Fire Falling

Vhalla gripped Larel’s arm tighter. “No,” she whispered.

“Vhal, you need to go,” Fritz pleaded, kneeling quickly to block the Emperor’s view of her disobedience.

“No,” she pleaded with Fritz, shaking her head. “I can’t, I can’t leave Larel like this. She needs me.”

“She’s dead, Vhalla.” Fritz’s harsh words were a knife that cut through the last scraps of hope in Vhalla’s heart. “And you might be dead too if you don’t heed the Emperor’s call.”

Fritz pulled her upright and herded her toward their ruler.

“It’s my fault ... It’s my fault ...” Vhalla whispered, repeating the mantra over and over in her head.

“What happened here?” the Emperor demanded as she arrived.

All eyes were on her. Vhalla swallowed and turned to the Northerner. “He was a juggler, at the festival.”

“Speak clearly, girl!” the Emperor took a step forward.

Aldrik stepped forward as well, wedging himself protectively between his father and Vhalla.

“The people who attacked on the Night of Fire and Wind, they were the jugglers from the festivals, the ones who came to the capital. There were two missing in that attack.” Vhalla’s voice echoed emptily in her ears.

“And our attack was a success! We had no idea Emperor Solaris was growing Wind Demons,” the man spat. His accent was thick and heavy and it would have been difficult to understand if its inflection hadn’t already been seared on Vhalla’s ears from that fateful night long ago.

“You speak forcefully for a man who is about to die,” the Emperor said quietly.

“A warrior doesn’t fear death,” the man replied haughtily.

“How about dying with the shame of failing to kill the one who slayed your comrades?” The Emperor gave a tilt of his head toward Vhalla.

That set the man off, and he was suddenly raging against Craig, Daniel, and Baldair, who all struggled to keep him on his knees.

“Let him go,” the Emperor commanded.

“Father—” Baldair began in shock.

“I said, release him!” Emperor Solaris was not to be trifled with, and they released the Northerner.

The assassin sprang forward like a sprinter from the blocks. But he did not lunge for the most powerful man in all the realms, the man who had killed his people and invaded his homeland. The Northerner lunged for Vhalla.

She didn’t even flinch when the flames erupted right before her. They singed her tattered sleeping clothes and licked by her face. But they did not burn her.

The man seemed to resist the heat as well, but only for a brief moment until he was magically overpowered and set to writhing and rolling on the ground. His flesh bubbling and singed.

The Northerner began to rasp, pulling himself into a seated position. “Tiberum Solaris, the mighty Emperor, chosen of the sun, hiding behind his son and a child.”

“I am not a child,” Vhalla threatened. Her whisper was heard by all and even the Emperor stilled his tongue.

“You think you will lead them to victory?” the man sneered up at her, his face a mess of mutilated flesh. “We sent birds, we reported, we have friends here in the West who hold no more love for you. Every sentry; every soldier; every man, woman, and child will aim their arrows, their blades, their stones, their axes, their fists, their picks, and their poisons at you. You cannot comprehend our power, and you will die.”

“Daniel, give me your dagger,” Vhalla demanded softly.

“Vhalla—”

“Give it to me!” She pried her eyes away from the Northerner, the pain manifesting as hot rage.

Daniel looked hopelessly to Baldair, who turned to the Emperor. The royal considered it only briefly, before nodding at the Golden Guard. Daniel flipped the weapon, carefully grabbing the blade to hold out the hilt to her.

The metal of the hilt felt like her magic did the first time she’d opened her Channel. It was a rush of power. But this was darker, of a more twisted and primal nature. Vhalla limped forward toward the disabled man, her calf beginning to protest her weight. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her own and otherwise, and her shoulders were heavy with guilt.

The Northerner squinted up at her with hatred and rage. For the briefest of moments, Vhalla wondered if he had loved those she’d killed on the Night of Fire and Wind the same way she had loved Larel. If she simply stared into a mirror of herself, she just happened to be on the lucky side of the reflection.

The man snarled and lunged. Vhalla moved to meet him. She did not need the Joining; she would do this alone. Vhalla remembered what Daniel had said as she felt the resistance of the blade sink straight through the man’s eye, embedding itself into his skull.

There was no sound but the wind as Vhalla remained frozen in time, staring at the remaining wide-eye and lifeless face of the man she had killed. This was not a blind rage, it wasn’t a burst of power, and it was not a memory her mind would later block. It was the deliberate end to a life, and it had been horribly simple.

Vhalla suddenly felt sick, and she swayed as her whole body trembled. She felt empty and yet so full with agony that she was certain she was going to split apart at the seams and die.

Her calf gave out with the waning resolve, and Vhalla staggered, falling.

Daniel moved to catch her, but Aldrik was faster. The prince caught and twisted her. Vhalla found herself weightless as Aldrik hoisted her into the air, holding her to his chest. She grimaced as he shifted his arm around the severed flesh of her back, finding a way to hold her with the least amount of pain possible.