Chapter 26
Roark
The palace fell into violent madness.
Dark Watch units swiftly assembled beyond the gates, cowls over their heads, short blades in hand. Ram horns thundered across the courtyard, the sound rippling to the lower townships and villages.
Already the road to the palace was filled with frantic Dravens. Families fled for the safety of the royal house, elders were aided by the young, and children sobbed as their mothers pulled them forward to their assigned wings and safeguards.
Exactly as my father had arranged safety protocols during my childhood.
Between every block of Dark Watch were lines of fara wolves with their bonded warriors.
Brynn and Auki were among the first to leave the courtyard. In haste, Brynn fastened a leather band around òlmr’s neck and sheathed two additional daggers. On command, the wolf would return to Brynn with a second wave of weapons, should she need it.
Auki worked with other keepers and armored the packs with leather across their haunches, spines, and skulls. My uncle barked orders and surrounded himself with half a dozen fara. He tugged the thick woolen hood over his head.
I wheeled on Emi. Take Lyra—
“No.” Lyra shoved between us, the damn fara pup now awake and following close behind. “Don’t even say it. They are here for me—”
Exactly, I interrupted. In what world would I send my wife to those who wish to harm her?
Lyra’s mouth tightened. “If we are to fight this together—bonded—then every fight we face we will be sending each other into battle with those who wish to harm us both. Do not think for a moment that any Jorvan out there will allow you to live should you be captured.”
We had no damn time for this argument.
Lyra took my hand and squeezed three times. “Roark, this fight is mine as much as it is yours. They want my life, so let me fight for it. They want yours, so let me fight for you as fiercely as you fight for me.”
Gods. I curled my hand behind her head and slammed her mouth to mine. The kiss was fast and heated and came close to painful. All I desired was to lock her away, to never let a blade come near her, but she was not wrong.
Lyra’s life had been shredded from these battles for her craft as much as mine had. If anyone deserved a bit of retribution, it was her.
We broke apart, our breaths heavy. My fingers moved quickly against her cheek. Arrows?
She nodded. “I won’t miss.”
Stay as far from them as you can. Consider that every move they make could be a trap.
“This is not where we end, Ashwood.” She grinned with a touch of malice. “I’m not nearly done with you.”
Together we followed the flood of Draven warriors, farmers, smiths, and any soul able to hold a blade toward the weapon stores kept at the base of the palace. Already lines of men and women were tossing out blades in a hurried manner.
I snatched the first broadsword and ax I could grab.
Lyra and Emi were already fitted with quivers filled with bone arrows, hickory bows in their grips.
Gunter stood between them, clad in his Dark Watch hood.
Yanson stood at his son’s back to ensure the two crossed short blades on Gunter’s shoulders were secure.
“First battle together.” Gunter flashed me a grin. “I’ve heard such fanciful tales of the Death Bringer. Impress me, old friend, or I’ll never let you live down your mortification.”
Keep her alive, and I will bathe in all the blood you wish.
“Almost had that one. Something about ‘him alive.’ No, you pointed at Lyra.” Gunter glanced at my wife. “Keep her alive. Well, obviously. She’s much prettier than you.”
Lyra rolled her eyes. “Let us all stay alive.”
“Excellent plan.” Gunter shook out his hands and clapped his father on the shoulder. “Shall we go kill some Jorvans?”
Without another word, Lyra shoved through, her grip on the bow. “Roark. If Thane is there, we should try to speak to him.”
Agreed. If we can.
“And…if they have Kael.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know what I will do.”
I pinched her chin between my fingers, forcing her to look at me. Kill anyone near him, and we will take him back.
Her jaw tightened. “Stay alive, Ashwood, or I will find you in the mirror and grant you no peace until you die, all to aggravate you some more.”
I chuckled softly and ran my thumb along her bottom lip before peeling myself from her and rushing toward the ground warriors. Lyra and Emi raced for the slopes and trees with the other archers.
A yap and growl followed me. The fara wolf plodded behind, tail wagging. One palm on the beast’s head, I brought him to a halt. There was a stirring in my chest, a strange sort of affection for the creature, and I had no time to focus on it.
I held the beast’s golden stare. Not speaking with anything but thought, I told it, Follow her. If you are with me, you’ll know who I mean. Go.
The wolf sat on its haunches and scratched its mangled ear, its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth.
Damn stupid beast.
I sprinted forward to the front of the line. My folk stepped aside as I passed, some clapping me on the shoulders, others merely roaring cries for bloodshed. Only when I reached the head of the line did I pause.
Perhaps a hundred paces down the hillside, at the edge of the village, no less than fifty Stav Guard stood in lines behind a wall of round shields.
“At your word, Prince.”
The queen strode through the crowd. Her hair was tied high on her head and leathers coated her body. In her grip was a dagger, and strapped across her middle were throwing knives. No one could handle a knife like Elisabet Foxglen.
Rumors of the Dark Watch’s love of leaving pieces of their victims across the Red Ravines were in part because of my mother. The queen took it as a personal slight should anyone attempt to harm her clan.
She held a love of pinning fingers, eyes, and tongues to trees on Jorvan lands.
I pointed at her. She was the word of Dravenmoor, the queen.
My mother turned to the Dark Watch. “Follow the lead of your prince. No one knows the battle strategies of the Stav Guard better than my son.”
Warriors pounded their swords to their chests, a call to arms, of loyalty.
I faced the Stav Guard.
We trained them to stand in a block of shields, to force the enemy to break through.
No doubt archers would be in those trees, taking out our armies as we drew nearer.
Weakness would be found in the flanks. We needed to encircle them, put them on the defensive, and I needed to do it without losing lives.
This battle was the first where my clan would see me stand with them instead of slaughtering the ravagers sent to face my blade.
It would be the first time they saw Lyra fire Draven arrows.
It was another step in destroying Dravenmoor’s mistrust for melding craft.
At my side Gunter clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Plan?”
In the two weeks since the Dark Watch discovered us, Gunter had studied hand speak under Lyra and Emi’s tutelage, but he still could pick out only a few basic terms.
I took a knee and dragged a finger in the soil, drawing out the primitive idea. I formed a circle, pointed at each flank of the Dark Watch to aim at their own side of the Stav Guard. The marks and the timing I repeated until captains nodded and passed down the word to their units.
I directed (with Gunter’s broken translation) a Dark Watch captain to guide the archers on their shots.
“Let Lyra do as she does,” Gunter called after him. “Those bones will find their marks, I’ve seen it done.”
On the final directive, I cut a line down the center. A way to split their ranks, to force them into our net.
Gunter rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “How do we break the wall through the middle? There are Stav archers. They’ll take us out.”
I brushed soil from my fingers and stood. With my thumb I traced the edge of the scar on my throat.
Gunter’s mouth split in a cruel grin. “Well, this is the newest favored battle plan. At your word, Death Bringer.”
I faced the army below.
One of the captains lowered his shield. “Sentry Ashwood. How good to see you. Jorvandal sends their best wishes for your union with the melder.”
They knew Lyra was my wife? How?
“Roark.” Gunter drew me back to the moment. “This begins a fight for something bigger than Jorvandal and Dravenmoor. Remember that. You are fighting for your freedom, for hers. They are not your folk anymore.”
A muscle throbbed in my jaw against the clench of my teeth.
“Ashwood.” The captain shouted again. “A gift for you and your bride from the House of Oleg at Stonegate. You and the melder slaughtered our king, so the royal house felt you both deserved much the same.”
From behind the wall of shields the Stav tossed a woman. She landed on her knees, sobbing and clutching a totem tied around her neck with a strip of leather. I knew her but did not recall her face until a bony elder was tossed beside her.
Blood stained his brow, and his silver beard was soaked in it. Injured as he was, the man went to the trembling woman and held her against his thin chest as she sobbed her frantic prayers to the gods.
They were from Skalfirth. I’d seen them the night I took Lyra. They served in Jarl Jakobson’s household.
They’d raised Lyra and Darkwin.
I lifted my ax and pointed the blade at the captain, a silent threat. He knew what would become of him should he take the next step. He’d seen me deliver much the same to ravagers and traitors time and again.
The captain used his shield to strike the man’s skull. A wet scream ripped from the woman’s throat. She wailed and padded at the old man’s head, holding her palms over the gash.
When two Stav lowered their shields, blades in hand, I made a frenzied gesture to the Draven archers to take aim. Lyra would not lose another soul she held dear. Men I once led stood down there. Most likely craved a chance to cut the throat of the traitorous Sentry.
Remnants of guilt were there…for a moment.