Chapter 41
Kovograd, Zagadka
Kassandr’s body ached as never before as he slashed and parried, retreated and surged forward.
His Druzhina flowed around him, bending and parting like water.
Guarding his flank, they relentlessly cut down berserker warriors as Kassandr lost himself to the frenzy of battle.
Fat snowflakes had drifted downward all day, giving the battle a strange, muted feel.
But everywhere he looked, red spattered the blanket of white.
Darkness fell, and the moons rose, and Kassandr became aware there were fewer Zagadkian warriors at his back. His Druzhina was falling.
But on he fought, not a man, nor a beast, but a being of destruction fueled by stimulant teas and battle thrill. Through the buzzing in his veins; through the battle haze shrouding his mind, Kassandr knew one thing for certain. The Urkans were set to win this battle.
Though time was lost to him, the moons told Kassandr it was sometime past midnight.
Now fighting in his human form, he’d forced his beast away for the time being.
In the early evening, Kass had lost his humanity, had lost his control, had lunged and snarled and tried to kill anything that got too near—be it friend or foe.
Rov had fetched the snare, and it had taken half a dozen men to drag Kassandr back to the fortress.
But Rov had been unable to find Saga to help ease Kassandr. And in the end, he was thrust into a bathhouse, the healer’s potent herbs drifting up from the steaming rocks.
They’d rendered him senseless for several hours, and when Kass had woken, he’d been in his human form.
Now his beast was confined, but it raged behind his rib cage, demanding to be let out.
When the Urkan warriors did not retreat with the last light of the day, Kass knew in the marrow of his bones that the battle would end tonight.
He’d savored Saga’s presence as she’d slumbered beside him, but he wished he’d known it would be the last time.
Perhaps he’d have said something different.
Done something different. Perhaps he’d have found the courage to apologize for all the sorrow he’d brought to her life.
The Urkans could taste victory and drove forward with more vigor.
The siege tower hurled barrel after barrel at the fortress walls and the buildings behind it, and Kassandr knew they were beyond what the nets of seaweed and soaked hides could protect.
There were too many sparks; too many gods damned barrels.
Any warrior who could fight was now on the battlefield.
Any who could fire a bow or pour buckets of boiling water—women and the far-too-young included—were now stationed atop the walls.
Kassandr hazarded a glance over his shoulder, trying to regain his bearings.
But the flurries were too thick, the battlefield too chaotic, and as a berserker lunged at him from his left, Kassandr slammed his blade into the man’s armpit.
As he hauled his sword free, crunching snow signaled Yuri Rovgolod’s arrival.
“It is done?” asked Kassandr, pausing to wipe cold sweat from his brow. As night had fallen, so too had the cold, and his dampened hair was now frosted white.
“Rovgolod?” he demanded.
“Elisava leads the elders and the injured into the tunnels,” Rov panted, driving his shield into the gut of a charging warrior. Kassandr finished the stunned man off with a brutal slash to the neck. Steam rose from the wound as hot blood met frigid air.
“Good,” said Kassandr, then paused. “What is it?”
Rov’s face held a strange expression. “If I am to die, then I will own my truth,” Rov proclaimed, slashing his blade through an Urkan’s neck. As he turned to face Kassandr, his brown skin was flecked with blood, but his smile was wide. “I am in love with your sister.”
Kassandr blinked, then lunged, intercepting a warrior coming for Rov’s flank. “My sister?”
“She is the most beautiful woman in Zagadka. Most pleasant disposition—”
“You are certain you speak of Elisava?”
Rov’s smile had somehow grown wider, and though it was mad, Kassandr grinned right back. “I am glad for you, my brother,” he said, slapping Rov on the shoulder. “Will you take the Rurik byname and become my brother by marriage?”
But Kass’s smile suddenly faltered. “You made no mention of Saga. She too is in the tunnels?”
Rov’s expression tightened.
“And Saga?” Kassandr repeated.
“She has not been seen for many hours.”
Kassandr’s beast smashed against his ribs in a burst of searing anger. Not seen. Not seen? “What does this mean?” growled Kassandr.
“It means,” grumbled Rov, sinking into a defensive stance as a trio of berserkers lumbered forward, “that she has not been seen. Nothing more and nothing less. I am certain she is well, Kassandr.”
Kassandr’s mind whirled for an explanation.
Saga’s transformation over the past days had been remarkable.
She’d gone from cautious and fearful to a woman his people turned to.
Kassandr’s pride had grown with Saga’s increasing boldness, but this latest development had him worried.
Had she pushed too far? Gone from bold to reckless?
Again, he glanced toward the fortress’s defensive walls, difficult to view through the snowfall. “She is not atop the walls?” he barked at Rov while trading sword blows with a slavering Urkan.
Rov slammed the rim of his shield into a berserker’s mouth, sending teeth flying. “Not,” he agreed.
Kassandr blinked rapidly, trying to understand, but inside, his beast grew more and more frenetic. Where was his Saga? Where was she? His beast snarled and yipped, desperate to be free of its cage as his mind tormented him with dozens of possibilities of what might have befallen her.
Beside him, one of his best Druzhina—a warrior who’d been with Kass for eight years—fell with a cry of agony.
The man’s voice joined the screams of the wounded and dying, as his people were cut down around him.
Kassandr threw himself at the Urkan who’d killed his man, stabbing and hacking with rage and sorrow.
Through the thick flurries of snow, a barrel soared through the air, landing with bone-rattling impact.
The toll of a bell and screams from behind him told Kassandr its mark had been true.
Yet still, nothing could quell the shock he felt as he glanced over his shoulder.
The barrel had collided with the fortress bell tower—the crown jewel of Kovograd city, and the largest entry gate into the fortress.
The seaweed and hides, even with a layer of snow upon them, did little to stop the flames, which now spread along the roof and ate down the timbered walls.
For the first time since the Urkans had landed, Kassandr felt true despair. This was all wrong. His people were falling. His home was burned. And Saga was missing.
His sword found purchase in the joint between an Urkan’s snarling bear shoulder plates and breast armor, and the warrior crumpled to the ground. The rage of Kassandr’s beast nearly clouded his vision, but through it he caught sight of a smaller figure with a familiar face.
With a shout of fury, Kassandr barreled toward Prince Bjorn, cutting down warriors without mercy.
“Kassandr!” shouted Rov behind him, the rest of his Druzhina scrambling to keep up.
Kassandr’s anger burned as it had never before.
He cut down Urkan warriors with alternating swings of his sword and cunning slashes of his dagger.
He was death incarnate, the feeder of the wolves and ravens.
Tonight they would feast, not only on his countrymen, but on the corpses of his enemies.
Blood rained down on the snow, and Kassandr saw the moment the princeling recognized him.
Bjorn’s pale, freckled face pulled into a look of pure terror.
At thirteen winters, Bjorn was too young to be in this battle, too young to be blamed for any of this. Yet Kassandr knew if he captured the prince, it could change the tides of battle.
But a familiar red-bearded warrior stepped between them, smashing Kassandr’s plans to ruins. Half a head taller than any warrior on the battlefield, Thorir the Giant’s armor was spattered with blood and gore.
“Kassandr Rurik is mine!” bellowed the giant, thumping his chest plate with the broad side of his blade. “We have unfinished business.”
Kassandr gritted his teeth as Prince Bjorn was ushered away, any hopes of a ransom along with him. Rov and his Druzhina gathered around Kassandr, panting with the exertion of hacking their way to him.
“We must return to Zagadkian lines,” heaved Rov. “We have gone too deep.”
But Kassandr only squared his feet. “It is time I finished the red troll man,” he growled. “You will not interfere, Rov. But keep the Urkans away so I do not take a knife to the back.”
Rov grumbled in frustration, but he soon fell back with the rest of the Zagadkian warriors.
Wiping the melted snow from his face, Kassandr reached for his bravado. “You lost the last time,” Kassandr shouted to Thorir in íseldurian. “You are eager to lose again?”
Thorir took a menacing step forward. “I am eager for vengeance. You see, warrior, I don’t lose with a sword.”
Kassandr’s jaw hardened, but there was no time for anything but to block Thorir the Giant’s longsword from taking his head.
Their steel blades clashed with bone-jarring force.
Kassandr reacted quickly, kicking out low, but as his foot connected with Thorir’s armor it did not so much as budge the larger warrior.
“The battlefield is my kingdom,” growled Thorir as they exchanged blows. “Here you won’t win.” He drew a dagger, then twisted to deliver a brutal backslash to Kassandr’s shoulder.
Though the armored jacket protected him from the worst of it, the blade slashed into his flesh.
Kassandr hissed, his beast howled, and they threw their collective force into a flurry of attacks.
Thorir was on the defensive now, barely keeping up with the preternatural speed Kassandr’s beast granted him.
A nearby Urkan tossed his shield to Thorir, who caught it and charged forward.
Kassandr whirled to the side, tutting. “I see you are again needing favors from others. It seems they still know you cannot defeat me.”
Thorir recovered with startling swiftness, slamming the metal rim of the shield at Kassandr’s face. Kassandr raised his sword and braced it with both hands against the shield. He gave it a hefty shove, forcing Thorir to dig his boots into the packed snow.
“Tell me what you did to Magnus,” gritted Thorir. The giant of a man dropped the shield and retrieved another dagger, ducking beneath Kassandr’s sword and slashing at his leg.
The tear of fabric and searing pain from his left thigh had Kassandr lurching back.
“You killed him, didn’t you?” growled Thorir. “Else you’d have claimed ransom.”
A grim smile spread on Kassandr’s lips, and he knew his eyes had flashed a warning green. “You’re more clever than you look,” he taunted. Thorir dropped his dagger and grabbed his longsword in a two-handed grip, hefting it overhead, but Kassandr danced out of range.
“Come here,” growled Thorir. “You dishonorable son of swine.”
Kassandr’s smile grew. “I have called my father worse to his face.”
“You like to play games,” snarled Thorir. The large man’s eyes flashed as he adjusted his grip on his sword. “I can play, too.”
“Please do not overtax yourself, Thorir. There are battles yet to fight.”
“A shame,” said Thorir, driving forward, “that Lady Saga is not here to help you this time.”
At the mention of Saga’s name, shock jolted through Kassandr’s body and his foot slipped on packed snow.
Thorir capitalized on Kassandr’s shock, aiming a powerful backswing right at his neck.
Kassandr ducked, lifting his arm with not a moment to spare.
The blade struck his bracer, severing through the fortified material and into his forearm.
Kassandr bellowed in pain, but Thorir’s words of Saga kept him lucid. “What did you say?” demanded Kassandr.
Thorir’s smile was cruel and mocking, and he raised his longsword up for another two-handed swing. Kassandr bounded back, and the sword hammered deep into the snowpack.
“She went to Ivar,” grunted Thorir, freeing his sword and righting himself. “She surrendered herself.”
Kassandr shook his head vehemently. “You lie.”
Thorir’s laugh was cruel and mocking. “Ask anyone. She pleaded for íseldur. Begged King Ivar to withdraw. Of course, he would never agree to such terms. Her head is now mounted on a pike at our war camp.”
The battle seething around them seemed to fade away.
The rage of Kassandr’s beast bled into his body, and he knew in an instant that he could not hold it back.
The air thickened with the magic of his shifting.
“You wish to know Magnus’s fate?” His bones cracked, claws and spines bursting free from his skin.
“He drove me to such anger I tore out his throat.”
Thorir’s eyes widened, and he stumbled backward. But it was too late—Kassandr was already airborne. And as he tore the throat from Thorir the Giant, the last human thought that entered his mind was that perhaps the man did lose with a sword after all.