Regna raised her spear as she charged, a war cry bursting from her like a terrible aria.
Alarik bellowed a warning as the Vaskan spears flew. But the ambush had caught them off guard, and Regna’s soldiers were fast. His front line fell with horrifying quickness, Borvil rearing backwards at the last second to the menacing point of Regna’s own spear. It whistled past Alarik’s ear and struck Anika’s stag, right between the antlers.
She shrieked, tumbling from the dead beast, and only narrowly avoiding a second flying spear. She tripped over another soldier’s corpse, scrabbling to find a mount as Regna’s ambush closed in on them. Alarik was about to yank his sister up on to Borvil’s back when a snow tiger charged from the east,sent no doubt by his eagle-eyed wrangler. Anika ran for it.
Alarik roared at his army, hastily remaking the front line as more crimson soldiers poured from a tunnel up ahead. Their gold helmets set them apart from the others Alarik had felled, but his gaze was fixed on Regna.
Take her head, and end the battle.
She is within your reach.
She pushed closer, likely harbouring the same thought.
Fearless now that she had the advantage. And she had chosen the best of her soldiers to guard her. Alarik could tell at once they were skilled, brutal fighters, forgoing their shields for maces and spears.
He refused to be cowed.
‘Good of you to show up at last!’ he yelled, across the tide of battle. ‘I’m sure your dead soldiers would thank you if they still had their heads.’
Regna cut down three of his soldiers on her way to get to him. ‘You can tell them I won when you join them in the afterlife.’
Closing the last gap between them, Alarik ended six of her warriors in six calculated strikes, before sliding from Borvil’s back. The rest of the war arced around them as they met in the heart of the Blackspires.
Somewhere over his shoulder, Anika’s voice rang out. ‘Take her head, brother! I could do with a new ornament.’
Regna made a noise of utter disgust. ‘This is what happens when you send children to war.’
‘Your sword hand is trembling,’ taunted Alarik.
‘Only in anticipation!’ she said, swinging hard.
Their blades met in a singing clash. ‘This won’t be a clean death,’ he said,dealing another. ‘I intend to gut you like you gutted my mountains.’
She growled, pushing her blade against his. ‘I hear you have something that belongs to my people. We intend to take it back.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, coolly.
She snorted. ‘Do not lie to me, dragon thief.’
Again, she swung. Alarik leaped backwards, letting the anger of her own momentum knock her off balance. He darted close then, pushing her back three steps.
‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to believe in fairy tales, Regna?’
‘Didn’t your father ever warn you, beast king? Vask has eyeseverywhere. Even in that glittering eyesore of a palace of yours.’ She struck out, seizing his fleeting surprise. He stumbled backwards, before quickly righting himself. ‘I will have what’s mine. By blade or by fate’s design.’
They fought on, trading insults and blows, until the rest of the world fell away.
When Alarik looked up again, his front line had been decimated once more. Borvil prowled at his back, while Anika had fallen behind in the clash. Captain Vine was pushing more soldiers into the foothills but the corpses there were slowing their ascent and the rock was too loose for the weaver elk. Hale’s fire lances were still trained on the sky.
Falling back, Alarik wiped the blood from his hands and regripped the pommel of his sword. For the first time that day, fear nipped at the edges of his heart. His soldiers were falling too quickly. His ranks were depleting, most of them still stuck down on the frozen tundra. Regna and her sea of steel was holding firm,and for a terrifying moment, Alarik felt entirely alone in this battle.
Was this to be his last stand? Was he doomed to fall here on the black soil, with Regna’s sword in his chest?
Borvil’s strength was lagging, the ice bear picking up on the thread of his anxiety. Alarik was losing control of himself. He was losing control of this war. Victory was slipping like silt through his fingers …
Regna grinned through the grill of her helmet, like she could sense it.
‘HOLD THE LINE!’ His wrangler’s cry ripped through him like an inferno. He stiffened, like a wolf called to attention. The earth rumbled, and he glanced over his shoulder to find his beasts stampeding up the mountain, tearing their way through Regna’s regiment of gold helmets with a viciousness that made his blood pump faster.
