I soared closer and lanced my sword straight through her temple. Qildor’s sword struck her neck—both relatively delicate areas, if anything about giants could be considered delicate. He sliced at just the right angle, opening an artery.
The giant shrieked, and her hand opened as she fell. The King of Dergia tumbled from her grasp.
“Sayyida!” I bellowed.
She soared upward, arms extended, ready. I held my breath. Only released it when she caught the king. They were safe. They were?—
A rock twice the size of me slammed into Sayyida. She let out a cry, and the pair dropped to the ground. Landed hard.
“Over there!” Qildor pointed, and I spotted the culprit.
One of the smaller giants, a youngling I thought, was hurling boulders at our forces. He’d taken down a good number too, but wouldn’t be continuing. Isolde and Thyra had already spotted him, and their tendrils were already wrapping around his neck as Astril and Freyia sliced at his tendons, immobilizing the young giant.
Somewhere else in the valley, I caught a blast of fire that lit up the dusk. Rynni’s flame for the day.
“They’ve got the stone-thrower. Care for the king and Sayyida.” I soared to the ground.
Thordur arrived with me, his face bloodless as he took in his father, splayed on the ground with an unconscious Sayyida at his side. Red spattered the snow, and it took me only seconds to figure out why.
The king’s lower leg was gone at the knee, the tear of the skin horribly uneven. Possibly done by the giant’s long, jagged fingernails while she ran.
Sayyida moaned. A good sign that she was alive. I gestured to Qildor to help her and focused on the king.
“He’ll bleed to death.” Panic fluttered across the prince’s face.
“Not if we work fast.” I hoped it was true. Many times, I’d saved soldiers in battle. None, however, had been hurt this badly.
Could such a large wound be cauterized? I did not know, but I pulled off my belt and tied it above the knee. The blood flow slowed. Not enough, though. Not nearly enough.
“Hold the wound,” I instructed. “Try to reduce the flow.”
Thordur complied clumsily. I got the sense that his brain was no longer functioning as it should. He was in shock.
I searched for the dragon-fae, but she was so far away. I was about to take my chances and soar off to get Rynni when Isolde landed mere paces away.
“Halladora, watch our backs. I have an idea,” she said as she leapt from Arava. The Valkyrja was right behind her, turning to do as her queen commanded.
I shifted, allowing my mate closer, giving her room. She pulled her sword and sliced her hand open. I blinked, confused, and then understanding dawned.
Isolde had told me once that the shadows within Sassa’s Blade had asked her bidding. Presumably, they would do whatever she asked for the price of her blood.
“Save him. Seal the wound,” she said.
The shadow figure that materialized glided over to the king and the body morphed, covering the injury, stopping the blood. I watched it all in amazement. In relief. And when no more blood dripped from the king’s leg, I placed a hand on Thordur’s shoulder.
“He’ll live. Isolde will make sure of it.”
“I will,” my mate said, her tone off.
I turned to her and that brief flash of relief that I’d felt vanished. She held the blade to her palm, but then I recalled what happened when we’d fought the orc horde. How she’d passed out.
“Can you use your shadows?” I asked. “They don’t need blood, right?”
“I can try. But mine are weaker and not as reliable yet. This kind can do much more because they’re fromhismagic.”
She didn’t have to tell me who he was. Long ago, King Érebo’s shadow powers had been placed in the sword. In exchange for blood, shadow figures did the bidding of his mate.
“We need Thyra to help.” I worried at how long my wife could hold out.
