrin slapped Sindri almost affectionately on the cheek. "Now, about this axe..."

Yekrin clicked his fingers and a bald soldier came forward holding Sindri's axe. He'd wrapped a cloth about the hilt and held it gingerly, by the very end.

"Poor Hubb picked this up too close to the blade." Yekrin rubbed at his chin, "We had to put him over by the latrine trench; started to stink the place up." He made a negligent wave of his hand, "So what is a young man like yourself doing with a magical axe of such ill repute?"

Sindri met the man's stare, blinking sweat from his eyes. "I will kill you." He could only whisper, the screams left him hoarse.

Yekrin laughed in delight and clapped his hands. "Why! I believe you would." He turned to the crowding soldiers. "Gentlemen, our work is done here. We have a renegade to find. We'll make for the Little 'Racks and investigate yesterday's smoke. Can't have smoke without fire, and if I know Ingold Stannith, he'll be making a fire or two."

The Captain took Sindri's axe, smirking at the bald man's relief in giving it up. He stood watching Sindri with a curious half-smile. "Last week I pinned a girl in Miltown. I put thirty-seven nails through her before she died on me. It took from dawn 'til dusk. The things she promised me!" He moved closer, and stroked Sindri's leg. "But a big boy like you. I think we could manage fifty. I could nail more than your legs to that tree, young man, mmm? What would you promise?"

Sindri looked away, staring at the branches against the sky.

The pain grew worse as the soldiers moved out. He wanted to clench his fists but his bones ground against the spikes. Like a scald, the agony spread slowly down his limbs.

Yekrin left last. He mounted his huge black horse and rode off slowly into the mist.

I'm going to die here. Slowly. "I'll find you girl-face!" Sindri managed to shout at his back.

The captain paused. He turned his horse leisurely and rode back.

"You know, I believe you would. Actually I've had problems with leaving men for dead before. Causes no end of trouble.

"So, much as it would please me to leave you to enjoy your last few days..."

Yekrin leaned from the saddle and, with a casual swing, brought Sindri's axe thudding into his stomach. The ring-mail parted like cloth before it. That there was no pain shocked Sindri almost as much as the blow. He felt the iron bury itself in his guts and the sick scrape of the blade against his backbone. When Yerkin released the axe, it stood from Sindri's belly, bedded deep.

"Now, if you'll have the decency to rot in hell - I have a bard to catch."

Yekrin rode away whistling. Sindri's eyes lost focus before the mists took the rider.

++++++++

You lot should buy the Broken Empire special edition omnibus!

http://mark---lawrence.blogspot.co.uk/2016/12/omnihere.html