Thirty-two – 04

The sound of the horn’s call penetrated Thordin’s very bones. He shuddered, eyes widening as he spun toward the sound, heart suddenly a-thunder.

“Did you hear that?” he asked breathlessly of his companions, of Thom and Marin and J.T.—and Sif.

Sif.

The Hunt exploded into action. Those that were afoot hauled themselves back into their saddles; those already mounted took off in a thundering cavalcade toward the horn’s echo, pounding along pathways and skirting rubble and the walls, howling battle-cries and drawing weapons.

“What the hell was that?” J.T. shouted over the din.

“The Huntmaster called,” Sif yelled back. “They ride to battle. Where did the sound come from?”

“This way.” Marin spun and dashed back toward the gates. “It came from near the ravine—probably the bridge.”

Odds are that’s where Phelan took Seamus to talk, too. Christos. “Something’s not right,” Thordin said as he jogged after her.

“You think?” she snapped. “Hurry! Rory, once we’re in, seal the gate.”

“Got it.”

Thordin paused, waving Thom and J.T. past him toward the gates. “Sif, hurry.”

She swore softly and darted after them, eyes blazing. “They went the other way!”

“This is a shortcut.” He grasped her arm and dragged her toward the gate and back into camp. Of course she’d barely explored, didn’t know. “If you had let me—”

“Let you what?” she snapped.

“Christos! It doesn’t matter. Come on.”

Rory slammed the gate shut behind them and Thorin dragged Sif along, much to her apparent distaste.

“Let go,” she snarled.

It was easier not to argue. He did as she asked and focused on Marin, still moving at a run toward the bridge. “Marin! Should we wake the others?”

“Got that,” Rory yelled from behind them as he wrestled the bar into place across the gates. “Go figure out what the hell’s going on.”

Thordin cursed and started to run, praying that Sif would follow.

Something told him they were going to need her.

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