“Alistair!” Freya answers. “We’re going to hit their left flank and drive a wedge. Have your cavalry come in behind us and you can split them in half.”
He nods, his eyes scanning our group before falling onto me and widening a fraction. “Queen Helena, it’s an honor to have you with us.”
I grimace and give him a dip of my chin.
“Let’s move out!” Freya barks and begins charging towards the mass of black frenzy.
A legion of black armor and black swords. A swarm of flies come to feast on a carcass.
Freya, Odr, Harald, and Piominko make up the first row. Followed by Tane, Mathilda, me, Lachlan, Mina, Luna, and Evander. Looks like the prophecy was wrong—I’m not the chosen of thirteen. With Alistair, we make twelve, and Freya is the one leading our charge.
My relief is fleeting as we charge headfirst into battle.
One heartbeat, we’re racing down a small hill and right into the enemy’s left flank.
Another heartbeat, Freya’s line hits the enemy head-on. Bodies fly, and crimson blood sprays.
So much death, so much carnage.
A soldier stands before me. His black scalelike armor is the twin to the smoke that devours light and air. The tips of his pointed ears are visible through the gaps in his helmet. He snarls at me, and I can see the delicate points of his sharp fangs.
I didn’t know the Fomorians had such sharp teeth.
The thought almost causes me to laugh. What does it matter what his teeth look like?
He wants to kill me.
The clang of swords against shields beat like a steady drum. My heart races in my chest. The male lunges at me and I bat his sword away before lunging with a killing strike.
It was easy—too easy.
A flash of a sword spearing for my head has me spinning around just in time to block it.
My visions come in a steady, decipherable stream.
The terrain we’re battling on is full of hills, and we work to gain higher ground. The main hill in front of us is actually more like a cliff.
I can feel my friends around me, each one of us fighting for the same position. Forward.
Freya spurs us on. A wrathful goddess, come to conquer.
She spins and lunges. Like a dancer on the dance floor. Such grace and ferocious power.
Her magic must be working—all I feel is rage. It consumes every part of me, except one small part. Lachlan.
Slash, lunge, block.
Harald falls back, acting like a shadow to Mina as she lifts men out of her way and slings them far and wide. Where shemisses one, he’s there cutting them down. She seems strong still, not flagging yet.
Mathilda and Tane work in synchronized precision. Where she steps, he steps. A steady wall leaving corpses in their wake.
What’s surprising are Evander and Luna, side by side, battling a swarm of black armor. She blips back and forth like a murderous phantom. Disorientating any opponent that approaches them.
My eyes scan the battlefield, checking on Lachlan’s position. But he’s far in front of me, nearly at the top of the hill, surrounded by at least four males.
He cuts down one. The tip of his blade protrudes from the man’s back. It drips with gore.
But as that opponent falls, two more take his place.
