21. A Dragon’s Fury #2
He let out an incoherent growl, gripping my shoulder and pulling me away from the four Hersir who’d accompanied me. I stumbled slightly under his strength. He stopped only a moment later, rounding on me with his fierce gaze.
“It’s not safe out here,” he said.
“I’m aware of that,” I snapped back, “hence why I am here.”
He pushed out a sigh of frustration, looking past me to the hastily formed defense behind us. “Vor, I will drag you back to the Citadel, so help me?—”
“You will do no such thing, Lenn.” Venom seeped into my voice at his audacity. “I am the queen, gods-dammit, and you will not treat me like a child. You are my Thane, not my father. My city is under attack—I will defend it.”
He visibly flinched from my words, surprise coloring his face. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he muttered, dumbstruck, “I did not mean to patronize you. But think about this.”
“I don’t need to think about it!” The darkthread shuddered violently in my chest, and the Shadow recoiled.
“It doesn’t matter that the others have had their powerthreads since birth and I’ve had mine less than a fortnight.
You cannot expect me to sit idly by while my people are dying. There is no time to argue.”
I’d had enough.
Enough of being told what I could or couldn’t do—of being treated like a weak kitten when I held the power of death in my hands. I’d ended my relationship with Lukas for trying to undermine me. I would not suffer it from anyone else, least of all Lenn.
The darkthread snapped like a brittle twig, wreathing me in Shadow.
Her power coursed through my veins in a searing rush, consuming my body until I was no longer myself.
The world around me exploded in a flash of vibrant color, and I saw the myrkva beyond the gate clearly now.
There had to be dozens of them—far too many for the barricade to hold back.
And although Trygg continued dousing them in dragonfire, they did not abandon their assault on the walls.
I’d never seen the creatures act like that.
The Shadow flexed my hand, sending her power out in sparks of black tendrils and white light to explode from my fingertips. I extended the other arm, looking down its length at the inky darkness of the Shadow’s essence rolling off into the air.
We were one, ready to destroy the threat battering at the door.
“Out of our way, old man,” we said, our voices echoing ominously. Lenn’s sea-blue eyes widened a fraction as he backed away, turning his shoulder aside. We strode past him, heading for the ruined gate.
A flash of white aura on the other side of the wall drew my eye and I saw Trygg out beyond the gate, circling the myrkva gathered there, shooting flames down amongst them.
They scattered away from his fire, slithering their shadowy bodies around one another like hideous cockroaches.
But they did not flee as they always had before.
What is going on?
These monsters are intent on entering the city, the Shadow said. Dragonfire will not be enough to dissuade them this time.
Trygg’s massive jaws opened wide, revealing rows of glistening fangs as he let out an ear-splitting roar. My heart jumped at the sound as a rush of excitement flooded through me.
We kept pushing forward, watching the eathdrivers, flametenders, and airwalkers of Clan ?asgrin part before us like stalks of wheat under a gale. They stepped away, glancing down at the ground where a carpet of inky darkness rolled out beneath our feet. The Shadow’s power reached out, searching.
The line of warriors parted all the way to their Jarla standing directly in front of the gate.
She was busy shouting orders for the flametenders to continue their assault on the myrkva .
Lukas stood on her other side, heeding orders with his brethren.
When she caught sight of me prowling toward her, her eyes widened in shock.
“Your Majesty,” Freya Vilke shouted, “you?—”
“If you tell me I shouldn’t be here, Vilke, I will strip you of your title come sunrise.” I couldn’t be certain if they were my words or the Shadow’s, or even a mixture of us both. Either way, Vilke snapped her mouth shut and narrowed her hardened gaze. Lukas glanced over, face unreadable.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty,” she replied, turning back to the twisted stone blockade. “I don’t know how much longer we can hold this. Your Talon is keeping them at bay for now, but I’m not sure how many are already in the city.”
“Talon Arlbright is taking care of them,” I said, clenching our fists. “I will handle the rest.”
Vilke shot me a sidelong glance, brows knitted. “I’m sure you will.” She pushed her arms straight out and up, raising another stone pillar to weave with the others.
Beads of sweat collected on her forehead.
My Sight allowed me to see the green groundthread in her right leg trembling violently under the strain of her power.
All the powerthreads in the people around us were showing signs of fatigue.
They would not be able to battle against the myrkva much longer.
The flames across the threshold of the gate began to sputter, showing the weariness of the flametenders who’d cast them.
It’s time, Asvoria, the Shadow said inside my mind, whipping tendrils of darkness out of our hands. This moment will define your reign in the history books. Show them what we can do and protect your people. Raise the draugr and end this massacre.
“With pleasure.”
I spaced our feet shoulder-width apart. The pieces of the darkthread trembled within my chest, sending waves of intoxicating power all over my body.
The tendrils in our hands suddenly shot out, piercing the ground and spreading across the bailey like black blood coursing through hidden veins.
Each coil dragged against me as it branched out, searching for a place to take hold.
They raced toward the two shrines nearest us—one of four stationed at each corner of the city that housed a collection of tributes, corpses waiting in death for this express purpose.
It was considered an honor to serve the queen after one’s life ended.
And it was time to bestow them that honor.
When the first tendril finally found its mark, the connection hooked like a bolt of lightning running up our arm.
Our fingers curled out, pulling against that invisible string. Another tendril took hold, quickly followed by three more in rapid succession. I added my will to the Shadow’s power, sending the command through the network of black veins flowing like tiny rivers through the earth.
One finger twitched. Then another. An answer to the authority of the Shadow—authority not even the dead could disobey. These were not shades or spirits responding to the power of House Erling. Now, I was not simply Queen of Volmere. I held dominion over flesh—over blood and bone.
Throwing our head back, the Shadow released a feral scream at the sky.
And the dead howled with her, hollow voices rising like the tide of the sea.
Soft at first—the swell of an approaching wave—and then surging into an almighty thunder as the draugr flooded into the bailey, tripping over each other on their way.
Frightened voices reverberated all around us, quickly drowned out as the draugr descended on my location. I sensed almost everyone else rushing to the sides, desperate to get out of the way. To her credit, Freya Vilke remained rooted to the spot beside us.
Our arms dragged behind us as we guided the undead toward the ruined mass of the gate, the power flooding through our limbs buzzing with the effort. The draugr pressed in behind us like a knifepoint at the base of our skull.
“When I give the word, Vilke,” our twin voices bellowed, “drop the defenses.”
She did not question us.
A few of the abominable creatures reached through where the flames burned weakest, spreading across the stone pillars like pitch.
From my left, a jet of flame soared toward the barricade and washed over the myrkva , knocking them back to the roiling mass waiting below.
Several others slithered through the thin gaps between two pillars.
But they retreated when a chunk of rock flew from an earthdriver to my right.
Trygg shot another stream of fire down into the multitude pressing against the ruined wood and stone.
I looked back, seeing the lines of draugr swaying behind us as they awaited my command.
They were all in various states of decay.
A woman directly behind us could have passed for a living person, if not for the grievous slash across her abdomen, guts spilling out in a gruesome sort of waterfall.
The wound marked her as one who’d fallen this very night.
No priest or priestess would have left her in such a state to await the Shadow’s call.
The man beside her, however, had been dead for far longer—one of the tributes from a shrine.
His face was mostly bone, with only a few scraps of gray, rotted flesh clinging to his cheeks and scalp.
All their eyes were blank, white slates, showing that they were completely under our control.
If the eyes ever turned red… Well, I wouldn’t think about that now.
My gaze swept back to the pillars of stone and fire. Trygg swooped low over the myrkva again, releasing a roar that shook my bones and a river of flame along with it. The writhing mass of creatures scattered away from the gates.
“Now!” we screamed.
Vilke dropped her arms, shouting, “Lower the defenses! Do it now!”
The others obeyed, and the pillars dropped back down into the ground instantly. Flames guttered out with a hiss, releasing plumes of white smoke into the air.