Chapter Thirty-Four
Talwyn blocked the blade with her shield and speared the wielder through his chest.
She’d lost her sword hours ago and since had been using weapons she’d picked up off the dead.
The grasslands were no longer green but red from the blood spilled. But still, the Zealots kept coming. They wouldn’t let their enemies move closer to Salebiri’s castle. Even if it meant sacrificing themselves.
But a challenge had been sent. Written on the flesh of a Zealot that they’d catapulted through the damaged main hall roof and now, they waited for the answer.
“Talwyn!” her brother called out, two fingers pointing at his eyes and then off in the distance. “To the hills!”
The Zealot priests and priestesses were moving into place.
“Get Grandfather!” she ordered her brother. She speared another Zealot and moved to get her father and uncles prepared. But in the fields behind her there was a flash and then the sound of racing horses and armed men.
“Izzy!” Talwyn roared. “Behind us!”
Her cousin climbed onto the back of the nearest dragon and stood on her shoulders.
“I see Riders!” she yelled back to Talwyn, which was strange, because the Daughters of the Steppes had said they would allow Northlanders through their territory but they wouldn’t take part in this battle. “And gold armor!”
“On Riders?”
“No! Two separate armies and . . .”
“And what? What do you see?”
“Brannie! It’s Brannie!”
Izzy jumped off one dragon’s shoulders and onto the back of Éibhear, who quickly took to the air.
* * *
Brannie led the charge on horseback, motioning with her hammer to where the Riders should attack and where the Empress’s army should mount a defense.
Once her commands were given, she charged forward toward the main battle near Salebiri’s castle. But something caused her war horse to flip, head over tail, crashing hard into the ground.
Brannie rolled free and back onto her feet before the horse could crush her. She ran, ducking under a swinging sword and flipping over a jabbing spear.
Zealots ran toward her and she changed her hammer to a halberd. She’d only impaled one of the Zealots on the end when Éibhear slammed down onto the rest.
“Izzy!”
“Bran!”
Izzy jumped off Éibhear’s giant shoulders, but he caught her with his tail and safely lowered her to the ground.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he grumbled but Izzy ignored him, throwing herself at Brannie.
“I thought you were dead!” Izzy yelled into Brannie’s neck as the pair hugged.
“Not yet,” Brannie said, holding her best friend tighter. “Definitely not yet.”
* * *
Aidan landed behind Brannie and Izzy, but before he could say anything, his best friend was squeezing the life from him.
“Can’t breathe.”
“Stop complaining.” Éibhear finally pushed him away. “We all thought you lot were dead until Ghleanna got here. But then we heard you were with Keita, so . . . you know . . . we thought you were still dead . . . eventually.”
“That’s lovely to hear.”
“You’ve been with Keita all this time?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m sorry, old friend.”
“Your sister’s mean,” Caswyn complained, stalking past Éibhear and Aidan with Uther behind him. “Really, really mean.”
* * *
Dagmar stood on the top step and stared into the courtyard. She closed her eyes; breathed in, breathed out, and fought a nearly overwhelming desire to panic about what she knew was happening hundreds of leagues away in the Outerplains.
“Mum?”
Forcing a smile, she glanced back at her son, but he wasn’t fooled.
“I’m all right,” she insisted.
Var walked up to her and took her hand. “Maybe I should have gone. I’m sure I could have helped.”
“If they don’t succeed, I’ll need you here. We’ll need to get the children out before the Zealots come.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“What is?”
“I was hoping more for a Northland way of handling things.”
Dagmar, who no longer thought about panic, had to fight hard not to laugh. “Unnvar—”
“We’d kill the children. The servants. Ourselves. The dogs. The horses. The squirrels in the trees.”
“Var, stop it,” Dagmar ordered around her chuckles.
“I was actually looking forward to cutting Arlais’s throat myself since we both know she’d put up a fight.”
Laughing out loud despite herself, Dagmar leaned against her son, but she immediately stopped when Arlais suddenly ran out the castle doors.
She opened her mouth to announce something, but her eyes abruptly narrowed and she glared at her mother and brother.
“You two are talking about me,” she accused.
“Is there a reason you’re out here?” Dagmar asked.
She pointed to the middle of the courtyard and a mystical doorway suddenly opened. A moment later Keita and Ren of the Chosen tumbled out. A living, breathing Ren of the Chosen.
Arlais squealed and ran to her favorite aunt while Var leaned in to her and whispered, “And now, Mum, we have a fighting chance. . . .”
* * *
The witches met in Rhiannon’s sacred space, including the Empress, whose power Rhiannon desperately needed if they hoped to make this work.
The queen, the Empress, Morfyd, Nina, Rhi, and Brigida, all in their natural forms, stood in a circle. And while the others began to chant, Rhiannon walked inside the circle they created, tossing the ashes from the sacrifices she’d made, creating a circle within a circle.
Once she was done, she stood between her daughter and granddaughter, everyone linking claws and paws and hands. Then they began the summoning.
* * *
The Zealots retreated back toward the castle and Brannie finally returned to her troops. When Aidan, Caswyn, and Uther tagged along, Izzy immediately noticed and raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you have a war to fight, General?” Brannie snapped. “Legions to command?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Izzy replied in that annoying, high-pitched way.
After that, they all waited in silence until Duke Salebiri finally appeared, riding into the middle of the battleground with a company of soldiers behind him. He dismounted from his horse and turned in a circle. “You sent me a challenge, queen’s whore,” he called out. “And now you hide?”
The ground shook as Bercelak landed hard in front of Salebiri.
“Hide?” Bercelak asked. “From a human? That day will never happen.”
“Well, well, well,” Salebiri taunted. “The great Bercelak the . . .”
“Great,” Bercelak finished for him. “It sounded better in your head, didn’t it?”
Brannie and the Cadwaladrs laughed—they couldn’t help it. But that only enraged Salebiri.
The duke stepped back and spread his arms out.
And he began to change. He went from human into something . . . unholy. Unclean.
He grew in size. Bigger than Bercelak. Maybe bigger than Éibhear. His skin turned gray, his handsome features stretched and pulled until Brannie could no longer see the man he was.
And then there were the tentacles.
They spilled and spun out from his body. So many of them.
One side of each tentacle had multiple spikes to grab and tear.
Eyes wide, Bercelak looked at Ghleanna and mouthed, What the fuck?
But Brannie’s mum had no answer for her brother. None of them did. They’d never seen anything like it.
Brannie prayed they’d never see anything like it again.
“Look what my god has given me!” the duke cried out from the fang-covered hole that was once his mouth. “Look at me and weep! For I will destroy all of you!”
One tentacle pointed at Bercelak. “And I will begin with you, Bercelak the Great!”
Brannie’s uncle pulled his broadsword from the sheath strapped to his back, and clasped it in both claws.
“Come for me, Duke. Let’s see what your god has given you.”
A tentacle lashed out, slapping at Bercelak.
Using his sword, he blocked it, but another came from the other side, catching Bercelak on the neck. When it pulled away, it tore out some of his scales, his blood splashing on the ground.
Several more lashed out, but Bercelak cut them down and rolled under a few others.
Brannie was impressed. Her uncle was no longer the young dragon who’d gone up against the Lightning dragons and brought them to heel. But he fought like he had nothing to lose, when they all knew he had everything to lose.
Then something horrifying happened.
The men that the duke had ridden out with began to shake and twitch and they, like he, began to change. All that had happened to the duke happened to them. Now, instead of one tentacle thing, there were hundreds.
For the first time Brannie had ever seen, Bercelak backed away, but only until he stood by his sons.
Fearghus motioned to his kin.
The Cadwaladrs would fight. They would fight and they would kill until their ancestors called them home.
Fearghus then looked out at the other armies. None of them were backing down either. This would all end here. Now.
* * *
Rhiannon and the others pulled and pulled, using all their skills and energy to drag Chramnesind from his world into theirs.
He appeared in the circle, the smell of dirt and shit invading Rhiannon’s precious sacred space and her nostrils.
The eyeless god roared in rage, trying to force his way out of the protective circle.
“You will pay for this!” he swore. “All of you heartless bitches will pay!”
“Will they?”
Rhiannon looked over her shoulder. A brown-skinned warrior woman stood behind Rhiannon and the others. And standing next to the woman was a giant wolf. A few feet to the left was another woman warrior. This one an Eastlander.
All of that was strange enough, but on the opposite side of the circle stood a man with violet eyes and black hair so long it pooled at his feet.
Rhiannon motioned to Xinyi and the Empress frowned and mouthed, What?
Rhiannon jerked her head again and Xinyi finally looked over her shoulder. When she turned back around, her eyes were wide.
With a nod, the two rulers moved at the same time. Rhiannon opened her left claw and Xinyi opened her right paw. Then, they both yanked those they still held in the opposite direction, pulling the other witches out of the way and breaking the circle.
But before Chramnesind could flee, the giant wolf crashed into the stunned god, taking him down to the ground. The two females pulled out their weapons and began stabbing and hacking at the god, chopping him into pieces as he screamed and cursed and attempted to fight them off.
“You should have listened to us, old friend,” the male said, watching the assault impassively. “You should have backed off long ago. But you didn’t.”
“You can’t do this to me! You can’t do this to me!”
“You did this to yourself. And because of you,” the male went on, “a doorway from hell has been opened that should never have been. For that affront alone, you must pay. And pay you will.”
The male never raised his voice. Never showed any anger. He simply waited until the females finished hacking Chramnesind into pieces. Then he crouched beside the still-breathing remains and softly said, “Your time here is done, old friend.”
Chramnesind cursed them all and, as he did, the male backed away. Far away. Then he shifted and Rhiannon, lying on the ground with the other witches, knew this was Rhydderch Hael, the father of all dragons.
When the god pulled in a large breath, Rhiannon grabbed her granddaughter, pulling her close and protecting her with her body while Morfyd sent Nina Chechneva out of the sacred space completely.
The god unleashed his flame, and it filled every corner, leaving nothing untouched.
When the flames stopped, the gods were gone . . . including Chramnesind.
* * *
Weapons were drawn and Ghleanna, Bradana, Addolgar, and Rhys moved up until they stood beside their brother.
“Come for us all, Cadwaladrs!” Salebiri yelled out. “Come!”
Bercelak took a step . . . but then he froze. He looked down at the ground, then around.
“Uh-oh,” Gwenvael muttered next to Fearghus. “Dad’s gone ’round the bend.”
“No,” Éibhear said, also staring down at his feet. “Something’s coming.”
“Something big,” Briec added.
“Shit,” Fearghus sighed. “Now what?”
Gaius Lucius Domitus made his way to their side, his recently arrived mate, Kachka, on his back. “Do you feel that?” he asked. “Coming from underneath.”
“From out there.” Kachka pointed with her sword from Gaius’s back. “Something is coming from out there.”
“Uh,” Gwenvael asked, “are the Northlanders running?”
It was true, the Lightning dragons were exiting the forest as fast as they could run or fly.
“Ragnar Olgeirsson is running? That can’t be good.”
And Fearghus knew he was right when he saw the first one come over the hill and then he, too, wanted to run. He wanted to run for his life.
“By the gods, Salebiri,” Fearghus accused. “What have you done?”
Blinking at Fearghus, Salebiri slowly turned his odd body around and watched the demon thing that came over the hill. First one, then two. Then more. Many, many more.
Salebiri stumbled back, his army moving with him. None of them seemed to care that they were moving right into their enemy.
“Those things are not with him,” Briec guessed.
And Briec was right. Salebiri was terrified by what was coming over the hill. Giant animals with tusks and horns and black eyes. Something not of this world but clearly coughed up from one of the hells. And running behind them until they veered toward Salebiri’s castle was an army of demons, weapons brandished, horrifying battle cries polluting the air.
“Daddy?”
Fearghus heard his daughter’s voice and looked over at her. She pointed and he followed the direction of her hand . . . and his breath caught in his throat, his knees went weak.
“Holy. Shit.”
Annwyl sat on one of the animals as she would a horse, holding on to it by the fur at its neck. The animals moved slowly, waiting until she’d passed them and was now in the lead. Blood covered her face and chain mail. Bruises seemed to cover the rest of her.
She appeared calm, but Fearghus knew better. He knew his mate better than he knew himself sometimes. And while she appeared calm, her eyes told a different story. A long, painful, angry story.
Bercelak looked at Fearghus over his shoulder and, with a small nod, Fearghus told his father to move back. They all needed to move back. Now.
Salebiri pointed one of his tentacles at the queen. “Annwyl!”
Annwyl gazed down at Salebiri, her head turning first one way, then another.
The sight of him, like that, seemed to trigger something in her that many had not seen in years. Her unrestrained rage. A rage with no questions. No concerns. No doubts.
“Kill it,” Annwyl said, her voice carrying on the wind. Then she bellowed, “Kill them alllllllllll”
The demon things suddenly charged down the hill right toward them.
“Fucking move!” Fearghus ordered, using his tail to grab hold of both his children as his wings took him to the sky.
Their human armies made a crazed run for it, charging off to opposite sides.
But Salebiri didn’t move fast enough. He didn’t move at all. Instead, he pointed at the Zealot priests and priestesses nearby and yelled, “Call to him! Call to him now!”
The Zealots did as ordered, raising their voices to their god . . . but he did not come. He did not appear. Chramnesind did not give his loyal followers the power they begged for to fight off this new attack.
With no sign of help, Salebiri tried to build a defense with the twisted warriors he still had, but it was too late. Annwyl’s demon animals had closed the gap. Roaring—the animals and Annwyl—battered Salebiri’s men, taking them down and tearing into them.
Tentacles flew into the air as they were ripped off. Claws tore into gray flesh. The screams of the Zealots rang out but nothing could or would help them. Not when Annwyl was like this. Not when she had no intention of stopping.
Fearghus landed on a safe hill so they could watch the carnage from a distance. He placed his children on the ground and they moved in front of him.
“Well,” Talwyn said, “Mum’s back.”
Talan nodded. “And she’s brought hell with her.”
“Now you two can see why I love that woman.”
The twins looked up at him, their faces matching images of consternation.
And their expressions didn’t change when he smiled....