68. Harper
68
Aedon forged ahead, flanked by Brand and Erika, who cut down anyone in their way. Harper stumbled and fell, smashing her already battered body on the stones, but the rush inside her had her up and running a second later. She chanced a glance behind her. How could they be behind and ahead of her? Several red cloaks flapped in the gloom, spurring her on.
The portcullis ahead lowered by the second. Aedon and Erika sprinted through. Brand dove, barely making it out. He landed hard on the far side before scrambling to his feet. They fanned out to meet the wall of red cloaks awaiting them at the far side. Time stretched. Her legs felt like lead. Every step took her further away, not closer—and she wasn’t going to make it.
“No!” screamed Harper, but it was too late. The portcullis slammed shut, cutting Ragnar off with her.
Aedon turned, and paled.
“Harper!” he shouted, slamming his hands against the impenetrable metal and looking at them helplessly. He only had a moment before he was forced to turn and meet blades with one of the Kingsguard on his side of the barrier.
Harper and Ragnar backed into a corner between the portcullis and the rough walls as the Kingsguard fanned out around them. Ragnar raised his axe before him. Harper swallowed. Fear fuelled her now, but as she looked at her companions, snarling desperately as they fought, almost like caged animals that knew they were already defeated, a surge of anger rose. This was not how it was supposed to end, but end they would unless she did something.
“We can do this.” Brand’s reassuring voice boomed over them all, as if to allay her fears.
“I say the same to you, Harper,” Aedon called amidst the sound of clashing blades. “Fighting, just like you’ve practised?—”
“But better,” Erika chimed in. Harper could hear the smile behind her gritted teeth at the joy of the fight. Somehow, it sparked defiance in Harper too, a flicker of light against the crushing darkness of fear. If she thought about it, she would lose all nerve, so she didn’t think. She threw herself forward, Ragnar at her side, as the soldiers descended on them.
Ragnar tore at their cloaks, nimbly running between and around them and tangling them in the folds. Somehow, her feet found the right positions, and she realised that Brand’s training, limited as it was, made sense. She was still clumsy, and her short, light blade could not match the strength, reach, and power of the soldiers before her, but somehow, she dodged one soldier’s attack and sliced his hand. Ragnar grabbed the man’s hand in his vice-like grip and pulled him to the floor so Harper could smash the man’s helm with the pommel of her sword. He went limp—out cold.
“You should have killed him,” Ragnar growled.
“I can’t!” It wasn’t in her nature—but she could at least incapacitate them. That didn’t cross her moral line.
There was no time to argue, for the next of the guards charged. Harper and Ragnar took him out together. Harper slashed at his cloak, then grabbed it as it flew past her, yanking hard so the man stumbled off balance. Ragnar leapt onto his back and dragged his dagger across the man’s throat. He gurgled and fell as Ragnar leapt off him and advanced on the remaining guards with his axe raised, who surrounded them warily.
Harper backed up to the portcullis, a scream tearing out of her unbidden at the horror of it. An arm shot through the gate, grabbing her by the neck and pulling her back hard. Her air supply cut off instantly and she choked on nothing. A second arm grasped her around the waist, trapping her sword arm at her side.
Harper struggled, but the tightening grip was like a vice around her slender neck, and she could not move an inch. Stars danced in her vision as he slowly strangled her, the world around her beginning to fade.
Ragnar turned and froze. The anguish in his eyes was clear, and it cut her to the core. Harper knew they had lost. It was over. They would both die.