“We must return to Zagadkian lines,” heaved Rov. “We have gone too deep.”
But Kassandr only squared his feet. “It is time I finished the red troll man,” he growled. “You will not interfere, Rov. But keep the Urkans away so I do not take a knife to the back.”
Rov grumbled in frustration, but he soon fell back with the rest of the Zagadkian warriors.
Wiping the melted snow from his face, Kassandr reached for his bravado. “You lost the last time,” Kassandr shouted to Thorir in Íseldurian. “You are eager to lose again?”
Thorir took a menacing step forward. “I am eager for vengeance. You see, warrior, I don’t lose with a sword.”
Kassandr’s jaw hardened, but there was no time for anything but to block Thorir the Giant’s longsword from taking his head. Their steel blades clashed with bone-jarring force. Kassandr reacted quickly, kicking out low, but as his foot connected with Thorir’s armor it did not so much as budge the larger warrior.
“The battlefield is my kingdom,” growled Thorir as theyexchanged blows. “Here you won’t win.” He drew a dagger, then twisted to deliver a brutal backslash to Kassandr’s shoulder.
Though the armored jacket protected him from the worst of it, the blade slashed into his flesh. Kassandr hissed, his beast howled, and they threw their collective force into a flurry of attacks. Thorir was on the defensive now, barely keeping up with the preternatural speed Kassandr’s beast granted him. A nearby Urkan tossed his shield to Thorir, who caught it and charged forward.
Kassandr whirled to the side, tutting. “I see you are again needing favors from others. It seems they still know you cannot defeat me.”
Thorir recovered with startling swiftness, slamming the metal rim of the shield at Kassandr’s face. Kassandr raised his sword and braced it with both hands against the shield. He gave it a hefty shove, forcing Thorir to dig his boots into the packed snow.
“Tell me what you did to Magnus,” gritted Thorir. The giant of a man dropped the shield and retrieved another dagger, ducking beneath Kassandr’s sword and slashing at his leg.
The tear of fabric and searing pain from his left thigh had Kassandr lurching back.
“You killed him, didn’t you?” growled Thorir. “Else you’d have claimed ransom.”
A grim smile spread on Kassandr’s lips, and he knew his eyes had flashed a warning green. “You’re more clever than you look,” he taunted. Thorir dropped his dagger and grabbed his longsword in a two-handed grip, hefting it overhead, but Kassandr danced out of range.
“Come here,” growled Thorir. “You dishonorable son of swine.”
Kassandr’s smile grew. “I have called my father worse to his face.”
“You like to play games,” snarled Thorir. The large man’s eyes flashed as he adjusted his grip on his sword. “I can play, too.”
“Please do not overtax yourself, Thorir. There are battles yet to fight.”
“A shame,” said Thorir, driving forward, “that Lady Saga is not here to help you this time.”
At the mention of Saga’s name, shock jolted through Kassandr’s body and his foot slipped on packed snow. Thorir capitalized on Kassandr’s shock, aiming a powerful backswing right at his neck. Kassandr ducked, lifting his arm with not a moment to spare. The blade struck his bracer, severing through the fortified material and into his forearm.
Kassandr bellowed in pain, but Thorir’s words of Saga kept him lucid. “What did you say?” demanded Kassandr.
Thorir’s smile was cruel and mocking, and he raised his longsword up for another two-handed swing. Kassandr bounded back, and the sword hammered deep into the snowpack.
“She went to Ivar,” grunted Thorir, freeing his sword and righting himself. “She surrendered herself.”
Kassandr shook his head vehemently. “You lie.”
Thorir’s laugh was cruel and mocking. “Ask anyone. She pleaded for Íseldur. Begged King Ivar to withdraw. Of course, he would never agree to such terms. Her head is now mounted on a pike at our war camp.”
The battle seething around them seemed to fade away. The rage of Kassandr’s beast bled into his body, and he knew in an instant that he could not hold it back. The air thickened with the magic of his shifting. “You wish to know Magnus’s fate?” His bones cracked, claws and spines bursting free from his skin. “He drove me to such anger I tore out his throat.”
Thorir’s eyes widened, and he stumbled backward. But it was too late—Kassandr was already airborne. And as he tore the throat from Thorir the Giant, the last human thought that entered his mind was that perhaps the man did lose with a sword after all.
Chapter 42
Sunnavík, Íseldur
Jonas followed the queen’s guardsman through the torchlit corridors of Askaborg, while wondering if the finely wrought sconces were made from gold or only forged to look like it. Each night for the past week, Jonas had found the queen’s man waiting for him after the evening meal, always with a summons from Queen Signe.
