Blood Moon| The Last Kingdom| Sihtric Kjartansson

SIX

"Because you were resting, Lady," Saga filled in the gaps, "Daga is to lead alongside Torben."

Daga did not look pleased by that reminder, and his face twisted.

Torben was Olav's father, a fierce warrior and a skilled shipmaster. He had been at my father's side since they were boys, and he had stepped up as my father's second- in- command after Saga's father, Arkyn, had fallen in battle six years ago. I trusted him.

"Have the final sacrifices finished?" I turned to Saga.

I had poured my blood over a pit in the forest, and Olav had sacrificed three horses and twelve goats in my name, to the Gods.

I had regained my strength immediately after, but my father had not believed that I should be up and around so swiftly after an illness. I had been made to rest for a week until the Gods grew tired of resting.

"They have, Lady," Saga nodded, "the last of the animals have been bled dry."

"That is what I will speak to you about," Daga jumped in again, taking a step back as Arya moved to sit in front of Saga. "The men grow nervous when you perform these acts, these foolish sacrifices, and these supposed visions."

I raised my brow slowly, amusement growing on my face, "Foolish sacrifices?"

"The only foolish thing here is you," Saga snorted, her hand resting on her hip.

Daga flushed, opening his mouth, but he paused when I raised my hand.

"I have orders from our father to look over him as he travels to Ragnar," I told him simply, "I will do that, whether you like it or not. The visions will continue." I turned slowly, aiming to go back into my tent, "You are dismissed."

"You should appease me," Daga spat out, "our father does not have that long left. I will take over—"

"You are his least likely heir of all his children," Saga shot back, "including the dead ones he has not seen."

Daga's sword whipped out, swinging at Saga as he became blinded by rage.

Saga raised her hand to her axe, but she didn't need to bother drawing it out as Arya launched her big, grey body forwards, grabbing Daga's arm between her teeth.

Daga screeched, dropping his sword and falling to his knees as Arya gnawed at his flesh.

"By the Gods, what is all this noise?" Henrick's composed voice emerged from the tent opposite mine. He took in the scene in front of him with a slight pause before he raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

I tried not to smile at the exasperation on his face, whistling shortly, "Arya, enough."

The wolf let go instantly, and arguably, Daga screamed more.

Henrick rolled his eyes, walking over to him and grabbing a hold of his shoulder to pull him up. "You are a man of thirty, Daga. I am embarrassed for you."

Daga seethed at him, stumbling back to get out of Henrick's hold, "You'll regret this, all of you."

"Terror has gripped me," Henrick muttered flatly, "I must return to my bed to escape it."

Saga snorted loudly, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the rest of her laughter as Daga stormed away angrily.

Henrick turned to us, staring wearily, "Trouble, the pair of you."

"The four of us actually," Saga blurted out, nodding at my two wolves, "they helped this time."

"Enough out of you," Henrick shook his head, smiling thinly, "go to the stables, the horses need riding."