Coppertomb stood above me, gloved hand tangled in my hair, a naked sword bared in the other hand, and for a heartbeat, my bowels froze and I trembled, shaking like a leaf in the wind, certain he was about to dash my head from my body and there would be no friendly mortal to carry me around on a lantern pole as Grosbeak had. My story would end right here, on my knees before my enemy.
But no, Coppertomb gripped his sword and shouted, “To me, Wittenhame! Feast your eyes on the prowess of your king!”
He was not looking at me at all, but rather past me as a Hound of Heaven bore down upon him.
A growling snap split the air and then a howl, and Coppertomb released my hair as spittle flicked across my face. I flinched, stumbling backward onto my seat, desperately gripping Bluebeard’s hand as I tried to think fast enough.
From the place where I’d dropped the lantern pole, I heard a bubbling sound of submerged heads trying to shout. I couldn’t leave them there.
I clawed myself back to my feet, dragging Bluebeard up with me and snatching up my lantern pole. I could live a thousand years and never want to see one of those again. But even as I found my feet, one of the massive heads bore down on me, snapping its mighty jaws.
This was not a time to panic. I braced my feet, twisted my hold on the lantern pole, and then deftly thrust it forward at the same time the Hound opened his mouth wide to swallow me down. I wedged the pole in his gaping mouth, dancing backward. He howled, shaking that head in a very doggy attempt to loosen the pole stuck in the sensitive parts of his mouth.
I leapt backward, drawing my shuffling husband with me, panting in relief, as the swinging heads on the pole screamed at me.
“Have you no care for the dead?” Sparrow hissed while Grosbeak yowled, “A curse on you, Izolda! A curse and four demi-curses! May your toenails blacken and curl for putting me in this thing’s jaws!”
I spun, searching for a new weapon, sure I’d be attacked again, but at that moment there was a mighty howl from one of the heads and then it fell, crashing in front of me, as large as a horse, the flesh of its neck severed and blood fountaining out. To say this was the most grisly thing I’d ever seen would be an understatement and I was holding proof in my arms that I was not squeamish.
I barely had time to gasp before a second head joined it and then the third, and this time I leapt forward, set a boot against the creature’s black lips, and yanked my wedged lantern pole free.
Huffing and gasping for breath, I balanced it, wrapped an arm around my husband, and surveyed the damage.
Coppertomb stood on the body of the dead Hound, his sword stuck into the corpse like a walking stick and his other hand on his hip as if he were a gentleman surveying his estate rather than a king who had just slain a monster. On his head was the rib crown and on his face was a cruel smile.
“Don’t move, Arrow’s wife. I have business with you,” he said, pointing at me, and then he hopped down from the beast, strode forward, and tangled his fist back into my hair, bloody though it was.
“A manful victory, Bramble King!” Grosbeak congratulated him.
“Is that rose I see around your lips?” Coppertomb asked, a baleful look in his eyes.
Grosbeak licked his lips as if in confirmation. “I may be dead, but I can still bring down the mighty.”
“I will not speak to the dead, revenant,” Coppertomb said grimly. “If life has no more business with you, then neither do I.”
Coppertomb began to move then, driving me before him with his fist as he strode through a crowd of gaping Wittenbrand, his steps proud and firm and his head held high. He was not a tall man, I realized. He was barely taller than me, but he seemed a span higher with the way he carried himself.
I clutched my ruined husband to me, tucked in his scarlet cloak, too concentrated on not losing him or the lantern pole to do anything about the pain of Coppertomb’s twisting gloved hand in my hair.
I swallowed down a burst of fear as he marched me forward. “What would you have of me?”
“I will get to that.”
The scraps of midnight still rained down over us and between the scraps, Wittenbrand ran and surged, forming shouting groups and chanting hordes. A ragged cheer went up as Coppertomb passed through them. And he flicked the viscous blood from his sword blade in salute as the Wittenbrand crowded around him, calling out their congratulations.
It appeared that they had already been busy here before their king slew the Hound. Banners were lashed to fresh poles and thrust into the sky, mounts were being chivvied into place, armor donned, and weapons displayed.
“Our great king has slain for us a Hound of Heaven! Whosoever doth choose to ride for the Bramble King to dispatch the rest must form a party and swear the oath!” A voice bellowed out and when I looked toward the crier, I saw a Wittenbrand man with long red hair and a cloak woven of nettles standing astride a pyramid made from the bodies of living rats. They did not stand still, but rather roiled and bubbled, churning beneath him even as he spoke to the Wittenbrand gathering at the place that had once been a festival location.
“What manner of madness is this?” I whispered, tucking the lantern pole under one arm so I could reach out to snatch up one of the midnight scraps floating down from the sky. They coated the ground and the shoulders and heads of those around me, and the bright glowing berry clung to this scrap.
“The sky is falling. And I’d say those are stars,” Grosbeak said. “Taste one, Izolda, and tell us if they’re stars.”
“How in the world would tasting one tell you?” I asked.
“If it tastes like a star, then you’ll know it’s a star,” Sparrow said impatiently. “How else will you know if the sky is falling?”
“And the world is dissolving as snow,” Grosbeak agreed.
