Chapter 49
Lyra
Auki took his sister’s hand. “Use òlmr. Don’t get distracted by Darkwin, Brynn. We don’t know how he will fare. Choose you, please. Choose you if it goes wrong.”
“Hush, Auki,” Brynn said, a slight tremble in her voice.
“Thank the gods,” said Kael. “It is rather disconcerting to hear how you demand my death before going into battle.”
“Would you not say the same if the prince was melded with corrupt bones and might turn on Lyra, Darkwin?”
“I suppose.” Kael faced Auki, sturdier since two of his bones had been removed and, no doubt, the bond he did not see was strengthening. He held out an arm for Auki to take. “I swear to you, I will ram a blade through my own skull if I feel the berserksgangur taking hold.”
Auki pinned him with a look but took hold of Kael’s bulky arm. “Do that, Darkwin. But more, try to survive.”
My stomach turned over. I hated this line of talk, hated the thought of losing a single face in our numbers, but I could not turn away.
Brynn frowned at her brother. “Enough. We focus. We fight. We all return.”
I closed my eyes. Emi finished securing my hair off my neck. She’d been somber most of the morning. No doubt thoughts of her father plagued her mind. She tapped my shoulder, and I spun around. Without a word, Emi set about painting my face in runes and long lines of kohl.
Next to her, Thane helped Yrsa secure a leather gambeson over her body. “You remember how we’ve sparred?”
The princess shoved his shoulder. “I am better with knives than you.”
“Only because I am ridiculously skilled with the bow.”
“The shore of the fjords is taken.” A low voice stirred me from my moment of pause. Gunter, his father, and a handful of Dark Watch warriors stepped next to me. A strain burrowed in Gunter’s brow. “Fadey burnt their damn longships. He plans to win or die today.”
“You’re sure?” I straightened.
“It is a message,” Yanson said. “Dravenmoor will be his.”
“We saw Virki.” Gunter’s bright eyes shadowed when he looked to Emi. “Took four wolves with him and displays the white wolf on his chest.”
The warriors behind us pounded fists against the double-headed ravens over their gambesons, like the truth of Virki’s betrayal ached through the threads.
“Make way for the queen!”
The Dark Watch parted like an even darker sea. Elisabet strode through, her hair tied in dark leather, her eyes darkened in powders, and lines of white paint carved through her lips. At her side, Roark followed. Kyrre bounded across the space, nudging my hip until I scratched his thick head.
The wolf sat at my side, tongue flapping.
Across from me, Roark was a prince of beautiful nightmares. The dark strands of his hair were braided off his face, and the runes of protection and strength I’d painted down his forehead were slightly smeared from the heat of the sun.
A slight tug teased the center of my chest. A signal he could still feel the pull of our bond through the rage stirring from his trapped soul.
No lines, I mouthed.
Roark smirked, then turned to where his mother stepped forward.
“For seasons this battle for ancient powers has been fought in small acts of violence, with corruption, but now we end it. Today we fight for not only Dravenmoor, we fight for all lands, all craft. We fight for our lives. There is no fate where we fall today, I refuse to believe it. We owe our blades, our strength, our very lives to those who’ve gone before us, fighting for a land, for the people they loved. We honor them by living today!”
The Dark Watch pounded their fists over their chests. Unfettered Folk slammed the ends of their spears against the soil, and a breathless sort of chant from their chests followed.
“We take our places in battle,” Elisabet went on. “I pray we meet off the field today. But if not, speak of our bravery and honor to those in Salur.”
The queen raised her sword.
We did the same, a wave of steel cutting over leather sheaths. Spears, bearded axes, and swords, all pointed toward the somber morning sky.
The next move divided archers and foot warriors for their first marks.
Roark pushed through the bustle and gripped my arm, pulling me against his chest. One palm trapped my face.
His scorching red eyes were encircled with dark veins from the poison, but he looked down at me like he wanted to burn my features into his thoughts.
“I will see you soon.” My voice croaked.
Roark opened his palm over my heart and tapped my chest three times. Yours, body and soul.
“Stay alive, Ashwood.”
He kissed me quickly. Then he tore away, like he had to break it or he never would.
“Ready to have some fun, Ly?” Thane shouldered a bow and covered his head with a thick wool hood.
I did the same and fell in next to the prince. The archers were led by Kaysar and another man with a shorn head inked with a wolf skull that looked as though it was devouring him. We took the back road up the knolls at a slow run, crouching in our positions.
“We send the signal,” Kaysar insisted. “Lyra Bien.”
I jolted from the brisk tone.
He grinned. “This has been your battle since before you were born. Will you begin it, so you might finally end it?”
I blinked, a little stunned, but Thane winked from beneath his hood and handed me one of his arrows. A Dark Watch dipped the point in a pungent oil, then sparked a flame.
I blew out a breath, drawing my bowstring taut against my cheek. Straight ahead, dark rows of Stav Guard awaited their own fates. Was Edvin there? Was Gisli, Hilda’s kindhearted husband, forced to fight for Stonegate?
I could not think of it now.
Today, I fought for the whole of the realms. I waited for craft to summon the bone to me. A glitter of dainty ribbons unfurled from the arrow shaft, reaching for the nearest shoulder, thigh, or skull.
Golden threads rippled over the knolls, the mists, until they danced around the neck of a Berserkir on the front line. An opening between his hardened soul bones. In one small spot on the side of his throat, there was room for more.
The moment the threads of craft found their first mark, I let the arrow fly.
A guttural shout of pain echoed over the field when the Berserkir jolted back, the flaming arrow lodged into his neck. Fire licked around his shoulders and chest, devouring him as he fell.
He landed backward, causing the front line to scramble to avoid being set aflame. Stav Guard rumbled and repositioned. Some lifted shields. Others crouched a little deeper.
Fadey looked up to the top knoll. The burn of his rage dug beneath the skin. He pointed his sword toward the place where I’d fired.
When his blade fell, a battle ignited.
The flood of the Dark Watch shuddered across the damp soil. At the castle, horns blared from behind the Shield Riders, warning of our approach. Stav formed tight units. The Dark Watch struck swifter.
“Set those shields ablaze like the molten hell!” Kaysar shouted.
I stood and fired with the archers. Another wave of burning arrows assaulted the flanks where Shield Riders took comfort.
Myrdan warriors cried out when burning arrows caught the wood of their shields.
Men scrambled to be free of the shields tied to their arms. Some fell from their steeds, the horses fleeing from the inferno.
Screams mingled with the falling warriors. The Dark Watch, led by the queen and by Roark, collided with the front row of Berserkirs. A collision of steel and blood burst between the two sides.
Thane was ruthless with his shots, calculated, merciless. He killed a man who went for Yrsa before the Stav could even finish lifting his blade. Another breath and the prince had a Shield Rider pinned to a tree, an arrow through his skull.
I hunted for Fadey.
He was a ghost, a haunt. His steps were calculated and carefully placed to keep him shielded. I had few doubts he would keep his presence hidden until he wanted. Shot after shot, we rained down blood on the enemy.
At the final arrow, Kaysar drew a dark seax blade. “Our next move begins now. I will meet you on the battlefield!”
The reply of Salur or drinking horns was returned.
“Lyra.” Thane faced me, a new somberness in his tone. “Should I fall out there, I have been honored to know you.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat, my short blade in my hand. “And you, Prince.”
We ran forward, into the fray.
My sword struck a Stav’s blade. We locked, spun, and dodged until I sliced the back of his leg. At my back, another warrior came. And another.
Focus forward. Roark’s sparring lessons reeled with the matches between me and Kael. I was no warrior, but I was buried with fury. Rage for my folk who’d died to hide me. Loathing for Nivek’s pointless death. Anger for the pain Roark had endured for most of his life.
I cried out when my sword slammed against another Stav. I was shorter but moved swifter than most warriors in their bulky guarders and armor.
I’d use it.
My cuts and stabs went to ribs, to thighs, to the tendons at the backs of knees.
In a matter of moments, my face was splattered in hot, sticky blood, and my muscles throbbed for more.
Auki fought nearby. His graceful motions were a dance of blood. Stav Guard dropped, screaming, when he would strike, then from between the warriors a fara wolf attacked, tearing at their heads and bellies.
Gunter and his father kept close to Emi and Yrsa. The princess spoke true: she was mesmerizing in the way she flung knives. The small blades struck throats and hearts. If her targets did not fall from the strike, Emi came up behind them and snapped their necks with her craft.
Thane slammed his sword against his own army with the same unbridled animosity written on his features.
He cursed them. Shouted in their faces. He shoved his sword deep in their chests.
Next to him, Brynn cried out, stumbling over a blow from a Stav at her back.
òlmr leapt over a fallen Dark Watch warrior, her paws crushing the Stav into the soil.
Two paces from Brynn, Kael stood, unmoving. There was a twist of pain on his face.
No. The draw to fall into the bloodlust of the Berserkir was there. He watched the fara wolf tear into the Stav. He looked to Brynn, who reached for her fallen sword as another Stav rushed for her.
Kael took aim at Brynn.
“No!” I screamed. “Kael, no!”
His sword sliced through the air.
The edge cut through the Stav Guard aiming for Brynn. The guard stumbled forward, falling half over Brynn’s legs.
Kael ripped his blade free of the man’s neck and yanked Brynn back to her feet by her hand. Chest to chest, they studied each other, their faces bloodied. For a moment, there was the old Kael in those eyes, looking at the only soul who soothed his.
They broke apart and battled side by side.
I looked for Roark, searched the burn in my chest, desperate to find him. Something tugged in the spot behind my heart and turned me around.
Near the edge of the Berserkir line, I found him.
The Draven prince reminded the Stav Guard he once served why Damir had named him the Death Bringer, why an enemy had become the Sentry of Stonegate.
Roark’s manipulated eyes shone so vibrantly they seemed to glow.
His anger was written in the sharp lines of his face, but it served us well.
All my husband’s rage was pointed at the warriors who could not be defeated.
Yet the longer they stood against Roark, the more it seemed the trapped soul in his blood snuffed out their every weakness.
Seax blade in hand, Roark fought with a finesse I envied. As if battle were second nature, he chopped at the sturdy bones, again and again, until a Berserkir fell to his knees. From behind, Elisabet and Dark Watchers materialized and slit their throats.
It didn’t take me long to realize that Roark and the queen were moving with intention.
They aimed for the back knoll. Ingir and Hundur.
Doubtless, Roark’s binding curse was not only to pain me.
It was for this moment. Fadey and Ingir did not want to risk what Skul Drek would do if he was loosed on the Stav Guard.
A scream came from the trees.
I reeled around. Tucked behind the thick oaks, a Shield Rider had Jordis pinned. Jordis was on a direct path to the knoll, spear in hand. Doubtless, the woman was aiming toward Ingir, much the same as Roark, merely from the other side.
I ran for the rider, cutting at thighs and ribs as I sprinted for Nivek’s wife. By the time I made it to the tree line, the Shield Rider was off his charge and had the rim of his shield tucked under Jordis’s chin.
She kicked and thrashed.
Blood dripped from the rider, his skull, his hand, his arm. Open wounds.
“Unfettered bitch,” he snarled. “What I could do to tame a savage like you.”
I let the seax in my hand fall. In the next breath, I clambered up the rider’s back, using his straps and leathers for grip and footing.
He shouted in alarm and stumbled. I curled my arms around his throat, clinging to his neck for balance, then pressed two fingers against the gash on his head.
Brilliant gold cords of craft dug into his skin, more rapidly than normal.
The roar of craft was deafening in my skull. The touch held more heat.
It was as though the power in my blood knew what was at stake and went to battle with me.
The rider screamed when the thin side of his skull cracked and shifted, melting into the hinge of his jaw. I twisted his bones, shrinking his skull with every shift. Jordis kicked the shield off her body.
Her eyes burned. She snatched her spear and thrust the point through the innards of the rider. The man stumbled, his head misshapen enough that his eye sockets had shifted and his nose looked as though it sagged on his face.
Blood fountained over his lips.
He landed on his knees. Jordis’s lip curled when she ripped her spear from his belly. I released the rider and let him fall facedown.
My shoulders heaved. I doubled over my knees.
Jordis placed a palm on my shoulder. “You are horrifying.”
I grinned. “As are you. Are you going for the Jorvan queen?”
“Roark needs her gone, and I can aim from quite a distance. Elisabet said she would go for Nivek’s uncle, his killer, once the queen is gone. Then we all point our blades at Fadey.”
I would claim Fadey. It felt as though fate demanded it. “I will keep your path open.”
Jordis didn’t argue. She simply nodded, and together we raced through the trees.