Eadyth nodded, wringing her hands with concern. “I worry about your safety, Eirik. Everything I did was out of concern for you and Godric.”
“I want naught from you now, Eadyth. Not your concern. Nor your affections.” He stepped up to her and poked a finger in her face. “You are not to step from this room ’til I return or you receive word that Steven of Gravely is no longer a threat. Do I need to tie you to the bed? Or post a guard at the door?”
She shook her head as tears of hopelessness streamed down her face.
“I love you,” she whispered to his departing back.
“I do not care,” he said flatly, without turning around.
* * *
Eirik refused to think about Eadyth and the pain of her betrayal as he rode toward Gravely’s hiding place. He needed to focus his attention on the task at hand. Tykir and Sigurd accompanied him, along with three dozen armed men, all on horseback.
When they approached the abandoned manor from’ a circuitous back route, Eirik motioned the men to divide into four and cover all sides of the keep, which appeared to be heavily guarded. He would try to enter, alone, from the rear while Sigurd created a diversion near the main gate in front.
He tied his horse to a tree some distance away and crept stealthily to the back wall. It was not as heavily manned as the front since there was no rear entrance, just solid stone. He waited until the guard passed on his patrol and figured he had only a few moments. Tossing a loop of rope up, he tried to catch it on one of the crenellations. It took three tries before it caught.
He heard shouting and the clang of metal off in the distance and knew his men were trying to breach the front entrance. Quickly, he pulled the rope taut and carefully walked himself up the back wall. He smiled, despite the gravity of his situation. Wall climbing had been a feat he and Tykir had practiced innumerable times as youngsters under their grandfather’s watchful eye at Ravenshire. It was a game they had soon mastered. Pray God the talent would carry him today.
He climbed over the top and found himself immediately in peril. Two of Gravely’s guards approached from different directions on the parapet, snarling obscenities. Putting out his sword, Eirik immediately dispatched the one with a thrust to his huge stomach. The other was a more even match, and Eirik only managed a few nicks at his forearms and thighs. When Eirik backed up from one particularly harsh assault, he tripped over the leg of the fallen soldier and was soon backed up against the wall of the walkway.
Pressing a sword against Eirik’s throat so that it drew blood, the burly soldier growled, “Who are you? Do you come from Ravenshire?”
Eirik refused to answer and felt the blade press tighter. ” ‘Prepare to meet your maker then,” the guard threatened.
Eirik said a silent prayer for his immortal soul, figuring his death was at hand, but then he stiffened with determination when he realized that Gravely would escape once again. With renewed strength born of the need for revenge, he kicked the soldier’s vitals. At the soldier’s momentary gasp of surprise, Eirik shot both arms up and out against the massive chest. In seconds, the guard lay below Eirik, face uP, with Eirik’s sword through his chest, spilling his life’s blood. Eirik pulled his blade out with distaste and wiped it hurriedly on the man’s tunic.
He turned and almost jumped out of his skin.
Tykir stood leaning against the parapet, smiling widely. “Well, ’tis glad I am that I did not have to rescue you.”
“Bloody Hell, Tykir, what are doing here? You are supposed to be with Sigurd.”
“Do you think I could let you climb a wall without me? I was ever the winner in that contest.”
Eirik shook his head hopelessly at his brother’s teasing, knowing the ill-timed humor masked a deep concern for his welfare. Eirik would have done the same for Tykir.
A short time later, dozens of Gravely’s men lay dead or dying in the bailey, inside the hall and in the corridors, but there was no sign of the demon lord himself.