Earth's End (Air Awakens Series Book 3)

by Elise Kova

  “Die!” another screamed at her.

  “Not today!” she screeched back. His sword dug into her side, somehow finding its way in-between the scales. Vhalla winced but pressed her arm forward. Her hand caught his mouth, and that was all it took.

  She turned, blood dripping from her right palm. Aldrik had three on him, and he was handling them with expert precision. Vhalla raised her fingers, sending his fire in a wide arc to hit all three. They cried in pain as their bodies became flames. Aldrik turned to each sequentially, finishing them.

  His eyes caught hers, and time slowed. Two obsidian orbs—ablaze—saw straight into her soul. She inhaled and saw his breath heave at the same time. His hand extended into the air, her feet picked up and she reached for him. Vhalla’s fingers curled about his, and Aldrik pulled her to him.

  “My lady.” She would have heard him even if the words were breathed and every soldier screamed at once. “You are magnificent.” Aldrik’s free hand reached over her shoulder, and she felt the flare of his magic as a tongue of fire was sent behind her. Vhalla did not even turn to witness the poor soul’s demise.

  “My prince.” Vhalla swept up her hand, disarming all those in their immediate vicinity. She hardly gave thought to the fact that it was the first time that she had managed so many swords at once. “You are the bards’ most epic songs brought to life.”

  He smirked at her. She gave him a sly smile. Aldrik released her, and she turned away on her heel, throwing herself into the movement so she dropped forward. The wind shot forth from her and knocked about twenty Northerners off their feet. Vhalla felt the familiar warmth of his flames behind her and knew he had given himself to the fight as well.

  Her magic claimed her; it was intoxicating, an all-consuming devotion to the moment. She was lost somewhere between herself and him. Yet, somehow, she could feel him lost within her. She felt his movements as much as she felt her own. Vhalla was not sure if a Joining was possible without touch, but they were making a strong case for it.

  They spun and spiraled about each other, completely trusting the other to be exactly where they expected full moments before they had even begun to move. Their bodies turned to where the other needed, finding openings, shifting around flailing arms and quick feet.

  No one stood a chance against them. None managed to even come close. His arms curved around her body, sending an attack. Her back brushed against his as she protected him. Aldrik put himself into his flame and she joined with her own magical essence. There was something deeply intimate about it.

  Her breathing had become heavy—this was the true night of Fire and Wind.

  An unfamiliar and shrill noise cut the darkness, and there was a loud roaring sound. Aldrik and Vhalla both paused, turning to the source in exactly the same moment. She swallowed hard. Darting out from the trees in the darkness was a mounted force. Groundbreakers, she judged by their limited armor, rode upon the cat-like creatures she had faced once before. There were less than the Southern Calvary, but more than Vhalla had ever expected to be possible.

  Their large claws tore through the shambles that were the last men standing of the front line. Vhalla assessed the state of the military behind her. The inner circle surrounding the fortress held strong, none from the North had broken through anywhere Vhalla could see—yet.

  She swallowed hard. It must hold, they must not let anyone from within Soricium escape those towering walls or help to penetrate them.

  An Imperial horn blew out, and Vhalla heard the rumble of hooves. A mounted counter-force was launched to respond. Vhalla pulled back her hands. She felt Aldrik move closer, covering her sides as she took a steadying breath. She ignored everything, trusting him to defend her. Pushing forward, she watched the dozen creatures stumble and rear back against the force of the gale she sent their way. Unfortunately, a few Southern soldiers were also knocked down in the process, but it gave the Southern cavalry the time they needed.

  She had other concerns than the cavalry’s response time when she caught sight of Fritz from the corner of her eye. He was wildly outnumbered three to one, and he was no Aldrik. Vhalla lost the perfect sync she held with her prince to dash to her friend. Fritz’s dagger was dislodged from his hand. She saw the faint shift in his form, but his illusion was dispelled almost instantly by another attacker.

  Vhalla forced herself clumsily into the battle. She dodged a blade, shouldering a different one for Fritz, who scrambled up from the ground. She heard her voice cry out in pain at the numbing pressure on her shoulder. Another blade was pulled back, she bit her lip, attempting to recover her control. Fritz rolled, trying to regain his feet.

  Fire blazed about them, licking warmly against her skin. The tip of a blade grazed her cheek a moment before her assailant dropped the weapon in agony. Aldrik found his way to her side. Both of their hands reached out for the remaining Northerners. Both found their mark. Both soldiers died at the same time, one from wind, one from fire.

  “Vhalla.” Aldrik faced her with apparent worry.

  “I’m fine.” She nodded at him, the pain in her cheek hardly registered.

  There was a sharp increase in the cries of the soldiers before them. They both turned. The remaining beasts had overtaken the cavalry. Vhalla looked on in panic as horses without riders fled from the sharp claws and fangs.

  She saw the cat-like creatures then for what they were. This would be the head clan’s getaway. It would be what would shatter the Southern ranks and make it through to the palace. It would be what could carry the people within away and preserve the leadership of the North. Aldrik saw the same.

  “Black Legion! Stop them!” he commanded.

  All sorcerers turned their attention to the oncoming beasts.

  A few were impaled upon spears of ice. Others engulfed in flame, but it still wasn’t enough. Vhalla watched as her comrades in black were pounced upon, shredded by the creatures. Her stomach churned as one stopped to bite off the head of a fallen Southerner.

  But two riders knew their mission more clearly, and they steered their mounts toward the inner line with furious purpose. They must not let them through. Aldrik was already moving his fire as much as he could but the beasts’ fur seemed to resist flames, and he had to focus all his attention upon only one at a time for it to catch and collapse with a feline scream of agony.

  Vhalla began running. Fritz and Aldrik shouted behind her, but she plunged herself into her Channel. It was already beginning to feel thin, but she had no other option. If there was ever a night she would scrape the bottom of her magical well, this would be it. The wind swept beneath her feet and nothing could catch her as she sprinted through the camp. Curving her path, dodging blades and ducking in between skirmishes, she dashed across the field. Her eyes were focused on one creature, bigger and stronger than the rest.

  Curling her fingers, a gust of wind pushed a riderless horse in her direction. Vhalla curved again, running alongside the path of the mount. The painted mare came up on her, and she reached out a hand. Her fingers closed on its reins, and she did not let go. The horse, crazed, attempted to keep running, and Vhalla was pulled off her feet. Her legs pinwheeled frantically, finding her footing as the horse slowed enough from her tugs on the reins for her to make her way upright.

  Somehow, she clumsily managed her way into the saddle. Vhalla turned; the two Northern riders were almost to the center line. Archers rained arrows down upon them. Pole-armed soldiers braced themselves. Vhalla kicked her heels and put the wind to the horse’s hooves.

  It was not a fine beast by any stretch. The mare struggled and whinnied. It tossed its head this way and that, forcing Vhalla to crouch forward and grip the reins as tightly as possible. The horse resisted her at first, but she kicked harder, feeling a minimal amount of guilt for pushing the unsuspecting creature so.

  The horse finally moved how she wanted. Vhalla had just enough time to hold out a hand to arm herself with a sword from the ground, its owner long dead, before she was up on the first
Northern rider. She swung in a wide arc, and the sharp of the blade smashed against her enemy’s nose. It was like hitting the side of a mountain, and Vhalla’s bones reverberated from the impact. But it was enough to stall the rider.

  A brave Imperial soldier charged, thrusting her lance through the heart of the cat-like beast. The Northern warrior glared at Vhalla only briefly, rage twisting her features as she fell from her dying mount.

  “Go for the eyes!” Vhalla shouted to the Southern army within earshot. She knew they were likely more experienced than she was, but a reminder could not hurt. Vhalla pulled the reins, turning.

  Off in the distance, a dark streak raced forward against the torrent of flaming arrows. She followed its path to a man in white and gold armor who was already struggling with soldiers breaching the southern side. Vhalla cursed loudly as she snapped the reins, riding in the direction of the Emperor.

  The wind at her back, she closed the gap in an impossibly short amount of time. Vhalla cried as she ran the horse perpendicular to the path of the remaining cat creature. As she launched herself into the air, the mare was forced into the side of the cat-beast, knocking its talons off-target. Vhalla tackled the Northern soldier on the back of the creature, and she spared just a moment’s thought for how much she really hated the Emperor.

  Vhalla rolled head over heels, entangled with the Northerner who had made a bid for the life of Emperor Solaris. The Northerner won out on top, straddling her. Vhalla struggled, her arms pinned beneath the enemy woman’s knees. The Groundbreaker pulled back her sword, her arms over her head.

  “Gwaeru!” she cried.

  Vhalla saw a flash of silver in the night.

  A lance impaled the Northerner’s eye. Her mouth hung open and lifeless. Vhalla twisted her head to avoid the point of the blade that dropped from between the dead woman’s limp fingers. The helping weapon withdrew, and Vhalla pushed the lifeless corpse off of her, regaining her feet quickly.

  Major Zerian arced his weapon through the air, sending the bloody gore flying off it. Vhalla gave quick thanks and peered around his side, seeing the beast she had run head-first into on the ground. Emperor Solaris pulled his sword from the creature’s face and found her.

  Her eyes met those cold blue ones, and she paused. There was no thank you, no nod, and no recognition. He simply turned and began barking orders as the other beasts from the western side began to fall against the inner line. Vhalla heard the sound of arrows piercing the air, originating from the fortress, and instinctively raised her hand. Deflecting the attacks of archers had become all too easy.

  The Emperor gazed back at her. Vhalla had a moment where she half expected some form of gratitude for her additional assistance. But he simply turned to give orders. She hardly had time to care. Major Zerian, however, gave her a nod. He had seen her save the Emperor directly. It was the first time that there was no question of it happening, and she had been Vhalla Yarl, not Serien. That was enough for her.

  Her feet carried her back across the thinning battlefield. Vhalla killed three more Northerners along the way, aiding in the deaths of at least five others by disarming them or throwing them off balance. She saw the bodies that had begun to pile upon the ground and couldn’t keep a tally of who seemed to have heaped more upon the bloody earth, North or South.

  Shifting her magical vision, she scanned the trees. Her heart almost stopped. There were no more, as far as she could see, no more soldiers waiting in the tree line. There were no more. Her feet moved all the faster. Aldrik, she needed to be with him, to be at his side for the call that was inevitably going to ring through the air of the early dawn.

  Her prince threw off an attacker as she reached him. His arms opened to her, and her hands clasped around his forearms as his clasped around hers. They both forbid each other more of an embrace than that.

  “You mad woman!” he yelled at her over the noise of dying men and women.

  “Perhaps!” she agreed, waving a hand toward a Waterrunner who was having a particularly hard time.

  “Do not leave my side again!” he demanded, one arm released her to send a torrent of flame in the face of a Northerner.

  “Even if it is to publically save your father?” she asked, turning away from him back to the palace to deflect another wave of arrows. Aldrik’s face snapped to face hers, and she met it with a small, satisfied smirk.

  The battle continued to calm until a trumpet echoed across the field and all Southerners paused. Another picked up the call, and then another, before the air was alive with the Southern song of war. Vhalla’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes scanned the battlefield.

  The last of the Northerners were collapsing to their knees before their Southern opponents. The Imperial army wasted no time in putting them to death on the spot. It was carnage unlike she had ever seen before on all sides.

  In the calm, she panted, trying to catch her breath. Vhalla returned back to the trees, her eyes scanning them frantically. Her hands were balled into fists, and she stood poised for the next wave. The horn blew out again and a hand clasped over her shoulder, startling her.

  “It’s over,” Aldrik said softly. She assessed the blood covering his face and hoped it was only from others. Vhalla scanned the trees again, her heart racing. “Vhalla, it’s done.”

  She couldn’t believe it. But the horn rang out once more. The last dying gasp of a Northerner was silenced, and everyone seemed to hold their collective breath. No more raced from the trees. There were no more shouts for war in the night. In that first streak of morning’s light, the South raised their voices in a cheer.

  Vhalla couldn’t bring herself to emit sound to join the mad cry. She looked on, stunned. There seemed too little to cheer about with all the dead littering the ground about them. If this was what victory looked like, what was defeat?

  Aldrik’s hands caught her shoulders, and she felt dizzy. He admired her as though she was the reason for all their joyous cries, and she met his eyes with a swelling adoration that nearly consumed her sanity. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to sweep him up in her embrace. They had made it. They would meet the dawn together. Somehow, they both refrained from acting on the desires that were so apparent on their faces, though the moment of tension spoke volumes for the want and relief that washed over their exhausted bodies.

  The second he released her, she scanned for Fritz, Daniel, Elecia, someone. Her heart stopped when she saw a mass of frizzy and bloodied blonde hair. Vhalla raced to Fritz’s side, laughing with relief as soon as she reached her friend. His eyes were closed, but he breathed, and—given all that had transpired—that was enough. Aldrik called over to Elecia, who seemed equally relieved by Fritz’s stable state, and she immediately began tending to the Southerner.

  “Vhalla, come,” the prince commanded softly.

  “I want to stay with him.” She held Fritz’s hand in hers.

  “I want you to be here for this,” Aldrik insisted.

  Vhalla opened her mouth to object.

  “If Fritz is lucky, then he’ll continue to sleep until I get him on the mend and the pain dulled,” Elecia interjected with a glance at Vhalla. “Go, Lady Windwalker.”

  Vhalla stood in a daze. There was an odd mix of resignation and acceptance to Elecia’s voice. The curly-haired woman nodded, as if acknowledging for the first time the change in Vhalla’s status. As if it were already official by the victory alone.

  Vhalla and Aldrik walked together, saying nothing, heading toward the center of camp. As they passed one soldier, then another, the army brought their hands to their chest. As they saluted, their palms fell over the symbol of the Windwalker. Their eyes spoke volumes, as if painting it on their chests had been the thing that had brought victory.

  Baldair had beaten them to the center; he was haggard and bloody, cut up in a few places, but by all accounts alive and well. His head turned to them, along with the Emperor’s and other assembled majors. Vhalla saw Baldair’s face break with relief, publically
showing an emotion for his brother that she had never openly seen before—love. He stumbled forward to Aldrik, and their hands clasped around each other’s arms.

  “Brother,” Baldair croaked.

  “Brother,” Aldrik repeated, staring in awe at his younger sibling.

  Vhalla paused with a small smile. For all that had transpired between them, they were happy to see each other, undeniably relieved at the other’s survival. It was nice to see them allow themselves that joy.

  Baldair turned to her, releasing his brother. He looked up and down her bloody form. Vhalla didn’t even have a moment to brace herself for what happened next. The Heartbreaker Prince’s arms closed around her shoulders, and he lifted her into the air.

  “Vhalla!” he shouted with a laugh. “You stubborn little Easterner.”

  “We Easterners are tougher than we look,” a familiar voice spoke from behind her. Vhalla immediately struggled in Baldair’s arms. The prince put her down and she turned, bracing herself for disappointment.

  The front line may have shattered, but the bruised, battered, and bloody Easterner before her had made it out alive. Vhalla took a step toward Daniel. He gave her a lazy smile, and it was all the invitation she needed. Vhalla threw her arms around his neck.

  “We Easterners are stubborn!” she laughed.

  “And overly affectionate,” Erion drawled, joining the group.

  Vhalla released Daniel, beaming at the other Golden Guard and majors whom she had befriended. They had made it. They had done it.

  A man whom Vhalla did not recognize cut through them, racing toward the Emperor. He held out a tray of parchment and ink to the man who would soon be the ruler of the whole continent, of the civilized world. Emperor Solaris picked up the quill without a word, beginning to scribble on the paper upon the tray held steady by the soldier.