Thrain’s voice cuts across the field in time for a renewal of the Salt force to gallop toward them. “Grab the Queen. Kill the rest.”
Red twinges his fucking sight.
“Sigvid!” Slode barrels toward him and leaps from his horse.
He kisses her bloody and sweaty forehead.
As he stands, he growls at Slode. “Get her help now! Do not let her fucking die!” He helps Slode delicately support her body so her front lays over the neck of the gray mare. Once they ride off, there are no questions or secondthoughts.
Sigvid berserks.
With the Stones, he feels as if an intense vigor infuses his body, pumping him with something more durable than mere blood.
Crimson spray and gore cross his sight as he rips through Thrain’s weak soldiers.
He rips an arm off a man and decapitates him with the force of his strike. As he barrels through the mass with his axes drawn, severing heads and limbs as he charges, he roars, frightening every warrior nearby to scramble away from his destruction. The more he guzzles from their flimsy necks, the less his mind recognizes friend from foe.
And the less he fucking cares.
One of Thrain’s foolish men, swinging his sword, jumps before his treacherous path. Sigvid catches the blade mid-air, yanks it from his grip, and throws it toward Thrain. The point is embedded in a tree trunk, missing his brother by a hair.
Thrain gives him a wicked smile. “You must do better than that.” His cowardly brother steals a horse from one of his men and gallops away, leaving Sigvid quivering in his wrath.
His attention slowly pivots back to the young soldier, and he shoves his fist into his stomach. The force punctures armor, skin, and muscle as he grabs the soldier’s spine and rips it out through his front. Sigvid frantically stabs the dead man with the few vertebrae he manages to withdraw.
One unlucky man manages to stab Sigvid in the side. Before he can withdraw the sword, he bites his neck, draining the blood from his body as if he is a bottle of the sweetest mead. The lifeblood instantly heals his wounds.
The surviving troops fall to his fury until he decimates those stupid enough to linger. At their retreat, he screams himself nearly hoarse. He runs up the hill to the tree line overlooking the battlefield cliff edge to find Thrain and his generals have fled.
56
SIGVID
February 1st, Year 1, 10th Era
The Holy Triangle, Treland
After assuring Kar will oversee the care of the dead, he jumps on Hest and rides straight for the Healer tents, passing many of the other soldiers en route.
When he arrives, his sight is still stained crimson, with blood dripping off his body. He leaps from Hest to come nose-to-nose with Bertie.
“Lord Thordsson!” Bertie holds up a hand, blocking his progress toward the canvas surrounded by soldiers. “She requires rest.”
“What has happened?” He bellows at the Duke, hating his similarities to Avina.
“It’s complicated.” Bertie’s voice remains calm, which only incites Sigvid’s wrath.
“I demand to see her!” Spittle and blood rain down across Bertie, who, to his credit, buckles his knees and refuses to budge.
Bertie shakes his head, and Sigvid vaguely notices movement among the soldiers.
“She is mine! Gods be damned!” He shoves past Bertie only to have the monstrous Timber General Tyo block the entrance.
“I will take you on, tiny!” Sigvid unsheaths an axe and is about to attack one of their allies when two sets of arms restrain him. The assailant twists Sigvid’s wrist until he loses control of his weapon.
“My friend, you must allow Healer Svanlaug to do her job.” Grim’s voice whispers in his ear. He can feel his friend’s Sacred Stone ability wrenching at the logical portion of his mind.
“Sig,” Slode’s voice is at his other ear, “you will not hurt Bertie or the Timber generals. Avina is fucking safe, and you know it.”
