Reckless Protector: Isaacson Trilogy Book Three

35

Ulric narrowed his eyes, vowing to make the old man regret crossing his family, as he retrieved his battle hammer and marched alongside his brothers in search of Erasmus.

Whether it was by divine intervention or purely good timing, it was at that exact moment that Erasmus crashed through the side of the barn.

He landed with a pained grunt in an ungraceful heap in the snow amid a shower of broken boards and was followed quickly after by an enraged and bloody Magnus, who was yelling, "I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN you were the maggot behind all this senseless carnage! How many innocent lives have you taken to sate your hunger for power?"

"They were only human—LESSER THAN YOU OR I!" Erasmus screeched, scrambling backward. "Justice demanded that their lives be forfeit after making us suffer at their hands for centuries."

His eyes were wild as he spoke, every word sounding more like the ravings of the delusional madman he was turning out to be. Standing, he shouted a curse and flung his arms out, producing a whoosh of energy that threw Magnus to the ground.

"You know," Erasmus taunted, "for a man claiming to have the blood of demigod warriors and shamans in your veins, you are pathetically wea—"

They would never know what else he'd been about to say because Esmund—having decided they'd heard more than enough—gave Erasmus a personal introduction to his war hammer.

As far as berserkers were concerned, it wasn't a mighty blow by any stretch of the word. But, it was hard enough to lift him several feet up in the air as metal connected with bone in a resounding bonk. It caved in the side of his face and snapped his neck. His corpse then dropped in a graceless heap to the ground and sank into the snow.

Magnus slowly reached his feet, clutching a hand to his ribs. "Well, that ended differently than I thought it would," he murmured with a wince.

Ulric scoffed. "Surprised your plan worked?"

"Not at all," Magnus said, his mouth bending in a rueful smile. "It's just...I'd decided I would skewer him with a lightning bolt. I was rather looking forward to it."

Gunnar and Ulric stared at him, their faces identical expressions of disbelief and amazement.

"That's something I would like to have seen," Esmund murmured, disgruntled. "I knew I should have waited."

"We've only cut the head off the snake," Magnus said. His eyes suddenly brightened as though coming to a rather delightful realization, and his expression hardened with malicious glee as he added, "I'll just have to show you when we deal with the rest of them."

Four hours later, they were carting all twenty-nine corpses to the coroner in Buffalo Gulch. The man didn't bat an eyelash at the massive heap of dead flesh; he simply showed them where they could park the wagon until he could see to them in the morning.

Never one to mince words, Magnus remarked, "You do realize such a thing only happens when living in towns brimming with you violent heathens, don't you?" At their tired chuckles, he mounted up and said with a wave, "I'll inform Chief Westmoreland of the latest developments on my way home if you'd like."

"You're leaving already?" Ulric asked in surprise. He gathered the leads from the two horses that had pulled the wagon and handed them to Gunnar.

Magnus smirked, "Don't sound so crestfallen, Ricky. You'll be seeing my pretty face soon enough."

Ulric's brow lowered in a heavy frown, "Call me that again, and I'm going to rearrange your face with my fist—and you won't like the results."

As far as threats went, he'd thought it was a good one. He'd adopted a sufficiently menacing expression, his tone had implied violence, and his words—while not the most articulate—had been full of haunting imagery to ensure the shaman didn't take it lightly. After all, no one wanted to have their face rearranged.