The Imposter

Chapter 17

Chapter 17:

It felt like he had been hit in the chest with an axe, the sudden pain and disorientation overwhelming as Astrid turned away and stormed up the steps and through the tunnel back into the castle, a jet-haired young woman walking swiftly behind her. Dagur looked after her, a unreadable expression on his face.

"Oops," he said smugly. "Looks like Princess Astrid won't be waiting to be rescued any time soon. Just how I wanted." And then he turned back to look at the shocked auburn-haired shape, looking up with distraught emerald eyes. "And you know that no one now is thinking about you. You're all alone, boy. And that's how you'll die. You're fighting Rjodr next-and no one beats the champion."

I killed a man whose name I never knew-and now Astrid believes I am a traitor, in league with Dagur... He paused and read Eret's smug expression. And I know who gave him the information. He must have gone back to Berk with his pack of lies-just long enough to put them off the trail and then find out Alvin had failed and I had fled with Astrid? He lifted his face, glaring at the two men who had cost him the friendship of the Princess, the only woman he had ever kissed...and who he realised now, he had fallen for. So his fists tightened as he glared up.

"All champions lose, one day," he managed to grind out, clawing at anger to try to dull the searing pain in his chest.

"But not, I think, tomorrow," Dagur sneered. "Will you be watching, my friend?" Eret made a show of thinking about it-and then shook his head.

"Much as I would love to ensure the final disposal of this persistent little rat, I have more pressing matters-concerning an overdue delivery to my master, the Count," he said smoothly. "Just promise me he'll die, Dagur and I'll be content."

"Tell ya what," the Berserker Lord grinned madly, "I'll prove it. Once he's dead, I'll send you his pretty head."

oOo

"Tell me again how this was a good idea?" Fishlegs protested as the trio hoed a very muddy and clayey field. They had managed to sneak to a local tavern just north of the castle of Bazerk, the capitol of Berserker lands, and stolen the oversized rough hessian tunics, floppy hats and leather capes of common field workers that were hanging on the pegs outside-and had promptly been corralled by an irritated farmer who believed his workers were slacking. Worst of all, they had been put to preparing his very muddy field for winter swedes.

"Well, we're in disguise, we have a view of the north road out of Bazerk so we can see if anyone goes that way and we're getting pork belly broth for dinner," Tuff replied, hoeing the same square yard for the seventh time.

"At this rate we'll never be done," his sister grumbled, speeding along the row she was meant to be preparing.

"But dear sister, I have an excellent view of the main road from this spot so I can hardly move," Tuff argued, neatly hoeing the same clod for the ninth time.

"We can all see the damned main road," Ruff growled. "It runs alongside this field and there isn't even a fence between us and it!"

"But I am sure..." Fishlegs began and then turned back to his hoeing with a diligence that had the others staring-until they heard the thud of hooves approaching. All three were suddenly the models of agricultural workers as the train cantered past. Sneaking a glance, Fishlegs almost dropped his hoe as he recognised Eret, with his short and none too bright groom riding behind him. A phalanx of Berserker soldiers flanked them and the upright shape of Princess Astrid, wrapped in a rich, fur-lined cloak and wearing an unfamiliar dark blue gown, though she remained on the elegant shape of Stormfly.