Chapter 29 #2
An explosion rocked the air, shaking the walls and knocking warriors on their arses.
But Kassandr gripped the wall, laughing like a fool at the scene upon the water.
A perimeter of burnt and overturned Urkan ships encircled where the fireship had been moments ago.
Warriors floundered in the water under the weight of their chain mail, while berserkers rushed to douse the flames of a dozen burning ships.
But as Kassandr’s gaze found the largest warship—the one housing King Ivar and Prince Bjorn—he frowned.
It was unmarred.
Commands were shouted, too far off for Kassandr to hear. A prickle of unease slid down his neck as he watched the warriors abandon their efforts to extinguish the fires. Instead, they took up the oars. Started rowing the flaming ships toward the inner river gate.
A cold pit of dread opened in Kassandr’s stomach.
“They will burn the gate!” he shouted. “Stop that ship!”
Volk loosed a piercing whistle, and the reserve fleet waiting in the back channel surged into the river. But as Kassandr’s gaze jumped from the Zagadkian fleet to the flaming ships drifting toward Kovograd’s timber gates, he knew they’d be too late.
“Curse the one who built this city entirely of wood!” he bellowed. His beast raged, howled, battered against him. All the while, Kassandr’s mind raced for another plan.
But it was time. Kassandr already felt the shifting of his flesh, the lengthening of his limbs and backbone. Spines burst from his flesh, claws tearing through his knuckles. Kassandr rolled his neck, then stood on his hind legs. And tilting his beastly head back, he loosed an earsplitting howl.
Kassandr took in the glorious moment when the berserkers paused their frenzied attempts to climb their ladders. Gazed up at him with dawning horror. For in that moment, they beheld his animal nature, and discovered the secret Zagadka had long hidden away.
Behind him, Kassandr’s brothers and sisters in arms shifted into their animal forms. The confusion and disbelief on the faces of his enemies made Kassandr smile wide.
Then he leaped from the stockade walls.
And at last, his beast tasted blood.
The scarf tied over Saga’s nose did little to quell the foul smell of the dim, flameless room.
A dozen or so women sat silently in chairs, spooning horrid ingredients into ceramic flasks before carefully passing them to their neighbor.
Saga, leader of this grim operation, had placed herself at the end of the line.
Her mind was numb with all that had happened but she was glad to have something to busy her hands.
Elisava passed her a flask filled with putrid-smelling rock salts, ashes, tree resin, and lard, and Saga slid the stopper into place with all the control she could muster.
“The warfire,” the mountain cat shifter Grigorii had informed her, “will catch under sunlight. You must keep it in darkness, sealed within the flask.” According to Grigorii, the mixture within the flasks would catch on almost anything—water included.
It certainly sounded effective against the enemy, though Saga wished it weren’t such a danger to handle.
The women Elisava had brought to her were all members of Zagadkian nobility, yet the fact that none were afraid to get their hands dirty immediately endeared them to Saga.
Nonetheless, there had been more than one cutting look sent her way.
There was no question they blamed her for the danger now surrounding their city.
But Elisava had reminded the women that in this room, they had the power to help Zagadka’s warriors.
And with that common goal, a tenuous peace had settled.
“It’s the last of the lard,” said Elisava glumly. She pushed to her feet and arched her back. “The butcher shall soon arrive with more, but it is a good time to wash and take a meal.” She looked about. “We must return to our task as quickly as possible.”
The women nodded, quickly filing out of the room.
Saga remained in her chair, frowning at the basket of fire flasks.
She’d counted just over fifty, and yet it didn’t seem nearly enough.
She’d seen the Urkan war vessels anchored on the Kovosk.
All afternoon, shouts had carried from the stockade walls, the entire fortress shaking at intervals.
How could fifty fire flasks truly make a difference?
A hand fell upon her shoulder and squeezed gently. “You must rest and eat some food,” said Elisava in slow Zagadkian.
An impulsive thought pushed forth in Saga’s mind. “Should we send word,” she asked, eyeing Elisava, “to the clans beyond the river?”
A long weary sigh. “It is a waste of time. They will never come for us.”
Saga thought of the book back in her chambers. Of the legion of winged horses flying over a battlefield of fierce shifters. “But once they did.”
“We must keep our minds on what we can do here and now,” said Elisava. Her voice was hard, so unlike the carefree woman who’d flitted into Saga’s chambers all those weeks ago.
Saga nodded numbly. “I shall deliver the fire flasks, then tend to my needs.”
As slowly as she could, Saga lifted the basket and departed the room. The shouts from above sent her heart racing, but Saga kept her panic at bay by counting each step she climbed.
A thunderous boom shook the fortress walls, startling Saga so badly she nearly missed a stair.
It was utter mayhem above. Footfalls pounded on timber, warriors shouting in rapid Zagadkian.
Saga understood enough to know the inner river gate was on fire.
Fear twisted her stomach in knots, and she held on to the wall for support as she labored for breath.
The telltale signs of her panic were creeping up, but Saga couldn’t let it grab hold of her now.
Lives counted on it.
She focused on one step at a time, until she reached the doorway to the defensive walls. With a deep breath, Saga pushed through it.
Her feet faltered, heart racing ever faster, but she recognized the high prince’s right hand man Kresimir and made her way toward him.
After Saga explained the contents of the basket, Kresimir raced off to deliver them to the city gates.
With a reassuring glance over her shoulder to confirm that the keep’s door was just a few steps away, Saga strode to the nearest turret.
She gazed over the city toward the defensive walls.
Was Kassandr atop those walls, overseeing their defenses?
Or had he jumped into the battle teeming on the plains? Worry twisted in her gut.
Saga’s gaze drifted to the inner river gate, and as she took in the blazing inferno, her breaths shallowed.
Her fingers tapped against the turret’s wooden walls as she surveyed the Urkan fleet, now retreated to a safe distance.
Once the fleet breached those gates, they’d have access to the whole city of Kovograd.
Saga stared at the largest warship, cold slivers lodging in her spine. Ivar Ironheart was on that ship, orchestrating the deaths of these innocent Zagadkians. He would kill them all, then drag Saga back to íseldur—back to Signe.
Punished, echoed Magnus’s voice, ravens screaming overhead. Saga’s fingers tapped feverishly as she tried to calm her racing heart. But a new, terrifying voice met her ears.
“You should not be here,” said Oleg in slow, measured Zagadkian.
Saga whirled to find Kassandr’s half brother, thick arms folded over his chest. Tension corded Oleg’s neck, his eyes flickering a lupine yellow as he turned to look at her.
Before she could react, his retinue strode into the turret, blocking her exit.
Her arms were seized and Saga was dragged toward Oleg.
Lights danced in her vision as she struggled for breath. Trapped. No exits.
“Tell me why I should not throw you from these walls,” came Oleg’s far-off voice.
Saga’s fingers found her palms, and she focused on the feel of them tapping gently. Once. Twice. Three times. Saga drew in a breath. Forced words from her lips. “I am…no enemy,” she managed in stunted Zagadkian.
Oleg seized her collar and shoved her against the timber walls. In the courtyard below, Zagadkian soldiers rushed about, the chaos too great for them to notice her plight.
“You have damned us all!” shouted Oleg, lifting her higher and shoving her backward along the gap between turret wall and roof. The blunt wooden planks scraped along her back as Oleg shoved her farther. Above her were open skies, below her, the courtyard.
Saga couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. But rather than the paralysis her panic often brought, Saga was now filled with savage energy.
She’d survived the sacking of Askaborg by the Urkans.
Had survived Magnus branding her in those stables.
Saga had survived Oleg’s cowardly attempt to have her killed once already.
She would not go like this—not at this man’s hands.
She screamed and kicked, fought like a wild creature.
“Oleg!” roared a new voice—a voice Saga had not anticipated.
“You will put our guest down.” She was lowered onto her feet, knees buckling and sending her to the turret floor.
She closed her eyes. Drew in deep breath after deep breath.
Tapped her fingers in a frantic rhythm. Saga wasn’t certain how long her panic gripped her, only that when she finally opened her eyes, the world swayed—and she found the high prince crouched before her.
When last she’d seen him, he’d been clad in fussy, ceremonial robes. Now he wore the same pleated, leatherlike surcoat as the rest of his Zagadkian warriors.
“Tell me,” said the high prince slowly. His green eyes were filled with fear and remorse. “Tell me everything you know about our enemy. I’m ready to listen.”