Chapter 45
Kovograd, Zagadka
The moment Kassandr Rurik tore the throat from Thorir the Giant, chaos erupted within the Urkan ranks. The berserkers that Rov and his Druzhina had held back broke through, desperate to spill Kassandr’s blood after he’d slain the mightiest among them.
In his beast form, Kass nursed injuries in his shoulder and thigh, and his forearm leaked an alarming amount of blood.
He and the others fought in their animal forms—Rovgolod and Volk sleek wolves; his Druzhina a trio of mountain cats, a pair of wolves, and an elk with sharpened antlers.
They fought, tooth and claw, for their country.
For their honor. And in Kassandr’s case, for vengeance.
As much as he tried to see Thorir’s words as mere taunts, Kassandr could not forget the fact that Saga had not been seen for the better part of a day. He could imagine her doing this, his brave, beautiful Saga—throwing herself at Ivar’s feet and begging for mercy for Zagadka.
Thorir’s words burrowed under his skin, spreading until Kassandr’s heart was a blackened thing, churning rage and sorrow in equal amounts.
With his kingdom burning and Saga lost, he had nothing to lose, and he fought like it.
He lived in a world of reds and oranges—reds on the battlefield, where his claws spilled blood across the snow; oranges from the hungry flames consuming Kovograd’s walls and fortress.
The flurries of snow had eased, but as Kassandr looked around, he realized how deep into the Urkan lines he’d pushed while trying to reach Prince Bjorn.
Now they were too near to that gods damned siege tower.
It loomed over them, the arrows—impossible to see in the darkness of night—delivering silent death.
One sliced through the air, missing Kassandr’s neck by a hair’s breadth, but as a scream came from behind him, he knew it had found purchase. They needed to retreat.
He growled low, a command to his Druzhina to follow him, but as Kassandr turned, he realized there was no escaping this death trap. Urkan warriors teemed all around them in impossible numbers, all semblance of order and battle tactics vanishing.
Behind him, the blackened beams holding Kovograd’s mighty tower splintered, and the bell gave one last tremendous toll as it crashed to the ground.
Kassandr released a low, mournful howl.
His home was burning, his friends falling on the battlefield all around him.
Every reckless choice he’d made in the past months flashed in his mind—sneaking to íseldur against his father’s wishes; burning his boat when he was not ready to leave íseldur; kissing Saga in those gardens and taking her to his country against her will.
This last one haunted him above all else. How arrogant he’d been for thinking he could keep her and all of Zagadka safe. Kassandr wished he could see her one last time. That he could look into her eyes and tell her how sorry he was. But it was too late.
Sorrow pulsed through him as realization landed. He’d thought he was doing the right thing by taking a stand against the Urkans, but now he knew better. Kassandr was no savior of the future generations—he was the downfall of his people.
An arrow clipped his shoulder, the sharp hot pain yanking him back to the present.
A fresh surge of Urkans crashed into battle, and Kassandr felt the weariness in every muscle in his body.
His parries were too slow, his blows too weak.
A black-bearded berserker charged for Kassandr, great axe hefted overhead, and he wondered if this was it—the moment death stopped flirting and came for him in earnest.
But a snarling gray figure barreled into the Urkan, sending the man sprawling into the bloody snow.
It was Oleg’s wolf form, and Kassandr wondered if he’d ever been so glad to see his half brother.
He did not allow himself to dwell on it—the berserker was twice Oleg’s size and quickly rolled on top of him.
Before Kassandr could reach him, Kresimir’s grizzled mountain cat leaped onto the pair, sinking teeth deep into the berserker’s neck.
Blood spurted, and Kresimir shook the man with a savage snarl, allowing Oleg to escape from beneath him. But the berserker’s blade hacked down once, twice, three times, sending the mountain cat stumbling away. Kresimir yowled, then sprawled on the snow, his lifeblood seeping from multiple gashes.
Kill, snarled Kassandr’s beast, launching on the vile Urkan and finishing what Kresimir had started. Kill. Kill. Kill.
Beside him, Volk yelped as an arrow embedded deep in his throat.
Sorrow and horror mingled inside Kassandr as he watched his chieftain’s lifeless body crumple to the ground.
More arrows rained down, the animalistic shrieks telling Kassandr that many had met their mark.
Where is your honor? he wanted to shout.
The archers cowered behind that gods damned siege tower, picking the Zagadkians off.
Something inside Kassandr snapped through, and instead of running away from the siege tower, he turned and charged toward it.
But as he leaped at an Urkan warrior, Kassandr saw the man’s dark eyes fix on something behind him and widen in surprise.
A shadow passed across the moons, the distant cry of an animal meeting his ears, but Kass focused on raking his claws through the berserker’s throat.
As he set his sights on the next warrior, that berserker turned tail and ran.
Kassandr pushed through his puzzlement, hunting the man down and tearing him to the ground.
The strange animal cry grew louder over the din of battle, and Kassandr paused amid the carnage.
His enhanced hearing recognized it at once—this was no animal, but the distinctive, all-female war cry of the clans beyond the river.
He whirled, then stumbled in astonishment at the sight that met his eyes.
A legion of winged horsewomen descended upon the battlefield with bow and blade. And at the front of the group was a golden-haired woman. For a moment, Kassandr felt weightless, as though the ground beneath him had fallen away. But then he was firmly rooted on solid ground.
Saga was alive.
Nothing made sense. She was clad in horsemaiden’s armor, a feathered cloak rippling behind her as she rode upon the murderous winged horse. But it didn’t have to make sense, because his Saga was alive, and not only that, but she’d brought help when they needed it the most.
Saga broke off from the rest of the horde, directing Havoc toward the siege tower.
Horror calcified in Kassandr’s chest. There were too many archers…
it was too dangerous. He roared his warning into the skies, but Saga did not falter.
Arrows zipped up, but the winged horse was too quick, twisting away and, in one case, kicking the arrow right out of the skies.
Protect, Kassandr’s beast snarled, and he crouched low to launch himself over the teeming battle. The white stallion swooped, wings spread wide as he glided over the siege tower. Saga leaned to the side of the horse, and it seemed there was something in her hand—
And he understood. Kassandr loosed a savage snarl, calling his men to him.
Together, they twisted away from the siege tower and loped over the berserkers staring slack-jawed at the winged horses.
He didn’t look over his shoulder to see the moment the fire flask slipped from Saga’s hand and bounced down the stairwell into the belly of the siege tower, but Kassandr heard it.
The explosion was swift, and though it did not have the same force as the barrels, its aim was fatally true.
He glanced over his shoulder to see smoke pouring from the siege tower, the screams of men growing to a crescendo.
Flames licked up the sides of it, warriors throwing themselves to their deaths as they tried to escape the flames.
And through the smoke, he could just make out a small blond figure enfolded into the aerial horde of helmed clanswomen.
Saga had escaped.
Kassandr lifted his maw into the skies and howled with every ounce of his being.
But he hadn’t the time to stand in his wonderment.
As an opponent lunged at him, he turned to greet the man with fang and claw.
His blood pumped with renewed vigor, hope a buoyant thing in his chest. Kassandr’s world grew wholly red as he became an instrument of death.
He could feel it in his bones, could smell it in the air—the tides of battle had just turned in Zagadka’s favor.
And it was all thanks to Saga.
Over and over, Kassandr showed each foul Urkan what it meant to face the Beast of Zagadka—what he thought of their coming to take what was not theirs.
At some point, Rovgolod appeared on one side, Oleg on the other, and they fought a path into the thickest throng of berserkers.
All the while, the winged horsewomen swooped down with speed and ferocity, delivering death with hooves and blades and arrows.
It wasn’t long before the flaming siege tower splintered and crashed to the ground.
But the moment Kass saw the Urkans turn and flee was one of the sweetest in all his life.
Kass and Rov chased them down, felling every last berserker they could.
A beleaguered fleet of prowed ships rowed furiously away, the winged horses haranguing them from above, forcing the warriors to cower under a wall of shields.
An hour ago, death had seemed certain, and now…
now it was over. He could hardly believe it.
All this time, Kassandr had wanted Saga to see her potential—to show her fire and her heart to the world. But this warrior queen was beyond his wildest imaginings. How she had managed to convince the clans and to gather a horde of winged horsemaidens, he could not imagine.
His gaze swept the skies and the field of death all around him.
The horsemaidens had formed a queue at the Kovosk River, rapidly filling buckets and passing them back along the line to those who took to the skies.
Over and over the horsemaidens flew above the burning fortress, dumping bucket after bucket onto the flames.
And then Kassandr saw her, just beyond the horsemaidens.
Helm clasped at her side, Saga shielded her eyes from the glare of the rising sun as she searched the snowy battlefield for something—or someone.
Kassandr gave a triumphant whuf, and then he was loping toward her, his chest too small for his heart.
In that moment, his exhaustion was long forgotten; his injuries no longer pained him.
At last, Saga’s gaze fell upon him, and her lips formed his name.
But the horsemaidens had also spotted him, and they closed around Saga, arrows trained on him.
Kassandr skidded to a stop with a whine, his claws gouging deeply into the snow.
A low warning snarl slipped from his maw, and it took all his will not to claw through the horsemaidens to get to his Saga.
“Don’t shoot him!” Saga cried out, pushing her way through.
“Khiva, stand down!” She put her hand on the shoulder of the tall horsemaiden whose glare was the sharpest. The woman did not drop her bow, but her stance eased just a touch.
And then Saga was breaking free; was running, throwing herself at his beast form…
She landed with startling force, and between his injuries and complete exhaustion, Kassandr nearly toppled over.
But as Saga’s arms slid around his neck, all his pain fell away.
This moment was better than he could ever have dreamed.
She buried her face into his gore-smeared fur, muffled words falling from her lips.
“You’re alive,” and, “We did it,” and, most inexplicably, “Thank you.”
Unable to speak in his beast form, Kassandr relented to nuzzling against her, scenting her for injuries. He found none. She was safe. She was alive. And she’d saved the city—likely the entire kingdom.
As Saga unwound her arms from his neck, Kassandr reared on his hind legs, lifting his maw to the skies and howling in triumph. Nearby, Rov joined in, and then Oleg, and then the whole of the battlefield howled in unison, the war cries of the horsewomen weaving in last of all.
He looked over the battlefield, lit by the rising sun.
It smelled of blood and smoke.
Looked like chaos incarnate.
Yet it felt like a new day.