Chapter 32
Kovograd, Zagadka
A firepot streaked over the fortress walls, heading straight for the grassy courtyard.
“Fire!” shrieked Saga, hovering in the keep’s doorway.
A dozen Zagadkian women rushed across the courtyard, pails of sand clutched in hand.
The clay pot broke and an explosion shook the air, flames spraying across grass and packed earth with the flammable liquid.
Saga’s handmaiden, Alasa, got there first and emptied her bucket of sand over the foot-high blaze.
“Not too much!” Saga called out, her stomach knotting. They had to preserve their resources. Two days had passed since the Urkans first landed, and it was clear they were settling in for a siege.
Elisava appeared by Saga’s side, peering into the courtyard beyond. Alasa’s companions had joined her and together they stamped rogue flames out.
“More firepots?” asked Elisava, worry creasing her brow.
Saga nodded solemnly. It was the dozenth Urkan firepot this hour to breach the walls of the fortress. Ivar’s ships had broken through the inner river gate, granting them access to Kovograd city, and putting them in better range of the fortress walls.
“The healer’s station?” asked Saga.
Elisava wiped her brow with the sleeve of her dress and sagged against the doorframe. “More warriors stream in by the hour.”
Saga chewed on her lip, unable to keep Kassandr and Rov from her thoughts.
“Not them,” said Elisava, apparently thinking the same thing. “They hold the city gates. For now.” Elisava needn’t say the rest. Even with the forces Kassandr had mustered from the northern territories, the Zagadkians were badly outnumbered.
A member of Saga’s makeshift fire brigade approached, tilting her bucket to show how little sand remained. “You can replenish on north of yard,” Saga replied in slow Zagadkian with as kind a smile as she could manage.
In truth, she was unused to this—to people looking to her as though she knew what to do. Saga wanted to shout at them that she didn’t know—that her name might be Volsik, but it didn’t mean she was built for such things as this.
“Rovgolod tells to me,” said Elisava in cautious Zagadkian, “that the Urkans have more tricks in their sleeve. The sail on the far end of the battlefield conceals something, but our spies cannot get near to it. Do you recall anything they might have said in íseldur?”
Saga closed her eyes. Tried to drive the sounds of battle from her ears. Imagined herself sitting by Bjorn as he prattled on about nonsensical things. Karthian steel and ore deposits in the bogs and nothing, nothing, nothing!
Frustrated, Saga shook her head. “I cannot recall—”
Shouts from the walls had Saga searching the skies. They landed on a projectile, larger than the others had been, and heading straight toward the—
“Stables!” she shrieked, watching in horror as the firepot crashed into a bare patch of turfed roof.
There hadn’t been enough water-drenched hides to cover all the roofs and walls of the fortress; and after saddling the horses for mounted combat, the Zagadkian guards had apparently deemed it a low priority.
But as the firepot cracked open and bright flames ripped across the stable roof, Saga knew not all creatures had been evacuated. A panicked whinny from within confirmed her fears. Havoc was shackled in there.
Before she had time to reconsider, Saga was moving across the courtyard. It did not matter that she was beneath wide-open skies; did not matter that Elisava’s screams chased her. Any panic she might feel was overshadowed by her dire need to get to those stables.
Saga shoved open the doors and slipped inside.
Darkness engulfed her, though firelight expanded with every rapid beat of her heart.
The flames ate widening holes in the roof, and Saga knew she had to act quickly.
Through smoke-stung eyes, she spotted the farrier’s station, and Saga rushed forward to snatch a driving hammer.
After pivoting, she charged toward Havoc’s panicked sounds.
It wasn’t long before she saw him. The turf roof above the pen was all but consumed, the flames now burning down the timber walls. Rage twisted in Saga’s stomach as she took in the stallion’s white coat, pocked with raw burns where embers had landed.
The stallion reared, his wings spread wide and fanning the flames into increasing furor.
“Don’t!” Saga called out, and as the creature noticed her, he stilled for just a moment. Before she could second-guess the madness herself, Saga scrambled into the enclosure and found herself face-to-face with the winged horse.
What are you doing? she asked herself as the beast grew frantic, thrashing against the pair of chains securing his hind legs.
“Easy,” she tried, her gaze trailing along the chains until it reached the anchor loops securing the horse to the stable floors. Saga threw herself at them and began hammering furiously.
Havoc shrieked, rearing back. Yet perhaps some deep-rooted intuition told the stallion Saga was here to help, as he did not aim to strike her.
Heat lashed against her skin, tears streaming from her stinging eyes, but she did not pause.
The iron was already weakened from the stallion’s panic, and as a crack splintered the loop, Saga’s hope swelled.
Her arms were weak, her lungs burning, yet still she hammered until the chain wrenched free.
The stallion reared again, but Saga did not flinch. Perhaps it was the unrelenting panic churning through her body or something deeper that told her this creature meant her no harm. She crawled to the second chain anchor.
“You! Will! Be! Free!” she shouted as she drove the hammer down onto the chain, fueled by her rage at the injustice of this creature’s captivity. The stallion gave a sudden leap, and the chain snapped through.
Saga scrambled backward just in time. Havoc’s wings spread wide, the inferno glinting in his iridescent white feathers. Ink-black eyes peered at her for a moment before the stallion crouched low, then launched into the air.
Havoc crashed through the skeletal remains of the stable roof, sending burnt beams and a flurry of embers crashing down into the pen.
A hay bale beside Saga burst into flames, and she knew she had but moments to get free.
But as she crawled over the enclosure, Saga’s feet faltered. Flames now raged in every direction.
She shielded her face from the unbearable heat, her lungs choking on thick smoke. Saga’s panic spiraled to new heights. Was this how it ended? In fire and smoke?
But a voice penetrated the roar of the fire.
“Saga!”
Crouching low to the ground, Saga craned her ears.
“This way, Saga!” Unthinkingly, she darted toward the sound.
Rounding a pillar, Saga came face-to-face with a sight that would have made her weep if tears weren’t already streaming down her face from the smoke.
There was Elisava, sheltered beneath a soaked hide.
Behind her, dozens of members of the fire brigade surged into the stables, flinging water and sand on the fire within.
They’d created a safe pathway leading outdoors.
Saga nearly sobbed in relief as she reached Elisava, the wet hide cutting through the heat in an instant. Elisava hauled her toward the stable doors, and soon they were falling to their knees in the courtyard, coughing and gasping for breath.
A torrent of angry Zagadkian assaulted Saga’s ears, and she turned toward the sound. Elisava held the same disapproving expression as when she chastised Rov, and something about this made Saga’s lips pull up at the corners.
“Are your brains pickled? You risked your life for that murderous beast, you crazy fool of a girl! It is not worth it!”
The fire burning in the stables had been contained, but it was too late—the beams and framing collapsed to the ground. Ash and smoke billowed skyward, but as Saga gazed up, it was a white form she searched for.
And when she did not see Havoc, her smile only widened.
Hours later, bells tolled through Kovograd, mournful and tired as the city itself. News had spread through the fortress: The Urkans had retreated for the night, returning to their camp on the banks of the Kovosk River.
Now Saga dragged herself through the corridors, not quite certain if she was heading toward her chambers at all.
A guttural sound ricocheted through the hallway, and Saga paused as the hairs on her arms lifted.
The sound came again, and this time she recognized it.
Before she had time to think, she was rushing down the corridor.
Men shouted, growls shaking the walls. And then, a howl—the same she’d heard in the hull of that ship. Saga was now running toward the chaos and screams of men. A door slammed and Rov’s frustrated voice reached her ears.
“He cannot be eased!”
Saga rounded the corner and skidded to a halt before Rov and Kass’s Druzhina.
Their armored coats were smeared with mud and gore, exhaustion etched into their faces.
One battered-looking warrior sagged against the wall, nursing a fresh gash in his arm.
Another was sprawled on the floor, feeding a bandage through a tear in his breeches.
And as Rov turned to Saga, a wound shone red against his brown cheekbone.
“What is not…so?” she stumbled in Zagadkian.
Rov scowled at the door, answering her in íseldurian. “Is nothing, Printsessa. You must not trouble yourself with such matters.”
But the shattering of glass and a low, mournful howl from within the room had her stepping closer. “It is Kassandr? What has happened?”
Rov ran a hand down his haggard face. “He is…not himself.”
“What has happened, Rov?”
“Is…trapped,” he said. “No one can calm him. Bring back to himself.”
Saga chewed on her lip, staring at the door. “I will try.”
Rov’s laugh was anything but amused. “Printsessa, no, you cannot—”
“He won’t harm me.” Saga was surprised at her certainty—she felt it in the very marrow of her bones.
“Is not in control—”