Beyond a Darkened Shore(5)

Still, more made it over the rise, until there were two of them to every one of us. I swept my gaze over the battling men for their leader—usually the one with a shield guard. It was my job to kill him, but that would come later. After he had outlived his usefulness to me.

The chaos of the battle overwhelmed my senses as men swarmed us. Sleipnir reared when one of the Northmen came dangerously close. His flinty hooves smashed the pitiful shield the light-haired man used to protect his face. I met his axe with my sword. The clash sent painful echoes all the way to my bones, and my muscles strained.

Our eyes met—my dark with his muddy green. And in that moment, he was caught, as helpless as a fly in a spider’s web.

Pain flared behind my eyes, intense but brief—nothing like the first time. I reached out—an invisible extension of my mind, but as natural to me now as extending my arm. His axe fell away as I took possession of his mind. A torrent of emotions washed over me like a sudden driving rain: bright surprise, hot anger, but most of all, sickening fear.

He was mine to control.

It was a monstrous ability to take possession of someone else—to control them as though they were merely an extension of my own body. Still, it was a strength I wasn’t afraid to use on the battlefield because while I knew I wasn’t the strongest fighter, nor the fastest, what power I did have made the difference between life and death for my clansmen. For my family.

I forced my new bodyguard forward. His will rebelled against mine, straining for independence. My will was stronger.

You aren’t the leader, but you’ll do for now, I told him in his mind, and felt a surge of answering fear and impotent rage. I ignored it. Protect me from your comrades until you fall.

Two enemies charged me, their faces grimly determined. My Northman bodyguard met them with his axe. As their weapons clashed, confusion slowed their movements. They halted in their attack, their disbelief paralyzing them. Despite the angry hum of protest within my bodyguard’s mind, he raised his axe again and brought it down upon his comrade’s head. The other I killed with my own sword.

It had taken years, many battles, and many training sessions to be able to divide my attention so totally as to be able to control someone while still maintaining my sense of self. It wasn’t unlike being able to sword fight while still holding a fully engaged conversation. Difficult, but not impossible.

As I fought, I searched for the leader, but there were so many men locked in combat I couldn’t pick him out.

Another Northman attacked from behind. Sleipnir aided me once again, biting and kicking. I swung his big body around so his haunches slammed into the man. My guard was engaged in a battle of his own. This was one of the weaknesses of my ability: I could take possession of only one man at a time.

I was vulnerable to attack.

The man’s hand grabbed my thigh, and I kicked in reflex. He must have been as tall as Sleipnir and almost as broad. He tugged again. I tried to bring my blade down on his head, but he met it with his axe. He smiled, his teeth the color of old leather.

Instead of fighting the Northman, I leaned into his hand. Surprised by the sudden loss of tension, he loosened his grip. I kicked again, and he lost his hold entirely.

All the while I could feel my guard at the other end of my mental tether—he had taken one of his own men by surprise and was currently fending off a second.

When the leather-toothed man came at me again, I smashed the hilt of my sword into his nose. He bellowed and swung his axe wildly. I deflected as it came dangerously close to cutting into Sleipnir’s side. Anger blazed within me at the thought of my horse being injured, and my control slipped. Sensing my distraction, my guard struggled against my mental hold. His desperate fear and frustration hit me with such force that my eyes closed against my will. I had to focus. I brought to mind the lessons my father had drilled into me: when in a desperate situation, take the enemy by surprise.

I wrenched my eyes open again just in time to see the leather-toothed Northman striding toward me, his nose spurting blood.

This time, his eyes were on my horse. I surged into a standing position on Sleipnir’s broad back. The man’s eyes widened. I launched myself at him, bringing my sword down at the same time. He brought his shield up, but the blade smashed through it, into the soft flesh of his neck.

The big man fell to his knees before falling face-first into the rocks. Blood haloed around him, but I wouldn’t stop to think. I wouldn’t let myself absorb the carnage around me—both of my fallen clansmen and of Northmen. I needed to find their leader.

My gaze landed on the corpse of a man cleaved in two. It was Cormac, one of the few who would greet me with a kind word. He had a new babe at home, a bright-eyed boy who would now be raised with no father. The pain of his loss stole my breath away.

And then I felt it: the severing of a connection, like the tautness of string suddenly gone slack. My guard was dead.

Arms grabbed me from behind. I forced my elbow into my assailant’s gut. The grunt I heard in response sounded too youthful to have come from one of the burly Northmen. I spun around and came face-to-face with a boy who couldn’t have been older than thirteen years.

For a moment, all I saw was my sister Alana. Why had these monsters brought a child to battle? I was many things, but I wasn’t a murderer of children—even a Northman child. The rage within died down to a pulse.

He raised his sword, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Run along, boy,” I said, sure that if he couldn’t understand my words, he would understand my meaning. “The battlefield is no place for a child.”