Chapter 28 Greta
Greta
The Blackspires were like a mouth on the horizon, an endless row of jagged teeth taking a bite out of the sky.
Greta couldn’t tear her gaze from them as she sat bundled in the back of her sled.
They were travelling so fast the wind nipped her cheeks and stole the feeling from her nose, but she had graver matters to worry about.
They had been riding north for two days.
The king’s spymaster, Elias, had gone on ahead to act as a scout, while the king himself rode at the head of his army alongside his sister, Princess Anika, who had returned from the southern isles just in time for war.
They were followed closely by Captain Vine and the First Regiment – seasoned soldiers that had fought more wars than years Greta had been alive.
Next were the regiment of beasts and war birds, overseen by the king’s wrangler and falconer, who rode together in the same sled.
Greta was glad of Aren’s company, though secretly, she wished she was back at Grinstad, singing lullabies to Saga and her cubs, and tossing snowballs with Princess Elva.
Coward, she scolded herself whenever the thought crossed her mind.
She owed it to her brother to be brave. She owed it to her family, and her king, too.
The Second Regiment carted the fire lances and cannons under the command of General Vesper Hale, while the third and final troop guarded the rear, the soldiers there riding mainly on stags and horseback.
All together they made for an impressive procession, thousands of soldiers and beasts marching ceaselessly across the vast frozen tundra of northern Gevra.
At night, Greta slept fitfully in the sled, her face turned to Aren’s as they curled up across the narrow benches, whispering to each other of half-forgotten tales from their childhoods to keep their mind off what was to come.
But war lurked along the horizon, and soon it would sweep its greedy fist across the Blackspires, scattering soldiers and beasts alike.
It was a knot in Greta’s chest, tightening with each passing hour.
She feared for her beloved animals just as fiercely as she feared for her fellow soldiers, but most of all – though she dared not utter it aloud – she feared for the life of her king, for the wild-hearted man who was so much more than his brutal reputation.
As the spill of those black mountains loomed ever closer, she found herself hoping that that fearsome reputation would help Alarik in his quest for victory, inspiring fear into the heart of the ruthless queen who sought to rip open his mountains and topple him from his throne.
When they were several miles south of the Blackspires, they stopped at the Valewood, a pale birch forest that hugged the banks of a glassy lake.
Here, they were instructed to change into their battle armour, drink their fill of water and eat what little food their nervous stomachs could handle.
After a quick lunch of bread and cured meat, Greta and Aren washed up and went to check on the animals.
Clanging awkwardly in her unwieldy silver battle armour and with her helmet cradled in the crook of her arm, Greta wandered among her beasts.
Overhead, the morning sun climbed up the seam of the sky. The snow had held off for two nights, and despite the chill in the wind, there were no clouds lying in wait, threatening to thwart them. It might have been a beautiful day if they weren’t marching into battle.
Greta lingered awhile with the ice bears, seeking out Baldur and Nel, the sisters having seen more battle than most of the soldiers in their midst. They were sitting at the far edge of the lake, their heads bent together like they were sharing a secret.
As she approached, Greta sensed the steady thrum of their heartbeats beating in perfect harmony.
‘At least you’re not frightened,’ she said, sitting between them on the frosted grass. ‘I wish I could say the same for myself.’
They blinked their big brown eyes at her, and Greta felt the sudden well of their empathy.
She wished she could curl up across their laps, but she couldn’t afford to look frightened or weak in front of the other soldiers.
There were thousands of them clustered around the lake, and yet she could pick out the king at once.
He was standing all the way across the water, dressed head to toe in shining black armour.
Even from here, she could sense he was calm, steel-eyed, ready for the horrors to come.
He cradled his helmet in one hand, the other gripping the pommel of his sword as he spoke with Captain Vine and Princess Anika, both of whom had yet to change into their armour.
Greta swallowed back the fear in her throat, but it rose again, thick as an apple.
Nel snuffled, laying a large paw on her knee to comfort her.
But Greta couldn’t shake the storm in her heart.
She was so frightened about what was coming.
She hated that her last conversation with Alarik had been about battle tactics and beast formations rather than, well …
something real. She had never thanked him for what he had done for her family, hadn’t told him how precious his friendship had become to her, how walking with him in the forest or sharing a muffin in the courtyard was always the best part of her day.
What if she never got that chance?
He jerked his chin up, casting his gaze across the lake as though he could sense the tornado of her worries.
But— No. What an absurd thought. He wasn’t looking for her.
He was assessing his beasts, making sure they were fed and watered, ready to fight.
Of course, that was it. The king of Gevra was marching into war.
Why would he spare a thought for her? Why did her foolish heart wish him to?
Greta tore her gaze away from him.
Baldur gave her a piteous look.
She sighed. ‘I know. I’m pathetic.’
The bears stiffened at a sudden rustling from the forest. All along the lake, the king’s beasts snarled. When Elias emerged from the trees on the back of his stag, followed by a stern-faced Halgardian soldier riding a weaver elk, Greta leaped to her feet and raised her hand.
The command was implicit. Be still.
A hush fell over the disquieted beasts as an entire battalion of Halgardian soldiers spilled from the Valewood, riding in full armour on elk-back. Greta’s chest loosened as King Nilas’s promised army gathered along the treeline, adding a sizable regiment to their own.
There was enough elk here to raze a thousand soldiers to the ground, to flatten the Blackspires themselves with the force of their stampede. There might even be enough to command the tide of this war. A flicker of hope took root inside Greta.
Alarik went to greet the Halgardian captain, his sister striding confidently at his side, Captain Vine on the other. Both armies spread out around the great lake, the elk dipping their mighty heads to drink their fill, while Greta called her beasts away from the water to give them room.
Time moved all too quickly after that, the armies blending seamlessly as they set off for the black mountains.
For a long while, the only sounds were the trundling of sleds, the impatient huff of the elk and the faint clanging of armour as soldier and beast journeyed on, and on, towards the Blackspires.
It was late afternoon when Greta sat bolt upright, a sharp twist of fear in her gut. Something was wrong. The beasts had stilled behind her, their hackles raised. She sprung up in the sled, searching for the source of unease. Far ahead, the king pulled Borvil to a halt and rose to his haunches.
At a nighthawk’s cry, they all looked up, spotting a flock of crimson soldiers gliding low over the Blackspires. There was a series of loud cracks, and before the king could loose a warning shout, flames poured down on them.
The beasts scattered in panic, causing several weaver elk to buck their riders.
Twenty thousand shields went up, creating a canopy of metal just in the nick of time.
Soldiers along the edges dropped and rolled along the frozen ground, desperately trying to put out the flames on their bodies.
Many collapsed in the snow, face down, the fire having scoured too deep.
Several wolves succumbed to the attack, the last of them dying with a helpless whimper that cleaved Greta’s chest in two.
She grasped the side of the sled to keep from falling to her knees, every inch of her now trembling violently.
‘ARCHERS,’ bellowed Captain Vine, and a slew of arrows flew right at the gliders.
‘FIRE LANCES!’ yelled General Hale, and more flames soared, this time towards the sky.
The gliders fell to earth, one by one. The king’s soldiers were already moving, ready to finish them off. One glider fell atop a weaver elk, skewered by a poison-sharp antler. Two more were devoured by ice bears upon landing and the rest met their deaths at the end of Gevran swords.
Greta’s stomach lurched as she watched it all from her sled, Aren’s hand finding hers in the horror. And then it was over. A paltry skirmish that had cost far too much.
‘So wasteful,’ she murmured, returning her fearful gaze to the skies, where their nighthawks were circling. In the hollow silence, they all looked up, waiting for the next onslaught of gliders.
Aren’s hand tightened around hers. ‘That wasn’t an attack,’ he said, as the air began to thrum with the steel-drummed rhythm of war. ‘It was a distraction.’
When Greta jerked her chin down, she saw Hunter’s Pass was thronged with soldiers wearing the crimson armour of Vask.
They were charging headlong at the king, the wind pounding with their war song, their swords raised and gleaming.
More of Regna’s soldiers poured in from the east and west foothills, moving like red-bellied insects across the dark mountains, claiming the border in an unbroken line of crimson and steel.
Overhead, the skies heaved with more gliders, and fire fell like snow, felling beasts and soldiers where they stood. Greta froze inside the sled, her head spinning at the sudden chaos of war. It had come upon them like a blizzard, far closer and much sooner than she was expecting.
She wasn’t ready.
How could she ever be ready for something like this?
Everywhere she looked, the king’s soldiers were hoisting their shields and drawing their swords, tripping over themselves as they fell into hasty formation.
The flames had sent the elk into panic, rearing and grunting as their riders grappled for control.
Beasts whined and roared, desperately seeking direction.
‘Greta!’ Aren was shaking her. ‘Look at me! Focus!’
She blinked, her eyes streaming at the onslaught of gunpowder and smoke.
The ground was full of snow and the sky was full of fire, and soldiers were screaming.
They were dying. The clash and clamour of battle raged with such sudden, pounding fury, she had to concentrate on Aren’s lips just to hear what he was saying.
‘Your helmet!’ When she didn’t move, he yanked it from her hands and jammed it over her head. She could smell metal and blood now, his voice echoing in the tinny surrounds. ‘You have to go to the beasts! You have to command them! Your king needs you!’
Your king needs you.
Greta careened back into herself with a violent jolt. She shook off her horror and shoved away her fear. Her beasts were frightened. The flames were startling them, hurting them, and they were hopelessly out of formation. She had to corral them, to show them where to go, and who to fight.
She had to defend the king.
Alarik. She had to help Alarik.
Where the hell was Alarik?
She climbed on to the bench, straining to see through the fire and smoke.
The entire First Regiment had descended into combat, the armies clashing violently as they fought for control of the foothills.
Panic clawed at Greta’s throat as she searched for a man in black armour.
He was there, right on the front line, the blade of his sword gleaming red as he brought it down, over and over again.
He roared in tandem with Borvil as they ripped through a line of soldiers, the king slashing viciously at anyone in his path as they pushed hard and fast towards Hunter’s Pass.
Desperate to reclaim the path Regna had dared to seize.
There was no sign of the Vaskan queen on the front line.
Rotten coward, thought Greta, as she returned her gaze to Alarik, a king riding and fighting for his country.
He was not alone at the helm of his army.
Princess Anika was guarding his back. She was easily discernible now by her glittering pearlescent armour and the sheath of blood-red hair tumbling out of her helmet.
She was riding a Gevran stag, wielding a pair of battle axes that were at least half her size.
She brandished them with the ease of a lumberjack, spraying a sea of blood wherever she went.
The Felsings were as loyal and ferocious as each other. Beautiful and brutal. Gevran to the bone. The sight of them defending their kingdom without a breath of fear or hesitation made Greta’s heart pound like a war drum.
A new strength rippled through her. The king and the princess of Gevra were giving every inch of themselves to this battle – to this land – without a second thought for themselves. She owed it to them to do the same, to seize every drop of courage in her heart and rise to this new challenge.
For today, for her king, Greta could be a beast, too.
She leaped from the sled, her breath hissing out of her as she ran towards the animals, yelling her first command.
They surrounded her, fearless and growling for blood. Greta took heart in their bravery as she went to work, corralling the wolves, snow leopards and tigers into an urgent attack formation, while ordering the bears into a vicious wall of defence.
As more of Regna’s forces spilled out from the pass and pierced the east flank of the First Regiment, Greta mounted a running wolf and thundered into the mouth of battle, her command pouring from her like a war cry. ‘CHARGE!’