Annwyl had yanked her sword from the body at her feet when she heard the call. She turned and watched the women charging her. About twenty, but unlike the bodies littering this field, these females weren’t crazed, uncontrollable, broken humans. They were like her. Well-trained and only as crazy as necessary to get the job done.
The first who reached her ducked the fist aimed for her face and went up and under until she was behind Annwyl, slamming her fist into Annwyl’s kidney.
Screaming in pain and rage, Annwyl turned and swung her sword.
Their swords met, slamming into each other with such force, the power of it radiated down Annwyl’s arm. Another blade swung at her, and Annwyl leaned back, catching hold of the hand attached to that sword. She held the two females, teeth clenched, muscles straining.
More came for her, and she waited until the last second before she lifted her legs, kicking the one in front of her. Her legs swung back down, and Annwyl dropped to the ground, her legs spread wide, her hand still gripping the sword arm of one woman and her own blade keeping the blade of another at bay.
She yanked the arm she held and twisted, breaking it in several places.
The woman dropped to one knee, and Annwyl used her elbow to shatter the bones of the right side of her face.
The woman fell back, screaming but not dead. Annwyl pulled a blade she had tucked into the back of her leggings and shoved it into the lower belly of the other female. That one dropped, her blade still in her hand and blood pouring out of her wound.
Annwyl had no doubt she’d be back on her feet in seconds; the other one with the shattered face was already halfway up.
Rolling to her feet, Annwyl raised her blade again, but a large hand from behind her caught hold and twisted. Annwyl went with it, not wanting her wrist to be broken. She dropped the blade she held and turned her body in the same direction that her arm was twisted. She fell to her knees and came around until she faced her opponent. She took her free hand, balled it into a fist, and rammed the bitch in the groin until she heard bone break.
Teeth gritted, the woman dropped to her knees, and Annwyl head-butted her.
She pulled her arm away and stood, shaking off the pain.
Izzy charged straight for her, so she stepped to the side. Izzy flew past, colliding into three females who’d been coming up behind Annwyl.
The two Northland dragons flew in, landing hard in front of Annwyl, their backs to her. Vigholf unleashed bolts of lightning at the witch’s leader.
Smiling, the cold, tattooed bitch raised her hand, and the lightning strikes broke into pieces, dropping to the ground. Stunned, the dragons could only stare, and the woman sniffed in disgust and flicked her hand. As if shoved apart by gods, the two dragons flew into the surrounding forest, mowing down trees and creating a new path for those who needed to get through.
Annwyl realized then she didn’t stand a chance.
Of course…that had never mattered before.
“What have you done?” Dagmar demanded of the god.
“Why do you assume I’ve—”
Dagmar slammed her fist against the table, truly feeling like her father at that moment—he’d be proud.
Eir eyed her coldly. “Perhaps, human, you forget who I am.”
“Woman, I don’t give a battle-fuck who you are. Tell me what you did.”
Dagmar heard panting right by her ear and turned in time to get an enthusiastic lick across the face. Then she understood. Eir had done nothing.
“Nannulf,” she said to the wolf-god who adored her. “Can you show me what you’ve done?”
Nannulf charged for the door, and Dagmar followed.
The last thing she heard from Eir that day, “I’ll expect an apology, you rude cow!”
Ásta knew when the queen realized she didn’t stand a chance. When she knew she’d die this day. As would the two females fighting by her side.
She knew they’d all die and there was nothing she could do about it.
Yet the human queen retrieved her sword and went back to work.
Fighting those still considered novices by the Kyvich Elders.
“Fire Breathers,” Bryndís warned her calmly. She knew how Ásta hated to be yelled at. What was the point? When they started to panic in battle, all would be lost.
“Shield,” Ásta ordered.
Bryndís nodded at their left-flank unit. As one, the women raised their left hands, and the Fire Breathers leading the charge were the first who slammed into that shield created by the Kyvich. Snouts breaking, blood spurting, they flipped back and crashed into the ones behind them.
Ásta again focused on the defeated queen—who didn’t fight as if defeated.
Realizing that the rage all the siblings had in one form or another had hold of her sister, Keita pulled away from Ragnar and her brother, and ran-limped her way across the cavern until she crouched beside her sister.
“No, Morfyd. Let her go.”
Elestren began to cough up blood. And Keita was horrified to see there were pieces of glass in it.
“Please!” Keita gripped her sister’s face between her claws, forced her to look her in the eyes. “Stop it.” She shook her. “Please, Morfyd, let her go.
For me, let her go!”
Morfyd unclenched her claw, and Elestren’s head slammed back to the ground. Morfyd’s gaze roamed around the cavern as if she didn’t know where she was.
Panting, Keita pressed her snout next to her sister’s. “Breathe,” she whispered to her. “Just breathe.”
Morfyd swallowed. “I’m…I’m all right. I’m all right.” Keita leaned back, searched her sister’s eyes. The rage was gone, and the Morfyd that Keita knew was back.
Talaith threw a ball of flame at the horse charging toward her. It reared up, and its rider swung off, landing on her feet. She raised both her hands, pulled them back to garner energy from the land around her, then shoved them forward. The power of the blow slammed into Talaith, and she flew back.
She knew she headed for the trees. That the probability of her slamming head or neck first into some hearty oak was quite high.
She called up a charm she’d been working on, thought it, used it, and power Talaith had never known flooded through her, rampaging into her system. Talaith stopped her body’s uncontrollable movement, suspending herself in midair. Then she rose up, her body hovering over land as if she had wings. The Kyvich stared up at her, enraged, and screamed.
Talaith screamed back and raced down to meet her. She collided into the witch, their bodies smashing to the ground and tearing across it from the momentum. By the time they rolled to a stop, they were in a pit of their own making and swinging at each other with nothing but their fists and the age-old hatred of their people.
They’d gotten her lovely ax away from her, but instead of using the many weapons they had on them to finish her off, they fought her with bare hands. That was fine by Izzy. She always did love a good bare-knuckle brawl.
She ducked a punch to the face, but not the punch to her lower back. It dropped her to her knees, but she put her hands down on the ground and brought her leg back, kicking someone in the chest. She rolled forward and up, ducked another punch to her head, and retaliated with a punch to a shoulder. Bone shattered on impact and the female’s body jerked back, but the witch used the momentum to turn in the opposite way, the back of her fist slamming into Izzy’s face. The blow sent Izzy flipping into someone else who caught hold of her by the throat and took Izzy to the ground.
Izzy swung at the hands that held her down, kicked out at the legs near her. But the one holding the blade over her chest…Izzy couldn’t avoid her.
She didn’t call for her mother or for Annwyl. They had their own fights, and she’d die knowing she had done what she could to protect her queen.
They slammed her arms down, held her legs pinned to the ground.
“Do it, bitch!” Izzy screamed, blood spitting on those who held her.
“Do it!”
“As ya like.” The witch raised the blade above Izzy’s chest, and even though Izzy wanted to cringe and look away, she didn’t.
The blade swung down, and Izzy pulled her right arm one more time, taking the witch who held her by surprise and yanking her over Izzy’s chest.
She was determined to take at least one of these crazed bitches with her.
“Fuck!” the startled witch cried out.
“Hold, Kyvich!” someone else called out, and the blade stopped inches from the witch’s back. She let out a breath and dropped on Izzy.
“Fuck me,” she whispered, and Izzy couldn’t agree more.
Ragnar watched as Morfyd helped her sister up, but he took Keita in his arms and nodded at Morfyd. “I’ve got her.” Morfyd nodded, patted his arm.
Ragnar smiled down at Keita. “You do manage to find piles of shit to fall into everywhere you go, don’t you?”
Keita laughed at that. “Some might say.”
“What do you want us to do with this lot?” Briec asked, still blocking the exit with Gwenvael.
“We can’t let them go,” Keita said and when her brothers smiled and reached for their swords, “No, no! We can’t kill them either!”
“Dammit.” Briec shoved his sword back in its sheath, and Gwenvael seemed to pout.
Keita looked at Fearghus. “We need Ghleanna. She can take care of this lot. Because it’s time I told all of you the truth about what’s been going on.”
“What are you thinking?” Ragnar asked.
Reaching up, she wiped the blood from her snout. “I’m thinking we’ve run out of time.”
Ragnar gently kissed her. “I think you’re right.” Blood covering her; her knuckles torn, battered, and broken; her nose shattered; at least one shoulder no longer in its socket; both eyes swollen along with her lips and chin; and nearly every inch of her bruised, Annwyl watched the witches who’d been fighting her back away. They kept backing up until seven of the mounted witches rode past them, the one that she’d pegged as leader in the middle.
Dressed in animal skins and with jewelry made of silver, steel, and animal parts, they truly looked like Ice Land barbarians.
Annwyl looked down and saw her sword. She reached for it, almost lost her balance, but stopped herself. She lifted the sword with both hands, planted her feet firmly, and raised the sword higher, ignoring the screaming pain coming from her damaged shoulder.
The witches pulled their horses to a stop and dismounted. They stayed at least three paces behind the one who led them, stopping completely when she was only a few feet from Annwyl.
They stood and watched her until Annwyl screamed, “Come on then!
Let’s finish this! Come on! ”
The leader’s head tilted to the side. “You can’t win,” she said, her voice soft, calm.
“I’ll kill you, though, cunt. I’ll make sure to kill you. So come on.
Finish it.”
The witch glanced up at the sky. “Your dragon kin are coming. I can hear the flap of their wings. Don’t you want to wait?”
“I wait for no one.” Annwyl tightened her grip, dug her feet in deeper.
“Raise your weapon. Come for me. We end this now.” The leader reached for the sword tied to her back. A long sword covered in runes. The other six—three standing on each side of their leader —pulled their weapons as well. Two long swords, one short sword, one warhammer, two axes, each covered in runes, each held by females who knew how to use them.