Beyond a Darkened Shore(66)
He swung again, but I knocked his sword aside and kicked powerfully. He fell down again with a mighty crash and did not try to rise. I stood over him with my sword raised. “I will show you no mercy, just as your men gave none to my father.”
I pierced his heart, and his eyes bulged as the blood spilled upon the ground.
Leif strode over to his side and spat upon the ground. “May you never enter Valhalla.”
We watched as he shuddered once and then was still.
I turned to see the fate of his other men, and a chill went through me. My undead warriors had defeated them all—messily. They stood above the carnage as remorseless as stone.
A noisy crunching came from behind me, and I turned to find Sleipnir devouring one of the fallen soldiers, his teeth easily tearing into the flesh. Blood covered his nose and mouth, frighteningly unnatural. A low groan of horror escaped me.
The battle had drawn carrion birds, and they flew round and round above us, waiting their turn for whatever was left. Leif stood at my side, his face a stony mask. Abrax pressed close to him, as though seeking comfort from the horror before us.
“What have I done?” I whispered.
18
After Sleipnir had his fill, he walked toward us, blood dripping from his mouth and splattering his legs and chest. Abrax danced away from him nervously. Even I had to steady myself. I felt like crying; what had I done to my beautiful horse? But then again, he was a savage beast now, fit for the daughter of one of the most vicious ancient beings éirinn had ever known.
If he was aware of our fear, he showed no sign of it. He shook himself like a dog and twitched his tail, and if it hadn’t been for the blood and gore upon him, he would have been just as he always had been. I held out my hand to him, but Leif pushed it down with a shake of his head.
“He won’t hurt me,” I said, both to myself and to Leif.
Sleipnir lowered his head to be scratched, and I let out my breath. After rubbing the soft hair under his forelock, I hauled myself astride. The undead warriors stood once more at attention.
Leif strode over to Sigtrygg’s body and retrieved his sword and crown. He presented them both to me, and I raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You’ve killed Dubhlinn’s king. The city is yours.”
Yes, affirmed the voice inside me, as the burning ambition took hold again. There was much good I could do taking it from the hands of a half Northman many despised for his constant raids on neighboring kingdoms. “Bring it with us for proof, then, but I will not wear such filth upon my head,” I said.
He nodded approvingly and hid the circlet away in his mantle. Once astride Abrax, he said, “We should travel until nightfall, though I suspect it’s only the two of us who will require any rest.”
My eyes shifted from the carrion birds, which now fought over the remains of Sigtrygg’s army, to my own motionless warriors. After such a frightening display, I almost wished I could send them back from whence they’d come. If it hadn’t been for the thirty men and terrifying j?tunn they’d slaughtered as easily as sheep, not to speak of the countless battles ahead of us, I would have.
“Onward, then,” I said.
The undead marched behind us at a swift, ground-eating pace, and the mere thought of them behind me tensed all the muscles of my body.
We might have won this battle, but as I glanced back at the undead men following me, I knew the greater war was to come.
I hoped the terrible price I’d paid for my army would be worth it.
The wind howled, scattering embers from our campfire. By nightfall, we’d made camp north of Dubhlinn, perhaps a day’s march away from the city. Though my belly was comfortably full from the brace of rabbits we’d feasted on, the eerie sight of the undead army standing in the darkness like silent sentinels chilled me bone-deep. Leif sat beside me before the fire. He was close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off him in waves, and yet much too close for comfort. For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking of a conversation I’d once overheard between my father and mother, one to decide my fate as a woman. I was already sixteen and had not been brought up as the future lady of a house, nor had I any womanly skills, save sewing. My mother had asked my father what would become of me; should they not begin a search for a suitable husband?
“Ciara is too powerful for any man to take her as a wife—too unpredictable,” my father had said. “He will either attempt to break her spirit and die trying, or hate and resent her for being stronger. She is a warrior, not a maiden. Better to concentrate your efforts upon Branna and Deirdre, raise them to be great ladies of our clan.”
I’d never heard my mother’s response, for I’d clutched my chest and raced to my room before the sob could escape my throat. It was a terrible thing to have my fate decided without my consent, without even a single word of input, but even that wasn’t as painful as my parents’ consensus: that I was too repulsive for marriage.
But not long after, I came to realize my father had given me a gift. Girls of my standing had two paths in life: marriage or the nunnery. My father had opened a third path to me, one where I could live my life with all the freedom of a man. The only cost was that it came with the soul-sucking burden of loneliness.
And now, my father was mere feet away as I sat willingly next to a former enemy. Although after everything I’d done, it seemed to be the least of my crimes.