Chapter 19 Queen Emeline
Nineteen
Queen Emeline
The plan has changed.
Skarth can hate me once he wakes because the fact that he will actually wake makes his wrath worth it.
Loki’s ambiguous message now makes perfect sense. And it was confirmed by the look on Skarth’s face when he returned from talking to our son.
However, there is no way I’ll stand back and let that happen.
I haven’t sacrificed all I have only for Skarth to perish.
No.
That is a future I will not accept.
I told Ulf and Aedan of my plan, and they eventually agreed. A world without Skarth is one we do not want to live in.
So the new plan is that there are no negotiations.
No ploys.
No one is acting as bait whilst others ambush.
No.
Even with the odds against us, we fight, and the reason we will win is that Aethelbald suspects an ambush. He knows we lack manpower and cannot compete against his army, but he has underestimated my rage.
Aedan and half the men wait for our signal. They will attack from the inside, as the plan to infiltrate via the sewers is still in place. The other half waits for us in hiding and comes into view a few miles away from the castle walls.
There is no more than a hundred.
But numbers do not matter, for their hearts will lead us to victory.
I tug on my horse's reins to stop.
I take my time examining the men before me. The air swirls with excitement and fear. “You are brave soldiers who fight to change the future of England. I do not know what the next few hours hold for us all, but what I do know is that your hearts are pure and strong.
“You stand up to tyranny and prejudice. Your names will go down in history, for you will be known as the men who saved England! So brave men, ride with me to right the wrongdoings and return England to her former glory!
“We fight!” I scream, raising my sword in the air. “We do not surrender!”
“We fight! We do not surrender!” the men repeat after me.
“God bless the queen!” Ulf roars, riling the men up.
“God bless the queen!” they repeat with as much enthusiasm.
I look at Ulf and nod in gratitude because no matter what happens, we’ve already won in my eyes.
With a cry, I thump my horse’s flank with my heels, and he takes off into a mad trot toward the castle. The men follow with Ulf by my side. When we are within a mile, Ulf blows the horn—the sign Aedan is waiting for.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two…
One.
An arrow skims past my head, embedding into a poor soul’s chest behind me. He is dead before he knows what hit him.
“Shields up!” I order as I cluck my tongue, coaxing my horse to ride faster.
More arrows soon follow, and after those, arrows with flames. I keep my eyes on the drawbridge because within minutes, it will be wound up. I need to be on the other side of it when it does.
I duck and weave in pattern, dodging the flying arrows. There are so many of them. Soldiers soon come charging out of the castle, swords raised. There are hundreds of them.
Exhilaration courses through me just as it always does when I go into battle. And that is why I will win. I fight with both my head and my heart.
Losing isn’t an option.
I wait until the row of eight trees comes into view to my right, and the moment they do, I lower my arm, hinting to the men in hiding that they’re to attack.
What we lack in numbers, we make up for in warfare.
The English soldiers don’t see the men coming as they emerge from the tall grass and shoot with poisoned arrows.
Thanks to a concoction the brothers brewed for me, even if the shot isn’t fatal, an arrow simply connecting with the flesh of a soldier will kill them within minutes.
I chose the men who shoot the arrows because they don’t miss.
Soon, soldiers begin to fall, and the battlefield echoes in pained cries.
Ulf and I continue riding as the drawbridge is frantically reclining. Aedan will hopefully be in the sewers, about to broach the surface.
I am betting everything on faith right now.
We are mere meters away from the drawbridge when men swarm Ulf and me. I swing my sword, connecting with their arms and heads, showing no mercy. I don’t see faces. I only see enemies as I kill them all.
Ulf follows suit.
The untrained soldiers don’t stand a chance.
We leave a trail of bloodied men in our wake as we reach the drawbridge in a frantic gallop. I slap down the reins, encouraging my horse to jump higher than ever before as the gap grows smaller and smaller.
He hesitates, but I slap his flank harder with my heels. He leaps high, but my stomach drops because I am not going to make it.
A string of Norse comes out of me, stunning me because I don’t even know what I just said.
It just comes out of nowhere, like I am suddenly animated by a foreign entity that shares its strength with me.
Whatever this mystical occurrence is, I embrace it because I make the jump with ease, and so does Ulf.
“You just spoke the war cry of Odin!” he says in disbelief. “The gods smile down on us.”
We can celebrate later because now, it’s time to burn this kingdom to the ground.
Soldiers charge us, but it suddenly feels as though I am possessed. A strength I have not felt before awakens every fiber of my being, and I am a force not to be stopped as I kill anyone who stands in my way.
Each stroke is a fatal one, and some are so brutal that I take out two men at once. It’s as if each man I kill gives me their lifeforce.
Before long, all I can see is red, and that’s because I am coated in my enemy’s blood.
My horses stand on piles of broken corpses, their twisted bodies breaking under his hooves.
The sound of bones snapping has me screaming at the top of my lungs. “Come out, you coward! You have your men fight whilst you hide! That is your leader!” I say to the men who attack me. “A coward who hides and allows you to perish because he is too gutless to face me!”
Fighting within these walls gives me a sense of comfort because this is my home and has been since I was a child. No one knows this place better than I do.
Therefore, I know where Aethelbald hides.
I leave Ulf in the courtyard as I ride down the long hallway, taking down any man who stands in my way. When I cannot ride any further, I dismount and am swarmed by men.
But nothing can stop me.
As more blood is spilled, it feels as though my anger increases as does my strength. I turn the corner and am punched in the face.
Licking the blood away from my lip, I grin when I see Inga.
“This is a long time coming…you fucking bitch.”
Memories of what she has done, of what she did to Skarth assault me, and an anger so fierce blinds me.
The only cure—her head.
She charges at me, sword raised. She too knows that only one of us will make it out of here alive. It’s a clash of steel, and honestly, she is the first worthy opponent I have fought all day, and that’s because she’s a Viking.
But the fact that she has sided with Aethelbald makes her a traitor. So Viking or not, in my eyes, she is worse than the Saxons, who are merely doing their job.
Anger animates her, which works in my favor. “You disgrace your gods,” I say, getting into her head. “Siding with a corrupt king, and for what? To be his little lap dog? You are pathetic.”
A furious cry leaves her as she attempts to elbow me in the face, which leaves her ribs unguarded. I bend low and punch her in the flank. The cracking hints that I have broken some ribs.
She staggers back, breathless, gripping her side.
I don’t give her a reprieve and kick downward, breaking her kneecap.
When she wavers, I punch her in the solar plexus, winding her.
She sways on her feet, which is the time I swing my sword and am about to slice off her head, but I am sadly ambushed from behind when someone punches me in the kidneys.
I topple forward, taken off guard. But when I turn and see Bodil as my attacker, it doesn’t surprise me that she resorted to a sly attack. Her cowardice only further incites my wrath.
I spin, on guard to her advances as she charges at me with her sword. I recall our last fight, and as I was taught, I remember her weakness, which I exploit. She is heavy on her left foot, and when she steps, I duck low and deliver an undercut to her jaw.
Her head snaps backward.
Inga grabs my arm, as does another soldier who appears. Bodil walks over and punches me in the stomach. I sag forward, where she grabs me by the head, forcing me to look at her.
“I now see what all the fuss is about. Skarth fucked me long and hard. Inga did tell me what a great lay he was.”
Her words are supposed to cut me deep. But little does she know, I am done being hurt. All I care for is revenge.
I laugh in response, a maniacal cackle.
My captors are clearly stunned by my insanity.
“You are pathetic,” I manage to wheeze between laughter. “If that is your scare tactic, then you’ve got some growing to do, sweetling.”
“Do not patronize me!” Bodil slaps my cheek, and when I continue laughing, she grips the small blade from her belt and stabs me in the shoulder with it.
I peer down at it, only laughing harder.
Bodil yanks out the knife, only to stab me in the ribs.
Flesh wounds, but they hurt nonetheless.
The women expect me to beg for my life, so when I gesture for Bodil to come closer, she does so with arrogance. That is her downfall because I headbutt her the moment she is within reach.
Inga screams, angered that I am not backing down, and lets me go to retrieve her sword. But that is her error because I yank the blade from my ribs and stab her in the middle of the forehead with it. Her eyes dart upward as blood slowly trickles from the wound down the slope of her nose.
Her mouth opens and closes as she is robbed of speech when I pull out the blade and stab her in the face with it. She tumbles backward and is trapped between the wall and me, and has nowhere to go as I repeatedly drive the sharp blade into her face.