Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
One of the thralls darted ahead of them, screaming as she tried to get away. Before she made it two steps, a man sliced at her back. She fell, dead before she hit the ground, and the warrior’s eyes fixed on me.
My instincts took over.
Leaping to my feet, I drew my sword before bending to pick up a shield, emotion making my arm strong. It was me they wanted dead. So it would be me they had to kill. “Hlin,” I screamed, “give me your strength!”
Magic filled me, then spilled out of my hand to encase the shield, illuminating the night with brilliant silver light. All eyes turned on me, and then with a roar, the attackers surged. Not just a few men and women, but dozens spilling out from the trees, their eyes full of murder.
And I stood alone.
Or so I thought.
A shield appeared next to mine, and I turned to find Bjorn next to me, his axe burning bright. His face was splattered with blood, but he grinned. “Arm up, Born-in-Fire.” Then, louder, he shouted, “Shield wall!”
Other warriors hurried into position, Snorri among them. Shields locked into place, forming a circle within which Ylva, Steinunn, and the thralls crouched. Though I could smell their terror, mine was gone. In its place, a wild, furious defiance fueled my strength. And my magic.
The glow spilled outward, covering Bjorn’s shield first and then the others, spreading like a tide until the shield wall glowed with starlight.
Yet the enemy didn’t hesitate.
Whether it was because they didn’t know what Hlin’s power could do or that they were too caught up in battle rage to care, the enemy raced toward us as a wall of shield, axe, and blade. The collision was deafening, my magic hurling them back with such force that they collided with their fellows, knocking them from their feet. Screams and the snap of breaking bones filled the night, then Snorri shouted, “Attack!”
For a heartbeat, I wavered, then a voice whispered in my head, They attacked you. Attacked your people. They deserve this fate. I allowed the rage behind that voice to take control.
Hacking and stabbing at the enemy as my pulse roared, I killed and maimed those who’d come to do the same to me. Blood splattered my face and I tasted copper on my tongue, but I didn’t care. They’d brought this fight to me, but I’d be the one who finished it.
And then it was over.
Gasping for breath, I turned in a circle, searching for someone to fight. Someone to kill. But all the enemy was on the ground, either dead or soon to be so, the light from my shield illuminating the gore-soaked scene.
Men and women reduced to carcasses. To parts. The rage that had fueled me fled, replaced with sick horror over the scene before me. A scene that I’d helped create. My fingers turned to ice, bile burning in my throat because each breath I sucked in smelled of blood and opened bowel. They deserved it! I desperately reminded myself. They’d have done the same to you, given the chance!
“Are you hurt?”
I lifted my head to find Bjorn before me, eyes narrowed with concern.
“It smells,” I blurted out. “I didn’t realize it would stink this bad.”
It was a stupid thing to say. A stupid thing to think, but Bjorn only gave a grim nod. “A sweet-smelling victory is a myth, Born-in-Fire.”
Yet one I’d believed in.
I swallowed hard, feeling painfully naive, but before I was forced to acknowledge so to him, a commotion caught our attention.
Snorri was bent over a warrior, the dying man’s guts spilling out of a charred hole in his chain mail, suggesting Bjorn had been the one to strike the blow.
“It’s been a long time since we crossed blades, Jarl Torvin,” Snorri said, wiping gore from his brow. “It would’ve been better if you’d kept it that way.”
Torvin spat a mouthful of blood. “Your time will come soon enough,” he gasped out. “You possess the king-maker but have not the strength to keep her. Everyone is coming for her, to kill her or take her, and you’ll be a corpse alongside me soon enough.”
Snorri laughed. “How can I fear death when the gods themselves have foreseen my greatness?”
“They foresaw greatness,” Torvin whispered. “But is it yours? Or is it for the taking?”
Snorri’s face darkened and, rotating his axe head up, he shoved the haft into Torvin’s mouth, smiling as the man choked and gagged, clutching at his throat before finally going still.
No one spoke as Snorri straightened. “Ready the horses. We ride through the night to Fjalltindr.”
Bjorn cleared his throat. “They cut the lines and scattered the horses. It will take some time to track them down.”
“We don’t have time,” Ylva said. “You heard him-every jarl in Skaland is coming for her.”
“We’ve lost a third of our men,” Bjorn said. “We should return to Halsar.”
Blood dribbled down Snorri’s face, and I found myself staring at what looked like bits of skull caught in his beard. “No,” he said. “The specter said that if Freya isn’t able to give sacrifice on the first night of the full moon her thread will be cut short. And if she’s dead, I will not achieve my destiny.”
How many will die in the quest to get me to that moment? The question rippled through my thoughts, and I gripped my sword hilt. All this death for a chance at power.
“If what Torvin said is true, then more will be waiting to ambush us on the path up the mountain,” Bjorn said. “It’s narrow and we’ll be at a great disadvantage against those holding higher ground.”
Silence hung over the survivors of the battle, and though my fate sat at the center of this, I held my tongue.
Because I did not know which way forward was best.