by G. A. Aiken
Yet none of that disturbed Izzy as much as what were being held back by thick chain and collar. While the dogs had no leash and the horses had no saddles, these things were controlled by the thick metal collars around their throats and the chains being held by their captors. These had no horns, no otherworldly eyes, no bulging, overdeveloped muscles—and that was because they were men. Human men frothing at the mouth, more than eager to kill. Men who’d lost their minds and humanity long, long ago.
Slowly, Annwyl got to her feet, her gaze locked not on the entire legion before her but on the one who rode at the head. A woman. A witch. Izzy might not be one like her mother and sister, but she could spot one. She could spot them all.
“Izzy,” Annwyl said again, her voice now stronger. “Go.”
“Leave you to fight alone?”
“No. Get me help.”
The witch leader lifted her hand, palm up, middle and forefinger out. Izzy waited for her to unleash a spell with that hand, but all she did was swipe her fingers to the left. The collars on the men were jerked by the females who held them and the metal unlocked and dropped. Unleashed, the men howled in their madness and charged.
“Izzy, go!” Annwyl screamed, lifting one of her blades.
And, as her commander ordered, Izzy shot off toward home.
“Are you going to keep pacing?” Dagmar asked Talaith. “You’re making me dizzy.”
“How can you be so calm?”
Busy writing a list, Dagmar replied, “I choose not to fret. Fretting doesn’t help.”
“She doesn’t understand, you know.” And Dagmar slowly raised her head to look across the table at the god who sat there, her feet brazenly resting on the wood. Her arm had grown back. “Not everyone’s like you.”
“Why are you here?”
The war goddess pouted. “That’s not very welcoming.”
“Who are you talking to?” Talaith asked.
Dagmar sighed. “A god.”
And that’s when Talaith threw up her hands and shouted, “Well, that’s not good!”
“Do you really think her brothers will allow you to get away with this?” Elder Siarl asked.
“I’ll talk to Morfyd. She’ll understand. And I’ll deal with any repercussions.”
“Then why have you even bothered to summon us?”
“I will present what I have found to the Council, and you will judge her accordingly. Then punishment will commence.”
“Punishment? In the salt mines?”
“For betraying our queen.”
“I don’t like it,” Elder Teithi argued.
“It’s for the best.”
“No, cousin,” Keita finally managed to say. “It’s for your ego.” She dragged herself to her claws. It wasn’t easy. She hurt everywhere.
“What I do, I do for my queen.”
“What you do,” Keita snarled back, “you do for yourself. Don’t blame the queen for you being such a self-righteous cunt.”
The fist slammed into the side of Keita’s snout, sending her crashing to the ground.
“Elestren! Stop this!”
“Perhaps the snobby slit would like to challenge me.” Elestren kicked her, sending Keita’s dragon body flipping up and over. “Come on, princess! Pick up a sword and fight me! Prove your innocence by killing your challenger.”
“Elestren, I’m telling you right now to stop this!” Elder Siarl ordered.
“I’m giving her a chance to walk away from this.” Elestren unsheathed her sword, flipped it so that she held it by the blade. “Take it, princess. Prove me wrong. Let the gods decide our fate.”
Coughing, Keita slowly pushed her body up. When she saw her cousin’s body relax, Keita picked up a handful of dirt and flung it at Elestren’s still-useful eye.
Dropping the sword, Elestren backed up, screeching as she tried to wipe out the dirt. Keita scrambled up, put her front claws together, talons interlocking, and swung at Elestren’s face. She hit her hard, Elestren’s entire head jerking to one side. But she was still standing and, it seemed, relatively unfazed by the hit that had Keita’s claws throbbing.
Slowly, Elestren faced Keita.
“Oh…shit,” Keita muttered seconds before her cousin swung her own fist, sending Keita flying back and into the cave wall. She hit it hard and then hit the ground a little harder.
“Elestren! No!”
But her cousin ignored Elder Siarl’s demand, grabbing hold of Keita by her hair and flipping her over. She slammed her knee down on Keita’s chest and raised the sword she retrieved over Keita’s head.
“Sorry, cousin,” she said, although they both knew she didn’t mean it.
The screaming men charged forward, and Annwyl readied her weapon, pulling it up so the handle was by her shoulder and the blade a little lower. When the first few were close enough, she swung the blade in an arc. She cut several in half, took the arms of others. A handful shot by her and went after Izzy. Although she wanted to follow, to protect her niece, she knew she had to let Izzy prove her worth. She couldn’t and wouldn’t turn away from this fight. Not when she’d been dreaming about it for so long now.
This had been what she’d been waiting for, and Annwyl had no intention of walking away.
More men charged her, and Annwyl went to work.
Izzy jumped over tree stumps and dashed around boulders. She could hear the men coming up behind her, slavering for her blood. Begging for it. She didn’t turn around; she didn’t look at them. She couldn’t afford to. The forest could be tricky. And although she was armed, she couldn’t stand and fight now. Not when Annwyl needed help. Not when those protecting the twins—and, more importantly, her sister—needed to be warned.
Keita brought her claws up, hoping to somehow block the blade before it entered her chest, but a flash of light had her gasping and Elestren yelping and stumbling away from her. Keita turned over and watched with her mouth open as Morfyd landed in front of her.
Elestren blinked in confusion. “Morfyd?”
“You bitch.” Morfyd raised her claws and unleashed bright white flames that sent Elestren flying back. “My sister!” Morfyd bellowed, advancing on Elestren. “You do this to my sister!”
Elestren got to her feet, snarling. “You’d protect this lying, betraying bitch?”
“She’s my sister!”
Elestren raised her blade to attack, and Morfyd opened her mouth and unleashed a line of flame that snaked across the cavern, wrapped around the blade, and yanked it from Elestren’s stunned grasp.
Those who’d been with Elestren ran for the exit, but they met Briec and Gwenvael, who didn’t seem to be in any mood to let them leave.
Elestren held her claws up. A sign of surrender. A move rarely made by a Cadwaladr, but one that clearly signaled the fight was over.
Ragnar landed beside Keita, dropping to one knee.
“Gods, Keita.”
“Help me up.”
She held up her claw, and he took it. Fearghus landed on the other side of her and grabbed her other claw. Together they helped her stand.
Keita watched as Morfyd raised her claw and chanted, pulling her talons in until she made a fist. Elestren went down screaming as if something inside her was being torn apart.
Éibhear grabbed Morfyd’s shoulders, tried to pull her back, to stop her. But with a flick of her wrist, she sent their oversized baby brother spinning across the cavern, Ragnar and Fearghus quickly pulling Keita out of the way.
Talaith looked away from Dagmar and the god she couldn’t see. It felt like her chest was being squeezed, and the last time she’d felt that, her Izzy had been in trouble. She moved from the table, her gaze shooting up to the top of the hallway stairs. The centaur stood there, watching her, Ebba’s serene, but direct expression telling Talaith all she needed to know.
She was up on the long table and over it in seconds, running out the Great Hall front doors.
Talaith saw the two Lightnings coming from around the building.
“Vigholf!” she yelled. “Meinhard!”
They both stopped and watched her dash by and out the side exit. She was near the forest that would take her into the west field.
“Mum!”
She saw her daughter running toward her—saw what was behind her. Nearly on her. Men that were no longer men. And that meant only one thing.
Kyvich.
“Don’t stop!” Talaith yelled at her. “Go!”
Mother and daughter charged past each other, Talaith pulling out the blade she always kept tied to her thigh. She cut the throat of one mad bastard, leaped onto a nearby boulder, and shoved off with one foot, slashing her blade across the throat of another. When she landed on the ground, she kept running, trusting her daughter could take care of herself.
Izzy did as her mother ordered and kept running. She ran until she cleared the trees, and that’s when the first one slammed into her from behind, flipping them both over.
He caught her by the hair, yanking her head to the side and wrapping his mouth around the side of her neck. Teeth dug in and bit down. She screamed out, her hand reaching for the blade she kept tucked into her boot. She had her fingers on the handle when the man was pulled away from her, his brains dashed when a Lightning in human form slammed him to the ground.
Izzy released her knife and got to her feet.
“Izzy!” She looked up as Meinhard tossed an ax to her. She caught it, spun, and hacked through the crazed male closest to her. She stopped, swung the blade up, and tore through another from his bowels to his neck. Then she hefted the ax and ran back into the forest.
She saw her cousin and screamed, “Get the kin. Get them all! Meinhard! Vigholf! Follow me!”
Morfyd crouched in front of the keening warrior at her feet. “Did you really think you’d get away with this?” she asked. “Did you really think I’d let you do this to my sister?”
She heard someone calling to her, someone yelling at her to stop, but she couldn’t. Not after seeing what Elestren had done to Keita. How she’d hurt her. How she’d been moments from killing her.
“Tell me, cousin, what does it feel like?” she asked in a whisper. “What does it feel like when I turn the blood in your veins to shards of glass?” Morfyd squeezed her fist, making the shards inside her cousin bigger. “Does it make you want to scream? The way you tried to make my sister scream?” She caught Elestren’s green hair and yanked her head up, bellowing in her face, “Does it hurt?”
She watched the human queen tear through enemy men that her sisters, trained in the art, had broken and tormented until they became nothing more than attack beasts. The loyal dog at her side, however, was her companion and partner. She protected him as she protected herself and her horse. But these men were of no concern to her and allowed her to wear down the Blood Queen of Dark Plains.
A head flipped past, and Storm picked it up in his fangs, shaking it before offering it to her horse, Death-bringer, so they could play tug. They loved playing tug together.
“Ásta,” her second command, Bryndís, called to her. “A Nolwenn.”
Surprised, because they’d had no warning, Ásta watched the Nolwenn witch charge into the field. She had a blade and nothing else.
Ásta growled a little, Death-bringer pawing the ground restlessly beneath her.
“Hulda,” Ásta said softly. “Kill it.”
Hulda grinned and tightened her legs, her horse knowing exactly what to do.
Nolwenns were the bane of the Kyvich. The why of that fact had been lost to memory a millennia ago, but the hatred remained.
The queen had nearly finished with the males, an outcome Ásta cared little about.
“Unleash the second wave,” she said, her voice never going above a very soft call.
Bryndís lifted her arm. “Second wave!” she cried out. “Forward!”
Kyvich who had not yet earned their seats screamed and charged forward on foot, their weapons at the ready.
Annwyl had yanked her sword from the body at her feet when she heard the call. She turned and watched the women charging her. About twenty, but unlike the bodies littering this field, these females weren’t crazed, uncontrollable, broken humans. They were like her. Well-trained and only as crazy as necessary to get the job done.
The first who reached her ducked the fist aimed for her face and went up and under until she was behind Annwyl, slamming her fist into Annwyl’s kidney.
Screaming in pain and rage, Annwyl turned and swung her sword. Their swords met, slamming into each other with such force, the power of it radiated down Annwyl’s arm. Another blade swung at her, and Annwyl leaned back, catching hold of the hand attached to that sword. She held the two females, teeth clenched, muscles straining.
More came for her, and she waited until the last second before she lifted her legs, kicking the one in front of her. Her legs swung back down, and Annwyl dropped to the ground, her legs spread wide, her hand still gripping the sword arm of one woman and her own blade keeping the blade of another at bay.
She yanked the arm she held and twisted, breaking it in several places. The woman dropped to one knee, and Annwyl used her elbow to shatter the bones of the right side of her face.
The woman fell back, screaming but not dead. Annwyl pulled a blade she had tucked into the back of her leggings and shoved it into the lower belly of the other female. That one dropped, her blade still in her hand and blood pouring out of her wound.
Annwyl had no doubt she’d be back on her feet in seconds; the other one with the shattered face was already halfway up.
Rolling to her feet, Annwyl raised her blade again, but a large hand from behind her caught hold and twisted. Annwyl went with it, not wanting her wrist to be broken. She dropped the blade she held and turned her body in the same direction that her arm was twisted. She fell to her knees and came around until she faced her opponent. She took her free hand, balled it into a fist, and rammed the bitch in the groin until she heard bone break.
Teeth gritted, the woman dropped to her knees, and Annwyl head-butted her.
She pulled her arm away and stood, shaking off the pain.
Izzy charged straight for her, so she stepped to the side. Izzy flew past, colliding into three females who’d been coming up behind Annwyl.
The two Northland dragons flew in, landing hard in front of Annwyl, their backs to her. Vigholf unleashed bolts of lightning at the witch’s leader.
Smiling, the cold, tattooed bitch raised her hand, and the lightning strikes broke into pieces, dropping to the ground. Stunned, the dragons could only stare, and the woman sniffed in disgust and flicked her hand. As if shoved apart by gods, the two dragons flew into the surrounding forest, mowing down trees and creating a new path for those who needed to get through.
Annwyl realized then she didn’t stand a chance.
Of course…that had never mattered before.
“What have you done?” Dagmar demanded of the god.
“Why do you assume I’ve—”
Dagmar slammed her fist against the table, truly feeling like her father at that moment—he’d be proud.
Eir eyed her coldly. “Perhaps, human, you forget who I am.”
“Woman, I don’t give a battle-fuck who you are. Tell me what you did.”
Dagmar heard panting right by her ear and turned in time to get an enthusiastic lick across the face. Then she understood. Eir had done nothing.
“Nannulf,” she said to the wolf-god who adored her. “Can you show me what you’ve done?”
Nannulf charged for the door, and Dagmar followed.
The last thing she heard from Eir that day, “I’ll expect an apology, you rude cow!”
Ásta knew when the queen realized she didn’t stand a chance. When she knew she’d die this day. As would the two females fighting by her side. She knew they’d all die and there was nothing she could do about it.
Yet the human queen retrieved her sword and went back to work. Fighting those still considered novices by the
Kyvich Elders.
“Fire Breathers,” Bryndís warned her calmly. She knew how Ásta hated to be yelled at. What was the point? When they started to panic in battle, all would be lost.
“Shield,” Ásta ordered.
Bryndís nodded at their left-flank unit. As one, the women raised their left hands, and the Fire Breathers leading the charge were the first who slammed into that shield created by the Kyvich. Snouts breaking, blood spurting, they flipped back and crashed into the ones behind them.
Ásta again focused on the defeated queen—who didn’t fight as if defeated.
Realizing that the rage all the siblings had in one form or another had hold of her sister, Keita pulled away from Ragnar and her brother, and ran-limped her way across the cavern until she crouched beside her sister.
“No, Morfyd. Let her go.”
Elestren began to cough up blood. And Keita was horrified to see there were pieces of glass in it.
“Please!” Keita gripped her sister’s face between her claws, forced her to look her in the eyes. “Stop it.” She shook her. “Please, Morfyd, let her go. For me, let her go!”
Morfyd unclenched her claw, and Elestren’s head slammed back to the ground. Morfyd’s gaze roamed around the cavern as if she didn’t know where she was.
Panting, Keita pressed her snout next to her sister’s. “Breathe,” she whispered to her. “Just breathe.”
Morfyd swallowed. “I’m…I’m all right. I’m all right.”
Keita leaned back, searched her sister’s eyes. The rage was gone, and the Morfyd that Keita knew was back.