Rey’s brows dipped down, sweat sliding into one eye and blurring his vision.
Let’s do it again.
“I can do this all day,” snarled Silla, and Rey wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. She’d pulled so much galdur from him; he could now feel the dry bottom of his source. Rey glanced over his shoulder in search of another Ashbringer. Kálf’s skill manifested as a whip, but they needed a gods damned wall to drive the mist back…
“Hef!” Rey hollered, catching sight of the man. “Get me another Ashbringer!”
“On it!” shouted Hef, darting into the fray.
Silla lunged into battle with the god of chaos once more, and Rey focused all his wits on keeping the mist out. But he felt his smoke thinning, gaps where the mist slunk through. He pulled smoke from other places in the wall to plug these holes, but it only created new weaknesses.
“Hurry up, Hef,” Rey muttered under his breath.
Silla sailed through the air to his left before crashing onto sodden grass. “Get up,” muttered Rey, prodding at his dry source, then the halda stores tattooed on his chest. Empty—he’d reached the end of his galdur, and though he had his sword, it would do nothing against the mist.
He couldn’t let go, not without risking every warrior in this clearing being Turned, but his galdur was faltering and starting to fade…Rey gritted his teeth, assessing Silla from the corner of his eye.
And then it happened.
His smoke sputtered, then failed. Immediately, the mist surged forth and swarmed all around him. It was like being plunged underwater, only in reverse. Inside the mist was a world of chaos and discordant sound. Cloudy forms charged at him. Immediately, Rey knew these masks would do nothing to keep it out, and held hisbreath. His world became a haze. Bright lights danced in his vision—he needed to breathe but could not let himself.
But then came a blast of orange—the mist hissing. Retracting.
“Get away from them, you foul fucking gutter sludge!”
The forest swam back into view, and Rey finally drew breath as he caught sight of Silla. Thank the fucking gods, she’d climbed back to her feet and was raining a flurry of blows at the Turned bear. But who had driven back the mist and saved Rey from joining the ranks of the draugur?
He whirled to his savior.
There stood Eyvind Hakonsson. The man’s beard was grizzled, his clothing filthy and torn. But the orange flames pouring from Eyvind’s wrists were a sight for sore eyes.
“Fire Breath,” Rey wheezed in mingled relief and exhaustion.
“Soot Fingers,” Eyvind replied in kind. “I’m here to save your sorry arse.”
Chapter 62
Hekla whirled in a full circle, taking in the roiling battle in the heartwood. Everywhere she looked, undead forest creatures clashed with mail-clad warriors. The snow was sprayed with black and red blood, the moldered scent of Turned creatures heavy in the air. Silla’s warriors were impossibly outnumbered, and it seemed Hekla and her crew had arrived in the nick of time.
The Forest Maiden and her beasts surged into battle, cheers of relief rising up from Silla’s beleaguered warband. Hekla watched in disbelief as a reindeer gouged a vampire deer, allowing a knot of warriors to take the vampire deer’s head. Nearby, forest spirits clustered around a Turned mountain cat, disorienting the beast and giving a nearby warrior the chance to drive his blade through its neck. Beside her, Gunnar bellowed before charging into the fray with Sigrún on his heels, but Hekla took another moment to assess where she was most needed in the battle.
Her gaze jumped to Eyvind’s older brother Atli, battling side by side with a black-haired youth. On the farthest edge of the clearing, the Kalasgardian Galdra wielded their magic—bushy-bearded Kálf lashing his fire whip at undead ravens, while pale-skinned Hef snatched a Turned fox clean from the air and yanked the head from its shoulders with his Blade Breaker strength.
Above the din of battle, the mist’s heartbeat thundered, and Hekla traced the sound to its origin—a giant aberration of a tree.Her blood chilled at the sight of the thing. Its trunk was thick and gray, bark bulging with various burls. She watched in disgust as one of the protrusions burst and white spores belched from it. They mingled together, forming a cloud, which whipped out toward…
Hekla gasped as she recognized the figures squaring off before the monstrosity of a tree. Silla, small yet nimble, battling an enormous Turned bear. But Rey—he’d collapsed on the ground, a familiar figure standing above him. Flames poured from Eyvind’s palms, driving the mist back.
Her heart clenched tight, and Hekla started forward, ready to defend Eyvind’s flank as she had in Istré. But she made it no farther than a step before a yelp had Hekla whirling.
An enormous Turned wolfspider towered over her.
As she took in the spider’s five ruined eyes, a smile formed on her lips, but it quickly fell. Because cradled in Gjalla’s feelers was the silk-wrapped body of a creature she knew all too well.
Protector!pleaded Kritka, his voice so quiet over the din of battle.
“Kritka,” Hekla hissed. Nausea roiled in her gut, but anger quickly overtook it. “Release him!” she bellowed, raising her longsword.
If you want the beast,chittered Gjalla inside Hekla’s skull,then come and get him.
