Chapter 31 #2
There were three. I took them in at a glance.
Warriors in the familiar accoutrement of the Borderlands.
Long hair, braided at the sides, close to their scalps.
Armored leather tunics with fur at the shoulders.
Arm guards. Scabbards at their backs, empty now.
They wielded their swords before them, the sharp tips pointed at us.
Warriors of the Borderlands and not Stig’s soldiers. That was something. A definite relief.
I blinked, recognizing one of them. “Magnus!” I cried.
He was one of the warriors who had accompanied Fell into the skog.
I had rescued him alongside Fell and Mari and Vidar from the huldra.
He had been kind to me, singing my praises after that enterprise as soon as we reached the Borg.
I was a hero in his eyes. Now those eyes skimmed over me to land on Fell.
“Magnus,” Fell breathed in relief, some of the tension ebbing from him.
“My lord!” he cried, lowering his sword. “You’re alive!” He gaped, staring at him for one long moment before quickly shaking his head and dropping onto one knee in deference.
Magnus shot a quick glance to each of the equally astonished warriors beside him, nudging one of them hard. The other two followed suit, dropping to their knees gracelessly.
“Stand. Rise to your feet,” Fell hastily assured them.
Reaching a hand for Magnus, he pulled the man into him with a back-smacking embrace. Magnus’s face flushed with pleasure, but there was something else there, too. A shifty-eyed tension that belied his seeming good cheer.
Then Magnus’s gaze returned to me. If possible, his eyes grew even wider.
“My lady,” he said, as though the sight of me was even more shocking than the sight of his lordship.
“It is good to see you.” His attention lingered on me, and I began to feel a slow trickle of unease, knowing he must have heard about my encounter with Stig.
The bloody whipping. My escape. “Wonderful to see both of you,” he quickly added with a heavy gust of breath.
He looked to Fell again. “We thought you were … everyone said …” His voice faded, and he flushed, as though feeling guilty for believing the news of Fell’s death.
“Dead?” Fell supplied as Magnus seemed rather conflicted about saying it aloud.
Magnus nodded with a wince. “We searched for you at length, my lord.” He shook his head as though to clear it. “Where have you been?”
Fell and I exchanged looks. “It’s a long story.”
One of the warriors shook out a little laugh. “I imagine so.”
Magnus cast his comrade a withering look. “I am certain his lordship will explain all in good time. Presently, let’s escort them back home.” Again, Magnus shot me a worrisome look, clearly fretting bringing me back to the Borg given Stig’s bloodlust for me.
Fell had suggested I wait, hide in the Borg until all was settled and he was reinstated.
“You’re daft if you think I’m letting you out of my sight … and for what? So that you can march into the Borg and challenge Stig without me covering your back?” At the time of our discussion, I’d dug in my heels and shaken my head resolutely. “Not happening.”
“Are you scouting?” Fell asked, pulling me back to the present moment. “This far from the Borg?”
The three warriors looked at one another as though this was a complicated question. It didn’t feel right. None of this did. The tiny hairs on my neck prickled, my skin tightening.
Fell noted it, too. He moved his head in that animal way of his again, looking from me to these men who had served him so faithfully. There was more to them being out here than merely scouting, but they did not seem willing to say it.
“Shall we?” Magnus motioned us to continue.
Fell nodded, taking my arm. He kept me close to his side, guiding me as we began walking again, our steps crunching over the snow. My gaze trailing land and sky, uneasiness seething beneath my skin. The emergence of these warriors had not lessened my disquiet.
“We searched long and hard for you, my lord. Still do, in fact.” He shot another peculiar look my way and then quickly glanced away.
Fell’s expression lightened, and I knew what he was thinking.
He was thinking it a good thing that they still searched and had not given up on him.
At least his warriors had not. I’m certain the same could not be said for the soldiers Stig had brought north with him.
The warriors of Fell’s army, however, still cared enough about him to send out scouting parties.
They had not given up, and they would be happy for his—for our—return.
So why did I still feel this unease? Why did I still sense danger lurking ahead? We were so close to the Borg. And yet not there. Not yet. We still passed through the Crags.
Perhaps this was me from now on. Forever. This damaged and hunted thing that could never feel relaxed and at home in my skin. Perhaps I would spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder and jumping at every sudden sound.
Or perhaps it was more substantial than that.
Because, I vowed … I could feel them.
Whoever they were. I sensed them out there, tracking us, their eyes fastened on us, hawks stalking prey.
I was not wrong.
They came out of nowhere, swarming us. We could not defend against them. Not as we were. Not as they were. Three of them versus five of us—five seeming humans against a flock of—
“Tamsyn! Get down!”
I stood frozen, shocked as the harpies came at us in a blur, a shrill screech of sinewed bodies flying through the trees and diving for us. They were not nearly as large as dragons, but their claws were still big, longer, and their teeth … more.
Their mouths opened wide to reveal several rows of razor-sharp teeth. Aside from that, their faces were very human in appearance, only angular with sharp, slashing lines that marked them as predators. Long hair that looked greasy and unclean flowed from their scalps. They were terrifying.
I felt the familiar fire swelling in me, eating up my windpipe, expanding my throat. Smoke steamed from my nose and gathered in front of my face in great smoldering gusts.
I caught a glimpse of Fell. He shook his head fiercely at me and mouthed the words: No. Don’t.
And I understood.
I couldn’t change. Couldn’t reveal my dragon. My secret. Our secret. Not in front of Magnus and the others.
I swallowed down my heat, pushing the char and ash low into my belly.
We fought with weapons. And yet brute force, swinging swords were no match for these hellish creatures.
They were skilled at evasion, winding like serpents in the air, dodging the cut of blades, their mouths wide with shrill screams, hands slashing, their long nails making ribbons out of human flesh.
A few of Fell’s swings landed. Black blood sprayed the air, but the harpies did no more than shriek and keep going. The only way to vanquish them would be to transform into something equally formidable. And yet we could not.
Fell and Magnus wedged me between them to shield me.
The other two warriors fell beneath the flurry, the snow turning to red slush.
We continued to fight. Fell and Magnus, hacking and slicing with their swords.
Magnus swung his great sword with both hands, cleaving the thick skull of a harpy. His sword remained imbedded in her head, and Magnus pitched forward as she fell back, taking him with her, her death scream splitting the air.
So they weren’t invulnerable.
And yet I was exposed without Magnus before me.
One of the harpies spotted the opportunity and dove for me.
I braced myself for the collision, for the blow to come, the tear of teeth and nails into me, but Fell suddenly appeared, shoving me out of the creature’s path and slashing his sword across the harpy’s midsection.
Guts spilling, she veered off sharply with a howl, clutching the slippery slide of her entrails.
“Go!” Fell shouted in my direction. “Run!”
I jerked and gawked, shaking my head, not about to leave him to this, to them.
“Go!” he insisted. “I’ll catch up with you. Now go! Make your way to the Borg!” He whirled in a circle and brought his sword down on another harpy as she bent over one of the warriors, working to finish him off in a wild storm of razor nails.
Fell whirled in a circle and cleanly severed the wing from the harpy he had disemboweled. Tar-like blood spewed from her.
“Now!” Fell roared, sparing me a quick glance.
I turned and fled, hoping one or more of these creatures would follow me, and I would show them the real me, safely transforming without any of Fell’s warriors around to serve as witnesses.
Blood pounded in my ears as I tore through the trees, not bothering to go quietly. I hoped they heard me. Hoped they tracked me.
Come. Come and get me.
It didn’t sound as though anyone gave pursuit, but I did not let up. I ran, carrying myself far away. I pushed and pushed, lifting my knees, pumping my arms hard. Strange animal sounds filled my ears, and only dimly did I realize the sounds were coming from me. It was me. I was the animal.
Gasping, I finally pulled to a stop, flinging myself against a tree, hugging it, pressing my cheek against the rough scratch of cold bark, digging my fingers into its solidity until I felt my nails give and crack from the pressure.
Saliva flooded my mouth from my sprint, and I worked to swallow it down.
There were no harpies coming for me. There was no one. No Fell.
I was alone.
No Fell.
I needed him like air within me … like fire.
I could not endure the loss of him again.
I strained my ears, listening for the distant sound of Fell or Magnus. Hopefully the other two warriors were only injured and not dead.
I turned my head in the direction I had come. I could not do as he asked. I could not leave him.
A sound cracked behind me.
I spun around, ready to face a harpy, ready to introduce my monster to another monster.
It all happened so quickly. They surrounded me in a blur. There were so many of them—so many faces. Too many.
Warriors on horseback smelling of onions and sweat and death.
Eyes peered out at me from beneath the steel visors of helms that I well recognized. These weren’t Northmen.
I took in the shining armor and well-groomed beards in an instant. These were soldiers from the City, the home of my youth, the place where I ate pain and abuse alongside my morning oats.
Eyes narrowed on me, and I knew they recognized me, too.
Before I could move, before I could speak, a figure atop a horse charged me with a war cry.
The rushing hooves matched the blood pounding in my ears.
I squeaked and scurried back as those hooves reared over my head.
They crashed directly before me, spraying snow everywhere in a fine, powdery haze.
There was a thud of boots hitting the ground, and then the gleaming pommel of a sword flashed through the miasma of snow as it lifted and came down, down, down—hurtling, racing toward my face before I could react, before I could move, before I could let out a sound.
I glimpsed the heavy chalk color of dragon bone, and then a cold, heavy weight cracked me in the head in a dazzling burst of icy pain.
My legs gave out like snapping kindling. I crumpled and folded as blackness dragged me under, pulling me into nothingness, toward a sucking void.
A helmed figure, resplendent in armor, stood over me, limned in the pale light of the morning, looking down at me as the world grew dimmer and dimmer.
He clenched the sword that had rendered me senseless between his gloved hands. Almost senseless. I fought, clinging desperately to consciousness, my bleary gaze landing on the fuzzy face of my attacker.
No. It couldn’t be. Not here.
Not again.
I opened my mouth and tried to form words … to speak the name.
I wasn’t sure if any sound emerged from my lips, but it vibrated through me just the same as I slid into darkness.
Stig.