Nena by Ann Boelter (digital book reader txt) 📕

Exanthia squirmed to peer at her face.

Nena continued. “This is a valuable lesson on the importance of strategy in battle. With the narrowness of the cliff walls and the placement of the boulders, only ten can pass at a time. Do you understand what that means? It doesn’t matter if there are a thousand or more, they are no stronger than the number of warriors who can fight at one time—in this case, that is ten. Our warriors can easily defeat ten. Gentok alone could probably take ten. Don’t you think?”

“Easily,” Exanthia agreed.

Nena knew the girl idolized Gentok. His gift of the bow and attention to her training had already earned him a special place in her heart. “Whenever you fight, if you look for an advantage, one can often be found. Deficits in strength, or weapons, or numbers can be overcome. Never forget that. Always fight smart.”

“I will,” Exanthia promised.

“Good. Now get some rest,” Nena murmured.

Long after Exanthia had fallen asleep, Nena lay awake, trying to reconcile her own anger, frustration, guilt and fear. How could Jarl do this? After all his kind deeds and words of affection, how could he betray her this way?

Because this is who he is and what he does. And he is not at all unlike you in this way. It would be no different than if a foolish prisoner had given valuable information to the Teclan. Of course you would use it. And you would scoff at the one who gave it up so readily. The blame lies only with you. Altene was right. You are a naive fool.

The true source of your anger stems not from his actions at all, but because you allowed yourself to become soft toward him. Even after everything—your escape, your return home, your decision to choose Gentok, deep down when you thought he might be there with the scouts, you maintained those soft thoughts about him. Now you know the truth. He may have enjoyed you in the furs—even your company as he professed, but it meant nothing to him compared to the wealth of your people.

Now you must put all that behind you, once and for all, and focus on the business at hand. While the words you said to Exanthia are true, these Northmen are unlike any force the tribe has ever faced, and you know it—and not just because of their numbers. They are skilled fighters and far more organized than any who have previously tried to attack the mountain. And they are far more motivated; while others may have suspected the riches the Teclan held, Jarl knows of it—thanks to you.

Nena pushed the berating of her guilty conscience from her mind. Even though the Northmen posed a more serious threat than she had let on to Exanthia, the huge tactical advantage provided by the canyon was also true. So would Jarl still attack? She had never seen him risk the lives of his men needlessly before, but she’d also never seen him avoid a fight—except when he’d considered the prize to be too small. That was certainly not the case here.

He always came up with a strategy to best get around his opponent’s strengths and defenses. But there was no way around the cliffs. Surely he would see that. And knowing the casualties to his men would be staggering, would he actually attack them? And if he did, would she meet him on the battlefield? If so, could she kill him? She envisioned his handsome face as the target past the tip of her drawn arrow. Even fueled as she was by her anger and frustration, her imagination hesitated to loose her fingers from the bowstring. What was wrong with her?

Laughter filled the Northmen’s camp at all hours of the day and night. The men were rested and spirits were high. They had been a force to be reckoned with for some time, and to a man, they were confident in Jarl to find a way.

“What’s so funny?” Jarl was on the way to his own tent but stopped and asked several of the men who were still laughing.

“Bjorg snuck out there a ways and introduced those savages to his new long bow,” one chuckled. “Some young buck was up there dancing around and thought he’d take a piss off the rock in our direction. Bjorg showed him he better piss somewhere else.”

“Did you hit him?” Jarl asked Bjorg directly, impressed that an archer could have that kind of range.

“Nah, but I scared him bad enough; he probably has a little piss on his sandals,” Bjorg answered.

They all laughed again.

Jarl stepped away and looked at the Teclan sentries on the cliffs above. He wondered if Nena was among them, watching him. With their ranks swelled to near full force, Jarl knew they were an impressive sight. Was she frightened? Was Meln? Surely they had to realize that even with their huge advantage of the natural barriers, Jarl’s numbers were such now that he could quite possibly overrun their defenses—could quite possibly succeed where no one had before. There would be massive casualties among his men, though strategically for the future, he could justify it. With the Teclan in place, he and other vikings had to go far out of their way to avoid them, adding many miles to their trips. But if the Teclan were gone....

Jarl knew he could sell it—actually knew he didn’t need to; there was always the compelling detail of the sizable wealth the Teclan had amassed over the years, though Jarl still kept that particular fact to himself. He couldn’t risk greed splintering his group by driving some to challenge his authority or act on their own. He glanced back at his men. They were seasoned fighters. Even with death likely for some in the near future, every day they waited and rested, their eagerness grew. They were ready. They wanted to fight, to kill, and Jarl knew their easy laughter now would be nowhere