Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  The wind was picking up again, as was Lluava’s inner presence; the goddess thirsted for the blood of the human horde before her. With every crack of the battering rams, Lluava’s heart raced faster. With each thrum of pain from her swollen shoulders, she fought more violently. Soon she would let the goddess take control. With her eyes trained on humans, Issaura’s savagery would be undeniable.

  Nearby, Lluava thought she glimpsed the sharp, graphite silhouette of Maruny’s mockingbird form. Of course, she would be here; she was one of the Warrior Caste. In appearance, she looked ill-suited to battle, yet Lluava could not help but be impressed by her fiery determination.

  The Outlanders made progress as they carved their way through the rear lines, yet neither side could claim the upper hand. Lluava knew the time had come. As color began to drain from her vision and the world shifted toward a blue-green tint, a strange, flickering light caught her eye. High in a castle tower, a lantern was lit. One light. One single flame, signaling calamitous news.

  Light another, Lluava willed. Light another, Rosalyn. If there were only a single flame, all was lost. The Outlanders stood no chance of withstanding the enemy reinforcements.

  As she focused on the flame, Lluava’s senses returned to normal. She needed to be fully in control to explain the warning signal to her troops and not get caught up in blood lust at the castle gates.

  “Theri,” a Berserker grunted as he charged. She turned to lash out with her gilded claws, prepared to take on the behemoth. But the fight was cut short as a simple arrow ended the Berserker’s life. Had Aquila changed weapons, or had a lucky stray shot aided her? She was too far from the wall for the skill of an ordinary archer to protect her.

  Then another thought took hold. How were her friends faring? Between the sheeting rain and the oppressive darkness, it was almost impossible to tell. With each slain Berserker, the Theriomorphs drew closer to the raging Úlfhéðinn. With every crackling boom, the Úlfhéðinn were closer to forcing Cronus, and thus Elysia, to its knees. In war, when one is forced to kneel, one often never rises again.

  “Apex!” Lluava roared, for his hulking mass was easy to spot. “Others approach from the south!”

  As the giant wolverine muscled his way next to her, awareness returned to his eyes. Momentarily, his god relinquished control. Apex snarled, “Others? How can you tell?”

  “A signal. There.” Lluava gestured at the tower with her wide paw.

  In the solitary window, the flame was fighting its own battle, with the storm itself. Its meager attempt to give light foretold the awful truth: the last of the Outlander warriors would soon perish. They had no chance.

  Was this the end? Had everything come down to one final battle? What purpose did she or any of the Incarn have if they were only to die tonight? Had she really believed she was meant for some great purpose? Lluava felt her strength draining away. Maybe it was time to let the goddess take control. At least, she would deliver the Raiders a grievous blow.

  Scowling at the pathetic flame, Lluava wanted to curse the light and its message. Would it have been better not to know?

  Then, something changed; a second source of illumination appeared. Two lanterns had been lit. Varren’s army was approaching.

  A sense of calm washed over Lluava, and her spirit was revitalized. They still had a chance. The war was not over.

  Another Berserker approached. Snarling, Lluava affirmed, “Time to end this.”

  Chapter 30

  Powdered Rain

  A maul slammed into the large puddle in front of Lluava, sending mud upward like a geyser and forcing her to shield her face from the onslaught before she could make her move. Suddenly, a massive bronze form collided with the Berserker in front of her.

  Lluava leaped to assist Apex, and the two beasts brought down their prey. Coated in mud and pelted with rain, the tigress roared over the cooling corpse. In the near distance, the two lanterns continued to flicker in the storm.

  The blood-smeared muzzle of the Yorrick wolverine tilted toward the flames. “What aren’t you saying?” Apex’s red-flecked eyes seemed to bore into Lluava’s soul. “What’s this signal mean?”

  Should she tell him? There were so many times the huntsman had helped her and, in doing so, had helped Varren and Elysia. Suddenly, the image of Apex prying her hand open to get Suada’s Venom flickered into her thoughts. Moreover, he had deceived her for an entire month upon her return to Cronus. If he had aligned himself with Yena, he might hinder Varren’s reentry into the capital.

  “Can I trust you?”

  The wolverine’s fierce expression changed to one of confusion and pain. “My life has been yours since the time we spent together in the Pass. Everything I’ve done…for you. Don’t you know this?”

  Lluava could no longer deny what she felt for Apex—felt not merely at this moment but during the months prior. Perhaps they were indeed meant for each other. He was the only one who understood her internal turmoil with the inner presence, her fear of losing herself to the darkness, and her terror of what would happen when their destiny was fulfilled.

  More Berserkers were approaching. Apex turned and snarled; his hackles raised. Without benefit of their drug, the behemoths were clearly more cautious and hesitant.

  “Apex,” Lluava began. The wolverine’s ears told her he was listening, though he kept his eyes trained on the enemy. “Varren’s army is arriving. That was the signal. The Outlanders must not attack his men.”

  Without warning, the air crackled with electricity. Lluava’s fur stood on end with the intensity of the charge. Could that have been Aquila? If so, what had he shot at? Unless—

  “Go!” ordered Apex. He moved toward the enemy to prevent them from following her.

  Hoping she would not regret her decision, the tigress hurried southward. Aquila should recognize Varren and his men, but if he did not, the damage he could wield with Giahem’s Wings would be devastating. She needed to help lead the Elysians toward Cronus’s gates. Of all of them, she was the only one who could unite the two armies against the greater threat.

  Lluava did not have to search long. Marching into the clearing were hundreds—no, thousands—of men. Moss-green and gold banners snapped in the wind. The rows of soldiers parted as three riders approached the tigress and then halted.

  Varren was flanked by two men: the redheaded Lieutenant Vidrick, attired in age-old chain mail, and Regin, dressed in his black bodysuit. Varren wore a soldier’s uniform. A simple silver circlet was affixed to his metal helmet. This humble crown was the only symbol that identified him as the one true ruler of the kingdom. A black panther, Ojewa’s dual form, stretched at the feet of the king’s mount.

  “It sounds like you are in a bit of a scrape,” Varren said above the din of battle. Though he did not smile, Lluava could sense his spirits were high. And why shouldn’t they be? A vast army stood behind him that comprised trained soldiers, the Obsidian Guard, volunteer patriots, and the like.

  “There is little time.” Lluava spoke quickly. “Berserkers and even worse monstrosities are beating at the gates. The Outlander army has been trapped outside the walls, and their numbers are falling far too fast.” The three mounted men talked in hushed voices among themselves for a moment before Lluava broke in again.

  “But, Varren, I have not been able to ensure that the Outlanders will switch their allegiance to you.” Although the king’s face remained unreadable, she could see the dismay on Vidrick’s. Lluava continued, “Regardless, do not consider them enemies, not just yet.”

  Varren did not appear distressed. Hushing the military leaders beside him, he tossed down a small pouch and said, “We come bearing gifts.”

  Before Lluava could shift, Ojewa resumed his tall, ebony-skinned form and untied the pouch for the feline. Reaching inside, he scooped out a handful of powder as black as his flesh.

  “Flashbang!” Lluava exclaimed, hope now rekindled.

  “That and much more,” repeated Varren. “It seems our old
friend Berkley has been mass-producing it since the battles by the sea. It is water resistant and explosive, and it may help us again.”

  “There is a problem,” noted Vidrick. His voice had become hollow since Lluava’s dealings with him in the North. “We have no way of positioning it around the enemy. It must be in place before we ignite it.”

  “Surely we can figure out a way,” insisted Lluava. For the sake of these nearby friends, the tigress resisted her desire to shake the excess rainwater from her sopping fur.

  Varren seemed to sense Lluava’s discomfort. “Go on,” he said as he nudged his horse to step back. Lluava relieved herself of some of the water weight while Varren explained, “We have been trying to conceive the best way to position the Flashbang among the enemy. So far, nothing seems plausible.”

  “There is an alternate plan,” Vidrick reminded his king.

  “As I said before, I will not consider that.”

  Lluava eyed the redheaded lieutenant. “What’s the other plan?”

  “Send men in,” Vidrick began, “who know full well the sacrifice they would be making.”

  “You mean, allow a few people to die in order to kill many of the enemy.” Lluava hated to agree with the benefit of this approach. This is what the Raiders had done to trick the Outlanders. This is what she had done when she sent the Elysians into the enemy camp. Had she become so cold? Did lives no longer matter to her?

  Two more figures approached. Byron was dragging a bound captive dressed in gray with her head covered by a sack. “We discovered this woman skulking about in another regiment,” he explained before removing the cloth and exposing a sorry-looking Maruny.

  “Friend of yours?” questioned Regin coldly, as he readied several throwing suns.

  “Traitor!” the small, young woman screamed as she cast her smoldering eyes on Lluava. Maruny’s platinum-blond hair stuck to her face in dripping cords. An Endun collar strapped around her neck was securely held by Byron to ensure that she would not shift and escape. Lluava wished she had thought about one of those before. There were several people she would prefer to see tethered. As Byron reached for a gag, Maruny hissed, “That’s what you have always been. Claiming friendship. Do you ever speak anything but lies?”

  Byron paused as Lluava responded. “I was her friend,” she said to Regin, then turned to Maruny. “I was your friend. I know you do not believe me, but I really was.”

  This was a great understatement. As Lluava spoke, she felt her words turn to ash in her mouth. Though what she said was true, the fact remained: Maruny had killed June. Lluava did indeed desire revenge.

  Maruny spat on the ground. “The high priestess will have your head once she hears of your betrayal.”

  Could she have discovered what Lluava had done to Selene? No. The Outlander must be referring to the discovery of Lluava conversing with Elysia’s king, the high priestess’s enemy.

  Maruny finished her threat. “I pray that I’m the one to give it to her.”

  Lluava could see Regin preparing to throw his weapons if the girl made even the slightest move to fulfill her desire. Byron, in turn, shoved the gag into her mouth while tightening the bindings. Maruny tried to scream, but only a muffled wail escaped.

  “What should be done with her?” Byron asked.

  Vidrick eyed Lluava doubtfully. “You said not to view the likes of her as the enemy. That hardly seems possible.”

  Before them, the clamor of battle raged on. Above, more winged carrion-eaters flocked toward the city. Lluava felt a silent and overwhelming need to return to the front lines. A decision had to be made.

  “Release her,” she uttered, at first to herself, then to the others. Even Maruny stared at her with puzzled eyes. Lluava needed all of them to see things her way. “Maruny, hate me though you will, it is clear we are fighting a losing battle. The enemy forcing entry will destroy us. You have seen what is happening. Once the Berserkers enter the city, we are all doomed. There is no place for Theriomorphs in the world these Raiders wish to create.”

  The Outlander glared at her with contempt, refusing to acknowledge the truth of the tigress’s statement. Lluava continued cautiously, “This blood feud—this war, or whatever you wish to call it—between your people and those who follow King Varren matters little when we both face adversaries such as the Raiders. I do not expect your hatred to diminish, nor do I expect to regain your trust. I can only implore you to put aside these feelings and work alongside the Elysians until this threat is dealt with.”

  There was a moment of silence as Maruny eyed Lluava suspiciously. After receiving a nod of approval from Varren, Byron removed the gag to allow his captive a chance to speak.

  “I will never work for humans!” snapped Maruny as she kicked at Byron. He gave her a strong backhanded slap that split her lip.

  “I never said ‘work for humans.’ What I am asking you to do is work for your people. The Warrior Caste has no chance of defending the gates alone. They need help. These men behind me, this man right here—” Lluava gestured at Varren, “They all are willing to battle the Raiders. In order for you to defend the city, you need the assistance of humans, if only for a short time.”

  The crackling boom and groans of the shattering gates battered their ears. Maruny’s eyes darted from Lluava to the humans to Cronus. Then, wiping her lip on her shoulder, she asked, “What do you propose?”

  ***

  “They are almost in place,” Vidrick announced as he squinted through his spyglass. “They are lining up perfectly.”

  Lluava did not need the aid of the small device to see that the flying Outlanders were beginning to drop parcels of black powder across the enemy lines at a specific distance from the city’s walls. Once the archers on the wall shot their flame-tipped arrows, the resulting explosions would provide the signal for Varren’s army to attack. Maruny had kept her word.

  The Obsidian Guard gathered about Varren and prepared for their greatest mission yet.

  Vidrick counted. “Three.” His horse pawed in agitation.

  “Two.”

  Lluava hoped that the rain would not douse the flaming arrows too early.

  “One.”

  The night sky was illuminated with brilliant light. The resulting noise of the numerous explosions caused many a man to pray to his god. Lluava did not need to resort to prayer. This was no holy intervention but the unfolding of a masterful plan.

  “Attack!” roared Varren, and those of station, rank, or reputation repeated the order until the entire army thundered with war cries.

  Lluava envisioned what the scene must look like from above. A human-led army from the South rushing to combat the Raiders’ horde just as the Theriomorphs resumed their attack in full ferocity. Archers and spearmen rained down their projectiles from the wall as lightning illuminated everything in quick flashes.

  “Make for the gates!” roared Lluava. Still in her dual form, she forced herself to keep pace with those on horseback.

  Vidrick’s stallion whickered as a spear launched at its chest found its mark. Horse and rider were sent sprawling to the ground. Leaping over the lieutenant, the tigress collided with the flailing equine and received several sharp kicks in her side. At least one broke flesh.

  The scream of sword biting sword reverberated above Lluava as she scrambled to her feet and away from Vidrick’s opponent. Now in the midst of the fray, she took note of the enemy. Though not nearly as deadly as their larger kin, these ordinary Raiders were clearly causing enough havoc of their own. Once Vidrick slew his assailant and Lluava disemboweled another, the pair pushed on. Ahead of them, Varren’s band of black guards hewed their way forward.

  Large, charred craters had been gouged into the ground inside the battle zone. Near the gates, obliterated battering rams had been reduced to smoldering kindling. Remnants of victims among the blackened fissures were all but indistinguishable. Lluava wondered if they were Berserkers or Úlfhéðinn. As she had feared, several bags of Flashbang had indeed been
ignited too close to the walls, which were now pockmarked from the powerful explosions. So far, no hole had been blasted through.

  Nearing Cronus’s gate, a new wave of aerial Theriomorphs flew overhead, bearing more parcels of death. As the flock began to drop their packets, Vidrick pointed out, “They’re not stopping.”

  This was true. The flying Theriomorphs were releasing the bundles of Flashbang closer and closer to Varren’s army. They wouldn’t try to destroy the Elysians, would they? Yet Lluava was not convinced. Yena was in charge of the Outlanders. She would not risk placing either Ullr’s or Theri’s Incarn in danger. As long as Lluava stayed near Varren, he would not be harmed. Yet, with Maruny coordinating the attack, who knew if an “accident” might occur?

  Joining the ring of Obsidian Guard, Lluava shifted and approached the gates warily. Behind them, a new series of explosions erupted as flaming arrows flew past and ignited the powder. The enemy had abandoned the gates. Were the Raiders retreating? Maybe some greater power actually was smiling on the defenders.

  Reaching the doors, the massing number of soldiers waited. The numbers of Theriomorphs and Elysians continued to multiply, yet the gates did not open.

  “They are leaving us to die!” a human shouted.

  “What of our agreement?” cried another.

  Outlanders, clansmen, and Elysians looked at each other with great distrust. If the Raiders did not resume their attack, fights would break out among the three tenuously allied parties.

  Flashbang exploded closer and closer to the gates. Fear in those who awaited entry caused many to force their way toward the fractured doors and bang futilely at the splintered wood. Lluava was jostled by all the bodies pressing close together. Like a fly stuck in molasses, she could neither move nor lift her weapons.

  Suddenly, someone shouted, “They are returning! The giants are attacking!”