Chapter 34 #2
He just shakes his head and moves to the railing, taking in the band of warriors approaching in the near distance. They carry lit torches and are armed with bows and arrows. A dark cloud of what looks like crows screeches above their heads.
In the last of the day’s golden light, I can make out their bronze leathers and their flag, and the malevolent grins on each of their faces. There aren’t many. A few dozen, perhaps.
Surely we can take them.
Colden flings out both hands, sending shards of ice flying down the road. I watch with bated breath. Could it be this easy?
The rider at the front holds his fist to the sky, and a circle of fire forms mid-air—a flaming all-seeing eye. It doesn’t so much as wink when Colden’s icy daggers strike its center, exploding against the flames in a hiss of steam.
We look at one another.
“What the fuck is that?” I say.
The muscles in Colden’s strong jaws leap. “That would be Summerland fire magick, I do believe.”
“What? But…how?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, love.” He glances east to west. Unfazed, he lifts his hands, summoning the power of ice and frost into the cradle of his palms.
Shivering, I blink, and in that instant, a wall begins to rise between Winterhold and the enemy.
There’s a resonating hum as blue-white energy coalesces from the frost and snow, filling the air.
It creates a crystalline barrier of quickly forming translucent ice that races along the village wall for as far as the eye can see and surges skyward, high as the castle's tallest spires.
By the time the prince and his warriors reach Winterhold’s main gate, there’s no way in.
Voices fill the air, cheers erupting across the courtyard and along the ramparts. The men with us in the watchtower slap Colden on the back, elated by this feat of sheer domination from our king. Though mesmerized, I even start to smile.
Colden shrugs off the praise, narrows his gaze on the ice, and shouts, “Protect the gate!” He rushes to the western side of the tower, looking down over villagers celebrating with their swords and shields raised in the air. “Do you hear me? Protect the gate!”
Gripping one of the posts, I try to see beyond the ice. What can only be a ball of fire slams into the frigid wall with a thud I feel in my bones. The ice rocks and creaks, then a terrible sound echoes across the courtyard.
Cracking.
Colden spins around and pushes me toward the ladder. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
He grabs one of the watchtower guard’s horns and blows into it three short times—a signal different from the main alarm—to garner the villagers’ attention. When they fall quiet, the fracturing of the ice can be heard loud and clear.
Every eye looks to the wall, then the courtyard descends into chaos.
Colden sends me down the ladder first, and though my strength is gone and my pulse is racing, I do well—until my foot hits a rung slick with frost.
I slip but manage to grab hold of the next rung down as I fall.
Heart thundering against my breastbone, I glance up at Colden. He stares down at me, nostrils flaring, but even amid his frustration, I see his love for me. “Don’t you dare disobey me ever again,” he says. “I will throw you over my knee.”
I’m too rattled to know what I’m doing, but I smile sheepishly and shrug, then keep moving.
Another thud of impact. This time, the wall groans.
“Go, Nephele!” Colden shouts. “Hurry!”
When my feet hit the ground, I stumble backward, my knees trembling. Colden jumps off the third rung and grabs me, rushing toward the castle.
More fire strikes the wall behind us, thud after thud, until an unnatural rumble shakes the world as the frozen blockade shatters.
Colden yanks me down and covers my head as a curved, glacial shield forms above us.
As ice pelts the shield, people across the courtyard cry out in agony. Wood splinters, steel clangs, arrows scream, and the thunder of hooves beat the ground.
“If I tell you to stay put,” Colden says, “you’re not going to listen, are you?”
I pretend to think about it. “Not a chance.”
“Then stay alive. That’s all I ask.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I grip the hilt of my sword, and Colden holds out his hand. Chilly, crackling energy skitters over his skin and between his fingers. When he throws the shield of ice aside, we both come up ready for a fight.
Eastland warriors pour through the opening in the wall and flood the courtyard, followed by a flock of squawking crows that spread over Winterhold as surely as the falling twilight.
Some riders bolt toward the village, hoisting torches and flaming arrows.
Aggression rolls off them, all for people who have never harmed anyone.
My exhaustion vanishes, my energy renewed by rage and pure adrenaline.
Colden and I move into the fray. Fire has already taken hold of every watchtower, and the guards inside are trapped and screaming for help.
My king blasts the tower we just fled with frost, quickly dousing the fire. The guards grab their weapons and join the melee.
The haze of disbelief clouds my mind as I look around, cold shock gripping me in its unrelenting hand. Already, many of the villagers and witches who came to defend Winterhold lie dead, their bodies burned to silhouettes of ash in the snow.
And above, on the ramparts. More ash, staining the castle’s stones as if their bodies had been flash-burned into the rock.
From behind my shield, I watch the invaders closely.
When they nock their arrows, the tips burst into a living flame before release.
And when they strike their target, that flame doesn’t just burn them.
It infects, destroying from the inside, until fire pours from their mouths and eyes, incinerating their bodies until there is nothing left but ash.
Gods. If this is happening here, then it happened in the valley, too.
In Silver Hollow.
A warrior eyes me and turns his horse my way, brandishing his sword. I try to summon my magick. Even a drop. But there’s nothing left.
My heart hammers mercilessly. I’ve never fought like this. Only training fights with Colden, Alexus, and others from Winterhold. It’s never been life or death.
It is now.
The rider approaches. On horseback, he has the advantage of momentum, height, and reach. This is the least ideal situation for an attack, but I ready myself.
He picks up speed, charging. All I can do is spin out of the way, ducking to avoid the swing of his blade.
As he turns his horse around, he smiles, baring his teeth, as if killing me is a game. I have no doubt that he’s going to hunt me down, and I have no way to truly defend myself from this type of attack.
His horse’s hoofbeats grow loud in my ears, and I lift my sword. Before he reaches me, bluish ice begins branching up the warrior’s legs, crystals forming and spreading over his torso, then climbing along his arms, until it finally engulfs his head.
He falls from his beast, which races past me, leaving behind an ice statue on the ground.
I scour the courtyard skirmish, searching for Colden. More frozen warriors litter the grounds as he fights, some only with patches of ice covering their noses and mouths, suffocating them in short order.
Two men advance on me, and my nerves suddenly turn to steel. I’ve been honed for this very moment for eight years.
The swing of my blade and the clang of our swords make the fury within me sing. These men brought war to our land. They likely slaughtered hundreds, and they will slaughter more if I don’t end them.
Instinct takes over. I block and parry and strike, taking down warrior after warrior, none of them expecting much fight from the fair-haired waif as they face me in the falling light.
It becomes a bloody dance, avoiding flaming arrows and swinging blades, even as I stab, gut, and destroy.
I lose sight of Colden, and that makes me smile. If he thought I needed him, he would be fighting at my back.
Behind me, horses grunt and scream. I turn to find the stables on fire and the village burning. Eastland warriors storm the castle, too. Thankfully, we got most everyone out of Winterhold in time.
I almost follow the Eastlanders into my home.
It would be easier to kill them inside a place completely foreign to them.
But around the bend in the road that vanishes behind the castle and winds through the village, enemy horses appear, hitched to some of our enclosed wagons built for transporting animals in the frigid northern weather.
What in the devils are they doing?
I step back and blend into the scenery as they ride past, coming to a stop near the main gate. Quickly, I scan the courtyard again for Colden. When I spot him, my heart seizes, and my blood runs cold as the ice living in my lover’s veins.
A few strides from the wagons, the prince holds Colden suspended against the remains of the ice wall. Crimson shadows coil around my king’s limbs, pinning him like a butterfly for all to see. Two Eastlanders fasten iron cuffs around Colden’s wrists and ankles, mocking him.
Panic flashes through my body like a streaking flame. I run toward him, but stumble to a sudden stop when the prince’s shadows retreat, and Colden falls to the ground in a powerless heap.
Eastland warriors are on my king before he can so much as lift his head, burdening him further by adding more iron chains. Though he fights like a bear, they drag him to the closest wagon, toss him inside, and seal him away.
Iron stifles godly power, and Colden’s power came from Neri. He’s defenseless now.
I have to get him out.
With dark determination and single-minded focus, I move toward the prince. My blood-covered sword is gripped tight as I step over body after body between us, Eastlanders and Northlanders alike.
With a black crow at rest on his shoulder, the prince momentarily presses his palm to the door of Colden’s wagon, then turns to mount his horse. Before he swings up, he looks over the courtyard and spies me stalking right for him, sword ready. I’m not far now.
His black eyes, glinting in the firelight burning all around us, sparkle with the excitement of a fight. He even readies his shadows. They rise in the air around him like red, nebulous ribbons dancing in the wind, just waiting to lash out and stop me.
They don’t get the chance.
A Northlander I recognize but don’t know rushes in front of me, his meaty arms spread as if to shield me.
“Leave Miss Bloodgood alone!” the man orders the prince, his voice trembling. Then he glances over his shoulder at me. “Nephele, get back,” he says, as if we’re on a first-name basis, and as if he has the authority to tell me what to do. Stupid man.
Wounded though it is, the prince’s entire countenance changes. He tilts his dark head, and those eyes of endless night settle on me so wholly that I swear I feel his stare caressing my soul. Tasting it.
Faster than I can blink, his shadows whip out and wrap around the Northlander’s throat, crushing it on impact.
“No!” I stumble back as the man crumples at my feet. I glare at the prince and sweep my arm in a wide arc. “You will pay dearly for all of this.”
“Will I?” he asks.
His shadows turn and come for me. I slice my sword at them, finding nothing but air.
The shadows disarm me. Quickly, they yank my arms behind my back, curl around my wrists and ankles, then slam me to the cold ground.
As I gasp to catch my breath, the prince strolls over and squats low. He pushes my hair away from my eyes, and I do my best to peer up at him, one side of my face pressed against the frigid earth.
“Nephele Bloodgood, is it? How interesting. And nice to meet you.”
“Go rot, you spineless bastard,” I grit out, spitting across the dirt.
The prince just smiles and jerks his chin at his men. “Bring her and round up the others. Gag them. The last thing we need are wagons filled with singing witches.” He stands, that cruel grin still curling the corner of his lips. “I believe we have what we came for.”