Sweyn’s black eyes looked at her critically. Was he capable of thinking? He took two long steps toward her but never reached his destination. At the same time, an empowered being lunged into the space between the would-be combatants. The huge bronze Yorrick wolverine snarled menacingly at the Úlfhéðnar before attacking.
So, the huntsman had not been killed. That boded well. Lluava took a moment to observe the two nightmarish creatures as they assaulted one another. The open wound on Apex’s mid back exposed mutilated muscle. She could sense his pain as well as his fury.
The sound of screaming metal hammered their eardrums as the large axe slid down the wolverine’s metallic muzzle. Apex went on the offensive as Lluava continued to watch them. She noted how the wolverine emanated energy. Although Lluava could sense everyone else around her, including Apex, she could not detect this Raider, this creature. Instead of leaving an imprint that she could discern, Sweyn did the exact opposite. In the space filled by the Úlfhéðnar, there was only a void, an emptiness. Was this a side effect of their drug? If so, this would indeed hinder her plans.
Irritated, Lluava snarled as she shifted into her dual form and prepared to help her fellow Incarn. And she would have, had not a multitude of Raiders begun to approach. Roaring, Lluava struck out at the first of the oncoming enemy. As the creature’s life was torn from him, she felt his energy dissipate.
Without looking at the Raiders surrounding her, Lluava allowed her vision to slip into its blue-green state. Like a master of Kings and Crowns, she was able to foresee all the enemies’ upcoming moves. The boundaries between herself and the goddess had been transcended. She was unstoppable.
Glimpsing the carnage she left in her wake, Lluava spotted Apex. Looking away, she continued to feel the strain on his physical vessel as it combated the living void. The huntsman had not reached full transcendence with his god. His body was weakening, and that realization disturbed her.
The tigress moved to aid the Yorrick wolverine. As she did, a sharp, icy sensation ran up and down her side. Glancing at her ribcage, she saw a thin line of red on the mud-smeared white of her fur. The feeling of ice turned into a ribbon of fire. This was pain. This was unacceptable.
A second Úlfhéðnar had arrived. Lluava chastised herself for not being aware of his presence. That was also unacceptable. That was not part of the larger plan. Her whiskers flared out, then pressed tight against her face. This man had no palpable essence, either; he, too, read as a void. Was this true of all Úlfhéðinn? She would need to be extra careful. Her pain was proof of that.
Apex would have to battle on by himself, at least until she could remove this grievance. Lunging at the Úlfhéðnar’s weapon, the tigress nearly lost an ear. The sword had been brought down at an unsuspecting angle. How could that be? She should have foreseen his movements. Unless…
It was that void, that lack of perceptible essence. The Úlfhéðnar was as unpredictable as any opponent she had faced prior to her transcendence. The inability to sense danger from them and respond would slow down her intended victory. This would hinder many things.
Lluava drew upon all the knowledge she had gained from her training in warfare and combat. Once again, she relied on her quick thinking and her skill in recognizing the physical tells of upcoming moves.
The Úlfhéðnar drove his sword forward again and again. Lluava narrowly avoided the volatile end of the blade. Her enemy was before her, above her, to the side of her. His looming form would have been threatening had she been able to feel fear.
The fringe of the man’s wolf-hide cloak dragged in the mud. Clumps of soggy earth clung to the speckled gray fur like minuscule weights. Dodging his swinging of his sword, Lluava clawed red gashes in the bare-chested form. His black blood oozed onto his dark-hued skin. The demonic man struck out again.
Meanwhile, Apex fought on. It was hard to tell which of the pair had the upper hand. Although Sweyn was impervious to any pain inflicted upon him, Apex, with his god now forcibly controlling his Incarn, was more energetic. Unfortunately, the huntsman’s level of transcendence only allowed a fraction of Ullr’s capabilities to manifest. Úlfhéðnar and Incarn were well matched, but only one would live.
“Lluava, help!” Apex’s voice bellowed as another Úlfhéðnar came to Sweyn’s aid. Lluava resented the distraction. She was fully engaged with an enemy of her own. Apex was an Incarn and should be able to rise to this new challenge.
Once more, he cried out, “Lluava!”
The tone of his voice triggered a memory, a feeling. The last time she had heard him call out like that was in Tartarus, when the cavern caved in. Apex had needed her then as he needed her now. On that occasion, if Varren had not held her back, she would have crossed the narrow bridge and been impaled by the falling stalactites. Varren had nearly died saving her.
The rage of war was forced aside by her fear of losing someone she cared about. There was no time to wait.
With a gigantic roar, the tigress disemboweled the Úlfhéðnar before her and sprang at the wolverine’s second attacker before the brute had time to strike. In turn, Apex was able to focus solely on Sweyn, who was a far more adept fighter than other Úlfhéðinn.
Time dragged on; yet none of the combatants could gain the upper hand. Finally, Lluava executed a maneuver that enabled her to bite her Raider’s exposed neck. Simultaneously, Sweyn forced Apex to the ground. The massive form of the wolverine was on his side, breathing heavily.
No! Lluava thought, but she had to make sure her Raider was dead before she assisted Apex. Bones snapping in her jaws, she could only watch as Sweyn grabbed Apex by the scruff and yanked his head back to expose the Incarn’s throat.
As life slipped from Lluava’s prey, she leapt to Apex, but she was too late. Sweyn was driven backward by the impact of the single Fang protruding from his chest. The other Fang was in Apex’s now human hand. The huntsman thrust the twin blade next to its brother.
She wondered if Sweyn realized what was about to happen. Quickly, Apex torqued the two pommels together like a gardener snipping weeds. The Raider’s heart was sliced in two, and Sweyn fell limply to the ground.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” Lluava said. She shifted, and for a brief moment, she felt relief, happiness, and a muddle of other emotions. Soon they would be veiled by the goddess’s will, but for now, Lluava gave his arm a squeeze.
Apex offered her an understanding nod before asking, “To Cronus?”
“To Cronus.”
The huntsman wavered. His foot slipped on the saturated earth. He reeked of blood.
“Can you make it?” she asked, eyeing the gaping wound on his back once again. His bronze Endun shirt had been ripped and torn, exposing the lacerated flesh. Somehow, the wound appeared more serious in his human form.
“Have I a choice?”
Lluava glanced about them. Although other Raiders were nearby, they gave both Incarn a wide berth. Many eyes were cast upon this pair who had fought with such otherworldly power and ferocity. Apex faltered again, and Lluava pressed close to the huntsman. She knew she needed to protect him, but she could not openly assist him. If the enemy realized how weak he was, they would surely attack.
The sounds of war had lessened. The explosive booms of Flashbang had ceased. The shattering impacts of the trebuchets’ missiles had abated. Only two of the heinous siege weapons were still working, but one was listing so badly that it would soon topple of its own accord.
Shifting into their dual forms, Apex inquired, “Do you want to pull down the last one?”
Lluava sensed Apex’s body fighting hard to keep him moving. With each beat of his heart, he lost more blood. “No. We must head back to Cronus and the others.”
Apex did not argue. This was both a blessing and a curse, for with his strength went his determination and his headstrong opinions. He would need all three to combat any opponents along their route.
Many Raiders ran in terror at the sight of them, though a few made ill-fated attempts to a
ttack, which resulted only in death as they were felled by Lluava’s teeth and claws.
Yet Raiders were not the only ones who approached. Yena, with what remained of her troops, joined them. Together, they would have to fight their way to the city’s gates.
Suddenly, an explosion of sound and brilliant light surrounded them. Aquila shot the Talons, targeting the enemy to the left, right, and rear of the returning party, leaving only the Raiders directly in their path. The nomad could not risk the integrity of the wall to slay those foes. Instead, a barrage of arrows from the archers on the castle parapet dispatched many of the brutes near the gates. Without hesitation, Lluava’s party rushed into the fray as arrows and projectiles whizzed past. Several of their group were accidentally killed in the onslaught from above.
The Raiders, focused on slaughtering the dwindling ground troops, did not notice that the gates had been opened just enough to allow Varren and his men to rush out and attack them from the rear. The sudden and unexpected assault caught the remaining enemy unprepared. They ran pell-mell about the battlefield. With most of their siege weapons destroyed and no sign of their commanders, the Raiders were incapable of making decisions. Their confusion enabled Lluava and her allies to slip inside the capital.
Just before the doors were shut and sealed, she had the eerie sense that she was being watched. Looking back through the door as it swung shut, she spied Níᵭingr. Although his skin had reverted to a normal hue, black veins snaked down his arms and up his neck. He stared at her coldly.
Yena addressed the troops who had fought on the land or in the air or defended the walls. “I thank you for the great sacrifices you have made. Those we have lost will be rightly mourned at the appropriate time. For now, all must rest and recuperate. The war is not over, though today victory was ours.”
Not stopping to listen to the high priestess, the pair made their way to the castle in human form. Lluava slid her arm under Apex’s and tried to keep the huntsman on his feet. He was sturdily built, with barrel chest and heavy musculature. He outweighed her by a good bit.
“Let me help.” Lluava looked up to see Varren take Apex’s other arm. Together, they half carried the huntsman through the city.
Varren nodded at Apex’s wound. “How did that happen?”
She could not answer, for she did not exactly know. Looking far too drowsy for her liking, Apex responded, “That damn blue-skin had a grip on me when the encampment went up in flames. In the explosion, we were flung away from one another. That part of me went with him.”
Lluava blanched, a strange feeling indeed. She had lit the Flashbang, thus causing his injury. “I’m so sorry,” she hurriedly replied.
“Not your fault,” Apex affirmed through gritted teeth. “You could not have known.”
Several Outlanders ran to assist them and took Apex off to their healer. Hopefully, Idun would speed his recovery. As he was carried away, Lluava gave Varren a worried glance.
The young king consoled her. “He will be all right, Lluava. Apex is strong, like you are.”
“I hope so.” Her voice came out oddly strained.
“You are more like yourself, I see.”
Lluava was about to inquire what he meant, but then she understood. Though the goddess was still with her, the immortal’s influence was subdued. The sudden awareness of all her emotions, feelings, and thoughts over the past few hours flooded her senses, and her knees buckled. Before she could fall, Varren grabbed her.
“I have you,” he said gently into her ear. “It is okay.” After making sure she had regained her footing, Varren bent down and looked her in the eyes. “You need rest. Sleep. We all do.” The statement was only partially true. Everyone else needed sleep. Lluava was mentally drained, but she was not physically tired.
Talos approached, looking sick with exhaustion. Byron and Rosalyn, weary as well, were not far behind him. Once they entered the grand foyer of the castle, Talos’s hoarse voice rasped out, “We need to decide our next move.”
Byron agreed with his military partner. “The enemy is in a panic. We must attack them now, before they regroup.”
Lluava’s head was beginning to throb. The muffled noise of the intermittent missiles bombarding the outer walls did not help. The goddess inside was irritable, as if she, too, were tense with the thought of oncoming evil.
“A decision should be made, but not without full representation of all those with authority here,” Varren replied. “I will not make that decision alone.”
“You are the king, Varren,” Talos reminded him tersely. “No one has more right than you.”
“That may be true,” Varren replied. “But not all here view it that way. We need the support of the Outlanders’ high priestess and the clan chiefs.”
“We are wasting valuable time,” Talos countered impatiently. “Who knows how long it will take to gather all of them? We do not even know how many are left.”
“I am sorry, my friend,” Varren began, placing his hand on Talos’s shoulder, “but this is the way it must be. And right now, all need time to rest. We have pushed ourselves beyond the point of exhaustion. We must recover our strength, or we will be in no shape to defeat our enemy.”
Another trebuchet blast exploded closer to the castle. Rosalyn placed a hand on her swelling belly and worriedly eyed the direction of the sound. “That weapon is sending projectiles inside Cronus. How are we to rest?”
“Stay in my quarters,” Lluava offered. “Use my bed. It would be safer than your house. Farther away from that weapon.”
“Thank you,” Rosalyn replied, obviously relieved. Talos was still unhappy. “That weapon won’t stop wreaking havoc while we sleep. It is still reaping lives.”
“Where is Aquila?” Lluava inquired. “He could destroy the trebuchet with Giahem’s Wings.”
Rosalyn gave Lluava a sad look. “He was injured. Not seriously, but badly enough that he had to be brought down from the wall.”
“I meant to tell you,” Varren confessed. “One of the trebuchet’s orbs fractured the parapets near him. He fell backward and hit his head. He is being treated for a concussion.”
Lluava chewed her bottom lip. “Well, my offer still stands. You can use my room, Rosalyn. You too, Talos. Byron, you are welcome as well.”
“We should be out there, Varren,” Talos argued. “We should be out there.”
“We will be soon enough.”
With her own anxiety growing, Lluava added, “Talos, go with Rosalyn. I will let you know once a decision is made.”
Together, the couple left. Byron held back for a moment before speaking. “I apologize for Talos. He is exhausted. We all are. I know you are right about resting, but…” Byron sighed. “He wants what’s best for you. For Rosalyn. For Elysia.”
“I know,” Varren acknowledged. “I have never doubted that.”
On the far side of the foyer, Talos and Rosalyn had stopped, caught up in their own conversation. Rosalyn was clearly trying to urge her husband up the stairs. Talos was holding back, still dissatisfied with Varren’s decision or lack thereof. They took a couple of steps in the direction of Lluava’s rooms before Talos paused, turned, and shouted in a much calmer manner, “Varren, just know—”
High above, glass shattered and fell like razor-sharp hail as one of the trebuchet’s small glass containers broke through. The jar burst on impact with the rim of the window. In the space of a moment, acidic rain poured down on the young couple below.
Chapter 36
Kamikaze
A woman’s screams sliced through the foyer. Lluava’s vision was instantly blue-green. A focused blood thirst pulled her toward the doors, the city, the threat. An odd sense of calm about what she was to do compelled her.
Then Varren cried, “Oh, god! To them! Hurry!”
Abruptly, Lluava’s vision reverted to normal. Her friends were hurt. Seriously hurt. She ran toward them. Others appeared, following the sounds of explosion and screams, as Theriomorphs and humans alike made
their way to the injured couple. Even a Shadow or two appeared. A barricade of onlookers blocked Lluava’s view.
Rosalyn was crying hysterically, making unidentifiable sounds. The hiss of the smoking acid was drowned out by barked commands. Lluava glimpsed Byron in the center of a circle of onlookers, trying to pull someone away from the corrosive puddles.
“Move aside,” Lluava snarled, as she and Varren forced their way through the helpless bystanders.
Byron had laid Talos on the ground, away from the slow spread of the liquid. Ignoring the burned splatter marks on her face, Rosalyn was crawling to him. She had not stopped screaming.
Lluava rushed to her side. Seeing the acid’s damage on the left shoulder and sleeve of Rosalyn’s gown, she pulled the raven-haired woman to her feet and began to tear off sections of the contaminated cloth. Beside them, Byron quickly tugged off his shoes while Varren assisted Talos.
Rosalyn’s words began to take shape. A single word, repeated over and over. “Talos,” she cried, “Talos. Talos. Talos.”
Continuing to inspect the mangled dress for any other sign of damage, Lluava asked, “Did any get on your belly?”
“Talos,” was the only word that escaped the trembling woman’s lips.
Fumbling among the pleats of Rosalyn’s dress, Lluava demanded, “Did any touch the baby?”
Eyes wide with terror, the pregnant woman shook her head no. Tears streamed down her face, now more than outwardly scarred by the attack. Lluava inspected the blistering marks on Rosalyn’s pale features. She was relieved that her friend had not sustained more burns.
The acid appeared to have splattered when it hit the ground. Nasty inflamed marks were clustered on Rosalyn’s neck and under her chin; a few peppered her cheek and brow. Her eyes had been spared; one ear had not.
Behind them, people moved hurriedly. A middle-aged woman, a Theriomorph whom Lluava did not know, brought clean, wet cloths.
“Let me wipe your face, dear,” she cooed. Rosalyn, unmoving, let the stranger tend to her burns, all the while repeating her husband’s name.
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