The element had appeared from a fireball created by Angst. Fire had been hot enough to melt all the nearby snow, and Angst’s great blast of lightning had turned the ground beneath to glass. The battle left a wake of death that killed many from the East and more from the West. The Fulk’han had simply vanished through another portal. The battle was over, Angst had won, but they had lost. All that remained of the Western Nordruaut was a meager tribe, a band of insurgents that could’ve been wiped out in a breath. Worst of all, Jarle, their courage, was missing.
Gose, Jarle’s nephew, had reluctantly taken command. The Nordruaut was a headstrong annoyance with more bravado and less experience than Maarja. He was cocky, but smart enough to back it up, which made her want to smack him. If only Tarness was Nordruaut so he could take the lead. He was respected by all, despite being human.
When the battle was over, there was a silent understanding that both sides needed time to bury their dead. Gose had successfully led them to find most of the bodies. Months later, Jarle remained missing, and only Tarness continued searching for him every day. While she worried over his newfound obsession, others admired his determination.
Her husband should’ve returned hours ago. It wasn’t the first time he was late, but never before had he asked her to gather the others. Their consensus was that Tarness had found Jarle, and that their leader was probably dead. If so, why hadn’t he asked her to help? It made no sense, even for a human.
She squeezed her longbow, making the wood creak. She glanced at it and smirked. Tarness hated this bow; the string was so tight he could barely draw it. It had actually been their first argument. He had lashed out in frustration, accusing her of taking up the weapon to mock him. Maarja had tried to explain why it would be best for her to stay a good distance from any battle, but he was so upset, he wouldn’t listen. The argument made him angry enough to draw the bow. He later apologized and made it up to her. His frustration over the bow, his obsession at finding Jarle and the secret lessons with Jintorich made her wary. She’d decided to save the explanation for another day.
Jintorich’s grip on her shoulder loosened as the wind subsided. He gently tugged at a platinum braid and pointed. She followed his finger, squinting to make out distant shapes.
“Tarness is not alone,” Maarja said, tensely. She held out an arm to keep the other Nordruaut from advancing. “It’s hard to make out through the snow. Jintorich, can you see anything with your magics?”
“No, my friend,” Jintorich squeaked. “But my foci, Maehtikyn, tells me that one of them is not quite Nordruaut, nor human.”
“Niihlu,” Maarja growled.
“Or worse,” Bryymel scoffed. “I told you this was a trap.”
“And I told you to shut your mouth,” Maarja said.
“Weapons at the ready,” Gose called out, hefting a barbed spear.
“Fools, keep your weapons down,” she shouted, whipping around to face him. “I will break anyone who harms Tarness. You know better, Gose. Of all Nordruaut, you were first to call him brother.”
“Yes,” Gose said, reluctantly, as he lowered his spear. “There are only three, and they approach slowly. This is obviously not an attack.”
“It only took three monsters to destroy our army,” Bryymel said, sniffing deeply. “Be wary.”
“You may be Gose’s brother,” Maarja said, “but if you harm my husband, I will remove your head and apologize to Gose.”
“Apology accepted,” Gose said.
Bryymel swallowed hard.
Gose winked at her, and she nodded once in return. They’d both agreed that Bryymel was a necessary annoyance. The Nordruaut was tactically fit and robust with ideas, but the runt of the litter was filled with conspiracies that had to be filtered.
“No,” Maarja said as she took a step forward.
“Hold,” Gose said, grabbing her arm. “Look who he’s with.”
“Leave be,” she snapped, pulling free. “They aren’t here to fight.
Tarness carried the frozen remains of a body twice his size. Her husband was a large, muscular man. Easily a head taller than most humans. The pale furs that covered his armor made him almost appear as one of them. His dark skin glistened with sweat as thick, angry eyebrows hovered over a distraught gaze. She knew, they all knew, he had found Jarle.
“I’m sorry,” he shouted. “They found him. They wanted to talk.”
King Rasaol followed closely behind Tarness. Rasaol seemed as upset as her husband, his face stoic but his eyes filled with despair. The old king finally looked his age, as if war and loss had drained life from him. Beside Rasaol stood a tall, muscular Nordruaut whose skin was almost as pale as the snow. He wore leather boots and a loincloth that only covered what it was supposed to, as if the cold had no effect. His face was gaunt, and his sunken eyes were missing some sanity. A gold choker around his neck sparked and popped noisily, making the Nordruaut twitch. The giant, frozen axe over his shoulder cracked like ice on an unsure pond, making him jerk his head once more.
“Niihlu,” Maarja said in shock. “You’ve changed again. What happened?”
After Niihlu had bonded with the giant axe foci, Ghorfjend, he’d become something unnatural. Ice covered his entire body, continually dripping off into slushy piles. The weapon had brought him great power and worse pain. Now he looked strong and whole, and very, very dangerous. He replied with a sneer.
“The hero returns,” Bryymel said, smiling at Tarness. “You bring back our leader, and prisoners.”
“You may call us prisoners, if you wish,” Rasaol said , nodding at Niihlu.
The pale Nordruaut reached for the giant axe hovering over his back, which hissed as if freezing the very air it touched. Before anyone could attack, or defend themselves, he rested the foci on the snowy ground. It remained upright on its hilt as Niihlu slowly lowered his head.
“They brought me his body,” Tarness said, gasping as he laid the frozen corpse on the ground. “They want to talk. I swore they wouldn’t be harmed.”
“Then they won’t,” Maarja said.
“Speak your words and leave,” Bryymel snapped.
“It’s not your place to make demands, brother,” Gose said. He pointed to the tents. “Take your leave until morning.”
“But,” Bryymel said, his eyes wide.
Maarja took a step toward the small man, which was enough to send him stomping away.
“There is still much anger and passion in the west,” Gose said to Rasaol.
“Rightfully so, brother,” Rasaol said, solemnly. “We come to make things right again.”
“How so?” Gose asked. “Returning the body of Jarle is not a sign of peace.”
“A fair assessment, if we had killed him,” Rasaol said. “But even as we bring you your fallen leader, our army marches south to hunt the man who killed him.”
“And I should be there,” Niihlu said, snapping his head up to glare at Rasaol. “I’m the only one who can stop Jarle’s killer. The Angst will die by my hands.”
“What?” Gose asked.
“No,” Maarja said, looking at Tarness.
If Tarness had seemed tired from carrying Jarle’s body, it was nothing compared to the weight he seemed to bear now. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s true,” he said in a low, quiet voice. “Look at the body.”
Jintorich hopped to the ground and trudged through the snow to Jarle. He pulled back furs to reveal a hole burnt through Jarle’s chest and lightning scars that covered his arms and legs.
“I believe Angst has finally gone crazy,” Tarness said, so quiet he was hard to hear. “He needs to be stopped, and we have to help.”
“We are on the hunt for him,” Rasaol said, somberly. “We could use your help.”
Gose looked at Maarja. She nodded reluctantly.
“Let’s eat and discuss in my tent,” Gose said to Rasaol and Niihlu. “Please, join me as guests.”
Niihlu picked up his hissing axe and returned it to his back. T
he gold choker sparked again, making him twitch. He patted Tarness roughly on the shoulder and gave him that same sneering smile before following Gose and Rasaol.
“I will follow them, and share what I learn,” Jintorich said. “Tarness, I’m sorry.”
Tarness nodded, staring at the ground.
Maarja couldn’t imagine what her husband was going through and struggled to find the right words. He’d regaled her with stories of his best friend. The look on his face hadn’t been exhaustion from carrying Jarle’s body. It was the heavy weight of guilt and betrayal, as though Angst’s transgressions were his fault. Maarja wrapped her arms around him, but he was slow to return the affection. When she looked down into his eyes, they were glassy with tears.
“That must’ve been hard, husband,” she said. “I’m proud of you. You did well.”
“No,” Tarness said, covering his eyes with a hand. “I failed. I failed everyone.”
14
“Where’s Rose?” Victoria shouted, barely ducking the lochaber axe in time.
Several hairs drifted slowly to the ground. It had been that close. Victoria leaped back, barely able to keep up with her premonition. It was infuriating. She’d trained to know what opponents would do in enough time to counter attacks. She could beat most, if not all, humans in a duel on any given day. Berfemmian, not so much. Her opponent’s speed was surpassed only by her strength. It was no wonder Faeoris had struck Angst hard enough to skip him across mountaintops like a stone on a lake. And he was Al’eyrn.
“No sign of her after the other, uh, bird-lady knocked her away,” Simon shouted, inching forward with a small dagger that might as well have been a toothpick.
The Berfemmian squawked at Simon, making him jump back. The poor man shivered, unable to move. She looked more bird than woman, covered in greasy black feathers from sternum to calf. Eyes like dark blue marbles glared with hate. Her legs ended in talons, ideal for rending meat from bones. Slick, oily sweat coated her deflated breasts. Worse of all, she reeked of garbage and spoiled meat. There was no sign of the flattering armor the Berfemmian typically wore. Something had changed her from a warrior to a predator. But still, she was almost recognizable.
“Alyss?” Victoria called out.
The Berfemmian reeled as she looked about, the whites of her eyes returning like milk poured into a dark blue bowl.
“I’m not your enemy,” Victoria said. “I was on Angoria and visited with your people. You spent…time with Tarness. We parted as friends. Something has happened to you. Please remember.”
Alyss leaned over as if kicked in the gut. She gasped for air, fighting a battle Victoria didn’t understand.
“Please,” Victoria pleaded. “Let me help you.”
The woman shook her head. Alyss was losing to whatever held her mind, and she lunged forward. It was a slow, clumsy attack for a Berfemmian. Victoria stepped aside easily. Her words must’ve been distracting, for now.
When those dark eyes returned, Alyss licked her lips, peering at Victoria. The princess brandished her short sword as they inched along an invisible circle like wrestlers on the verge of fighting. There was no indication of what the bird-woman would do next, and Victoria’s heart raced painfully.
“Any luck with those three?” Victoria asked. She jerked her head toward the still forms of Jaden, Dallow, and Nikkola.
“Alive, but out cold,” Simon said, shakily kneeling beside Nikkola. “Whatever spells Dallow and Jaden cast knocked them out.”
“Where’s your useless brother?” she asked, straining to sense what would happen next. It was almost impossible to focus.
“He’s not useless,” Simon snapped. He took a deep breath. “I’m sure he ran off for a reason.”
“Stop making excuses and heal Jaden,” Mirim commanded, pushing herself up.
“Not Jaden,” Victoria said. “Heal Dallow. That’s an order.”
Mirim glared at her before rushing forward, slamming her shield into the feathered woman. Alyss grabbed both ends of the shield, ripped it from Mirim’s hands, and threw it aside. She leaped into the air and spread her wings, rising until her talons could reach Mirim’s face. The captain struck out with her long sword while ducking the grasping claws.
“Tell her more about your visit,” Mirim said. “That seemed to distract her.”
“Alyss. I remember your city. It’s timeless, and filled with strong, beautiful women,” Victoria said. “You were turned away from the tribes during your mating cycle. I…I remember you with Tarness. Do you remember Tarness? You two were, uh, intimate for a day or so.”
The Berfemmian slowly lowered her axe and rubbed her face. Mirim carefully moved behind Alyss as the Berfemmian stared drunkenly at Victoria, waiting for more words.
“Keep going,” Mirim said under her breath.
“I was there. You accepted us as friends,” Victoria said in a pleading tone. “Angst became very close with whats-her-name… Faeoris. You remember Angst?”
Alyss snapped upright as if struck with a whip. Any hint of white in her eyes was gone entirely, and she gripped the wicked lochaber axe hard enough to make the wood handle creak.
“Not good,” Simon whimpered.
The Berfemmian stared up at the sky and let out a piercing squawk that made Victoria wince.
“Definitely not good.” Simon called out, “Sean, hurry!”
Victoria jumped back as Alyss lunged forward. She hit something solid and ducked just as the axe whizzed overhead and lodged into a tree.
“Strike now,” Mirim commanded.
Victoria swung her sword across the dark Berfemmian midriff as Mirim chopped down on her back. Victoria’s hands hurt as if her sword had struck a stone wall. Several black, greasy feathers fell to the ground, but there was no blood. The Berfemmian scowled as if irritated by the sting of a mosquito.
“What is she made of?” Mirim asked, chopping down again and again.
“Definitely not feathers,” Victoria said.
Alyss jerked her weapon loose from the tree and regained her footing. She swung the long axe around and around, keeping both women at bay. Mirim turned and ran to her shield as Victoria dove beneath the swing and rolled to safety. Victoria scrambled to stand and turn around. The Berfemmian swiped at her with the axe, faster than a gasp, faster than thought. Mirim rushed to block, almost in time. The hilt struck Mirim’s shield while the blade careened off Victoria’s chest plate with a ringing thunk. Both of them were knocked to the ground. Mirim had softened the blow, but Victoria couldn’t catch her breath. Her chest hurt so much that stars filled her eyes. There weren’t seconds to waste, she needed to get up, but was distracted by too many possibilities. How could she not know? That was her thing.
“Thanks, Mirim,” she wheezed, pushing herself up.
There was no reply, and she glanced over her shoulder. The captain was unconscious. Victoria’s lungs were on fire, and her mind was a battle of what-ifs and could-happens. She was better than this. Captain Tyrell had told her she could be the best. Images flashed through her mind of Rose’s mangled body lying still in the woods. Angst dancing with her half-naked cousin. This Berfemmian monster feeding on their corpses.
The dark woman twirled her axe before raising it high into the air. Victoria rolled to the side as the weapon struck hard on the forest floor, again and again. They were surrounded by a cloud of dirt that seemed to coat her lungs. She pushed up to a knee and made eye contact.
“Why are you doing this?” Victoria said weakly between coughs. “I’m not your enemy.”
The Berfemmian let out another squawk that sounded more bird than human. Victoria tried scrambling away but was too slow. The axe struck her armored ankle with a loud crack. She screamed in pain and tucked into a ball. Alyss swung down, slamming the axe into the ground hard enough to make it shake. How strong was this crazy bitch?
Victoria’s mind reeled, she couldn’t catch her breath, and the trees tilted the wrong way. How could it end like this? The ground shook ag
ain with a roar. The ground was roaring? That wasn’t right. It didn’t matter. She had nothing left, except too many visions to know which she should choose.
There was a thud that fortunately wasn’t the lochaber axe splitting her head. She glanced over to see the blurry form of a wolf the size of a small house. Was that a dire wolf? They were supposed to be a myth. You know, like dragons.
“Oh, now what?” she wheezed, collapsing to the forest floor.
15
Breathless. Angst was completely breathless as Marisha lifted him high over the The Fette. He instinctively reached for his swords, which were helpfully guarding the tent city entrance with the two pretty boys. Really, though, he needed his armor more than the swords. Her bone-crushing grip made it almost impossible to breathe, which may have been a good thing since she smelled of garbage. There was far more going on than her being upset about Faeoris’s death, and it wasn’t good.
Berfemmian were the most powerful creatures on Ehrde. A tribe of warrior women who were stronger than the Nordruaut, fought better than their Vex’steppe tribesmen counterparts, and were tougher than dragons. Oh, and they had wings that were typically made of light. They also had a temper. Angst had learned right away how quick and dangerous that Berfemmian temper was. Shortly after arriving at their island, Marisha had been the first to greet him, with her foot upside his distracted, gawking face. She’d knocked him out cold. Since then, he’d tasted Faeoris’s fury several times.
He needed to calm Marisha and work this out. Talking to Faeoris had always ended in hugs that usually didn’t break ribs. With a wince and a nudge of focus, he willed the minerals in his ribs to not break—barely in time. He also, carefully, drew her arms apart slightly, just enough to minimize his bruising.
“Marisha, I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “Please, let’s talk. I loved your essent. I promise I didn’t kill her. She sacrificed herself to save me.”
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