Beyond a Darkened Shore(64)

“áthair . . . ,” Deirdre said, biting her lip as though holding back her own tears.

I touched her cheek. “I know, Deirdre. I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry I was leaving without seeing you—”

“Máthair has lost herself,” Branna said, almost fearfully. “She won’t let any of the men bury áthair. She won’t even let us leave the keep, but we saw you from our window.”

“I’m so sorry, Bran. I would stay here with you if I could,” I said, tears stinging my eyes at the fear in hers.

“Please don’t go,” Deirdre said, her voice so quiet compared to Branna’s.

“I must. With áthair gone, and no heir to the throne, King Sigtrygg will have no opposition. He will come for Mide, and I won’t leave your fates in his hands.” I hugged them again, each in turn, wishing I didn’t have to let go. I touched Deirdre’s pale blond braids, remembering not long ago when her hair was only a few soft wisps. “I love you both so much.”

“I love you, Ciara,” Deirdre said, her voice thick with sorrow.

“Avenge our father,” Branna said, her hands curled into fists.

I hauled myself astride Sleipnir once more. “I will,” I promised. “I love you both. Stay safe.” After one last glance at my beautiful sisters, I touched my heels to Sleipnir’s sides, and he surged forward.

I will return, I promised myself, and I will never let Mide be threatened again.

The army marched tirelessly, and though the sun’s rays burned overhead, Sleipnir and the men never perspired nor seemed to fatigue. When Leif and I stopped for water, none of the undead partook in it, nor did Sleipnir. My father was as silent as the rest of the men, though perhaps his dark eyes blazed a little more fiercely.

It tortured me to think that Branna and Deirdre were being left behind—possibly in danger—but I knew the best way to protect them was to first stop Sigtrygg, and to continue our quest. It was time the raider king of Dubhlinn was called to task for his crimes.

It was when the sun had already reached its peak and was moving closer to the horizon that everything changed. Sleipnir nearly unseated me by rearing, and the men who’d been marching silently forward suddenly drew their weapons. Though I strained my ears, I heard nothing but the wind.

A rocky field lay before us, and beyond that, craggy hills. “Do you think they sense Sigtrygg’s men?” I asked Leif, whose own eyes were scanning the horizon warily.

Abrax snorted and shook his head, but it seemed he was only responding to Sleipnir, who danced in place with eagerness. I freed my sword and Leif did the same.

We continued forward, straining for any sign of an oncoming army. It wasn’t until we had trotted for several miles that we heard them in the distance: horses.

“We have the advantage,” Leif said. “Get to the next hilltop and we will ambush them there.”

“Onward,” I told my undead warriors, barely able to restrain Sleipnir from charging forward.

When we reached the top of the hill, Leif and I took the forward-most positions. My army fanned out and stood silently at attention, their swords drawn.

“Will Sigtrygg be with them?” I asked Leif.

“He loves nothing more than to raid, and he’ll want to be present to take your father’s throne.”

Your throne, the Morrigan’s voice whispered inside me. “I want him dead,” I said, my hand tightening on the grip of my sword, “but we should capture him first. We need to know about his alliance with the j?tnar.”

“Take over his mind to loosen his tongue,” Leif said, with a curl to his lip, “and then he should be executed. He doesn’t deserve to die in battle.”

“I make no promises,” I said through my clenched jaw. “Once I have what I need from him, I may not be able to help myself.”

Just then, riders on horseback crested the next rise, saw us waiting, and charged. The shouts of Sigtrygg’s men contrasted heavily with the eerie silence of my own army. “Hold,” I said, as much to Sleipnir as to the warriors. “We’ll pick them off as they climb the hill.”

The first two made the climb; Leif lopped off the first man’s head, and my sword bit into the other’s chest. Still more and more men came, but not nearly as many as our army. Sigtrygg had brought perhaps thirty men in all, as though he had not expected much resistance. And why should he? He’d killed or enslaved most of my clansmen.

But then I saw the true reason he’d brought so few men: the horse-faced j?tunn from Dubhlinn—the one who’d nearly killed us—was with Sigtrygg’s army. Though Leif had sliced through his ankle, he appeared without injury. With an ally like that, they wouldn’t need many men to defeat us.

The horse-faced j?tunn was growing before my eyes, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he was the size of an oak tree.

“Leif!” I shouted, and he glanced back at me. I jerked my chin toward the j?tunn. I had a moment where fear threatened to disable me in its icy grip, but I shook it off. No, the outcome of our battle this time would be much different. We would not be defeated by this giant.

Some of Sigtrygg’s men broke past us, and I watched my army make quick work of them. They moved with the same unnatural speed Leif had; they tried to block the blows, but the undead men’s swords pierced them before they could even fully raise their arms. They fell with hoarse shouts, while my warriors remained ever tight-lipped.