Page 25 of Blood Beneath the Snow (Blood & Souls Duology #1)

25

Sunlight streamed through the tent and lit my face. I cracked my eyes open and ran my tongue across the roof of my mouth. It felt like sandpaper. I grimaced.

I did enjoy waking to the sun, though.

A quick glance told me I was the only one left in the tent. All the soldiers from the night before were gone.

Panic struck. Where were they? Why was I alone? I rose quickly, adrenaline rushing through my veins. The hair on my arms stood up straight. Outside was eerily quiet. And when I pushed through the tent flaps, an empty campground awaited me.

Trampled snow, empty tents, and the smoking ash of a campfire were all that remained. I turned in a full circle.

Had I slept through a mass exodus?

My eyes followed the trampled snow to the edge of the grove of pines. Those, at least, were familiar—I’d come that way last night. Beyond the trees, a trumpet blared.

I stiffened. Though it was my first time on the front lines, anyone in Bhorglid would recognize the sound. No good parent let their child grow up without knowing how to identify a battle call.

There was no time for hesitation. I sprinted down the path until I reached the center of camp.

I arrived gasping for air and clutching at a stitch in my side. The bitter wind tore like claws at my lungs. I’d strapped my sword on while I ran, fingers slipping over the buckle keeping the scabbard fastened to my waist.

It didn’t take long to spot a flame of familiar curly hair.

Frode! Get the hell over here.

The last of the army trickled out of the camp, heading north. I had no doubt my father was at the head, Bjorn by his side.

Frode sauntered toward me, his two curved knives sheathed at either hip. “You sleep too deeply for your own good,” he observed, reading my thoughts to learn the events of the morning. “Are you coming?”

Yes.

I was too out of breath to speak.

“Good. Your armor is in my tent. Bottom bunk on the left.” He pointed to a tent at least five times larger than the one I’d slept in last night, but I didn’t have time to dwell on his luxury accommodations. I rushed in, stripping out of my warm outer clothes to throw my armor on over my wool underlayer. My cloak went back on top. I ran my thumb over the hilt of my blade, and deep in my stomach I felt a rush of exhilaration.

I’d never truly fought in a war before. It was every godtouched child’s dream to win honor for Bhorglid or die in search of it. I didn’t pay much attention to godtouched socialites, but I knew those whose children didn’t fight in the war were shunned. The social consequences piled on fast, but they were nothing compared to how the godforsaken lived.

I jogged out to where Frode waited for me, my horse saddled next to his. I clambered on, awkward with my armor. “Will this be like the battle in the canyon?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “Sure. It will be bloody.”

I forgot my initial excitement. Of course he wouldn’t want to talk about it. Battle destroyed him. He once described it as listening to the whole world scream directly in his ears.

We started riding, catching up with the marching army’s rearguard. Why had I been excited in the first place? I may have been anxious to use my newfound fighting skills, but this wasn’t the right place. Everything I’d learned from the Hellbringer was meant to bring my father down, not fight on his behalf.

I watched as Frode winked at me from his saddle and pulled a half-empty bottle of wine out of a saddlebag. My mouth dropped open. “Are you seriously about to get drunk before we go into battle?” I hissed. “I know you have a hard time, but that can’t be a good idea. You’re armed, for crying out loud.”

He rolled his eyes and uncorked the bottle with a dagger, then raised it to his lips and took a long swig. “I’m offended you think I can’t use my knives as well when I’m drunk. Besides, don’t you know how to fight now? Just don’t let me die.” He shrugged. “And if I did die, it would only be a couple days early.”

My mouth went dry. He was morbid, but…he might be right. This could be one of my last days with Frode. And Jac. One of my own last days alive. We had a plan, but there was so much room for everything to go wrong.

Frode reached over from his mount, nearly losing his balance, and shoved me playfully, laughing. “That’s why I drink,” he said, pointing to my head. “I can hear allllll of that. And it feels like shit.”

No. No, I couldn’t think about the Trials now. I needed to distract Frode or the whole bottle was going to disappear in an instant.

“Where are we going? For the battle.”

He frowned and thought about it. “I dunno,” he mumbled. Was he already tipsy? It hadn’t even been two minutes since his first sip. “Wait! I remember. A spy came and told us where to find some Kryllians.”

I sighed. “You drank the other half of that bottle before we left, didn’t you?”

“Yep!” He was far too cheerful for my liking.

With his focus entirely on keeping his balance, I was able to lean over and snatch the bottle from him. “Give me that.” While he protested, I dumped the rest of its contents into the snow.

“Revna.” Drunk Frode was usually out of it, but now he looked entirely too somber. “Gods, why are you being such a bitch?”

I would have taken the insult far too personally from anyone else. But this was Frode. “Because I love you.”

We rode for over an hour, not stopping for any breaks. The foot soldiers eventually fell behind, muttering obscenities at us under their breaths as we passed. We had the luxury of riding, so surely that meant something substantial. I rolled my eyes. They had no idea what it meant to be nothing.

Eventually, my father held up his fist to halt us. Our procession slowed to a stop. If I stood in my stirrups, I could see down a hill in front of us to where ten small purple tents were arranged.

Was this it? We had brought our entire enemy to fight ten tents’ worth of Kryllian soldiers?

“On my signal,” the king said. And then we waited.

The couple of times I peered into the valley, I saw a few figures walking, going about their ordinary business. The pines around us sparkled with icicles in the morning sun. My horse adjusted her feet, snorting impatiently. It could have been minutes or hours for all I knew, but the sun didn’t move far in the sky as we held our position.

And then, in a moment so ordinary I barely paid it any mind, my father raised his open hand, signaling our battalion to attack.

Battle cries roared out of every mouth and the horses galloped over the slope. Before Frode’s mount could follow, I took the reins and led him over into the grove of trees, out of sight of the battle. “Stay here,” I ordered. I wasn’t sure if I was talking to my brother or the horse.

The foot soldiers charged, joining the fray. I felt bad for them—they’d had no rest before rushing right into the chaos. Though I wondered how it was possible the battle hadn’t ended already, with so few Kryllians at the campsite.

Then I peered over the hill and understood.

We weren’t the only ones lying in wait. The Kryllian army had known we were coming. Most of their soldiers had been waiting in the woods for us to charge. Now the colors of armor blurred together as a giant mass of soldiers collided.

Lurae were in action on both sides. I spotted Bjorn and my father at the head of our line of attack, breathing orange flames across the snow. Few soldiers came away with burns, though. They must have armor protecting them from fire. Smart.

Erik was on the other side of the front lines, his great axe effectively taking out masses upon masses of soldiers as he used his Lurae strength to annihilate them.

The Kryllian soldiers were as powerful if not more. I watched one summon lightning to his hands and use it to take out two Bhorglid soldiers on either side of him. Another pulled water from the patches of mud Bjorn and Father were creating and froze it over the hands of our soldiers. They’d cry out in pain and another soldier would step out from behind and decapitate them.

The snow brimmed with scarlet.

An explosion echoed across the valley and I whipped my head to the left to see smoke billowing like a cloud from a crater in the ground far too close for my liking. Shit. I couldn’t go down there, not when it meant leaving Frode alone. He was in no shape to fight. Any Kryllian who stumbled upon him would kill him instantly.

I pulled my horse back by the reins, ignoring its unhappy snort and stomp. Apparently this mount had no qualms about going into combat. I cast one last glance down at the battlefield, wondering if S?ren was there to turn the tide before moving back to where I’d stashed my brother.

My chest filled with panic when Frode’s horse came into view without its rider. I glanced around and saw him instantly. He was curled up in the snow, hands over his ears, trembling like an autumn leaf about to fall. I stared at his green eyes, the whites so prominent, they matched the snow behind him.

“Come here, Frode,” I said, bending to put an arm underneath his shoulders. I pulled until he sat up and used my other hand to pull my cloak off and drape it around him. The wet snow would soak through his clothes and freeze again, leaving him frostbitten if he wasn’t careful.

I pulled him to his feet. “W-w-w-what the he-hell is hap-p-pening?” he gasped out.

“Down there? Ambush,” I said, hauling him toward my horse. There was no way he could ride on his own. “We’re going back to camp.”

“W-w-we are?” I could hear the relief in his voice, and it was enough for me to hurry my efforts.

But before I could push him into the saddle, I saw a sudden movement out of the corner of my eye. I had to drop Frode in order to bring my sword up in time to parry a slash from a lone Kryllian soldier.

We were both breathing heavily as we stared at each other. I didn’t know him; his dark hair and eyes were typical Kryllian features. But he raised a hand and a huge expanse of snow rose up behind me like a wave, blocking the bright glow of the sun and drenching me in shadow.

I barely managed to dodge the wave as it came down, grunting as I hurled all my force into a counterattack. The soldier’s moves were practiced, every slice flawless—a deadly opponent. But he hadn’t trained under the Hellbringer’s strict tutelage.

Every strike was met by a swift parry of my own, keeping him too preoccupied to use his magic. Soon enough, I saw a gap in his dance, perfect for me to lunge forward, twist my sword, and shove it through the space between his ribs until I knew I’d struck his heart.

The soldier choked, gasping for air, and stared at his fatal wound. I pulled my blade out of him; there was no sense in leaving him to suffer longer for cruelty’s sake.

He collapsed to his knees, the bright red stain in violent contrast with the pure white snow.

I didn’t know what came next. Guilt? Relief?

Neither emotion rose to pull me from my numbness. Instead, I was met with a flutter of excitement. I had done it. I had fought a Lurae and won.

“Revna?” Frode’s voice was hoarse. “I’m cold.”

“Oh, shit.” I left the lifeless body to rest in the snow and hauled Frode up, grateful the soldier hadn’t managed to bury him during the attack. In a few moments my brother sat in the saddle and I managed to situate myself behind him, my arms around his waist.

I turned in the direction we came from and we started making our way back to camp.