“Take my bow!”
“What bow? There’s—”
It was there, just within reach and strapped to the chariot by a thong of leather. Though he feared losing his balance and flying off the chariot, his feet remained firmly in place as if glued. The beautiful weapon felt light in his hands despite its size.
“Shoot the lead,” she directed.
The moment he nocked an arrow, embers sparked from the tip. It flew in a sure line with tremendous power, combusting mid-air and striking his target. The shade shrieked as his robes caught fire. Even when the assassin collapsed to the snowy ground, the flames refused to smother, flaring even brighter.
“Again!”
It almost seemed as if a second arrow leapt into his hands from the quiver. He took aim, drew back, and fired. The chariot came to a stop a few feet away from the burning man.
The warrior maiden waved a hand, smothering the flames. Sigurd stormed toward his motionless body and crouched down to remove the mask. The metal mask burnt the tips of his fingers, but he didn’t care. The face beneath it was normal and human, as he’d suspected. Fair skin, dark hair, and brown, gray-ringed eyes he recognized as a trait among the Liangese. Before his eyes, the body began to shrivel, the color fading away and leaving a dark husk behind. Then the corpse disintegrated and left only the empty clothing behind, green smoke lingering in the air before evaporating entirely.
“What the fuck?”
“Liangese sorcery,” his savior replied.
Sigurd turned to face her. “I don’t know who you are, but thank you. I didn’t think anyone would come to my aid here.”
“It was my honor to aid you. Your horse is a courageous and noble beast, much like his namesake.” The woman’s hand passed over the splayed flesh in Geri’s black hide. Each cut mended in seconds.
Sigurd stared at her. He’d never seen such a miraculous, instantaneous healing performed by anyone but the most skilled sorceresses. “Who are you?”
“A friend,” the woman replied.
“Well, friend, you have my thanks and unending gratitude. Though, as much as I value my life, I wish you hadn’t put yourself in danger.” He wiped his blade clean on one of the men’s cloaks. “Any idea why they were here?”
“They are assassins from a foreign land, Camden. You know why they were here. You know what they came to do.”
He snapped his gaze to her. Two distinctly different women in the same week who knew his true name couldn’t be a coincidence. Like the other, something about this warrior struck him as otherworldly. Now that he had the time to really look at her, subtleties stood out, most notably her bright eyes. They almost seemed to glow.
“Who are you really?”
“I answered truthfully. I am a friend, and you are running out of time. As am I. I can only remain on this plane for a short while.”
His breath caught in his chest. Any reservations he held vanished in an instant. This was no ordinary woman. All his life he had been surrounded by magic, exposed to wondrous encounters by association with his sister and close friends. But he had never been touched directly by them himself.
Until now.
“Why me?” he finally asked. “Why have you waited until now to interfere?”
“Why did your queen languish in a tower for years, forgotten and alone?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” he said, startled by the vehemence in his voice. “Why do the gods allow us to suffer while they watch?”
“Such is the way of things. Had Rapunzel not spent years in a tower, would she have met Muir? Had Hook remained a naval officer of your kingdom, how could he have ever met his Tinker Bell?”
“I…”
“Many things that are terrible must happen at certain times, Camden. They are what shape us, break us, and sometimes remake us. They are the acts that show the true mettle of man and one’s legitimate worth. I know it is not the answer you desired, but it is the only one I am able to give.”
“Then why help now?”
“Allowances…have been made. What this king plans to do endangers every kingdom and realm, including mine.”
His laughed, a short, mirthless, bark of a sound. “Then why can’t you bring Bryn back? She could stop him.”
The woman—goddess—stepped closer and laid a light hand on his shoulder. “You can stop him. Your path lies before you, and you must walk the rest of it alone. I cannot step in a second time.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and then released it on a long sigh. “Thank you for helping me this time. I don’t think I could have handled them alone.”
“This will grant you time, though not much. The king and his cohorts won’t realize the assassins have failed. Use that to your advantage. Move swiftly and you will reach your destination by dawn.”
At the touch of her cool hand on his cheek, he opened his eyes. She smiled, and hope bloomed in his heart.
“Be on your guard, Sigurd. More waits for you than assassins. You will be tested twice more on your journey to Brynhildr.”
“Thank you.”
“Rest now. Regain your strength. When you wake, the true path will be shown to you.”
“But I’m not tired. I can leave now.”
“Rest.”
She kissed his cheek, reminding him of his mother. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he blinked, his eyes suddenly heavy. He had the sensation of being tucked into bed, and then nothing more.
Chapter 6
“Brynhildr! Brynhildr, answer me!” Sigurd’s voice pierced a vast fog and rang between Brynhildr’s ears.
“My queen, what’s wrong?” Lagertha sounded miles away, muffled. “Say something, Bryn. Say anything, please.”
“Brynhildr, please, no. Gods, don’t do this.”
Their pleas grew distant, fading more with each plaintive shout until Bryn awoke to the wind in her hair and a cold breeze on her cheeks, her body weightless and head full of fuzz. Eventually, she opened her eyes to see the world below moving at an extraordinary speed. Green valleys and hills rolled in the distance, and the lovely terrain stretched toward the distant sun.
It was not Ridaeron, however. She knew her country, and had been riding through its countryside and hiking in the mountains since she was a girl.
Her legs dangled, her arms hung limp. She twisted her neck and glanced up into the face of an armored woman, enormous white wings spread behind her in flight. Her breastplate gleamed in white metal, and strawberry blonde locks tumbled from a helmet concealing most of her face.
Flying. They were flying.
The winged warrior took note of her, realizing her charge had awakened.
“Where are we?”
“Shh, child. We will arrive soon.”
“But where am I?”
“Asgard. We fly to Valhalla.”
“Asgard? I don’t understand. I did not die in battle.” She didn’t quite understand how she had died at all and could only assume she’d been poisoned. The last thing she remembered was armor. She’d strapped herself into a gorgeous suit designed for a queen.
Not long after that, the pain had struck her as she enjoyed a celebratory sip of wine with Gunnar. Ferocious pain in the center of her chest, stabs to the rhythm of her pulse. Breathing had become impossible, and the world had swum around her, spinning dizzily out of control. Then there was Sigurd’s face above her and his shouts of her name growing distant.