The ingredients he listed were easy to find in any peasant holding, especially in an affluent village like this. I called Ivar back. ‘Give Master Orenson everything he requests, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. He knows what he’s doing.’
They left, and I returned to the palisade, commanding the soldiers to wrap burning rags to their arrows, hoping we wouldn’t run out before the cart was ready. Finally, with the creaking of an overloaded axle, a simple peasant’s cart rolled up to the gates. Three of my strongest soldiers strained to manoeuvre into place. They’d barely made it, the first tendrils of the fog pressing against the palisade, causing a thick layer of ice to crawl up the wood.
Roksana’s necklace was growing hotter the closer it got, so I shrugged off my cloak, turning to the dwarf. ‘Tova? Where’s this miracle of yours?’
The dwarf pointed to the jars wobbling on the top of the cart. ‘There, throw them on whatever you want to burn, and for your sake and mine, don’t get the damn stuff on you. Roksana won’t forgive me if you lose any more body parts.’
My soldiers murmured at his casual comment, and the dwarf looked around, rolling his eyes. Tova recreated something akin to a bow, adding, ‘Your Majesty.’ I grasped the leather harness at the front of the cart, dug my feet into the ground, and dragged the cart forward.
Ivar blocked my way. ‘Sire, what do you think you’re… We can’t lose our sovereign to such recklessness.’
‘And I can’t lose more soldiers before we even get to the battlefield.’ Then I added quietly, for his ears only: ‘I’m the only one with Wild Magic flowing through their veins, the same magic that kept Roksana safe, so tell me, who has the best chance of pulling the fucking cart before this threat turns us into grotesque icicles?’
‘Still, we can’t let you go alone, sire,’ Ivar said, pointing to the soldiers who brought the cart, ‘You two, help the king!’ The climbing frost didn’t leave any time to argue.
Ivar studied me in silence, then stepped away. When the strain on my shoulders eased, I looked back, and the two soldiers were pushing the cart. ‘Fine,’ I said through clenched teeth.
It was still difficult, mud and ice making the footing treacherous. I dug my heels in, then yanked on the leather yoke with all my might, cursing when the first frozen body fell from the palisade, crashing to the ground beside me.
We had run out of time.
White agony enveloped us the moment the gates opened. The icy air ripped my lungs to shreds, but I fought on, gritting myteeth to protect myself from the staggering cold. Ignoring the pain, I pulled the heavy wagon over the threshold. It needed to be far enough away for the fire to be effective, without setting the palisade ablaze and burning the village to the ground. Ten steps, twenty, then the wagon lurched, and two screams rang out. I stumbled as they cut off, the following dull thuds announcing the deaths of the men helping me.
I offered a plea to Veles for their souls, cursing the cold, and pressed on.
The cart quickly became bogged down without the extra muscle. I roared my frustration, but refused to surrender. A single-minded goal dominated all rational thought. I screamed in defiance, muscles bunching, and pushed forward, ploughing the ground like a draft horse.
Frost crawled up my legs, making each step a study in agonised endurance. Those few metres were the most torturous I’d ever taken. My trembling muscles threatened to tear and collapse, sweat blinded me, and my breath tore through my lungs like razor blades. I continued, the pendant burning against my chest, holding off the cold just enough to allow me to take one step after another until I was sure the cart was far enough from the village.
I dropped the yoke, staggered to the cart bed, and clumsily threw bundles of branches onto the ground. ‘Burn, you motherfucker,’ I said, grasping the first jar. I didn’t know what to expect when I threw it, but as it shattered on the ground, emerald flames roared to the sky, spreading over the frozen surface and the scattered kindling.
‘Perun’s arse!’ I said, wary of the dwarf’s sinister genius, but the infernal fire he’d created might well save us all. Pot after pot, I continued smashing them, my strength returning as they drove the freezing fog back.
In the end, only the cart was left. A covered lantern swung on its hook while I fumbled its shutter open, dropping it into the pile of waiting tinder. Wood, hay, and rags, glistening with oil, caught fire swiftly, and the flames erupted, knocking me back and clearing the surrounding space.
The heat was unbearable. I lay there laughing as the mist recoiled and thinned with each passing moment, taking the whispering shadows with it and leaving only mud and an emerald sea of fire behind.
A gust of wind carried the flames higher when I glimpsed something in the periphery of my vision. At the edge of the tree line, something glinted in the firelight, something metal.A box?
The strange object reminded me of Tova’s schemata. What had he said?‘It’s a box… that releases something.’I snapped out a curse, but the flames were cutting me off from the artefact, and I had a terrified village to safeguard.
Tova could investigate it once the danger was over.
The squelching of mud gave way to the crunching of snow as I staggered back to the palisade, my unsteady steps causing Sana’s pendant to bounce against my chest, its protective heat now absent. Guilt churned in my core when I saw the men who’d come with me. Their bodies were frozen, their faces agonised, a silent statement of my failure to protect them. I lowered my head in respect. Even knowing the danger we faced couldn’t diminish this feeling.
I should have left them inside. I should have argued with Ivar.
I picked up the first man, carrying his stiff body to the shelter of the palisade before I returned for his companion. When the gates finally closed behind me, I was surrounded by silence; the soldiers looked at me, fear and awe in their gaze.
I survived where others had not.
Whether it was Sana’s magic, Morana’s blessing, or the warning from the old woman, I survived with fury burning in my veins and a madness that quietly laughed in my mind.
A berserker who even winter couldn’t kill.
Chapter 8
Reynard
