Finn tensed, ready for a fight as he listened to the muffled, heated exchange between Rudwor and his men standing on the other side.
“You can skin them both after I’m done––if there’s anything left!” Rudwor bellowed. He drew his head back inside. “They want the meat of the scrawny wench and the nose biter in place of the missing reindeer.” He looked at Finn. “We’re going to have to claw our way out of here.”
The sudden heady rush of battle fever pulsated through Finn’s veins. “Let’s dance,” he said, taking a step forward.
Gerdie tugged on his arm, holding Fate’s notepad up to him. “I think I can get us outta here.”
All his suspicions and resentments toward Gerdie rose to the forefront. “What are you doing with that? First the big book, and now this?”
She blinked nervously. “Don’t be mad. I only have it cuz you told me to take it from Fate so she wouldn’t follow you to Old Mother Grim’s tree.”
“Why didn’t you give it back to her?” he said, fear chipping away at the ice that had formed around his heart where Fate was concerned. “She’s lost out there without any way of helping herself!”
“I know, but I forgot I had it ‘til now,” she said, looking crestfallen.
Sithias poked his nose out through her hair. “Don’t blame her, a lot’sss happened sssince then.”
Rudwor shoved a sword in Finn’s hand. “Don’t mean to interrupt the family feud, but can it wait?”
“Hold on,” Finn said, turning back to Gerdie. “Do you really think you can do anything with it?”
“I should be able to. I saw Oma do it,” she said. “Only problem is, I never learned to spell.”
“I can help with that,” Sithias squeaked as he scurried down her arm, jumped off and morphed back into human form.
“Whoa!” Rudwor said, staggering back a few steps from the sudden transformation. “What’s this?”
“It’s a long and weird story,” Gerdie said, before turning to Finn and holding out the notepad. “You should be able to use the Words of Makin’ just the same as Oma and Fate.”
He shook his head, remembering he wasn’t real like them. “I tried it once. It didn’t work for me.”
“What’s all this fuss over books and writing when we’re about to be skinned and boiled?” Rudwor said, having recovered from his shock.
“Gerdie knows magic,” Finn explained. “She can write a spell in this notebook that’ll get us back to Beldereth without us even having to leave the room.”
“Aye, and I’m brown as leather because Duenthorn’s a tropical paradise,” Rudwor said, frowning and looking at each of them. “You’re serious.” He heaved an impatient sigh. “Well do it quickly, little witch. Hell’s about to come pouring through that door.”
Finn nudged his chin at Sithias. “Help her write it out. And fast, mate.” Gripping the hilt of his sword, he swiped the air to test the blade’s weight.
“Pray for a miracle,” Sithias said, a frightened look of doubt on his face as he helped Gerdie guide Valesca to the back wall of the den.
Rudwor signaled Finn to take a position opposite him on the other side of the entrance.
They were barely in place when several men burst into the chamber with murder in their eyes.
Finn slammed his shoulder into the one nearest him, knocking him back into four others making their way inside. Adrenaline coursed through him as he streaked forward faster than they could recover. Surprise froze on their grizzled faces as his blade slashed across one man’s windpipe, sliced through the breastbone of another, stabbed the belly of the next and severed the arm of the fourth. Pivoting on one foot, he glanced over his shoulder ready to swing again. Through the spray of ichor, he saw Rudwor run his sword clean through the fifth one. As the chieftain extracted the red blade, he seemed magnified in size, a giant radiating a savage energy, his eyes wild and shining with a bloodlust Finn knew all too well.
They locked eyes, both laughing maniacally in recognition of each other’s demons. A singular moment interrupted by more men careening blindly through the flap, crashing into Finn’s back. Stumbling forward, he hit the bed, breaking his fall by catching his sword in the mattress. A plume of downy feathers shot up from the gash like a flurry of snowflakes.
Suddenly time slowed. He registered every minute detail: Valesca’s screams stretching out, Gerdie’s voice speaking their names, the angry growls of the Bane horde swarming into the room and a cloud of feathers frozen in the air. Spinning round, Finn dove into the mob with his sword raised. When he brought his blade down on the skull before him, he hit something other than bone. Red flames arced up the length of the sword and the hilt glowed with scalding heat under his hands. Before he could let go, jolts of electricity seized his muscles, juddering in his teeth, nerves and bones. Then time shifted back to normal, and in one split second, his sword had shattered, an explosion that sent him hurtling backward.
Chapter 29
A MASSIVE STORM CLOUD HELD FATE and her fellow knights firm within the ether as they watched the battle far below them. The swirling blackness growled with thunder, spitting fiery bolts at the tiny soldiers scurrying like ants entangled in a desperate fight to the death.
Dressed in full armor, Fate gripped her helmet under one arm so she could view the battlefield without hindrance. She could see how one army pushed forward with greater might and bloodlust than the other. Something deep inside her flinched as bodies were run through with swords and blood spilled bright red over white snow. She’d been told this weakening human emotion would leave after she made her first kill. But Murauda hadn’t yet allowed her newly knighted warriors to engage in battle. She insisted they weren’t ready and must learn by first studying how the senior warriors fought.
Sitting on the sidelines was excruciating. The forces of wind and lightning coursed through her veins, enlivening every cell, rebuilding the matrix of all her tissue, muscle and bone into stronger, denser matter. The elemental energies pulsed beneath her skin, throbbed behind her eyes and pounded in her ears. She was still adjusting to her heightened senses, seeing rich color in everything. At first she’d been entranced by the tiniest details, staring at the lustrous texture of her leather saddle, the sheen of her armor and the racing clouds reflected in its silver surface. Sounds were acute and ran together, becoming a confusing clamor in her head before she learned to sift through the onslaught and focus in on one thing at a time––the breathing of her horse, Murauda’s velvet voice. As thrilling as the transformation was, without an outlet, this new power was building to a feverish pitch, urging her to lunge into the fray and unleash her untested might.
Clamping down on the white-hot ball of nervous energy burning in her chest, Fate’s restless gaze anchored on the war goddess. Her deep blue cloak flapped in the wind as her keen gaze flickered over the clash of sword and shield below. The white stallion she rode stood steady, the wind beneath his hooves swelling like waves.
Fate could tell the goddess had already chosen the army she would bring to victory by the way her gauntleted hand slid to the hilt of her weapon. Murauda unsheathed the lightning sword and raised it high with a war cry that was most likely heard for miles. Her seasoned warriors roared in answer, their mounts rearing as they leaped from the storm cloud. Fate squeezed the leather reins, shaking as she forced herself to keep from spurring her horse onward along the wind currents to ride with them down the steep, death-defying grade.
Upon touching solid ground, the knights drove their horses into the warring armies, swinging battleaxes and swords. The war goddess slashed her way into the heart of the battle, lighting afire whatever her blade touched. Dismounting from her giant stallion, she towered above the tallest men on the field. Despite her tremendous size, Murauda moved with unnatural speed and grace, slicing through lines of men with one powerful sweep of her sword while eluding an onslaught of arrows, spears and blades. She was like a phantom, vanishing in one spot and reappearing in another.
Unabl
e to sit still, Fate twisted round in her saddle, her adamantine silver armor bending like a malleable second skin as she glanced at the other newly knighted warriors. Each of their faces mirrored the same wild fervor she felt. If they weren’t forbidden to speak to each other, she’d have asked if they had experienced the same cyclone of marbled blue flames, which she had during her induction only hours before. Or the silver lightning that had shot through the fiery curtain and scorched the air with the smell of ozone. She still remembered her lungs searing with hot sparks, the fire in her bloodstream and the molten heat exploding in her chest. Every nerve ending had flared with unbelievable pain. In shock, she’d glanced down to see the red smolder of her beating heart glowing bright through bone, muscle and clothing. That’s when the pain had vanished, replaced by the sound of Murauda’s bold heartbeat joining in rhythm with her own. Together they became a booming roar of living fire surging through her veins, burning away all memories of her former existence. Never had she felt more intensely alive or invincible.
On their way to the battleground, they’d come upon a woman and her two daughters, whom Murauda chose for her army. When the husband and son fought to save them, the war goddess massacred both. The mother and girls had wept angry tears until Murauda touched them with her sword, removing all grief and resentment. And tiny crackling bolts had licked over their skin, but there’d been no engulfing blue flames or red glowing hearts. Even now Fate could see the faint luminescence of her own heart through the breastplate of her armor, something that was missing in all the other warriors, except Murauda.
Anguished cries pulled Fate’s attention back to the carnage below. Murauda’s warriors had nearly wiped out the losing army. Many of the men had turned tail and were running for their lives, but her warriors pursued them, shattering their bones and armor with the sheer force of their shrieking war cries, or spearing them from great distances, leaving the soldiers standing like limp vines propped on sticks.
As Fate scanned the bloody wasteland of twisted, broken bodies, a part of her shuddered and wept. She pushed it down, having been told the weak must be weeded out to allow the strong, bold and unflinching to survive. Just as the strong killed the inferior in battle, so it was that every warrior must kill the weakling within.
The victorious army shouted words of praise and knelt before Murauda for helping them destroy their enemy. Another temple to the war goddess would soon be raised. Murauda turned away, riding toward the defeated kingdom, where she would take more women for her army. After harvesting her rewards, she set the castle and surrounding villages ablaze.
The war goddess took to the smoke-filled sky and joined her fledgling warriors. Her presence was like a balm to their burning furor, but only for as long as she was near. Without so much as a glance back at the war-torn field below, the air riders followed her back to Beldereth, a journey made swift by the strong winds of rolling thunderheads.
•
A different battle was already taking place when Fate and her fellow warriors returned to Beldereth’s great hall. The rotting corpse of King Lortaun hung on a spit near his vacant throne, while the assemblage of old, white-haired men dressed in scholarly robes of royal-purple gathered opposite the dead king. They were each clutching the oak talismans hanging round their necks, the only thing keeping Murauda and her warriors from slicing them to pieces. Their sorcerer Gorm, a bald man with dark piercing eyes and a pointed beard, faced a golden-haired boy a little older than Fate.
There were others. A huge bear of a man dressed in primitive garb and a frightened young woman clinging to him with a wooden doll clenched in her hand. There was also a little girl with a head of frizzy brown hair. A white cat paced nervously at her feet.
Fate returned her gaze to the boy, who was really more man than boy. He was unshaven, lean and muscular, with strange runes marking his temple. His movements were smooth and predatory as he glared with depthless black eyes at the sorcerer. As she watched, the young man’s smiling face and luminous green eyes flashed vividly in her mind. The second she tried to grasp hold of the compelling image, it shifted out of focus and vanished. But the brief glimpse had nicked her heart, a tiny scratch that stung and surprised her. Who was he? Someone from her previous life?
She was suddenly torn, split in half. Two parts of her battled, one to unearth the past, the other to stomp it back into the ground. The warrior won. Unification with Murauda was all that mattered.
Gorm unleashed a bolt of fiery light from his staff. The young man dodged the ensorcelled flames with shocking speed, at the same time harnessing some sort of wind magic to deflect the fire and send it back to the sorcerer. Fate guessed he must be some sort of mage with mastery over air.
Gorm absorbed the lethal energy, but was visibly weakened. As the mage circled round, glaring fearlessly at his opponent, his face contorted with a feral grin as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a simple wooden flute. Blowing two piercing notes, he advanced on the sorcerer, whipping the flute back and forth like a sword.
Gripping his staff in both hands, Gorm held it horizontally, drawing energy from the ground in rippling crimson waves. Before the sorcerer could take aim, the mage was in front of him, his movements lightning-quick as he sliced the staff in half with a sharp blade of air flaring from his flute.
The sorcerer staggered back in shock while hastily conjuring a ball of red energy in his palm. The mage was too fast, lashing out with his air blade, swift and precise.
Gorm’s severed hand fell at his feet.
Witnessing such prowess agitated the pent-up energy in Fate. She could barely contain her desire to run out there and challenge the mage to a fight. He was a worthy foe, as well as a mystery. How did he capture the power of air and make it work for him? Especially since it didn’t appear to run through him the way lightning, thunder and air coursed through her.
Unable to take her eyes off him, she found herself walking forward, then realized it was Murauda’s will moving her body. For whatever reason, the goddess desired to experience this particular battle through Fate’s eyes. She sensed this impulse throughout her entire being.
“Fight him,” Murauda’s voice resounded in her mind. This was not a command. This was a dare. Fate looked at the goddess standing head and shoulders above all others in the great hall. The giantess nodded, giving her permission to proceed.
That was all Fate needed to unleash the fierce energy she’d been forced to suppress all day. Glaring at the mage through the slats of her helmet’s visor, she charged at him, sword drawn and shield lifted, its surface vibrating with wind.
The power surging through her poured into her sword, igniting the blade with a tangle of lightning bolts. The second she was within striking distance, she targeted his chest and plunged her sword. The deadly point drew within a hair’s width of piercing his flesh when he all but vanished, darting out of the way in a seeming blur. The weight of the fiery blade carried her motion downward, striking the marble floor and cracking the stone on impact.
She recovered instantly. Pivoting on one foot, she rushed at him, slashing her sword in deadly arcs. He faced her, his body coiled to spring out of the way once again. Frustration fueled her onward. This was her chance to prove herself and all he was doing was side stepping her. Fury boiled to overflowing when she realized she’d have to force a satisfying fight. Embracing the bloodlust coursing through her veins, she filled her lungs with exquisite rage and roared.
Finn barely had time to buffer the shock wave with his own shield of air. Even so, the blast sent him flying back several yards. Without waiting for him to rise, the knight grabbed the battleaxe strapped to her thigh and flung it. The axe whipped through the air, whistling past his left ear as he dipped low and rolled to one side.
Leaping to his feet, he crouched, ready to evade the next attack. He had no wish to kill the warrior. Sithias had told him Murauda’s knights were innocent women and girls trapped within an unbreakable thrall. But he wasn’t sure how long he could go wi
thout injuring her, especially since she was hell-bent on killing him.
The knight charged, her blazing sword cutting tight lines in the air, leaving a stream of tracers in her wake as Finn blew two new rune notes into his flute, creating a scimitar-shaped wind blade. She rammed into him, her armor bludgeoning one side of his body with a strength equal to his own. Their blades clashed and tangled together, his unbending stream of wind deflecting her crackling flames in a spray of fiery sparks.
He sidestepped her advance, wrapped his leg behind hers and shoved her back. She crashed to the floor. Her helmet fell off and a wild spray of russet curls cascaded over the marble. When he saw it was Fate, his heart nearly stopped, a mixture of shock and relief rendering him momentarily speechless.
She was breathtaking to behold. Her skin gleamed with an unearthly luster, as if fire burned at her center. But the ferocity in her expression had scorched away every trace of the sweet tender girl he used to know. Nor was there any hint of recognition in her fierce gaze. He should’ve been grateful she didn’t remember him and the unforgivable things he’d said and done. Yet he hungered for something from her, even if it was her hatred. At least then he’d know the girl he loved was still present. Having to look into the void in her eyes was torture.
“Fate!” he yelled, hoping she’d hear the sound of his voice from somewhere deep inside.
She sprang to her feet, her sword raised and arcing down at him. He angled the strike away. Swiftly, she parried, bringing her blade back to center, their swords colliding in a stream of spitting fire. Even as he strained against her supernatural strength, he puzzled over how the hell she’d been captured by Murauda and what he could do to break her out of the thrall. “Fate, I’m not your enemy,” he said, keeping his voice low so only she could hear.
He felt her falter slightly, but only because she’d shifted her weight to drive her knee up into his ribs. Something sharp and hard punctured deep. He grabbed his side, staggering back from the bloody spike protruding from the leggings of her armor, the warm gush of blood seeping through his fingers.
Fate's Fables Boxed Set (Fables 1 - 8): One Girl's Journey Through 8 Unfortunate Fairy Tales Page 31
