He jerked his chin up, casting his gaze across the lake as though he could sense the tornado of her worries. But—No. What an absurd thought. He wasn’t looking for her. He was assessing his beasts, making sure they were fed and watered, ready to fight. Of course, that was it. The king of Gevra was marching into war. Why would he spare a thought for her? Why did her foolish heart wish him to?
Greta tore her gaze away from him.
Baldur gave her a piteous look.
She sighed. ‘I know. I’m pathetic.’
The bears stiffened at a sudden rustling from the forest. All along the lake, the king’s beasts snarled. When Elias emerged from the trees on the back of his stag, followed by a stern-faced Halgardian soldier riding a weaver elk, Greta leaped to her feet and raised her hand.
The command was implicit.Be still.
A hush fell over the disquieted beasts as an entire battalion of Halgardian soldiers spilled from the Valewood, riding in full armour on elk-back. Greta’s chest loosened as King Nilas’s promised army gathered along the treeline, adding a sizable regiment to their own.
There was enough elk here to raze a thousand soldiers to the ground, to flatten the Blackspires themselves with the force of their stampede. There might even be enough to command the tide of this war. A flicker of hope took root inside Greta.
Alarik went to greet the Halgardian captain, his sister striding confidently at his side, Captain Vine on the other. Both armies spread out around the great lake, the elk dipping their mighty heads to drink their fill, while Greta called her beasts away from the water to give them room.
Time moved all too quickly after that, the armies blending seamlessly as they set off for the black mountains. For a long while, the only sounds were the trundling of sleds, the impatient huff of the elk and the faint clanging of armour as soldier and beast journeyed on, and on, towards the Blackspires.
It was late afternoon when Greta sat bolt upright, a sharp twist of fear in her gut. Something was wrong. The beasts had stilled behind her, their hackles raised. She sprung up in the sled, searching for the source of unease. Far ahead, the king pulled Borvil to a halt and rose to his haunches.
At a nighthawk’s cry, they all looked up, spotting a flock of crimson soldiers gliding low over the Blackspires. There was a series of loud cracks, and before the king could loose a warning shout, flames poured down on them.
The beasts scattered in panic, causing several weaver elk to buck their riders. Twenty thousand shields went up, creating a canopy of metal just in the nick of time. Soldiers along the edges dropped and rolled along the frozen ground, desperately trying to put out the flames on their bodies. Many collapsed in the snow, face down, the fire having scoured too deep. Several wolves succumbed to the attack, the last of them dying with a helpless whimper that cleaved Greta’s chest in two. She grasped the side of the sled to keep from falling to her knees, every inch of her now trembling violently.
‘ARCHERS,’ bellowed Captain Vine, and a slew of arrows flew right at the gliders.
‘FIRE LANCES!’ yelled General Hale, and more flames soared, this time towards the sky.
The gliders fell to earth, one by one. The king’s soldiers were already moving, ready to finish them off. One glider fell atop a weaver elk, skewered by a poison-sharp antler. Two more were devoured by ice bears upon landing and the rest met their deaths at the end of Gevran swords.
Greta’s stomach lurched as she watched it all from her sled, Aren’s hand finding hers in the horror. And then it was over. A paltry skirmish that had cost far too much.
‘So wasteful,’ she murmured, returning her fearful gaze to the skies, where their nighthawks were circling. In the hollow silence, they all looked up, waiting for the next onslaught of gliders.
Aren’s hand tightened around hers. ‘That wasn’t an attack,’ he said, as the air began to thrum with the steel-drummed rhythm of war. ‘It was a distraction.’
When Greta jerked her chin down, she saw Hunter’s Pass was thronged with soldiers wearing the crimson armour of Vask.They were charging headlong at the king, the wind pounding with their war song, their swords raised and gleaming. More of Regna’s soldiers poured in from the east and west foothills, moving like red-bellied insects across the dark mountains, claiming the border in an unbroken line of crimson and steel.
Overhead, the skies heaved with more gliders, and fire fell like snow, felling beasts and soldiers where they stood. Greta froze inside the sled, her head spinning at the sudden chaos of war. It had come upon them like a blizzard, far closer and much sooner than she was expecting.
She wasn’t ready.
How could she ever be ready for something like this?
Everywhere she looked, the king’s soldiers were hoisting their shields and drawing their swords, tripping over themselves as they fell into hasty formation. The flames had sent the elk into panic, rearing and grunting as their riders grappled for control. Beasts whined and roared, desperately seeking direction.
‘Greta!’ Aren was shaking her. ‘Look at me! Focus!’
She blinked, her eyes streaming at the onslaught of gunpowder and smoke. The ground was full of snow and the sky was full of fire, and soldiers were screaming. They weredying. The clash and clamour of battle raged with such sudden, pounding fury, she had to concentrate on Aren’s lips just to hear what he was saying.
‘Your helmet!’ When she didn’t move, he yanked it from her hands and jammed it over her head. She could smell metal and blood now, his voice echoing in the tinny surrounds. ‘You have to go to the beasts! You have to command them! Your king needs you!’
Your king needs you.
Greta careened back into herself with a violent jolt.She shook off her horror and shoved away her fear. Her beasts were frightened. The flames were startling them,hurtingthem, and they were hopelessly out of formation. She had to corral them, to show them where to go, and who to fight.
She had to defend the king.
