I glared at him and advanced.
Duncan fought, but not much and not well. His guards were strong and well-armed, but they were not invincible. As I neared Duncan, I saw one of his guards go down. Only four were left.
Seeing me approach, one of Duncan’s guards turned to engage me.
“Well, wee lad, what are you trying to do, make a name for yourself? I think not. Are you ready to meet your maker?” he asked me.
“My maker wears a red cloak and rides a raven. You might see her here at my side, and she will gladly take your blood,” I said as I began to circle around him.
He laughed. “I’ll send you to that bloody goddess.” He lifted his ax and moved to cleave me in half.
I danced behind him. Lifting Uald’s Gift, I drove it forward. But much to my surprise, I met with metal. The man had blocked my attack.
“Fancy feet. Does that come from all your lordly dancing? Who are you in that fine armor? My son is going to like that sword of yours.”
The raven laughed. “He won’t like it much when he finds it sticking out of your gut.”
This comment angered the man, and he swung at me. I bent low to the ground and struck my dagger upward. I cut the guard’s belly wide open, rolling away before a rain of blood and guts could cover me. The guard groaned and became silent.
Duncan’s bodyguards, including MacDuff, now numbered only three. He would retreat soon. I made way for him again, but someone grabbed my arm. I turned to find Banquo, who was also blood-soaked, staring at me through his visor.
“Thank the gods. Which way, Lady Raven?”
“In the direction of vengeance.”
“Let’s go.”
Banquo and I began to work our way toward the king.
“Your Highness, we must retreat,” one of the guards told Duncan, who cursed in reply.
“Let me take the king,” I whispered.
I realized then that a thin mist had settled on the snowy battlefield. Strange weather. But I also realized then that if I could get Duncan into the fog, he would be mine.
One of the guards turned. Sizing us both up, he advanced on Banquo. Soon, their swords were clashing.
I rushed toward MacDuff and Duncan.
Both men turned toward me. Duncan held his sword. MacDuff had drawn his bow.
Come the mist. Come the mist.
The fog swirled all around us, enveloping us in a dense mist. I felt the magic in the air.
“Stay close,” I whispered to Thora. “Don’t get lost in the fog.”
“Kill him,” Duncan told MacDuff, motioning toward me. As the king retreated, he nearly tripped on one of the corpses lying on the ground.
MacDuff turned to me. “Traitor,” he cursed. “Would you kill your king?”
Thora growled and bared her teeth.
MacDuff sneered, leveled an arrow at Thora, then shot.
I gasped.
Thora darted to the side just in time.
Scowling, the man reached for another arrow.
“You,” I said, my hands shaking with rage. I pulled off my glove, raised a single finger, and pulled magic from the air.
I scanned the ground, looking at my fallen men. “Wake,” I whispered.
Recognizing the gesture, MacDuff lowered his arrow. “Who are you?”
Making an arcane symbol in the air, one Andraste had taught me, I motioned to the bodies of the soldiers, men of Moray, lying on the ground around us.
“Wake,” I told them.
Slowly, the dead men, their bodies broken and bloody, rose to their feet once more, their weapons still in their hands.
“Kill him,” I said, leveling my finger at MacDuff.
The soldiers rushed MacDuff, Thora joining them, leaving me free to turn on the person I had come for.
Duncan.
He stared at MacDuff. The mist had been so thick that he would not have been able to see clearly what had happened, but he saw his last guard under attack. Duncan turned his attention to me. Seeing me approaching quickly, he moved backward.
“Come, lad. I am your king,” Duncan said as he continued to retreat.
“But you are the very man I have come to kill. Would you turn me away now?”
Duncan had long since lost his helmet. His hair was wet with sweat, his face dirty. He looked back at MacDuff. “MacDuff? MacDuff! Where did those soldiers come from? Boy, turn back. I am your king.”
I lifted Uald’s Gift. “I am no boy. And you are no king. You are a defiler and a cutthroat. And when you are gone, Scotland will know a new ruler.”
Duncan laughed then lifted his sword. “You’re wrong. Macbeth will never wear the crown.” He engaged me, but his moves were clumsy.
I laughed. “Who said anything about Macbeth? Your life, King Duncan, is done. I have come to cut your thread. Don’t you see? You’ve angered the gods, and I have come as their messenger.”
“What?”
“I have come as the raven, and the message is death,” I said then lunged at him.
Duncan blocked. “I know your voice. I know you. Who are you? You are no man.”
“I am the raven,” I said attacking again.
Duncan retreated. “No…no, I know you. Who are you?”
“I am the crone,” I said as I attacked again. Duncan and I circled round and round each other, attacking and retreating.
There was a sharp scream behind us as MacDuff fell.
“MacDuff,” Duncan whispered, pausing a moment, his sword drooping.
I lunged at him again. With the length of my blade, I cut a line down the side of his cheek. Blood poured down his face. He clumsily threw up his sword to protect himself.
“Back away,” he stammered.
Gripping Uald’s Gift, I advanced on him. Slashing, I cut his leg.
Duncan yelped. “Back away.”
“Coward,” I retorted, attacking again. This time, I disarmed him. He pulled a dagger from his belt and held it in front of him. The blade caught my attention; an odd blue glow seemed to surround the dagger. Duncan gripped the weapon and backed away.
I advanced on him. “User. Violator,” I said as I lunged forward again.
He tried to block with the dagger, but his move was awkward. I stabbed him in the arm.
“Who… Who are you? Your voice…” Duncan said.
“Don’t you remember? No. I’m sure you don’t. One girl in a hundred. And just how many innocent girls have you forced to ride your cock?” I said, and with an upward slice, I caught him between the legs.
Duncan let out a howling scream.
“Sorry. Does that hurt? I wonder if you ever stop to think of the hurt that nasty little member of yours caused that poor girl you met in the woods. Her or any of the girls like her.”
Duncan grabbed his wounded member and dropped to his knees. “G-girl? In the woods?”
“Tell me what you remember,” the raven hissed.
Duncan screamed in pain. Blood oozed from between his fingers.
“Tell me!”
“What I…remember?”
“Tell me,” the raven shrieked.
“I remember… I remember the rain.”
I kicked him over. His dagger tumbled from his hands. The weapon glimmered as it bounced away. I stared at it. There, lying in a bank of pristine snow, lay a silver dagger with a raven on the handle. Hands shaking, I picked up the dagger and turned over the blade. Just below the hilt, I found Uald’s smith mark. I gasped.
“Where did you get this?” I seethed.
“What?”
“Where did you get this?” I said, grabbing him roughly by the collar of his shirt.
“Malcolm. Malcolm gave it to me. A family heirloom.”
“This is the dagger of Boite.”
“What? I don’t know,” Duncan said then whimpered again, holding his bloody crotch.
I stared at the dagger then back at Duncan once more. “So, you remember the rain. The rain and what else?”
“What? MacDuff? Ma
cDuff, where are you?”
“MacDuff is dead. The rain and what else?”
“The rain?”
“The rain and what else?” I screamed, shaking him hard.
“A farm girl,” he whimpered.
“But why did you think she was a farm girl? Because she was dirty? Now you are dirty. You dirty yourself with your own blood, and, for at least for a few minutes longer, you are a king. What did you do to that farm girl?”
“I… She was not a farm girl?”
“What did you do to that girl?”
Duncan wiped the blood from his mouth. The sound of the army was far behind us. “I took her.”
Setting on his chest, I gripped my father’s dagger tightly and leaned over Duncan.
“Rape, I think you mean. Can you say rape, Duncan?” I set the tip of the dagger on his throat.
His eyes bulged.
“Say it, you filthy bastard!”
“Rape,” he whispered.
“What did you do to me?” I asked.
He did not respond.
“Say it.”
His lips quivered.
I pressed the dagger in. Blood made a ring around his neck. “Say it.”
“I raped you.”
“You did what?”
“I raped you.”
“Raped who?”
“You. I raped you.”
“But who am I?”
He did not reply.
I pulled off my helmet and let it drop to the ground with a thud.
“Gruoch!”
“Your kin. Your own blood. Not a farm girl. Not a peasant girl. Not that it matters. I was a girl who did not want you. That should have been enough. Do you know what I have been waiting for all these years?”
He stared at me. “Gruoch?”
“I have been waiting and training for this moment, the moment when I extract my vengeance, and you live no more. Tell me why I have done this.”
“God, God, God,” Duncan whispered.
“God has nothing to do with this. Even the White Christ does not condone your sins. Why, Duncan? Tell me why this blade is on your throat. “
“Why?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because,” he said and then he stopped.
“Because?”
“Because I raped you. “
I bent low, looking him in the eyes. From inside my vest, I pulled out the coin pouch and held it for him to see. “For your trouble,” I said then threw it at his face.
His eyes opened wide. I lifted the dagger into the air and let it drop into his chest again and again. He screamed and screamed. With each stab, I pounded away years of pain and hate. I stabbed and stabbed at his body and loved the feel of it jerking beneath me. The dagger tore through chainmail and leather, burrowing into the flesh. Again and again, I stabbed him, Duncan’s blood spraying on me. Then I yanked away his tattered armor. I carved into his chest. From within, I plucked out his bloody heart.
I rose and held the heart above my head. Blood ran down my arms and covered me. “See me, Morrigu. See me, Scotia. See me, Andraste,” I yelled into the night. “See my vengeance. See me avenge my father’s death. Malcolm’s dreams die here. See me, Morrigu! I am avenged! I am avenged! I am avenged!” I squeezed the heart until all its blood had emptied onto me, and then I threw it onto Duncan’s corpse, his eyes frozen open, his mouth gaping.
I sneered at him. “The king is dead. Long live the queen.”
* * *
About the Author
Melanie Karsak is the author of The Airship Racing Chronicles, The Harvesting Series, The Burnt Earth Series, The Celtic Blood Series, and the Steampunk Fairy Tales Series. A steampunk connoisseur, zombie whisperer, and heir to the iron throne, the author currently lives in Florida with her husband and two children. She is an Instructor of English at Eastern Florida State College.
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Beauty and Beastly: Steampunk Beauty and the Beast
Ice and Embers: Steampunk Snow Queen
Curiouser and Curiouser: Steampunk Alice in Wonderland
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Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Becky Stephens and Jessica Nelson for their help shaping this book. As always, thank you to the BIC group, Carrie Wells, Erin Hayes, and my beloved family for all of your support.
Highland Vengeance (The Celtic Blood Series Book 3) Page 28
