He forgives them in that moment for leaving him in that tower. If not for his isolation Ashlan and he would never have had whatever it is they have, but whatever it is they share between them has saved him countless times. Unfocused he receives a blade to his arm, swings around as the Ulfednar lifts his weapon for another hit, but his tail whips out smacking his opponent across the face, then Khan punches with his good arm, the size of his griffin paw bigger than the Ulfednar’s head. The man crumbles to the floor; a strange sight as blood spills from his human nose. A wolf face covering the top half of the Ulfednar’s head; black painted limbs, red blooming beneath and dark wolf covering over white snow. He leaps forward on noticing the battle is taking out too many of them. But Ashlan still plagues his mind, and his body starts to move of its own accord at the thought of going home to her knowing he didn’t do his best to save their kingdom.
e surges forward at every Ulfednar unlucky to still be alive; his tail whipping out in violence, yanking limbs from sockets and snapping bones.
The screams, the blood and the bodies dropping as he spins, ducks and impedes blows using his barbed wings as weapons and shields leaving no opponent safe. Pretty soon he becomes a cyclone taking out all in his wake until there is no one left to fight.
The world falls silent to the soft whistle of the wind, and his harsh breath leaving his exhausted lungs. Khan stares numbly ahead, in the distance of The Great Lake; smoke billowing from the burning boats. Khan bows his head in Send-off, catching a glimpse of bodies and the powdering of snow over the carnage surrounding the Great Lake.
Turning around, the warriors, the hunters and any that remain of The Order start getting to their feet, stunned to silence as they stare up at him.
He sees his father come closer, the crowd parting to let him through; that’s when he notices his father is off his horse, an arrow jutting out from his chest. Birger sword in one hand, a severed head in the other, drops both and is flanked by two chevalier, catching King Ivor before he tumbles to the ground.
Then the hunters spin and point their arrows at Khan. Women snatching up daggers and getting ready to fight the beast they see before them.
“It saved us.” Birger says, lifting the King into his arms, “spare him, our kingdom’s guardian.”
“Demon.” Khan hears a woman’s voice speak out form the crowd.
A man steps forward, his beard saturated with blood and gore, he raises his sword as he talks over the crowd. “Perhaps he is the guardian of The Great Lake,” when the group does not respond, the Chevalier kitted in battle gear, bleeding from one arm, states. “We were attacked on sacred land, the gods have sent retribution.” Then the man’s green eyes shoot to him.
Khan’s gaze floats over the crowd, their faces solemn, cold, unforgiving and rejecting. About to turn, he smells the familiar scent of Frigg nearby, but with it, the nasty tang of his blood.
Khan’s supernatural ears catch Frigg’s slow, fading pulse. He leaps to the air wings flapping and vaguely hears the group gasp in fright. He lands in a crouch over Frigg who lies half in the water, his blood spilling out onto the snow. His tail a slow slosh in the water as Khan approaches. Khan’s paw goes out as Frigg’s chest rises beneath his touch, then slowly collapses as he exhales his last breath.
Khan roars out to the gods. “Why have you forsaken him!” And in the echo of his words, his beastly form shrinks back, bones bending, braking, claws withdrawing, and wings tearing back into the flesh of his spine.
Tears cold against Khan’s human skin, the wind stinging at his nakedness when he hears Birger call out, “Prince Khan, your father needs you.”
But he doesn’t care, his best friend was just killed. The prince’s human fingers reach out; dirty, bloody, skinny, and weak closing Frigg’s eyes.
“Son.” His father’s plea shakes at his core.
Khan rises, the crowd shifting, moving backward as he turns around. Gasps wave over the crowd at his exposed body. Except for one lady, she comes closer offering him furs,that he appreciatively accepts with the tilt of his head. Their gazes share gratitude.
Birger calls him, “You have to save him!”
The young prince, skinny, raven- headed and piercing blue eyes, stumbles over the uneven pebbled ground, stepping over bodies in disgust. He almost gags at the sight, then looks up at Birger and the two men holding his father up.
“How? I am not magic,” he snorts, “I cannot heal.”
The Chevalier share confused glances.
“But you can fly.” Offers Birger,” he needs to get to the temple of Eir, she will heal him.” Birger clears his throat, his dark eyes studying Khan. “Or would you rather him die here, in the cold, stripped of honor?”
Khan grasped so much in that last sentence. Birger knows his father hid away during battle, and would not be warranted to die honorably if not by the hand of his opponent in the act of bravery for his people.
Khan’s eyes study his father’s face; he looks so pale and helpless, his crown askew on his head. His beaded beard bloody.
King Ivor’s lips part as he says, “I’d rather die than be saved by a thing as disgusting as him.”
The anger rises at those brutal words, the cruelty he has shown his own son coils in Khan’s gut.
The prince smirks, “I will not let you die today.”
In in the echo of Khan’s breaking bones, his wings sprout, and he lifts his father from the ground.
Chapter 10
Anew the Dawn
The king’s screams could be heard throughout every dark corner of the castle. The bite of his words colder than the coldest winter that had befallen the kingdom.
“That beast is not my son, nor will he ever reign…” a merciless cough raking over his body as he tries to finish the sentence. Birger is at his side, a beaker of water clasped between large fingers.
The king rejects Birger’s kindness, knocking the beaker of water from his hands. King Ivor opens his mouth, inhales deeply to continue his rant when Birger grabs his king by his shoulder and forcefully pushes him back into the mattress. “My king if you wish to continue your reign over the lands, you need to calm down. Rest and heal.”
From Ivor’s chest an awful sound, like a bubbling, painful noise comes out, but his face is all gleeful as he manages to say, “That poisonous arrow could not take me out, a few broken ribs won’t keep me from my throne.”
From the corner of the vast room, Khan emerges, “Looks like it runs in the family then.”
The king shoots him a glare, and the words come out brusque, “I know what…” each breath between his words sounding painful, “…you are!” he gulps in air. “Hiding behind the charming face of a Prince.” Ivor spits to the floor beside his bed. Birger jumping out of the way, his nose crumbling up in disgust. Khan has to admit that Vikings, in general, are savage mannered but Birger somehow seems different - gets offended by cussing, spitting and ale spilling. He’s had time to study him since their arrival a week ago. It’s been one long celebration in honor of slaying so many of their enemy tribe.
Ivor says through a rueful sneer, his eyes dark and daring, “Your existence is a lie, a dangerous curse. You bring only death. Your mother knew that.”
“No need for such cruelty.” A woman’s voice says.
“I speak the truth, giving birth to that thing, made her ill.” Ivor falls back into the pillow, sweat beading his brows.
Khan moves from the shadows into the band of light streaming in through the gap in the drapes. The young prince strokes his chin before his eyes brush over the crescent of Order members gathered in the room near the hearth. The glow of the fire highlighting their silhouettes. Dressed in long gowns and thick furs. They stand proud and true, with an air of arrogance to them.
“I survived many arrows tipped with our most lethal poison, father.” He smirks giving the Order more reason to keep him around. Perhaps even find him as an asset. He’d do anything at this point not to be hunted and killed, as his father once foret
old.
Ivor growls, “You are not human.”
The woman who had clothed Khan after his transformation from griffin to man on the battlefield at The Great Lake speaks up. Her voice rough from struggle, but her eyes also kind because of it. “All the more so we need him to take your place while you heal, my lord.”
The king sucks in a sharp breath about to say something when the coughing rakes and rips through his body, droplets of blood pooling around the sides of his mouth, matting his beard.
“It’s decided then,” One of the older men say from the circle of The Order.
The door opens and in walks, a hunter, marked by his leather straps, pants, and gauntlets. Daggers brilliant in the glint of the flames as he walks past. His arrows are still strapped to his back, snow flecks littered in his beard and braid. He is flanked by two maidens, both wearing olive green dresses. They carry something dark and heavy between the two of them. But that’s not what piques his interest. Khan’s stomach drops, churning in recognition of their attire, the color marks them as the handmaidens of the lady of the house. Meaning Ashlan is nearby. A prickle rolls over his skin, causing Khan to quickly fold his arms over his chest, the excitement showing in the gooseflesh over his forearms. He feels her presence nearing, almost as intense as when he felt her the night he rescued Ashlan from Erik. But this is a different kind of pull in his gut, it’s more like his insides are pulling toward her – like a compass seeking his true north.
“You found it.” Birger smiles at the maidens and then acknowledges the hunter, while still holding the king down with one hulking hand to Ivor’s chest.
Khan enquires, “What is that?” taking another step forward, his presence now full in the light of the gapping drapes. The maiden’s eyes widen at the sight of him, and he senses one of them holding their breath, the other’s heart racing, but not with fear – something else.
Birger lets go of the king, the king weary and exhausted from the last bout of coughs lay in the curve of his lush pillows wiping at the blood around his mouth.
Birger says with the clap of his hands, “It is the skin of the beast you killed young prince.”
The hunter bows before the prince; the two maidens coming toward Khan and kneels, offering him the large black pelt. By the slight shake in their arms he can tell they struggle to hold it up. As he takes if from them, the weight of it surprises him a little. Then Khan recalls the size of the black bear he had taken down, sorrow and a bit of pride swells his chest, leaving an uncomfortable ache.
“Berserker” A voice utters from the half-circle of the gathered Order members.
The prince’s head turns toward them, a question is evident in the arch of his dark brow.
The man clarifies, “Bear shirt.” He can hear the smile of pride in his voice. “You will be called Berserker my price. So our enemies will tremble in your legacy. You have taken down the biggest black bear killer.”
One maiden snorts, stifling a laugh, but quickly rights herself when Birger shoots her a severe glower.
“What amuses you so?” Birger’s voice curt, and tight with bother.
“Nothing sir. My apologies.” She bows, both maidens taking a step back; heads down in respect. Khan’s eyes shoot back to The Order, they all nod in total pride and agreement with the new name.
He looks down at the bearskin in his palms, the sting on the top of his spine gives warning he’s about to transform. His trigger this time is anger, disgust or remorse, perhaps all of those. “I buried that bear for a reason.” His voice a half growl.
Then his stomach flips, as Ashlan walks in, dissipating all his frustrating, intense emotions.
Her red hair tied so tight above her head, it pulls her beautiful green eyes into a sultry stare as their eyes meet. She nods in greeting, one loose curl falling over her face, caressing her cheek - and how he wishes he was that piece of hair. Khan’s heart trumpets, his skin alight with a different kind of frustration. The prince almost blushes at his own inappropriate thoughts.
“My bride to be.” The king calls to her, smirking over at Khan as he pronounces each word clearly. Her eyes glance over Khan, she gives him the smallest smile, then turns to walk past the maidens toward her groom to be.
Khan’s arms twist around the furs, his heart physically can’t take the pain of seeing her petite hand in the hand of the old, vile man that is his father.
“Are we done here?” Khan’s voice takes on a deeper tone, causing him to sound almost manly.
The Order starts to stir, the older woman with the soft blue eyes declares, “The passing of the crown happens tonight, we shall reveal the new name of our tribe.”
“Berserker.” He repeats, staring down at the fur between his hands.
Everyone agrees with a wave of firm nods as the vote passes along the members.
Khan’s thoughts darken as he stalks out of the room; not able to digest Ashlan and his father’s close proximity. This is not how he wanted to best his father, succeeding an ill man is no challenge, holds no vengeance, no honor. He is only fourteen what could he offer the kingdom anyhow? Footsteps echo behind him, he senses the smell of sweat and that strange beating of the maiden’s heart behind him. Then their steps softened as they walk along the blue carpet down the passage as they hit the section of corridor lit up by big glass windows. His stomach drops as he passes his mother’s reading room. Then passes Ashlan’s chambers with a burn pumping through his veins at the thought of her. He comes to a standstill, a little caught off guard that he has stopped at the doorway of his old room.
Khan stands for a while staring at the wooden rocking horse, and for the first time in four years, he actually sees his room in daylight. While in that tower the only time he sneaked out was in the dead of night. With Ashlan as his guide. And even though he knew every corner of the castle, he allowed her to lead him through the halls, behind curtains hiding from night Watch. The memories leaving a violent tug in his gut.
As he turns the maidens gasp, the maiden with the dark blonde hair, and blue eyes covers her mouth with her hand, and curtsies, her eyes dropping to the floor as he stares at her. The other maiden follows her lead. He realizes his eyes are flashing; their glow lighting their faces like a torch in the darkness. He studies the blonde, her blushing cheeks, and blue eyes catch his again, and she sucks in a deep breath as their eyes lock.
“I dint mean to scare you.” He looks down at the furs in his hands.
“They are not scared of you, Prince Khan.” Ashlan’s voice fills his ears from down the corridor. He watches her walk as if nothing else exists but her swinging hips, the seductive curve of her lips, and bottomless blue eyes taking him in. Before he knows it, she’s right there beside him, hooking her arm in his, “She’s quite taken back by you.”
She stares between the maidens while both bowing. Then they take into the room, settling the fur on the bench by the foot of the bed.
But Khan calls them back, ignoring Ashlan’s glare.
“Please, can you get someone to move my stuff up to the tower?”
The maidens share a confused look at his strange request.
“I don’t like this room.” He offers.
“The tower Prince? The blonde maiden’s voice is shaky.
“Yes please, can you do that for me, and not ask me why.” his voice cracks at the memory of his mother spending time with him in this room. His head turns to study every corner of the room with his throat pulling tight at the idea of her never being there on that chair, reading to him. She’ll never come in at dawn pulling back the drapes to whisk him off for a secret trip to the stables.
“Come let us go for a walk.” Ashlan tells him, pulling at his arm.
He wants to tell her no, that it’s not right. The bride to be of King Ivor and the prince should not spend time together like this, like they are friends without inappropriate feelings between them. It’s wrong to hide these intense feelings that draw them together. But when Ashlan grabs his arm, squeezing even tighter,
the side of her body pushing up against his; his body ignites with every feeling he tries so hard to hold back.
As they start to walk, her smooth voice like music to his ears, “They say your father will take long to recover, that the arrow had narrowly missed his heart. His ribs are cracked from the coughing,” she studies his expression carefully as they round the corner and head down the spiral staircase. Lamps casting an unearthly glow to her skin, illuminating her jade-colored eyes in that green dress.
“You don’t wear blue anymore,” he states.
She’s taken aback, “I beg your pardon?” she shakes her head, “You don’t care about your father’s injuries; it is you that did bring him back to us.”
He stops her with a vicious glare; the words to us rising up like acid in this throat. Calming himself at the sight of her pure beauty, he straightens himself, and they continue the walk down the narrow staircase. Ashlan not letting go of his arm forces their bodies even closer together in the tight space. And he can’t bring himself to let her go. Not ever again.
Prince Khan stays silent as they walk past the Grand Hall an into The Throne room, stopping to stare at the crown on the white podium. The silver and blue gems highlighted by the white bone details that make up the clasps that keep the crown in place.
“It’s not that I don’t care for my father, Ashlan. It’s that I do.” His eyes focusing on the gleaming crown, “I don’t want to,” he exhales. “Not after everything he has done to me. To my mother.”
“Khan,” Ashlan’s fingers trace over his forearm, “he is trying to toughen you up.”
Playing With Fire Page 18