“We haven’t made any progress in hours,” Katell argued, pulling her cloak tight against the biting wind. “If I can take out the Gifted and stop the flames, the other praefects can lead the soldiers into the forest and head straight for Dalmatius.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “The scouts haven’t returned yet, which usually isn’t a good sign. He might need our help.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed Atticus’ face. He glanced at the barricade, then back to her. The crease between his dark brows deepened. “How do you plan to get past the flames?”
For the first time all day, Katell grinned and turned to the two youngest Black Helmets. “Arnza and Pinaria can boost me over them.”
They blinked at her, cheeks flushed from the cold. “Just like we practised in camp. Larth, help Arnza with the shield.”
Pinaria hesitated, glancing towards the nearby soldiers doing a poor job of pretending not to listen. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. “You could get seriously hurt, or land in the flames.”
Katell shut down the doubt. Dorias had entrusted her with the Black Helmets for a reason, and she intended to prove he’d been right. If anyone could make it over that barricade and take out the Northerner’s leader, it was her. Victory here could turn the tide of the campaign and make Dorias proud.
She removed her black-plumed helmet and unfastened her cloak, passing both to Atticus. “Then it’s a good thing my Gift will heal me.”
Pinaria frowned, exchanging a look with Arnza.
Atticus took the gear without comment, then gave a single nod. “Do it.”
As they moved for the barricade, Katell slipped her hand behind her breastplate and retrieved two more Tears. The extra boost would give her the strength to defeat the Northerners and enhance her healing if things went wrong.
Failure wasn’t an option.
She double-checked her weapons—the sword at her hip and daggers at her belt—while the Black Helmets got into position. Arnza’s shield shimmered into existence, its golden surface reflecting the faint glow of magic. Beside him, Larth braced it with both hands, muscles taut. Silvery-purple light streamed from Pinaria’s palms, and she gave Katell a firm nod.
The familiar power of the Tears surged through her, flooding her limbs with strength and purpose. She sprinted forward, adrenaline pumping through her veins. With a powerful leap, she launched onto the shield, heart pounding in her chest. She soared over the barricade, green flames roaring beneath her, but Pinaria’s protective magic held them at bay.
She landed with a solid thud, quickly regaining her footing, senses sharpened. Without hesitation, she unsheathed her sword, the steel catching the eerie light of the flames at her back.
The forest loomed ahead, dense with towering pines that cast long, shifting shadows across the snow. Near the barricade, crouched low behind a trunk, the Gifted Northerner lingered in the shadows. He was scrawny, not a warrior by any stretch, but his magic had held the Rasennan line all day. His lips moved in a steady murmur, his gaze locked on the flames as if feeding them with every word.
Katell stalked straight for him, pulse quickening, her muscles itching for the fight.
The man spotted her too late. His pale eyes widened in alarm, and with a startled yelp, he stumbled back, scrambling to escape. Katell raised her sword, ready to cut him down?—
—but a dark shape surged from behind a nearby tree.
A hulking warrior stepped into view, wreathed in shadow, his massive axe catching her blade.
It was the giant leader Romilda had warned them about.
The scrawny Northerner let out a cry and bolted into the forest. Katell tried to pursue him, but the leader’s shield slammed into her mid-stride, forcing her back. Behind her, the searing heat of the green flames began to fade. Distant voices drifted through the barricade from the Rasennan side.
But she had no time for them. The warrior’s axe was already coming down in a brutal arc towards Katell’s head. She ducked low, the blade slicing the air just inches above her.
“These are not your lands,” the giant Northerner thundered, his bearded face set in a stern frown. “Piss off!”
Katell parried his strike and leapt back, muscles taut and ready. “You shouldn’t have attacked us.”
The giant let out a low, rumbling huff. Clad in steel chain mail and furs, he bore all the markings of a battle-hardened leader. Jagged black tattoos ran across his throat, though none shimmered with magic. Obsidian pendants hung heavy around his neck, catching the dim light.
“You attacked first,” he growled. “Your Emperor covets our stone, our salt, and our people.”
Katell clicked her tongue at the accusation. Dorias had made it clear the Northerners launched periodic raids on the Suebi, leaving villages in ruin and forcing them to seek the Emperor’s protection. But she wasn’t about to argue with someone who wouldn’t see reason.
Their weapons clashed, her Rasennan sword against the sharp, triangular axe the Northerners favoured.
Katell’s breath grew ragged. Without the Tears, she’d have been crushed already. The leader loomed over her, both taller and broader than Atticus, a mountain of muscle exuding a lethal aura.
But his bulk also made him slow. Remembering her matches against the Samnites in the arena, she narrowly dodged another brutal swing and darted to the side, drawing a dagger from herbelt. With practised precision, she thrust it between the giant’s ribs.
