Of course, that meant abandoning Valda, which was both ungentlemanly and a gross breach of the trust Eldegris had shown him.
Valda shot past him, screaming a war cry that made Lethos jump in surprise. She had only fallen back to grab a round wooden shield and sword. Now she hid behind the shield as she lunged forward, a green and blond streak as she plowed aside Avulash's weapon. Avulash, his sword pointed at Lethos, had no time to avoid the attack. Her own blade struck down and grazed Avulash's cheek as he stepped back from the attack. Metal scraped on metal as his breastplate absorbed the rest of Valda's strike.
As fast as an angered snake, Avulash flicked his blade up and struck Valda's shield. The wood splintered and flew out of the frame. The force of the blow sent her sprawling to the patchy grass of the yard. Avulash laughed.
"Another of Eldegris's brood. I can tell from her face she is one of his. Sharatar, you told me we had finished all but the king's son."
Lethos stood frozen in shock. Valda shook her head and struggled to rise. A delicate dress was not the right outfit for combat, and it impeded her range of motion. One of the storm riders wearing a tattered and old gray cloak answered to the name Sharatar, and he extended his sword toward Valda. "I miscounted, my captain. I have failed you."
Avulash extended his palm with a cruel smile. Valda was on hands and knees now, still clutching her sword. The scent of blood heightened, and Lethos finally sprang into action. He knew that scent, and it enraged him.
He threw his dagger aside and sprang for Avulash's outstretched arm. He seized it with both hands and a horrible tingle of power raced up his own arms into his body. Their eyes met, Avulash's glowing yellow with baleful delight. Lethos wrenched Avulash's arm down, finding the resistance far stronger than what such a slender arm should give. Yet he did force it down and pushed Avulash back, again his resistance exceeding his slight stature.
"You break the pact willingly for all your kind?" Avulash asked, a cruel smile on his face. "For the bitch of a dead man?"
Lethos answered with a fist. This was how Grimwold would have done it. Avulash was fast, but Lethos also possessed supernatural speed. His fist collided with Avulash's cheek, and the thin man stumbled back, helmet toppling from his head. Lethos thrilled with the rush of the fight. He had staggered this man with a single punch. No wonder the barbarians delighted in violence.
The six other men shouted as Avulash reeled and spun, trying to maintain his balance. Whether they shouted in anger or joy, Lethos could not guess. Their expressions and the sounds they made were alien and unsettling, and carried notes of both emotions. He had no more time for comparisons, for all of them leapt forward at once. Their shimmering blades swished the air as he scrambled back toward the door. One nicked his cheek and drew a burning line across it.
Something inside him stirred. The beast.
"Not now," he said under his breath as he scrambled back. He would rage over these storm riders, but then he would likely kill Valda and any other survivor.
The storm riders charged him, and he stumbled onto the dirt. He heard Valda scream but could see nothing but the golden eyes of his attackers staring from behind blades pointed at his face.
Rage pumped through his veins. The beast was all he had to call upon. A flash of painful heat engulfed him and suddenly the blades of the six storm riders turned aside on his iron-hard flesh. He now towered above them, his limbs as thick as tree trunks and covered in glossy black fur. His vision hazed red as the horror stricken faces gaped at him. In one swipe his enormous claw batted away a storm rider as if he were nothing but a dead stalk. He flew across the yard to slam against the wall.
Lethos bellowed, the deep bass snort vibrating through his chest. He loved this. He lowered his head, and his horns itched to impale flesh, to feel it yield and then to delight in snapping bone. He charged into the group of storm riders as they backed away.
Then Avulash was before him, his sword blazing. Now it was engulfed in violet fire, and to look upon it burned his eyes. Lethos flung himself aside, roaring with frustration and pain. With a careless strike, Avulash slashed across his midsection, and the searing fire sent fingers of heat shooting through every part of his body. He staggered and collapsed with a thud that echoed off the walls.
"The beast is strong in you," Avulash said. "But it avails you nothing when you have no idea how to tame such a gift. You are degenerate and weak. Rejoice now, young one, that your blood brings a new age to this world."
The violet flames hissed as Avulash raised his weapon to bring it down on Lethos's head. It chopped down, the flames fluttering and snapping.
The blade clanged against another sword. Lethos looked up, seeing nothing but violet and gold radiance flaring from the metallic screech of the blades. Through the blaze Lethos glimpsed the green of Valda's dress, but she was lost in the brilliance. Avulash screamed, an inhuman timbre, but nonetheless a cry of agony. Lethos's sensitive nostrils filled with the sweet scent of blood. The fire coursing through his body retreated. The rage flushed away. He felt like a sail gone limp after a strong wind.
The sky darkened and a sudden torrent of swirling dust scoured the yard. Even in Minotaur form, Lethos was driven back. The colored lights disappeared as the swords separated. Avulash vanished into a twisting finger of wind and debris that dragged across the yard. Stones flew aside like paper. One struck Lethos with enough force to sprawl him out. The other six storm riders jumped into the wind. Thunder boomed overhead.
Then silence. Dust and straw settled over his face and he blinked. He had shrunk to normal size, his clothing shredded. His stomach still bled, but the cut was not deep. It was healing. Valda had collapsed to her knees, arms wrapped around her torso as if her stomach hurt. A plain sword sat in the grass before her. Her hair was disheveled and hung down over his face.
His first thoughts were for modesty, and Lethos grabbed his discarded cloak and wrapped himself in it. Then he rushed to Valda's side.
"They are gone," he said, touching a trembling hand to her shoulder. "You drove them back."
Valda shivered as if deathly cold, and when she finally raised her head, she wore an expression of grief. "I do not remember what happened. But my family is dead, all of them. I know this."
Lethos patted her shoulder. From the utter silence of the yard and the fortress, he did not doubt she was right. He felt like the loneliest man in the world, standing at the center of an island inhabited only by ghosts. Then his stomach burned with terror.
The cart where Grimwold had been hidden was now smashed to splinters, the wheels blown apart, and the hay scattered.
Grimwold was gone. The storm had taken him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lethos clutched his hand to his chest, feeling the dull ache of his shared wound with Grimwold. The cloak draped about his body slipped as he shuffled across the rubble-strewn yard. The scent of blood was light enough to be ignored, yet he still tasted it at the back of his tongue. His own blood ran wet and warm from his midsection onto the patchy grass as he approached the ruins of the hay cart.
A strong wind still stirred straw into the air, floating into his face as he walked. Valda remained behind him. He had no more concern for her, not with the wagon smashed to splinters and Grimwold gone. He knelt by the shattered wagon, a wheel with broken spokes and shattered bits of wood all that remained.
"Maybe he was blown away," Lethos said, his voice small in the wind. "I've just got to find him around here somewhere. He's tough. He'll survive."
Running his hand through the rough dead grass, he knew right away Grimwold was not close. His homing instinct for Grimwold's location told him he was taken north. The only place north of Norddalr was the sea, and that meant the ghost ship, what Avulash had called his ark.
"The storm took him," Valda said. "I am sorry."
He stood and faced her. The deep lines of grief that had marred her young beauty had vanished. Now she glowed with resolve and ferocity. She was Eldegris's daughter, he thoug
ht, just from that potent glare alone I can see the High King in her. Yet even more than that, she had been ensconced in a golden glow just as Eldegris had when he fought Amator on the curtain wall.
"I will slowly go mad if separated from him."
Valda paused as if she debated her words. Lethos felt his ears grow hot.
"Not because we're lovers. We are Manifested."
"Oh," Valda said, a slight smile softening her face.
Lethos sighed. "We are connected through a magical force that radiates throughout the world. I collect the force and store it. When Grimwold uses his powers, he draws upon what I have stored. We are forever joined this way, and if separated for too long we both begin to die. Or at least, it used to happen that way. I once had teachers to answer my questions, but they seem to have forgotten me. They once said we could learn to be apart for a while without danger."
Valda pulled up his cloak, which he had let slip, to cover his chest. The wind caught her blond hair, flipping it over her shoulders to obscure her face. "Inside you should find clothing to replace what you lost. I must learn what happened to my family."
"You are not terrorized by what I became?" He pulled the cloak against his body. His stomach tingled as the wound sealed and the blood flow stopped.
"I heard you could transform into a bull-man. It was horrible to behold, and I was afraid. But then I ..."
Lethos nodded. She didn't know what had happened to herself any more than he did. For a moment she had become something else, just like he had. Only what she had become was beautiful and wondrous while his transformation was into madness and horror. Life was unfair.
They entered the darkness of the fortress. In the first rooms he found clothing to fit him, a plain white shirt and black wool pants. Boots were more difficult to find, and he did not waste time. Instead, he padded along the rough, cold stone in bare feet while Valda led the way. The hem of her green dress swept the floor as she went. She was quiet, carefully peering around every corner or into every doorway. She seemed as if she might scream in terror at any moment, hands clasped together before her chest. Entering the fortress had changed her from a bold warrior woman into a meek daughter of the king. Old habits, Lethos thought.
They wended through corridors, and with each empty room Lethos's stomach burned hotter. This was unnaturally empty, and Valda began to visibly tremble after a dozen empty rooms had passed. They both worked through the halls until they came to the main hall. The double doors, normally closed and guarded, hung open. Wavering orange light shined from behind it, torches and lamps fluttering in the stale air current.
Lethos sniffed. Blood.
"Perhaps I should enter first," he offered. "Just in case."
Valda stared at the entrance, hands held together as if in prayer. He was about to step past her, but she barred him with a slender, strong arm.
"I am the daughter of Eldegris. I will enter first."
She remained with her arm pressed against his chest, a stray bit of straw clinging to the green sleeve. He considered insisting, but she was royalty and this was her family. He wished she did not have to witness what he knew must wait beyond the doors. She would never forget it, and the vision would haunt her for the rest of her life. Should he allow such a thing to happen? The poor girl might be shattered and fall to pieces. Could he live with himself after that?
His philosophizing ended when she drew a deep breath and strode into the hall. He waited for the scream, but nothing came. He followed her inside, girding himself for the horror.
Valda stood at the center of the room beneath a wheel of candles that hung above her. The room reeked of blood, but none was apparent. The wide hall had tables pushed to the sides for Eldegris to accept his visitors. The stone floor was covered in scattered straw, and candles and lamps flickered all around the walls. On the opposite side a raised platform held a table above all the others.
Eldegris's severed head sat atop the table. His eyes had rolled back in his head, revealing only the whites. His mouth was closed tight and his flesh was waxy white. Not a drop of blood showed. The head of his wife, Siffred, leaned onto his like the two were posing for a portrait. Her eyes were also rolled back and her full, golden hair had been sheared away where the blade had cleanly decapitated her. The heads of their daughters, two on each side of them, were lined up neatly. Like their mother, their blond braids had been cut away and their eyes were rolled back. All six heads were bloodless, and not a speckle of blood showed anywhere.
Lethos felt himself ready to vomit, and behind Valda, he panicked while looking for something to contain the mess. At last he ran from the room and vomited in the hallway. He hung there a moment, limp and clammy, a line of drool dangling from his mouth. He had witnessed more horrifying gore in the war of the trolls, but yet this was far worse than any of it. These were people he had known, and a king whom he respected as much as he could any monarch. The very lack of blood made the scene far worse. The dispositions of their bodies also dismayed him. Where were they? Where was anyone?
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned to the hall. Valda was now touching the severed heads as if to be certain they were real. Lethos swallowed back the taste of bile and joined her. The heavy stench of blood was overpowering, but yet none showed. The scent had to be due to the same foul blood magic Amator had used. The ache in his chest throbbed at the thought.
"I am sorry," he said. It was lame, but he knew no other words. Valda nodded, then turned abruptly. Tears glittered on her smooth, round cheeks and her face flushed.
"We should check for other survivors and the rest of--my family." She sniffed and wiped away tears that dangled from her jaw. "There were dozens of men with my father when he fell. Where are their bodies?"
They searched the halls and towers, finding nothing but an all pervading stink of blood. Lethos determined the storm riders must have somehow taken the bodies back to their ark through the workings of their foul blood magic. The heads had been left as a message to whoever discovered them. The storm riders had come and destroyed Norddalr in an afternoon. They had done what Amator and an army of trolls could not achieve and in a fraction of the time.
Avulash and his men were a threat beyond understanding. And they held Grimwold, which was the same as holding Lethos's life in their hands.
They had ended their search in the same yard as where the storm riders had disappeared. Lethos looked up into the clear sky now tinged red with the arrival of evening. He sat on a large hunk of rubble in the center of the shadow-filled yard. Valda paced with her arms wrapped around her body.
"With my father dead and all his men gone, the chiefs will again vie for supremacy. There will be war among our own in a matter of days."
Lethos nodded. People were the same everywhere. In his own country, if a leader and his armies vanished in an afternoon, at least twenty new leaders and armies would spring up to contend for the vacancy. The barbarians could not be expected to be different.
"Unless they recognize you as their new leader," Lethos said.
Valda laughed. "A woman does not rule in Valahur. Maybe it's different in the southern lands. Here, no one would listen to me."
They both fell into silence, and though the wind had died down, the deepening shadows cooled the air. Lethos wished he had learned how to burn power as Kafara had described to keep himself warm. He wished Kafara was here. The pensive silence stretched, and soon Valda turned to him with a furrowed brow.
"I could probably hold a loose alliance together, at least long enough for a new High King to be selected among the contenders."
"You vote on your High King? I thought your father took the throne by force. You know, the stories of his sword cutting three men in half and what not."
"We do vote, but often the losers are not willing to abide the result. My father never spoke of his early days. Some say the other contender, Sigurd Blood-Eye, was so evil that my father had no choice but to use violence. I believe that."
T
he pain in Lethos's chest throbbed again, and he instinctively faced north. It had been so long since such sensations dominated him. He had never been far from Grimwold, and now he was far out to sea. He clutched one hand to where he felt the pain, and Valda frowned.
"You are worried for your friend?"
"I must go to him or we both die. I have no idea how I'll get to that ship, or if they'll let him live long enough for me to find him. Our kind is not supposed to die easily, but I think these storm riders will have no problems."
Valda nodded and at last sat down, tears flowing down her face. Lethos wanted to help her, but he was of no use to her when his own mind might start to decay. How much worse would it be now that a bull spirit haunted his soul? He went to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She buried her face in her hands, quietly sobbing.
"I don't know what to do," she said. "At least you have some direction for yourself. Am I to just haunt this castle like a ghost?"
"I remember you had a brother. Where is he?"
The tears stopped and Valda frowned. She twisted her words with anger. "Gone to some secret mission. He left with that strange priest of Fieyar, the man with the beautiful voice."
Lethos nodded, remembering Syrus the Silver from his first days in Valahur. "You're upset they left?"
"Father sent his sword with my brother, and they went to a secret location. I was listening in on their talk. There's a copy of the map in the castle somewhere. Some ancient cave. Why did he send his sword away? And why with my brother?"
"Well, why not your brother?"
"Because he's a fool. But Father has only one son. He reminded us enough of it, didn't he."
"I wouldn't know."
"Well, Thorgis may be my father's son, but I've no idea what he inherited. Certainly not courage. Seemed a poor pick for a secret mission."
The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) Page 10