They swarmed Alarik in their droves, filling out a new front line that cast dread in the eyes of their enemies. Trembling at the sight, Regna staggered backwards, quickly widening the space between them. The remaining gold helmets rushed to guard her, while others turned back towards the tunnels.
Cowards.
Alarik’s lips curled. Bolstered by the courage of his beasts, he shoved away his fear and fought on, slashing and roaring as he lopped off those gold helmets and sent them tumbling down the mountain. Ever moving towards Regna as she scrabbled up the slope, making for the summit.
In his mind, he heard his father’s voice.
Don’t think, just strike. And strike again.
Until her army falls at your front,
Or your army falls at your back.
Strike until your final breath leaves you.
And even then, strike once more.
‘There’s no honour in retreat!’ Alarik yelled after the Vaskan queen. ‘One way or another, I’ll have your head!’
Anika soon returned to his side. Though he couldn’t see his sister, he could hear her grunts on the wind, caught the spray of blood every time her axe found its mark. He matched her stroke for stroke, ignoring the blows that landed on his arms and legs, the blades that dented his breastplate and bruised his ribs.
He barely blinked as he fought his way up the slope, keeping his eyes on the ribbons of Regna’s white hair. After a while, the sky cleared, the nighthawks circling low as they scoured the mountaintops. Alarik shouted orders over his shoulder, calling for General Hale to use the remaining fire lances on the mining tunnels. They were sealed off in short order, ten concentrated blasts setting loose a shower of rock and rubble that stemmed the flow of Regna’s soldiers.
As evening fell, the war turned in their favour. Regna had reached the summit, but her strength was spent. There was barely fifty feet between them now, and only a handful of weary soldiers. Light work for a king in the full tilt of his own adrenaline.
He could get to her.
He would get to her.
And end this war, once and for all.
Then the wind changed. Regna smiled and looked to the east. He followed the line of her sight, to where a lone, crimson-breasted soldier was coming over the mountaintop. A beast of a man, with hulking shoulders and legs like tree trunks.He had forgone his helmet, revealing a broad pale face framed by a black mane and roughened beard. He had a crooked nose and wide dark eyes that seemed to take in everything as he stood out on a jutting rock, his steel-tipped spear glimmering in the waning light.
There wasn’t a hint of blood on it.
He was scouring the battlefield like he was looking for someone in particular. When he turned his head, Alarik noted the thin band of black ink around his thick neck. The mark of a Ryberg warrior.
So, this was the mercenary Elias had warned Alarik about. The terrifying Spear of Ryberg, who Queen Regna had brought to battle too late to help her cause.
Alarik snorted. Not only was the Spear not fighting, he wasn’t even attempting to defend Regna, who could use all the help she could get now that Alarik was mere yards from killing her.
He pressed on.
But as Alarik cut down another slew of weary Vaskan soldiers, it occurred to him that Regna was no fool. She was a master strategist. His attention splintered, and fleetingly, he wondered if he should pick off the warrior first. Fell whatever plan he had concocted with the queen.
No.
Focus.
Victory was within reach.
Mounting Borvil, Alarik urged the bear further up the mountain, towards the queen.
She wasn’t looking at Alarik now. She was looking past him, towards the east flank where the rest of his beasts were fighting. Through the grill of her helmet, her smile grew,slow and cruel, revealing a glint of her famous steel teeth.
Dread trickled down Alarik’s spine. What the hell was she smiling at?
Another glance to the east revealed that the Spear was on the hunt. He yanked a curved horn from his hip as he barrelled down the mountain, away from the queen of Vask. Away from Alarik. He brought it to his lips, releasing an awful high-pitched note that sent the nighthawks spiralling away from the mountain. Soldiers fell out of battle to slam their hands over their ears, while the beasts keened, scrambling away from the ear-splitting noise.
