“I feel it too, friend,” he murmured, without knowing what he felt, only that something was off.
The moment he gave more rein to the horse, Geri shot off like a thunderbolt, hooves beating the ground. Something rustled in the bushes to the left, and the breath caught in his throat.
An ominous feeling spread from the shadows of the woodland to his left. Sigurd dared to glance that way and saw a flying shade, kitelike but no smaller than a human, easily keeping speed with Geri. Its face was a terrifying mask of red and white, enormous eyes with enlarged black pupils, and protruding metal teeth. Those iron teeth were framed by enormous, crooked fangs set in a diabolical grin that chilled him with just a glance.
“Oh, shit!” He didn’t need to urge the stallion to gallop faster. The mere sight of it inspired his mount to run as he never had before.
On your right! a distinctly feminine voice interrupted his thoughts.
Sigurd glanced to the other direction and saw another shade swooping in, but Geri never panicked. The great steed turned a sharp corner and evaded an outstretched hand. Yet no matter how fast he raced, they stayed on him.
“Onward, mate. You can do this,” he urged his companion, though the horse was frothing and foaming from exertion. He no longer knew how long his tireless pursuers had given chase, only that by the grace of Geri alone, they hadn’t taken him.
There should be watchmen patrolling these woods, he realized. During his journey to the coast, he’d encountered no small number at various points throughout the day. Now they were mysteriously absent when he needed them most. The shades floated effortlessly, sailing behind him without limits to their endurance.
There was no escape.
I’ll have to fight.
With terror beyond measure rushing in his veins, Sigurd commanded Geri to stop. He dismounted from the horse and drew his sword from where it had been lashed horizontally across the saddle. The runes along the greatsword’s blade gleamed in the light and threw rainbows across the grass.
Not his sword. Bryn’s sword. She’d been buried with her shield as a true shield maiden should, but she’d left her mother’s sword to him. It felt right in his grip, as if it belonged there and were meant for him to carry it.
Only for now. I’m going give it back to her. I’ll be returning it to her hand. Her warm, living hand.
“Go, my friend. Be safe and free,” he said, delivering a slap to the stallion’s flank.
An agitated tail flick slapped Sigurd’s arm, preceding the stallion’s abrupt spin to face the approaching danger. He snorted and stamped, fire in his eyes and foam flecking his lips, chest still heaving with exertion.
“All right then,” he said, deciding not to question Geri’s loyalty. Later, if he survived the encounter, he could wonder what the hell had happened. Now, he turned to face the creatures rushing toward him. Panic beat in his chest and sent his heart rhythm to war drum speed. He forced himself to take even breaths and adjusted his stance before calling, “What do you want with me?”
They didn’t answer, silent death swooping in with Liangese blades. Metal glinted, and those long blades swept at him. He parried one stroke after another, blades striking harmlessly and singing out harmonic tones. To his right, Geri reared up without warning and thrust with his front hooves, coming down with both.
The stallion clipped one of the shadows, who responded with a sharp slash. Its blade hit Geri’s barding and left a deep furrow in the leather. But the second slash drew blood from his shoulder.
Sigurd hadn’t realized how much he loved the beast until that moment. Rage fell over him with the force of a tempest. He blew past the other two creatures, sweeping them aside with a hard swing, clearing the path to go after Geri’s attacker.
As he swung, the horse spun around again and kicked. The shadow glided one way to avoid Sigurd, putting him in the inevitable path of Geri’s hind hooves. One landed with a solid thump in the shadow’s abdominal region, and one hoof from the monster warhorse was all it took. The resulting cry of pain sounded human.
Nevertheless, the shade remained airborne, blinking away from them in a strange fog of green mist that left a jade afterimage where it had been.
While it fell back to recuperate, its brethren came at him with renewed fury. A slash across his abdomen came painfully close to ending the fight, and then another stroke slid past his thigh when he thrust his blade between one opponent and Geri, saving the horse’s life.
Seconds later, the horse hurled himself viciously at the same shade.
From the corner of his eye, he saw one figure lifting away a mask before pouring the contents of a vial into a human mouth.
They weren’t shades, demons, wraiths, or anything else. Only human. Only humans with terrifying magic unlike anything he’d ever seen before.
He fought harder, throwing himself into the battle. Perspiration trickled into his vision, stinging his eyes. He blinked rapidly and squinted through the discomfort.
Any time he wounded one man—revealing that his enemies did, in fact, bleed red—the shade fell back and healed himself while the other two continued the fight.
Even with Geri on his side, Sigurd couldn’t keep up against the three. Then he heard the sword whistling toward him from behind. He spun to face it, knowing he’d be too slow, only to hear the clang of metal meeting metal.
Sigurd’s savior towered above him in shining battle armor, wearing a horned helmet atop her head, from which two golden plaits spilled past her shoulders. Her enormous sword angled between him and the shadow creature and glowed with celestial light.
The shadowman swore in a foreign tongue. Though Sigurd didn’t know the language, he felt it, could practically sense the “shit” it cried.
“Rise, Sigurd. I am with you.”
Her shining blade seemed to repel the attackers as much as her skill wielding the large weapon. Sigurd watched in awe for a moment before catching himself and turning his attention back to the fight. He brought his sword up in time to block a strike from the third shade, heartened by his strange rescuer’s arrival. He pressed his attack, using the quick steps James Hook had taught him and the powerful swings Bryn had shown him during their secret lessons. The shade fell back, forced to take a defensive position.
The unknown woman swung her sword in a mighty arc. One of the shades faded into green mist again, but his companion wasn’t fast enough. She caught him in the middle. He howled in pain, screaming agony from the slice she made, and crumpled to the ground.
The tide of battle turned, pitting three against two in Sigurd’s favor. And though the proud stallion was limping, he didn’t withdraw from the fight. The shade evaded a swing from the woman’s two-handed sword, only to be caught by Geri’s front hooves. His horse fought in a blind fury, biting with his teeth, taking the shade by the shoulder, and throwing him to the ground. Before Geri could trample him, he sprang up and away.
Less and less, they teleported away. Their movements slowed.
One shouted to the other and the second shade replied, but the giantess stormed toward them.
“You will not flee this battle as cowards. Come, Sigurd. Let us finish this!” she shouted, even as their enemies darted away.
She whistled and, faster than Sigurd could draw his next breath, a silver chariot appeared, drawn by two enormous cats. Grabbing him by his shoulder, the woman drew him onto the back and then they were off, pursuing their prey with impossible speed.