Page 83 of North Queen
“A perfect morning for battle,” the king’s voice came.
She couldn’t tell from which direction, and she shuddered. Her heart beat faster. It was a terrible morning for battle. The mist would cover the Shadow army. Mercia had the best archers in the world, but they could do nothing if they couldn’t see.
Then, through the mist, she saw him as he stepped in front of her.
“Are you ready, North Queen?”
The king’s demon appeared to her right, and she jumped. He grabbed her.
“What are you doing? Let me go!” She twisted against him, but he squeezed his arms around her until she couldn’t breathe, then bound her wrists with the long rope.
He dragged her to where his destrier stood, and mounted. Then he pulled up a spear, as if he needed another weapon in addition to the sword on his back and the massive battle-axe resting across his thighs. He urged his mount forward, jerking the rope—and her—toward what she surmised was the base of the mountain stronghold.
Norah’s mind raced. The commander had touched her and held her tight as he bound her hands. She’d felt not the body of a demon, but a body of flesh and bone. He was a man, a brute of a man, but a man nonetheless.And men bleed.
Her skin flushed with the heat of fight.
She tried to work loose the rope around her wrist as he pulled her along, but it was hopeless without a blade. Acrackunder her heel caught her attention, and she glanced down to see a partially buried skull in the ground. She jumped sideways in surprise. Her eyes widened as she realized they were the scattered remains and timeworn fragments of weapons from battles past. They covered the ground. Were these Northmen she walked across, or Shadowmen? She shuddered. The commander pulled her along, and she stumbled forward.
They stopped at the base of the mountain stronghold, but the mist still covered them.
“Northmen!” the brute boomed in a deep, resounding thunder. “I have your queen! Come and claim her!”
He was trying to draw them out.
“They aren’t fools!” she spat at him.
He gave a low chuckle. “Your screams will make them come.” Then he jerked the rope, pulling her toward him. Her anger surged. She fought back, but she was no match for his strength and only stumbled forward.
But Norah had no intention of allowing herself to be used against her army. In a split decision, she lunged toward him, running and sliding under his horse. She gave the animal a sharp blow to the underbelly as she skirted out and then reeled back, pulling the slack of the rope tight against its hind legs. The animal reared, and she threw her weight against the rope, making the beast lose its balance and crash to the ground atop the brute. She pulled the rope free, twisting clear of the animal’s kicks as it tried to right itself.
The destrier rolled off the commander, who stirred and gasped for breath. As the animal staggered back to its feet, she jumped up and struggled onto it. Her window of opportunity would be short, and the Shadow army was near. Her bound hands made movement difficult, but she spurred the beast forward. Under her thigh, a short sword had been stowed in the saddle. She thanked the gods and slipped the hilt up, sliding her bound wrists up the blade and freeing herself.
Norah stretched forward to give the destrier his head to run. She’d lost her direction in the mist, and she prayed she was headed toward the stronghold.
And then she was falling.
She hit the ground with a force that knocked the wind from her. Rolling to her side and struggling for breath, she looked back in horror to see the horse had been downed with a spear. The beast struggled to rise, and thrashed for a moment, but then gave up and lay in silent agony. Behind, she could only make out the commander’s form in the mist, on his knees, still not fully recovered. But he had recovered enough to spear the horse—he could have hit her.
Norah gasped as her lungs gave her air again, and she stumbled up to her feet.
The commander rose, pulling up his axe and moving toward her.
She raced back to the horse and pulled the short sword from the saddle and stood to meet her enemy. The king’s brute lumbered closer, and she backed away. He reached the animal, swinging his axe and plunging it into its neck to give it peace.
And then she heard them—all around her in the mist.
She couldn’t see them, but she knew they were there.The Shadow army.The king appeared on her left and swung down from his horse, pulling his own sword. A soldier beside him tossed him a spear as well.
Norah clutched her sword firmly in her hand, widening her stance for more control and settling her breath. She praised her younger self that she had learned how to fight, and cursed her current self that she hadn’t practiced more in Mercia, but she knew she was dangerous with a blade. Her shoulder still ached, but she pushed it off and braced for the king’s rage.
He took long strides toward her, with his sword in one hand and spear in the other. She was no match for his strikes; she’d have to be quicker. Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t been quick enough when he’d taken her before—it had been like she wasn’t even fighting, like she was nothing.
Fear coursed through her, but she couldn’t let that take over. Still, her body shook at the thought of countering the thunderous blow of his strikes with her own.
The king swept the body of the spear at her, attempting to knock her off her feet, but she darted back. He swung again, harder this time, his patience waning, and she twisted sideways, dodging the blow. He wasn’t trying to kill her, but the strength of his swings could seriously hurt her. Not that he cared.
He swung again, and she jumped back but collided with the fortress wall behind her. Her head struck the stone, and a pain cracked through her skull, darkening her vision.
