Ulf and Skarth fight back-to-back, getting closer and closer to me.
The chapel is now half alight, and the men who do not fight flee for their lives. Benedict fights well, but he makes a mistake, one which is about to cost him dearly. His back is turned to Lord Rufus, who picks up a sword and is about to stab Benedict with it.
With a roar, I frantically retrieve an arrow and shoot it at Lord Rufus. It pins his arm to the wall.
Sighing in relief is in vain because a sharp pain is ripped through my middle, and peering down, I see a sword with a purple jewel embedded in the hilt.
A royal jewel.
Dropping to my knees, I hear a diabolical rumble, unsure where it comes from.
“NO! Hugrekki!”
Blood spills from the wound in my stomach and pools around me. I run my fingers through it and coat my face with my fingertips, painting my face to meet the gods.
Aethelbald stands in front of me, unable to wipe the disbelief from his face as he cannot believe it’s his sword that sits in my abdomen.
A lucky shot is what ends my life. It seems all very anticlimactic.
I grip the blade, and it slices through my palm.
I relish the pain because it’s the last of it I will ever feel.
Lord Rufus rushes over to Aethelbald, yanking on his arm. “We must go, my king! The castle is burning to the ground.”
I smile in victory as I did what I promised. I’ve burned this kingdom to the ground.
“Now, you’re king to nothing.” My breath wavers as it hurts to breathe, but I will not leave this world without the final word.
“My lordship, please!” Lord Rufus begs Aethelbald, but he shakes his head.
“She is right! We must celebrate her death and show the people that I am now king. They will have no choice but to obey me. Fear leads to weakness. We show them the parchments she signed. The church will comply with our terms, and I will be the rightful king of all of England!”
I chuckle, blood spluttering down my chin. “The only way you would ever sit on the throne is by cheating your way to the top. You dishonorable son of a bitch. I will ensure to haunt your dreams until death seems a mercy.”
“All right, so be it, but now, we must go!” Lord Rufus is desperate to flee, tugging on Aethelbald’s arm.
The room grows smaller, and everything turns on its side. The noise soon swirls into silence, and sadness is replaced with love. The darkness is light, and everything is warm.
My life flashes like a moving memory before my eyes, fast yet slow, and I relive it in small moments in time.
What a life I have lived.
My loved ones who perished wave at me in what appears to be clouds, beckoning me to join them where there is no pain.
I want to go…
But if I do, I will never see my sons again.
I will never see my Vikings.
But if I stay, this will never end.
My death will put an end to this war.
Alive, I will never win.
Aethelbald grows stronger.
