Chapter 6 Landon
Dorcha doesn’t like Hellsmouth.
I can feel it through our bond, the way her unease travels up the reins and into my hands. She circles lower, but her wingbeats are tighter than usual. Even from this height, the smell of rot and smoke reaches us.
The mountains rise beneath us in black, broken ridges, their peaks cutting through banks of low cloud. Snow clings to the highest slopes, but the valleys below are bare and scorched. Nothing grows near Hellsmouth except iron grass and the pale fungi that feed on old bones.
Dorcha rumbles beneath me, the vibration traveling through the saddle into my legs. Her dark wings beat harder as heated currents rise from the ravines. Hellsmouth appears beyond the next ridge.
I lean forward and stroke the scales at the base of her neck.
“Easy, girl.”
The fortress city crouches inside the mouth of an ancient volcano, its black walls built into the slopes. Smoke pours from hundreds of furnaces, staining the sky. Chains as thick as tree trunks span the ravines, supporting bridges, watchtowers and platforms crowded with soldiers.
But it is not the city that makes my stomach tighten.
It is the army gathered below it.
Mammoths cover the valley floor.
Dozens of them are assembled on the flat ground beyond the walls.
Their hides range from ash grey to deep brown, covered in thick coats of braided fur.
Iron plates protect their heads and flanks.
Some carry towers strapped across their backs, each platform crowded with archers and spear throwers.
The largest beasts drag siege engines behind them, battering rams and tower frames.
I’ve seen mammoth cavalry before, but never this many in one place, armored and organized.
Eirik Bloodhound is not gathering an army to attack Aelfheim.
He means to crush it.
Dorcha lands at the tree line, far enough from the perimeter that the sentries won’t scramble. I dismount and scratch the soft place behind her jaw once.
Stay hidden and stay ready, I tell her through the bond.
She huffs against my shoulder. Her version of reluctant agreement.
I find Thanatos near the eastern pens.
Thanatos has grown broader since I last saw him.
He wears mammoth-hide armor reinforced with iron bands, and his black hair is tied at the nape of his neck.
A curved horn hangs from his belt, carved with the symbols of the northern herds.
He is watching two handlers struggle to fit a new iron brace onto a mammoth that absolutely does not want to be fitted.
“Stop pulling against him,” Thanatos orders. “Loosen the rear chain and let him see the brace before you try again. He is frightened.”
One handler immediately releases the chain. Thanatos approaches the mammoth with one hand raised, speaking to him in a low voice until the enormous beast stops tossing his head.
The mammoth is nearly twice Dorcha’s height, an ancient bull with scarred tusks and one clouded eye.
Thanatos sees me before I reach him. He stares at me as though I have climbed out of a grave.
“Landon?”
The calm disappears. Shock flashes across his face, followed by anger and something that looks almost like relief.
His expression turns flat and unreadable.
He dismisses the handlers with a sharp gesture and closes the distance between us in a few strides, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind the nearest pen wall.
“You have lost your mind,” he says quietly.
“Good to see you too.”
“Landon.” His grip tightens. “The king’s soldiers are searching every road, gate and mountain pass for you.”
I glance pointedly at his armor. “You are one of the king’s soldiers.”
“That is the only reason you are still standing.” Thanatos lowers his voice. His gaze cuts toward the watchtowers above us. “Half the garrison had your description this morning.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you standing in the middle of Hellsmouth with that hair?” He shakes his head. “You might as well carry a torch.”
“I need to talk to you.” I glance toward the soldiers moving between the mammoth pens. “Somewhere they cannot hear us.”
“No. What you need to do is leave.” He releases my arm and steps back, his jaw set. “I mean it. I’ll give you ten minutes to get clear of the valley before I’m obligated to report this.”
I look at him. He looks at me. We’ve known each other long enough that some conversations don’t need words.
“Something is wrong with Eirik,” I say.
The flat expression cracks.
Thanatos remains silent for several breaths, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond my shoulder.
“Yes,” he says finally, his voice dropping lower. He looks toward the city before answering. “Eirik Bloodhound has changed.”
“Changed how?” I ask.
“He does not sleep. He barely eats. He locks himself inside the throne chamber with that enchantress for days at a time, then emerges with strange plans.” Thanatos glances toward the mammoth army below.
“The old king made decisions I didn’t always agree with, but I understood them. What he is now...”
He shakes his head. “Something is wrong. Yes.”
“Then help me figure out what,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “No.”
“Thanatos.”
“Something is wrong with Eirik. I know that.” He rests one hand on the curved hilt at his side. “But he is still my king. I will not betray him.”
“Even if he marches us all to our deaths?” I gesture toward the valley. “You know those beasts were bred to defend the southern strongholds. They were never meant to cross half the continent for a war of conquest.”
Thanatos follows my gaze toward the mammoths. His silence tells me he has made the same argument, probably more than once.
“Do not ask me to choose between my oath and you.” His voice hardens, every trace of friendship disappearing from it. “I serve the Fae King. That hasn’t changed.”
“I need to find a way to stop this war.” I lower my voice. “The elven queen is my mate.”
Thanatos takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, the anger has drained from his face, leaving only exhaustion. “Take her and run, Landon.”
“She will not abandon her people.” I hold his gaze, willing him to understand.
“Then she will die with them.” He meets my eyes. “The next time I see you across a battlefield, Landon, I won’t look the other way. I will kill you. Get out of Hellsmouth now, before I change my mind about those ten minutes.”
I nod. “I will.”
Relief loosens his shoulders.
“After I meet an informer.”
His head snaps back toward me. “You are doing what?”
I glance toward the city walls. “Someone inside Hellsmouth has information about Finnbheara and the palace.”
“Have you lost what little sense you once possessed?” Thanatos steps closer. “The Wild Hunt is searching for you. Morgaine has spies in every tavern and barracks. You cannot walk into the city.”
“I am not leaving without answers.” I meet his glare without flinching.
Thanatos shakes his head.
“I need to know what is happening to Eirik. I need to know whether Finnbheara was part of the attack,” I say.
“And if he was?” Thanatos asks, watching me carefully.
I have no answer.
“Go back to your queen.” Thanatos stares at my hair, which the wind has pulled loose around my face. “You do look better with your natural red hair, but it is a fucking beacon. Every soldier in Hellsmouth knows the devil-mark.”
“High praise from someone who just threatened to kill me,” I mutter.
He almost smiles. Almost. Then it is gone, and he steps back. “I will let you go this once because we were friends before either of us carried banners. There will not be a second mercy.”
I leave before he can say anything more.
At the tree line, I stop. I don’t know why.
I glance back at the mammoth army. From here, the beasts seem to fill the valley, iron armor gleaming through the smoke. Handlers and soldiers move between their enormous legs.
War engines with heartbeats.
I think about Aelfheim, about its white towers, its market roads and Rhianelle somewhere inside it. I genuinely cannot see how it survives what is coming for it.
I turn away from the valley, pull my hood lower, and head toward the city.
Buildings crowd closer around me as the streets narrow, packed with soldiers, traders and travelers. I follow the directions I was given until I find the tavern wedged between a smithy and a shuttered apothecary.
I enter, cross the room and take an empty table against the wall where I can watch everyone. The bartender appears at my table without warning. I didn’t hear her approach.
“Drink?” Her voice is rough, like gravel in a bucket.
“Whatever won’t kill me.” I keep my eyes on the room as I say it.
The Orkan almost smiles. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She returns with something amber in a chipped mug. I don’t drink it yet. I wrap both hands around the mug and let its warmth seep into my palms while I wait.
I have a dozen questions for the informer, but one matters more than all the others.
Did Finn know?
Finnbheara has saved my life more times than I can count. We grew up together in the Northern Reaches, two boys raised beneath Eirik’s roof. Red hair marks a child as devil-touched among the northern fae. Everyone knows it. My own mother was the first to carry a torch to the pyre they built for me.
Eirik stopped them.
He took me into his household and raised me beside his son. Finn shared his food, his rooms and eventually his secrets. He was not merely my prince. He was my brother.
Now his father has tried to have me killed.
I take a sip. The liquid burns.
Did Finnbheara know about the betrayal? Is he part of it?
The possibility tightens something inside my chest. I don’t want to believe it. But I also can’t ignore that three of my own squadron tried to kill me on Morgaine’s orders. Three warriors I trusted.
If she can turn them, why not Finn?
The door opens. I tense, my hand moving to my blade.
An orc stumbles in, clearly drunk already. He weaves toward the bar.
Not a threat.