Vhalla woke shivering in the North with thoughts, pilfered from Aldrik’s dream consciousness. He had to get control. He couldn’t let them see. He couldn’t let them know what she was.
THE SOLDIER SAID that “the pass” previously was the greatest river in the world. But it had long since dried up. It was hard for Serien to believe that the deep, rocky ravine could’ve ever held water.
But somewhere across the chasm was Aldrik. The Emperor may have wanted to threaten her into submission, but all he did was give her a point in time to wait for. Another day, maybe two, and they would be across the pass; she would be with him once more. She would be careful, but she would tell him of his father’s threats, and somehow they would overcome them.
Serien looked at the Emperor from the corners of her eyes. He wouldn’t get in their way, no matter how long and hard he tried. He couldn’t fathom what his son felt for her and what she felt for him. But someday he would see.
It was halfway through the day when she first heard steel on steel and the sounds of combat echoing through the winds of the pass. Serien shivered, suddenly cold despite the jungle’s heat.
Aldrik.
She wanted to run, to sprint, her heart beginning to race with a wild beat. He needed her. He did. She just knew it. Vhalla could feel it through the Bond.
Neither Vhalla nor Serien were prepared for the moment the troops rounded a curve in the pass. Fire burned the treetops as soldiers engaged on the opposite side of the pass. It was an all-out assault, and she was uselessly far. Vhalla searched frantically to try to find Aldrik among the chaos.
The North, however, was taking no chances with what side their query would approach from, and the Imperial soldier’s shock was the ideal opportunity for a second surprise attack. Men and women, warriors in boiled leather, charged from the brush before them.
The Emperor frantically tried to call out orders but they were too disorganized and flat-footed. The Northerners cut through the front of the ranks with ease. The Imperial soldiers tried to compose themselves, the second and third rows of men and women drawing their swords. But shock made them clumsy and the points of their blades chipped off their enemies’ magic stone skin.
What was an organized unit was quickly devolving into chaos. Trained soldiers tried to call for the new recruits to hold the line, but the battlefield was already stained with blood that was turning men mad. The Emperor shouted from atop his mount, trying to reclaim order. The might of the North pressed upon them, determined otherwise.
An odd calm had overtaken her. The bursts of flame across the ravine shone in her eyes, illuminating a deeper truth resonating within her. You are a symbol, Baldair’s words echoed through her subconscious. Vhalla’s fingers went to the belt strapping on her sword, dodging the first Northerner’s blade in the process.
She would not meet these people in terror. If she was going to die, then she would die with dignity. Vhalla dashed backward and pulled off her gauntlets, feeling the wind beneath her fingers as they unlatched her plate. She would not die as Serien. If she was going to die, then she would die as the Windwalker.
The Northerner who had been attacking her charged forward and Vhalla’s hand thrust forward to meet the woman. It was as if the wind had missed her commands and it responded in full force, knocking the woman off her feet and several other Northerners along with her. Vhalla swung another arm, sending the Northerners tumbling.
“The Wind Demon!” one shrieked, pointing at her.
Vhalla didn’t shrink away, she charged forward. The wind was under her feet, and Aldrik’s heartbeat in her ears. She drew from his strength. Together they would confront their foes. Together they would be invincible.
She moved effortlessly around the blades as they came. They couldn’t touch the wind. Vhalla disarmed them with flicks of her wrists and waves of her fingers.
It was the first time she had truly fought without fear. Every time before, even sparring, she had been afraid. Her power had been strange, then the Joining, then the fear of killing once more ... But she had learned how to shield her heart as Serien and she was a truly an agent of death now.
She’d show the Emperor, she’d show the world that they had finally gotten what they wanted in her.
Vhalla lunged for one of the warriors, and her palm covered his mouth. It was how Aldrik had killed the Northerner on the Night of Fire and Wind. But, from her, there would not be flame. The air trapped within the man’s neck budged at her command. His eyes lolled in his head as it pressed outward, stretching the skin to its limit. The wind exploded free, taking strips of skin and hunks of meat with it, spraying blood over her face and arm.
The man fell before her and there was an almost audible hush as everyone seemed to pause and stand in horror. Vhalla looked at the soldiers, her allies. Her eyes met the Emperor’s, who seemed equally stunned.
“Fight with me!” she cried. They needed a leader, they needed a symbol that was more than a man in golden plate. They needed a Fire Lord. Or, a Wind Demon. “Fight with me!” Vhalla punctuated her statement by lunging for another Northerner, who exploded at her hand.
Imperial soldiers sprang to life around her, heeding her wind, taking care to account for her movements. The Emperor wanted her to bring him victory. She would show him what it would cost.
All else faded to the drumming in her ears. She gave herself to her Channel with the wind and to her Channel with her prince. She dodged faster than a person should be able to, she jumped farther, and she lost count of how many died by her hand.
But she had never used her magic like this before—consciously—and Vhalla finally felt her power waver. What should have knocked back several soldiers only stumbled them. She paused, inspecting her hand, as if it had consciously betrayed her.
A large flame from the other side of the chasm demanded her attention and, for the first time since the fighting broke out, she looked across to Aldrik. Everyone, even across the ravine, stumbled at the wave of heat. Vhalla took a step in his direction. There were more Northerners, a lot more, on the other side of the chasm. She wondered what happened to all the other soldiers. Aldrik seemed to have five on him at once.
He was like poetry through fire. His body moved deftly, countering and parrying with flame. The fire swirled around him, and his dark armor seemed to be alive with it as Aldrik spun, commanding the blaze with his hands and thoughts.
She threw a hand, the sight of him inspiring her power again. A soldier was knocked into the flames, and they blazed about him as her air and his fire mingled. Aldrik turned instinctually and his eyes found hers.
His expression quickly turned to horror, and Vhalla felt the blade move through the air behind her. She dropped her shoulder and rose her hand, wondering if Aldrik saw the Northerner’s face explode. Vhalla turned back to check, and her heart began to race for a different reason entirely.
He was being bested by two from either side. Aldrik dipped and swung, he dodged, but they were both clearly highly experienced combatants. Vhalla took a step forward. It was then she noticed four more had closed in, making a semi-circle around the prince and two Northerners. He was pinned against the edge of the ravine, occupied entirely by the two who dipped and dashed for any opening they saw.
Vhalla saw as Aldrik was forced back another step. The others on the edge of the semi-circle moved their lips fervently.
She took another step forward. Aldrik didn’t notice them. She had to tell him.
Suddenly, the two soldiers jumped away, tumbling backwards. All six raised their fists in unison. Aldrik seemed too stunned to move. He barely was able to take a step as all the Northerners dropped their closed hands into the ground.