Page 23
TWENTY-ONE
H ekla’s gaze bounced from the flames pouring from Eyvind’s palms to the gaps in the fire wall, now blocked. “Hakonsson,” she sputtered. “You’re-how are you?—”
She was unable to finish the sentence. Eyvind Bloody Hakonsson was one of the Galdra. Hekla had never seen magic wielded before, and for a moment, all she could do was stare in wonder. Was this how Eyvind and Rey knew one another? Was there some sort of secret Galdra club?
Hekla’s mind reeled, but there was no time for her to put things together.
Help had come when they needed it most, and she would take it in any form.
A Turned grimwolf lunged at Eyvind’s back, and Hekla buried her claws in its throat, wrenching downward to bring it crashing to the ground.
She twisted and drove her longsword down hard, severing the beast’s head.
“Kill the Ashbringer!” howled a draugur in the mist’s inhuman voice.
Hekla felt the creatures’ focus shift toward Eyvind, and her anger burned awake, low and deep inside her.
“Not on my watch.” Hekla hefted her sword and placed her back to Eyvind’s. The heat pouring off him made the air hotter than a steam bath, and sweat beaded her brow, sliding down her temple.
“So protective, Lynx,” said Eyvind, a smile in his voice.
“Save your strength, Fox!” she barked, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, because of course this man would tease her while they were but a heartbeat from death’s door.
As a Turned bear lunged forward, Hekla braced for impact. She had to protect Eyvind. Could not allow the undead beasts to break his focus.
“The dais, Eyvind. Can you set the dais aflame?”
But Eyvind just grunted, and as Hekla turned her head slightly, she saw two fresh gaps in the wall form as more creatures laid themselves down.
Twin jets of flame burst from Eyvind’s palms as he quickly filled the newly formed gaps.
It seemed he required all of his strength and concentration to contain the mist within Istré’s square, which meant Sigrún needed to set that gods-damned dais alight, and she needed to do it now .
Hekla could not risk checking on Sigrún’s progress; the surge of Turned creatures seemed endless, each one Hekla felled replaced by two more.
She buried her sword in a vampire deer’s neck.
With a quick kick to the beast’s chest, she heaved her sword free and hacked until its head fell free.
From the corner of her eye, she saw that Eyvind’s men had cordoned a large group of Turned against a longhouse, but a male scream from that direction suggested their ranks had now broken.
At last, there was a break in the onslaught.
Sigrún had an arrow nocked in her bow and aimed toward the dais, but a grimwolf snapped at her ankles.
She lurched back, toppling off the rain barrel.
As the grimwolf leapt onto her, Hekla opened her mouth to cry out but shut it as Gunnar vaulted through the air and fell upon the beast.
On Hekla’s left, a forest walker advanced, and she was momentarily stunned. With rough, bark-like skin and branch-like arms, the forest walker’s three-pronged claws lashed out with inhuman speed. Hekla ducked with scarcely a heartbeat to spare .
“The dais!” she shouted to Eyvind. “Burn the dais!” Hekla kicked out low, her boot colliding with solid wood. The forest walker did not so much as budge. How could she take its head?
The forest walker swung again, and this time, Hekla was a heartbeat too slow. Pain exploded from her shoulder, sending her staggering back. The beast surged after her. A scream tore from her throat as its claw shredded through her breeches and into the flesh of her upper thighs.
“Hekla!” bellowed Eyvind, but his voice sounded distant through the loud ring in her ears.
Her knees buckled as the forest walker advanced.
Though its eyes were a vacant red haze, she could have sworn she read victory in them.
Thick, gnarled arms swung upward, and for the dozenth time that hour, Hekla prepared to meet death.
A dull thwack met Hekla’s ears, confusion jostling through her as the forest walker’s smile fell.
Black blood oozed like sticky sap, dripping down its trunk.
A gleaming axe sang through the air and embedded deep in the forest walker’s neck.
The beast whirled, but it was too late. A third swing of the axe knocked the forest walker’s head clean off.
Putrid black blood spurted from its headless trunk, but it was the most beautiful sight Hekla had ever seen.
She met Thrand’s blue eyes, appreciating the gleam of madness within.
The warrior’s once gleaming armor was now smeared with ash and gore.
As he yanked her to her feet, she smiled.
“Finally put some scuffs in that armor, Long Sword?”
“Aye.”
“Is she hurt?” grunted Eyvind.
“Merely a flesh wound,” Hekla assured Eyvind, but frowned. With a wide stance, he seemed to brace against the power churning from his palms. His limbs trembled with exertion and rivulets of sweat carved paths through his soot-stained face. It was clear Eyvind could not continue like this for long.
More of the Turned charged at Eyvind, and Hekla and Thrand worked in tandem to cut them down. Turned after Turned fell, but more surged forth. The attacks grew more frenzied, their parries more sluggish, and Hekla was alarmed to find her battle thrill waning.
They could not keep on like this. Eyvind now blocked more gaps in the fire than she could count, and chaos engulfed Sigrún’s corner of the square.
The moment the mist escaped its fiery confines, they would all be consumed and Turned.
They needed to change the tide of battle—needed to try something else.
“You see, mortal?” cackled the mist through a nearby draugur. “It is inevitable. It is fated. We will finish what we started. You will belong to us.”
Hekla slashed into a grimwolf’s throat, refusing to let the mist distract her. Pungent black blood slid down her claws and coated her metal arm. But the mist’s taunting words stirred an idea. It was brash. It was almost certainly mad.
But no one had ever called her level-headed.
“Cover Hakonsson’s back,” she grunted to Thrand, driving her sword into a grimwolf. “Let me into the ring,” she shouted to Eyvind. “The moment the mist’s attention is diverted, order a retreat. And once they’re gone, Eyvind, you must push the full force of your magic onto the dais.”
“Hekla, no?—”
“There are ten casks of pitch ready to vaporize this gods-damned mist. The moment the dais catches, you turn and flee, Eyvind. Promise me that.”
“No,” grunted Eyvind. “You’ll die.”
A sudden wave of tenderness crashed through her, and Hekla couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t worry for me, Foxie. The lynx, after all, is a cat.” She edged around him, ducking under the inferno surging from his palms. “Which means we have nine lives.”
“Don’t you?—”
“I’m jumping into that ring whether you pause your fire or not, Hakonsson. I’d prefer not to char before facing the mist, but it is your choice! ”
Angry, desperate words spewed from Eyvind. “You maddening, stubborn, irrational woman?—”
She cut him off with a warm, firm kiss. Hekla didn’t care that his men might see her.
Didn’t care what they might think. For a fraction of a heartbeat, she was back on that riverbank, opening herself to a man for the first time in years.
And in this kiss, she let him see it all—the girl she’d once been, the one who still lived deep inside this toughened warrior.
The one who’d come out, if only for a night.
Hekla had to force herself to pull back. “Thank you,” she whispered for only Eyvind to hear, “for reminding me of who I am.” She allowed herself to stare into those hazel eyes, now wild with anger, with fear, with utter despair.
And then she was turning to the wall of flames, time slowing as she drew a deep breath.
And before doubt could creep in, Hekla hurled herself into the inferno.
Without a heartbeat to spare, Eyvind’s fire extinguished, a gap forming in the wall of flames.
She landed on the balls of her feet and glanced over her shoulder.
An incredulous laugh fell from her lips.
Eyvind had reignited his fiery jets, encasing her within the mist’s blazing prison.
Hekla rose to her feet, and turned to face the churning, undulating mass of white.
She smiled. Blew it a kiss. “Hello, dúlla. You want me? Well, here I am.”
The air rattled with the mist’s anger, the smoke and pungent reek of charred corpses choking her lungs. Beyond the wall of flames, there was some sort of commotion, but Hekla did not dare take her eyes off the mist.
“You meddlesome mortal!” raged the mist through its draugur. “We will consume you!”
“Mmm hmm. You said that already.”
The mist turned into a storm of anger, causing Hekla to retreat a step.
Yet she felt its attention upon her, and hoped it was enough of a diversion to allow Eyvind to set those barrels alight.
The blistering heat of the wall of flames at her back blocked her further retreat.
The mist undulated with glee, advancing upon her.
This was it.
“Down!” came the cry, not a moment before a solid mass crashed into Hekla.
Darkness engulfed her.
And the world erupted.